Old With You
.
.
.
We are just a couple of old men.
I often think this as we sit together, eating breakfast or reading on the couch (yes, I've become quite fond of books, despite my youthful struggles with the written word). Sometimes, you reach over to pat my arm lightly or give my shoulder a gentle squeeze, sweet reminders of your unwavering affection. I see the wrinkles in your fingers, the heavy veins running across the bones, but they are still the same cool, large hands to me, hands that reached out and hugged me, lifted me up and caressed me gently.
I've looked twice at my reflection in the mirror, wondering when I got so many gray hairs, so many lines on my face. I still see my boyish self in my eyes, bright and green just like when I was a young man. And when I smile (thank goodness we both still have our teeth), I don't seem quite so crusty. But the years are written on my flesh, and on yours.
But they were years we spent together, so I wouldn't have it any other way.
You still do unexpected things for me, to me. Just the other day you joined me in the bathtub, nearly sloshing all of the water in the process, but you made me laugh so much, your long legs spilling out over the sides, your arms wrapped tight around me. You kissed my neck and told me I was beautiful. You held my hand and brought it to your lips.
You still collect odd things, though most of your old toys and stuffed bears went to Takahiro's children, and then his grandchildren. You're a lot like your father used to be in that regard, latching on to the strangest of trinkets and buying them en masse (I still have one of those ridiculous bear statues. Five fish at once?). I can still remember when Usami Fuyuhiko visited us after I was officially adopted by you, a congratulatory bouquet and card in hand. I was so happy for you, for us. I was a useless ball of waterworks, all bows and thank-yous, while you just smiled serenely and shook hands with the older man. I know you miss him sometimes.
You use a cane now, which somehow only makes you seem more dignified and lordly. Your legs get stiff at times, so you don't always use it around the house, but it's sleek black pole and silver plated top are perfect for your book signings and other award-winning author events. I don't think you like me seeing you in a weaker state when you have to employ it, but I would love you even if you couldn't walk at all.
You've grown fond of cooking with me. I like seeing you scrunch up your eyes in concentration as you measure ingredients or stir a mixture to the proper level of fluffiness. Your smug expression when you stand back triumphant to gaze upon your finished product makes me think you're twenty-eight all over again. You still like to sneak up behind me while I'm manning the stove or cutting vegetables, but it's a slower, softer approach, your hands coming around my stomach to hold me tenderly, your chin resting on my shoulder.
I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.
You still whisper words of love to me at night, your voice rumbling, low, unchanged from when you first held me. Only my name has changed. "Usami Misaki…" The possessive note as you call my full name sends shivers down my spine. Our passion is quieter now, but deep and rooted like a mighty tree. I look back at my embarrassment as a young man coming face-to-face with your unstoppable love and unwavering devotion and wish I had been more honest with you sooner. No longer do I hold back from returning your embraces, your kisses, your smiles. Those days of trying to hide my love are far behind.
I still remember the first day I called you Akihiko. Neither of us left the bedroom that day.
My life has been complete because of you.
It's been a lazy Sunday afternoon. The sun is just now peeking out from behind the clouds that have crowded the blue sky for most of the day. You're lying on the long couch, a book tented on your chest, fingers laced over your stomach. I watch your chest rise and fall, your snores soft and oddly comforting. I lean down over you, reaching out to move your silvery-white bangs off of your brow. I plant a kiss on your forehead, relishing the heat of your skin.
"Usagi-san…" I murmur by your ear, and I can't wait to see your violet eyes open to meet mine.
We are just a couple of old men.
Happy, in love, old men.
.
.
.
What I love about these two is that I can easily picture them growing old together. Much love for this adorable couple. Let me know what you think! &Niiroke&