"Test results so that neither of us winds up having an embarrassing conversation with our doctors later? Can't exactly go the barriers route considering."

So yes STD test results. Fuck. He could have made those up with literally anyone else. "That is a good point that I have completely failed to consider," he admits.

"Well damn. I have the occasional irrationality but this is not actually one of them."

"Condoms and kissing cover most of it from the guiding perspective," he says, "and I can grab tests for next time." He would've loved to be more graceful about this, gah.

"Okay, I guess we can stop at the konbini on the way to my house, I don't have any."

"I do! I suppose I don't know your size—nor, for that matter, what you like to do, although I'm flexible."

"Well, one of those I will indicate in the konbini and the other I will indicate in my bedroom and neither of those are restaurant material despite the nonlocal language."

"Yes, sir." If they're both done he can get the attention of the waitress and pay for both of their orders.

"Oh, is it like that - hey, I was going to pick up the check -"

"Consider it my payment for being shown around."

"If you insist!" Off they go to the konbini, holding hands.

It takes him by surprise again before he remembers that Haru is Canadian. And maybe it's less of a big deal nowadays, anyway; he's importing his instincts from the last time he ever held hands with anyone which was, actually, kind of a while ago.

Off to the konbini.

If someone gives them a hard time that cannot be managed by simply not giving a fuck about stupid people's opinions, Haru will pick up Jaeha and fly away! He doesn't fly frivolously because nobody's usually available to fuck sense into him afterwards but it's an emergency option!

Condoms are got with a minimum of interest from the proprietor and then it will be a six-stop subway ride, not everyone has as much teleportation ability sloshing around as Korea, Home Of The Best Teleporter On The Planet And Not Because The Better Ones Are On Mars.

...no it won't, what.

He points his index and middle fingers forward and slides them down in the air to make the holographic commscreen appear. "Give me your address?"

"I already let you pay for snacks!" Haru says, but it's a mock protest, he produces the address.

This is substantially more expensive than the snacks.

He could do this several times a day every day for weeks before he started to feel it. Throwing money around is one of many good ways to get boys to like you.

They teleport.

"Tadaima!" Haru calls, letting himself in.

The cat glides down the stairs, alights, and assesses Jaeha.

Ah, right. The judgmental cat. He will do his best to be liked and bow to the cat.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cricket-san. I am Kang Jaeha."

"You reek," pronounces the cat.

Blink blink. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be, it's all your own fault. You will deserve all the cancer." Off he trots into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about him."

...ah. Because he's a smoker. Right.

"I should have seen this one coming."

"You won't deserve the cancer but you do have the power to reduce the risk!" chirps Haru, tugging Jaeha by their joined hands up the stairs. Haru values his sanity too much to be highly paid for an esper but he did manage to buy his mom a nice non-shoebox sufficiently central to Tokyo for her tastes.

His room might offer more clues about what he's into for Jaeha's perusal! There is a bookshelf; it's got classics from the complete works of Shakespeare to the tale of Genji, and some science fiction. It's got a computer, with a screenshot of Civilization-but-modded-so-it's-fantasy up as the desktop wallpaper. The closet, left halfway open, showcases clothes that are all just about as boring and Western as the ones he's already wearing, but also a yukata in indigo shibori. The bed will be snug but it's a full, not a twin, so they won't be pushing each other onto the floor by accident, and it's got a quilt on it that looks like a souvenir from India or someplace. There is a rug covering most of the floor and it feels squashy, like it's got an unusually thick rug pad under it, and the corners of his desk have foam things glued on them like people get to prevent their toddlers bonking their heads. The curtains are closed and too thick to see much through. The walls are painted dark blue, like the way his eyes look in certain lighting conditions, but the ceiling is white and there's plenty of light to compensate for how the color is trying to eat it up.