Archive of Our Own

Mimosa pudica

(/mɪˈmoʊzə pjuːˈdɪkə/)

(n.) Commonly known as the shame plant or touch-me-not; a sensitive plant whose leaves curl inward when touched, often symbolizing timidity, self-protection, and the instinct to hide from vulnerability. 

Though it recoils from contact, it still requires warmth and sunlight to bloom; the quiet need for gentleness despite the fear of vulnerability. 

❃ ❃ ❃ 

ii.

Surprisingly, it’s Akihiko who has the idea of moving in together.

Which—unsurprisingly—Haruka does not take well in the slightest. 

His smoothie, that he’d bought as a treat for Hayato—because, yeah, fine, he’d seen the stupid raspberry thing and thought of him, whatever—who brushed it off, insisting such a sweet drink would be better appreciated by Haruka (a bunch of bull), goes down the wrong pipe immediately. 

There’s a horrible, drawn-out few seconds where he just can’t breathe. His throat locks up, chest spasming as he coughs violently, eyes watering almost instantly, and holy shit, he can’t breathe.

Akihiko jerks up in alarm and says something that Haruka doesn’t really focus on, calling for water, maybe, not that it matters because he wouldn't be able to drink it anyway, and he settles himself in front of Haruka, shaking him violently.

“H—Haruka!” Is all he really hears, and then something that sounds like what should we do, and Hayato telling Akihiko to breathe, which is stupidly ironic, and stupidly makes him laugh, and serves to take away any air he might’ve still had left.

All while his stupid boyfriends continue to bicker in front of him instead of fucking helping—

“H—elp—” He manages to choke out. Akihiko shaking him harder in panic-reflex makes him regret talking at all.

He really might just die. Wow.

Taking pity on him, Hayato’s hand comes down between his shoulder blades, once and then twice, and then way harder than fucking necessary. Each hit knocks the air right out of him all over again, like Hayato’s trying to beat the oxygen back into his lungs by force.

Haruka would complain, but he’s busy dying and trying to swat away Akihiko’s attempts at still shaking him.

Somewhere in the middle of it, vision blurring at the edges, he has the fleeting, delirious thought that this might actually be it. This is how he goes out. Not even in a real fight. It’s a little pathetic.

Dimly, he wonders how Endo would react. Except, he can’t really think of anything with Hayato beating his back blue and black.

“C’mon, Haruka-chan, aren’t you too old to be choking so easily?” There’s amusement laced in Hayato’s voice, and if he could see, his face would be marred by that stupid smile. Haruka doesn’t see how any of this is funny. “Perhaps I should’ve taken the smoothie after all.”

Akihiko's eyebrows pinch. Not adorably. “You would've drank it?” His fingers itch where they're still digging into Haruka’s shoulder. Because, of course, he's still thinking of his notebook. “Do you like raspberry flavored things? You were fond of drinking that raspberry tea during school, weren’t you? Or maybe you—” Akihiko’s ramble is starting to go over his head. 

Hayato shakes his head. Or so Haruka guesses, because that idiot would never eat so easily, even after all these years. Not until Akihiko really starts crying in terror because his fucking bones are starting to poke. That was a bad time that Haruka doesn’t like looking back on. “You’ve got a very good memory, I can’t believe you still remember that.” A non-answer. Akihiko deflates, disappointed—probably—that Hayato isn’t going to try something that isn’t his fuckass tea. “I would've just fed Haruka-kun. Clearly, our boyfriend needs help doing easy tasks.”

Haruka is going to kill him. 

Deliriously, he reaches behind for that stupid bastard, only to be stopped by Akihiko, who seems to have finally realized that he’s still choking and is looking a bit more panicked than he did earlier. Because he might actually pass out if he keeps moving, he decides not to initiate a fight. Definitely not because of Akihiko’s wide, worried eyes.

Hayato delivers another sharp hit, and finally—finally—his lungs cooperate. He sucks in a ragged breath between coughs, air burning on the way down, the taste of his stupid raspberry smoothie somehow all he can breathe in (he never wants to see anything raspberry flavoured ever again), and then another, until the worst of it passes and he’s left hunched over, wheezing and humiliated.

Hayato’s hand lingers for a second longer before lifting to strike him again.

Haruka immediately swats him away. “Fuckin’—stop that,” he rasps, still catching his breath, glaring through watery eyes. “I’m done!”

Hayato hums, “Are you sure? I thought we’d finally knock some sense into you.”

“Shut it!”

His head tilts in thought, “Would you have preferred mouth to mouth?” There’s a level of sincerity in Hayato’s tone that does horrible things to his heart.

His face is on fucking fire. “I—you—that’s not how choking works!?”

The laugh Akihiko rewards them with almost makes the ache in Haruka’s back worth it. Almost. He lets out a quiet grumble as Hayato drops back into his seat, the last of his giggles tapering off.

…And then dying off. Silence drapes over their table like black clouds. 

Haruka is intimately aware of how okay Hayato is with silence. He won’t talk unless he wants to be a little shit and say something stupid, and speaks when spoken to, not the other way around, so waiting for him to say anything is pointless. On the other hand, Akihiko will either talk Haruka’s ear off or not at all. And seeing how he’s fiddling with the hem of his cardigan, eyes flitting nervously up to eye both his and Hayato’s reaction, yeah, Haruka already knows he’s not gonna say shit.

Which means, horrifyingly, it's up to him. Sure, he’s gotten better at talking and speaking up, but he’s never had to breach a topic like this before. It’s like being thrown into the fucking sea, and Haruka still doesn’t know how to swim.

It makes sense. They all have jobs, things have finally calmed down around them, they’ve been together for something like seven years (and eight months, not that Haruka’s counting or anything stupid like that) and only Akihiko has anyone living with him—or at least Haruka assumes that's the case. He’s never heard Hayato mention any siblings, or even a parent, so he’s always just guessed they’ve been in the same sinking boat.

Besides, while the thought of living with his boyfriends is intimidating—he’s not sure how he feels about having eyes on him every hour of every day, it’s still impossible to brush off the completely real and rational fear that he’ll do something to make Akihiki and Hayato leave him—it also makes him pathetically giddy. Not because he’s lonely or any bullshit like that, that’d be stupid. He doesn’t even live in his old run-down apartment, and he has two lovers now, which somehow makes the thought creeping into his head make a dangerous amount of sense, but—

Haruka wouldn’t mind waking up every day to Hayato playing with the strands of Akihiko’s hair, with a love struck look on his face, still too early to scold his face into something less affected, Akihiko curled into his own side, with their legs intertwined.

He clears his throat. Expectedly, both Hayato and Akihiko look at him. He avoids looking them in the eye, because Haruka knows himself well enough to know he’ll only stutter over his words and give up if he does. “...I mean,” he clicks his tongue, gaze drifting off to the side, landing somewhere over Hayato’s shoulder, where a waitress is busy picking up an order, “I wouldn’t hate it or anything. Could be nice.”

When neither of his partners says anything, Haruka frowns and dares to look up. There’s a contemplative look on Hayato’s face—if he can call it that—his eyebrows just barely pinching, his mouth pursing in thought. An expression Haruka rarely sees, since all that bastard does is smile, and sometimes blink when Haruka does something particularly surprising or thoughtful. He doesn’t like that something as simple as handing things to him when they visit new places—because having only one eye mucks up his depth perception—makes Hayato look so shocked.

On the other hand, Akihiko looks ready to hang the moon for him. He looks—and Haruka’s mouth goes dry at the expression; he almost wants to take a sip of his forsaken smoothie—ridiculously, overwhelmingly pleased. His face is split into a grin so wide it borders on blinding, eyes bright enough that it makes something in Haruka’s chest stutter. Haruka doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how easily Akihiko shows joy, which is not to say he doesn’t like seeing it, but it’s still strange. Even years later, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s him making Akihiko jump up from his seat to squeal right next to him.

