Chapter Text
Haru stepped into Daisuke’s new apartment and immediately froze.
White walls. Gleaming floors. Not a cushion, plant, or picture in sight. Even the air seemed vacuum-sealed into geometric perfection.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How… boring can one place be?” he muttered under his breath.
Everything about it screamed ultra-modern precision. Daisuke’s minimalism was supposed to be sophisticated—clean, chic, perfectly curated.
Haru saw it as a crime against comfort.
The sofa looked functional. The chairs looked painful. The 'decorative objects' were sleek rectangles and glass pyramids that looked more like museum exhibits than things anyone actually lived with. And the lighting—one cold overhead fixture, no lamps, no warm glow anywhere.
Across the room, a set of floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors opened onto a narrow balcony. The view was admittedly impressive—Tokyo glittering in the distance—but the glass stood completely bare. No curtains, no blinds, nothing to soften the light pouring into the apartment. It felt less like a home and more like a display case.
One room off the hallway had clearly been set aside as an office.
Haru paused in the doorway, taking it in. A wide desk faced the wall of windows, its surface immaculate except for a sleek multi-monitor setup and a neatly aligned stack of documents. The screens were dark now, reflecting the room like black mirrors, while the keyboard and mouse sat positioned with almost obsessive precision.
Built-in shelves lined the wall behind it, filled with technical books and reference manuals—finance, economics, data analysis, the kind of titles Haru suspected came with charts and headaches. Not a single novel in sight.
Haru leaned against the doorframe, studying the room for another second.
“…Yeah, okay. This one’s yours.”
He stepped back out into the hallway and gently closed the door again.
Even Haru had boundaries.
He wandered further down the hallway to inspect the rest of the apartment.
The master bathroom door slid open with a quiet whisper.
And—
Haru blinked.
“…You could perform surgery in here.”
The room was enormous. Marble counters. Chrome fixtures polished to a mirror shine. A glass shower big enough to comfortably fit three people and a bathtub that looked like it had been sculpted rather than installed.
Everything was pristine.
Untouched.
Almost intimidatingly perfect.
Haru stepped inside cautiously, like he might contaminate the place simply by existing.
The marble floor was cold under his socks.
He stared at the vast empty counter space.
“…This is a bathroom,” he muttered to himself, “not a five-star hotel display.”
His eyes drifted toward the bathtub again.
Then down to the floor.
“…Also, how are you supposed to brush your teeth in here without freezing your toes off?”
“…Seriously, Daisuke.”
He shook his head and backed out of the room, already mentally adding another item to the list of things that would need fixing.
Haru wandered through the living room like an anthropologist surveying an alien habitat.
He crouched beside the couch, peered underneath it, then straightened with a sigh. “There’s… nothing here to love. Nothing to feel. Babe. How do you live like this?”
He tried to imagine curling up on that sterile sofa. No pillows. No blanket. Not even a stray plant keeping watch in the corner.
The thought made his chest tighten.
He loved Daisuke. That had never been in question.
But this apartment… it felt lonely.
Haru dropped dramatically onto the sofa. The stiff cushions dug into him and he grimaced.
“This place needs me,” he declared to the empty room. “It’s missing life.”
Ideas immediately began bubbling in his head.
Bright pillows. Soft blankets. Plants climbing toward the ceiling. Lamps that cast warm pools of light instead of interrogation-room glare.
A little chaos.
A little warmth.
Something human.
Something that said we live here.
Something that said Haru was here.
By the time Daisuke returned from the store, Haru already had a plan.
His maximalist invasion was imminent—and nothing was going to stop it.
Haru grinned at the empty apartment.
“You’re welcome in advance, Daisuke,” he said smugly. “Your apartment is about to come alive.”
DAY 1
Haru had one week.
One week to turn this drab, lifeless apartment into something he could actually call home.
Daisuke was out of the country attending some rich-fancy conference Haru couldn’t even pronounce, let alone understand.
Which meant Haru had time.
And he was going big—or bust.
The couch and low table in the living room?
Gone.
See ya. Never again.
