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The early sun streams in through the blinds, casting a blanket of warmth over Langa’s cheeks. He rolls over, reaching across the ruffled mound of sheets to find an empty space where Ainosuke would typically reside. A content sigh escapes as his eyes blink open, his blurred vision clearing as he catches a glimpse of the missing man. His husband is standing beneath the doorframe of the bathroom, a towel tied loosely around his waist, the rest of him bare. Crystal droplets glisten across Ainosuke’s chest as he approaches, tussling his damp hair out of his face to reveal a crimson gaze.
Langa inhales clean laundry mingled with the scent of Ainosuke’s shampoo, a familiar floral scent that he’s committed to memory. The serene atmosphere of the bedroom, their first together, wraps the moment in a sense of comfort that neither man has experienced in quite this way. It’s a different sort of security than just having a place to sleep, eat, and dwell. This is a sense of belonging. A place where they are no longer apart, existing in a shared space. Home. Their home.
Waking up to this god of a man feels unreal. Langa had never been sure of what he wanted as far as his future, mostly focusing on snowboarding and not looking further ahead than he had to. After the move and picking up skateboarding, it felt the same, but especially so. Why look towards a future when it’s so unknown? One day he had his father by his side, racing down a mountain, smiling at him with so much warmth it could melt the snow beneath their boards. Then suddenly he was hanging up his board for good, that warmth having been chilled. The slopes became a place of unbearable cold where he no longer dared to venture.
But Adam was all heat. A kind of heat that incinerated Langa’s preconceived notions of what it meant to have meaning. A future, even. Suddenly, the possibility snapped into view. Being enveloped in that heat, burning straight through his flesh and into the deepest parts of him. His heart, his soul, and that dark space inside, longing to be lit up from the inside out. A space that had once housed the warm glow of hope, snuffed out by what Langa could only guess was fate. Though, maybe fate isn’t exactly what he thought, after all. Perhaps fate is more like the tides, waxing and waning, giving and taking.
The mattress dips inward when Ainosuke lightly plants himself on the edge, pulling back the plush, white comforter from Langa’s shoulders to lay a kiss atop his collarbone.
“Good morning, Snow bunny. I do hope I didn’t wake you.”
His soft demeanor is one that Langa has claimed as his own, reserved for these moments of shared solitude. The Shindo Ainosuke the rest of the world experiences is brash, cunning, and in some cases, inspires fear. Not this man, though. No, in this space the man by that same name is gentle and loving, coloring Langa’s world in a way nothing else could.
“How do you do it?” Langa often speaks before he’s sure exactly what he wants to say. His husband is aware of that fact by this point, but never misses a chance to pry at him.
“Do what, dear?” Ainosuke’s head is cocked to one side, a slyness gathering at the corners of his mouth to imply he already knows the answer.
How is Langa supposed to put into words just how breathtaking Ainosuke is? He’s pretty sure people don’t normally look this good right out of a shower. He searches for the words along the slope of Ainosuke’s jaw and the steep curve of his upper lip. Scouring the dips along his collarbone, the remaining droplets along his chest, the rigid definition along his torso—
“You’re staring, love.”
Right, he’s supposed to be answering.
“I—uh. Hey.” Langa isn’t great with words.
He leans up to press his lips to his husband’s before dramatically plopping back to the fluffy pillow beneath his head. Seriously, it is so fluffy. So much so that it was a main topic of conversation before the two had drifted to sleep the night before.
“I see you’re still enjoying the comforts of our new home.” Ainosuke’s chuckle is followed by his hand lightly grazing Langa’s torso, taking in every point of contact he’s allowed.
“Yeah, make sure you thank Tadashi for me.”
Ainosuke’s response comes as a playful pout, knowing all too well the situation at hand. “Who do you think gave him the instructions, dear? I know you better than I know myself.”
