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Dec 18, 2018

synchronicity (jokenight/midjoke)

Summary:

The cruise is Emi’s idea, and she surprises Nemuri with tickets on Christmas eve.

Nemuri and Emi finally have a day off, and they both intend to make it a memorable one.

Notes: This is my gift for @vvhimsi written for the @bnhafemslashss. The prompt was jokenight on a fancy date, and I had such a great time writing it! They’re an amazing rarepair and I can’t believe I’ve never considered this pairing before this event, but now I’ve seen the light. I hope I did them justice!

(read on ao3)

The cruise is Emi’s idea, and she surprises Nemuri with tickets on Christmas eve.

“It’ll be fun!” She says, pouring more egg mixture into the pan. “I think. I’ve never actually been on a cruise before.”

Nemuri’s still half asleep, waiting for her coffee to finish brewing. She shuffles forward to rest her head on Emi’s shoulder, her arms winding their way around Emi’s waist. “Me neither,” she murmurs into the juncture of Emi’s neck. Emi’s warm and the aroma of melting butter is stronger this close to the stove; Nemuri could stay like this forever.

“No time like the present to change that, right? Plus, Aizawa says it’s romantic,” Emi says thoughtfully, twisting her free hand behind her to squeeze Nemuri’s waist.

Emi’s comment, along with the beep of the coffee maker, goes a long way in waking Nemuri up. Ghosting a quick kiss across Emi’s cheek, she moves over to grab two fresh mugs from the dish rack.

“Since when do you take romantic advice from Aizawa?” She asks, adding cream and sugar to Emi’s coffee, and just sugar to her own.

“He did get married before most of our friend group, so I figure he must know something,” is Emi’s reply as she plates the eggs.

“That’s fair…” Nemuri mumbles, distracted by the talk of marriage. As she moves around Emi, setting their drinks and cutlery down onto the breakfast bar, Nemuri’s thoughts are on the little ring box, now tucked away in a drawer in her office. While she loves living with her girlfriend, she’s come to find that it’s impossible to hide surprises from her in their home, where there’s very little distinction between what’s Emi’s and what’s hers. Case in point: Emi’s currently padding around the kitchen in Nemuri’s fuzzy slippers, and Nemuri’s wearing Emi’s pajama pants. It’s one of Nemuri’s favorite things about living with Emi, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.

But this particular surprise is important, and Nemuri wants it to be special.

They’ve discussed marriage before, in the six years that they’ve been together, so Nemuri knows this is something they both want. She just hasn’t found the right time yet.

But, like Emi had said earlier, there’s no time like the present.

Nemuri’s a little skeptical about the cruise. But it’s the first day in ages where neither one of them has work or a patrol shift, and she’s excited despite herself. If anything, it means having at least three uninterrupted hours alone with her girlfriend.

And it’s Christmas Eve. Really, she can’t think of a better chance than this.

“Babe?” Emi says, bumping her hip. “You okay?” There’s a line between her usually smooth brows and errant crumbs by the left side of her lips, right where her dimple would be if she were smiling.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking—what time do we have to board?” She says, reaching out to swipe at the crumbs with her thumb. Emi catches her hand and laces their fingers together.

“Seven, but we should probably be there by six forty-five? There’s also a dress code apparently. Smart casual, that’s like a step below formal, right? I’m not sure what to wear…”

Nemuri can’t help the fond smile that works its way across her face. “You’re really looking forward to this, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. We’ve been so busy the past few months, between your new first years and setting up my agency-” Emi waves her free hand, nearly knocking her coffee cup over. Nemuri moves it away without taking her eyes off Emi’s face. “You’ve been really patient with me, and I’m just really looking forward to spending the whole of today with you. I wanted our time off together to be extra special, y’know?”

Emi’s always been known for her playful humour, not so much for her candour. Maybe it’s due to the nature of her quirk, but people sometimes find it difficult to determine whether she’s being serious.

Nemuri, however, has the privilege of her honesty.

Emi’s doused in the pale morning sunlight spilling through their windows and it turns her eyes into emeralds. Faced with the undivided weight of her earnest sincerity this early in the day, it takes all of Nemuri’s self-control that’s not already dedicated to fighting off the cling of sleep to stop herself from proposing to Emi right then and there in their kitchen without a ring.

“Just spending time with you is special enough,” she says instead, her thumb rubbing circles into Emi’s hand.

