Please Love Me (Chapter 2)

Please Love Me
-Chapter 2-



When Yami finally made it into his apartment, he kicked the door shut before tossing his guitar onto the beat up couch he’d gotten at discount price from the corner of a street for free. There was a long story behind said couch, dealing with four drunken band mates, a case of the munchies, a midnight walk to Taco Bell, and falling asleep out in the middle of public from a serious overdose of THC and full bellies. Almost everything in his apartment was either free or barely cost him more than fifty dollars. So was the life of a struggling musician. He’d take what he could get. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

Once in his bedroom, he squealed quietly to himself before rolling onto his bed and kicking at the air energetically. Dmitri Lennon not only spoke to him, but now knew his name, AND was interested in hearing his music! Yami could feel his heart swell and relax as he heaved a deep breath before sighing quite contently. Raking a hand through his hair, he stared at the ceiling. Laying there for quite a bit of time, he was stirred out of his little comatose state by the sound of loud groans mixed with the slam of what could only be a headboard against the thin walls.

Great.

What a fucking mood killer.

Taking that as a sign from God that he should get his scrawny ass moving, he went about quickly getting his clothes together and tossing them into a clothing hamper. Trying to get the hell out of the apartment as quickly as possible and escape the slap in the face that was Justin fucking the man he was slowly managing to fall head over heels for.

Once the laundry was finally cared for, Yami set himself down in the living room with guitar in tow and a bunch of scribbled lyrics spread out around him on the couch. Strumming aimlessly on the instrument he gave himself a mental palm to his forehead. He’d never given Dmitri a time! Ripping a sheet of clear paper out of one of his many notebooks, he scrawled out the time in thick sharpie pen strokes.

”8:30 PM
~Yami~”

Folding the paper twice, he headed over to Dmitri’s apartment to slide the note under his door before once more retreating to his own home. He needed to get in some serious practice. His will to perform his best doubled in it’s entirety by the fact that his swiftly forming object of affection would more than likely be there.

Yami spent the most of his night slamming away on his guitar and getting his pitches straightened out. By the time he fell into his bed at a ripe five AM, his fingers were as raw and sore as his voice. He slept well enough, finding more reason for the world to be beautiful. Not even minding the fact that around three in the morning he began to receive angry shouts from exhausted neighbors to stop his racket because people were… “Trying to fucking sleep.” Or so they said. He had a hard time believing it sometimes, knowing full well that the people in the apartment below him tended to stay up waaay past the sun rises over the weekends.

Either way, he woke up around two in the afternoon feeling quite rested and perfectly at peace with his life. Well, that was until he had his first cup of coffee, realized that he was almost out of food, didn’t have enough money to pay rent, and he’d have to perform in a little over twenty four hours for the guy he was hoping to eventually win over from two probably more experienced lovers than him…

That happened to bit of a damper on his mood.

Pushing open the window in his living room, he stuck his head out with a wince to the smothering heat bearing down through the little bit of air hitting his face. That’s lovely. Shaking his head, he resigned to simply not eating anything and practicing more of his music. Wanting everything to be absolutely perfect for the next night.

Eventually time passes and he found nerves crawling up his skin as he sat at the long bar, staring at the person on stage before he would go up. He’d yet to see the familiar head of blue hair, but it didn’t matter… there was a couple of guys in suits who looked to be scouting the area for fresh talent. That alone gave him the will power to suck up his anxiety and put on a good show. Yami was lucky enough to talk a couple of people he had some jam sessions to join him onstage for a couple of songs they had practiced with him for.

So two minutes before he was supposed to start, the small group was working on getting everything set up. The drummer getting the set tuned up as well as the bassist checking the long chords of his instrument. Yami was merely getting his mind set up. Mohawk standing at partial attention. Having only used the bit of hair spray he had left in the aerosol can in the bathroom. But he was happy with the effect, making the hair seeming as though it was soft rather than long hard spikes that could cause serious damage to someone who might touch them.

