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“This is illegal.”
Ryouji chuckled at Madara’s sleepy grumbles, tugging him along behind with their fingers linked, taking care to not let the poor man stumble into any walls. “Waking you up early isn’t illegal, Dara dear.”
“Is so. S’cruel and unusual.”
He could hardly make the words out from underneath all that bed hair and ill will. Still, Ryouji just tugged him along further, until they were standing below the archway that lead from the living room into the kitchen. “I’ll let you go back to bed in just a few minutes, I promise.”
Even soothing his hands down the man’s arms in the way he knew Madara loved didn’t save him from the grumpy glares. A peek passed him told Ryouji it was just about time - 11:58 - and just the thought put a soft smile on his lips, one hand brushing the hair out of his fiance’s face.
Almost time. The back porch light wasn’t on but he could still see the snow piled up against the glass sliding door, the lights from their tree still on and shinning in brilliant color that reflected on it all, though in Ryouji’s self-admittedly cheesy thoughts that beauty was nothing in comparison to the one standing before him. He pulled Madara in close to his chest, letting him nose there for the last minute, then tilted his head up by his chin when the clock hit a minute before.
“Happy birthday, Dara.” The mumbled complaint that Ryouji had already wished him one died off when he brushed their lips together. The kiss was soft and slow, nothing about it overly passionate or heated, but it was one he hoped Madara would remember. It held all of his heart, all of the memories they’d built together over the last year: their four year anniversary, the day he proposed, dancing at Ryouya’s wedding, the two months Madara had been determined to learn how to bake (Ryouji was honestly grateful he gave that up, he could only eat so many burnt cakes), the smaller moments that he’d treasure for the rest of his life. All things he hoped never to forget, and hoped Madara would keep in his heart as well, in case he ever doubted what he meant to him.
When he pulled back, just enough to brush the tip of their noses together, the clock read midnight. He held Madara tight, watching those beautiful eyes flutter open, giving him a light squeeze to greet the new day.
“Merry Christmas, love.”
“You didn’t wake me up for this.”
He snorted and didn’t answer, choosing instead to press soft kisses to the other’s forehead. At least he knew Madara really had no room to talk - and that, if the color on his cheeks was anything to go by, he honestly didn’t mind much at all.