Work Text:
After they finished their usual routine—
or, more accurately, after that infuriating block game finally granted a moment of mercy, allowing a long-overdue dinner date to slip into their schedule—
Claude and Leo set off on their usual post-meal walk, stopping by a convenience store to pick out the drinks they wanted for their late-night Valorant session.
Claude had to stay vigilant, making sure Leo didn’t sneak a few pouches of nutritional jelly into the basket—
the kind he’d later justify as
“I already ate something very healthy today, full of vitamins and fiber,”
whenever he was too lazy to go out or too tired to eat properly.
Meanwhile, Leo had to physically tug Claude away from the protein powder aisle, preventing the man—who hadn’t been able to go to the gym in far too long—from staring longingly at each container like a lover separated by fate.
Like two high school boys just released from cram school, they pulled each other back and forth through the aisles.
By the time they finally drifted toward the checkout counter, a familiar box of cookies caught their eyes at the same moment.
Both of them froze.
And thanks to finely honed tacit understanding, neither needed to say a word to know they shared the same thought.
Leo reached out first.
He grabbed the box, lifted it between them, and swung it lightly with a crooked grin.
“Thought I heard someone wasn’t afraid of a challenge?”
“Oh? Hoping I’ll tell you how soft your lips are?”
FPS players never limit their battles to the screen; their real-life verbal sparring is just as intense.
They kept bickering while fighting over who got to pay, neither willing to concede an inch. The small Pocky box ended up tucked between an elbow and someone’s ribs alongside their drinks as they slung their arms over each other’s shoulders and walked out of the store.
They headed straight back to Leo’s place.
After hanging up their jackets and setting their drinks by the desk, the two of them sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor and turned to look at each other.
Neither spoke.
Which made the sound of opening the box—then tearing the inner wrapper—absurdly loud in the quiet room.
Leo picked up a single biscuit stick, bit one end, and wiggled it playfully between his teeth in a wordless challenge.
Claude only shrugged—
then leaned in and took the other end between his own teeth, closing the distance inch by inch toward his best friend.
Their noses brushed.
Their eyes finally lifted from the ever-shrinking biscuit to meet each other—
and right at the crucial moment of deciding whether to tilt their heads and go in for the next bite—
Both of them burst out laughing.
The biscuit snapped instantly from the sudden movement.
They laughed so hard they could barely breathe. Claude almost toppled into the wall.
When they finally calmed down—realizing it wasn’t fear or clumsiness stopping them, and definitely not lack of courage—they tried again.
And again…
they dissolved into helpless laughter the moment their noses bumped and their eyes met, this time laughing so violently they were pounding on the floor that the downstairs neighbor would complain, desperately trying to muffle themselves.
After a long struggle to regain composure, they settled back into their shared shoulder-to-shoulder position.
Each reached into the bag, pulled out a fresh stick, and tapped them together in the air like two crossed longswords before engaging in a very immature, very serious mock “duel.”
Only after their poor biscuit sticks were slightly mangled at the tips did they finally take a bite, still grinning at each other while they chewed.
And at the same time, without needing to say it aloud, the same thought passed through both their minds:
Yeah.
This kind of Pocky Game suits us better.