Mondo found himself pressing his back to the wall cautiously to avoid making his presence known, soaking up the sounds of his ridiculously prudish roommate restraining gasp after moan behind the structure he leaned against, sounds that went contrary to his reputation as a morally rigid stick-in-the-mud. If only someone would tell him how utterly engrossed he looked, eyes wide and glazed over like he had discovered sex for the first time. Was it stranger that there was no moment of natural doubt in what was going on in there? Were the unfamiliar noises you wouldn't expect out if Kiyotaka actually familiar after all?

Fuck.

This really bothered and upset him because he wasn't into that kind of stuff with other men and his bond with Kiyotaka wasn't like that. But he knew he had memories he couldn't access except by accident, and that was scary. What counted more was the certainty he had now, the fact that he knew better and could easily tell himself that there was no way this could happen, that he wasn't thinking about him that way and most definitely wasn't baffled in the slightest about this revelation. It was just an awkward moment he had been misinterpreting this entire time and it was by sheer coincidence alone that he returned to his room to find Kiyotaka taking care of business, which hey, was totally normal and healthy and he really shouldn't be getting so analytical, even if it was Kiyotaka.

The swelling content of his own pants woke him to the realization that it sure was Kiyotaka, all right. The thorniness of this situation just got untamably prickly for him. He panicked about the implications of each signal that sparked his body, like each time his voice rose in the silence it managed to stroke against his entire being, but not firmly enough to quell his growing anticipation. He was being tickled, teased, downright toyed with and there was nothing he could do about it. In some of these faltering moments, he second-guessed his preferences, mentally thumbed through instances spent with other guys and tried so hard to recall moments that could be construed as attraction and found way too many subtleties for his liking, so he resurfaced from those deep, dark waters and came back to an especially robust cry of pleasure.

How could anyone deny the jolt that shot through him after hearing that? For a short while, he let go of his immediate conscience and sunk down again without grasping onto any of his fears, mesmerized and succumbing to the ghostly sensations coursing through every inch of him.

This was getting stupid and dangerous and he was going to leave again so he could take a shower and forget all of this entirely, stuff it deep down into the overflowing trash bin of his often-neglected subconscious and go the fuck to sleep so he could wake up the next morning and pretend this weird night never existed at all. Then he could resume his life the way it was an hour or so ago. Everything came straight out of left field. How did this happen? What did this even mean for him? These kinds of thoughts would plague him until he fell asleep.