Emi grins. “So what you’re saying is my presence is, in itself, a present.”

Nemuri rolls her eyes, hides her smile behind another sip of coffee. She finally lets go of Emi’s hand so they can sit down to eat.

“I’ll have to stop by the office later,” she says around a bite of egg. “A few of my students are panicking over their grades and I don’t want them worrying about it over Christmas so I’m just going to upload their marks early.” It’s a partial truth—her students are really pestering her about their grades, but she’s planning on letting them stew for awhile longer.

“Sure, I’ve gotta drop in on the agency for a bit. One of the interns had an issue with uh, the security system.”

Emi’s an awful liar, for all that most people can never tell when she’s actually being serious, so it’s blatantly obvious—to Nemuri, at least—whenever she tries to. Nemuri raises a brow.

“Security system?”

“Uh huh,” Emi replies noncommittally, before changing the subject back to their dinner cruise that evening. Nemuri humors her and doesn’t press the issue. Emi would tell her if it’s anything serious. Besides, it’s impossible not to get swept up in the whirlwind of Emi’s enthusiasm, and Nemuri’s quickly distracted by their plans for the night, and more specifically, the surprise she has in store for her girlfriend.

After breakfast, they dress for the day and pack overnight bags for their trip to Tokyo. They’ve decided to stay the night at a quaint bed-and-breakfast and take the train back to Musutafu on Christmas morning; they’ll get to sleep in, and still make it back home with plenty of time to get ready for Yamada and Aizawa’s Christmas party in the evening.

Emi’s the first to get ready, if only because Nemuri had to keep retouching her makeup each time Emi wandered over to pepper her with kisses. She leaves with plans to meet up again in an hour to catch their train and another off-centre kiss that smudges Nemuri’s lipstick ever so slightly. Nemuri can’t find it in herself to mind.

When Nemuri finally makes it to the office, she’s surprised to find Aizawa there grading papers. He seems just as surprised to see her, too.

“What are you doing here?” she asks as she heads to her desk. She makes short work of the lock on her drawer, rifling through discarded forms and an alarming number of red pens (half of which she’s sure she’s borrowed from Yamada and then forgotten to return), before her hand closes around a small, black velvet box.

“Hizashi’s pre-recording his Christmas morning show. Thought I’d get some work done while he’s at it,” Aizawa says with a glance at his watch.

Nemuri nods and, holding up the ring box, replies with, “I’m going to ask Emi to marry me tonight.”

Aizawa blinks. He stares at the ring box for a moment, before his lips quirk into an amused smile like she’s told him something funny.

“What,” she says, frowning. A frisson of anxiety curls in her belly and she sets the box down on the desk to wipe her suddenly-damp palms on her jeans. “You think it’s too soon?”

“No, it’s actually about damn time,” he replies, waving his hand like he can physically dispel her worries. “Congratulations,” he adds, his smile rounding at the corners, eyes softening, “I’m happy for you—both of you.”

Nemuri feels her nerves settle in the face of Aizawa’s calm certainty; he’s had that effect ever since they were kids, both trying to get from Gen Ed into the Hero Course.

“She hasn’t said yes yet,” she says.

Aizawa rolls his eyes. “We both know she will.”

Nemuri bites her lip against the uncharacteristically giddy smile that’s threatening to take over her face, “Yeah…” She picks up the ring box, squeezing it tight. “Thank you.”

Aizawa grunts in acknowledgement. After spending a few customary minutes annoying him in place of Emi—her girlfriend would never forgive her if she passed on an opportunity to bother Aizawa—Nemuri heads off, excitement and nerves a heady mixture bubbling up like champagne in her chest.

They take the train to Tokyo after a quick lunch. It’s just after 3 p.m. when they arrive, so they decide to meander through the bustling streets, window shopping.

It’s chilly out, the breeze nipping at Nemuri’s cheeks and nose, and she huddles closer against Emi’s side to leech some of her body heat. Emi tends to run a little warm anyway, so Nemuri figures she won’t mind.

“Babe!” Emi exclaims suddenly. She links their arms together and drags Nemuri off in the direction of a popular taiyaki stand.

“We’re having dinner in a few hours,” Nemuri says, a token protest, even as they join the queue.

“But world hard and cold, taiyaki soft and warm,” Emi says, completely serious as she takes both of Nemuri’s hands in hers.

Nemuri snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your ridiculous.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Nemuri replies, but she’s grinning, her words wobbly with restrained laughter.

