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Mori likes to admire his creation, hence his frequent habit of standing in front of the giant window in his office and glancing over the peaceful Yokohama that he brings stability to.
Nevertheless, the sight which he is gazing upon right now definitely differs from what he usually observes. It seems much more mundane than his profound objective of protecting the city — but is it, really? Even if his ‘artwork’ concerns a quite superficial aspect and definitely will remain hidden everywhere besides this apartment, he can’t help but feel a little tinge of satisfaction.
He tries not to shift much under the covers when he reaches out to check what time it is. Eight in the morning; a bit late, in his humble opinion. Mori usually gets up at six or even earlier, if he goes to sleep at all — but this rarely happens since Kouyou has developed a kind of a strange determination to drag him to bed before midnight. It may not make a lot of sense, given that most of the business in the mafia happens at night, but whatever makes her happy.
A soft murmur coming from under the blanket makes him freeze in place, fearing that he messed up and accidentally woke her up. Fortunately, it doesn’t happen; Kouyou simply scrunches her face, but then relaxes again and lets out calm, even breaths. Good. Her undisturbed expression as the first thing he witnesses in the morning has been the most pleasurable part of his day for a while now.
This time, her slightly parted lips are covered with smeared lipstick. Perhaps he contributed to it in a way, but the more significant part of his creation is the trail of bruises that wraps itself around her neck and lower, reaching her chest, then hidden under the v-shaped neckline of her maroon nightgown. He admires them for a while; with some kind of a pride that she allowed him to make such. Her skin is very sensitive, hence the usual covering in the form of her kimono, yet with him, she doesn’t need it. They are both comfortable with sleeping together naked, and they do often. The casualness of their relationship is one of Mori’s favorite things about it, truly.
He feels a strange urge to reach out and kiss her again. It’s not what he’d expect from his own self, because the gesture had always been nothing more but the fulfillment of carnal desires that he thought he was always above. Nevertheless, it seemed like since Kouyou wandered deeper into his life, not only has his sleep schedule changed.
She doesn’t look like she’ll wake up soon, but he always gets those moments in the morning when he’ll take time to admire her sleeping figure. The sight itself brings him peace and serenity, because it’s soothing to know that she’s safe and comfortable in his bed right now. She doesn’t have to talk; it’s enough if she’s here.
It all sounds so cheesy — unbelievably unfitting for him, to even think about something like that; he realizes it after acknowledging the soft smile on his lips that has formed without his conscience. The reason for that is Kouyou, of course.
It’s difficult not to feel guilty because of it. Can he really afford to engage in such a relationship with her? It’ll be a burden for the woman sooner or later, no matter how much she loves him too, because of his mission. His wish; to protect Yokohama, to assure the stability within the city.
Somehow, he feels like he has another wish now; her safety, although he can’t seem to justify it in any way. But is he really allowed to have such a second wish? Wouldn’t it be an obstacle on the way to his goal?
It wasn’t supposed to end like this, he realizes, reaching out with his fingers to take a strand of her hair in his hand, gently, in order not to wake her up. I miscalculated, again.
A sigh lets itself out of his mouth and at the same time Kouyou mutters something incomprehensible again. He freezes in place and puts her hair down slowly, wondering if he is the cause of it.
This time, she doesn’t go back to sleep again. Her eyelids flutter open, her clouded gaze revealing itself in front of him.
Kouyou is already quite the sight when she’s asleep, but nothing compares to the cherry-red eyes that welcome him, not fully conscious, but still overwhelmingly beautiful. She looks around for a second, then realizes that there’s nothing that could pose a threat to them and lays her head back down on the pillow.
“Good morning,” she whispers first in a hoarse voice, reaching out forward to brush his hair out of his face.
Mori is unable to utter a word for a couple of seconds, quietly admiring the view. It’s not the first time he noticed that she’s pretty even when she wakes up — it’s the first time he feels a strange weight in his chest because of it. Maybe it’s his heart, maybe it isn’t. He isn’t sure whether he is still allowed to think that he has one.
