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Ludicrous Frick Fracks

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“It had been a hard day but if Mocha Aoba had anything to say about it, it would be a harder night. The mighty, powerful Alpha with her luxurious silver mane and massive, throbbing sense of pride was on the prowl.”

Chisato Shirasagi was not going to give Moca the satisfaction of a response. She simply was not. She had a pile of papers on her lap to review, a light headache and an agent who would not stop scheduling her interviews at seven in the morning and the last thing she needed to do was encourage her girlfriend’s latest whim of writing what was surely highly erotic fan fiction about herself.

“The prowl for poooontential mates.”

Chistato Shirasagi was not going to laugh at the minor pun. She was not going to give even a twitch of a smile to indicate she was listening in. Moca would have to tire herself out pacing behind the couch with a legal pad swiped from Chisato’s desk and filled with the absurd ramblings of the lunatic she loved and lived with.

“She released her alluring Alpha pheromones into the air with the knowledge that any omega in range would fall helpless at the smell of her mighty musk. Suddenly, an alluring omega scent hit her nos—”

“You used the word alluring twice.”

Alas, the pedantic inside Chisato snuck out over the protest of the part that really needed to finish reviewing a contract.

Moca looked up in surprise from the wrinkled legal pad, one hand still raised in dramatic punctuating pose as she leaned lazily against the back of the couch. “Hmm?”

Chisato glanced over her reading glasses at her girlfriend and away from the unending stack of papers her lap still waiting to be reviewed and approved and all the other very boring sorts of things that Moca was trying (suddenly successfully) to distract her from. She pushed up to a sitting position along the arm of the couch. “You described both your ‘alpha pheromones’ and my ‘omega scent’ as alluring.”

“Not my alpha pheromones. Mocha’s.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I added an ‘h’, now it’s legally distinct,” Moca twisted around so she hung over the couch, face closer to Chisato’s. She winked, “And how do you know you’re the omega? It could be anyone. This could be the moment I declare my lurid intentions towards Tsugu~.”

“Well if you’re planning on leaving me, please lock the door on your way out.”

“I could never leave you,” Moca swung up, setting the legal pad against her heart like she was making a solemn vow, “Moca-chan could never afford an apartment without you.”

Chisato gently thwacked Moca’s hand with her own papers, “Ever the romantic, Moca Aoba. Was that the whole story?”

“Why?” Moca’s lips curled, “Do you want to hear more?”

The very busy actress folded her papers and her glasses and placed them to the side on the coffee table with an amused sigh. “I’m not unopposed.”

Quickly, the couch shifted and Moca excitedly plopped onto space across from Chisato, legal pad shaking with crumpled filled pages. “Ah hem,” Moca coughed.

“Mocha sniffed again. Yes. There it was. The allu—seductive scent of sunshine and daffodils filled her senses—”

“Moca.” Chisato idly tapped their feet together as she smiled teasingly, “What do daffodils smell like?”

The would be author’s grin froze, slowly flattening into dazed confusion. Moca’s eyes gazed into the abyss where the scent of daffodils alluded her. “They smell like flowers.”

“Did you pick the first yellow flower you could think of?”

“…Moca-chan cannot divulge the creative process.”

“Oh my, the ways of an author are certainly mysterious,” Chisato marveled in the same tone she saved for big meetings with irritating agents who never, ever listened to what she had to say. Though, they never had the decency to be this cute. Or creative. “What do I smell like?”

Moca hummed over the question. Her busy and bright sock covered feet bounced against the side of the couch as she thought, only stopping their thumping when she arrived at an answer. “Sharp.”

“Sharp?”

Her arms waved out in a languid shrug and a familiar impression, “It is… exactly that~.”

Chisato scoffed, “Well go on, dazzle me.”

Moca winked and returned to her reading, “the seductive… sharp scent filled her senses and Mocha knew before she turned the corner what she’d find: Chisaho.”

Chisato choked on the air she was trying and failing to breath. “That’s my name?”

“This is my original character Chisaho, please do not steal,” Moca shook her head with an implied ‘obviously’. “Chisaho, the hottest Omega in all of the place they lived. It was fortunate for Mocha that Chisaho was born the inferior sex, for if she’d been an alpha she would have been too powerful.”

