"I want to wake up with a bag of cream puffs in my face, because you're a morning person and I'm not. I'll help you style your clothes, because you have the fashion sense of a Power Ranger. I'm not letting you go to work early though – obviously, I'll be needy for attention. It's alright, I'll be sure to make our kiss worth your umpteenth apology to your coworkers. During the weekends, let's watch the trashiest movies and throw popcorn at the screen – and then before we know it, we'll be in bed, and you know. I want that kind of love."
1. Cherry Blossoms, Bad Hair Days
Age 15, freshman at Aoba Johsai, Hanamaki Takahiro is suffering from a bad hair day.
Well, he did fall asleep in his mount of pillows when his hair was still dripping wet from the shower. Hanamaki always makes such smart decisions.
Clearly, that was not one of them, as witnessed in his cracked mirror in the morning. His bubblegum pink hair was sticking out in the queerest directions, and if his hair was a tad bit longer, he could've fixed it into a fine afro.
But Takahiro isn't a very appearance-dedicated individual. He sprays his hair with water and pats it down at best, and exits his apartment. Bad hair days never killed anyone historically, or at least he assumes so.
Contrasting to his hideous hair, the cherry blossom trees of Aoba Johsai are breathtaking. Hanamaki never possessed the identical adoration towards the flowers as his mother, who worked as the local florist – but he admits, that this scenery is quite pleasing. The trees aren't lanky or too tall, but just a few meters above his head, the flowers blooming and some petals falling along the lines of the spring breeze.
"Uh."
Amidst his silent fascination, a baritone voice jerks Hanamaki out of his trance. He almost feels stupid for just standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping at trees.
The owner of the 'hella-sexy' voice has bushy eyebrows, and is evidently hovering over Takahiro. Mr. Bushy Eyebrows points at his own hair, which seems to be naturally curly. "You have a petal. In your hair."
He stopped just to tell me I have a dumb petal in my hair? "Oh, thanks." What a nice dude. He blindly brushes at his hair, hoping the petal would flutter away on its own. Bushy Eyebrows awkwardly stares at him, and Hanamaki isn't sure what else he's supposed to respond with. He's also wearing Seijoh's uniform – which indicates they're headed in the same direction. "Is it off now?"
"Yeah." That is one deep voice he's got. "Are you going to Aoba Johsai?" Such stiff questions, Hanamaki dumbly acknowledges – this is why he didn't talk to strangers.
Regardless, he nods, "You too?"
"I guess you can say that."
"You're a first year, right?"
"Mm."
Hanamaki marvels at the thought of befriending someone beforehand – perhaps, he wouldn't need to awkwardly search for a table and a group to sit with during lunch. "Hanamaki Takahiro. You?"
"Matsukawa Issei."
Issei. He repeats the name internally – and suppresses a goofy smile as the name suits the other boy too well. "Your personality follows your name."
Matsukawa glances over him. "You think?"
"Yeah. Maybe I'll just call you The Silent One in the hallways whenever I see you."
Issei pauses, and seems to imagine the idea. "So I get to call you Flowers, then."
"You literally just took the 'Hana' part, that's not fair!"
At that, Matsukawa breaks into a throaty laugh – one that causes Hanamaki to shake from the inside. The former extends his large hand onto Takahiro's hair, and then gently sweeps over the locks. Hanamaki freezes at the action, and hopes his face isn't hot pink or anything.
"You had another petal. I guess I missed it because your hair's pink." Matsukawa stops, then smirks, "Or maybe it's just your wild hairdo."
Hanamaki writes a mental note to himself to actually care about his Bad Hair Days a little more in the future.
(Or not, because he kind of likes it when Matsukawa touches his hair.)
2. Sweaty Volleyballs, 4 Centimeters
Hanamaki and Matsukawa are not in the same homeroom, but they quickly discover that they are both affiliated with the volleyball club. For Hanamaki, he simply chose it because he played in middle school – not from a very strong school, but nevertheless volleyball all the same.
"That's Oikawa and Iwaizumi from Kita Ichi, right?"
"Seems so."
"Shit, we have some seriously dependable teammates." Hanamaki shudders as Oikawa's overhand serve forms a 'slam' equivalent to a spike. Beside him, Matsukawa doesn't react much more than flinch, his narrow eyes widening just an inch. Iwaizumi, also from Kita Ichi, claps Oikawa on the back and grins.