“Cat got your tongue?” she chuckles when he leans into her touch, when he pushes his cheek into the palm next to his head. The same palm that fiercely swings the katana, truly unmatched in combat, yet so soft, patient and gentle when it comes to him. “For how long have you been awake?”
Before he answers, he leans forward to place a quick kiss on her lips; Kouyou is definitely surprised at the sudden gesture, but she returns it, not pulling her hand away from his skin. Good.
“Just a while,” his words are a mere whisper, but the heaviness in his chest is what causes him to sound like that. “It’s a quarter past eight right now.”
“Oh,” a small smile appears on her face. “Looks like I’ve managed to keep you in bed for quite a while.”
Mori rolls his eyes. For a couple of seconds he wants to say the same thing that he always does, over and over again. To claim that he has work and must get up from bed soon, although she’s free to stay here if she wishes. As always.
“What’d you say about a day off this time?” he proposes silently, shuffling forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder. This causes him to end up with his face partially in the silky material of her nightgown and her warm skin, but Kouyou doesn’t mind. His arms end up wrapped around her waist tightly, while her hand almost automatically wanders to the back of his head, brushing through his hair gently. It’s a comforting gesture; maybe it is also the reason as to why he didn’t think about cutting his hair for a while now. She wouldn’t have anything to entangle her fingers into then.
The proposal surely must be surprising, but with the satisfied hum she lets out, he’s sure that he hit the spot.
“And why’d you come up with that so suddenly?” she asks with clear amusement in her tone, still stroking his hair gently. “Not that I’ve got anything against it. Quite the contrary.”
Mori shrugs. There is no particular reason, actually. It’s more of a sudden impulse, one of those that he never listens to, because he is not impulsive and always likes to plan out his moves carefully. Well, at least he was.
“I just thought it would be nice,” he says, because there is no better explanation. He doesn’t want to come up with an excuse, he hates lying to her even if it’s in such a way. Kouyou giggles quietly; it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, he’s sure.
“Alright, then,” she nods in agreement. “Would you like some breakfast?”
That weight in his chest appears again. Breakfast. She isn’t very fond of cooking, even if she’s quite skilled in this field. He knows she doesn’t enjoy doing it that much, unless she’s cooking for her loved ones. The way she offers it so effortlessly, it suggests that he’s a loved one for her. The realization instantly causes him to hold her tighter.
“Won’t it be a problem for you?” He questions silently, but she shakes her head and lifts herself up in response, bringing him up with her.
“I think I’m in the mood today,” she says. The disappearance of their close contact is not very welcome, but Kouyou places a humoring kiss on his forehead, then catches his wrist and drags him to the small kitchenette in their apartment.
He barely uses it for anything else than making himself a coffee, if he has time. Before her, it was just a raw kitchen with a giant window, yet almost empty save for the coffee machine in the corner. Kouyou is the one who brought more soul to it; she regularly weaves around the space to prepare her favorite tea, or another taste for him to try.
The image is just so nice to watch.
Mori sits on the stool by the kitchen island, observing as she expertly pulls out ingredients from the fridge. It’s almost full somehow — when did she have time to go shopping? — and her maroon nightgown seems to gleam in the light coming from the window. Yokohama is very much awake by now, the city bustling with life. Nevertheless, this time, the man doesn’t look at the city.
He gets up slowly, then walks over to wrap his hands around her waist from behind. The action almost causes his own mind to shut off, because he clearly can’t control himself.
There was never an urge that Mori Ougai couldn’t resist, no matter what it was. ‘Was’ is a good way to say it.
“Someone’s being clingy today,” Kouyou comments, not minding his action and flipping a pancake on her pan. Pancakes. She’s making pancakes. It’s been forever since he had one himself; he always buys some for Elise when they’re out, but for himself? He always forgets. And the one that Kouyou makes looks extraordinarily fluffy. Those must be hard to cook.
