Chapter Text
The sky above Sendai was brushed in shades of slate and gold, the kind of winter dusk that made the world feel soft and muffled. The streets shimmered faintly with the remnants of an afternoon snowfall, the kind that clung to rooftops and tree branches like powdered sugar. Taichi adjusted the bouquet in his arm—red poinsettia, white lilies, and a few glossy berries tucked between dark green leaves—and glanced down at the tiny sheep plushie nestled beside it. Its soft wool caught the glow of the streetlights, the little pull string peeking out like a secret. If he tugged it, it would hum a lullaby. He hadn’t been able to resist. Again.
“Just one more,” he muttered under his breath, half-guilty, half-amused, as he shifted the bouquet and started up the cobblestone path leading to the house.
It was still strange, in the best way, thinking of it as their house. A cozy, two-story place in one of Sendai’s quieter, family-friendly neighborhoods—wide streets, polite neighbors, a park just a short walk away. They’d bought it only a few months ago, shortly after finding out Hayato was pregnant. The timing had been uncanny. They’d closed the deal barely a week before the test confirmed it, and suddenly the extra room they’d debated turning into an office had become the future nursery instead.
It had felt like the universe’s way of saying everything was falling into place.
Taichi’s promotion to the board of directors in his parents’ company had come through that same week—a moment that still made his heart swell with quiet pride every time he thought about it. Hayato had just wrapped up another season of professional volleyball as well, and though he’d been a little bummed to have to sit this one out—especially after some rival libero had been running his mouth in the media—the news of the baby had turned that frustration into joy almost overnight. Their little pup, their miracle, had easily stolen the spotlight.
Taichi reached the front steps, exhaling a soft puff of steam into the cold air. He could already see the warm light spilling from behind the curtains, golden and gentle, like it was beckoning him home.
He grinned, shaking off the last bits of snow from his shoulders.
Perfect house. Perfect timing. Perfect everything.
The scent of home—maple syrup and buttered toffee, threaded with cinnamon and clove—met him before his hand even brushed the door handle. It was faint at first, carried on the heat spilling from the cracks around the frame, but it wrapped around him like silk the moment he stepped closer. The tension in his shoulders loosened instantly. That scent was Hayato—warm, sweet, familiar. Comfort in its purest form.
His own pheromones responded before he could even think, unfurling from his skin in lazy waves of cedarwood and musk, chased by the faintest trace of gingerbread spice and citrus. They tangled in the air like invisible ribbons, seeking out that sweetness instinctively, blending until the whole entryway smelled like their bond itself—spiced warmth and sugar, home and belonging.
He lingered for a moment on the threshold, breathing it in. Every time, it hit him the same way: that quiet awe, the rush of affection that made his chest ache in the best way. He’d spent years thinking love would be loud—passionate, dizzying, maybe even reckless. But this? This was what it really meant. Coming home to the scent of his mate.
He pushed open the door at last, and the familiar hum of the heater greeted him, along with the muffled sound of a television somewhere in the background. He toed off his shoes, careful not to scuff the polished floorboards they’d argued over during renovations, and set the bouquet and plushie gently on the entryway table. His pheromones stretched out instinctively again, testing the air, reaching for that softer pulse of warmth that meant Hayato was nearby.
“Sugar,” he called softly, voice already curling into a smile, “I’m home.”
The words carried through the house like a promise, wrapping around the faint scent trails leading toward the living room.
He hung his coat neatly on the rack, fingers brushing absently over the fabric as the corners of his mouth lifted. How had he ever gotten this lucky? Sometimes, he still caught himself wondering if Hayato had really said yes that day—when Taichi, hands trembling and scent all over the place, had asked not only for Hayato’s hand in marriage, but also for the honor of becoming his mate. But he had said yes. And every day since had proven it had been the best decision Taichi had ever made.
He took another breath—deep, grounding, content.
Home.
Hayato.
Everything he’d ever wanted.
Hayato’s voice drifted faintly from the living room, muffled by the soft hum of the heater. “You smell like guilt, Tai.”
