Chapter Text
Usually when Miyuki stays the night, he gets spoiled rotten in the morning. The typical schedule is: sleep in, fresh coffee, languid morning sex, more fresh coffee, possible shower for two. Pretty much everything he could ever want. Which is why waking up to an empty apartment with no note and absolutely no coffee has left him in a pretty bad mood. He’d be downright upset, if his eyelids weren’t drooping.
He slumps against the counter pathetically, letting his sleep-warm cheek smoosh against the tile. If he was thinking rationally, he’d assume that Furuya ran out to do some errand with every intention of being back before Miyuki woke up. But he’s not thinking rationally. How could anyone think rationally at this time of day? With no coffee? After a night like that. Seriously, that bite mark? It’s not going away anytime soon. In fact, he’s not really thinking at all, because he’d probably have a meltdown about Furuya being gone if he had the capacity to think right now.
His dazed drowsing is interrupted by the one-two chime of the doorbell. As much as Furuya’s apartment feels more like home than his own, it’s still technically not his, and answering the door when Furuya isn’t around feels a little shady. Plus, not all of Furuya’s acquaintances know about them and things could get a bit sticky if he went about opening the door for all and sundry. If his brain was firing on all cylinders, he’d completely ignore the dinging and continue not quite sleeping on the counter. Unfortunately, none of this occurs to him, and in his sleepy stupor, he toddles over to answer the door.
He’s met by an older couple. The man is tall, grim faced, and looks away from him almost immediately. The woman is pale skinned and dark haired and trying to hide a smile behind her hand. There’s something about her, in particular, that sets off alarms in Miyuki’s mind, but he’s too sleepy to really pin down why. It’s her eyes maybe, the way they crinkle at the corners, but he can’t be bothered to figure it out. They stare at each other in silence until the man clears his throat.
“Ah, ahem,” the woman coughs politely, obviously amused, “you must be Miyuki-kun?”
“Uh, yeah,” he grumbles after a moment. He blinks to clear his vision, which honestly isn’t going to help much when his glasses are lost somewhere in the bedroom, and squints at her. She knows who he is and her eyes seriously. What is it about her eyes? For a moment, he tries to picture her with shorter hair, broader shoulders, and a sharper jawline. The alarm in his head goes from “the microwave is done” to “the entire building is aflame and every smoke detector within a one kilometer radius is ringing.”
“Shit,” he whispers passionately. For the first time since he’d dragged himself out of bed this morning, Miyuki takes stock of his appearance. He’s naked save for a pair of Furuya’s old boxers and they do nothing to hide the hickeys smattered across his thighs. There’s also the angry, red bite mark on his collar bone and an assortment of bruises and scratches on his chest. He’s planned out this meeting before, though he’d never admit it, and it definitely didn’t involve unintentionally outing Furuya as a biter.
If their places were switched, he’d kick himself to the curb in a heartbeat.
The horror of meeting Furuya’s parents like this is more than enough to zap him awake. He feels cold and hot at the same time. His hands shake and his heart is galloping away in his chest. He’s completely and utterly tongue tied, which is probably for the best. He can’t say anything he’ll regret if he can’t say anything at all. And if he’s not the color of a cooked lobster right now, he owes the universe ten bucks.
The blank shock on his face is a perfect mask for the turmoil swirling in his mind. Please don’t hate me and don’t tell Furuya how crazy he is. He hasn’t felt quite this inadequate in a long time, but all the old feelings are making an impressive comeback. The I’m not good enough’s and the he’ll find someone better’s. One of the toughest things about being with Furuya has been staying out of his own head. It’s never been difficult to convince himself that Furuya would be better off without him, Furuya’s feelings on the matter be damned.
“Miyuki-kun,” the woman - shit, Furuya’s mom - speaks up softly, interrupting his downward spiral. He wipes cold sweat from his brow and forces himself to meet her gaze. What he really wants to do is slam the door and retreat to the bathroom. Possibly to cry loudly with the water running, he’s not completely sure.
“Miyuki-kun!” she cuts in, stopping him before he can get too deep in his panicked thoughts again. “Is Sacchan in?”
Even though there’s a tiny, childish part of Miyuki snickering about that nickname - Sacchan, how quaint - the rest of him is wishing desperately for Furuya to round the corner and save him like some fabled knight. Miyuki will gladly take the damsel in distress role if it’ll get him out of this sooner. After several long seconds without rescue, however, he’s forced to admit he’s on his own. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and puts on his sweetest, most respectful smile. A little goes a long way, or something.
“I’m sorry, he just stepped out. Can I help you with anything?”
It’s formal and stuffy. His tone juxtaposed with his downright indecent appearance makes him want to actually cry. Where’s all that charm he’s always been able to conjure out of nothing? Maybe all the time he’s spent with Furuya has finally gotten to him, and this is just the first step. It’s only a matter of time before his only concerns are polar bears and his next nap.
Furuya’s mom titters quietly.
“Oh, no, don’t worry yourself,” she says. Miyuki doesn’t appreciate the teasing tone. Or the waggling eyebrows. “We’ll just wait.”
That’s how he finds himself in a standoff with Furuya’s mom. There’s something terrifying about her. She must be able to read minds or something because every few minutes she smirks at him like she knows how close he is to dropping to his knees to beg for his life. The only saving grace to this entire kerfluffle is Furuya’s dad, who is still staring at the wall with single minded determination. There’s no guessing where Furuya gets that.
Miyuki is nearly light headed from the stress when Furuya’s dad suddenly speaks up.
“Ah, there he is.”
As one, Miyuki and Furuya’s mom turn toward the end of the hallway, where Furuya is halted mid-motion, staring at them in utter bewilderment. Miyuki nearly whoops with joy, he’s so happy to see him. Despite his lingering shame at being caught mostly naked and covered in evidence of their more athletic nighttime escapades, Miyuki hovers in the doorway to watch the little family reunion. Furuya receives a hug from both his parents, but his mother takes the extra time to fuss over his hair, his clothes, the plastic bag dangling from his hand. Furuya handles it all with a bland sort of patience, before bypassing both of them to stand before Miyuki. One eyebrow ticks upward at Miyuki’s state of dress and Miyuki flushes anew.
“Shut up,” he mutters gruffly, folding his arms across his chest.
“G’morning,” Furuya replies. Completely uncaring that his parents are hovering just behind him, Furuya curls a hand around the back of Miyuki’s neck and plants a kiss in his hair.
“We ran out of coffee,” he says simply, before turning to gesture his parents in with the subtlest of motions.