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It’s not normal for Haru to find himself awake in the dead of the night.
Nor is it normal for Haru to find himself awoken by the drumming of rain on his windows.
Though, what’s normal for Haru now is the human warmth, the embrace around his waist. Coupled with the pelting of droplets in the tranquil silence and the distinct smell of what Haru’s known to equally embrace as a home , he thinks he can hear heaven sigh.
And as if on cue, Haru registers the lull of steady, soft breathing on the back of his neck. That, too, is warm. And all so normal, too.
The weight of gold engraved with kanji adorned in silver circles his ring finger and Haru’s sure again that he’s home when his fingers smooth over and wrap around the hands on his waist.
And so his hands wander, wander round the hands around his waist.
It’s then he realises — a familiarity that feels foreign all the same.
Calloused palms.
What Haru does know about these callouses, though — a wound attributed to love.
And so, his hands tighten, squeeze, around Daisuke’s fingers.
He thinks Daisuke stirs a little, but not to worry — his breaths remain shallow and steadily soft.
With a wistful smile, Haru’s now-alert mind cycles.
In the recesses of his mind, it’s normal that he thinks of Daisuke and ponders many things. For not too long ago, he had been pivotal in the ultimatum of his husband’s life.
-
“KAMBE!”
It’s a fateful day. All the days of solemnity and anguish had led up to this; Daisuke hunting down his long-gone father in what seems to be a mishap of a falsified death.
Daisuke coming head to head with the man who murdered his beloved mother.
And Haru knows this, Haru’s heart aches for him. In these few months as partnering detectives together, of the seeming gates of apathy Kambe would station round his heart that Haru began to set out on unlocking, following Chief Kiyomizu’s rundown of a long forgone past, a past given up on, because “how could an orphaned young boy grow into a whole man without an outlet for all his misery--”
Hands char on the white-hot blaster and god Haru thinks he can even smell it—
Daisuke lets out a wince, and it does not go unnoticed.
There’s red in Haru’s eyes. And all the more he wants to reach out, reach out and pull the trigger and scream for him and hold him and—
Kambe’s teeth grit and in this red daze Haru thinks sweat’s beading down his chin. “...Give me a break. For all this time…” The millionaire musters, as if pain wasn’t overwhelming him, flooding him. Haru’s heart skips a beat.
The words don’t stop their flow from Kambe’s mouth. “...before being a civil servant…”
Haru’s heart bangs in his ribs in the anticipating silence.
The tremble of his grip around the gun, slicked with the sweat of his palms, does not cease just yet.
And like a crashing wave, Daisuke stirs the storm. “...You’ve been a hero.”
Haru’s eyes widen. Something has snapped, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in.
The red swimming, drowning his vision ebbs away. Blood rushes back to his fingers and sensation has returned--
For the first time in years, Haru aims his gun with a steel grip.
It’s also the first time in years his resolve steels, on the calibre of platinum. The resolve to defend Kambe and aid his vengeance for his mother.
If Kambe, the ever-so-aloof detective, joined the downgrade, rundown Third Division with a will, then Haru, his mentor, will damn well defend this very will.
Kambe still doesn’t stop, even going on to spur Haru’s senses on with a tender smile, one Haru was unaware he could muster. “Your job is to make justice happen, Inspector Katou!”
“What an annoying guy--” Frantz grumbles as he shoots another laser bolt out his blaster and God it’s so bright it hurts even Haru’s eyes. But Daisuke’s smile doesn’t falter.
As if he wasn’t bearing white-hot pain just to buy time for Haru to still his aim, an aim Kambe just knows firsthand and by earshot how it terrifies Haru--
And if that’s what Kambe Daisuke believes, Haru will do his best to deliver.
And so, Haru takes a deep, unshaking breath.
Bang.
And then like a clean shot through still air, a bullseye sets off in Haru’s head and he, too, fires a clean shot.
