As was their custom every May the fourth, Imayoshi and Mitobe sat down to watch a Star Wars film. Sadly, with the day falling on a Wednesday in a year where every precious moment left available to Imayoshi was used up with National Team practice for the upcoming Olympics, they had to choose one film and be glad they had time for that.

There hadn't been much debate, Mitobe was, as always, willing to go along with whatever Imayoshi wanted, but that hadn't stopped the man with the glasses from having a conversation – mostly with himself – over which film to watch. "I just can't decide," he finally admitted, imploring Mitobe to make the final decision. The silent man reached into the pile of Blu-rays and took whichever was on top, hoping that it wasn't one of the prequels. If it was, he'd put it back.

"Empire Strikes Back," Imayoshi said, nodding. "Ya know that means I'll wanna watch Jedi when I get home tonight after practice. Ya gonna be alright with that?"

Mitobe smiled and put the disc into the player.

After about an hour, Imayoshi paused the movie for a bathroom break and Mitobe used the time as an excuse to move into the kitchen and prepare a snack. He took a carton of whole strawberries from the refrigerator, placing them in the sink. He washed and trimmed them, removing the little patches of white from the ends along with the leaves. He put each one in the egg slicer to save time and to keep the sweet little red fruits uniform and neat. As he lifted the last one from the contraption onto the plate, Imayoshi came up behind him and snatched a handful of the orderly slices, popping them into his mouth with a satisfied sigh.

"It's too bad strawberries are goin' outta season. These last beauties will hafta hold us over for a while."

That's what makes them so delicious, Mitobe thought. The less we can have something the more we want it. Of course, he wasn't thinking of strawberries, but the man he shared his life with through a series of rare moments together and far too many days apart.

"Don't get all nostalgic on me, Rin," Imayoshi warned. "After the Olympics are over, ya'll have me all ta yourself and ya'll be sick of me in no time."

No, no I won't, Mitobe thought, letting the feelings reflect in his eyes.

"If ya keep lookin' at me like that, we'll never get through the movie," Imayoshi warned, his eyes opening a sliver to match the toothy smirk that spread across his face. He backed Mitobe against the counter and put his hands on the taller man's hips. "What do ya say? Maybe we watch the end of the movie after I get home from practice?"

Mitobe batted him away playfully, but then noticed the sticky red fingerprints he'd left behind on Imayoshi's shirt. He sighed, thinking of a dozen ways he'd learned to get fruit-based stains out of his sibling's clothing. He hadn't planned on doing laundry today, but of course, that didn't matter now. He leaned his forehead on the heel of his palm and exhaled loudly.

"It's only a shirt, Rin, it's not a tragedy."

But Mitobe wasn't consoled; he tried to step around Imayoshi to get to the sink, but the other man thwarted him, grabbing his hands before he could reach his goal.

Don't make it worse, he thought. My hands are dirty. He chuckled soundlessly, hearing the quote from the movie play inside his mind. Oh my, does this mean I'm Princess Leia? he thought as he tried to free his hands.

"My hands are dirty, too. What are ya afraid of?" Imayoshi quoted, instinctively knowing what was going on behind Mitobe's dark, flashing eyes.

It took him a second to remember the next line of dialogue from the film. He closed his eyes as Imayoshi pushed him against the counter harder.

I'm not afraid.

"You're tremblin'," Imayoshi teased. He took Mitobe's fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits to catch each sweet drop of sticky juice.

I'm not… trembling, he thought, as his knees quivered.

"Ya like me because I'm a scoundrel," Imayoshi continued once each finger was licked clean. He moved in, kissing Mitobe just below the ear, continuing around and up his jaw.

I don't like scoundrels. I like nice men.

"I'm a nice man," Imayoshi finished the scene by leaning in and claiming the kiss Han Solo had been denied by the pesky protocol droid. He leaned back and considered the look on Mitobe's face; even partially ravaged, he was disappointed about the mess they'd made. Imayoshi smirked. "Don't worry about the shirt. I'll take care of it."

Mitobe's expressive eyebrows raised incredulously.

"What? It's not like I'm incompetent."

The eyebrows didn't relent.

"It's only an old t-shirt," he said, shrugging.

Mitobe pulled back and pointed at the symbol on Imayoshi's chest: Too.

"It's just a shirt," he said again, stepping back and sweeping the stained garment over his head. "I've got a new team and I only have room to be sentimental about one thing," he told the mute man, "and that's you. So, how do I get the strawberry juice out? Tell me what to do."

Mitobe's exhale turned into a laugh. He pushed against Imayoshi's chest, delighting in the strong muscles and soft patch of hair that covered them. Imayoshi stood firm for a moment, enjoying the touch, but finally stepped back to let him pass. Mitobe went to the washing machine at the other end of the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of Arau, and returned to the sink. Plugging the basin, he filled it with cool water and a dollop of detergent. Then he reached into the cupboard to the right of the stove and pulled out the white vinegar. He splashed just a bit into the water and then held out his hand for the shirt.

"See," Imayoshi teased with a nonchalant smile. "I told ya I'd take care of it, now didn't I?"

Mitobe's mouth pursed up into a half-smile as he took the t-shirt and submerged it. From behind him, Imayoshi put his arms under Mitobe's and the two rubbed the stain under water. After a moment, Mitobe looked back and saw Imayoshi straining on his tip toes – with his eyes open startlingly wide – to see what he was doing over the taller man's shoulder.

I love you, he thought with a smile.

"I know."