Work Text:
“Easy, there. You can do it. I believe in you.”
It’s a little strange to hear Fubuki speaking so gently. Not that he doesn’t, mind you—he’s spoken to Ryou with that exact tone countless times over the years, perfect as it is for settling his moods, soothing his nightmares, and just generally making him feel safe and adored. Ryou loves that voice. However, it’s probably the first time that he has ever heard his husband use it for something so incredibly innocuous.
Fubuki is currently sitting cross-legged on the floor of their home office, fussing with their belligerently malfunctioning printer. The damn thing has always been a bit of a menace (as most printers are wont to be), but as of late, the problems have gotten so bad that it’s borderline unusable. Neither of them are experts with such specialized technology, so they’ve been forced to resort to internet searches and assistance forums on their joint quest to figure out if it’s still fixable or if they should just trash the whole device. Ryou has been fully prepared to give up for about a week now, but true to his persevering nature, Fubuki isn’t about to just “give up” on anything—even if it’s a printer.
Ryou isn’t sure that petting it or talking to it like it’s a wounded animal is going to help, though. It’s an inanimate object. It isn’t one of their many houseplants that his husband likes to coo at while he tends to, and it isn’t even something that possesses any sort of sentimental value. Fubuki and that printer haven’t gotten along since the day they bought it and he dropped the box on his foot.
Still, he’s more or less contractually obligated by his own wedding vows to support Fubuki in this endeavor, no matter how absurd it already is or how fruitless it will inevitably be. And for the moment, that means he just has to carry on with his own work until his husband decides he needs his help.
So he minds his own business, answering emails and organizing (and reorganizing) schedules as though it’s any other day, as though the love of his life isn’t sitting on the floor behind him actively trying to coax an angrily beeping printer into functioning correctly. From the sounds of things, it isn’t going very well, not that Ryou really expected otherwise. Technology has a funny way of deciding that it’s done regardless of your input.
In hindsight, this isn’t the weirdest thing he’s studiously ignored. His husband has always been full of little quirks and habits, and when they were in school together, Ryou quickly became an expert at blocking out a vast majority of Fubuki-related stimuli (of which there were many). In a way, he’s quite proud of his achievements, as successfully doing so required massive amounts of effort. It sort of depended on what Fubuki was trying to distract him from, too, but as a general rule, he was very insistent at the best of times and downright insufferable at the worst.
He’d always been especially bad about it while Ryou was studying. Years later, Ryou can now admit that Fubuki had been in the right with that one—scheduled breaks are very important for your health, after all—but at the time, it had been his greatest challenge to overcome. As clever and adaptable as Fubuki may have been while dueling, it didn’t even come close to how sneaky he could be when it came to making Ryou take some time off.
These days, they have a system, at least. Ryou had sort of been forced to accept some of Fubuki’s concern after his doctor, his psychologist, his physical therapist, and even his father had told him that he needed to take better care of himself. It has been years since his heart bothered him at all, but the principle remains intact: don’t push it.
“You’re okay, I promise. Take your time. Take your time, it’s alright.”
They currently have their backs to each other, so Ryou doesn’t bother fighting the grin that spreads across his face. Fubuki sounds as patient and nurturing as ever, but there’s a faint note of frustration to his tone that Ryou is almost certain only he could catch. He’s starting to reach his limit. Ryou supposes it’s about time—he’s been at this for hours already, and that was just today. This project of his has gone on for most of this week. That’s a lot more time than that possessed little device deserves, and the printer itself seems to agree, screaming its displeasure at Fubuki as its internal systems make absolutely horrible grinding noises.
Despite the endearing absurdity of the present situation, Ryou can’t help but be infinitely grateful that Fubuki is the way he is. Kind. Forgiving. Always searching for a better way. He’d learned so much from Fubuki’s outlook on life when they were in school together, and even after he’d disappeared without a trace, Ryou had found himself clinging to his missing friend’s ideals and dreams. When his own life had fallen apart and he’d eventually been left with little more than a desire to cement his brother’s legacy by proxy, Fubuki had stepped in alongside Shou to give him purpose. Direction. Hope. It was far more than he had deserved after everything he’d done, but Fubuki had never given up on him, and had even disagreed with his assertions that he “wasn’t worth it” to boot. That infallible kindness and endless patience had guided them both back to their feet, giving them the chance to stand at each other’s sides once more.
He really does love him, baffling behaviors and all. Ryou isn’t entirely certain how he feels about the fact that a printer is the catalyst for all of this impromptu self-reflection, but in a way, he’s sort of gotten used to it. That’s just how things tend to go when one spends a majority of their time with Marufuji-Tenjouin Fubuki.
“Dammit!”
The half-hissed, half-shouted expletive is followed immediately by a muffled thud, and Ryou carefully schools his expression before swiveling his desk chair around to see what has become of his husband. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the sight that greets him: Fubuki, sprawled out on the floor, the very picture of defeat and despair. His half done-up hair fans out over the carpet in a way that only adds to the drama, and the arm that he’s flung over his eyes is at the absolute height of theatrical performance. Funnily enough, the printer has gone silent, and if Ryou didn’t know any better, he would say that it was doing so just to spite him.
Ridiculous as it all is, Ryou moves to sit on the floor beside him anyway. He’s given Fubuki enough time to try doing things his way—now it’s his turn.
“What’s done it this time?”
Fubuki groans. “The ink absorber again.”
Ryou nods even though his husband can’t see him, reaching out to stroke the smooth underside of Fubuki’s wrist with his thumb. The ink absorber has been the most recent issue they’ve been putting up with, and although Ryou considered it to be the final nail in the half-buried coffin, Fubuki has insisted otherwise.