Not at Frantz who still has Daisuke in a headlock, but at the red pipe behind the two men. Dead on.
Haru simply can’t believe it.
He’s heaving silently. He’s never shot a gun in two years; never dared to, never could.
And somehow, how dire Daisuke’s profession laced with an undertone of a watchful and diligent observation is able to filter the fog that haunts his head.
And through the haze, Haru’s mind clears.
He’s just fired a gun. He’s just fired a gun.
Haru thinks that for a moment, he’s a hero. A hero who rose from his perturbation, albeit saved by another hero. He can’t be mad at all -- after all, who are civil servants who can’t do justice?
Even then, with the moments that have thrummed along ever so agonisingly in the peril of this chase, Haru finds his grip on his gun has not reverted to that of a tremble.
A tremble he knows was once normal, familiar.
The chamber of the ship fills with vapour and the lights redden in an emergency lockdown, but even in this darkness, Haru shares his gaze with Kambe who’s thrown himself away from Frantz.
The gaze of two heroes together, one after another, in tandem.
In the recesses of his now triumphant mind, Haru thinks, I could get used to this.
-
With Daisuke still asleep, Haru brings his husband’s fingers to his lips and lays a featherlight kiss against his golden ring, careful not to awaken him.
Outside, in the dark light of dawn, the raindrops continue to pitter and patter against the windows.
Haru glides a gentle swipe of his fingers across Daisuke’s calloused palms, and he’s reminded yet again.
“...Thank you, Daisuke.”
Just then, a hot chill cascades down Haru’s cheeks. He brings his other hand to his face and realises that, just like the weather outside, there’s a downpour.
A lovely one at that.
And not only that -- the pelting of raindrops outside begins to simmer down into a comfortable silence. Haru turns his gaze to the window and he sees white falling from the skies.
Ah.
In the cold chill, Haru snuggles closer into Daisuke’s hold on him and he allows his mind to rest.
Haru could get used to this, yet again.
-
It’s normal to go to remember going to bed with his husband in his arms. It’s normal waking up with him in his arms, but going back to sleep after.
And, as such, it’s normal to wake up to no one in his arms.
Daisuke is, though, familiar with the rumple of bed sheets that have the obvious imprint of Haru having slept there in his arms through the night. There’s a sort of bittersweet warmth to it, really, Daisuke thinks.
Today, however, is unusually chilly. The millionaire turns his head to the window and registers clumps of white, fluffy snow falling from the sky. In the distance, there’s the Tokyo bustle of traffic. He briefly forgets he’s no longer in his palace estate back in England; the couple had chosen to come back to Tokyo to spend their Christmas break.
And, well, the Kambe estate is no longer a viable option for the two of them to vacation in, nor even spend fleeting, getaway moments in. Following Haru’s accidental divulgence of the adollium research documents to the public, the Kambe estate had come under fire and, since then, been a frequented spot by vandals and reporters alike.
Simply put, Haru’s quaint apartment was their go-to safe haven.
And Daisuke’s not complaining; Haru’s place feels more like home than the Kambe estate ever did.
God, the love he has for Haru.
If Daisuke’s being sappy, well, Haru himself feels like home. So, after a multitude of yawns and stretches, he makes the decision to get out of bed to go greet his lover. He drags his feet to the kitchen.
Then, the sharp aroma of chocolate hits his senses.
With the clang of utensils and Haru’s brows knitted in concentration and sweat on his temples, he doesn’t realise the shuffling of feet behind him. Cute. It’s an opening for Daisuke to go give him a greeting, “Chocolate, this early in the morning? What’s the special occasion?”
The taupe-haired man jumps a little, shoulders jerking up and so does his apron. “Daisuke?!” He yelps and heaves a breath. “God. I didn’t see you there. I’m trying to…” Haru turns the knobs on the stove up, higher just by a little. “...get all of this melted.”