“Maybe I am,” he hums into her hair, not moving an inch, yet still trying to be considerate so that he doesn’t limit her moves too much. If it is actually possible to not have limited movement with a mafia boss practically glued to your back.
“That is a rarity,” she claims, and swiftly transports the pancake to the plate nearby. First, then the second one. Almost effortlessly. How does it happen that she’s so good at everything? “Eat. Be careful, it’s hot.”
“You first.”
“I’m cooking, I can’t eat right now.”
“I don’t care. I’ll wait.”
She rolls her eyes, but it actually happens. Mori is quite stubborn; he helps her prepare two plates for both of them. After a couple of minutes, she’s finished and they sit on the stools, opposite to each other. The old-fashioned radio in the corner that Kouyou turned on a while ago plays some kind of a love ballad. The man feels a bit unreal with the way his day begins.
He’d lie if he said that he didn’t neglect his meals before. Of course, as always, when she came into his life, that was fixed quickly.
A thought flashes through his mind when he chews one of the pancakes and observes the trails of bruises on her neck.
Is that what married life looks like for people?
Of course, there’s no one to answer it right now. When they finish eating, he simply puts the dirty plates into the sink and turns away, meeting with the sensation of her arms around his own hips.
Without talking, he somehow understands and puts his own hands on her sides. The ballad coming from the radio echoes in his ears when they slowly swing towards one side, then another. Swaying to the rhythm of some cringey love song, in their kitchen, after they’ve just had breakfast. Kouyou laughs when he spins her around, clearly surprised at the sudden gesture from his side.
“What is it with you today?” she asks, smiling, after they stop in place and just stand in the kitchen in each other’s arms. “Who are you and what have you done to my Ougai?”
“Hypothetically,” he begins quietly, moving slightly so that her figure is right in front of the window; he needs something to obscure the view of the city to ask this question. He doesn’t know why, but it simply feels right. “If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?” he blurts out, not thinking much.
Kouyou’s face turns almost as red as her hair; to some extent it’s adorable, but on the other hand, it stresses him out. What was I thinking? That is just idiotic!
Then, much to his relief, she bursts out with laughter, hiding her mouth behind the sleeve of her nightgown. Mori still holds her close, but raises an eyebrow questioningly, to which she simply rests her head against his chest until she calms down.
“Do people even get married, in the mafia?” she teases, with a hint of a joke in her tone. “Who officiates the weddings? You or Hirotsu?”
Mori snorts, but chuckles nonetheless.
“If you said yes, that’d be Hirotsu, I guess. Chuuya would carry the rings. Elise would be the flower girl. As a part of the truce, we’d invite the Agency to the party,” he enumerates the plan that formed in his head in a suspiciously quick manner.
“The ceremony would be held in the port, I suppose. You know, Port Mafia and all that,” she giggles further at the vision. “I’d get Golden Demon to carry my veil, if I had one.”
“I’d like a more traditional wedding, you know?” he ponders, imagining them in appropriate clothes. The concept is perhaps more pleasant than it should be. Why am I imagining this?!
There’s absolutely no way they could get married while still being mafia officials. Essentially, their relationship is still secret and besides, it would be strange. Even if they are joking about the course of the ceremony right now, it’s impossible to organize. And why did he suddenly wonder so much about them being married? It made absolutely no sense, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to last that long and he wasn’t supposed to fall for her that deeply, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!
Kouyou is not him; she may still have a chance to run away, to live a normal life by someone else’s side, someone who would cherish her and treat her as she deserves to be treated. She still has a chance to die a peaceful death, not fighting for someone like him, sacrificing herself for someone like him. She deserves to live long, reach old age and do everything she wants to do.
He hugs her tightly, because he can’t let go of her somehow. Despite being so relaxed and offering her a way out of the mafia many times, he can’t imagine his life if she weren’t around.
Kouyou must sense his distress and embraces him too, burying her face in his chest.
“Ougai,” she whispers softly, her voice barely audible. “I’d say yes.”