Taichi froze mid-step, bouquet and briefcase still in hand. The corners of his mouth twitched upward before he could help it. “Guilt? No, that’s New Year’s spirit,” he called back, already grinning as he made his way down the short hallway. The faint scent of Hayato’s pheromones grew stronger with each step, coaxing his own to rise in answer, curling outward like invisible tendrils of affection.
When he finally turned the corner, the sight that greeted him made his grin soften instantly.
Their living room had all but transformed into a nest. The couch was buried under an ocean of blankets in soft creams, pale blues, and muted grays, layered thick and rumpled from constant use. A ridiculous number of pillows had been arranged into a kind of cozy fortress, and in the very center of it sat Hayato—looking equal parts radiant and exasperated.
He was wearing one of Taichi’s oversized hoodies, the sleeves swallowed past his fingers, the hem pooling around him like soft armor. The fabric stretched gently over the curve of his belly, and somehow that sight alone made Taichi’s heart trip over itself. Hayato’s dark hair was mussed in every possible direction, sticking up like he’d lost a sleepy battle with their nest of pillows, and his cheeks were flushed a delicate pink from the heater’s warmth.
Taichi’s breath hitched before he could stop it. How was it even fair—that someone could look so breathtaking just sitting there in a hoodie, surrounded by blankets and half-asleep?
The lamplight brushed against Hayato’s face, turning his brown eyes into pools of honey and shadow. When he lifted them to look at Taichi, a faint, knowing smile tugged at his lips—one that said I know exactly what you’re thinking and don’t even try to sweet-talk your way out of it.
Taichi was doomed, and honestly, he couldn’t be happier about it.
He set his bag down carefully, not daring to disturb the peace of that little domestic scene. He felt his chest tighten with something tender and quiet. Ten days left, according to the doctor. Ten days until their lives changed forever. Ten days to keep spoiling Hayato rotten before his mate decided enough was enough and banned him from making any more “baby-related impulse purchases.”
He crossed the room before he even realized he was moving, drawn in like a tide to the shore. Every instinct in him—Alpha or not—just wanted to be closer. The faint rustle of blankets, the soft crackle from the heater, even the gentle rhythm of Hayato’s breathing seemed to pull him in until he was standing right beside the nest.
“You look perfect, you know,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady with affection. His gaze dropped to the gentle swell of Hayato’s belly, then climbed back up, tracing the curve of his jaw, the faint warmth in his cheeks, the sleepy spark in his eyes.
Hayato arched a brow, suspicion sharpening that soft expression. “Flattery won’t cover up the fact that you smell suspiciously like a shopping bag.”
Taichi’s lips twitched. He let out a laugh that rumbled low in his chest, trying to keep it light even as his scent betrayed him—cedarwood and musk curling with unmistakable guilt under the sugar-sweet air of maple and toffee. “Shopping bag? Now that’s a bit harsh. I prefer ‘devoted mate preparing for fatherhood.’ Sounds nobler, doesn’t it?”
Hayato hummed, clearly unconvinced, and leaned back just slightly, arms folding over his middle. His gaze followed Taichi’s every move, sharp but fond—the kind of look that said I know you’re hiding something, and I’m going to enjoy making you admit it.
“What’s that behind your back?” he asked finally, eyes narrowing in amusement.
Taichi blinked, stalling for time. “Behind my—? Oh, this?” He brought the bouquet out slowly, as if unveiling a peace offering to a very dangerous (and very beautiful) deity. “For you,” he said quickly, flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile.
He leaned down, brushing a kiss against Hayato’s temple, his voice softening. “Poinsettia for luck,” he whispered, brushing the crimson petals lightly with his fingers, “and lilies for peace.”
The faint scent of flowers mingled with the warmth of their pheromones—sweet and spiced, familiar and new all at once. Taichi could only hope it would distract Hayato long enough not to notice the small, fluffy secret still tucked safely behind his back.
“And the… plushie?”
Hayato’s tone was deceptively calm—the kind of gentle question that sounded harmless until one caught the glint in his eye.
