HanaKimi, PG, Akiha/Umeda, 821 words
Umeda has his memories and Akiha has his sweets.
For beckerbell's belated birthday gift because she is shameless and I love her for it. :D
Umeda knew that Akiha could smell the familiar cologne on him when he walked in the door; it happened once a month at the very least, after all, and in the seven months since they’d been in this “relationship,” Akiha had learned to identify someone else’s scent on him. He never said anything and his smile would never waver, but his eyes would darken. Umeda never missed the subtle change, just like Akiha never missed the stain of rich cologne and cigarette smoke on him, and neither would say anything. Theirs wasn’t that kind of relationship.
Shrugging out of his jacket, Umeda draped it over the back of the chair and glanced at the kitchen, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Ho~ku~to,” Akiha caroled cheerfully, apron-clad and waving a ladle around. “I’m making dinner so you can just sit down and relax. It’s going to be really delicious! All your favorites!”
“Watch where you swing that, idiot,” Umeda snapped as the ladle coming perilously close the rack of drying dishes on the counter. He flinched internally. “You already broke one set with that moronic experiment with sugar cookies. And like hell I’m going on another shopping trip with you.” He had discovered, in the most embarrassing way possible, that Akiha thought shopping for dishware was such a "romantically domestic thing to do" and had taken to it with great enthusiasm, with loud proclamations over the design and color of various plates and whether or not said dinnerware would match their decor. The salespeople had found it cute; Umeda had found another reason to add to his long, long list of Why I Must Be Clinically Insane To Be Dating This Moron (And Good Sex Does NOT Count As An Excuse).
Akiha beamed at him. “But we had so much fun!” He gestured at the endangered dishes with a look of pride, making Umeda cringe again. “And they match the wallpaper!”
Slumping down into the chair he’d been standing beside, Umeda propped one arm the tabletop and dropped his head into his hand. “God knows I’ve always wanted plates that matched my wallpaper,” he muttered. His free hand slid into his pocket and emerged with a lighter, which he flicked on and brought to the tip of his cigarette.
“Io-san liked it!” Akiha said brightly, humming happily as he returned to the stove and gave the soup a brisk stir.
Umeda shuddered long and hard. “Don’t remind me.” His sister had cooed over the dishware—dishware, of all things, and he was again reassured that his preference for men was the wiser choice, though he might not say much about his current taste in men—and the disturbing sight of his usually rampaging, cheerfully evil older sister cooing had nearly caused Umeda to break out in hives. He took a long drag on his cigarette, letting smoke trail lazily out of his mouth.
He blinked when, suddenly, Akiha was before him, kneeling to capture Umeda’s gaze with his own. “I think it’s beautiful the way Hokuto loves his family,” he said, voice low and eyes dark. He smiled.
Umeda nearly choked on smoke, inhaling at the wrong moment. “Fucking,” he coughed, hitting himself on the chest, “moron. Are you trying to kill me?” He glared. “Get out of my face.” His face was red, flushed with anger, anger at that idiotic little dipshit—
Akiha leaned in close and planted a swift kiss to Umeda’s cheek then darted back, grinning widely before the other man had a chance to react. His hair swung loose over his face, framing mischievous eyes. “Hokuto should be used to it by now~” he sang, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he made his way back to the kitchen. He waved the ladle in a friendly manner. “It’s because I looove you, don’t you know?”
“On the couch,” Umeda snarled, “for a week.”
“Yes, dear. Do you want the merlot or the chardonnay tonight?” Akiha grinned when his lover’s face twisted as he tried to find some form of retribution savage enough to make up for how easily Akiha had brushed off his threat. It was easy, Akiha thought with a touch of satisfaction, to bring Hokuto’s mind away from a late afternoon in a dimly lit bar with cologne that had too many memories clinging to it.
“I didn’t have enough time to make dessert,” he chirped, banging around pot lids and piling mixing bowls in the sink, “so I bought some.” He pulled open the freezer door to reveal two tubs of ice cream, a two layer cheesecake drizzled in strawberry sauce and chocolate, and a frozen fruit parfait with two colorful umbrellas, before pointing out the plate of elaborate petits fours gracing the counter with a hungry look.
Umeda’s expression was some cross between horror and disgust. “Reason 346,” he muttered into his cigarette, fisting his hands in his hair in despair.
Notes: Er...Becky is an awful enabler type person. I don't want to talk about what fic I'm next going to write. BUT IT'S HER FAULT. (So, um, I finally read and watched Ouran. I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.)