“Inferior sex?” Chisato asked with raised eyebrows.

“I did not invent this universe,” Moca’s arms raised up as if summoning by the unholy spirit of fan fiction herself, “I merely play in the sandbox invented by horny teenagers who won’t commit to being furries.”

Chisato let herself laugh, “Why do you get to be the alpha?”

“Two words: Six Centimeters~.”

“How fortunate that we thought to buy a comfortable couch.”

“Oh ho~” Moca pressed her hand to her forehead like a discount psychic, “Moca-chan senses some alpha energy from your end of the couch, suddenly.”

“In that case I ought to come over to your much safer side, shouldn’t I?”

Moca opened her arms to Chisato, “For your safety, of course.”

“Of course,” they laughed together as Chisato crawled forward, curling over her favorite pillow and girlfriend and tucking her head into the crook of Moca’s neck. “Realistically, I’d probably be some sort of beta.”

“Oh ho~ you’re an omegaverse expert aren’t you?” One of Moca’s arms wrapped around her waist, the other hand found it’s way into her hair to stroke away Chisato’s headache in careful circles.

“Aya-chan is found of it.”

“So’s Hii-chan,” Moca sighed contently. “If you’re going to be a beta, Moca-chan has not choice. She will have to give up her Alpha musk and be one as well.”

“What’s the point if we’re both betas? That’s just our real life but everyone else has excessively complex mating patterns.”

“So our normal lives.”

Chisato must have yawned because Moca added, “If you fall asleep you’ll miss the part where Mocha rips up Chisaho’s shitty agent.”

Her heart hopped over a beat. “How did you know I was having problems with my agent?”

“Lucky guess,” Moca set her chin against Chisato’s head, already burrowing in for an afternoon nap underneath her favorite blanket. But it wasn’t a lucky guess, it never was with Moca Aoba. She was so perceptive of the little things, the little changes in Chisato’s motions that meant changes in her mood. And she was so eager to cheer Chisato up with some goofy face or joke or elaborate alternate universe fan fiction. What a wonderfully curious woman she’d fallen in love with.

Chisato smiled into Moca’s neck and nuzzled closer, breathing deep. It had to sound ridiculous to anyone not terribly in love but there was a calming affect to the specific scent that wafted off Moca Aoba. It was the smell of a bakery in the morning, just before opening when every baker in the neighborhood knew to let Moca in early to get buns so hot they singed the ends of her fingers with pale dots.

Would there even be a difference if Moca had some mystical Alpha aroma that could control her hormones? The scent already calmed Chisato when she was stressed, comforted her when she was upset, excited her when they were intimate, confused her whenever she walked by a bakery where Moca wasn’t.

“Moca.” Chisato wanted to say something profound, she wanted to thank her girlfriend for being so attentive, so thoughtful, so wildly weird, but Moca hated being thanked so instead Chisato asked, “How much of this story is sex?”

“There’s about ten pages of ravishing~.”

Chisato pushed herself up on her elbows, “alright, alpha, put your money where your alluring scent is.”

“…oh no.”

“Let’s get you the material for a sequel.”

Chapter Text

Tsugumi was cleaning again.

There was nothing necessarily wrong about Tsugumi Hazawa’s habit of cleaning Sayo’s apartment as the college freshman studied. Tsugumi had been a regular fixture in the apartment Sayo shared with Hina ever since there was an apartment. There was nothing unusual about one’s girlfriend visiting frequently. There was nothing unusual about one’s girlfriend cleaning up something forgotten, or washing some languishing dishes or quickly vacuuming and revacuuming the corners. It was kind, it was endearing.

And it was really beginning to bother Sayo.

She tried to focus on the music theory textbooks spread out over the desk shoved in the living room corner but the sound of Tsugumi scrubbing dishes, dishes that Sayo was definitely planning to get to later, felt like the dishes were being scrubbed directly into her ear drums.

Did Tsugumi think Sayo was completely incapable of taking care of herself? It was true that Sayo occasionally forgot to eat when she was too wrapped up in practice or homework but that was rare! ...Rareish. At the very least she was improving.