He’d drug along both his acoustic and rarely used electric guitar. Connecting the electrically powered on to a small amp, he switched the power on to make sure everything was together before sitting down on the provided stool and adjusting the microphone before him. Licking his lips, he nodded, waiting for the soft drum beats to hit his ear before starting on the acoustic guitar. The words came easily enough, though awkward because the song was meant to be sung in Japanese. But it sounded good enough as he went about singing the song that Dmitri had been so enthralled with that he would show up at one of Yami’s shows to hear.

Taking a deep breath, he licked at his lips and watched as the crowd swelled and gave out a rather hearty amount of applause before quieting once more. There were a few uninterested people, but they didn’t matter to Yami. If he could reach one person and touch their lives with his music, his job would be accomplished. He finished up the last five songs he had time for before clearing the stage with an enthusiastic round of applause, feeling very well proud of himself as he tossed his instruments into his friend’s trunk and went back inside to share a round of shots with his temporary band mates.

By the time the group had settled down at their little corner of the bar, they were all buzzing with post-performance adrenaline. Yami taking to dancing around with the drummer as they spouted lewd lyrics in Japanese to each other. The eccentric songwriter spinning circles with his talented tongue around the drummer’s head as the other tried to catch up with his lyrics and snark out some sort of comeback before a familiar voice caught the man’s ear and he turned sharply to face Dmitri.

“Yami. Great show, I’m really liking your music.”

After downing three shots of whatever liquor the bassist was willing to pay for, Yami was feeling rather good.

Though, as Yami noticed Dmitri’s arm wrapped around an attractive woman’s waist a bit of a damper was put on his mood, he was excited to know that the blue haired man had come at all. Bright smile flourished along lips at the compliment before he bowed deeply, “Domo arigoto.” He said before grinning even wider when strong arms hoisted him up from behind. Teeth finding a bottom lip before he rolled his eyes and was placed protectively in his bassist friend’s lap.

He was more than happy with the prospect of possibly getting laid as well. The pale blond instrumentalist was obviously horny and more than gay as he nuzzled his face into Yami’s slim neck. Stifling a chuckle, he shrugged the gestures away before returning his attention to Dmitri. “I suppose she’ll be wanting to go?” Pierced brow rose as eyes flickered about to the roaming not so gentle men who would much rather ogle the ideally dressed woman than pay attention to their own company.

Dmitri nodded his head when the woman, his dance partner, was mentioned, her body pressing closer to his eliminating the need for him to double check and ensure that she was still as uncomfortable was she was a few moment ago. “Yeah, I’d be more pissed than she would if she was eaten alive.”

“But I’ll see you around the complex, yeah?” He asked before slapping away a hand that was beginning to inch across his thigh in attempt to get Yami into the same mind frame as it’s owner.

As soon as said dance partner heard the ‘yeah’ she was turning them around, leaving her friend laughing again. “Maybe you will. I hope you do.” He offered back as parting words, looking over his shoulder and giving Yami a lingering glance before following his dance partner willingly out of the place.

Yami silently hoped that one of these days Dmitri might be knocking on his door to escape his overly booked love life and seek some sort of serenity. Serenity meaning a third lover who could manage to talk him into being more than a one day/night thing and actually forming a real relationship.

But Yami would take what he could get.

Yami watched the retracting figures with a goofy smile upon his lips before his neck was bit into, causing the skinny frame jump and a yelp to emit from raw vocal chords. Yelling at the bassist in his native tongue, the oblivious man could only chuckle and nibble on the flesh a bit more. “Keep going, you’re making me even hornier with that sexy little language of yours…” The blond muttered before grinning. The trio spent another couple of hours at the bar before Yami found himself thrown into bed by the bassist and, for the first time in what felt like a century, got thoroughly fucked. Their loudness not toned down a bit even though Yami was very familiar with his extremely thin walls.

Fuckit, let Dmitri and his boyfriend(s) hear him have a good time. They only deserved it after putting him through sexual hell for the last months.