Practice cascades right in, with introductions towards upperclassmen and some inspirational words from the coach. The pink-haired boy immediately notes, that this was the true level of a powerhouse. Seijoh had no flaws or extra movements – it wasn't a joke when some dramatic news reporter labeled Seijoh's style as 'refined elites'.
I wonder if I'd be a regular someday. He inhales as he intensely bores his eyes into the Mikasa volleyball. Hanamaki was never a star player, but he is steady and persistent – he has confidence.
Determined, he tosses the ball up into the air and swings his arm, the ball whizzing past the net into a satisfactory corner. "Whew." He beams, and practice continues just like that.
It's about 10 minutes before the end, where the male feels his stamina, concentration, and determination alike deteriorating. He steals a wary glimpse around angles of the court, his ball rolling off to the left. Matsukawa is just in the middle of a jump serve, his back arching into a parabolic shape, thigh muscles rippling as his cheeks puff, spitting out the air when he hits the ball.
Hanamaki is in awe, as he zones out-
"HANAMAKI!"
He barely has anytime to process what is going on – but his instincts scream at him to move, because you're not supposed to daydream when you're on the court – a blur of yellow and blue spins in a few centimeters from his nose-
Then the scenery transforms, and a pained yelp escapes his lips, as his back crashes into a surface, the echo of a 'bam' resounding through the gym as Hanamaki coughs. Everything is silent, and Takahiro is slow to notice that the blazing blur of blue and yellow is now replaced with-
Fuck, it's Matsu-
"You know, you should really pay attention on the court."
His face is like 4 centimeters away from mine, holy shit-
"You're going to hurt yourself." Matsukawa warns dryly, as he detaches himself from the wall where he yanked and pinned down Hanamaki.
The latter haphazardly readjusts his uniform, and coughs, "Right. Thanks."
Matsukawa doesn't respond, and merely picks up the deserted volleyball that rolled to the corner.
His face, holy shit. Hanamaki's heart is about to implode. His eyes were so close, what even. Pressing the back of his hand to his nose, Hanamaki flushes pink, like his hair color. Somewhere in the background, his captain shouts at him to get his fucking feet moving. He obeys dreamily-
(Matsukawa's sweaty lips are kind of sexy.)
3. Training Camps, Courage Tests
"So, we're all set?"
"Captain, do we have to?"
"It's a Seijoh tradition, suck it up."
"Oikawa, you're banning this once you're captain."
"That's still another 2 years!"
Hanamaki exhales, and admires the moist puff of vapor that dissipates into the obscure darkness. It's their final winter of their freshman year, and here they were, at a training camp, in the mountains of Hokkaido for a courage test.
Weirdly enough, he's never had issues with ghosts, or the supernatural – even when he was a kid. Scary things were insects, heights, or people. Never ghosts for him.
"Childish, isn't it, Matsukawa?" He chuckles at an absolutely terrified Oikawa clinging to his partner (the one and only) Iwaizumi, as they prepared to enter. All they had to do was carve their name into a gigantic rock that had their upperclassmen's' as well – it was courage test exclusively for first years.
"Uh huh." Matsukawa murmurs in response, and Hanamaki pauses. Odd. Issei's skin seems to be a tad bit paler than average, his eyebrows furrowed into a minuscule crinkle – it's odd, and it makes Hanamaki paranoid.
"… You alright?"
"Yeah." The answer arrives at bullet-speed, which is an extremely scarce case for the laid back, lax boy. Again, it puts Hanamaki at unrest.
"Next, Matsukawa and Hanamaki."
Holding up the flashlight, Hanamaki trudges towards the rustling trees, while Matsukawa follows reluctantly behind him. They walk along the rocky pathway, accompanied by the eerie noises that surrounded them. A high-pitched screech is heard ahead, and Matsukawa stiffens.
The howling wind accelerates, the soft cold becoming fierce as the snow blew directly into their chilled clothes. Man, this is freezing. Hanamaki steals a wary glimpse at Matsukawa – he's kind of blue, isn't he? He inwardly cusses as he ascertains that indeed, Matsukawa looked like the least healthy person on Earth.
He lowers the flashlight, and immediately twists his attention to his best friend. "Issei, you're not okay."
Matsukawa is in a daze, as he has his arms wrapped around his own body. "… What?"