He’d already picked a replacement: a low, wide couch upholstered in deep navy velvet, with thick cushions that practically begged someone to sink into them. The lines were simple and elegant, but the fabric softened everything, adding warmth the current furniture lacked.
It had character—something Daisuke’s rigid showroom sofa could never hope to achieve.
Now Haru was on Meguro-dori hunting for a coffee table.
Not just any table.
A wood one. Something warm. Something that felt like it belonged in a real home instead of a design magazine.
He stepped into a vintage shop filled with a chaotic mix of mid-century pieces and retro oddities. After wandering for a few minutes, something caught his eye.
A low rectangular coffee table made of honey-toned oak.
Haru ran his fingers along the surface.
The wood felt smooth beneath his palm, the edges rounded from years of use. Two small drawers with brass knobs peeked from the front—perfect for remotes, coasters, or whatever random clutter Haru inevitably accumulated.
It wasn’t flashy.
It felt welcoming.
Like it had already been part of someone’s home.
Haru grinned.
“Yep,” he murmured. “You’re coming home with me.”
While searching for a clerk to arrange delivery, he stumbled onto another discovery.
A double bookcase.
Its wooden frame was warm and sturdy, glass doors opening from the center like windows into another world. Haru immediately imagined Daisuke’s books—currently boxed up and abandoned in a corner—lined neatly across the shelves.
The image made his chest tighten with excitement.
Yeah.
That was definitely coming home too.
Next stop: the bedroom.
Haru avoided the overly polished showroom furniture that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel where you were afraid to sit on anything.
Instead he found a solid wood bed frame in a soft walnut finish. The curved headboard practically invited someone to lean back with a book. Matching nightstands sat beside it—compact, sturdy, each with a drawer and small shelf.
Practical.
Comfortable.
Human.
Exactly what the room needed.
He finished the day by picking out a dining set: a square wooden table with simple chairs that showed off the natural grain of the wood.
Haru could already picture it.
Takeout dinners after long days.
Case files spread across the table.
Late-night conversations that lasted far too long.
Maybe even the occasional argument.
A real home.
By the time he returned to the apartment, Haru was exhausted.
Furniture delivery was scheduled for three days later.
He shoved the door open and immediately groaned at the sight of the living room.
God.
It still looked like a tech company’s lobby.
The stiff couch practically dared him to sit on it.
“How can anyone live like this?” Haru muttered, flopping dramatically onto it.
The cushions refused to yield.
He twisted sideways trying to find a position that wasn’t actively painful.
“This couch is a crime against humanity.”
Curling his legs up, he pulled out his phone and fired off a message.
Haru: Your couch is mean. I hate it. Fix it when you get home. Or I will. 😤
Satisfied with himself, Haru shoved the phone aside and settled deeper into the couch.
Eventually exhaustion won.
He drifted off dreaming of velvet sofas, warm wood furniture, and the chaos he was about to unleash.
—
Across the world, Daisuke read the message and quietly laughed.
He could perfectly imagine Haru sprawled dramatically across the couch.
He typed a reply.
Daisuke: Sure. Anything for my princess. xP
DAY 2
“Fuck.”
Haru groaned as he rolled onto his side.
Every muscle in his body ached.
Damn that couch.
He cracked one eye open and glared at it.
Actually… why had he slept there in the first place?
Right.
That part might have been his fault.
Still, the bed probably wasn’t much better—cold, stiff, and judgmental like a luxury hotel mattress that secretly disapproved of human comfort.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his shoulders.
“The velvet one can’t get here fast enough,” he muttered.
Dragging himself through work that day felt like a long stakeout.
Half his brain processed reports and case files.
The other half redesigned the apartment.
Living room—mostly handled. Couch, table, bookcase.
But the walls were empty.
Art.
Definitely art.
Something with color.
Something alive.
Bedroom—new mattress, cozy lighting, maybe soft bedding.
Kitchen—Daisuke had basically nothing. Cookware, knives, maybe a small plant.
Dining area—chair cushions, a centerpiece.
Little details that turned a room from showroom into home.
Buzz.
Ring.
Buzz.
Ring.
“Yo, Kato. You gonna answer that?” Kamei nudged him.