-----

The rest of Yami’s week was spent on random street corners and parks wailing away on his acoustic guitar with the case set out on his feet. Praying and begging for money to finish off the quota of cash he’d need to pay his rent for another month. By the time Saturday rolled around, the musician’s fingers were raw and bordering on bleeding as the naturally formed lines of scar tissue were worn away by unstopping abuse of the strings on his guitar. He’d gotten up enough money to pay off his rent, utilities, and fill his fridge partially with cheap food so that he wouldn’t starve for the next week or so.

He was exhausted and had a slight bit of sunburn on his shoulders and the tip of his nose from not listening to his friends’ advice and actually putting on protective lotion before performing on the streets. Clad in only a loose pair of knee length denim shorts, he balanced a small basket of clothes on his hip as he wound his way down the stairs to the laundry room. He tended to do his laundry around the same time every week, all the other tenants had managed to figure out his schedule so that they didn’t clash when it came to washing their own clothes. Most of them knowing full well that the musician barely had enough money to cover his own living expenses; let alone pay to go to a Laundromat.

So as he backed into the door leading to the laundry room, he was hit by a wave of obvious humidity. Odd, normally it’s dry in the room until someone did laundry… Turning his eyes up to see who could possibly not have fallen into the routine of when Yami washed his clothes, he perked a brow at the blue haired man propped on top of the drier with a book in his hands. “Oh… I guess I’ll just… do my laundry later.” He stated dumbly as he shifted the basket on his hip and adjusted his grip to the weak plastic before turning to leave.

“Yami! If you need the washer I’m done with my clothes,” Yami heard called out to him as he crossed the threshold of the doorway to the hall.

Yami was thankful for the voice that called out to him. He withheld the urge to spin on heel and react like some sort of deranged groupie, enthralled at the idea of spending a few moments of privacy with the blue haired man. He hadn’t been able to trail the dancer like he usually did, too preoccupied with making the currency quota needed to be filled. So he’d actually missed seeing that head of cerulean frequently through the day. He’d long forgotten about his Friday night hook up, let alone the fact that Dmitri could probably have heard every bump and grind to scream of random deities from the romp.

Tilting his head over his shoulder, he watched as his neighbor went about switching his load of clothes to the drier before pacing over and dropping his basket with a thump against the floor. Grabbing his little bottle of detergent, he flipped on the switches to get the water running before pouring a bit of the blue liquid into the washer. He never used the cap to measure, merely eyeing how much he would need depending on just how dirty his laundry happened to be. Reaching into the basin, he swirled the cold water until suds started forming. Grabbing onto the basket, he held it up and turned it over, letting the clothing drop in a large clump into the washer. Using his fist, he shoved the clothes down in before letting the top slam closed.

“So how has your week been going?” Dmitri asked politely, putting on a smile. “Do anymore shows?”

Turning his face towards Dmitri he offered a smile before running a hand through his hair. “It varied between overwhelmingly boring to excruciatingly stressful.” He joked as he turned to lean back against the water sloshing washer. Smile curved into a smirk before he shook his head. “If you count parks and street corners as ‘shows’ then, yes.” The words were slightly bitter, time was slowly ticking away as to when his personal ultimatum would come to fruition; and he’d yet to catch the eye of a musician scout.

Dmitri chuckled sympathetically at Yami’s description of his week, “Ah, if anyone remotely good was recognized for their talent right off the bat then they wouldn’t have shit to say on those hour long ‘behind the artist’ shows.” The dancer offered, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hands.

Yami’s cheeks colored slightly and he glanced away at the comment about being at least remotely good at what his chosen profession was.

Chewing on his bottom lip he rolled his vision up to Dmitri with a kind smile perched on his mouth, “How about your week? Things simmer down with Justin, or is he still being an asshole?” He silently prayed that Dmitri and Justin had gotten into a terrible fight and they had officially broken up, which left a slot for Yami to fill. That upon finding out this information, Dmitri grabbed onto him and screwed him silly on the now gently bucking washer. That Dmitri would fall into irrefutable love with Yami and never have to find another partner for the rest of his life.