Langa knows he’s exactly right. Before meeting Ainosuke, or Adam at the time, most days felt much like going through the motions, searching for the next rush. Anything to make him feel something. But then came this beautiful man, wild with just a hint of destruction. Intriguing. Sexy. Langa was done for. He had fallen all the way into this man’s twisted world. What he found, though, was even more awe-inspiring than he could have imagined. This world of love and shared contact with a man that longs to know him, explores him, hangs on his every word, it’s the ultimate rush.
“Yeah, I know.” A soft smile spans Langa’s lips, as it often does these days. An impressive yawn follows, a slight burning in his eyes reminding him he had just opened them five minutes prior. Ainosuke’s fingers along Langa’s torso slow and cease their contact. Their presence had become nearly indistinguishable from Langa’s bare skin until they were lost, leaving him feeling incomplete.
“Coffee, how about it?” Ainosuke leans in, kissing Langa’s cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, soft but firm. Heat rushes through him, filling each corner of him with belonging.
Langa hums, nodding in approval as Ainosuke rises and shuffles gracefully towards the hallway.
The serene atmosphere of the bedroom gives Langa pause. Silence, except for the faint tapping of Ainosuke’s footsteps on wood floors, becoming more distant by the second. The still lingering scent of cleanliness and flowers wafting from the bathroom draws him in as he manages to heave himself off the edge of the mattress and onto his feet. The sooner he showers, the sooner he can get his hands around Ainosuke’s waist, and his lips pressed against his warm skin.
It’s all he thinks about, really. Feeling Ainosuke, breathing him in, basking in the light of his shining presence. Everywhere that man goes, his entire existence, burns so damn brightly.
If he closes his eyes Langa can imagine the warm water flowing over his shoulders, cascading across his chest and his back, are Ainosuke’s hands caressing lightly. He reminisces on the events that led to this particular dream of a reality.
*
Their wedding, which took place just days ago, was far less grand than one would expect of Ainosuke Shindo. It’s understandable. He’s known for being over the top, both in matters of business and in matters of the heart. Miya had even referred to him as “extra” on many occasions, which Langa assumes has a similar meaning.
Rather than “extra,” though, their wedding was more charming. An intimate gathering of just the most essential family and friends. It was what Langa had wanted, and Ainosuke has never been one to deny a request of his Snow. Though, this was a scenario where he didn’t put up as much fight as usual. Ainosuke is aware of their situation as much as Langa is. Their relationship isn’t exactly accepted. Or at least, it wouldn’t be if they chose to be fully public about it.
As it stands, Ainosuke is still a political figure. Langa may not technically be “underage” anymore, but he sure is still a man, and a younger one at that. A scandal at the height of his career would definitely not be ideal, though Ainosuke constantly reassures Langa that his love for him transcends any potential repercussions of being found out. Even so, the two keep strong boundaries between home life and Ainosuke’s work.
Then there’s Langa’s mom, who had found out about their relationship after spotting the engagement ring he forgot to take off and stow in his pocket when serving her breakfast. She had responded with a flurry of emotions, ranging from confused, to startled, to ecstatic, all the while remaining supportive. Langa was never exactly scared of telling her about Ainosuke, it was just a tough topic to bring up out of the blue, and Langa never was great at those kinds of things.
*
Langa lathers up with the same shampoo Ainosuke so notoriously uses, and the scent now makes him dizzy, his senses being flooded with disbelief. Somehow, this is real. He’s not sure if he had really stopped to consider it, yet. He had married Ainosuke. Adam. The man he had longed for since he first saw him hurtling towards the finish at S, such graceful destruction in his movements. Langa longed to be destroyed.
This first morning in their new normal is already more than Langa could’ve fantasized. Sure, he had woken up to the man on plenty of other occasions; the two had been together for nearly 2 years at this point, so it’s to be expected. The specific flutter in his chest, paired with the ever so familiar tightening in his stomach when meeting Ainosuke's gaze, those things haven’t changed. They’re just colored differently. Inked with the notion of home. The flavor of forever, lingering hot on his cheek where Ainosuke’s lips have pressed.