“What’s your verdict?”
Fubuki moves his arm, lacing his fingers between Ryou’s own. His face holds frustration and a comical degree of sadness, not that Ryou would ever tell him that his concern for such a thing is silly. If it matters, it matters. He’s more than willing to just roll with it.
“I think...I think it’s done for.” He admits, looking up at Ryou as though seeking validation for his futile efforts, for his resigned conclusion.
“You’ve done all you can,” He assures him, squeezing his hand. “Just leave it. We’ll go buy a new one tomorrow.”
“Everything else still works, though.” Fubuki pouts, throwing the printer a dirty look. It remains unaffected by his ire. “It’s stupid to have to get a new one just because the ink absorber is screwed up.”
“It isn’t just the ink absorber, though.” Ryou reminds him gently. “It’s been over a year since it started randomly printing blank sheets and getting jammed for no good reason. And you know as well as I do that duplex printing requires a sacrifice.”
Fubuki giggles and Ryou smiles at the happy sound. The tension has melted right out of him at his attention, and not for the first time, Ryou marvels at his own ability to actually be exactly what someone needs for once.
“I think all printers require sacrifices to do what they’re supposed to.” Fubuki jokes, offering Ryou a sunny smile for his efforts. “Pretty sure I read than in the manual yesterday.”
Ryou snorts. He’s certain that most of Fubuki’s patience had been sapped by trying to parse through all that technological jargon—if he hadn’t spent so much time doing that, he probably could’ve made it through another week of this. Ryou supposes he should be grateful. He doesn’t know if he could’ve taken it, wedding vows or no.
Fubuki’s smile softens as he gazes up at him, fondness bright in his pretty brown eyes.
“...thanks, by the way.”
Ryou huffs in bemusement, stroking his cheek. Fubuki...if there’s anyone who should be saying thank you, it’s him. But his husband isn’t exactly privy to all of the introspection he’s been engaging in, so it might be a little...weird if he just pops out with that at a time like this. He can save it for later—heaven knows he’ll have the time.
“...is this about the printer?”
Fubuki giggles again. “Sort of. It’s mostly, you know. You being so sweet and patient about the whole thing. I know you’ve been wanting to toss it for at least a week now.”
He stretches exaggeratedly before leaning into Ryou’s touch, fingers curling around his wrist. His skin is pleasantly warm, his grip secure, yet gentle—the kiss he presses to the palm of Ryou’s hand is soft and sweet, almost reverent. He’s never seen anyone so content to just lie on the floor like this, but here they are.
He can’t imagine being anywhere else, really.
“But, I don’t know,” Fubuki continues, thoughtful and sentimental. “You put up with a lot from me. Silly stuff. I’m just always really grateful that you take it all in stride.”
Ryou laughs quietly. “And who do you suppose taught me how to do that?”
Fubuki is delighted by the teasing, something that hasn’t changed despite the number of years between them. His whole face lights up, beautiful and luminous, and he presses Ryou’s hand more firmly against his cheek.
“I suppose I did, yes?” He plays along, and Ryou snorts, leaning down to kiss his absurd husband. Fubuki is all-too happy to allow this, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair.
He loves kissing Fubuki. He loves the quick ones they share in the morning on their way out the door for work, the soft ones they exchange every night before they go to bed. He loves the intense ones that steal his breath, the passionate ones that leave him desperate for more, the long, slow ones that he never wants to end. He loves these, too, the sweet, affectionate ones that flutter somewhere between playful and gentle, the lighthearted ones that make him smile against Fubuki’s mouth. Every kiss makes him feel like the first one did—every kiss makes him feel happy, safe, special. Like he belongs somewhere. Like he belongs here.
And the way Fubuki kisses him always makes it clear that he feels the same.
When they eventually separate, he doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Fubuki’s. He could easily remain right here for the foreseeable future, but the printer chooses that moment to come to life again, practically screeching in indignation at some unseen slight. After whirring loudly for several seconds, it makes a series of awful clicking sounds before eventually winding itself back down into silence. Fubuki groans.
“I’m going to burn it.”
Ryou cannot keep the grin off his face, sitting up just to witness his husband’s expression of utter disdain and annoyance. It’s a rare look for Fubuki, but as always, his commitment to fully expressing every emotion he experiences is wildly entertaining.
“We’ll get rid of it tomorrow.” He assures him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Okay?”
Fubuki closes his eyes. He inhales, holds the breath, then exhales in a loud, gusty sigh. When he opens his eyes again, he smiles, all the negativity pushed out of him just like that. Ryou supposes it’s easier when it’s just about a printer, but the feat still stands. Fubuki really is something else.
“Okay.” His expression shifts slightly, becoming distinctly more...mischievous. “How about you come down here and kiss me again?”
Ryou snorts. “How about you come with me so we can get started on dinner?”
Fubuki laughs, sitting up so he can throw his arms around his neck. Ryou hugs him tightly in return, burying his face in his hair and breathing in the smell of his favorite shampoo. He’s so warm in his arms, so vibrant and comforting—Fubuki snuggles against him, overjoyed by this simple gesture, and Ryou is more than happy to admit that he likes this, too.
Somehow, this man makes every moment their moment—somehow, Fubuki makes even the most innocuous, everyday, ridiculous matters meaningful. Maybe that’s just the way he is. Maybe it’s because Ryou loves him so much. Whatever it is, life is beautiful when Fubuki is by his side.
Always.