Imago (Little Butterfly, Nakahara/Kojima)

Nakahara Atsushi didn’t look away from the computer as the apartment door opened and shut. His fingers tapped out a steady beat on the keyboard, punctuated by the sharp clack of the enter key and the thump-thump of shoes being dropped on the floor. Computer code slowly filled the screen but his mind had already wandered away from for loops and if statements. Memory filled the gaps where his hearing failed, and between the two he caught the soft wisp of fabric on wood as Kojima’s coat slid onto the hanger, the jingle of keys as they were dropped into the tray set on the little table by the door for just that purpose – because otherwise Yuki would have been racing around every morning trying to remember where he’d put them – and the quiet patter of socked feet on hardwood floors.

His fingers moved even as his eyes closed, and he smiled. He could picture Yuki setting his briefcase next to the couch before heading into the bedroom. Once inside, he’d unbuckle his belt, sliding the leather off and hanging it on a hook on the back of their closet door, mixed in with Atsushi’s own belt and their ties. That was the next garment to go. Silk slid against cotton, slithering around Yuki’s neck before falling into the hamper on top of a pair of Atsushi’s jeans and some of Yuki’s t-shirts. The dress shirt was next. Some days Yuki would change into a t-shirt, others he’d just leave his undershirt on and not bother with anything further.

The file came to an end and Atsushi opened his eyes to scan over the code. He saw no obvious errors so he saved the file and ran it through the compiler. Status messages flew over the screen as the door opened. He turned.

Yuki paused in the doorway, a smile already in place. His pants hung loose around his hips, his shirt was tight against his skin. It was perhaps one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen. Admittedly, when it came to Yuki, he was biased.

The computer beeped at him but he ignored it.