“Huh?”
Haru blinked down at his phone.
Daisuke (3)
Well.
Shit.
He started dialing back just as the phone rang again.
“H-hello?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Daisuke asked.
“N-nope,” Haru said quickly, stepping away for privacy. “Just working.”
“I see.”
Haru frowned.
Daisuke sounded tired.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hm? What makes you think something is wrong?” Daisuke teased.
Haru rolled his eyes.
“Well… if you don’t need anything…”
Silence.
Then softly—
“I can’t sleep.”
Haru dragged a hand down his face.
Of course it was nighttime there.
“And what do you want me to do about that?” Haru teased.
“Nothing. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”
Haru leaned forward on the stairwell railing, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.
“And now that you have?”
Silence again.
Haru listened to the quiet rhythm of Daisuke’s breathing.
Honestly.
This man.
“Sleep tight, love,” Haru said softly before hanging up.
He stared at the phone for a moment.
Yeah.
This was exactly why the apartment needed fixing.
It couldn’t stay the cold, controlled place Daisuke had lived in before.
It needed warmth.
Life.
A little chaos.
A home for both of them.
DAY 3
The intercom buzzed at 9:07 a.m.
Haru blinked at it from the kitchen, coffee halfway to his mouth.
“Oh—!”
He nearly spilled the mug lunging for the receiver.
“Yeah—that’s me!”
The delivery trucks had arrived.
Within minutes the apartment filled with movement—boots thudding across tile, cardboard scraping against walls, the low grunt of movers maneuvering oversized furniture through the doorway.
Haru hovered nearby like a nervous stage director.
“Careful—watch the wall—yeah, tilt it—”
The couch came first.
His couch.
No.
Their couch.
The navy velvet barely cleared the doorframe. Haru followed the movers step for step like gravity might suddenly fail.
When they set it down, he stared.
The room changed instantly.
Where the apartment had once felt sterile and untouchable, the velvet absorbed the light, grounding the space.
Without hesitation Haru dropped onto it.
The cushions gave way with a soft sigh.
“…Oh my god.”
He leaned back, melting into the fabric.
“Worth every yen of Daisuke’s money.”
The movers politely pretended they hadn’t heard that.
Next came the coffee table.
The honey-toned oak looked even better than it had in the shop, the wood grain catching the morning light in soft ripples that immediately made the room feel less sterile. Haru crouched beside it as they set it down, running his fingers along the rounded edge. The surface was smooth, worn just enough to prove someone had lived with it before.
He tugged open one of the little drawers and grinned.
Perfect.
Remotes, coasters… maybe emergency snacks if Daisuke wasn’t paying attention.
The bookcase arrived after that, its glass doors flashing briefly in the sunlight as the movers carried it through the living room.
Haru pointed them toward the wall beside the sliding glass doors that opened onto the balcony, already picturing how it would look once the shelves were filled. Morning light spilled through the glass, stretching across the floor in bright rectangles.
“Yeah—right there.”
When they stepped back, Haru opened the glass doors experimentally. The hinges moved smoothly, revealing shelves waiting patiently for the stacks of books currently languishing in cardboard boxes near the hallway.
Daisuke’s books deserved better than that.
Haru nodded to himself, satisfied.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That will look perfect.”
The bedframe arrived last.
By the time the movers finished assembling it in the bedroom—tightening the final screws and setting the matching nightstands into place—Haru leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, studying the room the way he might examine a crime scene.
Angles.
Proportions.
Balance.
The walnut wood was darker than the furniture in the living room, but the tone complemented it instead of clashing. It grounded the space, making the room feel less like a showroom and more like somewhere a person might actually sleep.
When the movers finally left, the apartment fell quiet again.
Haru stood in the hallway for a moment, listening.
The place already sounded different.
The echo was gone.
But the most important piece still hadn’t arrived.
The mattress.
And honestly… Haru had put far too much thought into that purchase.
—
Haru had discovered the day before that mattress shopping after work was an unexpectedly humiliating activity.
The first store was filled with aggressive lighting and overly enthusiastic salespeople who seemed deeply invested in watching him flop dramatically across display beds.
