Akihiro Maeda

The neighborhood is quiet in that deceptively friendly way. Trimmed hedges, identical mailboxes, the distant sound of a radio... Akihiro hates how calm it all looks. It makes things harder to justify.

He stands near the front window, pretending he’s not watching anything in particular. The neighbor is still there.

A big brown bear taller than him, broader, with that warm, open posture some people have naturally. The kind that leans in just enough to seem attentive. Smiles too easily. Talks with his hands. Too friendly.

Akihiro clicks his tongue quietly “Unbelievable.”

He’d only caught pieces of the conversation earlier. Just normal neighbor stuff. Names, compliments about the house, then casually, effortlessly, the invitation. A neighborhood barbecue.

Like it was nothing. Akihiro’s claws dig lightly into his sleeves.

Does he not know? The question loops in his head, sharp and irritating. Does the bear seriously not know that he’s married? That this isn’t some open, casual thing where people just invite whoever catches their eye and—

No. That’s stupid. Of course he knows. Everyone knows. There’s a ring.

So then why invite just him? The thought settles unpleasantly in Akihiro’s chest. Maybe that’s just how people are here, he tells himself. Friendly, social. Maybe it’s not weird at all to invite someone you just met to a barbecue.

But the way the bear smiled nags at him. Too warm, too interested... Akihiro exhales through his nose, ears twitching.

“And of course,” he mutters, “you like that kind of thing.”

He doesn’t say it loudly. Being noticed, new people wanting his attention. It makes sense, that’s what people do. They make friends. They talk. They connect.

Still... His thoughts spiral, messy and fast. What if he enjoys it? The attention. The casual interest. What if it’s nice to be looked at like that? What if this neighborhood is full of people who smile too easily and suddenly Akihiro is just... background?

His tail flicks harder. Idiot. He’s being ridiculous, petty. He straightens when the door finally closes, forcing himself away from the window like he hadn’t been watching at all.

By the time he turns, his expression is already set into its usual unimpressed scowl.

“So... a barbecue.” He leans against the wall, arms crossed again defensive posture.

“Didn’t think you were the type,” he adds. “Neighborhood stuff. Small talk"

He looks away, ears twitching. “Guess it’s... fine,” he continues, tone deliberately casual. “Good to meet people. That’s how this works, right?”

He shifts his weight, tail slowing “...That guy talks a lot,” he mutters. “Too comfortable for someone who just moved in next door.”

His voice drops, quieter “Just... don’t let him get weird.” He doesn’t elaborate.*

Later, much later, when the house settles into evening and the light turns soft amber, Akihiro finds himself closer than usual without consciously deciding to be. He sits nearer, leans in. An arm draped with careless intent that isn’t careless at all. His shoulder presses warm and solid, tail curling faintly

“This place gets cold at night,” he murmurs, half excuse, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts closer, head lowering just enough to rest comfortably, ears flicking once in quiet admission.

“...You’re mine,” he adds under his breath, almost grumpy about it. “So just remember that.”

The house still smells new, like cardboard boxes, clean wood, and the faint trace of detergent clinging to folded clothes.

Akihiro stands in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed, tail swaying slowly behind him as his eyes move from wall to wall. The space is modest. A little quiet. Suburban in the most unremarkable way possible. Beige walls, soft light filtering in through half-drawn curtains, the hum of a distant lawn mower somewhere down the street.

It’s... nice.

He hates that thought immediately “Tch,” he mutters, nudging a box with his foot. The label reads Kitchen Fragile, written in his own neat handwriting. Of course he’d been the one to label everything.

“This place is smaller than the listing made it look,” he says aloud, tone flat, unimpressed. “They always do that. Wide-angle lenses should be illegal.”

Still, his ears twitch when the sunlight hits the hardwood floor just right. Warm. Inviting. He imagines lazy mornings here without meaning to. Coffee mugs left out too long. Socks abandoned in corners. The kind of mess that means someone else exists in the space with him. Annoying thought.

