Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Licht’s kisses, like everything else about that ridiculous, wonderful angel, are a force to be reckoned with. 

Sometimes they taste of power and control, like a tidal surge in a storm Hyde thought to be predictable, sweeping him off his feet in the blink of an eye. Licht could be glaring at him one moment, threatening to fight and kick Hyde’s ass out of the hotel window, and then sit on his thighs in the next, trapping him against whatever couch he’s lounging on before he knows what is happening, kissing him like there is no tomorrow. They’re hot and overwhelming when they come like this, and Hyde thinks it is the closest he will ever come to the divine. 

Other times, however, they just taste like dessert. 

Licht pulls back with a quiet noise, lingering for just a second that Hyde treasures, before he stands up straight again and proceeds to kick off his shoes and discard his jacket. It’s cute, Hyde thinks as he licks the taste of strawberry off his lips, that he came by for a kiss before anything else, especially considering how eager his little angel has to be for the contents of the paper bag he is carrying. 

He tosses aside the magazine he was reading, jumps up from the couch and bounces into the other room their hotel suite is sporting, where there’s the mini bar and clean plates and cups. Just a few seconds later the door flies open and Licht is there, having rid himself of his outdoor gear and squinting suspiciously. 

“Weren't you just reading?” He demands to know. 

“You know me, angel babe!” Hyde trills, “I take every chance I get to spend time with you!”

Licht accepts this with a huff, much more concerned with the paper bag he sets on the counter. Hyde watches him pull out plates with a focused, eager look in his eyes - not one, but two, he notes - and just before the paper bag comes open, he pipes up once more. 

“Chocolate strawberries, angelcakes?” He asks. 

Licht freezes and slowly turns around to him. His brows furrow, and a sinister scowl sneaks onto his delicate features that Hyde cannot help but chuckle at. 

“Not only a demon but a stalker too, now?” Licht growls. 

“Licht, my dearest darling, light of my life! I would never!” 

“Explain this, then!” Licht demands as he rips open the bag and slams a bouquet of chocolate strawberries on the counter. A few of them are already missing, Hyde notes through his laughter. Licht is amazing and disciplined and strong, but only about the piano, never when it comes to sweets. 

“Your weakness betrays you,” He explains, being as dramatic as he can be while also laughing. “You kissed me when you came home. And it tasted like strawberries.” 

“Ah.”

Licht deflates at once. Hyde thinks he sees the dust of a blush on his cheeks, and it makes him so happy he cannot help but double down. 

“It was so delicious!” He purrs, sneaking closer, until he's almost chest to chest with his angel. “Mind if I taste it again?”

“I brought extra for you,” Licht says and shoves a plate of strawberries at him. 

Which was not quite what Hyde meant. But coming from Licht, there”s probably no greater proof of love. 

Chapter Text

“Misono,” Lily starts, and from the look Misono sends him as he turns around to face his Servamp he can tell the other has recognized his gentle tone as something to be wary of immediately. 

So he proceeds with utmost caution. 

“I know you’re an adult now,” He says, cursing himself as Misono’s brow delicately rises in suspicion. “And very grown and mature, and I’m so proud of you.” 

“What are you going on about?” He demands.

Lily bites down on his lip, a thing that is to be avoided with fangs, usually, but a nervous habit he just can’t get rid of.

“Do you think I could be the one to hold the umbrella, maybe?” 

“Why?” 

“My back is kind of starting to hurt.” 

Misono glances from Lily’s sweetest, most adoring smile over to his bent back. It’s either crouching like this or standing up straight with his head stuck up the umbrella so far he’d be basically blind and have his hair ruined. Or, of course, walking out in the pouring rain, which is definitely not an option at all. 

“Are you insinuating I’m small?” 

“No!” Lily is quick to tell him, “it’s just. Aren’t your arms getting tired? I’d be happy to take this burden from you!” 

“If you worry about my arms so much you should have brought your own umbrella,” Misono informs him in a huff. 

Which is true, of course. The weather report did mention rain when they slipped into their coats to wander the street for a bit in search of a nice, romantic spot. As it is, however, Lily finds he has no other choice but to resort to dirty tricks. 

So he starts pouting. 