“Too firm,” Haru declared after approximately three seconds on the first one, rolling onto his side before immediately sitting back up.
Next mattress.
“Too soft. I’m disappearing.”
Next.
“This one feels like a brick.”
At one point he rolled clean off a mattress and nearly took the promotional sign down with him.
The saleswoman watching this performance was doing an admirable job pretending it was completely normal.
Then she showed him the one.
A split-comfort mattress.
Two independently adjustable sides.
Haru stretched across it sideways, testing both halves at once.
The right side was firm—structured and supportive. The kind of surface Daisuke would probably appreciate.
The left side dipped just enough beneath his shoulders and hips to feel like being caught.
Very Haru.
“…Yeah,” he said immediately.
The saleswoman smiled politely. “Different comfort preferences?”
Haru snorted.
“You have no idea.”
—
The intercom buzzed again.
“Mattress delivery!”
Haru grinned.
“Perfect timing.”
Installation took all of five minutes.
The moment the delivery crew left, Haru dragged the bedding box from the corner of the room and tore it open.
Sheets first.
Then the comforter.
Pillowcases last.
The set he’d chosen struck a careful balance between them—high-quality cotton sheets in deep charcoal gray, a thick navy comforter, and a few simple accent pillows that didn’t scream minimalist… but also didn’t look like Haru had lost a fight with a craft store.
Comfortable. Clean. Warm.
Once everything was in place, Haru climbed onto the bed and immediately flopped backward.
“…Oh.”
The mattress dipped perfectly beneath him, softening just enough to cradle his shoulders while still supporting his back.
Haru rolled once, then twice, testing it like a very satisfied cat.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Worth it.”
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Haru grabbed it without looking. “Yo.”
“Good evening,” Daisuke said calmly.
Haru glanced at the clock.
“…Right. Time zones.”
“You sound tired,” Daisuke observed.
“Been busy,” Haru replied, stretching across the mattress. “Important work.”
“Is that so?”
“Very demanding.”
There was a small pause.
“Are you lying down?” Daisuke asked.
Haru smirked.
“Maybe.”
Another quiet pause followed.
“…Comfortable?” Daisuke asked.
Haru sank deeper into the mattress and let out a satisfied sigh.
“Oh yeah.”
“I’m glad,” Daisuke said simply.
They stayed on the line a few minutes longer, not really talking—just the quiet sound of breathing on the other end.
Easy.
Familiar.
Domestic.
They talked a while longer after that, Daisuke briefly describing the absurdly fancy conference he was attending while Haru made several deeply skeptical noises in response.
Eventually the conversation wound down. After a quiet exchange of goodnights—and a soft “love you”—Haru ended the call and set the phone back on the nightstand.
He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, mentally reviewing everything.
Living room—still needed something under the mounted TV. An entertainment center.
Bedroom—done.
Dining area—mostly done.
Which meant the rest of the week was the small stuff.
Kitchen essentials. Lamps. Dining chair cushions. A centerpiece. Art for the walls. Rug for the living room.
Things that made a space feel lived in.
Haru rolled onto his side and grabbed his phone again, scrolling through his photos.
Hundreds of them.
Daisuke at crime scenes.
Daisuke pretending to ignore him.
Daisuke laughing when he thought no one was watching.
Us.
Haru paused on one picture.
Daisuke leaning against the car after a case, tie loosened and expression faintly irritated while Haru laughed behind the camera.
Haru smiled faintly.
“…Yeah.”
Those definitely needed to be printed.
Framed.
Placed around the apartment where they actually belonged.
By the door where they’d drop their keys.
On the entertainment console under the TV.
Maybe a few on the bookcase.
Little reminders that this wasn’t just Daisuke’s sleek bachelor pad anymore.
It was their home.
Haru set the phone down beside him and stretched across the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.
Two more days.
Plenty of time to finish.
A rug for the living room.
Lamps.
Kitchen gear.
Curtains for the balcony door.
A few plants.
And when Daisuke walked through that door…
Haru grinned to himself.
He wouldn’t recognize the place.
But he’d recognize exactly what it meant.
Home.