Langa’s feet meet the cool tile of the bathroom floor, wrapping a towel around himself as he rounds the corner to their shared closet. The stark distance between the two mens’ sides is jarring, inspiring a chuckle out of Langa. Ainosuke’s clothing, a mix between business formal and multiple sequenced matador costumes, paralleled that of Langa’s casual tee and jeans collection. Separate, different (opposite, even), but coexisting. It’s beautiful, and Langa wonders how each side may change over the years. Will the stacks begin to spill over? Plain tees mixed in with blue slacks. Stray sequins found in Langa’s pockets during his times away, reminding him of all he has waiting at home. The two, already one, becoming even further mingled with each other.
*
The smell of coffee floods the hallway as Langa approaches the kitchen. Ainosuke stands at the counter, pouring boiling water from a gooseneck kettle into a coffee maker that Langa has already forgotten the name of despite being told just the day before. It’s fancy, a small flame sitting below a round glass chamber, for the coffee to settle, he assumes. The muscles in Ainosuke’s back flex and contract along with his movements, and Langa stares perhaps a bit too long before making his presence known.
The tips of his fingers collide with the smooth skin of Ainosuke’s hip, and he adjusts his stance as Ainosuke leans into his touch. They don’t say anything, they don’t need to. The water in the siphon (right, that’s what it’s called) bubbles in the top chamber, steeping the grounds, extracting their flavor. The calm, steady rhythm of Ainosuke’s breath lulls Langa deeper into this moment of early bliss. He gives Ainosuke’s hipbone a light squeeze, resting his cheek against Ainosuke’s shoulder, skin on skin, warmth. Morning sunlight beams through the windows, leaving illuminated shapes strewn gently across the countertop. The smell of fresh coffee and roses fills the space around them.
Minutes pass as the bottom chamber fills. Ainosuke pours Langa’s serving into his signature mug, blue ceramic printed with a glistening snowflake. His own mug, the compliment to a pair, bears a red rose. The set had been a wedding gift from Kojiro and Kaoru, two of the only people that would know the significance of the emblems. Langa beams to himself, remembering Ainosuke’s reaction when receiving them. Oh look, Snow! It’s us. We’ll drink coffee from them every morning!~ It’s cute, really, seeing this side of the man. Not quite Adam, not quite Ainosuke Shindo the politician. Just simply Ainosuke, the man. He’s someone that gets excited over couples’ mugs and brews fresh coffee early in the morning. For all of his intense qualities, Ainosuke is softer than he appears.
The coffee is hot and bitter, but not like the stuff he would drink from his mom’s automatic one-cup machine. It has a certain quality to it, a savory-sweet sensation that dances atop the back of his tongue. It’s complex just like the man that brewed it.
“Mmm~ I do enjoy fresh coffee in the morning,” Ainosuke sighs, pulling Langa into his chest with his free arm. “Made all the more delicious with my Snow to share it with.”
Langa sighs in response, leaning in and pressing his cheek to his husband’s. The calm of the moment could coerce Langa back to sleep, even despite the caffeine actively entering his system. Despite the serene atmosphere, the two have things to accomplish today.
This evening they will be throwing a housewarming dinner party, the only attendees being Langa’s mom and Tadashi. The menu had been established and the ingredients acquired the previous day. The two had made their way to the local grocery store, a foreign act for Ainosuke. Langa enjoyed that time together, leading his husband by the hand up and down the aisles, picking out ingredients and checking off their list as they went. Ainosuke had asked questions, things most would consider common knowledge. But he had lived until now with only the objective of saving face and success in his career, always with servants to take care of the more “menial” details of everyday life. Not anymore, though. This life with Langa is new, and he’s starting to realize maybe there’s nothing “menial” about it after all.
The kitchen is stocked with brand new appliances and cooking utensils, everything that Ainosuke had insisted is a necessity based on his minimal research and delegated to Tadashi to purchase “only the best”. Thankfully, Langa had picked up some decent cooking skills from preparing food for his mom, as well as his summer job working at Sia La Luce. Joe had not missed an opportunity to teach Langa a new skill in their down time, and Langa thanks him silently as Ainosuke starts gathering ingredients from the fridge.