“Y–you mean it!? Really? Are you sure? I don’t wanna, you know, force you, I’m  a-okay if you don’t want to, we can just, talk about it another time, or—”

“Shut up,” Haruka cuts in, or else Akihiko will keep on going for eternity. He drags a hand down his face, shoulders hunching as he pointedly looks away from Akihiko’s beaming face. “I already said it’s fine, didn't I? Go bother Hayato, or some shit.”

Akihiko lets out another sound that borders between a squeak and a pitch only dogs can hear, before taking his face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his temple. Haruka ignores how red his face is, sinking further into his chair.

Hayato snorts quietly at him. “How cute.”

Haruka glares. He tries to kick him underneath the table, only to be dodged. Embarrassment thrums a beat in his skin. How the hell did he miss? Better question, how the hell did Hayato even know to dodge?!

Akihiko—still almost vibrating next to him, with his fingers twitching restlessly now that he’s relinquished the hold on Haruka’s face, which Haruka is not disappointed about—pushes past him to tumble back onto his chair and scootch closer to the bastard who hasn’t said anything of worth yet.

“Hayato!” Akihiko starts, bright and expectant, like a spotlight snapping into place. His hands grasp onto Hayato’s, squeezing. “What about you? You didn’t say anything yet!”

Hayato takes a sip of his tea with his free hand, leaning back in his chair, creating space. His gaze drifts, passing over Akihiko, even though his eye doesn’t really move off of him. 

“Hm.” He begins, crossing his legs.

Akihiko waits. Haruka watches him deflate by the second, the excitement giving way to something more careful. 

“Hayato-kun?” Akihiko presses, softer this time, but no less insistent. “Do you…not like the idea?”

Hayato tilts his head. His face doesn’t betray a shred of emotion, but Haruka hasn’t ever seen him take so long to respond to a question directed at him. It’s unsettling to say the least. “It’s not that,” he says eventually. “But it sounds like a lot very soon, don’t you think?”

Haruka’s eyes narrow slightly. A lot? That’s what he’s going with? And soon? They’ve known each other for something like a decade.

Akihiko doesn’t seem convinced either, though he clearly tries to be. He shifts in his seat, hands fidgeting in his lap now.

“A lot…good, or a lot bad?” he asks, hesitant but trying to keep it casual, like he’s giving Hayato an out. “Because it doesn’t have to be, um, permanent or anything! We could try it for a bit, or—or plan it out more, if that helps? I just thought—”

Hayato hums again, cutting him off with a small, polite smile that Haruka rarely sees directed at them anymore. It makes something curdle in his chest. “I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but planning sounds worse.”

Akihiko blinks. “Worse?”

“Well,” Hayato shrugs, a small thing. Haruka knows him too well to miss his fingers tightening around his cup of tea. “I don’t think you or Haruka have the patience for that.”

Another non-answer. Haruka doesn’t know why he expected something else.

Akihiko’s mouth opens, then closes again. He looks between the two of them. “I just—” he starts, quieter now, “I thought it might be nice. Being together more, I mean.”

Hayato’s gaze finally settles on him at that. Something softer flickers there, overshadowed by what Haruka can only call doubt. “It is nice,” he agrees. “But we’re already doing something nice, don’t you think?”

Haruka clicks his tongue under his breath. Evasive fucking bastard.

Akihiko doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t look satisfied either. His shoulders dip just slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I guess we are.” The grin he tries to put back on doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

Haruka shifts in his seat, irritation prickling under his skin. “Oi,” he mutters, not looking at either of them. “If you don’t wanna because you still wanna hide from us, just say that.”

Hayato’s smile flickers into a brief frown. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, my ass,” Haruka huffs, “you didn’t say anything useful either.”

For a second, it looks like Hayato might laugh it off. Instead, he just leans his chin into his palm, watching them both with that same unreadable ease. “I never said no,” he says.

Akihiko perks up at that immediately, hope snapping back into place like it never left. “O-okay! That’s okay,” he nods quickly, “Take your time! There’s no rush, really, I just—yeah. Yeah.”

“Fuck that,” Haruka snaps, his chair screeches as he pushes himself up, palms slamming down onto the table. Hayato’s eye just barely widens. “Why the hell are you against this?”

“As I said, Haruka, I think—”

He scoffs, “Well, I think you’re full of shit.”  

Nervously, Akihiko clears his throat, reaching across the table to placate him, probably. “H-haruka, it’s okay really—”

“But it ain’t! He’s always pulling shit like this!” He points a finger at Hayato, who hasn’t moved, or shifted or anything. It’s infuriating, and he knows he should really stop talking before he says something he doesn’t mean, but his mouth is falling open anyway, “You don’t get to just—” he clicks his tongue, scowling, “—lie and dodge everything like that. I know you wanna move in with us, you’re just too much of a lame coward to actually say it. There’s nothin’ wrong with being honest, we’re your boyfriends; why can’t ya just admit it! I couldn’t give less of a shit if you really didn't wanna live with us, but I know you do, and you’re just tryna hide again!” 

Hayato’s mouth opens and then closes, his teeth clacking against one another. His throat bobs. The only sound is that of Haruka breathing heavily, before slumping back down onto his chair with a huff.

“I’m sorry,” Hayato says after a beat. Haruka blinks, his eyes narrowing in surprise. It’s not like Hayato doesn’t apologize—he’s not like Haruka, going the roundabout way of explaining himself—it’s just not what he expects to hear. “But, the truth really is I’m not lying,” and then, because Haruka’s jaw tightens and a vein on his forehead ticks, he continues, with an amused, almost private, smile, “I just don’t think I’d be very good at what you’re asking me to do.”

Akihiko squints. The confusion is written plain on his face. “Good at…living together?”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?!”

Hayato places a hand on each of theirs, squeezing tightly. They’re as cold as always, fingers splayed over Haruka’s before intertwining, bringing shivers down his back. “I like the way things are now. But I wouldn’t mind if the both of you moved in together. It’d be unfair of me to stop the two of you.”

Haruka stares stupidly back at his boyfriend, who smiles in reply, lone eye crinkling. He wants to say something, tell this dumbass that he doesn’t care about what Hayato has to offer them, he wants Hayato with all of the things he doesn’t know how to do, but the words die like insignificant blossoms on his tongue.

“You—there’s no such thing as being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at living with us,” Akihiko starts carefully, “That’s not why—we just want you there. I mean, because we love you. That’s it.” 

“What he said.” Haruka nods stiffly.

“But if you really don’t want to live with us—” Akihiko cuts himself off immediately, eyes widening. “No, I mean, not don’t want, that came out wrong—sorry!” He takes a quick breath, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I just mean you don’t have to force yourself, okay? I don’t want it to be like…pressure or anything. I just got excited and—yeah. We’re not trying to, like, corner you into it or anything. We just like you. A lot. So if it’s not something you want, that’s totally okay too. I just…don’t want you to think you have to say yes to make us happy.”

Hayato’s smile stutters on his face before falling off in a show of sincerity. Haruka can practically see him try to put himself together, “Thank you, Aki-kun. You truly are a sweetheart.” Akhiko’s face bursts into red, and he starts waving Hayato off with vigour. It’s pathetically endearing; god, what would Haruka do without these losers in his life? Hayato turns to look at him too, with a smile, “And thank you too, Haruka. I’ll try to be more honest.”

He highly doubts it, but the moment is too sweet for him to say anything. He settles for a huff.

“As for moving in,” Hayato rests his face in his palm, “I’ll think on it.”

It’s probably the best they’re going to get. Haruka decides not to push his luck and lets the mood go back to normal.

