Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Gen’s voice is silky smooth, each word a pur, every bit like the smug man he is. No one would ever guess that he’s had at least three mugs of wine, going on four, with how normal he is acting.

When he turned up to your hut, disheveled from the day with a gleam in his eyes, he had said that Senku went crazy, producing as much alcohol as possible for revival fluid the past few weeks. He had taken more than enough for the two of you to drink the night away. 

“Mister Scientist and the rest of humanity can survive without a few bottles for the night. We can’t.”

You still don’t know what he meant by that.

His head rests in your lap, as the two of you lounge around the fire you had hastily built. Your back is pressed against a tree, sturdy. The support is very much a need with how boneless and weightless you feel. You probably had just as much to drink as Gen. Probably less, maybe more. You can’t recall.

You hum in late response, entirely too focused on how Gen is fiddling with your fingers on one hand, both of his hands pressing nonsensical shapes onto your palm. 

“We need to do this more often, dear.” 

“What? Have Senku yell at us for taking a bunch of things without asking?” 

He huffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve gone from point A all the way to point C.” 

After taking another sip, you set your mug down and run your free hand through his hair. You swear you feel him shiver as your fingers scrape lightly on his scalp. 

His face is flushed from the alcohol. A delicious shade of pink. You know you look no better, but you don’t care. Gen can tell you all about it after. 

“You’re missing point B.” His voice is low and wicked, he knows what you’re trying to avoid. He knows that you know he does. 

“Stupid Mentalist,” you whisper softly, “don’t you already know my answer?” 

He sits up. It’s slow and sudden at the same time, no doubt that both your heads are fuzzy.

Close.

You can smell the tang of the wine in his breath and the scent of something sweeter. Cola probably. He would drink that everyday if Senku allowed it. The drape of his yukata is skewed, slivers of skin. 

Your hand moves to cup his face, thumb tracing the jagged scar. Half to help steady him as he swayed in front of you, and half to make sure he doesn’t get any closer. If he did, then you don’t think you could hold back the urge to press him a kiss, hold back from losing yourself in him.

He stares into you intently. You still haven’t answered him properly. Even with his addled brain, he’s still as sharp as ever. 

Gen plants one hand on the ground near your hip and the other moves to clutch your free hand, leaning ever closer to you. You can’t look away from him. His lips are red from the wine. 

“We should do this more often.”

“Yeah… we should.”

He looks pleased at your breathless answer, eyes crinkling the slightest. Throat bobbing, Gen inches closer and closer until your lips meet. 

He kisses you. It’s a hair hesitant, but it’s been a while like he had said. 

You kiss him back, hand shifting to the back of his neck, urging to not stop. You’ve missed this.

You’ve missed him.