Just A Little Bit Shy

Hurt - 12

It was one of the most basic manipulative tactics in the book. A technique, simple in nature, designed to gain another's compliance. Salesmen typically termed it the famous "foot-in-the-door" technique. It began with a small request, a modest one:

Haru asks Y/n to walk him home. Y/n requires some convincing, but then he's there, walking right at Haru's side.

The next request, after someone agreed to the first, could ask for just a little bit more.

Come in, Haru insists. Stay for dinner. My mom misses you too.

While Haru was clever enough to implement this social mechanism, he did not quite feel so clever when he reached around Y/n to close the door behind him. For it was a narrow entranceway, and the shut door blocked the noise from outside, and it was only Y/n and him, with the (h/c) boy backed into a little corner. There were no lights left on in the house save for the natural illumination beaming through the windows. Nothing to intervene or interrupt them...

The entranceway was not a large space either. It was a narrow hallway, and the only sound was of the air-conditioner's fan kicking on, the hum of the refrigerator — and the sound of their exhalations, muffled and quiet, along with the stretch of fabric as Y/n reached forward to steal his bag back. (Although, in truth, Y/n's movement was a far less aggressive thing, a simple upturned palm, offering to take his burden back, but Haru rather liked this burden).

With a playful smile, Haru kept it out of his grasp. "I'll take care of this for you," Haru insisted, his voice noticeably husky. He hitched the bag up his own shoulder, sliding his fingers down the strap, idly noting how old and weathered it was. Y/n didn't take proper care of himself, it seemed; Haru certainly made a mental note to take him shopping one of these days. New schoolbag, better, more formfitting clothes... His blue eyes languidly passed up and down Y/n's tempting visage. His hand was still on the doorknob, subtly caging Y/n in.

As the air circulated, Haru could once more catch only slight whiffs of Y/n's scent. Heady, warm, and coppery.

Haru inhaled, his hand moving from the doorknob to press flat against the space beside it. He was not sure how much time passed in that small window, where his eyes were drawn to cataloging Y/n's every feature. Not sure how many seconds passed, Y/n's eyes nervously glancing down to Haru's arm before gazing back up into his.

And oh, how uncomfortably formal Y/n looked, still bundled up in his school uniform, especially that blazer.

"Here," Haru scarcely breathed, hands too twitchy and eager when they reached Y/n's shoulders. There were a few seconds where Haru questioned himself, especially as the pads of his fingers pressed flat against the hard plane of Y/n's shoulder muscles. Yet, it was Y/n himself who encouraged Haru to continue for there came no spoken or unspoken reprimand. Y/n didn't flinch or move away from his touch. The boy's expression remained consistently even, his body only leaning away a little at the force Haru unintentionally applied, as Haru not-so-subtly mapped out the shape of said muscles. Haru whispered insistently, "Let me —"

His fingertips slipped just underneath Y/n's blazer, nudging the uniform off, thumbs sliding along the outline of Y/n's collarbones. He didn't want the (h/c) boy to be uncomfortable. Not in such a stiff, ill-fitting blazer. It caught around the (h/c) boy's elbows. Haru's eyes dropped too suddenly to appreciate the view. Hs focus shifted from Y/n's arms, pulled behind him slightly as the jacket fell to mid-back, then Haru's eyes devoured the image of his protruding clavicles, and the sudden tightness of Y/n's shirt against his chest.

And it was here, with Haru's pants suddenly feeling a bit tighter, that he had some clarity of thought: too much. Too much too soon. We've only agreed to be friends. I shouldn't be stripping him out of his blazer —