Sayo tried cleaning the apartment before Tsugumi arrived but no matter how hard she scrubbed or how carefully she dusted, Sayo’s girlfriend always found something amiss. The guilt of forcing Tsugumi to come directly from a long day of work at Hazawa Coffee to her apparent pig stye apartment ate at Sayo. How she wished Tsugumi would simply get comfortable on the couch and relax.

Sayo absently reached for her coffee mug just as it was being tugged off her desk. She looked up, blinking, into Tsugumi’s surprised brown eyes.

“Sayo-san?” Tsugumi frowned as Sayo pulled the mostly empty mug towards her chest. “Are you still drinking that? It must be cold, let me make you some fresh.”

“No.”

“No?” Her forehead creased with the little worry line she always got when Sayo was being Sayo.

“You don’t need to make me coffee, Tsugumi-san,” Sayo set down the mug and covered Tsugumi’s still outstretched hand with her own, moving up to rub Tsugumi’s wrist with her thumb. “You don’t need to… do anything.”

“Sayo-san? I don’t understand.”

Sayo stopped her small ministrations and sighed, “Tsugumi-san. If my apartment is so filthy that you must clean it every time you’re over, please just tell me. I promise I will clean it to your standards for your next visit. Just please, please stop cleaning.”

“N-No! Your apartment isn’t dirty! If anything,” Tsugumi slid her hand loosely into Sayo’s, “it’s so clean, there’s not enough for me to do.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you want things to do?”

“I—” Tsugumi’s gaze shifted to Sayo’s desk. “You’re so busy, with Roselia, with college and I— I just want to be useful to you.”

Sayo pushed out of her chair to stand in front of Tsugumi. She pulled her hand free of Tsugumi’s and placed both hands on the sloping rounds of Tsugumi’s shoulders. With every ounce of love and sincerity in her heart Sayo said, “You’re not useful.”

“S-Sayo-san?” Tsugumi looked up in confusion and hurt.

“No. That is not what I meant. You’re not useful to me.” Sayo groaned, “That is not what I’m trying to say.”

Her girlfriend’s temporary hurt transformed into the laughter Sayo loved so dearly. “Sayo-san. What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t want you here because I think you’re useful. I want you.”

“You want me to what?”

“I want you.” The implications of the sentence hit Sayo and Tsugumi’s faces at the exact same time. They stared into each other’s matching bright red faces. “I’m sorry, we’ve been together for a year and I still become such a fool around you. You have such an effect on me Tsugumi-san.”

Sayo’s hands trailed down from Tsugumi’s shoulders to rest on her waist. “I want you here because I want you here, please, be selfish with me. I want my home to be your home.”

Tsugumi shivered and then slowly wrapped her arms around Sayo’s neck. “If I can be a little selfish then,” she bit her lower lip, “Sayo-san, I—”

The door knob turned.

“Aw man! Practice was extra boppin’ today! Aya was all ring-a-ding-a-ding, and Chisato was bashzoom and—”

Hina paused in the entry way, surveying the scene in front of her: Sayo at the open kitchen sink, rubbing madly at a dish that looked plenty clean to Hina and Tsugumi at the desk trying to make heads or tails of Sayo’s homework.

The younger Hikawa snickered. “Were you two getting hot and heavy? Please don’t let me interrupt~.”

“Absolutely not,” The dish cracked in Sayo’s hands. “I was simply making myself useful.”

Chapter Text

Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz.

There were a lot more angles to Moca’s face without hair obscuring all of them. With every stroke of the hair clippers in her hand, more and more of her face appeared in the bathroom mirror. She’d never noticed how sharp her jawline was with the hard line at the end of her face normally concealed away or how the curve of neck elongated when she raised her head. Her ears felt cold in the middle of summer, newly exposed to the open air. But for all the changes, Moca was surprised by how readily she recognized herself in the mirror. Maybe more so than she ever did with her messy chin length “not a bob” bob.

That was her face.

She’d been toying with the idea of buzzing off her hair for a few months. She’d joked about it at Afterglow’s weekly family dinners a few times: “Maybe Moca’ll just whack it all off”, “buzz buzz only fuzz”. Everyone laughed but no one commented. She should have just asked if they thought she’d look crazy without hair but if she could ask something that personal that directly she wouldn’t be Moca Aoba.

