[wip amnesty] old kuraharuzono

[polygon]

Kenta's been awake for three hours, and it already feels like it's been half a day. Up at four-thirty to be on a shuttle bus by five to board the six-something Hakata Shinkansen to Tokyo, with Haruichi's mountain of luggage and Yoichi running on a hangover and a half hour of sleep in tow, and the last time he remembers being this tired was when they were moving into the apartment. He almost wishes they'd sprung for Green Car seats, because then he could put himself in the free aisle seat and leave Haruichi and Yoichi to each other (they deserve it, in his opinion). Instead he'd taken one look at Yoichi, the last of yesterday's eyeliner still smudged at their lashes, and Haruichi's fingers tapping the corner of his phone, and he'd pushed his way in between them over Haruichi's complaining. It's too damn early, he'd said, and that was true - Haruichi's such a morning person it's tiring for him, let alone Yoichi.

It's now seven thirty. Yoichi is a solid sleeping weight against his arm, Haruichi has flipped through the same magazine half a dozen times, and he kind of needs to pee, but he's not moving until at least eight unless someone's set him on fire.

Or, at least, that was the plan, until the kids two or three rows can't settle their argument fast enough not to pull the weight on his shoulder away with a mumble, and Haruichi leans forward, forearms on Kenta's knee, to look at them. "Good morning," he says, "your headache gone yet?"

"Like hell it is," Yoichi complains, dragging their sock feet up on their seat and pushing back to resettle their weight.