When they finish eating, barring Hayato—obviously, although they do manage to convince him to take a few bites out of Akihiko’s salad, by placing a small plate of it and letting him decide whether or not he’s up to it—they hold hands the whole walk back to his house, despite his iffenness with PDA. Akihiko talks about how the research he’d done for a widespread newspaper for a little side gig had done well, to which Hayato praises him, and it’s just like always. 

—With the added bonus that Hayato kisses him on the lips sweetly when they reach his apartment, a hand resting on his cheek and pulling him close. Akihiko kisses the side of his lips and his nose, with a happy wave.

Haruka can’t help but want this for himself for the rest of his life. He scurries inside with his cheeks flaming red, after watching Akihiko and Hayato’s silhouettes drift far away enough that he can no longer hear the sounds of laughter and quiet words being exchanged like sweets. 

.

.

.

It’s a week later, completely unpromoted, that Haruka’s phone pings at work. 

He doesn’t make a habit of touching his phone at work, so he ignores where it’s seated behind him on the counter. Odds are, it’s Kiryu sending him a picture of something embarrassing he did in high school that he found (or, to be specific, dug up). Haruka would much rather not see it, at least not with Tsubaki roaming the store carrying the very real threat of snatching his phone and sending the image to themself and then everyone they know. That’s if Kiryu hasn’t already done just that.

Haruka wishes he understood the minds of the people around him.

His phone pings a second time, and then a third, much to his annoyance. He glares at it. In a show of defiance, it pings once more. 

Still lingering at the counter, now for the better half of twenty minutes—the only reason Haruka hasn't kicked her out yet is not because they enjoy gossiping, no matter what Hayato might insist—Tsubaki perks up at the sounds.

“You’re popular today, Sakura-chan,” she hums, twirling the stem of a kaneshon flower in their hand. “Is it Nirie-kun? I hear from Sugishita that they’re both going on a coffee date to catch up. Isn’t that sweet?”

Haruka huffs. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Tsubaki is prone to calling all hangouts a date, so there’s no reason for him to get jealous over Sugishita of all people, but still. He fusses with the bouquet in his hand. Behind him, Tsubaki giggles. The little shit.

It’s not as if Haruka’s possessive or anything dumb like that; he just doesn’t like the idea of anyone but Hayato taking Akihiko on a date. And if the thought of Sugishita with his boyfriend makes jealousy flare up his back, then that's his business, not Tsubaki’s.

His ears must be red, because Tsubaki lets out another amused chuckle. They lean forward slightly, resting their chin in their hand as they watch him work. There’s something almost clinical about their attention, like they’re observing a particularly interesting specimen.

Haruka pointedly ignores them. Tsubaki has been here long enough that he’s resigned himself to her presence for at least another hour. They are technically a customer, after all. Even if they’ve yet to actually purchase anything, and—knowing them—probably won’t. 

“So,” she sing-songs. Haruka doesn’t miss her gaze flicking from his phone to his face. “Enough about me. Tell me, Sakura-chan, what's new with you?”

“Nothin’.”

He folds the florist paper at the corners, finishing the tie for the ribbon, and places the bouquet next to its twin, where it’ll be picked up by eight. If he’s lucky, before that, and he can escape the inevitable interrogation Tsubaki is bound to give him. They’ve been suspicious of him the whole time they’ve been here; she’s only barely amicable enough to make small talk before throwing him off the ship.

“Nothing at all? Really?” Haruka shoves the tape and scissors he’d been using back into the supply box and pointedly ignores the pout Tsubaki levels him with. “C’mon, Sakura-chan, you can talk to me!”

He knows that. In fact, throughout his relationship with Akihiko and Hayato, Haruka has found himself asking Tsubaki for advice more times than he cares to admit. From their first real fight to how to communicate with what triggers Akihiko’s panic attacks, Tsubaki might as well be the reason their relationship is still standing.

Which is exactly why Haruka knows they’ll see through him no matter what he says.

“There’s no problem,” he mutters anyway. If he’s lucky enough, Tsubaki will continue rambling about the date she’d caught Uryu on.

Except, Tsubaki hums, unconvinced. Haruka scowls down at the roll of ribbon in his hands. Luck is never on his damned side.

Because that’s the thing, there really isn’t a problem. He can’t force Hayato to move in with him if he really doesn’t want to—even if Haruka knows all the way down to his fingertips that Hayato, that stubborn bastard, wants it. 

“Oh,” Tsubaki gasps, understandment dawning on her face, “is this about moving in together?”

Haruka blinks. A furious blush scrambles up his neck and across his cheeks in an instant. “H-huh?! Who the hell told you?!”

He hasn’t mentioned that to anyone—save for the potted plants he has on his balcony sill that he most definitely does not talk to when he waters them—since their somewhat disastrous talk on their date.

Tsubaki dares to giggle at whatever expression is on his face, “A girl doesn’t reveal her secrets.” And then they fucking wink. Of all times to play coy and quiet—Haruka seriously considers taking them by the shoulders and shaking them until he gets his answers. 

Tsubaki lets him stew for all of three seconds before their expression softens into something more genuine. “Relax, Sakura-chan,” she laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “I didn’t hear it from some secret person stalking you.”

Haruka pauses mid-scowl. “…You didn’t?”

“Nope.” Tsubaki pops the p, something like surprise flickering across their face even now. “Honestly, I was pretty shocked myself, but…Suo-kun brought it up.”

Haruka’s eyes widen. “Hayato did?” 

“Mhm.” Their smile turns smaller, more thoughtful. “He invited me out a few days ago.” 

Haruka does briefly remember his date offer being rejected a little bit ago. At the time, he’d thought Hayato was trying to avoid him. “Huh.” 

“You know how he is. Suo-kun doesn’t really talk about himself much, or, well, at all, so I was totes surprised!”

That’s true enough. Even now, years into their relationship, Hayato has always been careful with the things he reveals, smiling his way around questions whenever he doesn’t want to answer directly. He’s certainly gotten better at opening up as time passed, though the bar is admittedly still buried somewhere underground. The fact that he’d gone to Tsubaki at all makes warmth curl low in Haruka’s chest before he can stop it. 

“Huh.”

Tsubaki hums quietly, painted fingers tapping against the counter for a moment as she chooses her words carefully. “I can’t really tell you what Suo-kun said; my lips are sealed,” they admit. “Well, not that he told me much to begin with.”

Haruka frowns. “Of course he didn't," he grumbles. 

Tsubaki exhales softly through their nose, a noise halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. “He truly is a mysterious boy. But…I think I get what he was trying to say. The way he talked about it, it sounded less like he was scared of moving in and more like…” They pause briefly, searching for the right wording. “…like he’s afraid of being seen all the time.”

Haruka’s brows knit together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tsubaki shrugs one shoulder lightly. “Living with someone is different than just staying over sometimes,” she says gently. “There’s no real place to hide. No breaks. Another person sees you first thing in the morning, late at night, when you’re exhausted, upset, careless…” Their expression softens. “For some people, that can feel very exposing.”

He frowns.

At first, he doesn’t really get it. Hayato’s never seemed particularly nervous staying over before. If anything, he settles into Haruka’s apartment so naturally that sometimes Haruka forgets it isn’t already his home too. Stealing the tea bags that Haruka definitely doesn't stock up for him, or befriending Haruka's own neighbours, letting himself and Akihiko into Haruka's house while he's away at work on his days off from the dojo.

But then he thinks about the little things. The way Hayato always disappears into the bathroom to change instead of grabbing clothes from his bag out in the open. The way he hesitates whenever Haruka walks into the room unexpectedly, his posture going subtly tight for half a second before he smooths himself back out again with an easy smile. 

All things Haruka has noticed, but never really noticed. His grip tightens slightly around the ribbon roll in his hands.

“I think you and Nirei-kun should talk to him,” they say gently. “Not in a confrontational way or anything. Just…make sure he knows he doesn’t have to be ‘on’ around you all the time. Or that he can have an ‘out’, like a guest bedroom, when everything becomes too much.”

