Work Text:
Ida’s walking home from the konbini, on the street along the railway. It’s a cold autumn morning, and the city is languid to wake up because it’s Saturday. Some people still have to go to work or school, but luckily Ida doesn’t have any classes today. Aoki prefers to sleep in on days like this, tucked in a dream; Ida, on his part, still rises early, and goes on walks.
That’s the path he and Aoki take every day, a fifteen-minute walk between their building and the train station. From there, they have the commute to university, the way a bit longer now that they’ve moved to this area, but Ida doesn’t mind. Even though the new apartment isn’t that big, it has enough space to allow the two of them to live under the same roof – and that’s everything they need.
In the end, it wasn’t very different from their previous living arrangement, a shared life divided between two small apartments. Even then, they were already living together; but now they would have more space to grow together, too.
And to grow a garden for Aoki, he thinks, as his steps reach the gate of their building. Their balcony comes into view, blooming with an ever-growing collection of plant pots. It makes him smile, how easy is to spot his home.
Ida, however, doesn’t go straight to the stairs and to their apartment. Instead, he heads to the postal boxes. It has been a bit more than a month since they moved in, so maybe some mail has finally come. He fishes a key out of his pocket, the strange mascot keychain Aoki chose dangling along, and Ida opens the mailbox assigned to their apartment.
His prediction is right. Hands full, he climbs the stairs while he sorts through the mail. There are some advertisement papers among it (oh, a coupon from the nearby supermarket, Aoki will like that), but two documents catch his eye – a water bill, addressed to Ida Kousuke, and an electricity bill, to Aoki Souta.
He reads their names again, his gaze touching the address written on the bills, thumb tracing the kanjis of Aoki’s name. It’s such a simple, factual thing, and Ida can’t help but smile. Their names, and the mails destined to the same place, like a proof that there’s a place they belong, a place where they will come home to – to each other.
Opening the door and leaving his shoes at the genkan, Ida says I’m home out of habit, even though Aoki probably isn’t awake yet. However, to his surprise, steps shuffle closer, and a sleepy Aoki walks from the kitchen, greeting him with a “Welcome home.”
“Hum?” Ida blinks, as Aoki presses his face against Ida’s shoulder, and fists close on his jacket. “Why did you wake up so early?” he asks, and Aoki lets out a murmur that Ida doesn’t understand, muffled by his shoulder. Ida wraps his arms around Aoki’s waist while he still manages to balance a plastic bag with their breakfast and the correspondence in his hands, and he leans his head on Aoki’s, “Hum? What did you say?”
His boyfriend shifts his head a little, but doesn’t move it from under Ida’s, and he replies, “Waterfall.”
“Waterfall?” Ida repeats, furrowing his forehead.
Aoki hums in confirmation. “I was dreaming of a waterfall,” he explains, “Then, I woke up… and I was about to pee in my pants. Almost didn’t make it to the bathroom.”
At that, Ida cracks up.
“Idaaaaaaa,” Aoki whines in complaint, but Ida can hear the good-natured tone and the smile in his voice, and that only makes Ida laugh a little more. From this angle, Ida can’t look at Aoki’s face, but he imagines what kind of expression Aoki’s wearing at the moment, and fondness bubbles up in his chest.
For good measure, Aoki pulls away from the hug, and there is it, just like Ida thought – Aoki’s pout. It’s almost melting into a smile, but Ida can see how hard Aoki’s trying to not give in. Ida gestures with his plastic bag, an offer of peace for the fake fight.
“I brought breakfast,” he says, and makes a motion with his other hand, “also, mail has finally come.”
Aoki’s eyes glint at the mention of mail, and Ida gives it to him. Putting the plastic bag on the kitchen counter, he steals a glance at Aoki, catching the smile stretching out on Aoki’s lips, completely awake now, and entirely endearing, as Aoki’s gaze pauses at the bills. His eyes are filled with morning light.
It’s only an instant – on the next, Aoki's already placing the correspondence carefully on the counter, and going to fix toast for them. Still, the moment stays with Ida, inside of him. Maybe it’s because he traced with his thumb Aoki’s name on the bill before, but now the name spreads through him, from fingertip to the chest, rising to his throat, finally arriving at his lips — and, in synchrony, his heart and his mouth move.
“Souta.”
Aoki drops the slice of bread on the floor. His back is turned to Ida, so he can’t see Aoki’s face. After a beat, Aoki crouches down, but instead of grabbing the fallen slice, he buries his face in his hands. The tips of his ears are tinged red.
Ida joins him on the floor, kneeling in front of Aoki.
“Idaaaaaaaaaa,” Aoki wails, and his voice sounds clear even with his fingers over his face, “Y-You are going to kill me this way! My heart wasn’t prepared at all—”
“Sorry, it just… sort of came out,” Ida says, a bit sheepish, but soon the corner of his lips curls up. “I think it’s a good idea though, to call each other by our first names. What do you think?”
Still covering his face, Aoki nods, “…I-I’d like that.” A pause, and he confesses, “Actually, I’ve wanted to do this too for a while, but I didn’t know how to bring it up, and oh my god this is embarrassing, like, it’s silly of me to get hung up on this, right? I mean, we’re already living together, but I still didn’t know how to ask—”
Biting back a smile, Ida also nods, “I feel the same. I think I was a bit nervous, too. Maybe that’s why I took so long to bring it up.” His heart squeezes in a new, and yet familiar way, as he stares at Aoki. “But if we’re going to do this… won’t you look at me, then?” Ida asks softly, poking Aoki on his thigh.
