Work Text:
The first time they got married, it’s a rushed ordeal filled with giddy grins and clasped hands, fuelled by a frankly worrying amount of alcohol and spite, and it’s done with Ushijima as the officiant and Tendou and Taichi as the witnesses.
The first time they got married, they celebrated the night with sparkling cider and chocolate and a box of pizza shared between the two of them, in a tiny, empty apartment that Shirabu had barely moved into.
The first time they get married, Semi was nineteen and a half, and it’s Shirabu’s birthday. Or at least, it was by the time their celebrations are done.
And it’s good while it lasts, but a marriage just didn’t work when one’s in medical school with ninety hour work weeks while the other’s trying to get his fledgling rock band off the ground with nothing but money from one job at the supermarket and another as a TA. Well, maybe the marriage could’ve worked, if they were other people.
But they weren’t. They still aren’t.
Their good days were good, to their credit. Shirabu had Sundays off, back then, and Semi would ask to not have shifts scheduled and notified his professor, who endorsed the whole deal. Sometimes, they’d spend the day together in the apartment, singing together in soft harmony or studying or just existing with each other. Their good days were really, really good.
But their bad days had the both of them close to ripping their hair out. Oftentimes, Semi would get home from his gigs late with glitter and lipstick on his cheeks. On some occasions, Shirabu would take twenty-four hour shifts at the hospital he worked at and just… not answer any of Semi’s ‘how’s work going’ texts or ‘remember to hydrate’ texts or that one rare emergency call when Semi had a small car accident and had to be taken to a (different) hospital. And then they’d get home after all of that, and they’d argue. The back and forth was exhausting, but they loved each other, and it was all they needed. That’s what they promised each other.
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do they part.
Except.
Except, they part two and a half years later, when everything had hit a boiling point and Shirabu had lashed out at his husband in anger and exhaustion and thinly veiled jealousy of whatever was going on with Semi and his bandmates. Semi had retaliated, said some pretty awful things in response, and by the next week, divorce papers had been signed and things had been moved out.
And Shirabu, for all intents and purposes, was free from needing to stay in Sendai or being friends with Semi or anyone else who stayed in Miyagi. He could finish school and move away and be a damned good doctor somewhere else, if he wanted.
He didn’t need to stay.
But he did.
It was partially because it was all he’d ever known. Shirabu knew the city like the back of his hand, had his regular spots, had a routine and friends and he didn’t want to lose that over his divorce from a quick marriage he had just out of high school.
The other part was that, secretly, he didn’t want Semi to be alone. Tendou had moved to Paris a few weeks after the wedding, and Ushijima was in Tokyo, and all of their other friends were somewhere far away. Shirabu wanted to keep himself open as an option, if Semi ever needed help.
They had been married for over two years, even if they never acted like it.
The problem with staying close, though, was that he had the chance to see Semi every day. It was a small world. They frequented the same places. It wasn’t a stretch for them to be at the same place at the same time.
Five months after their divorce, Semi tracked down Shirabu at his university and handed him a flyer.
“You should come see my show,” Semi had said, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up. “I have a completely free VIP seat saved, just for you.”
Shirabu had ignored the twisting feeling in his gut, the ache in his heart, the flutter of excitement that he always felt when Semi decided to share something he loved with him. “I’ll see if I have the time,” he had replied. Semi had nodded and left the flyer with Shirabu.
Freedom , it read, playing at the Carlton Pub on Sunday, June 25th at 8pm. One night only!
And Shirabu smiled ever so slightly. A Sunday, huh?
Maybe he remembered.
Sunday came, and with it, some bad decisions. Come Monday morning, Shirabu woke up in a familiar bed next to a familiar head of hair, and the night before rushed back with a vengeance. He swore to never, ever , let himself do that again, because all it brought was bad memories and longing for someone who didn’t belong to him, not anymore.
But he kept going back. Every time there was a gig on a Sunday, Shirabu would end up going, and going home with Semi had always seemed natural, and then the next morning he’d pick himself back up and tiptoe out of the apartment and wait until Semi texted him a few hours later about his eating habits to think. And then he’d think, and think, and think, until his brain was berating him for not trying harder when they were married.
They kept this whole Sunday night thing going on long enough that Shirabu added it to his routine. They spent their free time together, their holidays together, had their meals together enough that when Semi asked Shirabu if they were dating again or not, Shirabu said, “If you want, then we are.”
Then it had all spiralled from there.