“We should get started now, love. I could get lost in this moment and suddenly come to a week later.” Ainosuke is much more enthusiastic than Langa would have expected, but he gets it. This is his first time really doing anything at all in the kitchen. Something that had shocked Langa during their move was Ainosuke’s insistence on brewing coffee himself. He had explained that it was something he had picked up during his travels. It makes sense, Ainosuke has a refined and expensive taste. There’s a lot of bad coffee out there, and he’s a very busy man. It makes sense that even the substance that sustains him on his days of overwork and little sleep, especially those mornings after a night of beefing at S, would be only the highest quality. Ainosuke when faced with kitchen appliances, however, is a completely different beast. It’s cute how he takes initiative, but then clearly flounders when faced with the specifics.
Langa nods and reaches for his iPad on the corner of the counter, opening the first of the recipes they plan to tackle. Garlic breadsticks. Ainosuke had expressed a lot of interest, telling stories of fresh bread consumed at “only the finest establishments”. Langa can imagine even the bread available at the estate puts his usual grocery store bread to shame.
This isn’t Langa’s first rodeo, though. His time at Sia La Luce had taught him much, and this was by far among his favorites. Langa loves to eat. He especially loves to eat bread. Because of course he does. Who doesn’t? In fact, he had opted to double the recipe because again, everyone loves bread, and Langa plans on eating at least half the sticks himself.
Ainosuke stands waiting, items completely irrelevant to the recipe lined neatly on the counter in front of him. At least he tried. Langa notes how his husband can be so simultaneously clueless and elegant, and how absolutely wild that drives him.
“We’ll need flour, yeast, warm water, oh and the stand mixer. Where is that, anyways?”
Langa waits a short moment for his husband’s response before promptly realizing that’s a Tadashi question. “Actually, could you go get the flour from the pantry? It’s in a red bag, it should say ‘all-purpose’ on the front.”
Ainosuke nods dutifully, striding to the pantry as Langa phones Tadashi, the one who had shouldered the majority of their new home organization.
“Yeah, the stand mixer. Oh, gotcha. Okay thanks, see you tonight.”
“Thanks, puppy!” Ainosuke’s comment barely reaches the receiver as he rounds the counter cradling the bag of flour.
Having set up their work station, Langa gets the dough started with Ainosuke’s hands resting on his hips, watching diligently from over his shoulder. The hook attached to the stand mixer twirls rhythmically and Langa takes another sip from his slightly cooled coffee.
“Hey.” Langa shifts his weight back to rest fully against Ainosuke, barely supporting his own weight. “Breakfast?” There’s no way Langa will be able to make it to the party, or even the next 10 minutes, without eating something.
Ainosuke is prepared, though. “But of course, my dear. Tadashi dropped it off just this morning before you awoke.” He gestures towards the cabinet, and despite mourning the loss of his husband’s warmth pressed against him, Langa strides over and pulls out an assortment of fancy breakfast pastries. He doesn’t even stop to consider all his options before grabbing the closest one and shoving it into his mouth.
“Mmm, thish ish good.” His eyes are wide, glistening, the way they typically do when he’s either eating or admiring Ainosuke. His two greatest loves.
“Of course they are. Only the best for you, Snow,” Adam smiles slyly, zeroing in on the ring of powdered sugar left around Langa’s mouth. “Here, let me help you.”
Langa doesn’t retreat when Ainosuke’s tongue lightly traces the outline of his lips before leaning in fully. His kiss tastes like breakfast, the perfect marriage of bitter coffee and sweet vanilla. Ainosuke pushes further, coaxing Langa’s back to press firmly against the counter. Langa gives in, allowing his husband’s tongue to slide over his own, sugar-coated and warm.
This is where he always gets lost, under the burning touch of Ainosuke Shindo. The buzzing of the stand mixer in the background does nothing to break them out of this trance, their lips pushing and pulling in rhythm with each other. When a hum escapes Ainouske’s lips, Langa pulls away. His husband pouts, searching for answers in the deep blue pools of Langa’s gaze.
