Summary: It’s the morning after Christmas. This is Kenzaki and Hajime’s first Christmas together . Hajime has some fears that Kenzaki will leave him again.
Notes: post canon, au from Kamen Rider Zi-o episode 30
Prompt: leftovers @fluff-cember
Link (can also be read down below): https://archiveofourown.org/works/76503271
It was the day after Christmas, and the world felt strangely still.
Kenzaki lay there for a long moment, listening to the soft rhythm of breathing beside him, as if he were afraid that moving too suddenly would shatter the moment.
For fifteen years, Christmas had always been something distant a date on a calendar that only reminded him of everything he had chosen to lose all for him.
And yet, somehow, here he was. Alive. Human again. Waking up next to Hajime.
Sougo’s power to conceal their joker power still felt unreal.
Their Joker powers sealed away, not destroyed, but held gently, like something precious entrusted to another’s hands.
Because of that, Kenzaki had been allowed this: a quiet morning, a shared bed, a future that no longer ended in solitude.
He turned carefully and pressed a kiss into Hajime’s dark hair, breathing him in.
Almost immediately, Hajime stirred.
“Kenzaki… don’t leave me.”
The words came out rough, half-dreaming, and Hajime’s fingers clenched desperately in Kenzaki’s shirt, as if he might vanish the moment his eyes opened.
Kenzaki’s chest tightened. He turned fully toward him, cupping Hajime’s cheek and smiling softly.
“I won’t,” he said without hesitation. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Hajime searched his face for a second longer, as if weighing the truth of it, then finally relaxed. “Then… let’s eat,” he murmured, trying and failing to sound casual.
“You said Haruka left us leftovers.”
Kenzaki laughed quietly.
“Yeah. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Hajime slid out of bed with surprising energy, padding after him into the kitchen like he was afraid to let even a few steps come between them.
Kenzaki took the casserole from the fridge and set the oven preheating, the mundane routine feeling oddly sacred.
“I’m really glad she gave us this,” Kenzaki said, leaning against the counter. “I don’t think either of us had the energy to cook.”
As if summoned by the words, Kenzaki suddenly felt warmth press against him. Hajime had stepped close - too close and before Kenzaki could react, Hajime had climbed into his space, straddling his lap where he sat against the counter.
Hajime’s hands rested on his shoulders, grip firm, almost trembling.
“Kazuma,” Hajime said quietly.
The sound of his first name made Kenzaki freeze.
“For fifteen years,” Hajime continued, voice low and raw, “I lived with a loneliness I didn’t know how to name. Every day without you was… agonizing.
I kept telling myself this was the price of being human. That it was enough just to remember you.” His eyes shone. “Please don’t ever leave me again.”
Kenzaki didn’t think - he just pulled Hajime into his arms, holding him as tightly as he dared.
“I won’t,” he said again, more fiercely this time. “I promise. I chose this future so I could stay. So I could be with you.”
A tear slipped free, landing against Kenzaki’s neck.
“Hajime… are you crying?”
Hajime nodded once, forehead pressed against Kenzaki’s collarbone. “You idiot,” he muttered. “You really did teach me how to be human. How to feel this much.”
They stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet kitchen, until the oven beeped and broke the spell.
“…I think it’s done,” Kenzaki said softly.
Reluctantly, Hajime shifted aside. Kenzaki grabbed the oven mitts and pulled the casserole out, steam rising and filling the room with warmth.
They waited together while it cooled, shoulders brushing, fingers occasionally finding each other without thinking.
When they finally moved to the couch, Kenzaki brought the dish and a spoon, sitting close enough that their knees touched.
He scooped up a careful bite and, without comment, lifted it toward Hajime.
Hajime blinked. “Kazuma…?”
“Just eat,” Kenzaki said gently. “I want to.”
After a brief pause, Hajime leaned in, lips closing around the spoon. Their eyes met as he did, and something unspoken passed between them , trust, affection, the quiet intimacy of being cared for without needing to ask.
Kenzaki waited until Hajime swallowed before offering another bite, slower this time, his thumb brushing Hajime’s lower lip as he pulled the spoon away.
“…You’re treating me like I’m fragile,” Hajime murmured, though there was no complaint in his voice.
“Maybe,” Kenzaki replied, smiling softly. “Or maybe I just like taking care of you.”
Hajime didn’t argue.
He accepted each bite, leaning closer with every one, until his
shoulder rested against Kenzaki’s chest and Kenzaki’s arm naturally wrapped around him.
By the time the dish was nearly empty, Hajime was fully curled into his side, warm and real and undeniably there.
They stayed like that, the afternoon light spilling in through the window, the world quiet and forgiving.
“Thank you,” Hajime said at last, voice barely above a whisper. “For being here with me, Kenzaki.”
Kenzaki pressed his forehead to Hajime’s. “Always.”