“You’re not a five-year-old, stop that,” Misono hisses at him, but Lily can see his facade starting to crack in the twitch of his lips that are desperately trying not to smile. 

“But my back hurts so badly and my Eve doesn’t love me anymore,” Lily whines, “and who would care for me but him? I am truly all alone in the world, and tired and bruised and…” 

“Oh my god, Lily!”

Misono stops and Lily stops with him, both out of fear to have overdone it and an unwillingness to get wet. It’s a quiet little street they find themselves in, not far from home, but far enough to let them be alone and unwatched. 

“I’ll trade you,” Misono says, firmly and loudly over the pitter-patter of the rain. 

Lily opens his mouth to ask, but just then Misono jerks at the umbrella handle and he has to duck, just to fall right into the other’s lips, just to be pulled into a long, drawn-out kiss. 

If his mouth wasn’t occupied, Lily would smile. It’s fun being tricked sometimes, and he makes sure to reward Misono thoroughly. There’s so few people out in the rain, after all, it would be a waste not to make use of the absence of watchful eyes. 

“Got you,” Misono mumbles as they pull apart and stay close, as one does with a single umbrella out in the rain. 

“You sure did.”

Chapter Text

Mahiru is halfway down the street when he touches his lips and realizes they are tingling with Kuro’s warmth. 

He's not quite sure why it is such an important moment to him. It’s not an unusual situation at all; the trip he takes is not different from many others. He just goes down to the store to grab potato chips and the leak he forgot to purchase for the soup he wants to cook tonight, a trip too short to justify tearing Kuro away from the world he conquers in his games, because no matter how often Mahiru complains about it, he finds it rather endearing to see his vampire enjoy himself so much. 

But even for these short trips, he realizes now, Kuro will pause his game and get up and slouch over to the front door, maybe even help him into his coat. He will say goodbye and ask him to come back soon and bring something tasty. 

And he'll kiss him, a nice little peck, given so freely, with so little fuss, with such casualty, that Mahiru has never found himself thinking twice about it. It’s just a thing that happens. It’s routine. Now that he puts his mind to it he cannot think of a single time he did not get that little kiss. 

They have come far, he finds himself thinking as he skips down the street, his mood twice as good as it was before, to reach a point where kisses like these are no big deal anymore. Once they were grand. Once they were saved up for the important moments, given only under the most perfect of circumstances. He's not quite sure at which point they realized that they will always have enough love to give one another, but it happened, and he could not be happier about it. 

In his overwhelmingly good mood he buys not only potato chips and leak but also ramen and ice cream; cookies and cream as he knows Kuro likes best. He wants to be part of this little game of casual affection, this constant back and forth of loving attention, and this, he believes, is how he does it best. 

Not ten minutes later he is home. The door swings open for him and the sound of fighting and video game characters screaming from the living room stops. He sets down the bags as Kuro rolls around in his blankets, trying to get up. He hangs up his coat as heavy steps approach from behind and a warm hand settles around his waist. 

“Welcome back,” Kuro mutters, and leans forward to kiss his neck and then his lips. 

Mahiru sighs and cuddles against him. These kinds of kisses are simple and chaste as he likes them best, the gesture at once small and huge given how much Kuro hates anything that takes him out of the fictional worlds he likes to hide in so much. 

“Is everything okay?” Kuro asks, raising an eyebrow at this deviation from their usual song and dance. 

“Everything is perfect,” Mahiru says. “Will you take these to the kitchen for me?”

Kuro grumbles but obliges, yet another proof of love. 

When Mahiru enters the kitchen just a few seconds later he is smiling; he has started unpacking  - unthinkable just a few months ago - and found the ice cream and the ramen. 

“You got my favourites,” He mumbles. 

“Of course,” Mahiru says, and almost adds, you deserve a reward . 

“Because I love you so much,” He says instead. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes Jeje thinks that Mikuni picked a second floor apartment just for the stairwell that comes with it. Which would sound stupid if it was about any other person, but is something Mikuni of all people would absolutely do.  

It’s not a special stairwell by any means, but narrow enough that they can’t use it while walking next to one another. Mikuni was delighted ever since he understood what this can mean for him if he plays it smart, and ever since then he has been very pedantic about going first when they arrive and going last when they leave. 

