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Tsukasa wakes up first. For once, the Worlds don’t pull at him. He lays utterly still, looking Daiki over. The man is still naked under the covers, one hand instinctively having taken Tsukasa’s, curled small where Tsukasa tends to stretch out.
Currently longer hair falls into Daiki’s face. A face which is untensed, for once. Peaceful, in sleep.
Oh, to finally have Daiki’s trust back. To wake up first and catch the other unguarded. Their relationship has had so many ebbs and flows, but this is precious.
Tsukasa watches for what must be at least an hour, not risking moving. He wishes he could photograph it, but chooses not to. Chooses instead to be happy with this.
Neither of them are good at staying.
So he gets up, slowly. Slips on his clothes, and heads to the kitchen to make breakfast.
Sometimes he would cook with Daiki, going back and forth to one up each other as Natsumi, Yuusuke, and the old man watched in amusement. Sometimes, he liked being able to spoil his partners.
Now…
It’s been a while.
Daiki comes out of the hall, still not all put together. Lured by food, he wanders over, wrapping his arms around Tsukasa from behind and looking over his shoulder at the stove.
“I’m making your favorites,” Tsukasa teases.
“Hmm, a good second course,” Daiki replies, kissing a dark mark on Tsukasa’s neck. Tsukasa rolls his eyes.
“Let go, or our food won’t be perfect.”
Daiki pouts, slowly letting go.
“It better be perfect, then,” he taunts.
Tsukasa does take a picture as they eat, Daiki animatedly telling a story of a heist. Daiki can be so unaware of himself, of the way a core part of the other likes… this. Being loud and center of attention in a good way.
Tsukasa knows he loves to be in the spotlight. He doesn’t see any issue with it, really. He’s good at everything. He’s charismatic. He’s gorgeous.
(He’s a fraud and a failure and some days can’t even struggle out of bed for much. But that’s a different part of him. He’ll take the confidence while it lasts. Prefers it to the emptiness.)
“…And so, with a graceful end, I had the treasure in my hand as I made my escape,” Daiki finishes.
“And where’d you stash this dagger of souls?” Tsukasa asks. Daiki once again pouts.
“It’s specifically called the Spirit Dagger,” Daiki says, emphasizing the English words as though he doesn’t know Tsukasa is fluent. “And it’s actually one of the ones I keep here.”
“Ah,” Tsukasa says. “But hey, I’m impressed. You’re certainly good at being a sneak thief.”
Daiki continues to put, but the smile in his eyes also remains. It’s good. Tsukasa’s glad he can pull off this morning, since even since they’ve started to heal, it’s often Daiki putting in work and then disappearing…
…oh, curse his luck. Tsukasa bites back any outwards reactions, but the Worlds are back to sending him calls for help.
He sets down his chopsticks, though, and he knows the moment is over.
“I’m done,” he says, “you?”
“…just about,” Daiki says. He looks Tsukasa over, but he doesn’t say anything. For now, to speak of it would be too far for them both. They can live these moments of domesticity or they can play with the ever-present raw mess of their relationship. Of knowing each other intimately. Of knowing the worst of each other intimately. Of grief and anger and somehow still love. But never both, not at once. “I can was the dishes.”
A tiny allowance, on Daiki’s part. It’s enough.
“I have… film to develop,” Tsukasa replies, “so go on and serve me, my Kaitou.”
(And not Daiki again, not yet and not even close, but more than a last name. Sometimes.)
Someday, maybe.
Someday things will heal properly.
But for now… this can be nice, too.
(The picture of Daiki comes out well. Or rather… Daiki, at least, is semi-clear in frame. Still a little unguarded. Still handsome.
Still feeling Tsukasa with hope.)