#lexbarou

it's Barou day!!!! huge thanks to @bibbysstuff for a banger of a comm that ive been screaming about privately for the last week or so and forcing myself to save it for his birthday. Combining my two loves, resident evil and Shouei Barou, and it turned out so perfectly

“No, they’re in here.”

“You totally lost them for a moment,” you tease, grinning when he rolls his eyes while holding the two booklets up and giving them a shake. “Now that they’ve been found, can I get back to work?”

“Are you taking your work stuff with us?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Saves room in your backpack.”

It wouldn’t have been worthwhile to ask him if he seriously thought you’d work during your trip to meet his family, because he wasn’t asking from an unfounded place of curiosity. It was more common that you would bring your work laptop with you just in case your team needed you for some fire they couldn’t put out on their own, your own control issues in play more than anything else. But this time you were going to trust your team to be competent, not wanting to miss out on a moment with your Shoei and his family.

Maybe if all went well, he’d finally get what he wanted and you’d enjoy the feeling of not working and let him take care of you. 

But you also had to live together first. He spent a lot of time with you in your apartment, but you both still lived separately and you struggled with the idea of giving in to his need to be a provider when you didn’t live under the same roof. Was he supposed to pay your rent and his own while you weren’t generating real income? No. And you couldn’t expect to trust a man with your livelihood if you didn’t live with him. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” 

“When we might move in together.” The honest answer flows off your tongue easily, as you’ve had no reason to lie to him and he was keen on your tells so you couldn’t truly lie even if you had wanted to. “But we can get through seeing your family first before we figure that out.”

“You’d have to be willing to relocate if I get a new contract somewhere else.”

“Why would you want to be anywhere else?”

“A better offer would be the primary reason. I like things here, but that’s part of the sport.”

There were many realities to being a professional footballer that he’d taught you, and many more for you to learn along the way. Of course you knew from reading articles or hearing others chat about the contracts of their favorites expiring and where they would go next. It was never a concern to you, well, not until you were seriously dating a professional footballer and thinking about moving in together. 

“You wouldn’t do long distance?”

“I don’t necessarily want to,” he starts, zipping up his backpack and setting it down. “But it’s about more than just me; so while I have a preference, that’s not the end of the discussion. This also is something we should talk more about after we get back. We’ve got months to figure it all out.”

That was true, and it’s very relaxing to know that you didn’t have to work out the solution immediately. Your lease ended in the summer and so did his, providing a definitive end date that would prevent either of you from dragging it out longer than necessary and giving you confidence that it wouldn’t get pushed to the back burner. You didn’t have to fight to figure it out right now, nor did you need to keep a lingering cloud over your head with an unfinished discussion creating unnecessary tension on your holiday. There was time to figure it all out and come to a solution that was agreeable — time to figure out if you wanted to trust him with your lifestyle at this stage in your relationship. 

“When do you want to leave for the airport?”

“Car is getting us at five. We should land in Japan in the afternoon if our connecting flight isn’t delayed.”

“Do delays happen often when you’re trying to get home?”

“Weather can get pretty tricky, I’ve only had it happen once though.”

— 

He had only had a delay happen once, he said. 

Once. 

It was clear that he didn’t know what to do in the event of a delay by the way he put his head in his hands at what was the third gate your flight had been moved to since you’d arrived at the airport a couple hours ago. You were tired, in desperate need of coffee and a walk to wake yourself up more, so you stand from your seat beside your dejected boyfriend and place a gentle hand on his shoulder to fully capture his attention. 

Your sweet Shoei looks tired, with a frown set on his lips that just barely tips upwards when you give him your own smile. He was definitely feeling this hard, as he prided himself on being a planner and probably beating himself up over not having a plan for a delayed flight that prevented you from making your connecting flight into Japan, but this was where you came in to save him from himself. 

“I’m gonna go grab a coffee, but I also need your phone.”

“Can you get me a tea? Green—“

“With a little bit of honey. I got you.” Your assurance is followed with a kiss, short and sweet given your location in a crowded airport terminal. “Keep an eye on my Barou-bubu.”