Haruka nods slowly. That makes a surprising amount of sense. He wonders why he hadn’t thought of this before. “Okay.” He looks away and then adds, “Thanks.”

Tsubaki’s face breaks into a blinding smile, “Aw, Sakura-chan! You’re too sweet!” They reach across the counter to tug him into a rib-crushing hug, and all Haruka can think is fuck her stupidly long limbs that don’t let him escape in time. He lets her encase him in a hug for all of three seconds before he peels her hands off him and escapes with a scowl. For good measure, they ruffle his hair, giggling at his reaction, before finally sitting back down.

But because Haruka can never catch a break, his phone chooses now of all times to ping again. 

The look Tsubaki levels him with—an infuriatingly knowing smile—is the only thing that pushes him to pick up his phone with a grumble.

The first couple of texts are from Umemiya, ironically, asking him if he’s seen Tsubaki anywhere. “Umemiya’s askin’ about you,” he tells Tsubaki, pointing his phone towards her.

Tsubaki practically jumps up, squealing loud enough that Haruka’s ears hurt. “Umemiya?! Really?! Oh he’s such a sweetheart! Ask him what he wants from me! Do you think he wants to meet up?” 

Rolling his eyes, Haruka shoots the guy a quick text. Surprisingly, he gets a response immediately. “He wants to know if you’re free to go with him and Kotoha to some plant festival tomorrow.” He reads, “He’s also asking what happened to your phone.”

Tsubaki’s face lights up in pink as she squeals again, thankfully muffling the sound into her hands this time. He wonders if that’s how he looks when he sees Akihiko or Hayato. Isn’t that embarrassing.

“Tell him I’m free all day tomorrow! Oh, and that I left my phone at home,” Tsubaki demands, watching Haruka text back with much more interest than he thinks is necessary. He still doesn’t believe that they’re not dating after all this time and Tsubaki’s ridiculously obvious crush.

Umemiya replies with two thumbs up that do not deserve the excited shriek Tsubaki gives them.

He ignores Tsubaki’s endless rambling about how perfect Umemiya is—because frankly, he’s heard her go on this spiel too many times—and scrolls through his other messages. There’s a message from Kiryu inviting him out next week that Haruka immediately decides can wait until later because wedged between it and a missed call from the flower supplier is a text from Hayato.

Instantly, Haruka’s stomach tightens with butterflies. Which is stupid. He’s been dating this smiling bastard long enough that getting a text from him shouldn’t make his pulse trip over itself like some middle-schooler with a crush.

Haruka glares at the screen for a second anyway before opening the message.

Hayato <3

Have you and Aki-kun seen any houses yet?

For someone who doesn’t care to move in, he sure is curious. Haruka doesn’t dare say that. Instead, he texts a quick no.

There are a couple of beats where Haruka can see the bubbles appear and disappear before another text pops up.

Are you busy?

A second one follows immediately.

I finished early. Thought I might stop by?

I want to talk ;)

Haruka feels his ears heat. It’s almost eight, so it’s not really early for most places, but like always, Hayato is the exception. Even Haruka rarely works so late, only on the fourth of every other week, which he’s never really understood. He feels a little, strangely enough, warm knowing Hayato remembered such a small detail he’s only offhandedly mentioned once or twice.

Tsubaki, trying and failing to look uninterested, hums thoughtfully. “Judging by the silence, I’m going to guess it’s Suo-kun.”

“…You’re guessing a damn lot for someone who can’t see anything.”

“I don’t need to see,” they reply brightly. “You’re very expressive, Sakura-chan! So, what'd he say?"

"He wants to talk."

Tsubaki beams, "Ooh, that's good!" She sighs wistfully, "You guys have grown so well; I'm so proud of you!" 

He scowls at his phone and Tsubaki.

Then, after a moment, he types back.

You 

I’m working.

But you can come.

If you want, I mean.

Hayato <3

Great!

See you in twenty captain

🥰🥰

Haruka rolls his eyes before placing his phone back on the counter with a huff, returning to his work with renewed focus. Or at least, the appearance of it.

For a little while, the shop falls quiet again, save for the soft rustle of paper and the snip of scissors.

But because Tsubaki is allergic to not bothering the hell out of him, her stupid mouth opens again. “So,” Tsubaki hums, dragging the word out mischievously, “how do you think it would feel?”

Haruka glances up. “How would what feel?”

“Moving in with Suo-kun and Nirei-chan.”

His hands still for half a second. The blush on his ears is probably a giveaway to how he feels. “Tch.” He reaches for another ribbon to fiddle with. “Dunno.”

Tsubaki immediately narrows their eyes at him like they can smell bullshit. Haruka wouldn't be surprised if they could, “Sakura-chan.”

“What?”

“How would it feel?” they repeat, more pointed this time.

Haruka clicks his tongue quietly.

He doesn’t really know how to explain it. His whole childhood, he's been alone. It's how he preferred it, or thought he preferred it at least. If he's curled up alone in his bed, he wouldn't have to worry about his father yelling. If he's alone, there's no one to hit him, there's no one to berate him. Haruka finds himself a solitary thing by nature, like those saints painted into cathedral ceilings with halos carved from suffering—all gold light and open palms, standing alone because loneliness is a holier thing than fear.

But now that he knows what being with others is like, Haruka can't help the greediness in his throat. He wants nothing more than to have his partners be with him always. He wants a louder apartment. Wants to always hear footsteps (and isn't that weird? He used to be so terrified of footsteps and the unknown they brought with them).  He wants to see Hayato fall asleep on the couch, wants to hear Akihiko's laughter echo down the hall. Wants their shoes to clutter the entrance. 

His ears heat at the thought.

“It’s fine,” he mutters eventually. Then, after a beat, because Tsubaki is pouting and Haruka has never been able to look past it, he admits, “I'd like it, I guess. I...really love them so...”

Tsubaki's eyes widen the littlest bit before they let out the most high-pitched squeal Haruka’s heard all week. “Oh my God.”

Haruka recoils immediately. “What?!”

“That is the cutest thing you’ve ever said.”

“It’s not cute!”

“Just look at you, all red and giddy thinking about moving in with your soul mates!" Tsubaki presses both hands to their cheeks dramatically. The words soul mates flutter wildly in Haruka's chest.

“I’m not red and giddy, shut up!”

“You so are!”

Haruka groans and turns away before they can see how just red his face has gotten. God, is it hot in here? 

Behind him, Tsubaki giggles delightedly. “You’re so hopeless,” she teases. “Absolutely hopeless. I can't believe the prepubescent boy who asked me for kissing advice has grown up so well." They wipe a fake tear from their eye. On closer inspection, it might just be real tears.

Haruka flushes at the embarrassing memory. “Shut up!”

“Mhm!”

Haruka grumbles something under his breath that even he doesn’t understand.

Tsubaki beams at him for another few seconds before pointing a flower stem in his direction. “Well,” they declare, “you better invite me first to the housewarming party.”

That earns a snort out of him despite the mortification still very aparent in his blood. “Obviously,” he rolls his eyes. “Otherwise you’ll beat my ass.”

Their laughter bubbles out bright and warm. Haruka does not feel warm at the sound.

"Ah, I've missed this." Tsubaku stretches her arms over her head before sighing. She lifts the flower they’ve been absentmindedly fiddling with this entire time and smiles. “Well, Sakura-chan, this was fun, but it’s gotten late and I've got places to be tomorrow. I’ll take these and finally be on my way.”

Haruka glances at it. The kaneshon from earlier. A pink carnation. The flower’s supposed to represent unconditional love, or something sappy like that. Haruka wonders if Tsubaki knows that. Judging by the wistful look on their face every few minutes whenever they glance down at it, Haruka’s probably hot on the money. 