But that was all wishful thinking, because stuff like that only happened in the romance novels that Yami had a penchant for reading. Things like that never happened in real life.

“It started out cluttered and ended weird.” Dmitri confessed. As soon as Justin was mentioned he groaned and covered his eyes, shaking his head weakly. “He’s gone from being an asshole to being a drama queen. I don’t know with him sometimes… I think I prefer the asshole to this.”

He groped around for his dance book, finding that it wasn’t beside him like he thought it was and was in his clothes basket that was sitting by the washing machine. Dmitri unfolded his legs and slid off the rocking machine, making his way to the container and reaching for the book. Suddenly he stopped as a thought rammed into him, looking over at Yami with a raised brow. “I…I told you his name?”

He nodded and listened to what Dmitri had to say about his week and boyfriend before his eyes snapped up to the other with a smile. Oh-shit… How had he forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to know his neighbor’s name? Blinking, he shrugged, “I’m not sure if you actually mentioned it or not, but I’ve heard it be yelled more than enough times to take an educated guess.” He gave himself an imagined pat on the back for the nice recovery.

A very loud growl stopped their conversation; Both men’s eyes looked towards Dmitri’s stomach in curiosity like they didn’t expect the sound. He grinned slyly then, looking back at the other male in the laundry room. “Come get lunch with me.” Dmitri was asking for company but all his questions came in the form of demands.

Pressing his own fingers to his belly, Yami’s eyes shifted to his own stomach, realizing he hadn’t actually eaten anything yet that day as well; it was a wonder that his own stomach hadn’t echoed the noise. Pursing his lips, he smirked at the comment before rolling his eyes.

Letting out a defeated sigh he glanced at the door before rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, it’d either be at your place or mine because A…” He stuck out his thumb to begin counting off reasons, “…I’m broke as hell… and B.” His index finger extended to point at the washer sloshing around behind him. “I don’t exactly have anything to wear.” Oh, the life of a struggling artist. Sometimes Yami found himself screaming at the gods. Why didn’t they give him some sort of talent that will actually pay the bills rather than leaving him scrambling for change in the couch so that he could actually feed himself?

Letting his hand drop to his side, he licked along his lips before chewing on the black ring pierced through the right side of his bottom lip. “and, well… I’d prefer it yours unless you’re in the mood for cup ramen with chop sticks…” He might as well have gone to college for what his diet consisted of. Not that he really minded it. A few assorted canned goods, a bit of Tabasco sauce, and some chopped up chicken turns Ramen Cups into one of the best meals a person could be forced to live on for an extended period of time.

Dmitri picked up his tall laundry basket and laughed when Yami gave a rundown of the menu if they decided to dine at his restaurant. “Not to insult your college boy diet but I’m a growing boy. I need something with a lot of meat and isn’t microwave accessible.”

Yami chuckled and shrugged. Eat what you can afford, right? He was sure that running a dance studio tended to pay a lot better than playing guitar on street corners.

He held his basket filled with already clean clothing out in front of him and started towards the door. “I guess we’re dining at Lennon’s Place. Lucky for you wearing a shirt denies you service.” The male stepped out into the hall and led the way back to his apartment, Once the door was unlocked he kicked the door open with his foot, leaving it open as he waddled to his bedroom and set the basket down in the corner before retreating and closing the door behind him.

“Make yourself at home.” Dmitri invited, gesturing to his purple couch. 96% of his furniture in his place were apartment warming gifts from his family so nothing matched. There were pictures on most all of the free flat surfaces showing off Dmi’s love for dancing though only three of them actually had him in it. The rest of them were taken by him while his hip hop, ballet, salsa, and modern dance groups did various performances. Of course no picture collection would be complete without shots of him with Cade and Justin, the one of all three of them together at his recent birthday party standing alone on top of the TV.

Yami was not so surprised to see that the layout was the same as his but reversed. Which was, admittedly, a little strange to get used to when you’re accustomed to turning left for the bathroom, not right.