“I’ll protect him with my life.” 

He’d want to, considering the plush keychain you’d gotten custom clothes for to match his team uniform was probably worth more than the luxury brand bag it was attached to for the sole reason that it was yours. It was worth more to you purely because it was a gift from him, enabling your desire for a silly material object and protesting not once when you wanted it dressed like him and paid someone to make the clothes so it could match his uniform. 

As you walk to the coffee stand you’re chatting with a live agent on his airline app, trying to figure out exactly when you could get to Japan. It wasn’t an issue of your weather, but rather the weather where your original plane was coming from so there had to be other options available to get you to Japan. 

The result comes as you finally receive the two cups, confirmations and tickets for your new flight that would be taking off in a couple of hours as well as confirmation that you both had access to one of the exclusive airport lounges to sit in while you waited. One less thing for him to be worrying about, and you’re happy to tell him as much when you hand him his tea. 

“You’re pretty amazing sometimes,” he praises as he stands, leaning in to extend the handle of your carry for you before stealing a chaste kiss. “Thanks for handling all that.“

“It’s my job,” you assure with a smile, adjusting your grip on your suitcase handle as you start to walk towards the private lounge. “We’ll address the ‘sometimes’ part of your statement later.”

“Can’t wait.”

The lounge was exactly what you needed it to be for both of you. Considerably calmer than the bustling terminal full of travelers en route to their destinations; free of agitated and anxious travelers talking to gate agents about missed or delayed flights, overwhelmed children and their (in some cases equally overwhelmed) parents, away from the crowded restaurants and long lines at the cafes. The lights were dimmer, the chairs plush and kinder on your body that was beginning to ache after switching from gate to gate over the last few hours you’d been at the airport. 

It was nice to see him relax, carefully sipping at his tea as he scrolled through his socials. You’d been on the same page of your book for about five minutes, much more interested in watching him relax after the most stressful morning of the last few weeks. 

“Can you be helped?”

“Is it illegal to look?”

“Look? Or stare?”

“How about admire?” you offer with a smile, letting him pull your chair closer to his and grateful that it didn’t make a horrendous sound against the flooring as he did. It wasn't the best kickoff to your vacation, but it could’ve been significantly worse so you were going to enjoy the quiet of the lounge with him. 

There was always a level of anxiety attached with going somewhere new, trying a new thing, or meeting new people. In this case, this trip for the holiday was a mixture of all three with you meeting his sisters, celebrating Christmas and New Year’s with him and his family, and staying at his childhood home for the first time. You’d met his parents previously at a match, it was nice to see that Shoei was every bit his mother’s son and refreshing that she was not the nightmare “boy mom” that spouses complain about on social media, and she adored you (his words, not yours), so there was an easement of the anxiety– but not enough to quell your nerves completely because you hadn’t yet met his sisters in person. They would be your final test, because he loved those girls more than anything else on this planet, and you would stress yourself out until you’d earned their favor. 

But your nerves skyrocket when you walk through the front door behind your boyfriend and hear nothing aside from his movement of your bags through the front entryway. Where was everyone? And why wasn’t he concerned by the quiet house? Was it always this quiet in the Barou house?

“They’re out of town for the next couple days for some thing my dad has going on,” he states, as if sensing the question formulating in your head. “But they’ll be home before New Year’s.”

“They didn’t know we’d be coming so early?”

“They did, this was more last minute on their end. My mom wasn’t happy.”

You nod at the explanation, getting out of your shoes and accepting the slippers he’s handing you from a chest by the door. But then you fully register that second sentence and pause– his mom wasn’t happy?

“Why wouldn’t she be happy to get out of town for a bit?”

“Doesn’t want to miss out on time with her future daughter in law.” You look over from the family picture featuring a younger version of the man you’re dating, only to see that he’s unperturbed by the fact that his mom has already decided he’d be marrying you. “I think she’s more excited to see you and learn more about what Christmas is for you than she is to see me.”

