Gokudera starts collecting doubts while he’s in the shower.
It takes him longer than he expected before he starts worrying. He made it through dinner, after all, and after dinner provided more than enough distraction from the immediate concern. But he thinks of it again while he’s rinsing the unfamiliar scent of Yamamoto’s shampoo from his hair, and the entire time he’s ruffling the strands dry after, and by the time he emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his hips and damp hair around his shoulders he’s all but determined.
“I should go home,” he starts as he pushes the door open to the bedroom, and then he sees Yamamoto and for a breath everything stalls silent in his head. Yamamoto is sprawled across the bed in just his boxers, a pillow crushed against his chest and another supporting the ruffled locks of ink-black hair. He’s not even under the covers; there’s just gold-tanned skin and colorful tattoos spread out over the rumpled fabric, an arm thrown wide over the remaining space and an ankle hanging over the edge of the bed to tell of his preferred sleeping arrangement.