Work Text:
The house is quieter than Eiji thought it would be.
He’s grown used to loud noises. Growing up with a bratty younger sister who would scream and yell to annoy him whenever possible, a mother who was always speaking over the phone to a client or one of her friends, footsteps across the floor late at night when his dad would come to visit, the noise quickly became a friend- It became a comfort he learned to live in, though that didn’t stop him from sitting in the bathroom with music on full blast to block out noise sometimes.
But it was nice. It was home. Here, he could hear a pin drop if he strained hard enough to listen over the sound of running water as he cleans the dishes and the soft sound of the cat walking across the tiles.
That’s okay. Growing accustomed to silence is just another thing he still has to learn, even after three years of living here. And besides, it isn’t always dead silent; sometimes the chirp of crickets just outside the open window can be heard if Ash comes home late enough.
When Ash does come home, though, he does it loudly. He pushes open the door with a creeeaakk and smiles when he sees Eiji, wrapping him up in his stiffened arms, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before talking about how his day has been.
Eiji does what he does best. He turns on the stove to start cooking a simple meal he found online five minutes ago and listens to his husband speak of the treacherous tales of working in an office. Sometimes, he’ll cut his finger while he’s slicing tomatoes. He never notices until it’s healed and left a scar, too caught up in the voice of his husband to really care.
“And how was your day?” Ash will finally ask as the two of them sit at their rickety table, Eiji picking at his food while Ash shovels it in his mouth. “Crazy as mine? You don’t have to deal with any stupid coworkers, at least. Just Nalu.” At the mention of her name, the cat’s ears perk up and she walks toward him, weaving between his legs under the table.
He won’t even have time to respond before Ash is talking again, about some unbelievably stupid person at work who won’t give him the peace he deserves. Eiji likes to engage in these conversations. He likes to agree and smile and say, “wow, I hope she gets fired, too.”
Ash is the one who works, though Eiji sometimes sells the vegetables he grows in the garden at the market. It took Ash four months to notice the vegetables were even there, and when he did, he talked about how it was the last hobby he expected Eiji to take up, but he’s happy he found a new passion.
Moments like that didn’t always come. At first, it was quiet around the house, even when Ash was home. He wouldn’t come out of their bedroom all day at times, and Eiji never minded; he was the one who spoke instead. He was the one who would talk about his own miniscule troubles and comb his brain for ideas on how to help Ash.
Ash did it for himself, though. He got himself where they are today. Happy together, married, madly in love. Eiji feels so wonderstruck by him, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Usually, after they eat, Ash will slide his plate across to Eiji to clean and explain his next work project, walking to his office. He leaves without another word, without another touch, never staying long enough for Eiji to learn what kinds of foods he likes and dislikes. He must have a food he hates, right? Everyone does. Or maybe those years Ash spent healing made him immune to having stupid and unnecessary opinions on something as silly as food.
Eiji wracks his brain like this a couple times a day. Sometimes while Ash is at work, he’ll find himself pulling off every book on the shelf to skim through them and make sure nothing suspicious is in them, nothing Ash could be using against him. He’ll look at their closet and see if he’s gotten anything new, maybe something another person could’ve gifted him. Maybe, just maybe, the way he talks about his coworker isn’t with a hateful tone, but a loving one, and Eiji’s too blind to miss it.
But he doesn’t let these thoughts fester too long. Ash loves him, and he loves Ash in return, and that’s enough. Eiji’s smile never reaches his eyes anymore, but his hands can always reach out to Ash, so he doesn’t have a problem with it.
(Deep down, he knows trying to figure out what your husband is writing every time it looks like he’s typing something on his phone isn’t right.)
There is also something about the way time flows after marrying Ash. It goes too slow, too sluggish. He can spend half an hour watching his husband read a novel, and Ash won’t look up once, and Eiji won’t shift his weight from foot to foot, he’ll just stand there, watching. Wondering. Considering.
Considering?
“Considering,” he confirms on the phone to Shorter, on the other end.
“Considering something… Wrong?” There’s no way to miss the worry in his tone.
“The opposite,” Eiji mumbles. “Something right. Something really right.”
There’s a pregnant pause, Shorter not making a single sound, which is strange for his extroverted friend.
“I don’t think you’re well,” he finally whispers.
There are no chills up Eiji’s back. There is no moment of realization. Just the front door opening as his husband returns home and the gust of cold air hitting his wet face as he hangs up the phone, knowing Shorter won’t call him back.
He’s so in love. So in love with the way Ash gives him a small smile as he hangs up his coat, tells him to make dinner for himself, and heads to his home office to do some emergency work. Eiji catches sight of a painting on the wall, just above the table, and briefly considers repainting it. This thought remains in his head all the way until night, when he crawls into a cold bed and it slips away from his mind forever.
He doesn’t often have nightmares. Not anymore, and he has years of Ash’s support to thank for that. Though, when he does have them, he likes to stare at the wall for a moment in the dark and let the shadows fill his peripherals, wondering if he should wake up Ash.
Considering it. Planning out how it might go. Until he remembers he has work tomorrow, and oh, Ash has better things to do than hold him. If anything, it should be the other way around instead. He feels frail as he tries to take Ash’s hand, looking for warmth and finding it, before Ash quickly pulls his hand away and places it back under his pillow.
He waits for the chills. For the realization, for the spontaneous phone call, for a coherent thought to enter his mind. He screams internally for something, anything, but comes up empty. He comes up with love, nothing but it for Ash.
Sometimes, Ash gets like this. It’s his most common mood. Most days, he doesn’t even smile at Eiji. He used to tally on his hands how many days it had been until Ash kissed him, and he got to twenty-two before Ash snapped and told him to stop drawing on himself. It’s why he embraces the good days, the ones where Ash might even say he loves him after dinner.
But he doesn’t think it’s normal to be married to someone, to be so deeply in love, and have them sleep with their back turned away from you at night. Eiji will watch him sometimes when he wakes up in the middle of the night, hold a finger under his nose to make sure he’s breathing, and consider asking him if he would like to go watch the stars tomorrow night. If he’d like to do something with Eiji.
Maybe go out somewhere?
Maybe read a book together?
Maybe be in love?
Eiji thinks he considers every day. Considers not cleaning the dishes that day, considers entering his lover’s office while he’s at work by taking a hammer and busting the lock, opening the front door and leaving and never turning back, but he can’t do that, because he’s in love. So young, and so in love, and Ash is so considerate, how could he turn away?
So he learns to love the silence. It becomes his friend instead. And even when the shelf is void of any books and there is only one plate left in the sink, Eiji will still only consider, never act.