“That’s not nerve wracking at all,” you joke, spotting another picture of a significantly younger version of your boyfriend missing at least one tooth and carefully tapping on it. “But will she send me a copy of this?”

“I’m not allowing that.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” you mutter under your breath, following behind him as he gives you the tour of the house. The layout would be easy to remember, and you sit in the chair at his desk as you watch him go about unpacking both of your suitcases. Your request to help was shot down, which was to be expected, but you do appreciate that he sets out a change of clothes for you before suggesting you shower to scrub the long travel days off.

You just were too distracted by your toiletries and figuring out where the towels were that you had forgotten to grab the clothes to put on in the bathroom. Not the end of the world, he’d seen you naked many times before, so being wrapped in a towel when you returned to the bedroom shouldn’t have been a big deal– especially since you both were the only two in the house for a couple of days. He’s still organizing your things in his bedroom when you return and you can only stop to watch him from the doorway as it looked like he was trying to find a good spot for your makeup and jewelry box. 

He was so particular about things and it was very cute, but took a bit of getting used to. A good portion of men your age would curse the washing machine as some sort of evil sorcery and saw no issue with having their mattress on the floor, but your Shoei was something special. Respected every space he was in as if it were his own and left everything better than it had been when he got there, extending the care he had for his own belongings to yours but tenfold. You fear he’d likely ruined you for any partner after, but it sounded like he was pretty serious about you so you were trusting that you wouldn’t have to try to accomplish the impossible in finding another like him. 

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Couple minutes, I think,” you respond with a smile, pushing off the doorframe and taking your makeup bag from his hands. “Would it clutter the bathroom up too much?”

“I had a mirror shipped here so you wouldn’t have to fight us all for time in the bathroom to get ready,” he says, his eyes laser-focused on your face while his hands settle on his hips after a couple seconds of uncertain movements at his sides. He was still so respectful despite the progression of your relationship, it was cute. “I was planning on turning my desk into a makeshift vanity for you but the mirror isn’t here yet, which kinda messed up my plan.”

“I think you need to shower and relax,” you state, reaching back to drop the bag onto his desk and using your now free hands to cup his cheeks. “Scrub the germs of the public off of you and then we can make some food or something.”

“You don’t want to go out?”

“Tomorrow is fine. You look exhausted, Sho.”

His shoulders relax at your comment, as if waiting for you to tell him he was tired to allow him to actually be tired. You could understand his desire to be alert and present for you, this was his house in his home country and his culture that you were relying on him to guide you through when your intermediate Japanese skills weren’t enough. But here and now, you were safe with him and him alone – and you were more than happy to remind him to lower his guard for you both while you were alone. 

“Here,” he starts, pulling his phone from his back pocket and quickly typing something to bring up a website for a restaurant. “Order some dinner for us. You know what I eat.”

“You trust my Japanese that much?”

“I do, but you can also translate the page.” You elect to ignore the way your cheeks heat up at the reminder of such a basic feature offered by the web browser, but he says nothing more about it and simply kisses your forehead before leaving you to go shower. 

His bed is firm with a little bounce to it when you drop yourself onto it while scrolling through the restaurant’s menu, with a hint of a squeak in the springs that you notice when you make a few adjustments to get more onto the pillows. Adding his dinner to the cart and a little dessert for you to share was easy, but you're stumped when it comes to selecting a meal for yourself. It was common for you to share plates so you didn’t want to get what he was getting, but there were so many good options that decision paralysis kicked in faster than you would’ve expected, leaving you to scroll through the options repeatedly while still wrapped in just a towel on your boyfriend’s bed. 

“You didn’t get dressed?”

“I don’t know what I want to eat,” you whine, looking away from the phone and pouting up at him as he approaches. He’s also wearing just a towel, wrapped snugly around his waist and putting his muscular body on display. You hand his phone over when he holds his hand out, mumbling “too many options” to explain your current predicament while sitting up to start dressing yourself. 