If only she could reach the back. The internet said to take a hand mirror and use it to reflect the reflection of the back of her head. Chisato probably had a hand mirror amongst her wide arrange of baffling and intensely specific beauty products filling their supposedly shared bathroom cabinet but the last time Moca tried to borrow something without asking she’d gotten a long lecture on how eyebrow pencils were not meant for drawing temporary tattoos. And asking was out of the question. So instead she dragged the full length mirror off the back of their bedroom door and balanced it against the wall opposite the mirror over the sink.

She awkwardly squatted in front of the leaning mirror to try to catch a glimpse of the back of her own head as the clippers rumbled in her hand. If Moca twisted just right so most of her head was out of frame she could almost catch the patch of long hair still alluding her. But seeing it with her eyes and contorting her arms to reach it were very separate things and Moca had never been much for yoga. Maybe she would just get really into beanies, sure it was the middle of summer but if her options were swelter under a sock cap or expose half a mullet she’d choose the sauna.

The door cracked open. “Moca?”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz—

Moca stared at her live-in girlfriend from the floor as Chisato stared back from the doorway. She was grateful for the plastic guard on the clippers keeping her from losing an ear to a startled misaimed swipe. She was not grateful for Chisato’s unreadable expression.

The door shut. Shit. Shit. Shit. She was upset. Chisato had to be upset: she loved Moca’s hair. She always said so when she ran her hands through it, when it got long enough to tickle Chisato’s face, when she tugged at roots to keep Moca close. It was one of Moca’s rare good features—soft, fluffy and infinitely ruffleable—and now it was all over the floor looking like someone had melted a cat.

Moca stood up and switched off the clippers. Maybe she’d make a fun and funky toupee out of her own hair. It was avant-garde! Chisato loved avant-garde—no Moca couldn’t even pretend Chisato loved anything avant-garde. She ran panicked hands through the bristly remnants of her hair, tugging at leftover long strands at the back.

The door opened again. Chisato was there with a folding chair and an old towel in her hands. “Sit,” she said in that elegantly commanding voice of hers as she unfolded the chair.

Moca never needed to be told twice to do something, though sometimes she wanted to be. She sat down and let Chisato drape the old towel around her shoulders. Chisato’s expression remained blank.

“You could have asked me to help.”

Moca finally exhaled. She watched her own wry grin grow in the mirror. “’Ol Moca wanted to show off how skilled she is. When the apocalypse comes the ability to serve up a cool undercut will be veeery useful.”

“Is that so?” Chisato’s small smile appeared over the top of Moca’s head.

Moca winked into the mirror, “Stick with Moca, babe, apocalyptic barber to the stars.”

“I’ll be in your care,” She rubbed the long hairs on the back of Moca’s head between her fingers, pulling with a light tug. “Though if you’re my only option perhaps I’ll go full Lady Godiva. Hair down to my hips,” she leaned down to the side of Moca’s head, “clothing entirely optional.”

“With a deep and unabiding hatred of unfair taxation on the poor? And Moca thought she couldn’t love you more.”

Chisato chuckled, the vibrations of her jaw purring against Moca’s skull. “I’ll fix the back.” She plucked the clippers from Moca’s hand and ran her other hand over Moca’s hair, picking here and there at the long flyaway hairs Moca had missed. “And the rest too.”

“Please take good care of Moca,” her shoulders relaxed and she slumped forward just a bit.

Chisato pulled Moca’s head back towards Chisato from the forehead. “Head up, face forward.”

“Sorry~ Sorry~ you’re just so relaxing to be around.”

“Charmer,” her girlfriend huffed with a sly smile in the corner of her eyes. “What guard size did you use on the top?”

“6.”

Chisato popped off the black plastic comb tip from the front of the clippers. She reached over Moca to find the ever so slightly smaller one left lying on the counter. “I’ll do a 5 around the sides to give it some dimension.”

Moca’s eyebrows jumped, “how do you know so much about buzzcuts?”

“I spend two hours in a makeup chair every day. Stylists are chatty and I’m curious,” Chisato said simply.

