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“Can you pass me the milk?” Mirai asks you as you’re rummaging through the fridge. You grab the milk carton and hand it to him wordlessly. He hums his thanks in response and sets it down on the counter. “Having trouble finding something?”
“I thought I still had one more rice pudding cup left,” you mumbled, closing the fridge unceremoniously. You stand up, watching Mirai stir together dry ingredients in a pot on the stove and then measure out a cup and a half of milk.
“Why do you need rice pudding? We’re making breakfast,” he teases lightly as he flicks on the burner. He grabs a whisk and begins stirring a small amount of milk into the pot.
“Cooking is going to take forever,” you complain, “My stomach craves food now.”
“This is going to take thirty minutes tops. Impatience will only make it longer,” he shoots back. You groan and walk over to the stove, settling yourself behind Mirai, tucking your chin over his shoulder, and winding your arms around his waist.
“I just wanted my rice pudding,” you sigh and peer down into the pot as Mirai continues stirring in more milk, little by little. “Where did my rice pudding go?” you whine.
“Oh, I ate it,” you hear Shota’s voice from the doorway. Your head whips around.
“You fiend!” you cry as you extract yourself from Mirai and turn on Shota with an accusatory finger leveled at his chest. “I demand repayment.”
“I’ll run to the store tomorrow,” he says agreeably. Then he takes a few slow steps toward you. “I’ll make sure to get it to you before patrol.”
“Fine,” you sigh, crossing your arms in defiance. “I guess that’s acceptable.” Shota crowds your space and slowly leans in.
“Anything for you,” he whispers before kissing your cheek softly. You blush.
“Whatever,” you mumble as you wrap your arms around Shota and receive your first morning hug from the sleepy man. “I’ll survive until then.” Shota smiles and gives you a small squeeze.
“Can someone grab the biscuits from the freezer? It’s almost time for them to go in,” Mirai calls to the two of you. You release your vice grip on Shota and walk over to the freezer, pulling out the drawer and grabbing the plastic bag.
“Which pan are we putting them on?” you ask.
“They have to be pressed together when they bake so perhaps a smaller one.”
“Got it.” You snatch a pan out of the cabinet and rip open the biscuits, arranging them neatly. “Is the oven done preheating?”
“Give it another minute and I’ll pop them in,” Mirai says. You nod.
“I’m making coffee, how many cups do you guys want?” Shota asks as he shuffles over to the cupboard and rifles through the varying coffee beans.
“I’ll have two,” Mirai calls over his shoulder.
“Not four?” Shota deadpans. Mirai turns around to stare at Shota, who is leveling an even gaze at the taller man, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Because how I remember it, you always end up stealing at least one of my cups.”
“Then three. Happy?” Mirai snaps back, “Now get over here already,” he adds impatiently. Shota smirks and steps closer, allowing Mirai to grab him and ruffle his hair playfully. “Your bedhead is atrocious.”
“Messing it up more won’t fix it, genius.”
This earns him more ruffles and a small kiss on the top of his head. Mirai releases him, turning his attention back to the pot, and Shota resumes making coffee. You lean back against the counter and watch the two men busying themselves. Their small movements and mannerisms are so familiar and comforting, and warmth quickly blossoms in your chest.
“How many cups did you want Y/N?” Shota calls over to you, sparing you a warm glance over his shoulder.
“Just two should be fine,” you reply. His stare doesn’t falter. “...Or three?” you add skeptically.
“I’m just going to make a full pot and we’ll figure it out,” Shota says with a sigh. You can’t help the small laughter that bubbles up inside, and a quick glance at Mirai reveals his own shoulders shaking slightly with amusement.
When Mirai opens the oven, the room warms by a few degrees, and you sigh appreciatively. He pops the biscuits in and returns his attention to the pot.
“The gravy’s done, but I’ll keep it on low heat until the biscuits come out,” he says absentmindedly.
“What kind of gravy is it?” Shota asks as he finishes pouring the water into the reservoir of the coffee maker and replaces the pot. Mirai turns and smiles at the two of you.
“It’s Christmas, so naturally it’s chocolate gravy.”
“You two and your sweet tooths will be the death of me,” Shota grumbles. He clicks the button to turn on the coffee maker and shuffles over to stand next to Mirai. “Scoot over.”
“Here for the oven heat?” Mirai jokes. Shota elbows him but still leans slightly against his side.
“Something like that.”
You smile as you watch the two of them press against one another and hum contentedly. The coffee maker whirrs to life and joins the low hum of kitchen appliances.
While the biscuits finish up, Mirai fills his time by scrambling some eggs and warming up some vegetarian breakfast sausages. The sizzling and popping of the oil is music to your ears. You’re practically salivating just from the noise.
“We can’t have just sugar and carbs for breakfast,” Mirai insists.
“Says the man who has a cup of coffee at 6 am and nothing to eat until 3 pm,” Shota shoots back.
“You’re one to talk,” Mirai snorts as he divides the eggs and sausage evenly and slides them onto three plates. “It’s a miracle you don’t die of dehydration from how low your water intake is.”
