It was a rather peaceful night–for once. You and your boyfriend were currently laying on the couch together, with you on his chest. Ango’s glasses were left on the coffee table, as his hands were gently scratching your back, your eyes were closed in content enjoying his warmth and smell of coffee.

Ango’s hands gently went into your hair, running his fingers through the strands. At time moving your hair out of your face so he could gaze at your peaceful face.

But something made him stop. His brows furrowed as he ran his fingers over a rough spot on your scalp. “What’s this?” He muttered and sat up, disturbing your close call to sleep, your eyes fluttering open, “hm?”

“Sweetheart, what’s this scab from?” Ango questioned moving your hair slightly so he could see it more clearly. You shrugged, “An injury I got a week or two ago.”

Ango frowned, “And you didn’t think to tell me?” He was concerned about your hidden injury. “I didn’t think it was that serious. Plus you’re always so stressed over work.” You try to reason but your boyfriend wasn’t having it.

“Who cares if I’m stressed? You got hurt and I had no idea. You become first, always. You know this.” Ango groaned not being able to understand what was running through your mind. “Ango it wasn’t that bad.” You groan sitting up.

“Oh yeah? Then why isn’t it healed yet?” He questioned moving to keep a grip on your hips. You frowned and put your head down, “I’m sorry for not telling you Ango.”

“I know… just tell me next time. What if it was serious?” He scolded softly, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. “I can’t replace you. You know that.”

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“You do seem quite peppy.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Hot date tonight?”

“Oh, leave me alone.” You shut him down before Kunikida can. Atsushi laughs, awkward and confused,

“Uh, have fun?” 

“...Thanks,” you sigh.

At the end of the day, you’re a little behind. You decide to stay after to finish things up. You only realize by around 6:30 that you forgot to tell Ango you might be running late. He hasn’t texted you either, though; it worries you. You call once you’re on the way, but he doesn’t answer. You can only hope he’s still there when you arrive at his office. Walking into the building, you're worried by the lack of lights on, but his secretary is packing up tiredly, and a faint light from his office door catches your eye. You find Ango practically buried under a stack of papers; he gives you an exhausted nod,

“Hello… I don’t think I’ll be out for another hour or two.” he sighs. You frown at him,

“Who the hell pushes all this to you anyway?” he doesn’t respond, just keeps typing away. You sit down across from him with a huff of frustration,

“You didn’t answer my call either. Thought you coulda’ died,” you mutter. He laughs incredulously,

“You have that little hope for me?” it makes you laugh a little too,

“Yep.” he takes his eyes off his laptop to look at you,

“Look, I… I’ll just finish this part and we can go. I’m sorry; I know we had plans.” you give him a sympathetic look,

“It’s okay. Thank you…”

You can tell he’s trying to get it done as fast as he can, typing furiously, a focused wrinkle to his brow. By the time he’s finished, however, it’s already dark. When he closes his laptop, you get excited to run over to grab his coat and hand it to him. He smiles to himself as you hurry over with it,

“Thank you.” 

“I’m just excited to get out of here.”

“I am too,” he says, reaching for your hand; you hold it tight.

“I have an idea,” you giggle,

“Hm?”

“Trust me.”

“Oh God,” he rolls his eyes in jest; he follows you closely anyway. He shivers and sneezes a bit when you get outside,

“Are you still sick?”

“I just can’t seem to shake it.” you sigh,

“Maybe some rest would do the trick.” You say flatly. As you walk, he wonders where you’re headed, but it only takes him a couple of turns to put two and two together. As you approach a familiar alleyway he smiles bittersweetly.

“Gonna order a tomato juice?” you smirk.

“I might switch it up tonight, who knows.”

“Well, it might be easier since you don’t have any secrets to keep.” he nods.

“Right?” you look at him expectantly.

“I may have a few more tricks up my sleeve,” he says, trying to act nonchalant. Walking down those stairs so happily is like a breath of fresh air. Sitting down, you take the same spots you used to; like usual, there aren’t many people. The barkeep must recognize the two of you, he seems to do a double take. You order your drinks and sit idly for a minute. He clears his throat a suspicious amount of times.

“Seriously, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says, punctuating his sentence by attempting to suppress his next cough.

“It’s cold tonight. Maybe you should’ve got a hot tea.”

“I’ll make some at home.”

He barely touches his drink when it arrives, maybe because he’s so busy staring at you. He knows you notice; he makes no effort to hide it.

“A toast?” he asks, holding his nearly full glass toward yours (half full),

“To what?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just wanted to.”

“To us?”

“To us.”