Chisato had never met small talk she didn’t long to avoid. Moca knew from experience Chisato would give up pretty much anything to not have to sit, listen and politely respond to someone she didn’t know talking about something she didn’t care about. Moca thought she’d been subtle with the jokes and how secretly she’d read those articles on how to buzz your own hair but Chisato was always subtler.

Snap. The new guard was fitted around the clippers. It would keep just enough hair on Moca’s head and let the rest fly off. With her empty hand keeping Moca’s head steady, Chisato began to buzz away the last long silver strands from the back. It was fun to do herself but having Chisato so close, running the clippers up and against her hair was something different. Goosebumps raised over her arms as a shiver crawled up her spine and into her cheeks.

Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz.

Chisato reached around Moca’s head and tilted her to the left with a single finger on her chin. She ran up the side, even folding back Moca’s ear to make sure she didn’t miss any hair.

Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz.

Moca used all her willpower to keep her from leaning back into Chisato’s chest as her girlfriend repeated the careful buzzing on the other side. She deserved a medal for her patience.

Chisato clicked off the clippers and set them on the counter. She grabbed a hand towel from the wall and dabbed at the fine scraps of silver hair dotting Moca’s neck and cheeks. When she was satisfied with her work, she pulled the towel off Moca’s shoulders and replaced it with her hands.

There was a long pause where they both stared at Moca in the mirror. Without the courage to look at Chisato’s reaction, Moca asked, “W-what do you think?”

In response, Chisato leaned down to the top of Moca’s head and pressed her lips against it. Moca could feel the kiss so much more, the pressure against her scalp, the way Chisato’s breath was so warm and a little tickling as she pulled away. Chisato rested their heads together. Her arm wrapped around Moca’s chin, framing her face as Chisato’s hand stroked her cheek.

She watched Moca’s reflection with a rare gentle smile, “I can see your eyes so much better now.”

Moca wiggled her nose to fight the tingling pre-tear sensation radiating out of it. “I should have just told you.”

“It’s your hair Moca, no one gets to chose what you do with it but you. But,” she nuzzled her way down Moca’s head, cropped hair rippling like wheat, to the rim of her ear and whispered, “if you had asked me, I would suggested you buzz it a little shorter. It feels good against the skin.”

Moca’s cheeky grin found its familiar home on her new, familiar face. “Moca should have buzzed her hair a long time ago.”

“If I’d known you’d look this good I would have made you buzz it,” Chisato pulled away with a last hair ruffle and a coy smile.“See you in the other room?”

Moca grin turned devilish and toothy. “Yes Ma’am.”

Chisato smirked at the door way and eyed the brand new carpet on the floor. “After you sweep up all this hair?”

“Yes ma’am...”

Chapter Text

Kaoru was well aware that Maya didn’t care much for her hands. It was obvious from the way she’d look at them when she thought no one was around, squeezing them open and closed with dirty finger nailed burying deeper and deeper into her palms with each go. Maya would keep going until Kaoru spun into the room with her fantastic flare, sweeping her girlfriend into her arms so they could dance around the living room or kitchen or bedroom or any space with the space (and some without) for a pair of lovers to hold each other.

Kaoru would hold those hands Maya punished unjustly with the tenderness they longed for. Thumbs ran over sore crescents as she distracted Maya with swoops and twirls and dips. They were never very nimble but that was the fun. The way they moved together belonged only to them.

Then Kaoru would swing behind Maya and hold theirs hands palm to palm, slender fingers against Maya’s thick ones. She’d pull Maya’s hand to her face and indulge in the feeling of Maya’s knuckles on her cheek, the rough grooves tickling her skin. She loved those hands so much. She told Maya that often. On the good days she’d get to hear that sweet ‘huhehehe’ and Maya would turn around and kiss Kaoru with a smile she could feel down to her heart. They’d kiss a little more here and a little more there and then she would get to enjoy the full appeal of those large hands against her skin.

On the bad days Kaoru could tell Maya didn’t believe her. That Maya was looking only at the dark hair and the hard lines and missing every wonderful story told by the soft edges and hard won callouses. That she didn’t see how marvelous her hands were, only that two of Kaoru’s could fit in one of hers. But so what if they were larger than most women’s? Kaoru was nothing at all like most women and she still was one, why on Earth would the size of Maya’s hands disqualify her?