Taichi froze, every muscle locking for a split second. Busted. He’d almost forgotten how sharp Hayato’s instincts got this far into nesting mode. With the bouquet already nestled in Hayato’s hands—glowing like undeniable evidence—his next move felt twice as incriminating and, somehow, twice as endearing. He sighed in defeat and reached behind him, producing the small sheep plushie and holding it up like a guilty child caught sneaking dessert before dinner.
“Okay, fine,” he admitted, lips curving into that crooked, too-charming smile that usually got him out of trouble. “Maybe I couldn’t resist. But look—” he gave the pull string a gentle tug, and the soft hum of a lullaby filled the room, delicate and sweet, like starlight woven into sound. “It sings. That’s useful, right?”
Hayato’s sigh was long and theatrical, but his expression didn’t quite match. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “Taichi,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “that’s the twelfth one.”
“Technically the thirteenth,” Taichi corrected without missing a beat, setting the plushie down on the coffee table before easing himself down beside his mate. The couch dipped slightly under his weight, and the warmth that met him was instant, wrapping around him in waves of maple and cinnamon.
He reached out, brushing a calloused hand gently over the curve of Hayato’s belly. The movement was reverent, almost instinctive. “But this one hums,” he murmured, eyes softening as he watched his thumb trace small, absentminded circles against the fabric of Hayato’s hoodie. “That makes it special. It’s… a different category entirely.”
Hayato let out a quiet laugh, one of those soft, breathy sounds that always hit Taichi right in the chest. “Of course it is,” he murmured dryly, though his voice had lost all bite. He leaned back into Taichi’s side, their bodies fitting together as easily as breathing.
The room settled around them—warm, dim, safe. The heater’s hum blended with the lullaby still playing from the plushie’s hidden speaker. Hayato’s scent shifted, the sweetness of buttered toffee deepening with the warmth of clove and cinnamon. It filled the air like honey, soothing every edge inside Taichi until he could only breathe him in.
He bent his head slightly, pressing a slow kiss to Hayato’s temple, then another to the corner of his jaw. “You know,” he murmured against his skin, voice rough with quiet laughter, “you say that like I don’t have an excellent reason for each one of them.”
Hayato hummed, eyes half-lidded. “Enlighten me, then.”
“Simple,” Taichi said, grinning into his hair. “Every plushie is practice. I’m just… building up my dad reflexes.”
Hayato snorted, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he nestled closer, his hand finding Taichi’s and settling it back over his belly. The baby kicked softly beneath their palms, and for a heartbeat, everything went still—just the three of them, wrapped in scent and warmth and love.
Taichi smiled, heart swelling until it almost hurt. “See?” he whispered, his voice thick with fondness. “Even the baby agrees.”
Hayato let out a noncommittal hmph, but the corner of his mouth curved just enough to betray him. Taichi caught the tiny smile and couldn’t stop his own from widening.
He breathed in deeply, slow and steady. The room was steeped in their mingled scents. The warmth from the heater hummed gently against his skin, but nothing in the world felt warmer than the solid weight of Hayato pressed against his side.
“You and the baby are good?” Taichi murmured after a moment, his thumb still tracing idle circles over the swell of Hayato’s belly.
“Mmh.” Hayato’s voice was sleepy, mellow, his words half-lost to a yawn. “Just heavy. They’ve been kicking a lot today. Probably impatient… like someone I know.”
Taichi feigned a gasp, his grin breaking through. “Impatient? Me?” He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of Hayato’s neck and breathing in that sweet, familiar scent until it flooded every sense. His lips brushed over Hayato’s mating mark in a tender kiss that lingered just long enough to make him sigh. “Never.”
Hayato laughed softly—a low, quiet sound that vibrated through Taichi’s chest. He felt Hayato’s fingers brush through his hair, slow and absentminded, a small touch that said I love you more clearly than any words could.
The moment lingered, stretching into something timeless. The only sounds were the faint hum of the heater, the distant whistle of wind against the windows, and the occasional pop of settling wood. Snow whispered against the glass, turning the world outside pale and still.
For now, everything was perfect.