Aoki’s ears get redder. He opens the space between his fingers, and peeks at Ida through it. Ida’s eyes crinkle when their gazes meet – and shyly, slowly, Aoki lowers his hands. Ida replaces Aoki’s hands with his own, cradling Aoki’s face.
“There you are,” he says, “Souta.”
Under Ida's touch, Aoki’s cheek gets warmer, and his eyes shine. Aoki swallows, the heat spreading to his whole face now, his mouth slightly parting, and—
“Kousuke.”
Ida’s eyes widen.
…Ah.
“Aaaaaa, I did it!” Aoki says, fanning himself with a hand, the other clutching at his chest, “Oh gosh, my heart is beating so fast—"
I didn’t know that hearing you say my name…
“…Kousuke?”
…would make me feel like this.
Suddenly, Aoki’s face is too close, so close that Ida can see himself reflected in those brown eyes, can count each one of his long eyelashes. He doesn’t know when that happened; it’s like his body moved on its own accord. But Aoki is here, and that’s all that matters. He hears Aoki whispering Kousuke one more time, and Ida closes his eyes, and the gap between their mouths.
Ida tastes his own name on Aoki’s lips. He thinks, not for the first time since he’s been dating Aoki, so this is what love feels like. He thinks, so this is the true meaning of my name.
At the touch of his tongue, Aoki whimpers into his mouth, a whisper of his name again, and Ida answers by running fingers along Aoki’s jaw and tilting his head, deepening the kiss. Aoki melts against him, at the same time the grip on his jacket and on the nape of his neck gets stronger, Aoki trying to pull Ida impossibly closer.
When their mouths part, Ida nuzzles into Aoki’s cheek before drawing away, but not so far — just enough to look at Aoki’s eyes, close enough that their breathing still mix. They stay like this, holding each other’s gaze, without uttering a word. After a beat, they break the silence and into smiles:
“Souta,” Ida says.
“Kousuke,” Aoki says.
And their smiles grow into laughter.
“We really don’t do things the usual way,” Ida observes, voice filled with mirth, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. Aoki tilts his head, and Ida explains, “We began dating before I knew what it meant to like someone. We’ve been living together for a while, and only now we’re calling each other by our first names.”
Aoki chuckles, the sound followed by a nod. “Yeah, I was thinking about that too.” His eyes soften as he says, “But once, someone told me we don’t have to be like everyone else.”
Ida blinks at Aoki, at his own words now coming back to him, wrapped in Aoki’s voice - coming from a night that feels so nostalgic now, but that still glows in his memory. Ida welcomes the words with a smile, and uses Aoki’s answer back then, giving back, “That’s true.”
The words taste like the chocolate bar they shared at the Illumination Festival. And Aoki’s smile, upon hearing those words, is even sweeter.
Ida lowers his gaze to their joined hands. It’s only then he finally remembers the forgotten, fallen slice of bread on the ground. He gives a brief squeeze to Aoki’s hand before letting it go and takes the slice, turns to the trash can while he still is sitting on his knees, and throws it. The slice describes a smooth curve in the air, landing perfectly inside the trash can.
At Ida’s aim, Aoki grumbles, “Why do you have to be so perfect,” and, almost to himself and with burning cheeks, “Kousuke hasn’t lost his touch with volleyball, huh.”
The remark makes Ida grin, his gaze fixed on Aoki.
Pursing his lips, and also wearing a flustered stare and a furrowed brow, Aoki huffs, “What?”
I love you, Ida thinks. I will toss slices of bread in the trash can until we’ve run out of it, just so you can pout like this. I will go to the konbini again, buy all their bread, waste it all. And then you will look at me like this, will do this thing with your mouth, with your whole face, and I will want to kiss you. And I will kiss you, will kiss all your pouts away.
Ida shakes his head. He gives Aoki a quick peck on the lips and says, “I like it when you say my name.”
The furrow in Aoki’s brow gets deeper, and the blush, stronger; Aoki groans, wrapping Ida in his arms, “You’re so unfair.”
Unrepentant, Ida leans against him, arms curling around Aoki, sinking in the embrace. Aoki’s body is warm pressed against his, and the tiles are cool under them. And Ida thinks, they should get up. Have breakfast. Or go back to bed again, and cuddle under the sheets. But he doesn’t make a single move to leave the kitchen floor, or Aoki’s warmth. And Aoki doesn’t move, either —so they stay like this, hugging on the floor, in each other’s arms.
“Souta,” he calls, after a few minutes.
From somewhere on his shoulder, where Aoki’s resting his head, Ida hears, “Hum?”
Ida closes his eyes, in contentment.
His heart keeps repeating Souta, Souta, Souta.
“Nothing,” Ida says, as he presses a smile to Aoki’s shoulder, “I just like saying your name.”
Aoki’s fingers clasp his clothes. An intake of breath. Then:
“Kousukeeeeeeeee,” is Aoki’s answer, and Ida’s shoulders and heart shake with laughter.
He also likes it when Aoki says his name like that.