It’s been on his mind for weeks now and sitting on the tip of his tongue all sweet and heavy; like honey really. But whenever he tries to speak it up he grows nervous, voice stuck and cut off every time he was close to letting the words roll out and he swallows, shakes his head and tells her it’s nothing. He feels like a teenager, whenever his stomach flips or his heart speeds up or his tongue gets tied around those sweet words whenever she looks at him. He doesn’t really fear rejection, but he’s said them only once before and that ended badly.
So he lets them sit for a while longer, grows accustomed to them popping up whenever he sees her for the first time of the day or she looks at him with happiness or pride, whenever she seems so adamant about showing him to the world as hers. It’s nice for a while, to have them just there, bringing out a smile whenever she’s not looking.
They’re there when he interrupts her stream one day by wiggling behind her somehow, settling her on his lap with his chin on her shoulder and he watches her play and interact with her fans with pride written over his features and adoration colouring the light hazel of his eyes. He thinks it’s perfect to let them slip there because they might get over her head and she doesn’t hear them or they might draw her entirely to him and he’s never one to deny he sometimes wants her attention all for himself. She’s not paying attention to him, she’s not looking at him and making him nervous; she is at her most glorious and he can’t help but smile as he presses his nose underneath her ear, lips parting and a deep breath taken before he mutters into her neck: ❛ 愛してる. ❜
His native tongue rolls easily off his lips, quiet and soft, meant just for her and he says it in Japanese because it means so much to him; because she means so much to him. It felt so surreal to have them out in the open like that, to have that sweetness leave his lips and roll into her and he’s waiting with his breath held and his gaze pointed at the screen, at her expression reflecting from the camera.
she knew. of course she did, she was not blind. she knew something was up. something about him was a little less confident than usual, a little more fragile, like there was a sense of restlessness that she could not quite put a finger on. it did not concern her too much considering that he still seemed HAPPY despite that odd air around him, and since he still stayed close to her and gifted her with affection.
she WISHED she had not been streaming when he said it. her fans were beyond important, held a role in her life few to none could rival, but he had climbed higher than them and she did not want to share something she believed to be so precious with those that only watched her play and cheered her on. thankfully, she had been playing a game that was coming to an end, a game that was already one by the time he spoke softly against her skin, a game that very quickly lost its relevance.
hana loved the way they sat. it was comfortable and allowed her to combine her casual stream with someone she adored to show off to the public. besides that, he tended to offer entertainment as well, little jabs or silly gestures while she focused on playing. it was a natural position for them, one that made it easier to deal with the fact that while she had thought something to be on his mind, it had not been this. the expression her camera showed was one of slightly parted lips, a grin faltering, cheeks taking on a shade of red— she was flustered but did not know why. had he slipped it playfully, she would have returned it more easily, in teasing little jabs, grinning and poking his sides, making fun of it but treasuring it all the same. this seemed heavier, the way he said it more intimate and she quickly came to feel uncomfortable with the camera she stared at.
the game was OVER. years of knowing her software allowed for her to shut down everything maintaining her stream in a heartbeat, the screen almost blank all of a sudden. her heart was hammering against her ribs, silence left to linger for a while– until she shifted in his lap. she did so slower than she usually moved, carefully, sat to face him, had her hands on his cheeks and lips against his forehead. the sentence echoed in her mind, in his sweet voice, with his breath against her neck, belatedly sending shivers down her spine. her eyes closed before she reached his lips, her own travelling slowly down the length of his face, pressing against his with a sense of adoration she feared she could not recreate so easily. soft and barely moving, with steady breaths escaping her nose she kissed him. what words she seemed to lack, but have clearly in her mind ( they were SCREAMED, gladly, repeated in multiple languages, echoing in different tones and trying to tie one to them that would make it sweeter than his own confession— but it seemed to take time to find the right one, just a few moments longer ), she conveyed with gently touches, fingers brushing across his cheeks, lips locked in slow, LOVING kisses.