And Jeje gladly plays along. If these five seconds of being the taller among the two of them mean so much, who is he to spoil his Eve’s harmless fun? He will even bear the taunting and teasing that accompany those short moments of subversion, if only because they usually come with happy laughter and broad smiles. 

But of course, Mikuni will never stop being Mikuni. He is never not playing the long game. 

There comes a time, long after they have struck out on their own and made a home in their second floor apartment, that their relationship warps into what Jeje would very tentatively describe as… lovers, maybe? They never really talk about it. It is just a thing that happens. Just like holding hands just happens, or curling up in one another on the couch they share, or the little kisses that Mikuni leaves on Jeje’s jaw, that Jeje peppers Mikuni’s hair with. 

That’s when Mikuni fully starts using the staircase, and that’s when his Servamp realizes he may or may not have planned this to happen all along. 

“You’re so quiet today,” He says as they make their way home, the staircase in sight already. Jeje just hums in response, and Mikuni takes it in stride. In a moment, words won’t matter anyways. Their little coming home routine is reliable like few other things in their lives. 

His keys jingle quietly as he pulls them from his pocket. He stands to the side and lets Mikuni pass, one, two, three stairs before he steps forward to join him. Mikuni is already turning around, hands falling on Jeje’s shoulders, rooting him to the spot. 

If he is being honest with himself, Jeje enjoys this. It’s nice being the one to look up for once. He likes Mikuni’s hand beneath his chin, gently nudging him into position. He likes his arms wrapping around his shoulders, dutifully steadying the paper bags that teeter and topple as Jeje tilts his head back to follow the unspoken command. The kisses they share on the staircase are wonderful ones, never too short, sometimes drawn out far beyond their usual length - so that Mikuni can enjoy superiority a little longer, Jeje tells himself and leans a little higher. 

They separate with a nice, quiet noise, their foreheads leaning against one another, and into the silence, Mikuni chuckles. 

“You like having me on top of you, don’t you, Jeje dearest?” He asks. 

Jeje punches him, very lovingly so.

Chapter Text

“Knock Knock!” Tooru says and Touma finds himself in a dilemma. 

On one hand he wants nothing more than to ignore what is sure to be another pinnacle of stupidity by his not-very-esteemed coworker. On the other he has spent enough time with him by now to know that this will get him bothered and nagged and pestered all day, relentlessly and without mercy because when it comes to telling the most groan-inducing of jokes, Tooru’s energy reserves are bottomless. 

But if he answers, well, he’ll have to endure whatever joke is about to follow, which he knows will be absolute torture. And there’s a good chance he’ll have to hear Tooru’s dumb cackling on top of it, too. He can already hear the mirth brimming in his voice, as if to bubble over into that deep, full laughter any second now that will fill the room like water and cling to the dingy walls of his office for hours to come. 

He hates it so much. 

“Do you not have a better reason to bother me, Shirota?” He asks, if only because it will get him a few more precious seconds to decide on how to deal with the problem at hand. Tooru chuckles as though this is a particularly amusing question. When Touma glances up from the papers on his desk, he finds him bouncing back and forth, like an overgrown toddler waiting to tell their mother what they did in school today. Which, to be fair, is exactly how Touma views most of his colleagues, Tooru included. 

“Iori threw me out.” 

“I should have figured. I feel much like doing the same.” 

“That’s strange,” Tooru says lightly, bouncing a little closer to Touma’s desk, careful as though to test the waters. Touma sits up. Maybe it’ll deter him. 

Of course it doesn’t. 

“Why haven’t you done the same by now?” Tooru cheerfully asks, “you’re acting quite out of character today!” 

And it’s not like Touma doesn’t have an answer - it’s just not a very good one. The second of hesitation he makes sure to hide behind a scowl is all the other needs to cross those last few steps between him and the desk, firmly planting his hands where he finds a clear space between stacks of documents, leaning forward with that bright grin that would be so satisfying to plant a fist in. 

Touma almost finds himself scooting back. The other’s closeness is sudden and he is never quite sure how to handle it. He really should throw him out, just for that alone. Just to prove him wrong in whatever weird little theories he’s thinking up that very second - Touma can see it happening behind those deep brown eyes; they have that deceptive sparkle, that look of wide-eyed innocence when in truth the brain behind works hard to scheme and trick and come up with half-baked truths and cheap puns. 

