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The evening is surprisingly quiet in the Aohitsugi-Yamada household. Usually, there is always someone at their house, be it Ichiro’s brothers or Samatoki’s sister or his teammates. They don’t mind it that much, but it’s been a while since they could spend a quiet weekend night in together. Just the two of them.
Or well, as quiet as it could get with Samatoki preparing dinner in the kitchen as Ichiro reads a light novel all sprawled out on their couch. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board fills the otherwise silent apartment, rhythmic and steady. The shuffling of clothes as Samatoki moves, the quiet bangs of drawers as they’re closed.
Ichiro doesn’t know what he’s making, he didn’t ask beforehand and Samatoki didn’t say what he’s cooking either, but Ichiro knows that it will be amazing, regardless of what it is. Putting a bookmark into the novel, he gets up and shuffles to the kitchen, his steps light, not wanting to disturb the other man yet.
He stops in the doorway, looking at Samatoki as he whirls around in their kitchen, his moves sure and steady. He flits between pots and cutting boards with familiarity, like he always belonged there. Ichiro is kind of really entranced by the whole show, and even if he would never admit it to Samatoki, he looks like a fairy.
“Oi, Ichi, don’t just stand there like a lamppost, help me prepare dinner.”
Ichiro steps into the kitchen, slowly making his way over to Samatoki. His socked feet fall silently on the floor, barely making noise as he walks. When he gets to Samatoki, he wraps his arms around the other’s torso, hugging him from behind.
He feels, more than hears the slight surprised noise Samatoki lets out. He buries his face into the soft fabric of his boyfriend’s sweater, the smell of cigarettes and the cologne he uses seeped into it from years of wearing it. At first, the smell of cigarettes were too much for Ichiro, sometimes even suffocating, but over the years it became familiar, even welcome.
“Ichi…” Samatoki says, his back rumbling as he speaks.
“Hmm?”
“C’mon, I can’t cook if you cling to me like a koala,” he says, trying to peel him off, but his attempts are all futile. Ichiro just tightens his hold on him, not wanting to let go.
“Then don’t cook,” he mumbles into Samatoki’s back.
His boyfriend heaves a sigh. Sometimes Ichiro gets into these kind of moods, and there’s not much Samatoki can do, except let him be affectionate with him.
(It’s not like Samatoki hates these moods of Ichiro. He likes them, very much so. He likes how Ichiro’s arms fit around his torso, like they were made to be there. He likes the way how Ichiro buries his face into his back, how he sometimes nuzzles it like a cat would. How he can feel Ichiro breathe against his back.)
“We have to eat something for dinner, and I’ve already started, I can’t just leave it here.”
“Fine,” Ichiro huffs, “but I’m staying here.”
Samatoki lets out a short, but genuine laugh. “Okay, you overgrown koala.”
They stay like that until Samatoki finishes cooking, and move to the dining room to eat. They sit down at the table, sitting so they face each other. The food, as always, is delicious. It’s simple, but savory and just the right amount of cooked.
Once they finish, they put the dishes into the sink, leaving them for the night. They can do it tomorrow morning, after all. They move into the living room, and get comfortable on the couch. Samatoki sits down at one end of it, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Ichiro hates it when he does this but today he doesn’t care, not one bit. Ichiro himself lays down, taking up the rest of the space, using Samatoki’s lap as a pillow as he reaches for his light novel he put down before dinner.
Samatoki starts to move a hand through his hair absentmindedly, the other hand of his occupied by reading something on his phone. The apartment is quiet, only the soft breathing of theirs and the sound of Ichiro turning the pages can be heard as the clock ticks, ticks, ticks on the wall.
Soon, Ichiro closes the novel, letting his hands fall. The book that was still in his hands hit the floor with a light thud.
Samatoki looks up from his phone. “You done with it?”
“Mhmm,” Ichiro hums, and closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of the way his boyfriend cards his hand through his hair. It’s calming, almost lulling him to sleep.
They stay like this for a while, and Ichiro almost slips into the land of dreams when Samatoki speaks up again.
“Ichi, don’t fall asleep out here.”
“But I’m comfortable,” he says, and to prove his point even further, he turns around to snake his arms around Samatoki.
“I can see that, but you’re going to hate yourself tomorrow morning if you sleep out here,” Samatoki points out, and Ichiro hates that he’s right.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “I’m moving to the bedroom, but you have to come with me.”
“Okay, okay, you brat.”
They move to the bedroom, and shed their clothes so they can get into bed. After quickly brushing their teeth, they slip into their bed. Ichiro pulls the covers up, and when Samatoki settled down into a comfortable position, immediately moves over to cuddle him.
Usually, Samatoki is the big spoon, but Ichiro isn’t having any of it, at least not tonight. He slings an arm over the other, sneaking the other under him, and pulls him closer, until he can feel the way Samatoki breaths against his chest.
“Night, Sama,” he mumbles into the man’s hair, his eyes already halfway closed.
“Where’s my goodnight kiss?” Samatoki asks, turning around in Ichiro’s arms.
He smiles, even though the other can’t see him in the dark. “What, can’t sleep without it?”
“More kissing, less talking.”
Ichiro huffs out a laugh, and pecks Samatoki on the lips. “Night, Sama.”
“Good night, Ichi.”