Keen eyes absorbed the décor with unbidden delight. Even with the mismatched furniture, it was humble and comfortable… and much more filled than Yami’s. Where as Yami’s apartment had empty bottles of booze filled with water and food coloring, Dmitri’s actually had pictures. Where there were pillows and throw rugs, Yami’s had instruments piled precariously about. He leaned over to look at the image of Dmitri, Justin, and Cade before smiling. They looked… happy together.

Dmitri took off his shoes and replaced them with slippers before padding to the kitchen. “Do you want a beer or something?” Yami heard from the kitchen

Wiggling his bare toes, he made his way into the kitchen to spy Dmitri bending over to peek into the fridge. Leaning against the doorframe, Yami folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head slightly. Appreciating the view as much as he possibly could before the man would find what he needed and simplify the image from film quality to a mere memory lodged in the musician’s brain.

Clearing his throat, he smiled and looked around. “Nice place… looks awfully familiar, though…” He mumbled with an air of confusion before cracking a grin.

“Thanks.” Dmitri muttered as he continued to sift through his supply of food, happy to find that he had everything necessary for soft shell chicken tacos. He wiggled his hips in a dance of success, unaware that there were eyes lingering on his figure as he stood in front of the fridge. He reached back and began collecting what he knew he would need immediately, starting with that container of leftover chicken from last night, to help cut down on the cooking time.

“Are you sure ‘Asshole’ won’t mind me being here? He seems pretty touch and go when it comes to other guys being in your life…” Yami commented before dragging his nails along his bicep to scratch an invisible itch. Trying to find something to do with his hands before grabbing onto Dmitri and attempting to devour him right then and there.

Something about a man who knows how to cook just grabbed Yami by the balls and turned him on to a point of insanity. But he’d force himself to quell the urge and simply enjoy the aqua tinted haired man’s company instead.

Dmitri grabbed a beer on his way out and turned around to face Yami with a smirk on his face. For the first time since their first sort of meeting when the other knocked on his door some months ago Dmi actually took the other in, eyes absorbing him from head to toe.

Dmi turned away from the man, setting the container of grilled chicken strips onto his kitchen counter. “You let me worry about my asshole.” He said softly with a grin, resting his free hand on Yami’s chest and pushing him back until he was near the purple couch he told him to rest on before handing him the beer bottle. “I can handle his jealous rages and if they keep up I can just dump him.”

Bright eyes studied Yami curiously, “Besides, I’m liking you, so it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He turned on his toes and wandered back to his kitchen. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll send you to heaven.” He estimated his cooking time before he disappeared into the kitchen and started fumbling around for pots.

Sitting down on the couch, Yami cracked the bottle open between his molars before taking a hefty swig. Tapping his fingers against his jean clad thigh, he tilted his head back to further take in his surroundings. Wondering idly just what Heaven Dmitri was going to take him to. Certainly not the heaven he wanted. But he’d take any form of heaven the man had to offer without complaint. Heaven was heaven, whether it be on taste buds or bed.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he remembered that idle hands were the devil’s playground, he set the bottle down on the table before wandering over to the doorway leading to the kitchen. Peeking his head around to watch Dmitri in silence for a moment, he uttered a soft, “I’ll be right back.” He then left the apartment for his own. Grabbing onto his acoustic guitar, he went back to Dmitri’s apartment and settled down on the couch.

Strumming along the guitar, he decided to sing and play away. Making sure that it was loud enough that even over the sounds of sizzles in the kitchen, Dmitri would be able to hear him. He played through a couple of songs before glancing at a clock and grabbing the neck of his guitar. Slinging the belt around his shoulders, he wandered into the kitchen, hips shifting beneath the body as he continued to strum away before singing in Japanese to the man. Leaning against the wall, he gave a flourish of fingers before smirking. “It’s been twenty minutes, itoshii hito…” He drawled.

He knew that using that term for Dmitri might cause unforeseen situations, but the doubted that the man knew the meaning behind the title. Not to mention that Yami at some point in time wanted to actually have a reason to call Dmitri his beloved.