Taichi’s gaze drifted to the little sheep plushie resting on the coffee table. Its ribbon tag caught the light, a tiny glint of gold against the soft cream wool. He couldn’t help but smile—thirteen plushies, a home that smelled like love and warmth, and a mate who somehow managed to be both exasperated and radiant.
He tilted his head, watching Hayato’s lashes flutter as he began to drift off, his breathing evening out, one hand resting protectively over his belly. Taichi’s chest ached with affection.
What could possibly go wrong? he thought, eyes lingering on the peaceful picture before him.
Probably nothing.
He hoped.
☆
When Taichi opened his eyes again, the sun had already set. The world outside the window was wrapped in a quiet blue darkness, the snow reflecting the soft amber of the streetlights. Inside, the living room glowed gently under the lamp in the corner, its light spilling across blankets, pillows, and the faint rise and fall of Hayato’s breathing.
For a while, Taichi didn’t move. He just watched the shadows shift across the ceiling, feeling Hayato’s steady warmth pressed against his side.
Hayato had fallen asleep tucked under his arm, head resting in the hollow beneath Taichi’s collarbone, one hand lying across his chest. His thumb traced lazy, half-asleep patterns against Taichi’s shirt, and each faint touch tugged at something deep and soft in him.
Taichi smiled, helpless. He still couldn’t believe this was his life—coming home to this house, this peace, this person. Hayato’s hair was a mess, sticking up in wild directions, and yet Taichi thought he’d never looked more beautiful. There was something about the way he slept, about the trust it took to melt into his arms like that, that made Taichi’s chest ache in the best way.
He leaned down and brushed a kiss into Hayato’s hair, lingering for a moment longer than he needed to. Too perfect to move. Too perfect to disturb.
And then, of course, his stomach had to ruin it—growling loudly, obnoxiously, like it couldn’t care less about the sanctity of the moment.
Hayato stirred with a faint noise, nose scrunching adorably against Taichi’s shirt. Taichi froze, torn between guilt and laughter, and gently rubbed his mate’s back. “Sorry, Love,” he whispered against his hair, smiling helplessly. “Apparently, my stomach doesn’t believe in romance.”
Hayato let out a sleepy hum, voice muffled against Taichi’s shirt. “You’re hungry.” The words were barely more than a murmur, spoken into the fabric of his t-shirt, but Taichi felt them all the same—vibrating against his chest, low and familiar. He smiled, fingers brushing idly through Hayato’s hair.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “You’ve been eating for two, Sugar. I’m just trying to keep up.”
Hayato made a sleepy noise that was halfway between a scoff and a hum. “Nice try,” he mumbled, turning his head so that his nose brushed against Taichi’s collarbone. “You’re the one who didn’t eat lunch.”
Taichi chuckled under his breath, his chest rumbling softly against Hayato’s cheek. “Minor detail,” he said dismissively, though the warmth in his voice made it obvious he’d already been caught.
Carefully, he reached for his phone on the coffee table, doing his best not to dislodge Hayato. The movement was a bit awkward, but Hayato didn’t seem to mind—he only made a small, content sound and snuggled in closer, as if determined to make himself even more comfortable. His hand slid higher, settling over Taichi’s chest, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles through the thin fabric of his shirt.
The touch made Taichi’s heart stutter. He tilted his head just enough to press a light kiss to the crown of Hayato’s head. How could something this simple feel so right?
The faint glow of the phone screen illuminated the both of them, casting gentle shadows across Hayato’s face. He blinked drowsily at the light, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Uber Eats?” he asked, voice rough and quiet, the words softened by a yawn.
“Tempting,” Taichi replied, scrolling lazily through the options. “Except you still feel like cooking.”
Hayato made a sound that was pure disbelief—a muffled “hmpf” that came with a small frown Taichi could feel against his chest. Taichi grinned, letting his free hand drift down to squeeze Hayato’s shoulder gently. “Exactly,” he said, teasing, his tone filled with affection. “That’s what I thought. So, delivery it is.”
“Mm.” Hayato’s reply was barely audible, a sleepy agreement wrapped in warmth. His fingers flexed lightly against Taichi’s chest, then stilled again, like he couldn’t quite be bothered to move but wanted to remind him he was still there.