"I said, you're –" The snowy gush transforms into a harsh gust, and Hanamaki shivers. "Look, you're literally blue right now, and that can't be good. You should've just told the captain, or even me when I asked –"
Out of nowhere, a powerful surge from the snowstorm knocks the flashlight out of his hand, and the glimmering brightness slips past the forest and buries itself into the snow. Shit, gotta pick that up before the snow –
"Takahiro-"
He abruptly stops in an awkward crouching position amidst bending down for the flashlight. He had to – when Matsukawa was calling him so desperately. The taller male's fingers are already curled into Hanamaki's parka, trembling. Then, realization strikes Hanamaki.
"Issei." He cautiously names, his gloved hand around Matsukawa's. "I'm going to pick up the flashlight, okay? I'll hold onto your hand, so you can stay like that." Although he can't see how Matsukawa rejoins in the dark, the squeeze around his palm is a sufficient one. He finally resumes to crouching down to retrieve the fallen flashlight, and dusts away the remnants of snow.
Even when the light is back, Issei doesn't let go of Hanamaki's hand.
"Do you… want to go like this?" Hanamaki touches upon the suggestion, careful not to accidentally come off as offensive or degrading. Being afraid of the dark was something many people naturally possessed – Hanamaki knew since his little sister couldn't sleep without her night lamp and the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling.
Matsukawa's grasp loosens for a second, until he quickly tightens it again. "Yeah, that'd be… nice."
With that, Hanamaki pulls Matsukawa along the snow-covered path again, all the way to their destination.
(He secretly wants the journey to last a little longer, so he can hold on to that quivering warmth.)
4. Cream Puffs, Messy Eaters
"OHMYGODMATSUKAWAWENEEDTOEATTHAT-"
"… Makki, breathe."
"Wow, you're going Oikawa on me now?" He sticks his tongue out in ridicule, but soon reverts to his hyperactive self. "BUT WE NEED TO –"
Matsukawa lets out a languid sigh. "Yeah, I see them. The cream puffs."
"Then how the fuck are you not excited?"
"We just had practice. I don't have the appetite for heavy cream."
"Well, I do. You can watch me eat or something – you still need to return that favor for me paying for your cheese-filled hamburg steak." Matsukawa groans, but tags along anyway. He mutters something about 'never changing, even in their second year', but Hanamaki is far too elated to retort.
This is about cream puffs, after all.
"20 cream puffs, please!" He casually ignores the gaping waitress as she adds an extra '0' of the digit she imagined. He's relieved that he saved up his allowance – it was originally to buy a new phone, but you could purchase such gadgets anywhere. Cream puffs, on the other hand, were a delicacy. They have to be savored and revered.
The heap of cream puffs is served on a wide platter, and Matsukawa wrinkles. Hanamaki stuffs one into his mouth, then another – the cream, god. The mild sweetness and feathery taste is perfect, as well as this light, crunchy crust – he feels like melting into the seat. At that, Matsukawa's crinkled nose flattens out, as he shakes his head.
"That good?"
"Mm."
An accented laugh escapes Matsukawa, as he just watches Hanamaki eat. For some reason, Hanamaki noticed that the middle blocker enjoyed staring at him when he was wolfing down food, whether that was a bento or a box of juice. Normally, he'd find it embarrassing, but he was currently too immersed in grabbing a cream puff and shoving it into his mouth.
"Wait, 'Hiro." Matsukawa pulls two tissues from the cutesy yellow container. He gently wipes the cream around Hanamaki's lips, and brushes the crumbs away from his chin. "You're such a messy eater."
Hanamaki huffs, as he pops the last cream puff into his opened mouth. "And you're such a mom."
(He mentally comments, and maybe I do it on purpose.)
5. Petty Arguments, Nightmares
It was a stupid fight.
Literally, it was just a fucking practice match. Well sure, it wasn't just a practice match, it was a practice match right after they lost to Shiratorizawa again – everyone was on edge, their upperclassmen gloomy and bitter, not yet overcoming their defeat. Hanamaki had lost them a point on the second set – probably a lot more – and perhaps, the anxiety from the semi-finals of the Spring Tournament set him off. As a result, he and Matsukawa got into a brawl – a really petty one, too.
It wasn't as if Matsukawa had said it with the intention to insult Hanamaki's skills. Hanamaki knew that much. I'll apologize tomorrow. He grunted, as he changed into his T-shirt and shorts and crawled into bed. The nervous black hole in his gut didn't disappear, and his mind was clouded with concern as he tossed and turned in the bed.
"I don't need you, Takahiro."