“We have to shape the breadsticks. Also, I’m still hungry.” Langa’s two greatest loves, forever at odds with each other, vying for his attention.
Ainosuke sighs. “Once again I have fallen, defeated by the likes of a flakey breakfast pastry.” He straightens his posture and allows Langa passage to the box behind them.
“You said yourself that they’re only the best.” Langa stuffs another entire pastry into his mouth, his cheeks puffed as he grins.
Ainosuke chuckles softly as Langa strides back to the stand mixer, brushing Ainosuke’s torso with his fingertips as he passes. The dough is well-mixed, maybe a little past that, but Langa’s not concerned as he switches the mixer off and begins spreading flour across the counter.
“Wanna learn how to shape breadsticks?”
Ainosuke gleams as he joins Langa at the counter. The two stand shoulder to shoulder as Langa lays the dough out and begins separating it into smaller balls.
“Alright, watch this.” Langa takes one of the mounds in his hands and presses and stretches it into a line, about the length of a typical breadstick. Ainosuke is diligent, watching Langa’s hands like a predator does it’s prey.
“Ok and then, finish it off, like this.” Langa places both hands atop the dough, rolling it between his palms and the counter until it’s perfectly cylindrical and breadstick-shaped.
“Mm, I always knew you were good with your hands, Snow bunny.”
Langa chokes. On nothing. Maybe on a little bit of stray flour floating through the air. To be fair, it takes quite a bit to catch him off guard. But when it comes to Ainosuke, his constitution is weak.
Ainosuke, clearly pleased with himself, takes a dough ball in his own hands and attempts to replicate Langa’s technique. The result? Disastrous. If this was Sia La Luce, he’d have been shown the door half way through.
But it’s not. And Joe isn’t in charge here. Langa is. And Langa is inclined to utilize some more encouraging ways of teaching.
“Ai, that looks nothing like a breadstick.” It doesn’t. In truth, it looks more like a piece of stray dough that got hit by a truck. But Langa won’t rub it in any more than he already has.
“Wanna watch me again?”
Ainosuke nods, leaning in to get a better look at the fine details of the technique.
“Actually, here, come behind me.” Langa gently guides Ainosuke to stand behind him, grabbing hold of both his arms and pulling him forward so his front is pressed flush to Langa’s back. Ainosuke leans into the position, his lips resting close enough to Langa’s ear that warm breaths brush against it.
“Let me show you.” Langa places Ainosuke’s hands on top of his own, and repeats his technique; pushing, pulling, stretching, their bodies shift in tandem subtly with each movement. They move to the rolling stage, and Ainosuke presses his front into Langa’s back firmly, under the guise of paying extra close attention to the lesson. Ainosuke hums as their hands move as one and plants a kiss on Langa’s cheek.
Langa’s skin heats against soft, familiar lips as he continues shaping. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping for an excuse to get closer to his topless husband again, and after finally having some breakfast (like, a third of what he normally eats but he can make up for it later) he’s feeling a lot more motivated. Even as Ainosuke’s toned torso ripples along his back, Langa knows they need to focus on the task at hand. He really wants to impress their guests tonight– two of the most important people in their lives, and definitely the most supportive. Even with others casting doubt on their relationship, the two of them remained encouraging. Hell, Tadashi even officiated their wedding, a detail that surprised absolutely no one. The whole thing was just so them.
And so is this, really. Being absolutely unable to focus fully on anything except each other. Stealing kisses at any opportunity. Electric touches between tasks. It’s just how things always are.
How things always will be, Langa realizes.
Maybe they can spare a little time. Langa’s decision is solidified by Ainosuke’s kisses migrating to his ear, paired with the addition of breathy hums so light they would be inaudible with any distance between them.
“Hey, are you even watching?” Langa accuses, flatly, aiming to appear uninterested. As always, his facade falls flat.
“Of course I’m watching, love. Enjoying the view.”
After all this time, Langa still gets flustered at Ainosuke’s praise. He had thought it would get easier over time. Not that he’s complaining, he loves that this man is the only one that’s able to get him like this.
