Monday morning felt like a performance. Daisetsu, having successfully healed enough to move without wincing (mostly), arrived at 6:30 AM sharp, wearing a fresh, if slightly rumpled, button-down shirt. He looked less like a wounded gangster and more like a very handsome, very grumpy man who had misplaced his coffee.
Yasuo was a wreck. He'd spent the entire weekend replaying the flour incident—the feel of Daisetsu's hands over his, the heat of his breath. He was convinced Daisetsu could smell his panic.
"Morning, Yasuo," Daisetsu said formally, nodding once. He was back to the cold, distant professional. "Where is the flour shipment you mentioned today?"
"It's... it's not flour, it's sugar," Yasuo stammered, pointing to the back loading area. "The specialty sugar. They come in 25-kilo bags. They're heavy, Daisetsu. We usually use a hand truck, but the lift is broken."
"25 kilograms," Daisetsu repeated, already sizing up the task. His eyes held that intense, focused gleam that meant he was applying his tactical teacher brain to a physical problem. "A manageable load. Lead the way."
They headed into the cramped storage area behind the kitchen, a space usually reserved for Mayonaka and Yasuo. It was tight, full of stacked crates and narrow shelves.
The bags of specialty sugar were stacked almost to the ceiling. They were unwieldy and slippery, wrapped in thick paper that was easy to lose your grip on.
"We need to get the first three bags onto the prep table," Yasuo instructed, feeling a little less shy now that they were doing real work. "I can take the smaller sacks."
"I'll take the 25-kilo ones," Daisetsu cut in, already crouching.
He grabbed the first bag. Yasuo watched, fascinated, as Daisetsu's back muscles flexed under the cotton shirt. He lifted the bag as if it were a bag of bread crumbs, placing it effortlessly onto the hand truck.
Okay, that's unfair, Yasuo thought, feeling utterly petite next to the man. He's literally built like a shonen anime protagonist.
The second bag went smoothly. Daisetsu was strong, efficient, and quiet. Yasuo found himself just watching the fluid movement of his body, forgetting to be shy and just appreciating the sheer competence.
Then came the third bag. It was placed on a particularly narrow shelf, slightly crooked.
Daisetsu reached for it, bracing one foot against a stack of crates. He got a secure grip, but as he pulled the heavy bag out, his foot slipped on a patch of spilled, dusty cornmeal.
"Woah!" Daisetsu grunted, losing his balance under the weight.
The bag began to tilt, heavy and fast, right over Yasuo, who had just stepped in to steady a stack of empty crates.
Yasuo didn't have time to move. He braced himself for impact.
Instead, Daisetsu reacted instantly, dropping the heavy bag to the floor with a deafening THWUMF that shook the entire kitchen. But to keep from falling directly on top of the bag—and potentially crushing Yasuo with his own body weight—Daisetsu flung his arms out to catch himself against the nearest solid surface.
That surface was the prep counter.
And Yasuo was pinned directly between the counter and Daisetsu.
It was intense, sudden, and paralyzing. Daisetsu's powerful body was pressed flush against Yasuo's back, his chest tight against Yasuo's spine. One large hand was planted on the counter right beside Yasuo's head, the other was braced near Yasuo's hip, trapping him completely.
The air rushed out of Yasuo's lungs. He could feel every hard contour of the teacher—the heat, the sheer solidity of his muscle. He could smell the lingering expensive cologne mixed with a sharp scent of sweat and sudden adrenaline.
Yasuo couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He just gripped the edge of the cold stainless-steel counter, his cheeks instantly burning a furious red.
This is it. This is the ultimate Forced Proximity scene. I am going to die of blushing.
Daisetsu, breathing heavily, didn't move immediately either. He was focused entirely on recovering his balance and ensuring Yasuo was safe.
"Are you... hurt?" Daisetsu finally managed, his voice low and ragged, his breath hot against the back of Yasuo's neck.
Yasuo shook his head slightly, unable to form words. He just felt the intense, overwhelming strength of the man behind him.
Daisetsu slowly eased his weight off Yasuo, creating a tiny, precious gap of space. He still didn't move his hands, keeping Yasuo trapped within the circle of his arms.
"That was too close," Daisetsu whispered, his voice laced with genuine concern and a terrifying edge of self-directed anger.
Yasuo finally found his voice, high and squeaky. "It's fine. It's the flour on the floor. It's slippery."
Daisetsu didn't release him. Instead, he slowly pulled his arms in, turning his head so he could see Yasuo's face. He was still too close. He looked right into Yasuo's eyes, seeing the wild panic and the furious blush.
"Look at me, Yasuo," Daisetsu instructed, his voice gentler than before, but firm. "I need you to tell me you're truly okay. I—" He paused, something intense flashing in his dark eyes. "I almost dropped that on you..."
Yasuo swallowed hard. He felt an intense wave of dizzying awareness. The concern in Daisetsu's eyes was real. It was protective. It was the Seme reaching out to his Uke.
"I'm ok, Daisetsu," Yasuo whispered, his voice gaining strength as he matched Daisetsu's gaze. "I'm okay. But you need to move."
Daisetsu hesitated for a long moment, their faces inches apart. His eyes dropped from Yasuo's eyes down to his lips, then snapped back up. The air was charged, thick with unspoken thoughts and physical awareness.
Finally, Daisetsu took a deliberate step back, breaking the powerful contact. He was instantly formal again, but his hands were shaking slightly.
"My bad," Daisetsu stated, returning to the professional tone, though his breathing was still deep. "I apologize for the lack of spatial awareness. I will clean up the cornmeal immediately."
He picked up the heavy sack of sugar he had dropped, lifting it easily this time, and placed it on the counter. He didn't look at Yasuo again until the job was finished.
Yasuo, still pressed against the counter, rubbed his arms where they had been trapped. He realized the debt Daisetsu was paying was quickly becoming far more complicated than a few flour sacks. This intense, magnetic proximity was going to be the death of Yasuo's quiet life.
Daisetsu finished tidying the area, wiping every speck of flour and cornmeal clean. As he headed toward the back door for his exit, he paused and looked back at Yasuo, who was now kneading the day's sourdough.
"Yasuo," he said, his voice low and serious. "The next sack shipment is next week. I will be here. But perhaps... stay out of the storage area when I'm moving the heavy inventory."
He paused, a dark, unsettling glint in his eyes. "I don't trust my hands around you yet."