Work Text:
Hajime doesn’t realize anything is different until he’s halfway through the door.
The apartment smells warm—not just food, but comfort. Garlic and butter, something sweet underneath it, the low hum of music drifting from the kitchen. He barely has time to set his bag down before he hears Nagito’s voice.
“Welcome home, dear.”
Hajime freezes.
He looks up—and there Nagito is.
White apron tied neatly around his waist, sleeves of a light pink shirt rolled just enough to show his wrists, pale blue jeans fitting snugly on his slim frame. His hair is a little messy, like he’s been moving around for a while, and there’s a faint dusting of flour on his cheek he clearly hasn’t noticed.
Nagito turns fully, wooden spoon in hand, smiling softly.
“Would you like dinner?” he asks gently. “A bath? Or… perhaps me?”
Hajime’s brain short-circuits.
His face goes red instantly, heat creeping up his neck. “N-Nagito—! What are you—why are you—”
Nagito tilts his head, expression innocent in that way Hajime never trusts. “Is something wrong? I thought this was a normal thing couples do. I read about it.” He gestures vaguely with the spoon, as if this explains everything.
Hajime swallows hard. He clears his throat, tries to stand up straight—fails. “You can’t just… say that stuff when I walk in.”
“Oh?” Nagito hums, eyes flicking over Hajime slowly. Not shy. Curious, appreciative. “But you look very tired. I wanted to make you feel welcome.”
That’s when Nagito steps closer.
Hajime’s been working out for months now—his shoulders broader, arms thicker, posture more confident. Standing next to Nagito, the size difference is impossible to ignore. Nagito looks up at him slightly, apron brushing Hajime’s waist when he gets too close, and Hajime has to physically stop himself from reaching out.
Nagito smiles again, softer this time. “Work was difficult today?”
Hajime exhales, defeated. “Yeah. Long day.”
“Then sit,” Nagito says, gently but firmly, guiding him by the wrist toward a chair. His touch is light, deliberate. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Hajime sits because his legs absolutely will not cooperate otherwise.
Nagito moves back to the stove, humming quietly as he stirs. Every so often, he glances over his shoulder, like he’s checking Hajime’s still there. Like he enjoys being watched. Hajime doesn’t even try to hide it—his eyes track every movement, every sway of Nagito’s hips, the way the apron string bounces when he walks.
“Since when do you wear an apron?” Hajime mutters.
Nagito pauses, then smiles over his shoulder. “You like it?”
Hajime looks away immediately. “That’s not the point.”
Nagito laughs softly—confident, warm. “I thought you might. You always look at me like that when I wear soft colors.”
Hajime snaps his head up. “I do not.”
Nagito just smiles wider.
* * * * * * *
When dinner was finally done, Nagito set the plates down carefully, then leaned in close. Too close. His hand resting on Hajime’s shoulder, thumbs pressing gently into the hard muscle.
“Thank you for working so hard,” Nagito says quietly, voice sincere now. “I know it’s not easy.”
Hajime’s heart stutters.
Nagito rarely says things like that so plainly. No qualifiers. No self-disgust. Just… affection.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” Hajime murmurs.
“I wanted to,” Nagito replies. “You take care of me. Let me take care of you.”
* * * * * * *
After dinner, Nagito insists on clearing the table himself, shooing Hajime away with a playful flick of his wrist. When he returns, he’s holding a towel.
“The bath is ready,” he says, tone light. “If you want.”
Hajime laughs weakly. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
Nagito considers that, then steps forward, pressing his forehead lightly to the side of Hajime’s neck. “Maybe,” he admits. “I like seeing you happy. It makes me feel… wanted, like I did good.”
Hajime’s hands hover for a moment before settling firmly on Nagito’s waist, fingers brushing the apron ties. Nagito relaxes instantly, leaning into him without hesitation.
“Come on,” Hajime murmurs, voice low but gentle. “You’ve done enough.”
Nagito looks at him, eyes soft, trusting. “Then stay with me.”
Hajime nods.
And for once, there’s no despair, no guilt, no fear of what comes next—just the quiet warmth of home, and the certainty that they chose each other.