“Tough crowd,” Emi complains, mouth pursed in exaggerated dismay. Nemuri steals a kiss and feels Emi’s pout melt against her lips.

The rest of the afternoon drifts by, languid and lingering. It’s definitely been far too long since they’ve had a date like this and Nemuri vows to change that.

They’re walking to their bed-and-breakfast, the sun ducked low in the sky, when Emi says, “Hey, hold this for me?”

Nemuri holds out her hand, assumes Emi’s going to pass her her taiyaki wrappers. Instead, Emi slides her hand into Nemuri’s waiting palm, twining their fingers together.

“You’re such a sap,” Nemuri says, bringing Emi’s hand to her lips and pressing her smile into the ridges of her knuckles. All the while, she’s conscious of the weight of the ring box, sitting snug in her coat pocket.

Emi beams at her. “Only for you.”

They’re almost late.

Really, it’s Emi’s fault. She’s dressed in a delightfully yellow, halter-neck jumpsuit, with her hair in a loose side braid, and when she’d stepped out of the bathroom, giving Nemuri a slow twirl to show off her outfit, Nemuri’s thoughts had ground to a resounding halt. She looks stunning, like sunshine personified, entirely too kissable. At the time, Nemuri had been a little too preoccupied—admiring her girlfriend and showering her with kisses at every available opportunity—to keep track of the time.

For her part, Emi seems to enjoy Nemuri’s classic short black dress and tights combo.

(“It’s so unfair. After six years, you’d think you’d stop making me feel like I’ve just climbed a whole bunch of stairs,” Emi had said back in their room, coming to loop her arms around Nemuri’s neck, spots of colour high on her cheeks.

“What?” Nemuri had asked, bemused.

“Breathless,” Emi had said against Nemuri’s lips. In the end, it’s Nemuri who’s left a little winded after Emi kisses her senseless.)

Emi’s hand lingers along the small of Nemuri’s back, warm even through the layers of Nemuri’s coat, as they present their tickets and make their way aboard the yacht.

It’s not one of those massive cruiseliners, but instead a quaint double-deck ship, bobbing gently with the tide. A waiter comes by to usher them to their table. As they make their way across the deck, Nemuri takes it all in.

The deck is lit up with a multitude of yellow Christmas lights, giving the boat a warm, almost cozy feel against the deep blue of the sky and the deeper blue of the sea. Sprigs of mistletoe, wrapped in little red bows, dangle from the light fixtures, swaying cheekily in the gentle sea breeze. Silver tinsel and dark green wreaths line the railings, drawing one’s gaze down to the bow of the ship, where a twinkling Christmas tree sits, heavy with baubles, blinking red, green, and blue in turns against the hardwood floor of the deck.

It’s like a private bubble of Christmas amidst the waves.

They seated at a table by the window on the top deck, overlooking the nighttime sea, a kaleidoscopic reflection of the Tokyo skyline.

“What do you think?” Emi says, after their waiter leaves.

“It’s lovely,” Nemuri replies, unconsciously lowering her voice. Something about the atmosphere—festive but hushed somehow, with the muffled slap of waves against the hull the loudest sound in the room—seems to call for whispering. It’s a more intimate setting than Nemuri had pictured, with only nine other tables ringing the deck, spaced far apart enough to afford every couple privacy, and a small dance floor in the middle of the room.

“Yeah,” Emi says, and the tone of her voice draws Nemuri’s attention. Emi has her head in her palm, her eyes fixed on Nemuri. The candle at the centre of their table casts flickering shadows over her face, catching on the gloss of her lips, the ever-present smile in her eyes.

Nemuri’s not usually one to blush easily, but she feels her cheeks heat under Emi’s soft, unwavering gaze.

Thankfully, their waiter comes by with a bottle of champagne before Nemuri can blurt the question that’s been dancing on the tip of her tongue all day. Patience, she reminds herself, the night’s only just begun.

There’s a band setting up in the corner. As the boat leaves the dock, the lead singer—a woman with six hands and a velvety voice—introduces them as ‘love boat’, which Nemuri thinks is very appropriate for their audience, if a little cheesy. They start their set for the night with ‘Last Christmas’, and Emi catches Nemuri’s eye, mouthing along to the words like the karaoke fiend she is.

The first course of dinner is served soon after, and Nemuri would consider French onion soup a terrible dish to have on a date if it didn’t taste so delicious.