It takes him only a minute to scroll through the options before picking something, paying, and tossing his phone onto the bed to free his hands, and you refrain from asking him what he’d picked for you as you slide your panties up your legs. He did pick out cute things for you to wear, so trusting him with your dinner choice also didn’t feel like it would be a terrible idea. You look over as he loosens his towel, allowing you to watch in admiration as the muscles in his back and legs flex with his movements to dry off before pulling his briefs on. 

“You’re staring.”

“Admiring, actually,” you correct, breaking eye contact for only a moment to pull your shirt over your head. His cheeks are pink, but that only makes him more endearing as he gets his sweatpants on and tells you to get dressed before you catch a cold. “How long before food arrives?”

“Probably half an hour.” You nod, continuing to dress before letting him pull you to your feet, only to be surprised by him throwing you over his shoulder to carry you down the stairs. 

You’re gently deposited on the couch before you’re handed the remote to the television, assured that you could put on whatever you wanted as he sat beside you. You shift more to sit in his lap, resting your head against his shoulder while you look for the drama you’d been watching with him. It seems like he’s not sure what to do with his hands; with one idly rubbing your side while the other just taps along your leg, his fingers walking along your shin while you continue to scroll. 

“The kanji seems different on this TV than on ours,” you murmur, looking up at him with a smile as he hums. “Probably a localization thing, like consoles made for different regions. TVs would be the same, no?”

“That’s potentially accurate, but you can use voice search.”

“That’s going to be like using your phone, and I’m too tired to be bullied for my accent by a piece of technology.” That earns you a chuckle, his larger hand pulling the remote from yours so he could speak into it to find your show of choice. This stills his hands, giving him something to focus on other than the fact that you were in his childhood home for the first time and about to meet his family, but that hadn’t gone exactly to plan so far. 

In addition to your original flight being delayed enough to require you to need a different connecting flight, the car service he’d requested lost his reservation requiring you to take the train then a taxi driven by a lecherous old man who spoke a bit too fast for you to keep up but you could make out some commentary about foreign girls being easy to take advantage of, then to top it all off his family wasn’t home when you got to the house. He was serious about you and wanted you to want to come back to his home country with him, so you could understand him potentially being nervous that this put a sour spot in your memories to make you hesitate to return to Japan afterwards. 

What he wasn’t understanding was that this was your best case scenario; being allowed the time to privately acclimate to this new environment without multiple sets of analyzing eyes following your every move — just his. And while all of the issues with your trip hadn’t been ideal – did any traveling around the holidays go according to plan? 

You were just better prepared to make the best of it rather than let it bother you. 

After dinner you find yourself back on the couch, watching as your boyfriend sifts through the various video games that had been collected by the entertainment center. Most of them belonged to his sisters, but you’re confident the many years of FIFA titles belonged to him— even if this was a new side of him that you hadn’t yet explored. 

“I didn’t know you were into video games,” you comment, looking at his phone when it vibrated but ignoring when you saw it wasn’t someone from his family messaging him. He could deal with that later. 

“Only the sports ones. I tried a shooter game and it was too easy to be fun, and I don’t have as much time now to try to get back into them.” 

“You could’ve gone pro,” you say, half in jest but also amazed that he thought they were “too easy”. “Gamers kill for reflexes like yours.”

“Perfect for football.”

“Yeah, true. But did you ever try, like, Animal Crossing or other lifestyle games?”

“My sisters like those. The music was good for studying so I’d watch them play while I did homework.”

Cute, you muse, smiling at him when he looks back at you but offering nothing else to the conversation except a yawn that you cover with the collar of your shirt. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Do you wanna head to bed?”

“Only if you’re coming with me.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice, it feels like he’s in front of you and helping you to your feet before you could blink, then hoisting you over his shoulder to carry you up the stairs. Your first stop is the bathroom, and you find comfort in the normalcy that comes with washing your face and brushing your teeth with him by your side. Different bathroom, same routine, even if he’s standing close enough in the small bathroom that your elbow consistently knocks into him as you do. 

