His hands are on his hips and he isn’t sure what to think about that.

It’s not like this is something they do often, something they do every day just for the thrill of not being caught by prying eyes and the excitement of doing something they’re aren’t supposed to—but they do it often enough. Often enough for there to be questions and often enough for someone to cast them a suspicious glance, but nobody really knows what they’re doing. How could they?

For all they know, they could just be doing what normal twins do. They could be switching places with each other. They could be playing pranks on their friends. They could be doing anything but this, but it’s not something anyone else would ever figure out.

Nobody would ever figure out about the way Roxas’ hands are on his hips or the way he would occasionally press his lips against the edge of his jaw, just to see him squirm and just to hear him whine. It was something Roxas tried to make him do often. He liked to hear his twin whimper and he liked to hear his twin whine.

Maybe this is becoming a problem.

Maybe they should be doing things normal twins do, instead of having Ven’s arms wrapped around his brother’s neck as Roxas kept pressing every little button, getting every little reaction while providing all too little of his own. Maybe they’re too far gone and maybe they should be worried about themselves, but they never do. They never do because Roxas’ hands are still on Ven’s hips and he still doesn’t know what to think about that. They still don’t know about that.

But it’s ok, isn’t it?

It’s ok, because nobody will ever know.