Langa collects himself, not a simple accomplishment by far, and decides to indulge his husband for a moment.
“Ai…” Langa speaks his name mingled with a sigh, leaning deeper back into his embrace and untangling one arm. He presses a flour-covered hand to Ainosuke’s cheek and chuckles, “gotcha.”
Ainosuke wraps one arm tightly around Langa’s torso, his voice lowering to a growl as his lips press firmly to Langa’s ear. “That wasn’t very nice, little Langa.”
This is exactly what Langa wanted, and he knew how to get it. He wiggles and squirms in Ainosuke’s grasp, attempting to shield himself from the inevitable retaliation. His efforts are in vain as Ainosuke overpowers him, the arm around his torso moving to wrap around both of Langa’s arms leaving him totally restrained, while the other rustles around in the loose flour and is rubbed earnestly over Langa’s face. He protests, but it gets him nowhere. Ainosuke’s low-pitched laughter is heinous in the way that it sends shivers down Langa’s spine.
The two continue on with this game of theirs, giving and taking control through a fit of giggles and teasing remarks. It’s a different dance than that of the ones they engage in together at S. This is more intimate, exclusive, something that belongs only to them. Puffs of flour fly through the air, and then suddenly Langa discovers something interesting.
Ainosuke’s body jerks. Seizes, almost. His grip on Langa tenses briefly before relenting, and then silence. Stillness. Processing of what just happened.
Langa repeats what he had just done to earn this reaction, testing his theory. His fingertips lightly brush across the bare skin of Ainosuke’s right side, just above his hip bone. As expected, his husband nearly jumps out of his skin, this time relinquishing all contact. He’s a few feet away now, arms crossed over the front of his torso, his hands covering his sides in a defense stance.
Yes, this is interesting. Ainosuke Shindo is ticklish.
There’s something about discovering these types of very human traits in the man that has Langa falling deeper and deeper for him each time. This untouchable, god-like man with all his talent and status. And somehow, Langa has been given all of him, including all those expertly-concealed human traits of his.
Langa is sure his expression gives away just how pleased he’s feeling, and judging by the look on Ainosuke’s face, he knows what to expect now that his secret is out. The look of dread on his face makes Langa chuckle. Oh, how he must hate having his weaknesses revealed, though so far they seem to be extremely few in number.
Langa’s grinning slyly as he takes slow steps towards his husband who is still protecting his sides. Soon they’re nose to nose, and Langa figures he could easily take advantage of this if he wanted to. He could test the waters, find out what other places Ainosuke is ticklish. He could poke and prod and lightly graze every inch of the man looking for more weak spots, more secrets to tearing down those ironclad defenses.
But he won’t. Not now. As he has come to realize, they have time.
“You’re ticklish.” Langa’s words are tantalizing but indifferent, a combination he has mastered by this point in their back-and-forth. Ainosuke’s position does not waver as he hums affirmingly. He wouldn’t dare deny it, not after that display. Not that he could ever lie to his Eve, and he knows that Langa’s aware of that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Langa allows the suspense to build, their eyes locked in a stalemate. Ainosuke’s breaths are warm wisps soaring across Langa’s lips, drawing him in. The tension spills over, and Langa crashes their lips together before he has the foresight to hold back. Their stances remain unwavering, Langa’s arms straight by his sides and Ainosuke wrapped around himself, shielding from any potential sneak attacks.
Langa whispers words of reassurance between kisses. “Truce?” he offers, his ulterior motive rooted in his longing to wrap himself in the comfort of Ainosuke’s bare chest. The arms that usually wrap around him are currently being used against him, and that’s a nuisance that Langa has vowed to eliminate.
Ainosuke is reluctant at first, but as Langa’s kisses become even more relentless, he loses himself and his defenses falter. Without any further hesitation his hands are on Langa’s hips, pulling him flush against him.
They indulge, once again, in the comfort of their own home, between walls that belong to these moments alone, and time seems to move at its own pace. Everything can wait.
