Chapter Text
The sun creeps up above the horizon, stretching its vibrant hands out onto the city and the sky.
Shiro blinks awake as the light assaults his eyes, but he doesn't make a move to wake up. Instead, he rolls over, pulling the covers over his head.
That is, until he smells it.
Eggs? He sniffs out, slowly sitting up. It sounds like Ichiro's cooking breakfast. Strange, usually Ichiro is out and about before this time and he'll be left to eat 3 powdered donuts for breakfast.
Forcing himself to roll out of bed, Shiro peers out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. There standing as stone-faced as ever, is Ichiro wearing an apron and cooking. The sight, for whatever reason, makes his cheeks flush and butterflies flutter in his stomach. Quickly composing himself, he goes and brushes his teeth before sliding on his robe and heading out to the kitchen.
“What's the occasion?” Shiro speaks up, leaning against the counter with his hands folded, a cheeky little grin on his face.
Ichiro shrugs, seasoning the egg currently frying in the pan. There were two other eggs, fried to perfection and still steaming on a plate next to the stove. As the current egg fries, Ichiro hands the prepared ones to Shiro.
“Eat.” He says simply, before turning around and going back to cooking.
Shiro, obediently, takes the plate and sits down at the dining table, making sure to season his eggs with sugar before he digs in. Each bite of his breakfast swallows down whatever petal may have crawled up his throat.
After a few more minutes, Ichiro sits down as well. For a time, they sit in silence, before Shiro can't take it anymore.
“Seriously, what's the occasion? You're always gone by this time.” He repeats himself, glancing at the clock. It's 9 in the morning. Perhaps it's Ichiro's day off. But, that still wouldn't explain why Ichiro bothered cooking for the both of them.
Another pause, before Ichiro replies. “There is no occasion. I was only going to make breakfast for myself, but then you woke up.”
For some reason, Shiro didn't really believe that. Perhaps it's the way Ichiro seems to be avoiding eye contact, or the subtle bounce of his right leg. He's never seen Ichiro visibly nervous like this, it's quite the sight.
“Uh huh, but usually you're out and about by now.” He continues to press, leaning over the table as he chews.
Ichiro sighs. “It's my day off. We've been non-stop searching and investigating for the past few days now. I thought that we should take a break today to recharge.”
…
Is this really Ichiro, or had some imposter taken over?
“Oh, so you just want to get away from me for a couple of hours? How could you! You might as well just break up with me. I'm heartbroken.” Shiro dramatically throws his head back, pushing his (now empty) plate forward. He crosses his arms, an offended look on his face. Suddenly, he smirks. “Oh, I see what this is. You wanna go see Chika.”
Sure, maybe he pulled that out of his ass, but what else could it be?
Ichiro almost chokes on his breakfast, making Shiro smirk wider, despite it severely stinging.
“That's not true.” The brunette quickly defends himself, wiping off his mouth with an uneasy look. “I thought maybe we could go for a walk.”
The sting fades in favour of confusion. A walk? Is Ichiro secretly 80 years old?
Seeing the perplexed look on Shiro's face, Ichiro continues.
“They just put up the lights and decorations downtown for Christmas. We should go see them before it gets too cold. Plus, it'll be good for our cover if anybody's spying on us.” He rationalizes, as if it would help at all.
Shiro blinks, then blinks again, and then blinks for a third time.
“It won't be any different than when we rung the bell and signed that certificate.” Ichiro goes on, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but Shiro stops him.
Shaking his head, Shiro chuckles, a bit amused. Here Ichiro was asking him to go on some weirdly romantic walk with a blank face and then attempting to justify it. Straight men are so odd, but he chalks it up to Ichiro not wanting him to get the wrong idea.
“Fine, fine, I get it. We'll go. Will you give me your jacket if I get cold?” He bats his eyelashes, earning him an unamused glare from the man across from him. He laughs, then stands up.
Hopefully he won't spit out any petals, not in front of Ichiro.
.
.
.
Shiro shudders, pulling his jacket more securely on himself.
It's only been a day or two since December started, and it's already unfairly chilly. Winds from the North and the clouds covering the sun, no doubt. It's by no means a beautiful day, yet it's been a long time since he's been this happy going on a walk.
