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Ken had a problem.
Not the kind you could talk about over coffee.
More like the kind where you wake up at 3:17 AM, sweating, heart pounding, and face red because your dream involved Arashi sitting on the washing machine in low-hung jeans, smirking and whispering—
"Why are you always looking at me like that?"
Ken had woken up flinging his pillow across the room.
"This is your fault," he muttered into his blanket, his face practically on fire.
The worst part?
He couldn't even look at Arashi without remembering it.
So the next morning, Ken tried to avoid him—pretending to be busy with chores.
Specifically: laundry.
He stood by the machine, sorting clothes into piles—light, dark, and "probably belongs to Arashi, smells like trouble."
He didn't hear the door open.
Didn't hear the footsteps.
Until—
"You're touching my underwear," Arashi's voice came lazily from behind him.
Ken jumped, elbowed the wall, and nearly spilled the detergent.
"Don't sneak up on people!"
"I live here."
"Barely."
Ken turned quickly—too quickly. And there he was.
Arashi.
Sweatpants again. No shirt again. Towel around his neck. Fresh out of the shower. Again.
Dripping hair. Damp collarbones. And a smirk that said, I know you saw the dream too.
Ken turned away fast. "Put on some clothes."
"You didn't complain last time."
"I'm complaining now."
Ken bent over to grab a shirt—and Arashi took the chance to casually lean against the dryer, arms crossed.
"You're blushing."
"No, I'm not."
"You're also sorting my clothes."
"You leave them all over the place like a wild animal."
"An animal you secretly dream about."
Ken choked.
"Wha—what?!"
"You said it in your sleep last night," Arashi said smoothly, inspecting his nails. "You said my name."
Ken's heart practically exploded in his chest.
"I—I did not!"
"You did." Arashi stepped closer, voice lower. "And then you moaned."
Ken backed into the dryer.
"I swear to god—"
"Your ears are red, Ken."
"I will kick you in the ribs."
Arashi grinned. "So you admit it. You're thinking about me."
Ken narrowed his eyes, breathing sharp. "You were staring first. That day. In the hallway. You didn't move either."
Arashi's smile faltered just a second.
Then he stepped closer.
Now just inches between them.
"I am staring," he said quietly. "Still am."
Ken stared back.
The air between them crackled.
The laundry machine beeped.
They didn't move.
Not until Ken swallowed hard and whispered, "Back off…"
But even that sounded too soft. Too breathless.
Arashi leaned just a fraction closer, their noses nearly brushing.
"I will," he said. "If you really want me to."
Ken didn't answer.
And Arashi didn't move.
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