And, if Haruka had to guess again, the flowers are probably meant for Umemiya tomorrow. “Finally,” he mutters instead of voicing his thoughts. Unlike Tsubaki, he doesn’t care to probe unless she makes it clear that she wants to. With their complicated relationship, Haruka doubts they want to talk about it.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sakura-chan,” they whine, “I know you enjoyed spending time with me!”

Haruka snorts and reaches over, plucking the carnation from their fingers before they can protest.

“Hey! You’ve got to be more gentle if you want to be popular with girls!” She pouts

He rolls his eyes, “I’m gay.”

Ignoring Tsubaki’s dramatic gasping behind him—like she doesn’t know; Haruka unknowingly came out to her first when he was still a first year, wondering if it was normal to want to kiss two boys—Haruka turns toward the flower buckets lining the wall. After a moment of searching, he pulls out a few more carnations in matching shades, trims the stems with practiced movements, and begins wrapping them together. The shop falls quiet aside from the soft crinkle of florist paper and the snip of ribbon. Haruka finds that this is his favourite part of his job; he should probably thank Umemiya again for introducing him to this place.

Haruka ties off the bouquet with a quick tug, then turns and shoves it toward them.

“There,” he grumbles. “Take it already. And, uh, consider it a gift or whatever, so don’t bother payin’.”

For once, Tsubaki looks genuinely startled and silenced.

The bouquet isn’t large or particularly fancy by shop standards, even Haruka can admit to that much, but the pink carnations look soft gathered together like that, warm in the honeyed light filtering through the windows. There’s something quietly earnest about them like this, petals pressed close together with nowhere else to go; overflowing love that asks for nothing back except the chance to be given. It’s a little ironic if Haruka decides to dwell on it. He can’t help but wonder if Tsubaki sees it too.

“…Sakura-chan,” they say quietly.

Haruka immediately scowls, embarrassed by the sudden look on her face. “Don’t make it weird. I’m just tryna repay all your help. So keep them out of the sun and cut a bit of the stems to leave them good for tomorrow."

Tsubaki’s expression melts into something unbearably fond. The expression makes the hard beating organ beneath his ribs swoon. “You’re seriously such a sweet boy.”

“I’m taking it back.”

“You absolutely are not.”

Before Haruka can argue further, Tsubaki beams down at the bouquet and hugs it carefully to their chest, smiling gentler than usual. “…Umemiya will love these,” they admit softly. Haruka can do nothing but blush furiously as Tsubaki presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Thank you, Sakura!” 

Haruka is at a loss for words. He doesn’t even wave back as Tsubaki skips out of the shop with a beaming smile. He stands there for an embarrassingly long moment after Tsubaki leaves, heat still burning insistently across his face.

“…What the hell,” he mutters weakly to the empty shop.

The bell above the door jingles softly in the wake of Tsubaki’s exit before silence settles back over the store.

With a groan, Haruka drags both hands down his face and forces himself back to work.

He doesn’t mind this part like most people probably do; in fact, Haruka finds a sort of peace in closing up, even if time goes by slowly. 

He waters the remaining flowers, wipes down the counters, reorganizes the ribbons Tsubaki had inevitably messed with while loitering for nearly an hour, deals with one last customer who’d placed an order for the bouquets he'd been working on, and flips through tomorrow’s order sheet twice despite not actually reading any of it, if only to feel productive.

Outside, the sky gradually deepens into evening blue.

By the time Haruka locks up, the streets beyond the storefront are washed in amber from the street lamps flickering to life one by one. He steps outside with a quiet sigh, locking the door behind him before leaning against the wall beside the entrance.

Hayato had texted earlier saying he’d meet him after work. Haruka tries not to think too hard about the way that knowledge settles warm beneath his ribs. He wonders if he'll ever stop feeling this warm about the little things his partners do.

The evening air is cool against his skin. Somewhere down the street, someone laughs loudly, the sound carrying between buildings alongside the distant rumble of traffic. Haruka checks the time. Hayato had said he’d only be twenty minutes, but it’s definitely been a good while longer than that. Neither him nor Akihiko are the type of person to be late, so trying not to dwell on the horrible possibilities in the silence is near impossible. 

Just as he’s beginning to scowl at the sidewalk, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Instantly, his expression softens despite himself as he pulls it out.

Hayato <3

Sorry. Something came up. I won’t make it tonight.

The warmth in his chest cools all at once. Haruka stares at the message for a few quiet seconds.

You

Sure. 

Pure coincidence that tonight of all night something happens.

The bubbles disappear and reappear for a minute at least. Guilt and anger simmer together beneath his skin. Haruka gnaws at his chapped lips as the time passes.

Hayato <3

I'm sorry. I had to check something out. If it wasn't urgent, I wouldn't have left you standing.

You

Whatever.

He locks his phone and stuffs it back into his pocket. 

“…Yeah. Sure.” The words sound a little stupid when spoken to nobody. He feels stupid for waiting for so long, and even worse for feeling annoyed. It’s like a gut feeling telling him that Hayato’s trying to escape talking again, even when creating the opportunity himself.

Adjusting the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder, Haruka pushes himself off the wall and starts the walk home alone beneath the glow of the streetlights. He ignores his phone buzzing a second and third time in his pocket.

Still, when Hayato calls him later that night, Haruka answers on the second ring. He’s never really been the type to hold grudges, as hard as he tries too. He cares for Hayato too much to let the bastard stew in anxiety.

And honestly, the walk home had given him enough time to cool off and think things through properly. Whatever came up had probably been important. Hayato wouldn’t have cancelled otherwise; he’s never been the type of person to cancel without having tried everything else.

“We need to talk,” Haruka says at one point, after Hayato appolgizes again (sounding criminals sincere and sorry that Haruka feels horrible for not responding back) trying, and definitely failing miserably, to sound casual . Tsubaki would probably be proud anyways. "I, uh, have something to ask you. About the whole moving in shit."

On the other end of the line, Hayato goes quiet for half a second before sighing softly. “Alright,” he agrees easily. “Let’s talk.”

He shakes his head, and then realizes Hayato can't actualy see him. Fucking hell he hates phones. “We should meet up when you’re free instead of doing it on call.”

A hum. “Does tomorrow work for you?”

He shrugs, "I'm off work tomorrow, so sure." 

“Okay. Good.”

There’s a brief pause, the faint sound of tapping on the other end of the line. After a beat, Hayato says, “I’m adding Akihiko.”

A second later, the call shifts and Akihiko’s voice cuts through the speaker. Haruka barely even notices the transition anymore; one minute he’s listening to Hayato teasing him about nearly burning instant noodles last week, and the next Akihiko’s recounting some story he’d overheard from the receptionist, while Hayato asks questions every now and then.

Haruka ends up stretched across his couch, phone balanced against his chest as the conversation drifts further and further away from anything meaningful. By the time Akihiko breaks off into helpless laughter halfway through a story, snorting so hard Hayato starts laughing too, Haruka’s eyes are already slipping shut.

He falls asleep to the sound of both of their voices tangled warmly together through the speaker.

.

.

.

Sometimes, though he doesn’t like to, Haruka can’t help but think back on their first year when Haruka had to gather a whole army to find and drag Hayato back.

It’s not a fond memory, and if Haruka can help it, he tries not to think about it at all, because Hayato—with his lone eye bruised black, and his whole frame shaking in the wind, bottom lip quivering, his hands wrapped around him, looking so small and so gutted—is not a sight he wants to ever see again. 

Haruka can’t think of another time where Hayato had limped, gripping tightly to him and Akihiko, too tightly to have been him trying to walk, like some part of him was trying to make sure that they're really there. That it was all real. The trip back is silent, though Haruka can see Hayato’s mouth open and close wordlessly, before even he gives up.

