Chapter Text
It is the hour where the moon sinks below the horizon, the stars disappearing from the night sky, and allowing the brightest of them all to rightfully continue her course. Woken from her prolonged slumber, the sun peeked over the east. Her rays, whispers. The birds followed in suit, a pair of mourning doves allowed the rest of the forest to join them in the start of their day with a beautiful song.
Two white mugs sat on the kitchen counter, the air of the house silent but warm. Windows were opened and the salty breeze from the ocean carried through the cabin. The waves could be heard regardless of the distance from the home to the sea.
Orion seated himself in the small, homey dining room. He kept the overhead light off and instead chose to open the curtains. Natural light flooded in, brightening the dark-wood flooring. Not a speck of dust was caught in its glow, and it brought a smile to the man’s face. This was his sanctuary, a place where the outside world felt far away, where laughter and love echoed off the cabin walls.
The stove’s clock read five.
Orion tilted his head in an attempt to better read the blocky digits. Osamu wouldn’t be awake for another few hours, naturally. But it would do no harm for Orion to wake him. The couple had gone to bed relatively early the night before anyway.
Quietly but not unkindly, the hearty man made his way through the small built cabin, shoulders relaxed as the boards beneath him lacked the usual creak. He filed down the hall, brushing past the marriage certificate that was framed upon the wall, surrounded by pictures of distant friends they haven't heard from in some time. A slim and frivolously dressed redhead, a broad shouldered man in a tuxedo, and a ghostly pale young man that the woman clung to.
It brought a small smile to his face. Memories of his wedding night flooded his mind. The tears shed, the shy glances, the drunken exchanges.
Maybe he should get in touch with them again?
“My love.” The pet name was rasped.
Orion’s eyes widened with sudden interest, caught mostly off guard. Into his view came his lean lover, dressed in loose pajamas and a shirt that didn't belong to him. Messy brown hair, with his natural white peeking in at his roots, having fallen out of its makeshift bun.
“Look at you, smiling.” Another pet name, this one followed by a throaty laugh. Orion’s arms were spread, inviting his exhausted lover in for a hug. After a moment, he felt the familiar piece fall back into place. Osamu pressed against his chest.
“Good morning,” Osamu murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep. Orion could feel the warmth radiating from him, the way they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. In that moment, the worries of the world faded, leaving just the two of them in their little haven. “Did you sleep well?” Osamu asked, pulling back slightly to meet Orion’s gaze. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes, and Orion felt a rush of guilt.
“Better than ever,” he replied, a gentle smile making itself home on his clean shaven face. As Osamu settled beside him, the sunlight danced around them, illuminating their shared warmth, yet the shadows of unspoken words lingered just beyond reach.
Orion, disliking the distance, threaded his fingers through the tangled heap of Osamu's colored hair. He urged the man’s head closer, their foreheads pressed firmly against one another. Their eyes locked, but only for a moment, as Osamu pulled away once more and steadily made his way in the direction of the bathroom.
His dark eyes followed the older man, but only for a moment. He found his focus again on the memories framed on the wall.
Orion paused, his fingers grazing the frame as he recalled laughter shared over meals and late-night conversations that stretched until dawn. But those memories were tinged with the bittersweet realization of how quickly time had changed them. The faces in the photos seemed to smile back, but their absence weighed heavily in the air, reminding him of the growing distance not just from friends but from the life they had built together.
“Do you ever think about them?” Orion asked, his voice softer than intended. He wanted to know if Osamu felt the same pang of nostalgia or if the past was easier for him to let go.
Osamu opened his eyes, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. He stared into the eyes of his reflection, his jaw set. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to.” He paused, reaching for his toothbrush. “But I think we’re creating our own memories now, right here. Just like they are in their own lives. We all grow up eventually”
Orion forced a smile, but doubt flickered in his mind. The world outside was changing, and he feared what that might mean for them. As Osamu’s gaze returned to him, filled with warmth and trust, Orion felt the weight of the unknown pressing down like a heavy blanket, threatening to smother the light between them. He couldn't tell why it was bothering him now, of all times.
The morning continued to guide Orion and Osamu throughout their daily life. The couple drifted about, their steps synchronized as they headed into the kitchen. Just like on many days before and those yet to come, Osamu started coffee for the both of them. He hated drinking black coffee but had been taught by his father that it was the "proper" way to enjoy it. Meanwhile, Orion preferred his cup loaded with cream and sugar, more like a dessert than a drink.