As always, he doesn’t hesitate to pay or shove any cash you attempt to take out right back at you. He is, after all, a man of consistency. He shivers again when you walk outside, wrapping himself tightly in his jacket. You pat his shoulder and rub it comfortingly. You think he’s cute, his cheeks red maybe not from just the cold, all bundled up in his coat,

“You’re cute.” his cheeks grow redder,

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he purses his lips and looks to the side, refusing to answer. You play with his sleeve idly, he looks down at where your fingers toy with it. He seems so much calmer than he did earlier. Your walk is calm and romantic, the cold air forces the two of you closer together; the ambiance of the city seems to make a melody. Arriving at his door, he sighs in relief,

“I’ll probably just take a bath and then go to sleep, sorry to disappoint,” he coughs again.

“You should call out tomorrow,” you say, unbuttoning his coat as he looks down, flustered.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” You hang his coat on its hook.

“Too much to get done.”

“Most of your work is on the computer, though. You could do it from home.” You walk into the kitchen comfortably, opening the fridge to examine its contents.

“They prefer to have me in the office.” he follows you in, coming to your side to watch as you investigate his groceries (or lack thereof).

“Ango, please, what’s one day?” You turn to him, closing the fridge with a subtle thud, and suddenly it crosses your mind to loosen his tie.

“It’ll be two this month.” you frown at him,

“Let me give them a call.”

“...No.”

“I can write you a doctor’s note!”

“No, please.” You put a hand on his forehead, he stares up at it,

“Yosano could write you one.” he sighs deeply but you don’t let him speak,

“I’ll call you out. You seem warm enough, you’re exhausted, you’re still coughing and sneezing. I mean, God, could you just take care of yourself? Just go lie down. I’ll run your bath.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Zip it.” You say as you untie his tie fully, “Go relax.” You kiss him on the cheek and, as if that was what convinced him, he makes a beeline for his bedroom without another word. You smile to yourself as he walks through the hall, trying his best to keep his posture presentable.

"Ango, would you want to join us for dinner too? You should take a break, you deserve it."

He pauses and stares awkwardly at the group, torn between telling them that "cute server" won't appreciate being hit on by their boyfriend's subordinates, or just saying he's busy. He chuckles, trying to fill the silence a bit,

"I can't, I'm sorry. I have a couple things to finish. But, I wouldn't recommend going through with your game."

They stared at each other awkwardly before one speaks up,

"Oh, why not?"

"I don't think their boyfriend would like it; I've seen them get picked up from work... it looks pretty serious."

Disappointed sighs sound throughout the room. As Ango buys his coffee the group discusses new dinner plans, and Ango walks back to his desk peacefully.

When his papers are finally organized and all he needed to do is done, Ango strolls down to your work, tired but happy all the same. When he walks in and hears the familiar chime sound, you're clearing off his usual spot. He lets the stress fall off his shoulders as he sits down, listening to the sounds of cups clinking and flames burning in the kitchen. The place is empty, as it always is when he's finally done with work. You bring him a water and sit down across from him after you send his order to the kitchen, thankful your boss lets you get out of your closing duties to spend time with him.

"Seen any guys from my office here recently?" he asks tentatively.

"A couple, I think. Why?"

"They were planning to have a competition. Who could get your number first." you raise a brow,

"Really?" you laugh, "Where'd you hear that?"

"The break room. Earlier they asked if I wanted to join them for dinner too."

"And what did you say?" you pry.

"I told them I was too busy..." he trails off, "And that I'd seen you with your boyfriend before."

you reach for his hand across the table,

"Were you jealous?" you tease,

"No." he answers suspiciously quickly,

"It's alright if you were."

"I'm not worried about them," he smiles and chuckles to himself. And, truly, he isn't worried. He trusts you in a way he hasn't trusted anyone for a long time. It's easy to sit there and hold your hand and convince himself that everything is okay. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

His dinner is gone as soon as it comes out and the two of you head home, walking close together, fingers locked, to combat the cold night air. He looks around at buildings you pass and streetlights that look like stars. His commute home always used to be so lonely. Nowadays, he can't remember the last time he felt like that. He stops walking.

"Ango?" you turn to face him, confused.

he stares at you in silence. he lets go of your hand,

"I've had this for a while," he starts softly, "I knew I'd need it, I just didn't know when."

"...Had what?" he reaches into his pocket, nervously pulling something out,

"This." he gets down on one knee.

The street is empty save for the two of you and some passing cars. The streetlights shine a warm light. You step back, laughing, your hands flying to cover your face. He begins to get nervous. Are you laughing because it's ridiculous he thinks you'd ever marry him? Because there's something on his face? He feels as though he's going to pass out, but he stutters his words out as best he can,

"Will you marry me?" Is all he can say, and he curses himself for it. How he wishes he could describe just how deeply in love he is with you. If only he had the words to describe the ways in which you've brightened his life. If he could only say something.

"Yes!" You blurt out, kneeling down to his level.

Now he really thinks he'll pass out.

"You're sure?" is all he can manage,

"I've never been more sure in my life." You say softly, your voice cracking as you hold back joyful tears.