“Did you guys ever fight for the bathroom?”

“Schedule,” is all he says, tapping on the small whiteboard that still hangs there with the names of the three Barou children printed neatly with their designated time slots. “And no, I never took the longest. My sisters are much more particular about their hair than I am.”

“So it runs in the family.”

“And you’ll fit right in.”

That brings you a comfort that you didn’t know you needed as you follow him to his bedroom, and you’re smiling as you get comfortable in his bed with his chest pressed to your back and his arms tight around your waist. 

“Comfortable?” The question comes with a kiss to your crown, and you hum an affirmative response while pressing yourself back against him. “Thanks for coming with me. Sorry it got off to a rough start.”

“I think one of the true tests of a relationship is how you handle the airport and all that comes with air travel,” you comment, tilting your head back to see him better. “I think I’d let you lead me through any airport after this trip.”

“Thanks for trusting me with your passport.”

“D’you trust me with yours?”

“Undecided.”

“Fucker.”

The only response he has is a sleepy chuckle, deep in his chest and vibrating against your back. He doesn’t have to remind you to go to sleep, you’re already starting to fade into your own dreamland with him not too far behind. 

The following day has you walking hand in hand through the town your boyfriend grew up in, pointing out the various convenience stores that sell the sponges he likes and the schools he went to. It wasn’t how either of you had intended to spend Christmas Eve, but he was quite the tour guide when he put in the effort and you liked getting to know him in this way. Anyone could google where he went to school growing up, but you were getting a special tour of his life how he saw it and that was unique to this day you were spending with him. 

Even as he fussed about the falling snow and making sure you were still warm, not too tired, and okay with the amount of walking you’d been doing, the day stayed special and you had a nice collection of pictures to commemorate this day of your relationship. 

“Shoei,” you mumble over your scarf, giving his hand a squeeze to better get his attention while you wait at a crosswalk. “I love you.”

“Where’d that come from?”

“My heart, asshole!”

“No, no, I know,” he defends, giving your hand a squeeze as you start to cross the street. “We were just talking about the KFC my mom pre-ordered for tomorrow and then you’re telling me you love me.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking about the last couple of days and I don’t think I’ve told you lately.”

“You flew halfway across the world to meet my family, I know you love me.“

“Yeah, but—“ You cut yourself off, looking away from him when he raises an eyebrow as you enter the park. “Nevermind.”

Displays of emotions were a place where you always seemed to be on a different page than your boyfriend. Where you liked to verbalize, he preferred to let his actions speak for him. It wasn’t unusual for you to tell him that you loved him only to feel stupid when he just responded with something akin to Han Solo’s “I know”— only not intentionally a reference because he hadn’t seen a Star Wars movie. You knew he loved you, a man wouldn’t bring someone he didn’t love to a foreign-to-them country to meet his family after over a year of on-off dating unless he was serious about the relationship, but just once you’d like to hear him say that he loved you back without the back and forth that sometimes made you feel like you were begging for the validation. That had maybe happened once, before you had sex with him for the first time and he was overexplaining why he was finally comfortable doing so, but every other time it was almost like pulling teeth. Definitely a love language barrier, but not one either of you had actively tried to break down. 

“No.” He says into the cold air, so softly you barely picked it up over the sounds of others around you. 

“No, what?”

“No ‘nevermind’.” Large gloved hands carefully turn you to face him, and you look up at him only because you knew he wouldn’t talk to you until you were looking him in the eye. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He’s got that furrow in his brow that he gets when he’s worried, and with how he was holding your shoulders you know only one truth: there’s no getting out of this without talking to him. 

You could request a more private arena than the very public park, but that would only prolong the inevitable and make you more susceptible to crying when you tried to explain it because now he was worried and the wait would only make you more anxious. It also didn’t feel fair to make him wait for an answer when he was worried, especially when he didn’t do anything wrong. 