To some extent Kaoru understood that she couldn’t understand how Maya felt. No matter how many wonderful years they spent together there was a place deep in the corner of Maya’s mind Kaoru couldn’t follow her to. But that would never stop her from waiting outside the metaphorical door for Maya to come back to her.

Because she loved Maya. Because she loved Maya and so Maya was perfect. It was completely irrelevant if the perfection or the love came first. She’d love Maya’s hands if they were small, she’d love them if they were perfectly average sized, she’d love the space above the stumps on her arms if that was all Maya had! Perhaps that last bit was slightly misguided but it was true. To be in love was to love every part, Kaoru believed that without any difficulty at all. Loving Maya was the most natural thing in the world, just after kissing her.

Kaoru would just have to keep loving Maya’s hands until Maya understood, and she’d love them everyday after that too.

Chapter Text

The only sound in Hazawa Coffee was the tiny scritch scratch of Sayo’s pencil across paper, carrying ones here and marking expenses there. Occasionally, she paused to punch some numbers into her calculator—she always insisted on using a calculator instead of her phone—before shifting one of the dozens of papers to a new pile and starting anew. There were easier, more digital, ways to do taxes but Sayo had never trusted anything she couldn’t hold in her own two hands even if business taxes were frustratingly more complicated than personal ones.

Not that Sayo would ever make a mistake regarding Hazawa Coffee. There had been a moment—just after Sayo wrapped tightly around Tsugumi in the bed they shared and promised she was never going to leave on a long tour again, that she wanted the rest of their lives to start that moment—that Tsugumi worried Sayo was settling for running a coffee shop in a Tokyo suburb with her high school sweetheart. Though Sayo eased her fears every time she suggested a new special or spent an afternoon in the corner letting their customers sit in on the practice the Rolling Stone declared Goddess of Guitar still devoted herself to, it wasn’t until Tsugumi stood behind the cafe counter watching Sayo hunched over their taxes that her heart finally calmed down.

There could be no doubt that Hazawa coffee belonged to Sayo Hazawa as much as it did her wife.

The cafe lights only ever highlighted the natural light that spilled through the windows: bright in the morning, moody at night and at sunset somewhere right between. It wasn’t good light to work by. They had an underutilized desk in their apartment down the road where theoretically the work would be easier and the lighting less taxing on the eyes but Sayo had spent almost half her life doing homework in the shop and she refused to stop just because she was grown.

She was still the serious girl with the downcast eyes that Tsugumi fell in love with so quickly and brilliantly. Only she was a woman now, who’d learned to smile more freely and laugh with her full heart behind it and wore reading glasses on the ridge of her nose to try to ward off the decline in her eyesight her bespectacled parents foreshadowed for her. Once upon a time, she’d thought herself silly for wanting someone so amazing but Sayo had been thinking the same thing all along.

Tsugumi reached for some leftover grounds and fitted a coffee filter to the rim of a cup for the last cup of Hazawa Coffee for the day. She swirled the water in muscle remembered strokes before setting the mug on a tray, as she did every day, and carrying it out to her wife, as she got to every day. “Ready for a break?”
Sayo looked up over the rims of her glasses at Tsugumi, serious lips rising into a gentle smile at the sight of Tsugumi’s face. “I’m almost done.” She stretched over the steaming cup Tsugumi placed down and breathed deeply. Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Can I help at all Sayo?”

Sayo took her wife’s hand with the careful fondness she always reserved for Tsugumi and raised Tsugumi’s knuckles to her lips, pressing and holding a kiss there like a seal on a letter. “I promised you could leave this to me.” The whispered breath from her words tickled Tsugumi’s fingers. “I’m not good with people, I don’t really understand coffee, but at the very least I can do our taxes.”

Our taxes. How on earth a simple word like ‘our’ could completely turn one of the drollest things in the world into something so intimate?

She pulled Tsugumi’s hand away from her lips but left their fingers loosely intertwined with no intention to let go. “Stay with me?”

