Yasuo was officially dead. Not "tired" dead or "long day at the bakery" dead, but "I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole" dead. He had spent the last hour curled into a ball on his bed in the apartment above the bakery, his face buried in a pillow that still smelled faintly of the flour he'd been working with earlier.
He couldn't stop seeing it. The bright, fluorescent lights of the bookstore. The solid, warm weight of Daisetsu's chest when he'd slammed into him. And the book. That spicy, explicit BL volume with the muscular seme pinning the uke—which was currently lying on the floor of a bookstore for everyone, including his crush, to see.
"He thinks I'm a creep," Yasuo whimpered into his pillow. "A 'Shy Nurturer' who secretly dreams about men getting pinned against walls. He's a professional teacher, and I'm just a baker with a 'dirty' secret."
Downstairs, the bell above the bakery door chimed. Clink-clink.
Yasuo froze. It was too late for regular customers. Grandma Mayonaka was usually the one to handle the closing, but his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He heard the low, gravelly vibration of a voice that made his skin tingle even through the floorboards.
Daisetsu.
Yasuo scrambled to his door, pressing his ear against the wood.
"He's not feeling well, Daisetsu-san," he heard Grandma say, her voice full of that "Wise Catalyst" energy. "A sudden 'cold' hit him right after he got back from the bookstore."
"A cold? Or just a very bad case of blushing?" Daisetsu's voice was closer now. Yasuo could almost feel the "Stoic Protector" vibe radiating up the stairs. "I have something of his. I should probably return it."
There was a pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps. Daisetsu was coming up.
Yasuo scrambled back, diving under his covers just as the door creaked open. He squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to be fast asleep. He heard the heavy thud of Daisetsu's boots on the rug. The air in the room suddenly felt smaller, hotter, and way more intense.
"I know you're awake, Yasuo," Daisetsu said. His voice wasn't cold or strict like it was at school. It was low, raspy, and dangerously close.
Yasuo didn't move. He felt the edge of the bed dip as Daisetsu sat down. Then, he felt a warm, calloused hand reach out and gently brush a stray hair away from his forehead. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to Yasuo's core.
"You dropped this," Daisetsu whispered.
Yasuo peeked one eye open. There, sitting on his nightstand, was the BL book. It was neatly wrapped in a brown paper bag, but a little note was stuck to the front.
I didn't know you were into 'intense lessons,' the note said in Daisetsu's sharp, teacher-like handwriting. But you shouldn't be ashamed of what makes your heart race.
Yasuo's face erupted into a fresh blush. He sat up, clutching the blanket to his chest. "You... you bought it? You didn't leave it there?"
Daisetsu smirked, and for the first time, it wasn't a nonchalant teacher smile. It was something darker, something that promised the "falling harder" part of their tagline. He reached out, his hand sliding from Yasuo's forehead to the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hair there.
"I'm a Sensei, you remember?" Daisetsu murmured, pulling Yasuo an inch closer by his waist. "I like to finish what I start. And I saw how much you wanted this."
He leaned in, his scent—cedarwood and a hint of the "metallic" smell of the rain from their first meeting—filling Yasuo's senses. "But if you wanted to see a man pinned against a wall, Yasuo... you didn't have to go to the bookstore."
Daisetsu's other hand found Yasuo's waist, his grip powerful and reflexive. He moved with a "Wounded Soul" kind of recklessness, sliding Yasuo across the sheets until his back hit the headboard with a soft thump. Daisetsu followed, his heavy, muscular frame hovering over Yasuo, pinning him exactly like the seme on the cover of the book.
"Is this the part where you blush?" Daisetsu growled, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from Yasuo's.
"Daisetsu..." Yasuo breathed, his hands finding the firm, solid muscle of the teacher's shoulders.
The "Stoic Protector" finally snapped. He crashed his lips onto Yasuo's in a kiss that wasn't sweet or gentle. It was hungry, desperate, and full of the "intense energy" they'd been building for weeks. Daisetsu's tongue pushed past Yasuo's lips, claiming him, while his hands roamed over Yasuo's body with a fierce, possessive care.
Yasuo moaned into the kiss, his legs tangling with Daisetsu's heavy ones. The shame from the bookstore was gone, replaced by a fire that made him feel bolder than he'd ever been. He pulled at Daisetsu's shirt, wanting to feel the "metallic" strength of the man against his own skin.
"Stop blushing, my cutie boy," Daisetsu whispered against his neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "And start looking at me. Only me."
Just as Yasuo was about to pull Daisetsu's shirt over his head, a loud, sharp knock echoed from the bottom of the stairs.
"Yasuo! Are you dead yet?" Yuka Iroha's voice shrieked from the bakery floor. "Grandma says you have a cold, but I brought some 'special' tea to cure your shame!"
Daisetsu froze, his forehead resting against Yasuo's as they both panted for air. His eyes narrowed, the "Stoic Protector" returning for a split second. "That girl... her timing is absolute trash."