Until Langa’s phone rings, and he’s forced to pull himself away from his blissful retreat, his hands placed lovingly on Ainosuke's chest. He can feel the rough pounding of his husband’s heartbeat in his palms, and he nearly whines as he shuffles across the room to retrieve his phone.
After checking the caller ID, Langa picks up and instructs them to wait a moment while he goes somewhere else to talk. Before leaving the room, he fails at holding back a loud snort when he catches a glimpse of Ainosuke and the two hand-shaped flour prints plastered across his chest. Ainosuke’s expression announces he wears the marks with honor, puffing his chest out and smiling slyly like only he can.
*
When Langa returns from the phone call, he stops abruptly mid-step beneath the threshold of the kitchen. There stands Ainosuke hunched over the counter, covered in even more flour than before, his hands working diligently on a mound of dough in front of him. He seems to be repeating steps under his breath, as if guiding himself through the process. On the counter space beside him are shaped breadsticks, each one less disastrous than the last. Langa’s heart swells, as if preparing space for even more adoration of this man, something he didn’t think could be possible but somehow always is.
Langa strides in and gracefully places an arm around Ainosuke’s waist, watching his movements silently. They’re smoother, more intentional, not perfect by a long shot, but it’s bread. No matter what shape, it will be tasty. Langa has never turned down bread and he’s definitely not about to start today.
“Look, dear, I told you I was listening.” Ainosuke purrs, rolling the dough in front of him until it looks vaguely breadstick shaped. A bumpy breadstick, but a breadstick nonetheless. Langa tightens his grip on his husband’s waist and nods. “Yeah, you were. My bad.”
“Oh love, nothing related to you could ever be bad. ” Ainosuke settles his head against Langa’s and breathes deeply before returning upright and placing the fully shaped breadstick to the side.
The two work together shaping the rest of the dough, sharing light touches and passing glances accompanied with doting smiles. Before long they’ve moved on to the rest of the night’s menu, hand-crafting homemade pasta noodles to accompany a light, garlicky sauce.
“Oh Snow, what about a dessert of sorts?” Ainosuke’s head is cocked to the side questioningly, searching for Langa’s input.
“It’s taken care of.” Langa’s response is certain and finite. When he doesn’t offer any further explanation, Ainosuke seems to accept it and moves on, though there’s a hint of suspicion in his gaze.
As their meal comes together, they pause their preparations to get dressed before placing the finishing touches. They emerge from their shared space in typical attire, just slightly classed up. Ainosuke is wearing his usual blue business suit, but his hair is not so tightly styled. This is a more casual affair he noted earlier as he worked his fingers through the deep blue locks. Langa doesn’t really get it, but he had nodded in agreement anyway. Langa usually goes with as casual as possible, but decided to go with something a bit more played up tonight. He dawns a slim fitted button up and crisp chinos that, as Ainosuke had so lovingly pointed out, really hug him in just the perfect ways. Langa silently thanks Tadashi as he wills his pulse to soften.
Just as the table is set, courtesy of Ainosuke since he is so much more well-versed in proper table etiquette than Langa, their doorbell rings and the two stop in their tracks. They share a look of surprise and contentment at the first time their doorbell had ever been rang by someone other than them, testing it out a few hundred times just for the sheer novelty of it.
They don’t even need to exchange words before meeting each other at the door to greet their guests together. The door opens to reveal the smiling face of Langa’s mother, and somehow arriving at the exact same time, Tadashi looking markedly less uptight than usual. Langa wonders for a moment if he arrived ridiculously early and just waited in his car to escort Nanako inside. That would be on brand.
Hugs are exchanged by all before Adam whisks Langa’s mother away to give her “The Grand Shindo Home Tour” as he so proudly announced.
“Oh Nanako, I simply cannot wait for you to see our lovely home. And you are of course welcome any time with open arms~” Ainosuke’s theatrics echo through the hall as they turn a corner and disappear from sight. Langa and Tadashi stand somewhat awkwardly at the front entrance, unsure of how to proceed. Langa really wants to say something, thank him for everything he’s done for them until now. Thank him for always being there for Ainosuke, for supporting their relationship, for being so selfless–
The doorbell rings once again, breaking the tension mercifully. Joe stands in the entrance now, holding a large white box that Tadashi dutifully retrieves from him just as Ainosuke and Nanako return, clearly summoned by the doorbell.
