Yuki was not staring at Aki. He wasn’t counting his buttons, thinking about how slowly a shirt like that would come off, what the pale boy would look like as it fell down around his shoulders. He wasn’t remembering the way the tight, button-up shirts Aki seemed to prefer had inspired him to wrinkle and scatter his clothes, back when he still hated the blond. He didn’t notice how Aki’s clothes seemed unusually taut in some places- the plane between his shoulder blades, for instance- and loose in others.
Aki did not notice how Yuki’s teeth flashed before biting into an apple, or the way he paused for a moment after each bite, sucking slightly to make sure juice didn’t run down his chin. He didn’t think about how the boy’s hot breath would feel on his mouth, or how those teeth might feel grazing his neck. He didn’t think about how apples, Yuki’s seemingly preferred fruit, might taste better in someone else’s mouth.
Yuki didn’t fantasize about Aki. If he did, the way Aki’s apron tied wouldn’t remind him of the shirts Aki sometimes wore, the ones that were rather more strap than shirt. Once, admittedly, it had been to get a rise out of them, and he suspected that it had backfired then, but… beyond that? He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to slowly unwind those straps; undoing Aki like one might unwrap a Christmas present. Just now it was all he could do not to reach out and just pull on one of the trailing ends of the bow tied in Aki’s apron. Only, of course he didn’t think about all that, because he didn’t fantasize. Not about Aki, anyway.
Aki didn’t catch the look in Yuki’s eyes each time he darted off to his room. He didn’t imagine what it would be like to follow that boy, to invite him to discuss his fears more… openly. He’d tried, once, to get to Yuki like that, and it had backfired. He wasn’t going to chase after a boy who was going to push him away. He didn’t want to, anyway.
Yuki didn’t half-hope, each night, that Aki would follow him to his room. He didn’t lie there, trying not to imagine a timid knock at the door, or a blond head peaking around the door, half-expecting Yuki’s rejection. He didn’t feel desperately like he was missing something when that knock never came.
Each night, both boys thought only of their new responsibilities as death gods. Certainly neither thought about how they might have been more comfortable lying with the other, or how they might have been doing something more interesting than sleeping. Neither boy wanted the other to sneak in beside him, nor was either disappointed when it didn’t happen. When Rin knocked on the door each morning, both boys were happy and alert. Neither would ever admit that the air smelled faintly of frustration.