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The shampoo Akira uses smells sweet, and on the front of the bottle is a tiny still life depicting a jar of honey. Yusuke has seen it dozens of times, up in Akira’s room on the shelf, and he has the image committed to memory.When he tries to recreate it in his sketchbook using an array of colored pencils — from shades of cream to a golden brown — no one questions it. Akira is the only one who remarks on the sketch as he leans closer, their heads bumping as he examines the drawing.Yusuke doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Akira says, “It looks great.”He sucks in a quick breath — that sweet scent — before Akira pulls away. After everyone else has left, Yusuke remains. Usually he would take the subway back to his dorm room, where he could stare up at the ceiling as he thinks of dark-rimmed glasses over gray eyes, peering up at him.Tonight, he stares up at Akira’s ceiling instead. He listens to the sound of his breathing, steady and sure. If he focuses on it, it’s almost like nothing else exists. Even Morgana scratching himself on the bed is barely a distraction.“Yusuke?” Akira’s voice is quiet, but it still fills the room. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight?”He’s never asked that before, and Yusuke can’t think of an adequate rebuttal, so he slips beside him under the blankets. Morgana whines, upset at having his rest disturbed, but falls back asleep before long.Yusuke is staring off toward the stairs now, clutching the blanket tightly against himself, when something touches his neck. It’s Akira’s hand, making its way up to run through his hair. He closes his eyes, shivering at the touch — because it’s cold, and because it’s Akira.