Chapter Text
The sun was setting by the time Simon returned from work. He paused when he got out of his car to admire the sight of his new house – his and Uendo's new house, how he loved that thought – bathed in gold light.
It was a small bungalow inspired by Japanese architecture, the favoured style in suburban areas of Japanifornia. Painted white with dark wooden eaves, it had a high sloping roof and large windows. There was even a small courtyard with a little pond out the back. So far only one, sickly-looking tree grew there, but they had big plans for the garden, once they'd finished properly moving in.
Simon smiled to himself before turning to grab his briefcase from the car and heading inside.
It was one of Uendo's days off, so he had been spending the day at home sorting out their jumbled boxed belongings. So far, only the bare minimum of furnishings were present, just the bed, sofa, dining table and fridge in place, with the rest of their things awaiting unpacking.
The door was unlocked, so Simon let himself in, then immediately stopped and stared. The hallway that greeted him was nothing like the barren stretch he'd left behind this morning.
There was a long rug running down the corridor over the polished floorboards, and an umbrella stand beside the door. A narrow dark wooden side table which Simon recognised as coming from his old apartment stood against one wall, decorated with a green silk runner, topped with a vase filled with flowers and a little white dish for the house and car keys.
On the opposite wall was a display of beautiful paper fans, some decorated with painted scenes, some with characters written on them, and some plain.
It looked perfect.
His eyes swept over the scene before him once more, and he abruptly felt a stab of unease - if even the hallway looked so well put-together, had the industrious little performer somehow finished decorating the entire house while he was gone? Sure, it would be a very impressive feat, one which he should be grateful for, but wasn't part of the excitement of moving in the experience of decorating a home together? He was sure he would find no fault with Uendo’s style, in fact it would probably be nicer than any ideas he himself had to offer, but it was the process which counted. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed if that was indeed the case.
“Is that you, love?” called a voice from the kitchen, and his partner emerged through the doorway.
“Evening Uendo,” he murmured, smiling, then paused to see if any of the others would show to greet him too.
“Hello Simon,” said Uendo, then added softly “Just me tonight.”
The prosecutor nodded and gestured at the hallway with one arm.
“I see you’ve been busy. This looks very nice,” he said, then paused. “Is...uh... are all the rooms...?”
“Wha -? Oh, no, not at all!” Uendo laughed and shook his head. “I've barely touched anywhere else. Well...” He put his head on one side. “I put some cushions on the couch. That's about it though.”
Simon craned his neck to peer through the nearest doorway, and saw that the living room was, indeed, still utterly barren.
He relaxed visibly, then frowned.
“...If you are only going to decorate one room, why on earth would you select the hallway? This is the place we shall be spending the least amount of time. Surely the dining room or the bedroom would be a more logical choice?”
Uendo shook his head. “No, Simon, that's not the point! The entryway to a home is one of its most important features! It's the first thing a visitor sees when they arrive, the first impression they gain of our home! That's one of the big rules of performance - if you want to put on a good show, you have to set the tone from the very beginning!”
Now his worries had come to naught, Simon relaxed into the usual comfortable banter that began whenever Uendo did or said something nonsensical – which was often.
“But would that not apply only to visitors who never venture further than the front door?” he countered. “Otherwise you are merely setting them up for disappointment when they realise the rest of the house is barren. To say nothing of the fact that surely the comfort of those who will actually be inhabiting this home should come before those who are only passing through.”
Uendo tutted. “You’d make a poor host, with an attitude like that. Besides, there are lots of people who’d only see the hallway. We’re hardly going to be inviting everyone who ever calls around to come inside, especially if we don’t know them.”
Simon folded his arms and looked down his nose at the rakugo performer.
“What, so now any Mormons who happen to come knocking will have a lovely view of a very nice hallway, but we'll still be living out of our suitcases?”
Uendo mimicked him, folding his own arms in a huffy manner Simon found extremely cute.
“Well, assuming they actually get a chance to see past you before you slam the door in their face. You tend to be very frosty when it comes to cold callers.”
Simon raised an eyebrow but chose to let the pun pass. “You're telling me you actually listen to what cold callers have to say?” he asked instead.
Uendo waved a hand airily. “I don't know. We usually let Kisegawa deal with them. I tend to tune out. But anyway, we're getting off topic. And you’re still standing on the doormat, like you’re a cold caller yourself. Come in.”
Simon smiled and shook his head as he obeyed. As he reached down to grab his briefcase from where he’d sat it down by his feet, Simon jerked his head towards the fans on the wall.
“Master Toneido’s,” he observed.
Uendo looked up and smiled. “You noticed.”
“Of course.” Simon walked over to examine them. “Your master always kept very fine fans. I feel honoured to have such a collection in my own home.”
Uendo stepped closer to Simon and leant his head against the other’s upper arm. They took a moment to admire the fans in silence before Uendo spoke again.
“I thought you might like to display your own master’s stunning collection of katanas in the dining room. There’s a good long stretch of wall I think they’d look good on.” He glanced up at his boyfriend, his smile widening. “And I hear swords are the cutting edge of decoration this season.”
Simon blinked, feeling a strange sensation in his chest at Uendo’s thoughtfulness. Suddenly unsure of how to act, he settled for rolling his eyes at the pun and looping an arm around Uendo’s shoulders to pull him into a tight hug.
They both knew the pain of losing their mentor – the shared experience of finding out your beloved teacher had been murdered by someone you’d considered a friend was a surprisingly specific and unfortunate thing to have in common with your partner, but it did give rise to a deeper level of understanding between them.
They stayed that way for some time, arms around his each other, Uendo’s head tucked against Simon’s chest and Simon resting his chin on top of Uendo’s hair.
Eventually they pulled apart, and Uendo muttered something about getting back to dinner and extracted himself.
Simon followed Uendo back into the kitchen, where he had been cutting up vegetables to have with last night’s reheated stew.
Uendo went back to his task and Simon opened the cupboards to fetch some plates and cutlery, but paused when he realised the shelves were still bare save for the two bowls and plates they’d already used and washed up.
“You mean to say you didn’t even unpack any more crockery? The one task we both agreed was at the top of the list?”
Uendo paused, then his shoulders drooped. “Ah, I knew there was something I was forgetting.”
With a frustrated huff, Simon pulled the smaller man back into his arms.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly, before pressing his lips to Uendo’s. The latter responded eagerly.
With their height difference, kissing while standing up often lead to a sore neck for both parties. Simon's chin nearly touched his chest, and Uendo's head bent back as far as physically possible. Neither position could be held for long without discomfort, but they agreed it was generally worth it.
They parted after a moment to regain their breath, and both rotated their necks as they stepped away, then noticed the other was doing the same and chuckled.
Simon reached over and smoothed his boyfriend’s hair, then ran his fingers down the curl that always fell at the side of Uendo’s face.
“What a strange pair we make,” he remarked.
“A good one, though, I think,” said Uendo softly, placing his hand over Simon’s as it moved to cup his cheek.
They stayed like that for a moment before Uendo had to go and ruin it by following up with “Better a strange pear than a bad apple!” which didn’t even make sense, really, as Simon was quick to point out, and the two fell into easy bickering once more.
Still, the smile didn’t leave Simon’s eyes as he found the box of plates in the corner and began unpacking them, as Uendo brandished his fan irritably and launched into an explanation of exactly why his awful puns were actually comedy gold.
Life here was going to be good.