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Juushirou isn’t a negative person. Even during his bouts of illness, he tries to remain optimistic (at least when he’s not passed out or asleep to break a fever). In his long life, he’s seen a lot of what this world has to offer, and he knows all too well that getting dejected over every little obstacle is pointless.
Recently, he’s been appreciative of consecutively simpler things. The colour of the sky, the liveliness of the carp in the pond, crinkles on Y/N’s nose, the flush on her cheeks when she smiles. Is caring about such details another symptom of growing old? Maybe it is; Juushirou doesn’t mind. If he’s becoming an old man, he’d rather be a goofy old man than a gloomy one.
It’s evenings like this, when his condition is great and his wife is home early, that he loves most these days. Just the two of them, finding comfort in each other’s presence: he’s poring over the latest chapter of Sougyo no Okotowari!, while Y/N is also absorbed in literary delights, albeit in a more passive way (she must have picked out another book from his collection tonight. It’s heart-warming that she’s taken a liking to what he’s accumulated over the years). A steaming teapot between them, they sit on the veranda, letting the time pass in silence broken only by quiet rustles of the bonsai in the garden and the water bubbling in the pond.
Juushirou’s writing brush freezes above the paper as he muses over the next sentence. It’s funny how inspiration likes to flee when he’s, for once, fit to write; had it not been for this weak body, his novel would be far more progressed at this point. Well, now that you mention it, his whole life would have looked completely different—this train of thought stops there, because what could have been is unimportant. This, is more than alright.
With such ponderings occupying his mind, Juushirou’s gaze absently falls on Y/N beside him, and his lips form a huge smile.
He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that they are married. Even after so many years of a happy relationship, his heart never ceases to skip a beat when he sees her. Wouldn’t this kind of behaviour, head over heels in love, be more fit to his time at the academy, when he was still a boy? Surely it makes him seem funny, but even so, he couldn’t care less. It doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Y/N at random moments, making her let out a giggle, one that is usually more surprised than abashed. It doesn’t stop him from being lightheaded with happiness, silly as it might be. At his age, it’s even more silly to refrain from being himself.
Sometimes it bothers him how carried away he gets. Y/N never complains, but why shouldn’t she? She’s still so young, so fresh. Compared to her, he’s like a wilting grass. With their dangerous work as shinigami and Juushirou’s illness, there’s no telling how long their time together is going to be; naturally, he does feel bad about wasting away her youth, about having her stuck with an ill old man while she could be using her life to the fullest, free of worry and burdens. But – to his amazement – Y/N seems to know his heart inside out. Whenever such thoughts eat on his mind, she sits beside him to play with his hair, massage his shoulders, or, if he’s bedridden with illness, simply lies down next to him. No words are needed, just sharing space is enough.
Absurd fondness tugs at his heart. He really must be getting old, or it’s the fever returning again. He tries to focus on writing, but finds himself unable to take his eyes off Y/N. This is when she catches him staring: her eyes flicker from the book to meet his gaze before he can even think of averting it; his cheeks heat up, but he only smiles.
“Juushirou?”
A hint of confusion in her voice makes him nonsensically joyful. He has to bite his lip not to burst out giggling like a schoolgirl until he’d end up in a coughing fit and worry Y/N for no good reason. She tilts her head, even more bewildered at his antics, and looking so adorable it’s nearly impossible to contain excitement.
“Nothing.” He grins. “I just love you.”
Suddenly her book and his writing is discarded, forgotten. Looking out for the teapot, Y/N shifts to his side, bare foot stamping on the wooden floor, and lands in Juushirou’s arms. Her hair tickles his skin as she places a damp kiss on the crook of his neck. When her arms caress his back, he embraces her a little bit too tight, close to his chest.
He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her, but as long as his heart keeps beating, he’s going to wake up every day and thank heavens for the blessing that is right now in his arms.