Chapter Text
GOLDEN WEEK, 20XX
You talk to me like you sing, babe
Every time you laugh, You make me happy
A voice softly sang in the distance along to the radio while the aroma of roasted coffee filled the air.
Ren groaned before opening his eyes. The clock on the wall read sometime past 11:00 in the morning.
Not that he could tell the exact time with how blurred everything looked. Where the hell were his glasses?
Body aching, he rolled over onto his back only to be greeted by a familiar pounding in his head. His foot brushed against something firm but plush -- something that turned out to be the arm of his couch. He looked over to find a pair of wine glasses on the coffee table, one with a few drops left to transmute late morning sun into a warm garnet color while its companion remained empty and stained with bright red lipstick.
The same shade of bright red that was smeared along his chest and shoulders.
Ugh. I need coffee.
Almost immediately after he sat up, memories of last night flooded back, the intoxicating scent of sweat, vanilla, and cabernet dimmed his vision while he ran his fingers through a cloud of blonde hair. Intermittent sighs and moans sent chills up and down his spine and made him shudder in anticipation.
Sighs and moans that still haunted what felt like a hazy daydream.
A pair of soft lips pressed a kiss behind his ear. “Good morning, handsome,” the voice whispered into Ren’s ear before an arm draped around his neck.
Oh.
Right.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Good morning, beautiful," he answered instinctively.
"Sleep well?"
“Not at all,” Ren smirked, his voice dry and hoarse. “Someone kept me up last night.”
The blonde mischievously tapped her lips with her finger before she spoke. “Well someone thought it would be a good idea for us to get drunk last night.”
“What was her name again?” Ren’s casual comment only earned a raised eyebrow from the blonde. “Ann Takamaki, I think?”
Ann traced a line with her fingernail across Ren’s bare collarbone while she pressed her lips to the base of his neck. “You think? Or you know?” Her warm breath tickled at his skin.
Ren shuddered before taking her hand in his. “I’m positive it was her.” He interlaced their fingers before adding, “Happy anniversary, Love.”
“Happy anniversary,” Ann cooed before kissing his forehead. She’d already washed off last night’s makeup. And took the liberty to start cleaning up. All while wearing Ren’s dress shirt from the night before: lipstick-stained collar, sleeves cuffed, hair arranged in a messy bun, and bare feet and legs proudly on display in the mirror propped up against the wall beside them.
He assumed she’d caught him staring by the way she stepped around the couch. It wasn’t until she was in front of him that he’d noticed that she was wearing her hair in a messy bun.
I'm too hungover for this to be a dream.
“Are you hungry?” she asked before settling into Ren’s lap. In truth, the question was her way of saying that she was hungry. He didn’t remember putting his boxers back on, but he wasn’t complaining. The late morning air felt cool, and the feeling of lace and silk against his sensitive skin probably would have made it difficult for him to realize that it had been nearly half a day since he’d had any food to eat.
“Crepes?” He asked, reaching for the mug of coffee in his lover’s hand.
She pulled it away, lips pursed in disapproval. It was her way of asking for a kiss -- one that Ren happily obliged to earn his morning coffee. “I already got the batter ready,” she smiled when their lips finally parted. “But I can’t find the whipped cream.”
Ren felt the chill of a cool metal can against his foot while he tried to get in a position comfortable to nurse his hangover. “Found it,” he chuckled.
“Sorry,” Ann lamented. “My bad.”
He watched her from behind the rim of his coffee mug while he drank, hoping he was able to mask the smirk on his face. “We should still have some heavy cream. I’ll just whip some up.”
“You always think of everything,” she grinned while absent-mindedly running a hand through his dark curls.
“You know,” He remarked, reaching over to place the empty mug on the coffee table, “I can’t make breakfast until I get you off.”
Ann twisted a lock of his hair in between her fingers. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
An unintentional but convenient choice of words, love.
It took almost everything in him to resist the devious curl of her lips and the way she batted her eyelashes.
“After breakfast,” Ren scolded, shying away from the trail of kisses she tried to trace along his neck and shoulder. “Besides, I have to get your gift.”