Taichi glanced down at him, his grin softening into something impossibly tender. The light from his phone haloed Hayato’s face in pale gold, catching on the curve of his lashes and the faint color in his cheeks. He couldn’t help it—his thumb brushed over Hayato’s shoulder, tracing small, lazy circles against the soft fabric of his hoodie.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “You comfy?”
Hayato made a quiet, pleased sound in response, somewhere between a hum and a sigh. His eyes stayed closed, lashes fluttering just once before settling again. The faintest smile tugged at his lips, sleepy and content. “Always,” he mumbled. “You make a good pillow.”
Taichi’s chest tightened. There it was—that easy, drowsy affection that made his entire world slow down. He let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through both of them, his hand automatically coming to rest on Hayato’s back.
“High praise,” he said, pretending to sound modest but failing entirely. “I’ll take it.”
Hayato didn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he made another tiny sound, a cross between a sigh and something that might have been a purr, and melted further into him. His hand slipped slightly, fingers brushing over Taichi’s ribs before settling right above his stomach, anchoring him there.
The simple intimacy of it—Hayato’s weight against him, the warmth seeping through the blankets, the quiet trust of it all—was enough to make Taichi forget the world outside entirely. He shifted his phone slightly, angling the screen away so the glow wouldn’t bother him, and kept scrolling through the app with his free hand.
“Alright,” Taichi whispered after a moment, his voice barely above the hush of the heater. He shifted his phone slightly so the screen’s light caught both of their faces. “Let’s see what looks good tonight. Katsudon? Miso soup?”
Hayato made a soft sound of agreement, eyes still closed, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Mhm,” he murmured, voice sleep-thick and content. “Something warm. And maybe rice with pickles.”
Taichi smiled, thumb already hovering over the menu options. “Got it,” he said, tapping the selections one-handed while his other arm stayed snugly looped around Hayato. His fingers rested at the small of Hayato’s back, tracing gentle, unconscious patterns through the fabric of his hoodie. “How about… spring rolls too?”
That earned him a sleepy noise of mock suspicion. “Only if you promise not to eat mine again.”
Taichi’s grin turned boyish, the kind that always got him caught. “...No promises,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. He leaned down without thinking, pressing another kiss into Hayato’s hair—light, lingering, affectionate. The scent of his shampoo filled the space between them, soft and comforting.
Hayato huffed a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating faintly against Taichi’s chest. He didn’t bother opening his eyes this time, just tilted his head slightly toward the touch. “You’re hopeless,” he said, but the words came out fond, wrapped in sleep and affection.
Taichi smiled against his hair, the expression small but so full of feeling it almost hurt. “Hopeless,” he corrected softly, “for you.”
That earned him a muffled chuckle, followed by a lazy hand swatting weakly at his chest before settling back down again. “Sap,” Hayato whispered, though the word was far too gentle to carry any bite.
Taichi chuckled quietly, letting the sound vibrate through both of them. “Guilty as charged.”
The laugh faded into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came after years of knowing someone so completely. The room was still, blanketed in the soft hum of the heater and the faint whisper of snow outside. Hayato stayed nestled against him, warm and pliant, his breathing steady against Taichi’s chest.
For a while, Taichi simply watched the dim glow of the phone screen, content to listen to the rhythm of Hayato’s heartbeat under his palm. Then, with a small, fond sigh, he shifted just enough to refocus on the menu in front of him.
“Alright,” he murmured, tone turning playful again. “Do we want side dishes? Tempura? Gyoza?”
His thumb moved lazily over the screen, though his attention was only half on it—the rest entirely on the sleepy weight tucked so perfectly under his arm.
Hayato made a quiet noise, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, his lashes fluttering as his eyes blinked halfway open. “You just want an excuse to overorder again,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with amusement. His hand shifted slightly against Taichi’s chest, fingers splaying lazily like he was trying to anchor himself there.
Taichi’s chest vibrated with laughter, the sound low and affectionate. “Absolutely,” he admitted without shame. “Can’t risk starving my mate and pup.”