Tsugumi nodded, leaning her tray against a chair before sitting down and jostling the chair close enough to Sayo that their knees could touch one another and the heat between them could bounce and grow. She drew the back of Sayo’s hand to her cheek, resting and watching Sayo with a casual prying stare. Tsugumi had already memorized every line on Sayo’s face but still she retraced them, knowing that change was always around the corner and she would never have to miss it again. They were only ever going to get older and it filled Tsugumi with indescribable excitement—knowing there would be so many Sayos in her future for her to love.

Sayo squeezed her wife’s hand with a quick pump. Tsugumi squeezed back a little harder. With a growing smile she tried to hide under her other hand, Sayo squeezed back, long and tight. Her thumb stroked the back of Tsugumi’s hand as her eyes reviewed the sheet on the table. It was absolutely the best way anyone could ever do their taxes.

Then Sayo paused, eyes rolling off the edge of the page and flicking between the paper,the hand gripping her pencil, and their conjoined hands. With a soft giggle, Tsugumi reached over and turned the sheet over for Sayo. “Maybe I’m a little helpful.”

“You’re always helpful Tsugumi,” Sayo answered back without a moment to think about it. “Give one more moment, I’m almost done.” She pushed up her glasses with the pencil’s eraser and focused back on her work.

Tsugumi sat back and let the heat in her heart rise to her cheeks. What stage of love was it to want so very much to kiss someone while watching her do your taxes? The married stage, whispered a little voice in her head that sounded an awful lot like Moca. Tsugumi had watched Sayo perform so many times, she knew what it felt like to have someone play for an audience of thousands but only care if you hear. But it was these little domesticities—the little fantasies she’d only imagined for so long—that made her squirm a little in her seat.

Finally, Sayo made one last bold stroke and set her pencil down. “The Hazawas’ taxes are done.”

The Hazawas. Sayo and Tsugumi Hazawa.

Soft as summer rain, Tsugumi kissed Sayo, bringing their clasped hands to Sayo’s cheek. Sayo happily accepted her reward, rocking her chair to pull as close as she could to her wife. The glasses pressed cooly against Tsugumi’s face. The sensation was enough to remind her that as much as she wanted to celebrate their annual government contributions right then and there, they were still in the front of their very public coffee shop.

She reluctantly pulled away, though not before one last refreshing peck for good behavior. At the time, they surrendered their hands back to the other. Tsugumi cupped Sayo’s face with the very tips of her fingers, keeping enough space that she could look in those beautiful green-gold eyes and whisper. “You’re so good Sayo.”

Sayo blushed with the half-smile she wore to keep herself from denying praise. “I need to get these in the mail.”

“The post office is closed right?” Tsugumi pouted, trying to pour as much of an implication as she could into what she said next. “You can mail them tomorrow.”

“Actually, I believe if I leave now I can reach the post office before it closes.”

Tsugumi tugged her arms around Sayo’s neck. “Sayo. You can mail them tomorrow.”

“Ah.” Sayo could be oblivious, but Tsugumi had trained her well. “Shall we go home then, Hazawa-san?”

“Yes please—”she would never, ever get tired of saying this—“Hazawa-san.”

Chapter Text

The problem was new, even if the scenario wasn’t totally unusual. Himari was used to Kaoru or Masuki (mostly Masuki, let’s be honest) ringing her doorbell at midnight and tossing her wife through the door with an “Eyyy she’s all yours!”

It was the only time Himari ever wished Tomoe was a little less dense—she’d always been muscular but two years of post grad part timing had landed her in physically demanding job after physically demanding and she was, as Himari would reverently whisper over her muscles, totally stacked. But it was hard to drag someone about as dense as a dying star across her living room. Especially as Himari had to constantly pause to ogle the way Tomoe’s sculpted forearm covered her shoulders entirely.

But that wasn’t the thing causing Himari endless strife. No, the problem occurred after Himari lugged her giant wife into bed and pulled off her jeans and pulled over the blankets and comforters and got herself ready to cuddle in for the night. She cherished those sweet moments, when she didn’t have to worry about the stupid jerks in the office or how hard it was to walk around in heels all day. Himari could just sink into her soft, soft bed, wrap her arms around the woman she loved and—

“No thanks, I got a wife.”

--and then suddenly Himari felt the soft comfort of her bed be cruelly snatched away as she was rolled off the bed with a quick forceful push.

