Work Text:
They wind up on the rooftop of Nemuri's apartment building, which is nice. Feels appropriate, even if it's just the two of them. Just her and Shirakumo.
Nemuri's never been all the way up here. The view of the skyline is kinda ass – too many buildings in the way – but the sky itself is not too bad at all. Pretty, even. A nice, deep shade of past-midnight blue. Starless, of course, this deep into the city, though with enough moons swimming through that vast depth to make up for it.
That last chug of Soju may have been a bad call.
Not that Nemuri's about to admit that. She is, however, about to throw up.
Or maybe not. Maybe she's good, actually. Yeah.
"I'm great," she informs Shirakumo.
"You sure are, senpai."
Nemuri giggles. That last chug of Soju was a great call. It's settled now that she's horizontal, lazing adrift on one of Shirakumo's clouds. She feels sweet with it. "This is why you're my favorite," she tells Shirakumo.
Somewhere beside her, Shirakumo laughs. "Liar," he says, light as the breeze blowing past their brick-and-concrete alcove. "Hizashi's your favorite."
He's not wrong, exactly - they're all her favorite. Yamada's just easy pickings, because he's all Yamada about everything. It's easy with Yamada.
Aizawa's easy, too, in a way. Sad, wet kitten that he is. She could just pick him up, put him in her pocket, poke at him until he bites. It's enrichment for him.
Shirakumo, though. She's not sure what to do about Shirakumo. Well. She knows what she wants to do about Shirakumo – or rather, with – and to – Shirakumo. She's just not so sure she should do it, because, you see, Shirakumo is an idiot, and too sweet by half, besides.
She's not about to say all that, though, no matter how sweet that Soju sits in her gut.
"Oh?" she says instead. "Are you jealous?"
"Not gonna lie," says Shirakumo, about to lie: "I'm a little jealous."
Nemuri snorts. "No, you're not." He wasn't jealous when she made out with Yamada right in front of his face earlier, and he's not jealous now.
"I did say 'a little.'" He laughs. A cloud materializes in the sky above his outstretched fingers; it splits into two cherubic halves, which go dancing around and around and around each other until Nemuri has to look away, or risk puking. "What can I say?” he adds. “I'm not really the jealous type."
See? An idiot.
"Everyone's the jealous type," Nemuri informs him, as if he needs it. "That's how people work." Even repressed little weirdos like Aizawa, and oblivious fools like Yamada. Those two deserve each other, really. Good for them.
"Does that mean you're the jealous type?" Shirakumo says. He's teasing, but the joke's on him.
"Oh, yeah," Nemuri returns easily, "I'm a monster."
Shirakumo splutters; his two waltzing clouds burst apart into the atmosphere. "No, you're not!" he laughs, aghast.
She turns on her side to look at him, and notices, for the first time, that they're sharing the same cloud, and are so close she can't even look him in the eye properly. She looks at his nose, instead, and at that stupid little bandage he always has plastered on the bridge of it, and she reaches out and pinches it, lightly, between a thumb and a forefinger. "I'm the most toxic bitch in town, honey."
"You know what, senpai?" he says, and he gets up on an elbow, and he looks at her with those eyes of his – bluer and clearer than any morning she's ever known. "I don't believe that."
"Well, that's because you're an idiot," she coos, and pinches his cheek. Then she turns her back to him, leans over the side of their cloud, and hurls. The Soju is nowhere near as sweet coming out as it was going in.