Hayato’s lips curved, even as he gave a tired, unimpressed sound. “Uh-huh. That’s what you said last time, and we had enough leftovers to feed the whole team.”
“Efficient meal prep,” Taichi countered easily, his grin audible in his voice. He angled his head down, unable to resist brushing his lips across Hayato’s forehead, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the kind that spoke in quiet, unspoken words. “You two deserve the full spread,” he murmured against his skin.
Hayato made a small, reluctant noise—half protest, half pleased sigh—and tilted his head just slightly toward the touch. “Mmh,” he hummed. “Flattery’s not going to get you extra gyoza.”
Taichi laughed quietly, the sound threading through the silence like a melody. “Too late,” he said, tapping one last button on the screen. “Already hit confirm.”
Hayato groaned, though the sound was more dramatic than genuinely annoyed. His lips betrayed him, quirking into a tiny smile that gave him away completely. With a sleepy little wriggle, he resettled against Taichi’s side, fitting perfectly back into the curve of his arm. His body was warm, heavy with drowsiness, and the small, content sigh he let out nearly made Taichi melt on the spot.
Taichi reached for the remote with his free hand, brushing his fingers lightly against Hayato’s hip in the process. “What do you want to watch while we wait?” he asked, voice soft so as not to disturb the calm.
Hayato blinked up at him, eyes slow to focus, expression thoughtful in that adorable, sleep-ruffled way Taichi loved far too much. “Something easy,” he murmured after a pause, his voice still heavy with drowsy affection. “No sports. I don’t want you getting competitive again.”
Taichi gasped in mock offense, his mouth curving into a grin. “Hey, I don’t always get competitive.”
Hayato cracked an eye open, his tone flat but teasing. “You threw a pillow at the screen last week because the Libero missed a dig.”
“That was a professional critique,” Taichi said solemnly, though his lips twitched as he tried to keep a straight face. He tilted his head down slightly, his grin softening as his gaze met Hayato’s. “Maybe you’ve just raised my standards with your perfect plays.”
That earned him a snort, followed by a muffled laugh as Hayato buried his face against Taichi’s chest to hide the smile spreading across his lips. “Uh-huh. Sure,” he said, voice faintly vibrating against Taichi’s shirt.
Taichi couldn’t help but laugh, his hand finding the back of Hayato’s head and running his fingers slowly through his hair. The movement was gentle, instinctive, and Hayato hummed quietly in approval, the sound so small and content that Taichi’s heart practically turned to liquid.
He flipped through the streaming menu one-handed until he found something familiar—a fluffy little drama series they’d been half-watching for weeks. “This one?” he asked quietly.
Hayato didn’t even open his eyes this time. “Mhm.”
“Perfect.” Taichi pressed play, lowering the volume until the dialogue turned into a soft, steady murmur in the background.
The opening music filled the space around them, gentle and unhurried. Outside, snow continued to fall in slow, lazy spirals, the windowpanes catching the faint reflection of the TV’s glow. Inside, the world felt muted and safe—their own little pocket of warmth in a cold winter night.
Hayato’s breathing evened out again, his fingers curling lightly against Taichi’s chest, right above his heartbeat. He was half-asleep within minutes, his hair tickling Taichi’s chin, his body sinking completely into his arms.
Taichi looked down at him, and his chest ached with affection. How could someone look so peaceful, so beautiful, doing absolutely nothing? He brushed his thumb over Hayato’s shoulder and let out a quiet sigh, his lips curving into a small, helpless smile.
Outside, snow fell. Inside, everything was still.
Dinner would arrive soon—but for now, this was enough.
Just the two of them, wrapped in warmth, waiting for their future to begin.
☆
The doorbell chimed softly, a gentle sound that cut through the quiet hum of the heater and the low murmur of the TV. The warmth of the room made the noise feel distant, almost out of place.
Taichi blinked, the sudden reminder of the outside world tugging him reluctantly back to reality. His arm was still wrapped securely around Hayato, their bodies molded perfectly together in their little cocoon of blankets. The last thing he wanted was to move.