“Kojiro?” Ainosuke’s tone softens when he speaks his friend’s name, clearly surprised to see him on his doorstep unexpectedly.
“Hey, man. Nice place! Just making a delivery, and then I’m headed out, though.”
“Delivery?” Ainosuke’s expression turns inquisitive as he turns to Langa for answers. Now seems like as good a time as ever to give them to him.
Langa nudges Tadashi to open the box before offering an explanation. “Well, I wanted to get you something, or maybe do something for you, as a gift for our wedding. And this is all I could come up with.” He gestures towards the open box, now revealed to house a mini-arrangement of chocolate lava cakes. “Joe taught me how to make them and let me borrow the restaurant’s kitchen to keep it a surprise. That’s why he’s here delivering them.”
Ainosuke’s eyes widen. He doesn’t speak, and for a moment it seems like he isn’t going to. He leans in closer, eyeing the cakes for a moment before turning back to Langa and taking his hand into his own. “You made these, Snow?”
“Yeah, Ai. For you. I know they’re your favorite, so I hope they’ll be alright.”
Joe interjects,“Yeah, man, Snow here worked really hard. Had more than a few failed batches until he got them perfect.” He leans to pat Langa on the back, a spark of pride in his eyes. “But he got it down, like he always does.”
Ainosuke’s expression is a rare one. A show of emotion that the man doesn’t often allow himself so openly, but in this moment seems unable to control. The corners of his eyes glisten, the threat of tears welling until he breathes a sharp breath and pulls Langa into a tight embrace.
Still, he says nothing, his body trembling so slightly and his heart beating against Langa’s chest. Everyone remains silent, allowing time for whatever Ainosuke is feeling to pass through him as Langa rubs his back in circular, gentle motions.
His response comes quietly, almost inaudibly. “I love you so much, my Eve. Thank you.” His voice trembles slightly, but before long his embrace relents, and it seems he’s collected himself. Returning to his previous stance, he’s back to the cheery host from before.
“Well, that’s it for me. I’m heading back to the restaurant. Hey, Ainosuke. Invite me over sometime, bro.” Joe smiles at his friend warmly and pats him on the shoulder before turning and taking his leave, nodding at Langa’s grateful remarks as he goes.
*
After Ainosuke is done with his home tour, the food is served. The four of them sit around the table with Langa and Ainosuke notably sitting as close as they’re physically able. Pasta noodles are twirled around forks as Ainosuke narrates lively stories of their morning–leaving out the more private parts, of course. But only barely because it’s Ainosuke, and he takes every opportunity to brag about how in love they are.
Laughter erupts at the site of some of Ainosuke’s more unfortunate breadsticks. Langa notes how he hasn’t seen Tadashi smile this much since the day he met him.
Langa feels warm. His chest, his hands, his feet, his face. He’s totally enveloped. Seeing his mom’s eyes lit bright as she takes a bite of her breadstick and hangs on Ainosuke’s every word. The little smiles she passes to Langa from time to time, a look of pride living permanently in her gaze. She’s happy. She’s enjoying herself. For the first time since losing his father, Langa feels a complete sense of family.
When they make it to dessert, Ainosuke’s reaction is even more enthusiastic than Langa was expecting. He lets out a loud, drawn-out moan, a bite of cake still balanced on his tongue before waxing poetics about how talented his Eve is and how he’s the luckiest man alive. Langa feels proud, his work has paid off. And of course it has. If it’s for Ainosuke, the effort is never too daunting.
Before long, they toast with expensive champagne poured into tall glasses. Ainosuke stands, putting on a show of thankfulness, love, and family.
“To this we toast, to home, to family,” he turns gracefully towards Langa, his glass hovering at his lips and his free hand placed lightly on Langa’s cheek, “and to us, my love.”