Ichiro was right, they put up the decorations for Christmas last night, and they were a perfect addition to the otherwise barren streets.
Lamp posts adorned with lights, those fake red plants hung from lines and even a few of the buildings adorned themselves with tinsel. Between buildings, lines of additional lights and ornaments hung. He could only imagine what they looked like at night, but for now, he let himself enjoy them.
Shiro looks up at all the decorations, then to the side, then to his other side where Ichiro stood. Why's Ichiro staring at him?
They walked, staring at each other for a moment, before he raised a brow.
“Do I have something on my face or what?” He speaks up, startling Ichiro out of whatever trance he was in.
“No,” Ichiro quickly replied, “I got lost in thought. It's nothing.
Shiro could swear he saw a pink tinge dust the brunette's cheeks, quickly hidden by the scarf around his neck. That only made Shiro more confused, but he chalked it up to the chill in the air. Their moment of confused peace is interrupted by the sudden excited shriek of a child, followed by giggling.
Intrigued, he walks forward and peers over. It seems they've reached the point where the houses begin. There's two children, one boy and one girl, all bundled up for the cold.
Seeing them play in their house's backyard puts a sad little smile on Shiro's face as he sighs deeply. The scene reminds him of him and Rion, back at the orphanage during the winter months. Christmas was a major holiday for them, it was the only time they would ever get a new toy.
He suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, gloved and warm.
“We'll find her.” Ichiro declares, eyes forward at the sight of the children playing.
Shiro looks over, and nods. No matter how long it takes.
…
But it does matter, actually. He's completely forgotten that he's pining his way to the end of the road. What if he kicks the bucket before they can find Rion?
Will Ichiro be sad to lose him, just as he is for Rion?
He starts coughing, startling Ichiro as he covers his mouth with both his hands, his shoulders shaking.
“Are you okay?” Ichiro asks, putting a hand on Shiro's back, but he turns from the other man and pulls away.
“Yup.” He croaks out, managing to stay standing as he coughs up another handful of daffodil petals. Making sure that Ichiro didn't see, he takes his gloves off in a way that conceals the petals, putting them into his pocket.
“I'm fine. We should go back, I'm getting chilly.” Shiro grins, as if nothing’s wrong. He ignores Ichiro's worried side glance as he starts walking back to the apartment.
.
.
.
Shiro feels a strange weight on him, snapping him out of his bleary half-awake state.
They’d walked back to the apartment in awkward silence that morning, Ichiro looking almost choked, as if fighting back the urge to say something. Shiro was walking so fast it was hard to keep up, and he was unable to get a word in.
Now, the sun is already set as they lounge on the couch in silence. The only light in the room is provided by the tall lamp in the corner and the TV, the news monotonously droning on the screen. He’s not paying attention.
Especially not when Ichiro’s head is suddenly laying on his shoulder, the other man now completely limp. He can feel Ichiro’s soft breath against the skin of his neck, and he completely freezes.
Cautiously glancing down, he swallows thickly and watches as the blue light from the TV seems to fight against the yellow glow of the lamp on Ichiro’s unnaturally peaceful face. It’s almost as if time pauses, Ichiro giving off an overbearing warmth, blooming through Shiro’s body and snaking its way into his heart and soul.
There’s a field of daffodils growing rapidly by the help of the sunlight.
Shiro closes his eyes and takes a deep, troubled breath. That breath is becoming increasingly hard to swallow.
After a few moments of drinking up Ichiro’s luster, he carefully makes a move to stand up. He positions Ichiro down on the couch, making sure the brunette is comfortable, before he leaves to his bedroom after turning off both the TV and the lamp.
He can’t have what isn’t his.
Just then, as he starts climbing into bed, he starts coughing. This is far more violent than any other fit he’s had the past few days. He can’t breathe, tears prick the corners of his eyes as he battles with his own body and falls to his knees all over again, until he finally throws something up.
The head of a daffodil sits still on the floor in front of his hunched body.
Shiro’s eyes are wide as he pants, glancing back at the door, open just a crack. He can see Ichiro tiredly sitting up, disgruntled.
He quickly scurries to his feet, shutting the door all the way, blocking out whatever other light might illuminate that flower.