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There are birds singing outside their apartment.
Like, actual birdsong. From birds.
“Ryota!” yells Haruta. “Come look!”
Of course, the birds fly away before Maki even arrives, likely frightened by Haruta’s sudden outburst. Maki stops a few feet away from Haruta, who’s flung the door to the veranda open and squinting at the tree in the garden, shielding his eyes from the almost-noontime sun.
Maki gives an open-mouthed grin and asks if Haruta heard the bush warblers. Haruta seems disappointed that Maki knows about them already. Maki reminds him that he gets up earlier than Haruta, it makes sense he's already acquainted with which birds sing around their home in the morning.
They moved in two days ago, just by themselves, with a small rental truck. The apartment is on the first floor—Maki was sold on it being a corner unit and having a garden—so they didn’t have to lug anything up any flights of stairs, which was excellent. They also saved a great deal of money not hiring any movers.
It was a calculated move: their ceremony is in eight months, and it’s going to be fucking expensive.
Maki turns to go back to the kitchen; Haruta follows. As Maki stirs the curry that’s simmering on the hob, Haruta whines about having the day off without Maki, about the documents he has to apply for at the ward office and how he’s going to be so grumpy at the end of the day because of all the waiting he has to do, and all the unpacking that he'll have to deal with alone at home.
He circles his arms around Maki and angles his chin on Maki’s shoulder. Maki slants his head to touch their faces together.
“Be brave,” advises Maki, before turning off the flame. “Okay—I’m off. Let this cool, it’s for tonight.” He makes a move to wriggle out of Haruta’s grasp, but Haruta only tightens his hold on Maki’s shoulders.
“Don’t go,” says Haruta, clamping Maki against his body.
“Throwback to 2018 much?” remarks Maki, which makes Haruta snort.
“It wasn’t a good year,” says Haruta, darkly.
“What do you mean?” asks Maki, feigning innocence. “We met that year. It was the best year.”
Haruta pokes Maki viciously in the side, Maki shouts for him to be careful because they’re standing right beside a very hot pot of curry, Haruta drags Maki out of the kitchen and into the living room, and tries to wrestle him onto the sofa. Maki puts up a good fight, tearing off his apron at some point to wrap it over Haruta’s head, and cackles as Haruta neighs and sputters in protest.
“I really have to go. I only took the morning off,” says Maki, locating his briefcase, which he’s placed beside the sofa. “I’d love to stay and play, but there’s a ton of emails to clear, so.”
Haruta has dumped the apron on the sofa (“That’d better not be there by the time I come home,” warns Maki) and sidled up to Maki. “Can you at least give me a call at some point?” he wheedles.
“What for?” asks Maki, reaching into his briefcase for the tie he’s readied for today.
“I don’t know, to check if I’m alive?”
Maki laughs. “Are you serious?”
“I am!” Haruta flaps his arms and stamps his feet. “Perfectly!” A pause. “Call me.” Haruta deflates, hooking a finger on Maki’s trouser pocket, having nothing else to latch on.
“Look—you survived a total of three years without me. You’ll be fine.”
“Four years,” corrects Haruta, tone stubborn.
Maki frowns. “I distinctly remember you spending only a year overseas, and I was in Singapore for two, so…” Maki lips part as realisation hits. “Ah.”
Haruta tugs on Maki’s pocket. “2018 was the worst year.”
“Actually, the breakup carried over into 2019…”
Haruta tips his head back and groans. “Maki, you pedant.”
It’s been a while since Haruta’s called Maki ‘Maki’. It brings Maki back to a time nostalgic, and surprisingly he finds himself wishing Haruta would call him that a little more often. Not too often, of course. ‘Ryota’ is a different type of special.
“I’m off, Haruta-san.” A laugh escapes Maki as he sees how round Haruta’s eyes go upon hearing what Maki has called him. “Have a great day.”
“Who’s ‘Haruta-san’, huh?!”
“Last time I checked, you and every member of your clan?”
Haruta lets out a frustrated shout and slaps Maki on the bum three times as he utters each syllable of ‘Soichi’ with great emphasis. Maki lets him, then picks up his briefcase. He makes for the door, Haruta sulking behind him.
“I should be between meetings around four,” says Maki as he fits his feet into his shoes. “It’s going to be something like a ten-minute window, so please pick up.”
Haruta brightens considerably. “I’ll watch my phone like a hawk.”
Maki grins, then turns to face Haruta. “I’m off.”
“You’ve said that three times.” Haruta's smile quickly morphs into a hideous, self-satisfied glee that sends his eyeballs rolling back past his lids. “Shows how much you don’t want to go, doesn’t it?”
Maki relishes the moment he cups the nape of Haruta’s neck and presses their lips together, Haruta’s squeak particularly satisfying as it allows Maki to note he’s still keeping things unpredictable even though they’ve been together so long. The element of surprise won’t work for him all the time, though. He’s got to come up with new tricks.
“A little longer,” mumbles Haruta against Maki’s mouth when he tries to pull away. Maki gives in and drapes his arms around Haruta’s shoulders, leaning heavily into the kiss.
It’s been the best month of their lives: Haruta welcoming Maki back to Japan, immediately looking for apartments, selecting theirs, moving into it, making out all over the place. Haruta’s deserved it.
They both have.
“Okay, any longer and I’ll be sporting a hard-on while walking to the station, and we don’t want that to happen,” says Maki, peeling himself away from Haruta. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Four,” reminds Haruta, wiggling four fingers in Maki’s direction. “And if you can’t call, at least text.”
“Will do.” Maki grabs his keys, then opens the door. “Bye, Soichi.”
Haruta cracks a smile.
“Bye, Ryota.”