“That’s dinner,” he murmured at last, his voice low and reluctant, like he was being pulled away from a dream. He brushed his nose lightly against Hayato’s hair before speaking again, keeping his words soft, fond. “Stay put, Sugar. I’ll get it.”
Hayato made a quiet sound in response—a sleepy hum that melted into a half-hearted protest. His hand caught weakly at the fabric of Taichi’s shirt as if to hold him there. “You sure?” he mumbled, voice muffled against Taichi’s chest.
“Pretty sure,” Taichi said, amusement flickering in his tone. “Unless you want to waddle all the way to the door yourself.”
That earned him a faint snort and a muttered, “You’re lucky I can’t get up fast right now.”
Taichi chuckled. “I know,” he whispered, stealing a quick kiss from Hayato’s lips before carefully easing away. The couch dipped and sighed as he stood, and the cool air immediately swept in to fill the space where Hayato’s warmth had been.
“Be quick,” Hayato murmured sleepily, already resettling himself in the blankets. His voice had the lazy drawl of someone halfway back to dreaming. “We’re starving.”
Taichi turned back for a moment, taking in the sight—Hayato, wrapped up in the nest, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes closed again but lips still curled in a faint, sleepy smile. The glow from the lamp painted him in gold, softening every line.
“Yeah,” Taichi said quietly, smiling to himself. “I know.”
And with that, he padded toward the door, the faint scent of food already drifting in from the hallway, promising warmth, laughter, and one more perfect night together. He retrieved their order from the delivery driver at the door—steam rising from the bags, rich with the scent of fried batter, soy, and warm broth—and made his way back to his mate.
By the time he returned, Hayato had shifted in the nest of blankets, blinking sleepily at him from his spot on the couch. The soft lamp light made his eyes glow like amber glass, and Taichi’s heart did that familiar, hopeless flip.
“Smells amazing,” Hayato murmured, sitting up a little as Taichi set the food on the low table in front of them.
“That’s because I picked perfectly,” Taichi said with a grin, settling beside him again. “See? Katsudon, miso soup, spring rolls, and—” he opened one container with mock ceremony, “—your gyoza. Which I will heroically attempt not to steal.”
Hayato gave him a skeptical look. “Heroically, huh? I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Harsh but fair,” Taichi said, laughter in his tone.
They ate comfortably, the TV playing softly in the background, the light clink of chopsticks and occasional quiet sighs of satisfaction filling the room. At some point, Hayato leaned into Taichi’s side again, balancing a bowl in one hand and holding out a piece of tempura in the other.
“Here,” Hayato said softly, holding out a piece of tempura with his chopsticks.
Taichi blinked down at him, warmth instantly spreading through his chest. Hayato’s eyes were half-lidded, lazy from comfort but still gleaming with that quiet affection that never failed to undo him.
“Feeding me now?” Taichi teased, leaning in a little, his grin soft but playful. “I’m being spoiled.”
“You earned it,” Hayato murmured, voice gentle. “Long day, right?”
“Mm.” Taichi hummed as he accepted the bite, lips brushing lightly against the tips of Hayato’s chopsticks. The batter was crisp, the warmth lingering on his tongue, but it was the sight of Hayato smiling faintly at him that really made it impossible to swallow without grinning. “Not too bad, actually,” he said between bites. “Meetings mostly. One of the newer guys accidentally sent a client proposal with a cat meme in it, though. Made the whole department lose it.”
Hayato’s soft laugh filled the air, low and genuine. It was one of those sounds that made Taichi’s whole chest ache in the best way. “Please tell me you didn’t scold him.”
“Scold him?” Taichi scoffed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I congratulated him. It’s the most attention that file got all week.”
Hayato’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter as he shook his head, trying and failing to look disapproving. “You’re impossible,” he said, though his lips betrayed him, curving upward anyway. He offered another piece of tempura, amusement softening into fondness. “Incorrigible, really.”
“Efficient,” Taichi corrected with a smirk—and before Hayato could stop him, he reached over with quick precision and plucked a gyoza from his mate’s plate.
“Hey!”
Taichi was already chewing, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Evidence destroyed,” he said around a mouthful, his grin shameless.