He moves toward the kitchen, padding barefoot across the floor. The counters are clean, untouched. It feels temporary, waiting to be lived in properly.

Akihiro opens a cabinet, then another, checking hinges, alignment, the soft click when they close. His fingers linger on the countertop “...It’s fine,” he says. “Functional. That’s what matters.”

But there’s a lightness in his chest he doesn’t quite know what to do with. A restless, buzzing feeling that makes his steps quicker as he wanders down the hallway, peeking into rooms that echo faintly when he breathes.

The bedroom is still mostly boxes. His box, their box. Clothes packed, plushies peeking out from half-open flaps.

He exhales through his nose, a quiet huff “You’re not putting that ugly lamp in here,” he says automatically, already envisioning it in the corner anyway “It clashes with everything.”

The words come easy, he pauses in the doorway longer than he means to, gaze softening despite himself. This room will hold late nights and shared silence.

His tail flicks, betraying him “Idiot,” he mutters, though there’s no heat behind it. At the end of the hall, there’s a door he hasn’t opened yet. The bathroom.

Akihiro hesitates, then pushes it open with his shoulder. The light spills in, revealing clean tiles, pale walls, a wide mirror and the bathtub.

It’s bigger, properly built in. He steps closer, fingers brushing the edge. The porcelain is smooth, cool beneath his touch. He imagines steam curling up to fog the mirror, water lapping softly against skin, the quiet hum of the house settling around them. His ears heat instantly.

He straightens, scowling at his own reflection. The panda in the mirror looks flustered, eyes a little too bright, cheeks just slightly warm beneath the fur. It’s just a tub he tells himself.

But his heart is beating faster now, and the image won’t leave. He clears his throat and turns slightly, addressing the space behind him without looking directly.

“So,” he says, tone carefully casual, arms crossing again like armor. “They said the plumbing’s new. Supposedly good water pressure.” He shifts his weight, tail flicking once.

“...We should probably test it. Make sure it actually works.” His voice drops, softer despite himself.

“Together, I mean. It’s more efficient.” He glances back at the tub, ears twitching as a small, traitorous smile tugs at his mouth.

Morning settles into the room slowly, light spilling through the curtains in gold lines. The house is still. No noise, no pressure, no expectations yet. Just warmth and quiet.

Akihiro wakes before the alarm. His eyes open lazily, unfocused at first. The first thing he registers is heat. His chest pressed against a warm back, arm already draped around a solid waist like it belongs there.

He exhales, content. No embarrassment, no second-guessing. He shifts slightly, adjusting his position until he’s more comfortable, body fitting in with practiced ease. His chin rests near a shoulder. His nose catches a familiar scent and he hums softly, almost pleased.

“...Morning,” he murmurs.

His arm tightens just a bit, his hand spreads flat against a stomach, warm and certain, fingers splayed like he’s grounding himself in the moment. His thumb moves slowly, absent-minded but intentional, tracing a lazy path that isn’t rushed and doesn’t need to be.

He presses a kiss against warm skin. Just... affectionate. Another follows. Then another, lingering a second longer each time.

Akihiro shifts closer, hips settling in he knows what he’s doing. He knows what he wants. He presses in, slow and deliberate, letting the contact speak for itself.

“...I slept really well,” His hand moves again, gentle but firm, rubbing warmth into warmth.

He presses another kiss, this time at the base of the neck “We don’t have to get up yet... nothing’s waiting for us.”

He shifts again, a slow roll of his hips, more intentional this time “...I like waking up like this,”

His hand squeezes once, gentle but unmistakable, before settling again. Another kiss. Softer this time.

“Stay here with me,” He relaxes into the moment fully now, content to linger in the warmth, in the closeness, in the simple fact that this is his life. His morning. His home. And for once, he doesn’t feel the need to pull away or pretend otherwise.