Work Text:
Finally, Daisuke’s writer’s block has disappeared after years of pain and suffering. His father loved writing and when he was a young boy, he had taken after him in literacy. Often, he’d find himself leaning over a desk, eagerly jotting down words and phrases into poorly-written poems, childish accounts of stories and logs. His mother and father cooed at his poems, embarrassingly hanging them up in their office to look at. When they were gone, Daisuke broke his fountain pens, ball pens, and flushed down all the ink. In his sadness, he tore all of his childhood works, or so he thought.
Suzue saved the ones she could. He thanked his sister once more for her kindness, saving him the regret of not having a piece of his childhood. No longer tormented by his painful past, at least not as much as he used to; he was able to read and laugh at his whimsical stories and beginner level works. A need to pick up a pen crawled up his skin and once again he felt himself gravitating to his pen and his paper.
Once he had them in his hands, he had no idea what to write. He stared long and hard at the paper, hoping for something to come to mind. He thought of his mother, but couldn’t find the words, he thought of his father, but couldn’t think of the sentences to describe how he felt. His sister, Suzue, also came to mind, but he couldn’t think of words he hadn’t already said about her.
But, not all was lost. Again, Daisuke has found himself gravitating to home. Home, being a shabby little excuse of an apartment, with home-cooked meals, potato soju, and police crime dramas. A smile found itself on his lips as he thought of eyes sweet and soft like melting caramel, or perhaps he should liken them to honey. Years of luxury and penthouses, mansions, and even palaces, yet the only place that he could feel truly at home was by his partner’s side.
So, he lifted his pen, struggling to find the words to say. He wrote, ‘The whispers held between flowers in spring’, before erasing it. Again, he tried writing, ‘Katou’, crossing it out, replacing it with ‘Haru’.
He stared for a second and then closed his eyes, thinking of what to say. Fond memories replayed in his mind like a movie, before he let his hand write what it desired to,
‘Gold that I have searched in every mine,
The diamonds and gems that did shine,
Of luxury and steel, never did I find
Unlike the sparkling jewels of your eyes’
For a second, Daisuke chuckled at his own poem. Oh, how whipped had he become, to stoop and write cliche love poems? Yet as he looked at the words that an amateur would write, he didn’t find himself bothered. Haru would have liked its simplicity, the pureness of his words unmarred by complicated similes and long, descriptive paragraphs. Instead, he could imagine Haru’s bright pink blush at the words, and he grinned despite himself.
‘All the times, my dear, that I’ve sat and stared
While your fingertips comb through your hair,
And you curled it, twisted it, it hardly wasn’t fair.
That moment, you stole my heart right then and there.’
Daisuke paused, finding the words in his mind and summoning them on paper,
‘You are all that I need, and all that I see,
Swimming in this strange sea,
I don’t know where I may be,
But I don’t want to surface back to those towering trees.’
‘If you give me your heart there is no sweeter heaven,
And the deadly sins will soon exceed seven,
Though my balance exceeds counting from one to ten,
I am a selfish man, your love is a treasure I won’t lend.’
‘Darling, letters last longer than lovers often do,
But these letters will mean nothing if they aren’t paired with you.
Winter will not arrive without spring, this too holds true,
So Haru, my spring, I won’t write another word, if that word isn’t for you.’
Daisuke was startled by a knock on his door, wiping the dopey look on his face and replacing it with a well-practiced cold expression. Suzue entered a tray with teacups and a platter of delicious chocolate chip cookies. Haru would prefer vanilla cookies or pastries with chocolate filling. Alas, Haru wasn’t here, so Daisuke didn’t have an excuse to ask for his love’s favorite snacks. He offered Suzue a seat, to which she generously complied, pouring him a cup and drinking with him in silence.
In his mind, he was yet again thinking of words to describe his love. His eyes, which he can use to describe all things warm and sweet and sparkling. Like God himself picked the brightest star in the universe and placed it in his partner’s pupils. He could also use amber and gems, though they didn’t look as clear or as precious as those golden-hued treasures. Lips that tasted of peaches, soft and delectable. The adorable gasps he could pull from that mouth, and even lovelier noises when he made love to him in bed. Or anywhere, truthfully. Nothing and no one could stop Daisuke from showing his partner how much he loved him.
Where does Daisuke even begin with that body? Haru was just perfect. Long, slender legs and curvy hips, that snatched waist. Truly, Daisuke praises the luck bestowed on to his family’s name. Without it, could he ever end up with a partner so extraordinarily beautiful, his heart hurt with the fondness and love his soul had for him. Haru, his poor beautiful Haru, had never grown out of his baby face, and Daisuke doubts he ever will. Even as they grow older together, if fate permits it, Haru will still be as beautiful as he is right now. That will never change.
He left to go to the bathroom and didn’t notice or hear Suzue’s soft giggled and giddy squeals as she read his poem. Her brother hadn’t written in so long, and it showed, but it was so pure and heartfelt that to Suzue, it was worthy of being hung up in a museum. She cackled when she thought of Daisuke’s mortification and silent embarrassment before taking a quick picture and pulling up a specific taupe-haired detective’s contact…
The next day, Daisuke woke up to a notification on his phone informing him that Haru left him a message. His mood immediately brightening, he clicked on Haru’s icon,
Painstakingly written in English, to match Daisuke’s letter, Haru wrote,
‘You don’t give yourself enough credit, my knight in shining armor, or should I say, knight in Burberry coats and designer waistcoats?
I can’t write a poem. I can’t even write fluent English without HEUSC, Suzue or you guiding me. But even if I can’t write you a poem, a story or a verse, will you still accept my heart as it is?
I trust you not to break it, you bastard!’
Daisuke smiled and nearly tripped over himself to dress up. He needed to make sure his boyfriend knew just how much Daisuke loved and cherished him. This time, without the cheesy poems.