Maybe, Touma muses, too many thunderbolts have fried it somewhere down the line, and the thought is almost enough to put a smirk on his face. 

“Is that a smile I see?” Tooru asks at once, and Touma’s face falls. Tooru is amusing until exactly the second he opens his mouth. Sadly a silent Tooru is a rare Tooru, and he has not yet found a way to shut him up. 

Unless of course… it’s not like they’ve never done it before… 

“Go get your eyes checked, Shirota,” He barks as he mulls it over. 

“You’re no fun,” Tooru complains, and his whine is enough to cement Touma’s decision. “I only mean to make you laugh… let’s try again, knock -” 

Touma cuts him off not a second too early. Tooru is easy to grab with how far he has leaned down already, easy to pull closer, and shock makes him pliant and soft. If they were in a battle, he’d be long dead. 

Touma has never been a gentle kisser, never chasing anyone’s pleasure but his own, and his hand sinks so deeply into the other’s rough curls it must hurt. Tooru flinches against him when he bites down on his lip, but he doesn’t pull back, leans in closer, even, the rough stubble on his chin and cheeks brushing against him. 

But that’s when Touma is the one to pull away, lets himself fall backwards into his chair and takes in the mess he made of Tooru with no small amount of satisfaction. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a greater mess than usual, and his lips open and close, producing only blissful silence. 

“That’s what I thought,” Touma says. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

Chapter Text

“Kiss me, Jeje,” Mikuni demands, and Jeje fumbles, falters, because he doesn’t want to, not here and not now. 

Not when their bodies are still heaving with heavy breaths, with adrenaline coursing through their veins, when they have only just escaped with their lives, barely so. Not when his hands are sticky with Mikuni’s blood. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He says. He means to sound harsh, to leave no room for argument, but finds his voice shaky and soft with panic. 

A whine falls from Mikuni’s lips. He barely has the strength to clutch his wound, that ugly, gaping hole somewhere near his stomach, where Jeje was too slow, too useless, too weak to take the hit. Even as Jeje watches the red stains tainting the shreds of what once was a shirt grow larger. His Eve is tense with pain, damp with sweat, his fingers fumble and slip until Jeje pushes them aside. 

“Jeje,” He cries as his Servamp’s hand presses against him, desperately hoping to keep what little life he has inside. 

“I’m sorry,” He mutters into his Eve’s hair. A hand curls into his robes, holding on with what have to be the last dregs of Mikuni’s strength. “I have to.” 

“You’re… you’re so mean, Jeje,” Mikuni chokes out. “Why won’t you… you have to do as I said…”

“Are you still going on about that?” Maybe fear makes Jeje chatty. Or maybe the relief that Mikuni is still talking at all. “This is hardly the time!” 

“How rude!” For a second, he sounds very much like the Mikuni he had just this morning, complaining about his meager breakfast, his body unbroken and whole. “I want to… just once… before I die…”

“You’re not dying,” Jeje says. He can feel Mikuni's whimpers flutter where the other's face lies against his cheek, can feel his eyes falling shut, a tear falling that is not his own. “You are such an insufferable drama queen. Do you hear me?” 

“Trade you,” Mikuni whispers. “My blood…” 

And it’s funny, hilarious really, because his blood is already all over Jeje, but still he shakes his head. 

“Survive,” He says. “Then you get your stupid kiss.” 

~

Help arrives far slower than it should, but it arrives. Jeje lets himself fall back as others’ hands reach for Mikuni and they are taken away in a whirlwind of blood red and panicked shouting. He registers quite little of what happens next. It’s not like he could change whatever outcome is ahead of them. He made his Eve’s body sturdy, he is the reason there is life inside him still but also why he was in danger in the first place. 

He has all but forgotten about the stupid kiss and the stupid promise. He tries so hard to think of nothing that his head ends up filled with nothing but the whiteness of the walls around them, the smell of disinfectant in his nose, the softness of Mikuni’s bed beneath his chin as he sits by his side and rests his head close but not too close. 

The starched sheets rustle faintly as Mikuni stirs. He turns his head, ever so slightly, blinks slowly, until Jeje looks up to meet his eyes. 

“Kiss me, Jeje,” He whispers. 

He wants to cry. 