“Good?” Emi asks. She’s smiling knowingly as she slides the rest of her soup towards Nemuri, waving off Nemuri’s protest with a casual, “Just give me half of your dessert later.”

“You can have three-quarter,” Nemuri offers, polishing off Emi’s soup.

“Not the whole thing?” Emi asks. She’s bobbing her head along to ‘Jingle bell rock’.

“I don’t want my mouth to taste like french onion soup when I kiss you.”

Emi waggles her eyebrows. “How considerate.”

By the time they’re done with their entrées, Nemuri’s so stuffed with chili crabcakes and pistachio-crusted salmon that she’s debating just giving Emi her whole dessert.

Dessert, however, turns out to be classic molten-chocolate lava cakes. Nemuri decides she has room to spare for two bites, maybe three. Emi, who was groaning softly and rubbing her belly just moments ago, now looks very much like Aizawa and Yamada’s cat at feeding time, eyeing the lava cakes with singular focus, her tongue peeking out from her lips and her spoon poised to strike.

Nemuri smiles around her sip of champagne and, after a bite of her cake, slides the rest towards Emi. She’s never had much of a sweet tooth anyway.

And if Emi looks adorable with a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her lips, well—that’s just a bonus.

“I think I’ve hit my sugar quota for the year,” Emi says, licking at the last bit of chocolate from her spoon.

“You say this at least once a week,” Nemuri points out. The band has switched to slower songs now that couples are making their way towards the dance floor after dinner. At the moment, they’re playing ‘Christmas is you’ and Nemuri’s swaying in her seat in time with the tinkling melody. She can’t help but think the song is particularly fitting tonight as she watches Emi dab at her mouth with her napkin. Idly, Nemuri makes a mental note to mention this band to Yamada since his show is good exposure for rookie artists.

“And yet I constantly push past my limits,” Emi replies with a wink. “Plus ultra.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what we mean when we tell our students to ‘go beyond’,” Nemuri deadpans.

Emi makes a face at her. Then, standing decisively, she drops her napkin onto her chair and extends a hand towards Nemuri, wiggling her fingers. “C’mon, there’s a spot on the dance floor with our names on it."

Nemuri doesn’t have to be asked twice.

Emi leads her to the center of the room, slides her hands around Nemuri’s shoulders and pulls her close. Nemuri mirrors her, wrapping her arms around Emi’s waist.

It’s less of a slow dance and more of them just swaying as they shuffle their feet. Honestly, Nemuri’s relieved since neither one of them can really dance. Their “dancing” is usually limited to the privacy of their kitchen when they’re cooking together with the radio turned up, but between the two of them, Emi’s a lot more willing to make people laugh at her own expense.

So really, this is perfect. As the band starts playing ‘One wish for Christmas’, Emi leans in, rests her head on Nemuri’s shoulder. Nemuri can feel Emi’s smile curve against her skin, Emi’s fingers toying with her hair.

“Are you having fun?” Emi asks.

“I always do with you,” Nemuri replies.

Emi lifts her head to meet Nemuri’s eyes. “And you call me a sap,” she says, with a grin.

Nemuri shrugs, unabashed. “What can I say? You rubbed off on me.”

They fall into a comfortable silence as Emi tips her head back onto Nemuri’s shoulder, swaying with the music.

Much later, as the band starts playing ‘Underneath the tree’, they duck out onto the deck for a breather. The tangy breeze has a bite to it and Nemuri pulls her coat tighter around herself, her hand instinctively reaching into her pocket to wrap around the ring box, repeatedly swiping her thumb over the velvet exterior like it’s a worry stone.

And the thing is, she’s not worried. Not really. She’s reasonably sure Emi’s going to say yes. It’s something that’s come up more than once, especially in the last two years, as though they were both testing the waters.

So, really, she has nothing to worry about. Yet, despite this logical conclusion, her body seems determined to be nervous.

Her mouth feels dry, her throat a little tight, and her palms are clammy and gross despite the cold. She has to wipe her hand on her coat before she laces her fingers with Emi’s as they cut across the deck to stand against the railing at the front of the boat.

Right now, they’re just over two hours into their cruise, with the Haneda airport right behind them and the Rainbow bridge up ahead, saturating the water around it in vivid colours as though the bridge was slowly melting into the sea.