His clammy eyes snapped open, as he bolted upright on the mattress, sweating cold and quavering, his fingers clawing at the sheets as he choked. Breathing hitched, he felt as if someone was applying pressure to his chest, sucking the energy out of his system. Can't – he wasn't sure if the substance trailing down his cheek and hitting his palm was sweat or tears, as he slapped his sheets for his phone. He dialed the familiar shortcut number in frantic frenzy, trying his best not to be overwhelmed by the panic attack.
The first ring passed by, and Hanamaki was about to faint – what if Issei didn't pick up, what if the dream was actually reality, what if it wasn't a nightmare –
"… Hanamaki?"
Just hearing him wasn't enough. Hanamaki's slippery clutch around his phone shuddered, as he inhaled at uneven tempos.
"Hanamaki, are you aware that it is fucking 3 in the morning?"
No, he wasn't. Matsukawa sounded clearly irritated – he was a morning person, but not this early in the morning. Guilt throbbed at Hanamaki's stomach, as he used his free hand to support his wobbly wrist with his phone. "I –" He spat, but another wave of tears swept over – he wasn't sure if the source was relief from heeding Matsukawa's voice, or just plain fear. Just vocalizing his thoughts were challenging enough.
Matsukawa didn't utter another word for a few seconds that literally felt like hours to Hanamaki. He jumped to the conclusion that the former hung up on him, and panic consumed his sanity.
"'Hiro, are you okay?" But one came right after, and Hanamaki tipped to the side as he heard Matsukawa. "Takahiro, answer me." Urging from the other side, the low rumble of Issei echoed in his ear.
"Just," His brain was struggling to find words – or to even form a coherent sentence. "I'm sorry."
"… You called me at 3 A.M. to apologize?"
"Take it or fucking throw it out the window, you asshole." A weak hiccup in between his rejoinder, Hanamaki sensed his anxiety gradually evaporating. Matsukawa chortled over the line, and that caused the tension in his back to relax.
"I'm sorry too. And –" Takahiro closes his eyelids, and allows to be engulfed in momentary black. He just wants it to be him and Matsukawa for a second – not his room, not the bed, no nothing but just him and Matsukawa.
"-I'm here, Takahiro."
Something blossomed in his heart, as he whispered, "Yeah," and hung up.
('I'm here, Issei,' he desires to tell him someday.)
6. Break Ups, Reasoning
"I broke up with my girlfriend."
"… What the fuck, dude."
"True story. Happened 3 minutes and 25- wait, 26 seconds ago."
Hanamaki almost spurts the milk in his mouth as Matsukawa states his break up like announcing a test score. Matsukawa had accepted a confession of consisting of an adorable girl with a heated face and handwritten love letter just last month – and despite Hanamaki and his obsession, he didn't have the right to stop his best friend from what he wanted. But that was only two weeks ago, and Hanamaki was still in the middle of getting over it.
"Why?"
Matsukawa blinks, his expression blank. "Why?" He repeats the question, like what the hell. "I mean… she dumped me, though."
"Well, damn, then look a little more crestfallen so I can hit you or something as a sign of broship and a single life."
"I'm not really… heartbroken, though." As he organizes his belongings, Matsukawa shrugs. The sun is setting outside, and pretty much they were the only ones on campus. Matsukawa's girlfriend told him that she wanted to talk – so Hanamaki promised to wait, and now this. "She was cute, I guess."
Hanamaki snorts. "You guess." She was definitely cute – her makeup wasn't too overdone, her height was slightly below average, her hair was pulled high up into a messy bun and well, she had… a sized rack, and curves. All the boys in their grade were dying to go out with her just once – not like Hanamaki was ever interested, considering his sexual disposition. He'd finished some of his research about her – and she sounded like a nice, prim and proper kind of girl.
"She told me that I…" Hesitant, Matsukawa rubs the back of his neck. "I wasn't committed to the relationship as much as she was."
"What, is this another Oikawa issue?" Oikawa always had a chick wrapped around his arm – but constantly broke up with every single one of them because 'he wasn't committed to the relationship'. It was obvious enough that apart from volleyball, the girls had another insurmountable obstacle – Iwaizumi. Not that Oikawa or Iwaizumi knew.
"Nah, she didn't bring up volleyball – she was pretty understanding about that aspect, because she's pretty passionate about tea, too." Right, and she was in the International Tea Research Club. "It was more about my attitude. I'm not focused or something."
"Heartbreaker Matsukawa Issei, now born here."
"Motherfucker." Matsukawa shoots, but grins. "You can remain single for the rest of your life."