He doesn’t, because he has a deal to fulfill. Mikuni’s lips taste sweeter than his blood ever could.

Chapter Text

Kuro is lovely, in everything he does. The more Mahiru realizes this, the harder it gets to be irritated at him, at his laziness and the occasional mess he leaves and the fact that he still hasn’t emptied the trash despite being asked to do so three times at least. 

But it’s downright impossible to huff and puff and bother and nag when he comes into the living room to find Kuro napping on the couch and looking so damn cute while doing so. And it’s weird, in a way - he’s nothing special, just a tired looking teenager, all curled up into a tight ball of soft blue with a rim of black fur and a mop of silver hair on top, balancing precariously lest he fall off the narrow couch seats but somehow pulling it off as though the laws of physics don’t apply to him. He just looks happy. And happiness is beautiful on him. 

Mahiru nudges him and the quietest little noise escapes his lips, not unlike what a startled kitten would sound like. He feels something warm spread in his chest, a feeling he has taken much too long to give a name to, and an impossibly wide smile curls his lips. At this point Kuro doesn’t even have to turn into a cat anymore to get this kind of reaction out of him. 

He can’t bear waking him up, Mahiru decides. He’ll have him take the trash out in the evening, when the twilight is easier on him than the blinding sun outside their drawn curtains, and await him with a reward of freshly cooked dinner when he drags himself back inside, complaining of an aching back and the general cruelty of the world. 

Who would have known anyone would ever get him this far? Kuro truly is dangerously powerful. Mahiru can never let him know this, of course, because his Servamp would abuse his unfair amounts of cuteness even more than he currently tries to do, but no one can make him act quite as out of character as Kuro. He has long stopped questioning this, has never fought against it. It’s just the way things are, and accepting it is simple. 

“Mahiru?” Kuro mumbles suddenly, voice drenched with sleep, and Mahiru realises that he is still just standing next to the couch, hand resting on the other’s curled back. “What are you doing…?” 

“Just wondering what you’d like for dinner,” Mahiru replies, and Kuro cocks his head, squinting adorably, as though trying to find his own thoughts through a haze of sleepiness.

“That curry from last week.” 

“Sure thing.” 

Kuro nods, clearly satisfied, but Mahiru is not quite done yet. He can't help but allow his hand to card through silver hair, and Kuro stretches to settle against it, moves for Mahiru to sit down at the very edge of the couch, and then right back to huddle on his lap, snug against his stomach.

“What?” He asks. 

“I love you,” Mahiru tells him, because while he keeps it a well-guarded secret how easy it would be for Kuro to get his way with him, he deserves to be told this much every now and then, the most simple of truths between them. 

Kuro smiles, somewhere between sweet slumber and the warmth of Mahiru against him. Maybe he thinks he is dreaming. 

No matter, Mahiru thinks. He leans down to leave a kiss against Kuro’s lips, simple and chaste and just enough to not keep him tethered to the awake world for too long, just a delicate flutter against his lips, no more than a taste to follow him back into his dreams. He can always tell him again and again, kiss him longer and deeper, once reality has him back.

“I love you too,” Kuro breathes.  

Chapter Text

When Mikuni was younger, All of Love often called him “playful”. Now that he is older and Jeje has to deal with him rather than someone kind and patient and experienced at handling toddlers, this description has changed to “annoying as hell”. 

Mikuni likes to amuse himself by making a game out of whatever he can. Whether that be how often he can poke Jeje in the span of a minute before his Servamp gets his guns out or how well he can dodge said Servamp’s bullets, it is as though he takes nothing seriously, lives his life with a wink and a smirk on his lips. 

(Jeje knows this isn’t true, of course. Mikuni can be very serious when he wants to be. It’s just that these occasions are rare and also ones he’d rather avoid.)

His latest game, or so Jeje thinks, must be doing unexpected things until his vampire gets a heart attack. Or maybe luring him into a false sense of security and then dunking a bucket of ice water on him when he least expects it. Jeje is used to being vigilant, but lately he has been given all the more reason for sheer paranoia - but the only explanation he can think of for Mikuni’s behaviour must be that it is all one big, elaborate prank. 

Why else would he be so weirdly nice? 