“If I let you watch me drink an entire cup of water every morning will you get off my case?” Shota asks only half kidding. A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. Mirai turns off the oven and removes the biscuits, placing the pan on a cooling rack.
“Give these just a minute to cool down,” Mirai says wiping his hands off.
“Coffee’s ready,” Shota announces. He already has three mugs lined up and is pouring one of them nearly to the brim with black coffee. You take the pot after him and only fill your cup up three-fourths of the way. Mirai only fills his half.
Shota pours the smallest amount of milk possible into the dark liquid, barely lightening the color at all, and then passes the milk to Mirai. He fills the other half of his cup completely, turning it a milky light brown, then passes it to you. You scoop three heaping spoonfuls of sugar into your mug and mix it thoroughly before adding a moderate amount of milk. Both men roll their eyes at you fondly.
“Their sweet tooth beats mine by a landslide,” Mirai jokes with Shota. You smile.
“That’s not the only thing I can beat you at,” you challenge. “My arrest rate-”
“-Might be impressive, if you didn’t force the paperwork on your partners so you can take naps,” Mirai shoots back sarcastically. Heat rises to your face and you disguise it poorly by sipping your coffee.
“Whatever,” you scoff.
“Let’s get our plates and move to the living room,” Mirai suggests. You all take turns picking your biscuits and laddeling the dark chocolatey gravy onto them, then file into the living room. The TV is already on, humming low Christmas tunes in the small space and bringing warmth to the room.
You put your plate on the coffee table and take a seat on a floor pillow. Mirai and Shota sit shoulder to shoulder on the opposite side of the table. Mirai passes out the utensils and gives you both a small smile.
“Merry Christmas,” he says warmly.
“And happy Friday, we can sleep in the whole weekend,” Shota added happily. You smile for a moment, and then your heart skips a beat.
“Wait- today is Friday?”
“Yes, and yesterday was Thursday-” Shota deadpans sarcastically. You reach over and shove his shoulder lightly.
“Which means we were supposed to do our shots yesterday, Shota! ” You watch the realization dawn on his face as Mirai nearly breaks into a fit of laughter.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” you echo Shota. “We can do it after we finish eating,” you add. Then you spear a piece of egg with your fork and finally begin chewing the food. It’s calm while the three of you enjoy the food Mirai has cooked. He always wakes up the earliest and insists he likes cooking, so you know to let him take the reins in the kitchen.
When all three plates are empty, Shota stacks them and rises to go to the kitchen.
“I’ll start heating up the water for your shots,” Mirai says, “The testosterone is still in the same spot, right?”
“No, it’s still in their bathroom on the counter from last week. Y/N got sidetracked putting it away-”
“If you knew it was there you could’ve put it away yourself!” you say incredulously.
“That felt like too much effort,” he says tiredly. You roll your eyes.
“The needles and syringes are in the same spot,” you tell Mirai as he disappears down the hall. Shota washes the dishes quietly as you wipe down the table and kitchen counter.
“Alright, get in here,” Mirai calls from the bathroom. You and Shota stand outside the door and share a look.
“Best two out of three?” he asks quietly so Mirai can’t hear.
“You’re on,” you whisper back.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” you both whisper in time. He beats your paper with scissors.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” You beat his scissors with rock. He narrows his eyes at you.
“Rock, paper, s-”
“If one of you is ready to act like an adult and let me stab you-”
You beat his scissors with rock again. He sighs.
“You gotta stop it with the triple scissors,” you laugh. He rolls his eyes at you and pushes the door open to reveal Mirai standing with his arms crossed.
“Are you two finished with your childish game?” he asks with an eyebrow raised in judgment. Shota waves a hand dismissively and steps into the bathroom.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Shota huffs out as he takes a seat on the edge of the toilet and rolls up his shorts. You watch them go through the motions and finish his shot without any hiccups. There’s no bleeding and the bandaid Shota had picked is stuck on gently. It’s a silly children’s bandaid with characters from a popular show you constantly get ads for. Everyone in the house hates them, which is why you had to buy them. They really should stop leaving you in charge of buying medical supplies. They should know better by now.
“You’re up,” Shota pats you on the shoulder as he exits the bathroom. You sigh and step inside, taking a seat.
“Which bandaid do you want?” Mirai asks as he offers you the small box. You smile and pull out a brightly colored one victoriously. “Ah, yes, the biggest eyesore. Why am I surprised?” He shakes his head in resignation and wipes the side of your leg with an alcohol wipe.
You smile and watch as Mirai draws the viscous liquid into the syringe and switches the needles. He turns to you, placing one hand on your thigh to steady himself.
“Ready?” he asks. You nod and look away.
You can never watch the needle actually going in.
“Done,” Mirai says happily. You turn back and see his warm smile beaming up at you. You can’t help but smile back. When you glance down at your leg you see the bandaid already on it.
“Thanks,” you say, voice heavy with relief.
“Any time,” he replies kindly. You both stand and exit the bathroom.
“Now,” Shota says, “Who’s ready to open some presents?”