"Wow, motherfucker."
(I wouldn't be if you asked me out, inner Hanamaki chimes.)
7. Bus Rides, Shoulder Pillows
"Alright, Oikawa, make sure everyone's here."
"They are, coach!"
"Count properly, you brat."
"I swear they are!"
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, and Hanamaki sniggered. Oikawa was still pretty new to this whole 'captain' role, and it was pretty hilarious to see him charismatic in matches but flustered out of them. Matsukawa was seated next to him, the two new first years sitting behind them – Kindaichi and Kunimi from Kita Ichi, if he remembered correctly. They had promising, trustworthy newcomers for their future, even after their retirement – it meant Hanamaki and his volleyball career was nearing its finale.
It was kind of sad, really.
Retirement meant graduation, and graduation meant university. His entrance ceremony to Aoba Johsai didn't seem like an eternity ago, but yesterday – but the end was close. And the end of Hanamaki Takahiro's volleyball tied closely with –
"Want one?"
A bag of barbeque potato chips was pushed into his face, as Matsukawa offered them, his own cheeks puffed with snacks. Hanamaki's wonders temporarily vanished into thin air, as he laughed aloud, delightfully accepting them.
His head easily fell to his right, leaning on Matsukawa's broad shoulders. They weren't massively comparable when it came to height, but Matsukawa had a stronger build. All those blocking practices over the years really paid off. Whilst his irises bobbing along the bumps of the road, he dozed off into light sleep, the sturdy stature of Matsukawa lulling him into comfort.
Around ten minutes passed, when his body jerked upward and then to the front, as the bus collided with a rather elevated bump. Nearly reflexively opening his eyes, Hanamaki pressed his feet down to the surface – until Matsukawa's rough hand cradled his head, and placed it back on his shoulder.
"I'll make sure you don't die, so get some sleep." He mumbled, his long fingers sliding down Hanamaki's hair as he ruffled them.
"Reassuring." His reply was muffled into Matsukawa's clothed shoulder, as he wriggled further towards the male for more warmth. Issei sniffed, and wrapped relenting arm around Hanamaki's waist, pulling him closer to his side.
(I hope this isn't another best friend thing, Hanamaki wistfully dreams.)
8. Defeat, Last Game
Oikawa's outstretched arms don't fully receive the spiked ball.
The ball hits the wooden floor of the court.
It's over.
A hollow sensation empties Hanamaki, as his fists unclench, a sudden chillness overflowing within.
It's over.
It's over.
Iwaizumi is standing by the sidelines, his back hunched as he shakes uncontrollably. Hanamaki can already comprehend his thoughts – they knew each other for too long. He slaps him on the back and goes to thank the cheering squad, and bows down.
It's over.
The fact doesn't come by as swift as he thought. Even as he stumbles past his crying underclassmen, even as he witnesses Iwaizumi harming himself by slamming his fist into the nearby wall, even as he glances one last time at the scoreboard, and even as he gazes at the sobbing Karasuno members-
It doesn't seem real.
The volleyball left his hands.
And it'll never be back.
The tears flow – he technically understands – that it's done. But he doesn't. His stomach is still hollow, like someone dug a hole in it. He drags himself out of the corridor and stands there, lost. He wipes away the tears with his arm, but they keep flowing. He isn't even sure why.
Then, he sees Matsukawa.
The boy is crying. He's never seen Matsukawa cry – not in the 3 years he knew him. His orbs aren't glassy in a pretty crystal kind of way – but they are red and bloodshot, swollen with frustration, regret, and –
Their eyes meet.
And then it sweeps over him-
It's over.
"Fuck," Hanamaki chokes, "fuck." His knees feel weak, and he isn't sure if there's actually a floor beneath him. The hollowness morphs into something wilder, something out of Hanamaki's control – and it scares him, as he cries. "Issei," He sobs pitifully, his fists digging into his partner's damp shirt. "Issei."
Wordlessly, Matsukawa exhales a jittery breath, his own hands scratching against Hanamaki's sides. "Fuck." Matsukawa admits, as he gives into the crook of Hanamaki's neck. "This is hard."
"Not like it was ever easy."
"Right. But it's actually over for us."
For us. Hanamaki dawns upon the fact. "Yeah."
"We have talented underclassmen."
"Kyoutani is something."
"You're right." Matsukawa still hugs him tight, his lips moving against Hanamaki's skin. "But you're something, too."