The floor had never felt so cold. Himari lay with arms outstretched trying to calculate where she had gone wrong as Tomoe’s words processed in her mind. “But I am your wife…”

Tomoe was just momentarily confused. She was drunk and tired and surely, if Himari tried again Tomoe would realize it was just her loving wife coming to bed.

Himari crept up, leaned her knee on the bed and was at once met with a strong hand on her chest and a grumpy, growling, “You’re gorgeous but I. Have. A. Wife.”

What was happening in Tomoe’s little drunk mind? Did she think she’d followed some wild seductress home so she could chastely sleep in her bed and now that woman was trying to crawl inside? Did she think Himari was a sexy burglar who’d broken into the home for a quick snuggle and the fine china?

“Tomoe!” Himari huffed, marching to her wife’s side of the bed. “Let me in!”

“’m sorry but I have a wife. s’not open for business.” She blindly patted the bed behind her, slapping her massive mitt over and over. “Two seats only.”

Okay, this was kind of sweet, if a little exhausting, but it was completely at odds with Himari’s usual eight hours of sleep. She did not handle missing her eight hours of sleep well—her eyes got so baggy and her hair lost its shine and it just wasn’t a good look for her, totally out of fashion. This would not do.

“Tomoe~. I have a message… from your wife.”

Tomoe’s ears perked, eyes still fully shut, “my wife?”

“Mmm hmm!” Himari chirped. “It says, um, please let this nice lady sleep in my spot tonight. She’s very tired.”

“Imma call her.” Tomoe groped for her phone on the bedside table, first hitting everything else along the way.

“What! But I’m—”

“Shhhhhhh,” Tomoe jabbed at the black phone screen. “I’m calling my wife.”

Himari sighed, get married they said, it’s living with your best friend forever they said. No one mentioned the parts where your wife FORGETS WHO YOU ARE WHEN SHE’S DRUNK.

“It’s ringing.”

It was not.

“Brrriing Brrriiing.”

Tomoe was just doing that with her mouth.

Still, Himari, for no one’s sake but her own, walked back to her side of the bed, pulled out her own phone and ‘answered’ in her best possible imitation of herself, “Hello?”

“Babe!” Tomoe bounced excitedly before speaking conspiratorially. “Babe. You gotta get back here there’s a woman trying to,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “sleep with me.”

Himari knew Tomoe was talking about her. She knew very well that the only woman trying to crawl into bed with her wife was herself. And yet, she felt seethingly jealous of a woman who was 100%, without question, herself.

“I-Is that right?”

“Did you tell her she could sleep here?”

This was the moment Himari was supposed to say ‘yes!’ so she could go on and get into bed and they could laugh about it in the morning. But instead, her dumb animal brain, defensive of her mate against even her own alter ego’s imagined advances, said, “NO!”

Tomoe set the phone down, “You heard her. Wife says no.”

Himari had no one to blame but herself. She hovered by the edge of the bed, worried she'd get shoved away again and sighed. “You really love me--her don’t you?”

“Well yeah,” Tomoe wriggled happily in her bed. “Who doesn’t love their wife?”

“I’m kind of jealous of her.” Himari’s jealousy shifted targets, though the target was, as a reminder, still herself.

“You’ll find someone, not as good as Himari but… number two,” Tomoe muttered sleepily. “You’re pretty.”

“How do you know?”

Tomoe rolled over, facing Himari with a happy little smile. “You have a really pretty voice.”

“Tomoe,” she leaned over the mattress, risking getting pushed away again. “Open your eyes.”

Finally, Tomoe’s eyes pried open. Her entire face expanded as she lit up like she was about to dig into a giant bowl of ramen right after a long day of drumming. “My wife!”

“Hi babe,” Himari barely managed to squeeze out before she was pulled onto the bed to have her face covered in kisses. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Tomoe mumbled as she nuzzled Himari’s hair, wrapping her arms around Himari in a crushing hug. “I hope that lady got home okay.”

“I’m sure she did.” Himari waited for Tomoe to loosen her grip so she could comfortably fall asleep. “Babe?”

The only response was single, rumbling snore. From out in the cold to trapped in the Udagawa death grip. Oh well, Himari tried her best to get comfortable.

At least Tomoe would spend months trying to make up for this one.