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In the most astronomically, annoyingly, aggravating way to ever be said, An’s morning espresso is in the form of an Azusawa Kohane.
Everyone who is associated with the two knows it, whether painfully bothered or simply an individual who admires the way she could have a crush on her own girlfriend (of five years) and cohabitant (of three years). An has successfully given up every ounce of coffee in her life and replaced it with the utmost basic adrenaline boost– wrapped in a theoretical pink ribbon, adorning a line of toothpaste on her lip.
A girl with the worst case of bed hair, miraculously just as beautiful in a baggy t-shirt (to An), Shiraishi An’s soulmate who has been rambling on and on about the windowsill for about fifteen minutes at this point. “Do you think a succulent plant would look nice there? Those tiny, spikey ones, maybe in this corner.” Kohane wipes off dust at the edge, hovering her hand over the hypothetical placement.
It had been a little over thirteen months since they moved to their house. Before, they lived in a small studio apartment, it was by the beach– gorgeous sunset view. Then, it was a cabin they overstayed their rental time at, an overpriced six month vacation where it was just the two of them alone (and maybe the occasional bear). And now, they officially put their first down payment on a house that could actually be called a home for once.
Nothing too fancy, maybe even a pile of junk to anyone paying attention to the chipped paint and the broken garage door, but it was a home. Their first proper excuse to buy furniture and decor, hence Kohane’s repeated discussion on household plants these past few weeks.
Really, An has zero care about what is in the house as long as there’s bed and a roof, oh, and if Kohane is happy about it, of course. “I think that’s cute.” An answers, catching glimpses of Kohane from the bathroom mirror. Not the position of the future plant. “We could swing by the department store later today, maybe also order that nightstand you wanted while we’re there.”
Another glance of the mirror, she sees Kohane shuffle her way, hugging around her waist with a gentle grasp, fingers interlocked. “You know, you could put a bit more input into the decor, right?” She nuzzles her nose into An’s neck. “This is your house, too.”
“I’ve put a great amount of input into the decor,” An replies, confidently. “The other day, I bought that air fryer for us.”
Kohane momentarily pauses, lifting her head up. “That’s a kitchen appliance, An.”
She blinks, pursing her lips. “Close enough.”
She reaches for the lotion bottle, squeezing two pumps on her fingers. Beaming towards Kohane’s direction, she applies some lotion on Kohane’s nose (receiving a response in the form of a squeak, it either translates to ‘why thank you’ or ‘oh my god’, she doesn’t know just yet) before applying the rest onto her own face.
While it was true– An’s detailing around the house has consisted of nothing more than a collection of microphones (from her dad) and antique lamps (also from her dad). Everything else that remained was from house-warming gifts and Kohane’s well needed expertise at home decor. Their sofa was beige. Every picture frame was a nice golden color. The coffee table was blue, although it wasn’t at all a Kohane purchase but rather from their good neighbor ( this blue reminded me of your hair. Why thank you, Toya. No problem, Shiraishi).
The thing was, she didn’t really care about much else when first moving in. Their anniversary pictures framed left-to-right by year order were a teary-eyed discovery, she found the swap of accent pillows for plushies to be a rather cute Kohane-like feature, and to get started on the amount of potted not-real plants in their living room would be an entirely new conversation.
But all of those details had one thing in common, something so obvious that it always provides a cringe-worthy response from all of their friends. These things are what made Kohane smile, and that’s the only thing An could really care about at any point. Even more than the double mattress and the kotatsu.
Then, it becomes some sort of chained reaction. Kohane’s marshmallowy expression. An’s arguably more generic ear-to-ear grin. Their friend’s clearly bothered exhales lingering from the other end of their table.
And yes, the air fryer was bought with Kohane in mind, too. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about purchasing a canopy, that could be a start.” An looks towards Kohane, her untouched lotion, she taps her nose again. “A canopy that could fit two people, perhaps.”
Kohane scrunches her nose at An’s touch, unbothered by how her shirt began to slip off her shoulder. “We could get a canopy if you’d like.”
“Mh.” She hums, “Maybe a loveseat, too. A small one. So small and confined that we could only seek comfort within each other’s arms.” An puts her index and thumb together for a miniature scale, then she gets the grand idea to pinch Kohane’s cheeks with said visualization. “See, that’s two pieces of furniture.”
“Both pieces of furniture involve us together.” Kohane mentions, “Which, not that I mind, but isn’t there anything else you’d want?”
Realistically, no. Those were just the first two things that An could compile together at one glance. A singular shot of Kohane in her vision, loser thoughts.
And maybe An is a loser, something she could alter into a cheesy ‘I’m a loser.. for you’ at a later time. Now technically wouldn’t be the time, lunch would probably be a better occasion– whether they’d be having rice or noodles was another thought– that’s going off topic.
Comprehensive thoughts turn incomprehensive. Her ideals of furniture and interior decorating turn into pure mush when she has to bring the topic to Kohane. Like, really, a damn loveseat? A loveseat with a nice not-real potted tree by the side? Purchasing a canopy with the intention of lounging around and hopefully convincing Kohane to do the same?
There’s a word for that. “Nah, just those things.” An melts into her touch, her fingers running through Kohane’s hair (she doesn’t mention the subtle knots at her ends).
Kohane is her morning, noon, and dawn adrenaline rush– which is probably far more than the suggested intake for the average human being. But An doesn’t mind, because to her, the sweetness balances out the caffeine anyways.