Daisuke hums, “Hm. I see” Haru’s hands are lifted, attempting to mix the pot of melted chocolate. Daisuke wraps his arms around Haru’s vacant waist, a pose he thinks might be his favourite one yet. It’s just -- warm. Loving.
“What the hell, Daisuke, have you washed up yet? Your breath fucking stinks.”
“Sorry, blame me for wanting to see you first thing when I wake up?”
“Gross. A gross millionaire and a gross sap.”
“And I don’t think it’s very… ideal, that you’re burning chocolate for breakfast. Our breakfast”
Haru turns to Daisuke, whose face is on his shoulder. He scrunches his nose, “Bitch, you can barely even cook. I could easily make this breakfast for myself and myself only.” And in spite of his malicious words, Haru lays a peck on Daisuke’s forehead, bangs and all. “Go now, go on and brush your teeth. Shoo.”
Even with the instruction, Haru makes no effort to shrug Daisuke off his body. The brief moment where Daisuke chooses to continue clinging onto Haru, hence, brings a smile to Daisuke’s lips. Haru is so (lovingly) pesky, and for what?
Though, good things come to their inevitable end. So Daisuke peels himself away from Haru and makes his way to the bathroom. “Mm. Fine, but with the way you’re bossing me around, it’s not unclear why everyone calls you a hag, Mr. Katou,” Daisuke makes sure to jab.
“Go. Brush. Your. Teeth!”
“I’m twenty-seven! I will!”
“I’m a hag; older than you!”
These harmless, back-and-forth banters are daily happenings that Daisuke is glad has come familiar to him.
Being the scion of the Kambe family all his life, his life has always been one out of the ordinary. Daisuke gets anything he wants, anything he needs, anything he hopes for. And contrary to popular belief ( a Haru of the past, upon first meetings, he thinks), he’s acutely, humbly aware of this fact. Having been around the Third Division crowd for a while now has knocked this awareness into his head; his colleagues having to worry about the cost of groceries, being late for important events because of public transport, low salaries… The list goes on. And so, unbeknownst to most of those around him, his privilege compels him to possess a large degree of gratitude for the blessings in his life. Compels him to recognise the unordinary things in his life.
If Daisuke’s being honest, he never imagined love nor marriage to be a part of his regime in life. Ever since his mother’s passing, the only clear goal he’d ever had in mind was to avenge her and crack the case.
However, now that it’s come to light, Daisuke has found himself able to fixate on matters elsewhere. He has a hero of a man, a civil servant who’s practically his job description, the best of lovers, in his life.
It’s out of the ordinary, really. And a blessing, at that.
Hence, Daisuke finds himself compelled to pour all his being, his love into this life he and Haru have chosen to spend together.
And Daisuke is eternally grateful for it.
Grateful for Haru.
Daisuke turns the tap on and fills a mug with water and prepares his electric toothbrush with some toothpaste. He gurgles some water and looks in the mirror.
And that’s when he realises -- the reflection of the calendar in the mirror.
“Chocolate, this early in the morning? What’s the special occasion?”
Oh.
Oh…
Because Haru’s the dork that he is, he’s woken up early to prepare hot chocolate (“Or is it?” Daisuke backtracks) to start their Christmas day off. Even when neither of them celebrate the renowned festival in its fullest capacity.
Daisuke finds this fact extremely endearing.
And so, he quickly brushes his teeth to completion, touches his face up and makes his way back to the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas, Inspector Hag,” says Daisuke as he sidles up to Haru’s side and plops a fat kiss on his cheek. With silicone molds in his hands, Haru beams as he turns to Daisuke and gawks, mockingly, “Took you long enough to realise! Hawt chocolate? What’s the occayshun? ” He sets the molds down on the counter. Then, he takes Daisuke’s face between his hands and kisses him square on his lips. “Merry Christmas to you too, my love.”
It’s normal for the husbands to share tender, loving smiles and gazes on their faces in soft moments like these. Daisuke’s eternally thankful for it.