“It’s just that you never, like, just say it back. And, yeah, I know you love me because you brought me here and told me so much about it but–“

“But you want me to tell you.” He finishes for you, carefully cradling your cheeks in his hands to keep your gaze on his when your eyes get watery. 

“And sometimes I feel like it’s stupid that I want you to say it because I know you love me, I don’t doubt it. It would just be nice to hear it and not feel like I’m fishing for it.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” he murmurs, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I love you, and I'll be better.”

You kiss him without thinking about it, you feel the smile on his lips as they meet yours. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper as you pull back. “See? It’s not that hard.”

“Alright, I get it. Let’s get some pictures here for your Instagram so we can go home and make dinner.”

“What are we cooking?”

“My mom got a couple steaks, she’s worried they’ll go bad so I told her we’d eat them.”

“You’re a good son, a good boyfriend, a good footballer,” you list, handing over your phone as he stops you in front of a decorated tree. “What aren’t you good at?”

“Apparently telling you that I love you.” His tease earns an eye roll, but you trust that it’s good natured solely because he didn’t waste time on being petty.

Most of the time. 

When he started giving you instructions in Japanese specifically after the giggles of some nearby girls could be heard, you knew there was a reason and that reason was specifically to make sure they knew you also spoke the language. You’d initially chosen to ignore them, something about taking the high road while being a visitor in his home town and wanting to preserve his image and the images of his family — he clearly didn’t give a shit. Once you respond in his native tongue and request your phone back for a couple selfies the group has found other things that need their attention besides the foreigner with a hot boyfriend, leaving you to look through your photos in peace as said hot boyfriend rubs your back through your coat. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, looking up at him as he scoffs. “Seriously! I was okay pretending not to speak Japanese!”

“I did have to do that,” he retorts as he starts to lead you out of the park, sparing one last look over his shoulder. “Nobody talks to you or about you like that. The only reason I didn’t say anything is because you didn’t look upset. If you did look upset I’d be in the news tonight for making some girls cry.”

“I’d be more upset about having to put in hours as your unofficial social media manager trying to fix it.”

“I’d handle it. Probably make it worse before it gets any better but you shouldn’t have to clean up my messes.”

“Even when they’re made in my honor?”

“Especially then. I’ll own my actions from start to finish.”

—-

Upon arriving back at his house, you see that while you were out a large box had been delivered— likely the mirror he’d ordered to create a makeshift vanity for you in his bedroom. He acts immediately, trading his shoes for his slippers so he could carry it up the stairs and finish making this house a home for you for the remainder of your stay. While he did that you went through the fridge, pulling out the steaks that his mother didn’t want to have go bad while she was away from home and taking out the broccoli and carrots — and a beer while you were at it. 

Your hands are steady as they prepare the vegetables, washing and cutting them as if you were in your own home using your kitchen tools. Things were very easy to find because your boyfriend organized his kitchen the same way his parents had, the additional insight into how and why he did some things which made you smile as you think about how being in his home with his family would shine a bright light on how he became the man you loved so dearly. 

By the time he’s finished with his task, your beer is half gone and the meat and vegetables are cooking on the stovetop. Music plays from your phone, soft Christmas-themed instrumentals to keep your mood light and festive despite the lack of decor in the Barou family home. 

Large hands settle on your hips; slowly moving around until your back is flush against his chest and he’s looking over your shoulder into the pan in front of you. The intimacy of the moment is not lost on you and something you wish you could capture somewhere other than your memories, but you know that this is a moment you’ll hang onto forever. Just like Shouei Barou was a man you were going to hang onto forever. 

“You think we can do this forever?” 

The question is mumbled into your hair, just barely audible over the sound of your music but it echoes in your ears. 

“Do what?”

“Be together.” There was a lot of vulnerability packed into those two words, and you’re sure he’d been waging a war with himself in the buildup to asking you this question. Likely since you’d mentioned moving in together a couple days ago, but it could’ve been sparked prior to that conversation. “I think we can, and I want to.” 

“Then let’s do this forever.”

“That a proposal?”