He looked over his shoulder and laughed a little when Yami announced that he was at his twenty minute time limit. “I was distracted a little by your playing.” Dmitri confessed as he finally lifted the pan he was cooking in and scooped chicken into each of the shells. Luckily he didn’t fall too far behind, just by a minute or so. “I like the sound of 22 minutes ‘till heaven anyway.” He excused his lateness as he reached into the cabinet, grabbing Tabasco sauce and salsa.

Yami chuckled appreciatively to the excuse of why Dmitri was slow on his cooking skills. He found the dancing humorous as well, what he saw of it, anyways. The shimmy of hips drawing his eyes before he tapped the body of his guitar.

Thinking back to what was just said; Dmitri picked up both plates and started towards the living room. “Itoshii…hito? I wish I stuck with that Japanese class in high school.” He set the plates on the coffee table sitting in front of the couch then went back to the fridge one more time to get a beer for himself, unscrewing the top and tossing it into the trashcan as he passed it by. “What’s it mean?”

He watched in silence as the man finished getting everything together, leaning against the doorway as the other skirted from kitchen to living room, back to the kitchen, and finally sitting down on the couch.

While he took a swallow of beer he bent his finger in an inviting gesture towards the musician, wordlessly instructing him to sit down next to him. At the wave of finger, Yami nodded before dipping his head to take the guitar strap off of him.

Letting the instrument lean against the couch, he took his seat. Being brought up to have respect when eating, no matter what the meal, he waited for Dmitri to take the first bite before lifting his own taco and taking a bite. Chewing thoughtfully he glanced up to the ceiling in contemplation.

“It’ll pass…” He mumbled nonchalantly before cracking a grin. Honestly, it was one of the best things he’d managed to eat in months. Aside from double cheese burgers at McDonalds when he could scrape up enough change to actually eat somewhere other than his own apartment. Bringing the beer to his lips, he smirked at the question of his native language. “Itoshii hito means something that you’ll have to look up later.” He said before winking and taking another bite.

Not that he really wanted Dmitri to know what he had called him. He was sure that the man would either ask around or result to internet search engines for the answer. But by that time, Yami would be either not in his apartment eating right next to him, or anywhere near the questioning eyes that the knowledge was sure to bring about. Clearing his throat, he smiled and shrugged. “It’s just a title, a respect sort of thing. This is your apartment and you did cook something delicious for me.” He pointed out before tipping back another swig of beer.

“In all seriousness, though… Thank you. I haven’t eaten an actually prepared meal in longer than I can remember. Not since I came to Florida, anyways.” His voice was gentle and his eyes shone with the utmost respect for Dmitri in that moment. Not to mention his stomach was extremely happy and Yami had slight butterflies twirling his chest. The realization of just how close they were and how little clothing he had on hitting him.

Once Dmitri’s first taco was gone and out of his hands he leaned over for the second one, spicing it up in the same way the one before it was. “No problem. Thank you actually, for eating with me. It’s nice to have some company every once and awhile that isn’t barking at me or picking me apart like I’m from a different galaxy.” He turned to Yami and smiled for a moment before turning back to his taco and taking a few bites, enjoying the quiet that he was sharing with someone else.

He couldn’t help but think just how easy it would be to lean over and kiss Dmitri right then and there. Lips parted and he could already feel a tingle across them with the imagining of how sweet his neighbor’s mouth would taste. How delectably smooth those opposing lips would feel. A slight flush filled his cheeks and he swallowed thickly before turning his eyes away and taking another bite out of his taco. Anything to keep his hands and mouth busy.

Devil’s playground. Devil’s playground…

After a couple of bites Dmitri turned back to Yami. “You know, if you ever get a craving for anything, you can come to my place.” He suggested with another smile, happy with the idea that he suddenly formed in his head. “I cook everyday and I don’t like to eat by myself. It’d be a great relationship right? You get cooked food and I get company, we both can go to bed happy.”