It’s not as though he’s any less… well, any less Mikuni than before. He’s still loud and snarky and a smartass like no other. But the other day he bought a heat lamp for Jeje to curl up beneath whenever the onsetting cold of winter is too much for his cold-blooded snake body. Another time he brought home a pretty bottle he claims to have found, that Jeje is loath to admit one of his ships would look rather good in. And today he comes home to his Eve cooking what unmistakably smells like pumpkin soup. It even looks edible. 

“Are you excited, Jeje?” He chirps. “The comments said this stuff tastes so good! You’ll never have to walk to that dingy soup shop again! Aren’t you lucky to have such a-” 

“What are you playing at?” Jeje interrupts him. He just knows he won’t be able to eat the soup. Surely Mikuni has done something stupid to it, like adding an entire bottle of hot sauce. 

If it is so, he at least proves himself a good actor. Mikuni cocks his head, radiating confusion with every fibre of his being. 

“Whatever do you mean, dearest Jeje?” 

“Don’t play dumb,” Jeje hisses at him. “You never do anything without some sort of endgame. What is it this time?” 

“My endgame?” Mikuni repeats. 

“Yes, tell me!” 

The broad grin splitting his face all of a sudden can’t mean anything good. 

“I’ll show you.” 

He has grabbed his Servamp, pulled him in much quicker than Jeje could slink back. His grip on him is rough and firm, and Jeje falls forwards - right onto Mikuni’s lips. 

A kiss , his racing mind supplies. Mikuni is kissing me. Mikuni is kissing me.  

Surely it is just another ploy. But a nice one indeed. One he can let happen. 

It is but a peck he is granted, just a taste, short and chaste, but still he can feel his heart racing as he is released and scrambles back into straight posture, hoping, perhaps foolishly, to hold his face so far out of reach Mikuni can’t see its redness. 

“I thought I’d have to cook a lot more soup before it gets so far,” He hears him say, sounding unbearably smug. 

“And you’re damn right about it,” He mutters back. 

But as he’s handed a full bowl of warm, steaming soup that night, he eats without fear. It’s edible indeed and not spicy at all. 

Chapter Text

Misono has long come to terms with the fact that his life is mostly a long string of accidents with varying degrees of severity. Most major milestones he passes by stumbling by rather than anything else, but that’s okay. It always works out in the end. 

When he was younger, he used to be jealous of how easily others saunter through life, especially the Servamp dutifully by his side. These times are long past him now, not because it has become easier to accept other’s successes, no - he just realized that Lily is just as much of an idiot as him. 

On that particular day that would prove his point once more, a few years after they have set out on their own, they spend their evening all huddled up at home, with no company but one another. Misono has found himself a book and lounges on the couch, half reading and half watching Lily sweep by as he arranges this and that, trails white fingers along the bookshelves as though looking for something to entertain himself with, only to abruptly turn, spinning much like a dancer and dashing off towards the kitchen. He moves so beautifully, Misono sometimes finds himself thinking now, all elegance and grace, and he can finally understand where all the attention he gets comes from.

He smiles into his book as he listens to the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen, and a joyful little tune hummed alongside. There are nights his Servamp just can’t sit still, and usually, he’ll put that energy to good use. It will be just a few seconds before he emerges again, and just as he thought that, Misono hears familiar steps skip back down the hall to their living room. 

“Misono!” Lily calls, and Misono half turns to where he’s standing in the entrance to the room, brimming with cheer. “I want to bake something! Can I make chocolate fondant for you?”

“Of course! You know you don’t need to ask.”

“I take any excuse to talk to you,” Lily trills, “you know I love hearing your voice! I’ll get right to it, sweetheart.” 

He’s been doing that a lot lately, sprinkling in these loving little nicknames wherever he can, as though trying to decide which one feels best. ‘Sweetheart’ is his favourite at the moment, second only to ‘my love’, closely followed by ‘my dear one’, and each of them makes Misono’s heart flutter like a little bird. One day he will be brave enough to reciprocate. For now he sticks to “I love you” and “be careful with yourself”, revelling in Lily’s blush whenever he utters these words. 