He doesn't bother putting the ring on your finger before rushing to hug you. His arms wrap tightly around your back, and his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck. As he pulls away you take his face in your hands, kissing him desperately. He can't help but smile into it, lost in the way his cheeks hurt at how widely it spreads.

He lets go and kisses the back of your hand, a tried and true gentleman.

“...Yes?”

“Are you still at work?” he laughs tiredly,

“When am I not?”

“I’ll be there in, like, 10 minutes.”

“Oh. Okay… see you soon.”

You awkwardly exchange goodbyes as the train comes into the station. You can't help but tap your foot nervously against the floor as you stand in the crowded space. Why are you so nervous? It’s normal to go see him. He doesn’t feel weird about it, right? You suppose you’ll know when you get there. You’d visited his office a long time ago, only once. It’s a little tough relying on your memory, but it serves you well. You make no mistake remembering which floor and which ways to go. Checking in at the front desk, the secretary gives you a happy smile,

“He’s expecting you! Right this way.”

He smiles at you when you walk in; you always forget how big his office is. 

“I have things I need to finish, but feel free to sit down… what did you… come here for?” he tries not to sound so awkward.

“I was just here to say hi,” You laugh to yourself, “I’m sorry, you seem busy,” you mumble.

“It’s no problem. Did you need something?” he clears his throat; he sounds a little better than he did a few days ago, but no doubt he’s still a little sick.

“Are you seriously still sick?” he seems taken aback by the question.

“Um, a little, yes. My immune system isn’t the strongest.”

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, “have you been working all week?”

“Mhm.”

“Uh-huh.” you give him a knowing look.

“That’s just the way it has to be. I’m fine.”

“You’re working overtime. Again.”

“What of it?”

“It’s excessive.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Is it, though?” you give him a sympathetic look; he stands behind his desk holding a stack of papers, looking down at them contemplatively. He sighs,

“I… have a lot to do.” You look at him, disappointed. You walk towards him slowly, your posture welcoming and caring. 

“You’ve done enough,” you whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

He lets his head fall back and looks at the ceiling. He breathes in deeply,

“I can leave at 6:30. Stay if you’d like,” he says, slumping down into his seat. You keep your hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tense with stress. You decide to leave him alone and sit across from him, keeping yourself busy with your own tasks. 

Waiting for him is a true test of your patience. Punctual as ever, he starts to close everything up at 6:29. As he gathers his things, you get up and help him; you hurry towards his door and grab his coat, bringing it over to him. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, embarrassed.

“Don’t mention it.” You hold it open for him to slip his arms in. It feels so domestic, so loving. You spin him around and smooth the fabric down his chest. He stands stiff and awkward, not sure how to react. He stumbles over himself a bit,

“Thanks- Thank you,” he mumbles, swallowing hard.

“Mhm.” you hum proudly. As your hand falls down his chest, you resist the urge to interlock it with his. Instead, you hold your bag with both your hands to keep them busy.

“Ready?” you ask. He nods. The two of you stop at a convenience store on the way to the station for a quick bite,

“Are you coming to mine?” he asks hesitantly.

“If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” You nod. Most of your commute is silent, but it’s comfortable, and the two of you stand close to each other, relaxed. Arriving at his apartment, when he puts his bag down you take to his shoulders again, helping him out of his coat. As it did earlier, it flusters him; it’s cute. He sighs in relief when it’s off, watching drowsily as you hang it up.

“You don’t have to do that.” He says weakly.

“I don’t mind.” You smile and settle in. It’s easy to get comfortable; everything is still in the same place it’s always been. You lay back on his couch and watch as he walks toward the fridge,

“Want something to drink?”

“I’m okay, thanks.” he pours you water anyway. He walks over, his tired posture and stress looming over you; you can only imagine how it feels to him. He turns on the TV and falls back on the couch, not realizing how close he is to you. He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples, staring up at the ceiling. You hesitate, but swallow your nerves and make the first move,

“Your shoulders are so tense.” You say, placing a hand on the one closest to you. He relaxes a bit and embarrassment crosses his face,

“Aren’t they always,” He laughs,

“Well… yeah,” you mumble, slowly tracing your hand down his arm. He leans into your touch; it gives you confidence. When he turns to you, his eyes half-lidded, it doesn’t surprise you how easy it is to lean in. He kisses you with all the energy he can muster, his hand resting on your waist. As he pulls away, he sighs,

“You’re… beautiful.” not knowing what to say, you take him by the shirt collar and drag him to hover over you. Your heart swells with pride the redder his face gets,

“We shouldn’t. Not now- if that’s what you’re…,” he stutters,

“Oh, sorry. Sorry. Uhm, I get it.”

“I just, you’re in the middle of a lot right now. I don’t think it’s right for you.”

“That’s okay,” you reassure him, “I understand.”

“I, uh, figured you would. I’ll take a rain check,” he says with an awkward laugh. You laugh too,

“See you after work tomorrow though?” Ango asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Yeah.” you smile back.