Emi leans into her side and Nemuri soaks in her warmth. Usually, Emi’s proximity is enough to soothe her, but now, it only makes her heart beat quicker. It feels like the first few months of their relationship all over again. Nemuri remembers it clearly; she’d been twenty-eight at the time, but being around Emi had made her feel like a teenager with a crush. It took the longest time, and an uncharacteristic intervention from Aizawa, for them to get together, if only because Nemuri had thought Emi was joking all the times she hit on her. For the first few months, Nemuri kept waiting for the punchline.

She really doesn’t miss that uncertainty now that she’s grown used to the comfort of Emi’s presence.

Emi bumps her shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Nemuri leans down to kiss her. “Thank you,” she says when they part. “Tonight was perfect.”

Emi smiles. “Tonight’s not over yet.”

“Yeah,” Nemuri says, squeezing the ring box as she glances down at the bow parting foam-tipped waves. Inside, the band’s playing ‘All I want for Christmas’. Nemuri hears snatches of the muffled lyrics before the breeze carries them away.

Now or never, she tells herself and, taking a bracing breath of salty air, she turns to face Emi—only to find Emi on the ground.

On one knee.

Holding out an open ring box with an elegant diamond ring nestled within.

The same ring that Nemuri had mentioned liking four years ago, while they were helping Aizawa pick out a ring for Yamada.

“Babe, I have a confession,” Emi starts, and when she smiles, it’s a little shaky. “I didn’t get you a Christmas gift. I mean, I did get you something but if you say ‘yes’ then it’s more of a Christmas gift to myself—and I’m getting ahead of myself here. I. Um. I had this whole speech memorized, and trust me, it was really witty and funny, and you would’ve liked it, I think. But see, I’m kneeling here right now and I can’t for the life of me remember any of my jokes. I just. I really want to marry you.” Emi pauses to catch her breath; she’s breathing a little fast, like she’s just finished a race.

“Babe, you make me so happy, and the past six years have been the best of my life. I am so lucky that I get to come home to you every day. I want that for the rest of my life. I want to make you smile for the rest of my life. I love you so much, Nemuri. You even laugh at all of my jokes.” Here Emi snorts, the sound catching on the tail-end of a sob she’s doing a bad job of holding back.

Nemuri can see her hands shaking around the ring box.

“Kayama Nemuri, will you marry me?”

Nemuri doesn’t realize she has tears in her eyes until she blinks and suddenly her vision clears, tears spilling down her cheeks. She doesn’t even bother to wipe them away, dropping down to her knees.

“Oh my god,” she manages. Her heart is trembling in her chest. She’s giddy, a little light-headed, and her entire body is thrumming with emotions too big for her person. She feels like she’s about to burst out of her skin any moment now.

Emi misinterprets her words. “I know this is sudden, but-”

“No!” Nemuri interrupts her, because it’s not sudden, not at all, she just didn’t expect this, but really she should’ve—

“No?” Emi echoes, brows knitting.

“No, I mean yes. Yes! Of course I’ll marry you! Oh my god, I just,” but her mind is moving too fast for her mouth to keep up, so she settles for showing Emi her own ring box, popping it open.

Emi stares at it blankly for a few seconds.

“Is that-?”

“Uh huh.”

It’s Emi’s turn to say, “Oh my god.”

They’re both crying now, and Nemuri’s not the crying type but this entire day has been perfect, right down to this ridiculous coincidence, and she’s feeling more than a little overwhelmed, sliding the ring onto Emi’s finger with unsteady hands.

“It’s beautiful, I love it,” Emi says, before taking Nemuri’s face in her hands. “I love you.”

Nemuri feels the cool band of metal against her cheek. “I love you, too,” she replies, pressing their foreheads together.

At that moment, the thought that’s been niggling her all afternoon finally resolves itself and she pulls back. “Oh my god, that asshole knew!”

“What?” Emi says, lost.

“Aizawa. I went to pick up the ring at UA this afternoon, he was there, and he laughed when I told him I was going to propose because he knew you were going to, too.”

Emi snorts, her hands still cupping Nemuri’s face. “I mean, I did tell you he suggested the cruise.”

“Unbelievable,” Nemuri murmurs, but she can’t stop smiling. She leans forward and Emi meets her halfway, melting into a kiss that’s a little salty, a little snotty, but no one tastes like French onion soup, so it’s pretty damn perfect in Nemuri’s eyes.

#my writing #bnhafemslashss #jokenight #midjoke #kayama nemuri #fukukado emi #bnha

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