When they’d eventually made it back to his apartment, Akihiko had grabbed Hayato by the front of his changsen with shaking hands, crying so hard he could barely get the words out.

“Don’t do that again,” he’d choked out. “Stop acting like we’d be better off without you. Stop–stop trying to hide and run and leave, and ignore your feelings, please.”

Hayato, too tired, maybe, from the day, or perhaps he’d given up on trying to fool them, smiled weakly, “Don’t say that, Nirei-kun, why would—”

“I’m serious,” Akihiko had continued, voice cracking apart completely. “I—I love you. We both do. So don’t say you’re leaving like it’s nothing—don’t scare us like that; just talk to us, please. Please stop running.”

Haruka remembers standing there beside them, furious and terrified all at once, wanting to hunt down every person who had ever made Hayato believe he needed permission to stay loved. 

“I,” Hayato’s throat bobs. Haruka can almost see every senseless quip croak and lump in his mouth. The only sound that follows is a dreadful hitch of his breath, a horrible sob, that catches in Hayato’s throat with everything else he’s too afraid to say. His feet collapse inward, and he’s not looking at Haruka or Akihiko.

That was the only time he’d ever seen Hayato cry.

It’s wretchedly pretty, and Haruka’s heart stops beating at the broken boy on his knees in front of him, pressing a palm against his eye to desperately try and gather himself together. 

Akihiko drops onto his knees next to Hayato and throws his arms around him, pressing Hayato’s head into his chest. Haruka’s not sure how he finds himself on the ground next to them, holding both of them tight against him.

“I’ll…I’ll tell you guys if anything happens again,” Hayato whispers quietly into the crook of Haruka’s neck.

But, because it’s Hayato, his words hold as much meaning as the moon does to the tides. Real and true and there, certainly, but too distant and out of view to matter.

Hayato has always been strange with food, after all. Haruka has never seen him eat anything that isn’t a teacake, and even that is a rare occurrence. He goes still whenever Akihiko pushes an extra helping onto a plate. Smiling softly whenever Haruka scowls and shoves his convenience store snacks into Hayato’s hands with a grumbled just take it already. It was normal enough that Haruka hadn’t realized something was wrong until it was probably too late.

The first time he’d really noticed was one evening while they were walking home together, fingers loosely intertwined between them. Hayato’s hand felt lighter than usual. The bones in his wrist shift sharply beneath Haruka’s thumb when he squeezes absentmindedly, and something ugly crawled down his spine. The slope of Hayato’s collarbones grew sharper beneath his changshan, and his clothes hung loose around his waist. 

It was a ticking bomb waiting to implode in their already new and delicate relationship. The conversation finally happens late into the night in Haruka’s apartment kitchen.

Akihiko had made dinner hours ago. The leftovers are still sitting cold on the stove, untouched, while Hayato quietly prepares tea instead, movements slow and practiced beneath the dim yellow light. He looks exhausted. More than exhausted, though there’s nothing tangible that Haruka can point out.

“Nirei-kun,” Hayato says softly, glancing over his shoulder with an easy smile, “you should sleep. It’s getting late.”

Akihiko doesn’t answer. Haruka watches him standing there at the kitchen counter, fists clenched so tightly the fabric of his cardigan trembles around them. His face is hidden beneath his bangs.

Very quietly, he whispers,  “We can see your bones.”

Hayato stills. The kettle begins screaming into the silence. Haruka feels a sense of kinship to it; after all, his heart is still scalding hot with worry. Haruka's heart has been wailing for so long that he’s begun to tune it out.

He thinks Hayato might dodge it again. Smile, or laugh softly, or like always, say something clever and careful and impossible to argue against. Instead, Hayato just stands there with one hand wrapped around his teacup so tightly that Haruka thinks it might crack.

Akihiko’s voice breaks instead. “You promised,” his voice is barely heard over the kettle and the ringing in Haruka’s ears. “You said you’d tell us if something happened again.”

Something flickers across Hayato’s face then—quick and raw enough that Haruka almost misses it entirely. Guilt. Fear. Something deeper and uglier underneath both.

And suddenly Haruka understands. Hayato had meant it when he promised. He probably always means it in the moment. But wanting to speak and knowing how to are two entirely different things, and Hayato has spent so long swallowing himself whole that saying anything is too far out of reach for him. 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Hayato admits after a long while. His voice sounds very small. 

Akihiko makes this horrible sound in the back of his throat, halfway between heartbreak and frustration. “Suo,” he says shakily, “there’s almost nothing left of you.”

Haruka doesn’t think back on the conversation that follows, partly because it gets muddy, and partly because he says too much that he doesn’t mean to ever want to think back on it. All that really matters is that they’d been able to convince Hayato to get the help he needed.

Which is great, and had been the push that he needed to get his own therapist (which is another strange thought, who would've guessed that he would be able to expose himself to a stranger) but recalling the past is for naught. None of it makes tomorrow any easier.

Because the problem is still the same as it’s always been throughout the years; Hayato can not open up, and Haruka can not stand it.

He knows what this is really about. It’s not the apartment itself, or the lack of space, or even the logistics of it all. Hayato folds inward into his ribs anytime permanence is offered to him, like he’s already bracing for the moment it gets ripped away, no matter how many times Haruka takes him by the shoulder and screams in his dumb face that he’s stuck with them.

Moving in together means unpacking pieces of himself Hayato still keeps locked behind his teeth and Hayato has always been better at leaving than letting himself be kept.

Haruka groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow. Maybe he should’ve fought harder for couples counselling after all. Or paid Tsubaki to sit between them with a fan and a notebook and forcibly mediate all their problems like some deranged relationship therapist.

The image is enough to almost make him snort. Instead, his stomach twists harder the more he thinks about tomorrow. Because if Hayato looks at him with that soft, careful, private smile and says this isn’t a good idea—

It’s ridiculously stupid; their relationship won’t change, they’ll still have weekly dates, he’ll still get to see Hayato’s dimples when he laughs, and hear Akihiko’s stupidly loud snores when he passes out on call.

Regardless, Haruka doesn’t really know what he’ll do. 

.

.

.

Haruka wakes up earlier than he usually does on his days off. It’s not even seven yet, and the sun has just barely poked its strands out of the horizon. Its rays tickle his face and force a grumble from deep in his throat.

His phone is buzzing insistently.

Haruka groans into his pillow, arm flopping out blindly until his hand smacks the bedside table a little too hard. The vibration doesn’t stop. Haruka makes a personal vow to end whoever dared to wake him up on his day off; never let it be said that Haruka Sakura is a morning person. He leaves that to Hayato.

After a couple more presses, the call finally connects. “Shut up…” he mutters, voice rough.

“Good morning to you, too,” Hayato says cheerfully. There is no reason to be so joyful so fucking early in the morning. Haruka replies with a muffled rumble. “Aren’t you glad to hear from me, Haruka-chan?”

He pushes himself up on the bed, his phone strewn messily somewhere between the folds of his blanket, as he stretches. “Sure.”

“Just sure?” Haruka can almost hear the fake pout plastered on his lips, “This is why you’re not popular with the ladies.”

“What.”

Hayato giggles, though Haruka for the life of him doesn’t know why. “I’m afraid I didn’t call you just to wish you a good morning, though.”

It’s not all that strange for Hayato to call him for no reason. Haruka thinks that the other boy gets lost in his thoughts, though he’ll never admit it, and uses his calls with him as a distraction from his mind. “Whaddaya want then?”

A quiet sigh, “Well, I suppose it’s right to say I have bad news for you, Haruka-chan.”

Haruka blinks. “Huh? What bad news?”

“It seems our Aki-kun has caught a rather bad cold.” Very faintly, Haruka can make out the sound of hacking and sniffling, followed by Hayato’s slightly muffled voice soothing Akihiko.