“All right, so, hot chocolate. What’s with the molds, though?” questions Daisuke. It seems to be that the chocolate has been liquefied enough, proving Haru’s efforts successful. Haru looks at him. “Well, to answer your question…” Haru turns his gaze back to the molds on the counter and holds one in his hands. He scoops a handful of melted chocolate with a ladle from the pot and into the mold, spreading it around to occupy the rest of the mold. He does the same with another.
Daisuke still doesn’t get it. “Uh huh, so where’s the drink?”
“Honestly, I thought so too, at first. It’s some trendy recipe Kamei sent me. Hot chocolate balls, you ever heard?”
“I’m on social media as little as you are.”
“And you call me the hag. Oh, you’ll see what these balls do though.”
Call Daisuke’s humour immature, but he has to stifle a cheeky chuckle. His husband shoots a glare at him. He barks, “A millionaire at twenty-seven and still laughing at testicle jokes. Right.”
Daisuke retorts, “Who was the one who told me that everyone has their smattering of humanity?”
“Maybe you’re an exception, Inspector Kambe?”
“Impossible,” Daisuke grumbles sarcastically. “Now, hand me a mold, let me try my hand at this.” And so, Haru does; he gingerly plops the circular molds onto Daisuke’s palms and leaves the ladle in the pot of chocolate. Daisuke then scoops some chocolate and begins bringing the ladle up, up into the mold. Alright, let’s see… His hands tremble just slightly, but that’s fine. He’s able to get most of the chocolate swirled around the molds just right, coating the surfaces consistently. A job relatively well done, if he will.
But of course, all good things must come to an end. He ends up getting a drip of hot, liquid chocolate on the side of his thumb. He haphazardly sets the mold back against the counter. “Shit--”
Daisuke thinks he sees stars when Haru immediately seizes his grip and brings his lips to the bit of chocolate on his hand, and swipes his tongue across it.
Bastard.
Daisuke balks, “And you call me gross?” He makes sure not to retract his hand, though.
“But you’ve gotta admit, it’s kinda sexy. Me when I’m irresistible.”
“...You are unfortunately correct.”
Haru fixes him with a gaze that Daisuke thinks he can just place his finger on.
It feels as if the room gets a little hot, and that they’re leaning into each other just a little closer. Just a little.
“Wait. Not now. Let’s freeze the molds for a bit now,” Haru breaks the silence.
Oh well, Daisuke thinks, all good things have to come to an end.
And so, they make the effort to place the molds of chocolate into the fridge.
Not before Daisuke makes a show of washing his soiled hands in front of Haru, though. ( “You fucking bastard…! You’re lucky we’re married.”)
-
There’s hot chocolate powder all over the counter, courtesy of Daisuke’s trembling hands yet again. ( “You’re cleaning this up after we’re done, Daisuke,” nagged Haru.)
“How much more to go? The balls done yet?” Daisuke moans like an impatient child.
“You and your balls. Fuck you. But yeah, we’ve got the powder in already, the marshmallows, too…” Haru taps a finger to his chin. “All that’s left to do now is to stick the spheres together and voila! Ready to put them in hot milk.”
And so that’s what they do, before they allow the warmth of their hands to melt the chocolate balls they’ve poured their heart and soul into. Though, to no avail for Daisuke as Haru doesn’t trust his culinary skills enough to even fuse more than four spheres together. It’s alright, Daisuke doesn’t blame Haru (Haru’s right after all, knows better). And in the meantime, he allows his eyes to grace themselves upon Haru’s handiwork.
No, he doesn’t mean just the balls, he means his hands, too.
He fixates just a little bit on the gold ring on Haru’s ring finger. He feels an ounce of pride in his chest; he bought that very ring for Haru, and Haru almost never takes it off.
“Stop staring,” Haru warns. “Nevermind, I’m kidding. Continue.” Because Daisuke knows Haru’s funny like that.