He’s so deep in thought, trying to decide which of the two to tell him, that he barely notices Lily coming closer. In retrospect he was probably trying to kiss his hair or forehead or temples before the agonizing fifteen minutes he’ll be holed up in the kitchen. But Misono doesn’t have that wherewithal in the heat of the moment, and as Lily stands before him, tall as he is, he looks up too quickly for his vampire to stop himself from swooping down, and yet another accident has happened. 

They flinch back and freeze, just centimetres away from one another. Misono’s lips tingle with Lily’s warmth against them for just a single, golden second. A furious blush works his way onto his face, but it doesn’t matter because he sees it mirrored in Lily, sees his cheeks dusted in a lovely pink, his deep red eyes blown wide, fingers splayed across his own lips as though he can’t believe what just happened. 

They haven’t actually kissed, not yet. They both knew it would happen at some point, in a week, maybe or a month, when they are more secure in this new kind of love, when Lily has found what nickname suits Misono best, when Misono has finally had the courage to give him one in return. 

But accidents happen. And he might as well do it right, Misono thinks. 

Lily’s hair is like silk as his hands tangle in those strands of gold he loves so much. He lets himself be caught easily, and as Misono moves closer, so does he, a silent understanding between them to not let the opportunity go to waste. 

His lips are even softer than the rest of him. 

Lily doesn’t get to make chocolate fondant that night. He spends it on the couch with Misono instead, who has long forgotten he ever wanted to read, tangled up in each other and trading many more kisses. They have to make the most of it, after all.

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Niccolo should have known. 

It’s been a sticky kind of weather ever since the early hours of the morning, the kind of summer day that’s sweltering with heat, drenching them in sweat, with air too wet to breathe; the kind of day to drown the city in exhausted silence. 

Of course there would be rain in the afternoon. 

But alas, as the first drops come falling down on them, hit his cheeks in cooling little droplets and paint dark spots all over the sun-heated pavement, he finds himself without an umbrella and positively panicked. 

Oh, how he hates being caught off-guard. 

The rain swells quickly and so does the knot of anxiety somewhere in his gut, the feeling of having failed, having missed out - it is silly to panic over a little bit of rain, of course, but that is the thing about panic: It is not rational. Because what if it had not been rain but something else, something more deadly? He finds himself spinning, looking around wildly for some kind of shelter amidst the steady pitter patter, and while he’s already eyeing a parasol a careless café owner left outside, a wild bout of laughter erupts by his side. 

“Finally!” Ildio yells into the darkening skies, hands raised towards them and brightly grinning without a single care in the world, “I’ve been waiting all day!” 

“What?” Niccolo asks. He wants to go, seek shelter, can already feel his hair being drenched, but he also doesn’t want to leave his Servamp’s side and Ildio looks much like there’s no place he’d rather be right now. It’s baffling. 

“The rain, Nicco, the rain!” He shouts, turning to his Eve, and his eyes are alight with happiness. “I thought it’d come down much sooner, but better late than never, huh?” 

“If you knew it would rain, why didn’t you bring an umbrella?” Niccolo sputters, voice raised just slightly to be heard over the drum of thick droplets hitting the pavement, the houses, their bodies. Ildio tilts his head back and laughs so loud it might as well be thunder. 

“It’s so damn hot, a little rain is just what we need right now!” 

“This is not what I’d call a little!” 

“I know! Isn’t it great?” 

Niccolo wants to reach out, to maybe tug the other towards the parasol - it is not too far away from them, and sometimes Ildio finds the meek tugging he musters amusing enough to give in - but his Servamp is quicker than him, seizes his hands before they are even fully raised, and pulls him in close. 

His body feels hot amidst the rapidly cooling air, his skin is slick with sweat slowly washed away by rain. Niccolo’s hair is wet enough to stick to his face now, and he feels the other tug aside the heavy strands, chuckling all the way. 

“You look like that bitch from those ‘Ring’ movies, Nicco,” Ildio says, voice full of adoration somehow, and then, as he brushes aside the last few stray hairs, “there, much better. Wouldn’t want to eat your hair when kissing you.”

“What-”

Ildio does as he said before Niccolo has found the words to tell him how inappropriate this is, that they are both wet and will get sick and the parasol is right over there and is it not a bit dramatic to kiss in the rain like this? 

He does not utter these thoughts today, not even as Ildio’s lips lift from his. He lets them wash away with the rain pooling at their feet. 

This new kind of heat is much nicer.