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“You look a lot like a flower right now.”
Zenitsu chuckles, smiling, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look like a flower. Like one of those.” He points at a tall sunflower in the garden. It stands mature and proud.
“A sunflower? That’s sweet.” He pats Inosuke’s shoulder warmly.
Inosuke stares at the blonde, admiring his features. They’ve aged since their retirement as slayers, only a little, but it shows.
Zenitsu’s eyes carry a sadness you can feel, it’s solemn and melancholic. His face is decorated by the scars that crawl up his cheeks and onto his nose like freckles. Patches of red peek out, the exposed muscle dry and dark.
He sits like an old man, although neither of them are, one leg crossed over the other. He leans on an arm, eyes looking out upon the flowers of the garden while the sun rays dance on his pinked face and shine through his hair. His yukata is lazily tucked, the other hand resting inside on his stomach.
His eyes wander to Inosuke’s as his chest heaves softly, “What’re you ogling at, boarhead?”
Inosuke blinks and reaches for Zenitsu’s hand, a heat drawing on his own face as Zenitsu hums in question.
Inosuke’s hand settles atop Zenitsu’s, giving it a squeeze. Zenitsu blushes.
His skin is soft, a softness like you’ve just washed your hands and dried them with a towel. It’s a damp kind of soft. Inosuke’s rough palms shift on Zenitsu’s knuckles before he entwines their fingers together, pleased.
He gives a throaty chortle and proceeds to take off his mask. It reveals a mellow face, blushed pink like a peach and eyes glassy. Zenitsu feels the wind sing and cheer, his heart jumpy—elated—at the sight. Sparks in his ears and a mouth that won’t utter a word. The wind relishes in playing with Inosuke’s hair, tugging it behind his neck to reveal a softness Zenitsu never realized was there.
He can hear the tender beat of Inosuke’s pulse through their locked fingers, hears the way his blood rushes to color his cheeks.
“This feels good.”
Zenitsu looks away—tucking his length behind an ear.
“What does? Holding hands?”
“Yeah, this,” he wiggles their hands in the air.
Zenitsu giggles, cherishing the touch, “holding hands, huh?”
He laughs a loud one, leaning into it.
Relaxing, Zenitsu breathes and settles his free hand on his chest, a new warmth gathering. He nips softly at the muscles between Inosuke’s joints. A candle finally lit.
Inosuke holds his mask into his chest, a similar, hotter heat gathering—a nostalgic warmth. A quiet candle’s flame growing stronger.
He looks towards Zenitsu again. His smile grew, toothy and bright. His hair settled gently on his shoulders, an oddly tempting thing, as it tickled the skin beneath it. He still giggles like a child, quietly dancing in place.
Much like a flower.
“Zenitsu.”
Zenitsu blinks, a little shocked as he faces Inosuke again.
“Yes, Inosuke?”
“Be my mate.”
Zenitsu holds back a snort and a choke, a snoke, tugging on their hands. Inosuke doesn’t let go, tightening his grip as Zenitsu’s face blushes furiously.
He feels a hungry fervor eat his cheeks, it hurts, his scars ache and pulsate like a heart would. Butterflies fill his stomach and flutter on his cheekbones.
“Y-your mate?” he stutters, eyes widening rapidly.
It wasn’t a question—Zenitsu knew exactly what Inosuke meant—He didn’t need the boy to explain. It was an exclamation of surprise, repeating the “mate” part over and over again like a mockingbird.
“Yeah—“
“Why me?”
Inosuke pauses, thinks.
He collects a short list: good at making food, knows how to fight, makes me feel hot, he’s funny looking...
“Because.”
Zenitsu’s hand clambers along his yukata, tugging anxiously.
He giggles, “I-I don’t think I need to give you an answer.” Zenitsu taps on Inosuke’s knuckles.
“Yes you—“
“Okay! Okay. I agree with you. I’ll...”
He clears his prickly throat, “I’ll be your mate.”
Inosuke switches their hand’s positioning, palm in palm. He clamps them together possessively.
“You’re mine now then.” Inosuke looks away, hiding the beam behind his swaying hair. He squeezes.
Zenitsu stares blissfully, euphoric. He chuckles, his own hair tickling his neck. He squeezes back.
“Yeah, sure I am.”