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Ken was humming.
That was the first thing Arashi noticed when he walked out of his room in a faded black T-shirt and sweatpants, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
The second thing he noticed was Ken—standing in front of the stove, apron tied around his waist, hair up in a tiny bun (badly done), sleeves rolled up, and focused intently on flipping something in the pan.
"What are you doing?" Arashi grunted, flopping into one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter.
"Making breakfast," Ken said without looking. "You eat trash all the time. I figured I'd save your stomach for once."
"Bossy."
"Ungrateful."
Ken glanced over his shoulder, flashing a playful smirk that made Arashi swallow harder than necessary.
"…You tied your hair," Arashi muttered.
"Messy cooking bun," Ken said proudly, tossing a piece of golden toast onto a plate.
Arashi leaned his elbow on the counter, watching him move. He hadn't realized it until now—how comfortable Ken looked here. How much taller he stood. How the boy he used to argue with was suddenly—suspiciously attractive.
And the worst part?
Ken knew.
Because he kept glancing at Arashi. Catching his stares. Smiling to himself.
"You know," Ken said casually, "you've been acting really weird since the toothbrush thing."
"Stop talking about that."
"I'm just saying, if someone had a dream about kissing me, I'd be flattered."
"Stop."
Ken slid a plate toward him. "Eat."
Arashi blinked at the toast, eggs, and sautéed vegetables. "You… made this for me?"
Ken shrugged. "You're staying in my apartment. Might as well act like a decent host."
Arashi stared at the food for a beat, then muttered, "Thanks."
He picked up a fork and started eating in silence. Ken joined him across the counter, sipping on a smoothie.
The silence stretched.
Ken's eyes flicked up.
"…So?"
"So what?"
"Was it a good dream?"
Arashi choked on his toast.
Ken smirked and stood up, walking around the counter toward the sink.
Arashi turned his head slightly to watch him—and that was when it happened.
Ken reached for the dish soap at the same moment Arashi leaned back. Their arms brushed. Not lightly. Not accidentally.
Ken's fingers brushed up his forearm, slow, like he didn't even try to move away.
Arashi froze.
His breath caught.
And Ken didn't move either.
He stood there, close. Too close. Still facing the sink, but not backing away.
Arashi turned his head a little.
"…You're doing this on purpose."
Ken looked at him, eyes calm and unreadable. "Doing what?"
"Whatever this is," Arashi said, standing straighter now.
"You're imagining things again."
"Am I?"
Ken stepped back finally, picked up the dishes, and walked to the sink with the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.
"You didn't pull away," Ken said, not looking at him.
Arashi said nothing.
He just sat back down, the heat crawling up his neck, his chest too tight.
The kitchen really did feel too small.
And Ken was starting to feel way too close.
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