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Home. The faint fragrance of lavender from a scented candle, the dulcet sounds of the television; too low for the words to be intelligible, more of a gentle background hum.
The last, most important piece of his home lies nestled in a pile of blankets on the floor, right before a perfectly viable couch — an expensive one at that, for best comfort, but like a stubborn cat, Toge chooses the carpet to rest on. Probably drawn to the floor heating. Regardless, the blond looks like the epitome of coziness, and Yuuta feels both tired and rejuvenated just from seeing him like this.
Would Toge mind him joining? He hadn’t been on a mission, but street clothes are still street clothes, undeniably not as clean as loungewear. He should wash up, change first.
“Yuuta, konbu, takana.”
Right. He’s still on the threshold, door open, barely a foot inside, awkwardly lingering in the doorway and staring ahead. It’s as endearing as it is hilarious, how quick Yuuta’s to fall into daydreams in Toge’s presence. He can definitely see where all of Maki’s teasing stems from, though he likes to think of this as his subconscious being at ease around his boyfriend.
“M’home, sweetheart,” he mumbles, soft and so full of affection that Toge’s smile widens. His blanket lifts invitingly, and just like that, all of Yuuta’s earlier worries promptly vanish.
He’s such a sap.
One soft, sweet smile is all it takes; Yuuta folds instantly, crossing the distance in long, hurried strides.
Yuuta doesn’t know how, but only now his eyes catch sight of glasses perched atop Toge’s nose. A few platinum strands are tucked behind his ear, behind the temple tip. He looks so comfortable, and Yuuta wishes to bask in the warmth of his personal solace. The glasses are dark-rimmed, but not black, no, that’d be too stark against the fair skin. Instead, they’re brown, nearly black, but softened by a hint of warmth.
Yuuta’s sure Toge could pull off black ones just as well, but he’s not exactly not well-versed in colors — not like Nobara. It doesn’t help that his wardrobe is almost entirely monochrome, with the most color being a navy shirt at best.
“Just a bit tired. No curses, don’t worry, just errand running.” As he speaks, he lowers himself to his knees, blinking down at Toge. It’s warm. The lingering heat from under the blanket brushes his bare forearms, his sleeves crumpled up in Yuuta-fashion.
“Mentaiko.” The demand is so firmly delivered, unfitting of its sweet content.
“Coming, coming… just wanted to look at you for a bit.”
Yuuta’s been told often to hold back on his earnestness, the way his genuine comments slip out without much thought. But in precious moments like this, where Toge’s composure falters and his expression’s the most transparent, open and unguarded, a faint pink dusting his cheeks, Yuuta’s glad for his honesty. Even if it’s a little overbearing at times.
In the earlier stages of their relationship, Toge would retaliate with swats to his chest, shoulder, whatever in reach, punctuated by a high-pitched ‘okaka’. Yuuta would defend himself from the embarrassment-induced assault, all smiles and laughs, until he caught his boyfriend’s wrists and pulled him in by them. It’d darken his sweet blush a shade or two.
Now, more confident, more accepting, Toge lets the shower of praise wash over him. His embarrassment lingers, but it’s just an endearing show of avoiding eye-contact.
Allowing himself a few more seconds to brand the picture into his mind, Yuuta mercifully averts his gaze and leans forward, settling between spread thighs. He rests his head comfortably on Toge’s stomach, exhaling softly as the fatigue of the day caught up. The sweater beneath his cheek is an old one of his, black, but so washed it might as well be gray.
There’s a bit of shuffling, then silence, the TV volume lowered to nothing — too silent for Toge’s comfort. Yuuta knows he always keeps something running: radio, music, heck, even the news, anything to fill the quiet. Yuuta’s never asked why, but he can guess, the Jujutsu society anything but approving of cursed speech.
“Wanna listen, baby, turn it up again.” A harmless white lie.
He ignores Toge’s confused ‘hmm?’ but waits, expectant, until he complies. Almost immediately, the smaller’s body relaxes just a bit more, his shoulders unwinding. One hand buries itself in dark, thick locks, threading through, while Yuuta’s own hands slip under the sweater, skimming pleasantly warm skin. Such a contrast to his own skin, still chilled from the autumn air.
“Wanna cook tonight or—,” he stops with a yawn, voice sluggish, “Takeout?”
Slim fingers run down his shoulder, tracing ‘two’ into muscle. Takeout it is.
“Tuna mayo?”
“Just whatever… maybe something with beef for me.” A bit heavy this late, but Yuuta’s earned it. And Toge must agree, judging by the soft clicking of his phone, already placing the order. He always keeps the sounds on.
“Takana, Yuuta.”
“Maybe wake me up a few minutes before it arrives? So I can freshen up a bit?”
Toge hums in agreement, and with that, Yuuta allows for sleep to sink into his bones.