It's like the universe itself doesn't want them to have a meaningful conversation about moving. Haruka has half a mind to curse whatever out there finds so much joy in doing this to him.

He throws himself out of his bed, shuffling into his rainbow cat slippers. An offering from Hayato after their first fight. On his bedside table is the necklace Akihiko had brought. “Are you at his place or is he at yours?”

There’s the faint sound of footsteps, a door creaking, and what Haruka assumes to be Akihiko saying something, but on his end, all he hears is the sharp crackle of static. He wrinkles his nose when he hears the distinct sound of retching, Hayato sucking in air through his teeth (or so Haruka guesses), muffled just enough for Haruka to assume the phone’s been placed on a counter while Hayato tends to Akihiko, brushing back strands of his hair.

With a sigh, Haruka sets his phone on the kitchen table and leaves it on speaker. He somewhat remembers Kotoha making him egg congee when he’d gotten sick. It’d helped soothe his throat and unclogged his stuffy nose. He’s not a particularly bad cook; the years by himself have taught him the bare basics, and Akihiko came along and taught him and Hayato the rest. He can probably make a decent meal to help. Hopefully.

He opens his fridge, mulling over what he needs as his eyes scan its contents. Eggs, and…what did Kotoha say the recipe was? Rice and a stock cube? He pulls out the carton of eggs and the pot from under the sink. He’ll just call her after he’s done with Hayato.

Finally, after a bit more shuffling, and a stifled sigh, Hayato’s voice comes through his phone speaker, “Ah, sorry, Haruka-kun. To answer your question, I’m at Aki-kun’s place. His mother called and asked me to watch over him since his fever was rather high. Thankfully, it’s gone down now.” 

Haruka frowns immediately. Why hadn’t he gotten a call?

A beat of silence passes before Hayato chuckles softly, clearly having pieced things together without needing to see his face.

“Don’t pout, Haruka-kun,” he teases. “Nirei-san fully intended to call you too, but I volunteered so she could get to work on time.” His tone turns thoughtful for a moment. “Though, it seems Akihiko is sicker than I initially thought. He’s been rather clingy.”

A muffled sound of disagreement, “Am not!” 

Hayato hums knowingly. “Really? Then perhaps I imagined you grabbing my sleeve every time I tried to stand up.”

“I was half asleep,” Akihiko grumbles weakly. "I thought you were my mom."

Hayato laughs quietly, fondness slipping easily into his voice. “Mhm, and yet you still made sure to hold onto me every time you drifted off. How very cute of you, Aki-kun.” 

A strangled noise of embarrassment crackles through the speaker. 

“Alright, hold on Aki-kun, I’ll be right back, alright?” 

Akihiko, probably, nods his head, because Haruka doesn’t hear anything but footsteps and Akihiko’s door (?) creaking open. A few moments later, a cabinet opens and a glass cup (?) clinks against the counter. If Haruka were productive, he might’ve texted Kotoha for the recipe and gotten started. As it stands, he’s been blinking blearily, leaning against his dishwater. Sleep is, frankly, much harder to fight when Hayato is humming softly on the other line as he does god knows what.

“Haru-kun?” Hayato calls out. Haruka can almost see the quiet smile on his lips.  “Are you still there?”

He makes an incongruous sound that could be passed as a yeah. 

“You sound tired, Haruka-kun,” Hayato says lightly, a teasing lilt slipping into his voice. Haruka’s eye twitches insistently. “Were you up doing something far more interesting than sleeping last night?” 

“...Huh?” Haruka blinks, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Fabric shifting crinkles over the line, in what is probably Hayato shrugging, “I don't know, Haruka-kun, maybe your naughty mind missed us.” 

Haruka’s eyebrows furrow in thought. Is Hayato messing with him again by saying bullshit or—

There’s a click of gears in his head shifting into place before mortification crawls up his face in red. “What the fuck?! I—I was sleeping–what else would I—why would—fuck you!”

Hayato’s laugh is humiliatingly drawn out. He’s too twitchy to even think about how the sound is ridiculously cute. “You’re too easy to tease, Haruka-kun,” he says, when his giggles finally let up. Amusement curls around his words all the same. “I’ll send you some better photos of Akihiko later tonight. And I won’t say a word about what you do with them.” 

Haruka’s ears are still burning red. “Shut up!!”

Another damned giggle. “Alright, alright, calm down, won’t you?”

His eye twitches. When he gets to Akihiko’s house, Haruka vows to kill this guy and all his stupid quips. “Just—get whatever you were gonna get before Akihiko starts to worry or whatever.”

Hayato responds by humming beneath his breath, before the tap starts running. 

Haruka rolls out the crick in his neck. On the bright side—which it very barely is, but Tsubaki has scolded him one too many times about the pros of being positive that the nonsense is starting to stick—he’s wide awake now from all the teasing.

“I’ll be there in thirty.” That’s if he’s quick with making the egg congee; Haruka feels pretty confident in his ability to do it.

Hayato hums, “Can’t wait to see you.” He sounds a little too sincere for Haruka’s sensitive heart. “Love you, stay safe on the road!”

It’s too early for his face to be this red. Fuck. “Yeah, yeah, love you too or somethin'." He mutters and is rewarded with the flowery sound of Hayato chuckling and a nasally I love you too from Akihiko.

He must be maroon by this point. No matter how many times he hears it, he’ll never be used to it. Being the reciprocate of such unshielded love is like staring the sun right in its blinding face. Haruka can still see the spots in his vision even after ending the call. At least he’s way better off than the first time he’d heard it, where he’d embarrassingly burst a fuse and stopped talking and moving altogether. 

Fuck; why can’t he just be normal about that shit?

Whatever, he sends a quick text to Kotoha, who scolds him for texting on her busiest days, but dutifully sends the recipe. Over the years, her restaurant’s only done better. He won’t admit it to her, but he’s proud of where she’s gotten.

With the recipe on his phone and the ingredients laid out in front of him, he rolls up his sleeves. How hard can this be, really?

.

.

.

Hard as fucking balls.

Haruka is sticking to premade meals and ordering from Pothos, Akihiko’s scolding for his health be damned. 

He’d messed up thrice, and the final product is just barely reminiscent of what Kotoha had made, but Haruka is proud, damn it.

He doesn’t reach Akihiko’s house until nearly an hour and a half later, with his hair still wet from the shower he’d taken, and his stomach growling from the lack of breakfast. In short, it’s already a horrible morning and Haruka wants nothing more than to slump onto Akihiko’s bed, tuck him into his chest, and pass out indefinitely. After raiding his kitchen.

He holds the still warm pot of egg congee with both hands (lest it falls. Again.) and rings the doorbell with his elbow. He waits all of twenty seconds before hitting it again. Hayato, the asshole he is, is probably sitting comfortably on the couch. To quote him on numerous occasions, too comfortable to get up. And frankly, Akihiko is too sick to get up and open the door. Besides, Haruka doesn’t want to wake him if he’s fallen asleep.

With a sigh, Haruka gets down the front steps and begins the trek towards the backyard. The first problem arises: the backyard fence is locked. Of course it is. Haruka takes a deep breath in. This is okay. He just needs to jump over it. 

The fence door looms eerily higher than he remembers it being when he was a teen. Which shouldn't make sense since Haruka’s grown a solid 6 centimetres since. He’d only been able to gloat his newfound height over Hayato for a month before he’d also grown another six centimetres. Asshole. Even Akihiko had gotten taller, though at 172 centimetres, he and Hayato are still taller.  

He balances the pot of egg congee on the fence—which is thankfully thick enough that Haruka doesn’t think the chance of it toppling down is all that high—and steps back. Fuck. Five years without fighting has certainly not done him any good. 

To make his long story short, he does not make the jump over the fence. Instead, his leg catches on the lock of the fence door, and he just barely escapes falling flat on his face by bracing his arms against the concrete. The egg congee does not see the same fate.