Moments like these, all lovingly normal and familiar.
-
If they weren’t sappy enough already, Daisuke and Haru settled for matching mugs from the Task Force office. They’d chosen the mugs for one another, based on, Haru’s suggestion of: “What colour do I remind you of, Daisuke?”
And so, a dark but royal purple for Daisuke and a bright tinge of teal for Haru.
And sappy as it may be, Daisuke’s just glad he shares this with Haru.
“And since you’ve pinned me as an incapable cook, I’m here to prove you wrong. I’ve heated up the milk,” Daisuke announces as he pours the pot of heated milk into their mugs in equal portions.
Haru squints at him.
Daisuke seethes, “Surely you don’t think I’m that lacking in basic skills?!”
Turning the faucet off, Haru leaves the used pots and molds in the sink and leans over to inspect the mugs, filled with milk. He raises his brows, lifting the mugs to his eyes. “Woah, not bad for an amateur. The milk’s frothy and nicely warm.” He nods, like the connoisseur he makes himself out to be.
Well, between him and Daisuke, they can both agree that, without a doubt, Haru’s better with life skills. Oh well, the throes of growing up the scion of one of the richest families in Japan, if not the entire world. You simply aren’t given the privilege of learning to struggle.
And as such, with Haru guiding him step by step in these little daily affairs that Daisuke still finds himself relatively new to, Daisuke’s grateful.
And that’s why, with this acute thankfulness, Daisuke makes it a point to pour all his effort into loving Haru.
Daisuke allows himself a tender smile, “Yeah, not bad.”
Haru takes this as a cue to lean in and kiss Daisuke on the tip of his nose. “Yeah,” he grins breathily. Turning for their tiny living room, Haru takes his mug and the plate of their now-finished hot chocolate ball bombs in his other hand. “Let’s enjoy these together, shall we?”
Daisuke grins. “Sure.”
-
Christmas isn’t really significant to Haru. He’s never grown up around the festive joy that surrounds it either. Sure, if you count the few obligatory Christmas parties with colleagues, then yes, Christmas exists for him.
Even now, Haru barely knows anything about Christmas nor its customs. But with the chocolate ball bomb recipe Kamei had sent him and a husband with a sweet tooth at home, he’s decided to go the extra mile to take up this recipe as well, for a sweet treat for both him and Daisuke this Christmas.
It’s their second Christmas together, anyway, having sealed their vows at the beginning of the year. They’d dated for about a year and a half, and call it quick, but they just knew they would be right for one another.
Haru hopes he’ll never tire of this life with Daisuke, and he really thinks he won’t.
He’s suddenly acutely aware of the golden weight that sits on his right ring finger, and it’s a tightness that’s ever-so-comforting.
A normal, familiar grip.
Under the kotatsu, his ankles bump into Daisuke’s. But neither of them make the effort to shift their feet away from one another. If the kotatsu hadn’t been delightfully warm enough already, this skin-to-skin contact sealed it.
They share yet another set of smiles.
“Waaa, the milk’s just so fragrant! I’m excited to try this, my God,” Haru beams, taking a chocolate bomb in his hands. He positions it above his mug of hot milk, but pauses. “Go on, Daisuke, are you not going to try yours?”
“Pardon me. I was too busy looking at you. You look beautiful when you’re happy,” rolls off Daisuke’s tongue, as if he’d rehearsed his words.
Even after nearly a year of being married, Daisuke’s flirtatious smooth talking never fails to send the blood rushing to Haru’s cheeks. “I… You’re so...” he stammers, face hot.
Daisuke takes a chocolate bomb off the plate and hovers it above his mug, not taking his eyes off Haru. His bangs reach into his eyes a little, but the gunmetal blue of his eyes is still striking all the same. The millionaire chuckles, “You’re cute.” And as if he hadn’t just gotten his husband to act like a blushing bride, he drops his chocolate bomb into his mug and turns his gaze to the milk. “Impressive,” he marvels under his breath, loud enough for Haru to hear.
