The sky was a creamy shade of gray. It was a peaceful lull before the storm that had been predicted to hit later that evening.
Yata sat with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes cast upwards to the milky heavens. He felt the press of a small carton against his cheek. "Here, drink."
"Shut up." The teenager replied, swatting his friend's hand away. "I don't want to."
"Come on…" Fushimi shook the milk carton, letting the small pink straw rattle around the opening.
"I'll drink my milk when you eat your vegetables." Was Yata's bitter retort, which he paired with sticking his tongue out for extra affect. He saw Fushimi's arm slacken and assumed he had safely reasoned his way out of any more dairy-related assaults. He returned his focus skyward and tried to gauge when the rain would start, and if he would be able to make it home without being completely drenched.
He felt pressure against the side of his face again-this time soft, and warm. Definitely not that putrid milk-filled cardboard container. He raised a lazy hand, prepared to push away whatever Fushimi was shoved at him.
[Wait, is that his hand…?] He recognized somewhat absently. There it was; another soft, warm hand on his other cheek, and then the gentle press of lips against his own. His eyes widened in confusion and his arm hung in midair, unable to push his best friend away.
Fushimi angled Yata's chin upward and carefully parted his lips with his own, letting a mouthful of milk pass between them.
"What the hell's wrong with you!?" The shorter shouted, finally mustering the strength to turn his head away.
"Well, it was the only way to get you to drink it." Fushimi declared with a victorious smirk.
"Freak." Yata scoffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He prolonged the gesture as much as he could, using his arm to hide the blush working up his cheeks. Stupid Monkey…