Yami’s brows skyrocketed at the suggestive tone behind the words that came out of Dmitri’s mouth. Chuckling softly, he finished off his first taco before sucking a mixture of grease and spices off of his fingers. He considered the offer for a moment as he grabbed up his second taco and took a bite. Chewing slowly, he deliberated pros and cons before shaking his head. “Arigoto… but…” He heaved a deep breath before rolling his eyes towards the blue haired man, “I quite enjoy my door being attached to it’s hinges… not kicked down by a jealous lunatic-slash-asshole-slash-crappy boyfriend.” He joked before shrugging innocently.

“Are you really that worried about Justin?” Dmitri questioned with an amused smile, shaking his head and turning back to his taco. He turned his head and reached for his remote, turning the TV on and letting whatever soap opera recap that was on play quietly as he took another bite into his taco.

Quickly shoving the rest of the taco into his mouth Yami’s cheeks bulged as he fought to chew that mass without opening his mouth. Swallowing the bundle down quickly, he tipped back the rest of his beer before leaning back against the couch and patting his flat belly with a sigh of content.

Turning his head to Dmitri he grinned. “Besides… if you feed me this well every day, I might actually gain some weight.” Chuckling softly, he rubbed his toned abs before stretching his arms out in front of him.

Dmitri had one piece remaining when Yami finally spoke up to him again. His eyes didn’t leave the TV but he smirked. “That’s not always a bad thing. Well, offer still stands if you change your mind.” Dmi slid the last of his lunch into his mouth and chewed slowly, trying to delay the cleaning part of his cooking as soon as possible.

Sitting up, Yami noticed that his neighbor’s plate was empty as well. Grabbing it, he waved a finger. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” He demanded as he piled the dish onto his own before balancing his empty beer bottle on top.

Swallowing quickly, the male shook his head. “You’re in my apartment remember? You don’t clean.”

Sashaying into the kitchen, Yami hummed as he tossed the empty bottles into the trash and went about locating a dish rag and soap. No matter what Dmitri might say or do, Yami was dead set on doing the clean up process. Finding it obviously lazy of him to take advantage of the other’s hospitality without doing something in return.

Yami was just about to plunge his hands into cleaning off the dishes when his name was called out. Turning his head, he locked instantly in on Cade. He recognized the man immediately. That one being the boyfriend who would actually give him a passing hello when they ran into each other through the hall, or on the stoop. Much a nicer person all together than Justin.

“Yami.” Dmitri stepped closer to the kitchen to get the male’s attention. “This is Cade. Cade, Yami.” Cade smiled and waved, obviously unfazed by the shirtless male in his boyfriend’s house. “Do you mind paying me back for lunch and doing the dishes some other time?” Dmitri smiled sheepishly.

A bit put off that he was being kicked out, Yami nodded. “Sure… But next time, I’m cooking.”

He was set on that too. He knew how to cook, he just didn’t have the money for it. Shrugging his shoulders, he grabbed onto the neck of his guitar before saluting the two. “I need to check on my laundry anyways.” Heading out of the apartment, he was sure to shut the door before going to deposit his instrument onto his couch once more.

By the time he got down to the laundry room, he was in a near fury. Why did Cade have to come over? Things were going so well with Dmitri… he was this close… this close! Kicking the washer, he opened the lid with an obviously sour look on his face. Switching his clothes into the drier, he sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He officially had nothing else to do… and he didn’t exactly have anything to wear anywhere. Groaning, he went back to his apartment to continue practicing his music.

He needed to write some new songs. The ones he already had in his repertoire slowly growing stale. So he unfolded a brand new notebook, grabbed a pen, and relaxed with his guitar. Tapping blunt nails against the wooden body, he closed his eyes and let the music hum through him before he was struck with inspiration. Within moments his fingers were splaying down the strings as his body rocked to the music. Between phrases, he’d scribble down some key changes and some lyrics to go with them. Filling the most of his time with creating his new ‘masterpiece’ before the mix of exhaustion and a full belly swarmed him and caused him to fall asleep on his couch. Guitar still gripped by his fingers.