It’s Haru’s turn to get out of his stupor and gawk in shock, “What the hell. You didn’t wait for me.” So, being the hot-headed idiot he is, he drops his chocolate bomb into his mug of milk and watches the chocolate bomb slowly give into itself and overturn, allowing the expanse of hot chocolate powder to spread across the surface of the hot milk. The chocolate husk sinks beneath the milk, though the milk browns up just a little. The marshmallows bubble up at the top, like little bits of snow. It smells amazing. He’s starstruck.
All over hot chocolate, Haru’s so amazed. “I’ve got to thank Kamei. This looks amazing.”
Daisuke agrees, “It really does.” He mixes his hot chocolate around with a teaspoon. “Though, I think it’s a little more amazing because your expert hands made it, don’t you think?”
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to make me act up or genuinely flattering me… And, besides, don’t act as if you didn’t give me a hand. It was fun making these with you.”
Daisuke takes a sip, “Hm, lovely. We’ll really have to thank Kamei.”
Still red in his cheeks, Haru mixes his own mug and takes his first sip.
And holy shit, it really does taste lovely.
The hot chocolate warms his body -- mouth, throat, and all the way to his belly. And given the wintry weather outside, this comforting warmth almost brings tears to his eyes. The chocolate’s rich, and fused with the malty taste of chocolate, Haru thinks that heaven sighs, “This tastes amazing.”
Haru sets his mug back down on the kotatsu table, taking the time to watch the snow fall outside. It’s a beautiful day.
No wonder people enjoy Christmas so much.
And Christmas with his husband; all the more lovely. Just like the hot chocolate they share.
“Haru. Haru.”
Haru breaks out of his daydreaming stupor. He fixes his gaze on Daisuke, whose eyes suddenly seem to have a glint that’s so earnest it makes Haru’s heart throb yet again.
“Yes, Dai--”
Haru doesn’t get to finish even saying his husband’s name before his lips are enveloped by the warmth of Daisuke’s. Daisuke, being the smooth, sly bastard he is, swipes a tongue against Haru’s.
Haru knows Daisuke well enough to know he did this in a bid to share the taste of their miraculous hot chocolate with him, in addition to trying to spur Haru.
Haru grins into the kiss, and kisses Daisuke back with an equal, matched fervour.
Then, in their moment of passion, Daisuke brings his hands up to clasp Haru’s cheeks, deepening their kiss. At the same time, Haru can register his calloused palms and the cold sting of his ring against his cheeks.
Like the hot chocolate he’s now so thankful for, these little senses bring Haru back to the biggest Christmas gift at hand, that’s right smack in front of him: his husband Daisuke.
For all they’ve accomplished together, with the extent of being key in each other’s dealings with unfathomable traumas, they’ve certainly come far.
As rivals, as mentor and mentee, as colleagues, as partners, as lovers, as boyfriends.
Haru would like to thank the heavens for blessing him with the entrance of Daisuke into his life. He’d still be a trauma-ridden police officer stuck in the stuffy Third Division office in Japan.
Haru thinks it’s a wonder that they’re even spending their Christmas vacation in his apartment in Japan -- they could now easily jetset anywhere for their jobs now granted them that freedom following the Kambe family incident.
Daisuke is a gift, just like his love.
Breaking apart to catch their breaths, Haru leans his forehead onto Daisuke’s. They’re both heaving and red. It’s something so tender, shared by only them. Haru’s heart flutters.
“Merry Christmas, Daisuke.”
Daisuke’s eyes widen just slightly, and he places yet another peck on Haru’s nose.
“Merry Christmas, Haru,” Daisuke grins toothily. He’s so charming. “My love.”
And despite this only being their second Christmas together, Haru tastes their hot chocolate on his tongue and thinks, I could get used to this.