A pout started to form across Ann’s lips.
A pout Ren all too eagerly kissed away before seizing her hips and shifting their bodies so that he hovered above her.
"I can't cook with you hanging on to me like that," he whispered while tracing the length of her arm with his bottom lip. He thought about nibbling at her ear and instead resigned to planting a kiss into her wrist.
“Sure you can.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She let go, her limbs falling limp against the couch. “Rude.”
They touched noses for a brief moment. Just long enough for Ren to feel the tickle of her breath. “ You’re the one that’s hungry,” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood up. “I won’t be long. I promise.”
Ann almost felt guilty for complaining about how long he took. Almost. He was only gone a few short minutes -- barely enough time for her to finish loading the dishwasher and clearing the coffee table. Ren didn’t bother putting a shirt on, but he did take the time to wash up and dress in a simple pair of black joggers and his signature black frames.
Ren couldn't tell what stroked his ego more: the knowing look Ann gave when he re-entered the kitchen or the fact that she was too busy ogling him to notice the small gift in front of her.
“What’s this?” She blinked, only then realizing that the matte black gift wrap and red satin ribbon unveiled a beat up black notebook. It was clear that it had gotten a fair amount of use; grease stained the edges of the page, dog ears propped up the cover in the corner, and sticky notes and tabs littered the book’s upper edges and sides.
“Your gift, obviously,” Ren stated without looking up from the griddle. “Go ahead and open it.”
She opened the cover to find his gray letterhead and familiar handwriting.
My Dearest Annie,
Can you believe it’s already been a year?
I certainly can’t. Between babysitting our niece, being promoted to Chef de Cuisine at Haru's new restaurant, and helping Futaba train the new kids at Leblanc, I’m grateful to be able to spend some time alone with you this week. Golden Week was a good call to get married.
On our honeymoon, you asked me what kinds of things I wrote in my notebooks. Most of the time these days they’re notes for work and recipes Haru wants me to develop and revise. Other times, they’re things I’ve eaten that I want to revisit or try to recreate. Sometimes, it's long-form journal entries. On a bad day, they're jokes and things that you say that make me feel better. But there are some things that remain constant: ink stains, grease patches, and things that remind me that life is worth living.
I guess you could call them memories. You know me. If I don’t write it down, I probably won’t remember it.
They say that your first wedding anniversary present should be paper. I’ve held on to this notebook for so long because I like to refer back to it every so often. There’s a lot of great insights and memories in this one, and I hope you’ll cherish them as much as I do. And if the original writings on the page don’t entertain you enough, I’ve made some notes for you to enjoy. Hell, I could barely stand the original author of this notebook, so the fact that you actually thought he was funny is beyond me.
Being a Phantom Thief was an amazing adventure, but it pales in comparison to being loved by someone as divine as you. Every day, you show me what it’s like to find the magic in all things and the romance in passing moments. Thank you for choosing me to be your husband, and thank you for believing in me after all these years. But most of all, thank you for being my light. There isn’t a day where I don’t think about you or thank the gods above that I have the honor of being your husband.
You said it best: You make every day feel like the summer of seventeen.
Always and Forever Your Joker,
Ren
Ann looked down from the letter to read the first page.
IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN TO
REN AMAMIYA
SUMMER 20XX
Ann’s brow furrowed. “Ren? What the hell is this?”
Ren didn't turn around and instead turned up the radio to sing along.
If you scared, call that reverend
Boy, I'm drinkin', get my brain right
Armand de Brignac, gangster wife
Louis sheets, he sweat it out
Like washrags, he wet it up
I'm drinkin' ~
There was no use in getting an answer out of him. Breakfast was sacred to this man, and once the music was turned up there was no stopping him.
She cautiously examined the small black notebook. Pink page flags marked with hearts immediately caught her attention, and she ran her finger along the tabs.
This wasn’t just any notebook: this was his journal from their first summer as a couple.
She looked up at her husband with narrowed eyes. Ren was still singing, his lips curled into that devilish grin she adored so much.
He winked at her when their eyes finally met, and all Ann could think to do was turn to the first marked page.