It dies.

Haruka is ashamed to admit the grief he feels as he watches it tumble off the fence from being jerked. There is nothing he can do as it falls onto the ground and spills its yellowed guts everywhere.

Haruka makes a promise to kill Hayato when he sees him. And then a note to clean up the mess the egg congee’s remains made.

He dusts himself off, wincing at the surprisingly deep scrapes on his forearms. He’s one more thing going wrong from driving back home and sleeping the rest of the day. He makes his way towards the balcony, sighing in relief when he sees that it’s opened to let the breeze in, and makes his way in, kicking his shoes off.

Surprisingly, Hayato isn’t sitting on the couch flipping through the pages of a book, dressed in the undersized pink pyjamas that loosely belong to Akihiko. It’s a huge step in the right direction that Hayato doesn’t try to hide the nicks and scars that cover his torso and back like he used too. Haruka peeks his head into the kitchen, finding it spotless but without Hayato.

Huh. The house being eerily quiet doesn’t help the goosebumps rising on his skin. With a gulp, Haruka makes his way up the stairs and creaks open Akihiko’s bedroom door.

“Oh.” His heart might as well be a puddle of melted valves and muscles slipping through his ribs.

Hayato and Akihiko are curled into each other on the bed, Akihiko’s head tucked under Hayato, the early morning sunlight spilling across the sheets and painting soft gold into the shadows of their faces.

Something tight in his chest loosens at the sight. Akihiko shifts in his sleep with a faint sniffle, brow pinching slightly like he’s uncomfortable even unconscious, and Hayato’s arm tightens around him automatically.

Haruka’s shoulders sag. Quietly, he crosses the room and slips onto the bed beside them. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he shuffles closer to Akihiko, carefully throwing an arm over his back.

Over Akihiko’s head of blonde curls, Hayato’s sole eye blinks awake and stares at him; he’s always been a light sleeper. Years in a notorious gang will do that to a person, though Hayato hasn’t shared much about his time there. Most of what Haruka knows, he’s pieced together from little things, reactions he’s intimately familiar with.

He’s more dishevelled than usual, which is to say a couple of locks of his hair are sticking up—a first, since this lucky bastard doesn't get bed head—a courtesy of Akihiko’s clinging, probably, and his eyepatch is loose and shifted away from where it's usually meticulously placed. Haruka can see the faint nasty burn scar in the corner.

“I thought you’d given up on coming,” Hayato whispers. His voice threads quietly into Haruka’s head, despite the sound of his voice being all sleep-dazed rasp and slow unfurling warmth. His hand reaches away from where it’s been drawing mindlessly into Akihiko’s shoulder, tucking a strand of Haruka’s hair away from his face. 

“I was tryna make egg congee for Akihiko,” he admits.

Hayato hums, a small smile growing. “How sweet of you Haruka-kun. Did you leave it in the kitchen?”

“...I dropped it.”

Hayato blinks before a giggle leaves his lips. “Of course you did.”

He sounds too fond for Haruka to do more than grumble. “Yeah, well, you weren’t answering the doorbell, so I had to climb over the fence. And then it fell.”

Hayato frowns, “I didn't even hear the doorbell ring,” he admits. Haruka is just as surprised; usually, he can’t even flush the toilet down the hall without waking Hayato up. “I suppose I must’ve been tired.”

“Oh yeah?” Haruka raises an eyebrow. What was it Hayato asked him earlier? “What were you doing up last night to get you so tired?”

Maybe just having woken up is enough to lower Hayato’s defence, because his cheeks flush a rosy red and his throat bobs.

Holy shit. Haruka can feel his own cheeks turn red. “Is that why you asked me that question?! Because you were jerking off!?”

“Ah.” Hayato, it appears, has no quick quip to snipe back with.

“I—I thought you were asexual?” Do asexual people jerk off? Now that he thinks about it, Haruka doesn’t really know as much as he’d like. 

Hayato frowns. The flush on his face is still apparent. “Asexual people can masturbate.”

Duh. He mentally face palms. “Uh. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Haru-kun, besides it’s…” Hayato opens his mouth before closing it into a thin line. “I—well, it’s not that I meant to lie but…” He licks his lips before quieting down again. Haruka’s never seen Hayato so nervous before; this whole week has been strange. He’s not used to seeing Hayato so...anxious,  and definitely not so often. He reaches for where Hayato’s hand is trying to retreat from its hold on his hand and presses his lips against the knuckles. Another flush coats Hayato’s cheekbones. 

He looks away, “I’m listenin’ or whatever.”

A soft smile makes its way onto Hayato’s mouth. “To be honest, I’m…not asexual.”

Haruka blinks. There’s a bunch of thoughts going through his head, but the only thing that comes out is, “Huh?”

Hayato settles his gaze on Akihiko’s face. “I think you and Aki-kun are attractive, I…like the idea of having sex with you guys.”

The dots aren’t connecting. “So then—when we were talkin’ about it back then, why’d you say you’re asexual if you wanna have sex?”

“Ah, well,” Hayato chews anxiously on his lip, “I’m not like you or Akihiko, Haruka.” He admits quietly.

“What?” Haruka’s eyebrows furrow, “What’s that mean? You talkin’ about the scars and shit? Because I don’t care about them; they’re kinda sick.”

Hayato chuckles, though there’s little mirth in it, “not quite. It’s…me. I’m not—I don’t have the parts or well…you and Aki wouldn’t—” Hayato cuts himself off with a huff, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. 

For all that Haruka wants to know more about Hayato, he never wants more than what Hayato's ready to let slip out.

Haruka shakes his head. If there’s one piece of advice Tsubaki’s given him, it’s to never force admissions. “You don’t gotta say anything if you’re not ready.”

Hayato grimaces, “You deserve to know.”

He rasies an eyebrow, his gaze hardening. "Are you tryna leave us again?"

Hayato shakes his head vehemently, frowning, "I—Of course not—"

“Then I can know later," Haruka shrugs, burying his head in Akihiko’s neck. "I don’t really care right now."

He can’t see what expression Hayato’s face has from this angle, but he can hear the bed shifting and fingertips skimming across his chin and tugging him gently. Before he can even say anything and complain about wanting to sleep, soft lips press against his. He gasps, but unlike usual, Hayato doesn’t take the chance to deepen the kiss, keeping it intimately chaste, holding Haruka’s face gently with two hands, like he’s half his world.

When he leans back, Hayato presses one more kiss to the tip of his nose, and then his cheekbone, and bends until his breath is heavy against Haruka’s ear. He opens his mouth, though Haruka is afraid for a moment he’ll miss the words, and whispers, “I’ve decided; I want to move in with you and Akihiko.”

The words go way over his head. Haruka blinks as he stares at Hayato’s smiling face, blinks again as the words turn from independent clauses to a sentence with meaning, before he shoots up as they click with resounding clarity. “Huh?! Y—you do?!”

“Shh, you’ll wake Aki-kun,” Hayato’s finger is cold against his lips where he’s placed it. “Why don’t you go back to sleep as I make something for you and him, hm? We can talk more when you're rested."

Haruka nods his head slowly, frozen as Hayato presses one more kiss to his temple and one to Akihiko’s before slipping out of the bedroom.

He buries his flaming face into Akihiko’s shoulder and wills his heart to slow the fuck down. Haruka falls asleep to the sound of Akihiko snoring and Hayato humming an old Mandarin lullaby in the kitchen.

.

.

.

The next day, Haruka is also a sniffling mess. Instead of helping, Hayato makes good on his word and sends him photos of Akihiko.

He has no clue where they've come from or when Hayato took them, since he’s curiously in a few, passed out with his own dick out, limp and spent.

Haruka is absolutely mortified when Akihiko winks at him the next time they meet up.