"What do you want? Cheese-filled hamburgs?" Hanamaki's kind of thankful that they just had an intense game – because or else, the fast beating of his heart and his flushed face wouldn't be explained.
"You." Matsukawa licks a droplet of sweat off the curve of his neck – as Oikawa exclaims their name in the hall, Hanamaki's pulse rate explodes exponentially.
(Definitely not a best friend thing, Hanamaki is certain.)
9. Proper Confessions, Proposals
He's standing in front of the usual cherry blossom road of Seijoh, for one last time as a student in a uniform.
The last day of school is just downright fucking weird, that he doesn't have to wake up to an alarm clock for a while, or that he's not going to be in some elementary, middle, or high school but university – everything's so out of place.
He had just congratulated the long-awaited confession of Iwaizumi to Oikawa – which involved much volleyball, crying, and aliens. Don't ask why. All their underclassmen were so officially done, and even their coaches – damn, their publicity though. Hanamaki swore that's some kind of sick kink right there.
He inhales the scent of cherry blossoms. They have a faint smell – but it's surely there.
The first day he met Matsukawa, he had a bad hair day and petals stuck in his cowlicks.
Now, his hair was smoothened and calm, no petals to brush off and smile at.
But then, well – Matsukawa… licked him.
Maybe it's not the time to gossip about other people's sick kinks.
His face heats up at the memory, his fingers tracing the line where it occurred. It felt fucking nice, that Hanamaki honestly believed he had to conceal a boner from Oikawa or something.
"You're pink."
Hanamaki sputters at the voice, and jumps two steps backward. Matsukawa throws his head into the blossoms and snickers, in his hand a large box. "That's rude." Manages the pink-haired boy, still rattled.
His thick eyebrows as prominent as he first saw them, Matsukawa reminisces, "Your hair was a fucking joke when I first met you."
"Can you not say a sentence like that with such dramatic flair?"
"Sorry, it's a natural talent."
"Uh huh."
Matsukawa's smile softens, as he runs his fingers through Hanamaki's silky hair. "Can I lick you?"
"Like I said –"
"Joking, joking." He stops the action, and gets down to one knee on the petal-dotted cement. "Now the real thing."
Slowly lifting the lid of the paper box, a waft of sweet, freshly baked-kind of aroma filled the vicinity, as Matsukawa's lazy smile just grew – along with Hanamaki's eyes.
"Hanamaki Takahiro, will you go out with me?"
A box of cream puffs – definitely fucking more than just twenty – filled the paper box, along with a sticky note inside that had a heart scribbled in red marker.
"Holy shit," Hanamaki breathed, "Marry me."
Matsukawa paused, and then burst out as he cackled with joy.
"Gladly."
10. Finale
Fuck, fuck, fuck- Hanamaki was at his limit, as Matsukawa thrust madly inside of him, his rhythm ragged and furious, as he grunted and growled into Hanamaki's spine. As each firm pound violated his prostrate with fiery precision, a scream tore out of his lungs, his vision blurring white –
"Hiro, I'm –"
"'Sei, I want to come –"
With a sagged breath, Hanamaki scraped his elbows against the bed, the friction scalding his skin as his mouth hung open in silent pleasure, his hips jerking as he came and saw white. Matsukawa pulled out of him and groaned, dropping next to him on the mattress. Hanamaki's lower abdomen still shook from the sheer intensity, as Hanamaki panted, his forehead matted with his bangs.
"You're so damn amazing." Matsukawa complimented, his voice hoarse and wasted.
"Says the fucking amazing one."
"Well, you did come like 4 times."
"You were counting."
"Always."
Hanamaki rolled over, as he stared into Matsukawa's thin eyes. "You're so fucking weird. I love you."
His boyfriend (husband, whatever) kissed him, as they scooted closer. "I love you too."
Takahiro sighed languorously, and started, "You know, I always thought that I want to wake up with a bag of cream puffs in my face, because you're a morning person and I'm not. I'll help you style your clothes, because you have the fashion sense of a Power Ranger. I'm not letting you go to work early though – obviously, I'll be needy for attention. It's alright, I'll be sure to make our kiss worth your umpteenth apology to your coworkers. During the weekends, let's watch the trashiest movies and throw popcorn at the screen – and then before we know it, we'll be in bed, and you know. I want that kind of love." He grinned at Issei. "Do you like that?"
"Fuck," The other bites down on his lip, "I love that."
"I know."
I want this kind of love.