Work Text:
Josuke loves afternoons with Rohan.
He’d lounge around reading Vogue while the artist worked until the sun cast shadows across his desk. Sometimes he’d talk about his day, and Rohan would pretend to listen with hums or small interjections. It was the thought that counted.
But best of all was when he’d amble over hours later, headband around his neck, and collapse against Josuke’s chest. “Hey,” he’d whisper, and wrap his arms around him. And they’d stay like that ‘til dinner.
━━━━━━
Rohan loves watching Josuke cook.
He’s not good, not by any means, but he always tries. The younger man would stick his tongue between his lips while reading a scribbled recipe card from his mother. He’d play obnoxious English songs and sing off-key while the fire alarm blared above him. "You're always trying to burn down my house," he'd admonish from the counter. It was hard not to laugh, now.
Some aspect would always end up burnt or underseasoned, but they’d eat it anyway (with only minor teasing). He’d get it right tomorrow night.
━━━━━━
Josuke loves it when Rohan catches a cold - though he’d never admit it.
It felt rude to wish for, y’know? But he was just so cute with his flushed cheeks and stuffy nose. Tomoko would make a big pot of soup, and Josuke always insisted on feeding him. “Relaaax,” He’d laugh when Rohan pouted in protest. “Let me take care of you.”
“S’good.” He’d eventually sigh. “Get the recipe.”
━━━━━━
Rohan tells him to his face.
“You’re funny when you’re sick.” The artist would ruffle his hair, clipped back from his burning forehead and damp from the bath. He’d told the boy not to kiss him, but when did Josuke ever listen? “So easy to tease when you can't fight back, too.” Josuke stuck his tongue out and hid under his comforter.
But he’d dutifully stay by his boyfriends side all night, winding their fingers together when the younger man finally drifted to sleep.
━━━━━━
They both loved mornings.
Rohan always woke first, curling closer and drawing sketches along his partner’s sides. He’d kick the blanket back over himself - greedy kid - and listen to the heartbeat reverberating under his skin.
Josuke had terrible nightmares, he’d once confessed. That he arrived too late to help someone, or that he put his mother in danger. Sometimes both. Once about him in the tunnel. When it was bad, he would thrash and sob. It had only happened a handful of times, but it still always caught Rohan by surprise. He wasn’t… known for his comforting nature. But someone had to repay Morioh’s guardian deity for all the times he’d saved them; saved him.
So he’d whisk away his tears and pull Josuke’s ear against his chest. I’m still here, idiot. And then he’d pretend to sleep again so he could feign ignorance when the sun rose.
Josuke slept better with Rohan around. His bed was way nicer than his own, for starters, and it was huge. Even though he’d always wake up in the dead middle, with the artist’s limbs thrown over his own to keep from falling off the side. Oops.
But best of all was waking up to a mop of disheveled green hair tickling his nose, smelling like tea leaves and ink and last night’s cologne and him. Rohan had stolen one of his shirts to sleep in, and whenever he wore it Josuke thought his heart would explode from pride. He squeezed him tighter. So lucky.
“Hey,” One whispered.
“Hey,” The other whispered back.
Josuke pressed his lips to Rohan’s forehead. Rohan pressed his lips to Josuke’s heart.
Yeah, mornings were the best.