When the two of them were together this time, they were together . They were glued to each other’s side and Semi liked to drape himself over Shirabu’s back and they always excused it as ‘making up for lost time’, even if they haven’t really been apart at all.
Well, they had those five months.
After two weeks of this being attached at the hip, it didn’t really surprise Shirabu when Semi was shaking him awake at the asscrack of dawn whispering, “Kenjirou. Kenjirou, wake up. I want to try again.”
Shirabu swatted at his hands, still half asleep. “Try again later,” he mumbled, snuggling into his blankets. A second later, his blanket was ripped off of him and he sighed, rolling over to his back. He stared at the ceiling in pure disdain as Semi slowly entered his field of vision, steadfastly staying silent.
Semi, undeterred, slipped his fingers under Shirabu’s shirt and wrapped them around his hip bones, trailing kisses over his stomach. “I want us to try again,” he said earnestly, between each press of his lips. “I want to marry you. I want to stay and work things out and I want to be yours again, Kenjirou.”
Shirabu huffed lightly. “You want things when they’re good,” he retorted. “We haven’t fought yet. And we’re still young.”
“We’re older now than we were the first time around,” Semi said, lips ghosting over Shirabu’s belly button. “We’re smarter. We know our mistakes and we know how to fix them and I really think…” The tiny, hopeful smile on his face made Shirabu’s heart shudder with want. He really did miss them. “I really think we can make things work, this time.”
Letting out a small breath, Shirabu tugged Semi up and kissed him softly. “You really think so?” he asked, still hesitant. “I don’t want all this to fall apart again. I really want… I don’t want to have to sign divorce papers again.”
“We won’t,” Semi promised. “We can do this.”
Shirabu tucked a stray strand of hair behind Semi’s ear, letting his fingers linger over his skin. “That’s a tall order,” he mumbled. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can.” Semi laced their fingers together, eyes bright. “I can. We both made our mistakes but we’re better now, see? These past two weeks, we’ve been so good and I want you to stay and I want to be yours, Kenjirou. Yours and only yours. Please let me love you.”
“We don’t have to be married for that,” Shirabu said, but already, he was thinking of the quickest route to city hall. Already, he was thinking about the white collared shirt and the pair of slacks he wore when they eloped the first time. He knew exactly where they were. His fingers itched to feel the fabric under his skin again. He hadn’t touched them after the divorce. “We can just stay like this.”
“But then how will I say, sorry, I have to go home and see my husband ?” Semi mouthed at his neck, much to Shirabu’s chagrin. “How will I say that I have a date to go on with my darling husband on the weekend? How will I do that?”
Shirabu glared at him balefully. “You can say boyfriend just fine,” he snapped, but he liked the ring of ‘husband’ a bit more, too. Between his traitorous thought process and Semi’s pleading eyes, he folded. “… But okay.”
“Okay?” Semi grinned. “Really?”
“Really.” Shirabu leaned up to kiss him just one more time before snuggling back into his cocoon. “Now let me sleep.”
In the back of his mind, amidst Semi’s whines for attention, Shirabu thought, this isn’t going to end well . But he was going to go through with it anyway. He would always choose to do it again, if given the choice. Any chance he had with Semi, he’d take and take until he couldn’t anymore.
The love was worth the trouble.
The second time they got married, it was still a rushed ordeal filled with giddy grins and clasped hands, though this time, the witnesses were Taichi and Semi’s friend, Suga. They facetimed Tendou and Ushijima for fun, showing off their matching bands that, unsurprisingly, both of them had kept. They glinted silver and white under the lights at city hall, and Suga clapped Semi on the back, murmuring ‘good man, good man’, while Taichi gave Shirabu a Look but congratulated him nonetheless.
They celebrated with getting drunk at Semi’s favourite bar, the one that he gigged at every Sunday night, with his bandmates that Shirabu resolved to become friends with. By the end of the night, after a few glasses of champagne and half of Semi’s second tequila, he actually decided they weren’t half bad.
And then, when they got home— oh god, they hadn’t even discussed living arrangements, but Shirabu knew they both assumed he’d just be moving back in when the month ended— Semi took out his guitar and sang Shirabu the first song he’d ever written for him. The one he confessed to him with, back at the end of Shirabu’s second year. The one that made Shirabu think, fuck it. We can do this. Fuck anyone who says otherwise because we love each other and so we will make it work, no matter what.
And he was determined to live up to the song that made all of this happen. So they would make it work, and they would stay together, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.
Til death did they part.