Hayato sighed dramatically, but there was laughter in his eyes now—warm, bright, and full of love. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, though his voice was threaded with amusement.
That was all the victory Taichi needed. He couldn’t help staring at him for a beat too long—the way Hayato’s eyes crinkled slightly when he laughed, the flush that rose to his cheeks under the soft lamplight, the quiet contentment that radiated off him like heat.
Without thinking, Taichi reached out. His thumb brushed the corner of Hayato’s mouth, catching a tiny streak of sauce there. The touch was slow, gentle, far too tender for something so small. “Messy,” he murmured, his voice softer than before, his smile almost reverent.
Hayato blinked at him, startled for only a moment before his gaze softened into something warm and knowing. His voice softened, dipping into something that felt like a secret spoken just for him. “You like messy.”
“Only when it’s you,” Taichi whispered back. The words slipped out easily, like a truth he didn’t mind being caught sharing.
He leaned in, his breath brushing Hayato’s cheek before pressing a slow, affectionate kiss to his temple. It wasn’t meant to be grand—just a small, instinctive gesture of love—but Hayato melted into it anyway, tilting slightly toward the touch.
Taichi lingered there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his lips curving in a smile against Hayato’s skin. When he pulled back, the sight that met him—Hayato smiling faintly, cheeks warm, eyes soft and shining—made him fall all over again.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, as if answering some thought neither of them had spoken aloud. “Only you.”
They went on eating like that—talking, teasing, falling into easy conversation about the little things. Taichi told him more about work, about a project he was proud of, about how the winter season made everyone in the office fight over the best tea blend. Hayato told him about texts from Kenjirō and Tsutomu, about how Satori had sent a ridiculous baby onesie shaped like a strawberry.
The laughter came easy, melting into quiet stretches of contentment between bites. When they finished eating, Taichi gathered the empty containers and set them aside, then pulled Hayato back into his side again, brushing his hand over his mate’s shoulder in slow, soothing strokes.
“Full?” Taichi asked softly, his voice little more than a murmur. He tilted his head to look down at Hayato, who was half-curled against his chest, surrounded by the nest of blankets they’d built together.
Hayato made a quiet, content noise, eyes already slipping closed again. “Finally,” he mumbled, his words lazy and half-slurred with sleep. “Don’t you dare move.”
Taichi couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered, his tone full of warmth and quiet amusement. He leaned down and caught Hayato’s lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that spoke more of affection than desire. It was soft and unhurried, the kind of kiss that said I love you without needing the words. Hayato’s lips were warm against his, tasting faintly of tea and comfort, and the gentle brush of breath between them made Taichi’s chest ache in the sweetest way. When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, his smile still ghosting against Hayato’s mouth.
Hayato shifted slightly, nuzzling into the soft fabric of Taichi’s shirt like he was searching for the most comfortable spot in the world—and, apparently, had decided that spot was Taichi himself. His hand found its familiar place, draped across Taichi’s middle, fingers curling into the fabric as if to anchor him there.
“Warm,” Hayato murmured, already sounding half-asleep.
Taichi’s laugh was quiet, his heart soft. “That’s the idea,” he said, adjusting the blanket so it covered them both. He rested his chin lightly against Hayato’s hair, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
The TV continued to murmur quietly in the background, playing a scene neither of them were really watching. The faint glow from the screen painted them in shifting shades of blue and gold, gentle light flickering across Hayato’s peaceful face. The smell of dinner still hung faintly in the air—warm rice, soy, and the faint sweetness of fried batter—mingling with the scent of home that was uniquely theirs.
Outside, snow fell in lazy spirals, blanketing the world beyond their window in soft silence. Inside, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Every heartbeat felt louder in the quiet—steady, sure, full.
Taichi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and smiled to himself. Hayato’s weight against him, the warmth of their shared nest, the soft hush of the night—it was all so simple, and yet it filled every corner of him with contentment.
Dinner was over, but the warmth lingered.
And as he held Hayato a little closer, tracing a slow, absent circle against his shoulder with his thumb, Taichi knew this was the kind of night he wanted forever.