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Contented Heart || Kita Shinsuke

And because you knew — that every time he said all of those compliments and pretty words, it was true from his heart.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

"Language." He sent you a glare, though it was immediately replaced by a small smile as he looked into your eyes, filled with love and adoration. "Guess I love you too."

"Just guess?!" You pulled away from him, putting one hand in front of your chest as you fake gasped. "I can't believe that you vowed in front of everyone only to doubt your feelings in the middle of this journey!"

He really wanted to roll his eyes right now. At a time like this, he knew for real why you seemed so inseparable from one of the twins back in high school. The two of you being dramatic underclassmen, pain in the ass, if he remembered correctly was what Akagi labelled you and the setter.

His hand immediately gripped your wrist. Not too hard, yet enough to pull you back closer to him. He ignored the yelp that slipped from your lips as your head fell on his chest. "Shinsu—"

"It's time."

You straightened your posture, looking deep inside his brown eyes as you understood well what was the meaning behind his words. Your fingers played with his hair, smiling softly before snatching a kiss from his lips.

"Go ahead first then, I am going to grab the necessities."

»»————-　♔　————-««

It was at moments like this when time seemed to stop. When the world felt like it rotated just around the two of you. With his hands resting on your waist, thumb grazing your white camisole. He hummed a little tone to break the silence, one that somehow helped you to stay focused.

"Not yet." You said softly, breath fanning his eyelashes. "Don't open your eyes yet, Shin."

And he did exactly what you told him to. He was patient, always when it came to you. To feel your heat, sitting on his lap, so still as the only thing that could be heard was the sound of snip snip snip was oddly comforting for him as it filled his eardrums.

It flowed like a rhythm, on every snip you gently picked up the end of his hair that still stuck on his skin, the strands that the wind couldn't pick up. He never knew what kind of style you were going to choose or how short his hair would be after you were done.

He believed in you, one hundred percent. That no matter how weird it would be, he knew he wouldn't hide it from anyone. It was satisfying for him, kinda like a trophy that he loved to show off. Not that everyone knew who trimmed his hair all this time, but he loves it when people compliment his hair and he could say,

"Thank you. My wife did it for me."

It was satisfying for him, to say that out loud with a small smile on his face. Bonus points if he received another comment about how great you were or how you had done such a great job with only scissors and your hand.

You were a trophy — no. You were more than just a trophy in his life. A trophy was something that he achieved when he finished a task. You were not, you were someone who was there when he tried to reach the finish line, someone that was there on every step of his way.

"What's with the smile?" You grazed your thumb on his cheek, keeping his head still as the snip of the blade followed after.

"Thinking about how much I love you."

There he goes again — saying things like that so easily. He wanted to chuckle when he could feel how you tensed up all of a sudden, but he held it back, knowing that he would receive a not-so-good haircut at the end if he laughed at you right now.