The two mugs on the counter, slightly chipped around the rims from years of use, bore faded patterns—more specifically the one with any proof of patterns at all. They seemed like old friends, much like their owners, holding stories in their porcelain shells. Steam curled upwards, a quiet signal that this was a ritual long practiced and cherished.
Osamu stood at the counter, their fingers drumming absently on the cool surface. His movements were unhurried, almost languid, as he poured the dark, rich liquid into each mug. His gaze drifted to the window, where the ocean seemed to stretch endlessly between the gaps of flush foliage, its surface rippling with hints of gold as the sun grew bolder. A contented sigh escaped his lips—a sound not meant for anyone in particular but full of a quiet kind of joy that mornings like this seemed to bring.
Orion, seated at the small, weathered dining table, wore an oversized sweater that had seen many winters. He cradled his mug between both hands, taking in the warmth. His eyes, still heavy with the remnants of sleep, followed Osamu's every move—a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. There was something unspoken in that smile, a comfortable silence that only years of shared mornings could create.
Mother nature’s creations continued their song outside, natural notes weaving into the sound of the waves crashing rhythmically on the shore. The kitchen itself seemed to hum with life, despite its stillness. The wooden walls, with their collection of postcards and mismatched photographs, echoed with the quiet history of these two lives intertwined. A frying pan lay on the stove, evidence of breakfast yet to be made, while a bowl of fresh oranges sat on the table, their bright color contrasting with the muted tones of the room.
Osamu took a sip of his black coffee, grimacing slightly at the bitterness, while Orion’s eyes lit up at the first taste of his sweetened brew.
“See? This is why you should try it my way,” Orion said, a playful challenge in his voice.
Osamu rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. In response to the playful kick, he snorted.“I’ll stick to my regular, thank you very much.” Osamu glanced over his shoulder, catching Orion’s gaze. A small exchange passed between them, wordless but profound, as if this moment—the light, the warmth, the sea, and the simple act of sharing coffee—was all that mattered.
As they chatted and enjoyed their drinks, the ease of their morning routine enveloped them, a gentle reminder of the life they had built together—filled with love, laughter, and little moments that made each day feel special.
–
Noon filed in rather quickly. The couple had split and started their own daily duties and personal acts. Osamu had busied himself away in his study, a room he never allowed Orion into which the man respected and strayed from. Inside were mounds of art, images of worship and love. Sweat, tears, blood, and devotion was wrung out into each canvas, every sculpture. The distance art could go met no bounds in Osamu’s study, but it stuck to one constant. A familiar road. The face etched into each work was one he learned not by eye but by hand. Not with sight but with touch. Every wrinkle in Orion’s face, the bump in his nose after a break. The stories borne into skin, the trail that tears take every time they are shed. Every imperfection he knew better than he did his own. Every trait that his lover bore was a trait he praised.
As Osamu traced the lines of Orion's face with gentle fingers, he marveled at the way each mark told a story—some of laughter, others of pain. He remembered the nights spent under the stars, whispers shared in the stillness, when Orion had opened up about his past, each revelation like a new brushstroke on a canvas that was uniquely his.
His current project was a sculpture. Something he would deny to be anything but a work in progress. It was nothing near complete until he could recognize what this mound of clay was, but he knew. His muscles burned every motion into memory, this was no different but merely routine.
High cheekbones. Sunken but fleshy. Eye bags that seemed almost unrecognizable when he smiled. A broad nose and the slight knick just before the bridge. A creased brow that was never seen without its smirk.
“Do you ever think about how these stories shape us?” Osamu asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Each scar, each laugh line... they’re like chapters in your book.”
He waited for a response, but never received one. Speaking to the image of his lover created at his own hand. There was a chitter in the window, a squeak belonging to a brown feathered bird. Surely Orion would know the species. The thought brought a smile to Osamu’s scarred face and he leaned back, head tilting as he took in the appearance of the progressing sculpture. Those lips he spent days carving had finally come together.
As the chittering bird outside continued its song, Osamu allowed himself a rare smile. His fingers, now streaked with clay, lingered over the curve of the sculpture's lips—a detail he had meticulously carved, trying to capture that particular way Orion's mouth curved when he was amused. He could almost hear Orion’s laugh, that low, warm sound that seemed to melt the tension from Osamu's chest whenever he heard it. It echoed in his memory, a balm on this quiet afternoon.
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing a trace of clay across his temple, and thought of Orion out there in the sunlit world. Perhaps he was tending to the plants in their small garden, gently coaxing life from the soil with the same care he showed to everything he touched. Or maybe he was on the porch with a book in hand, eyes narrowed in concentration, or whittling away at one of his small wooden creations that seemed to come alive under his skilled hands. Wherever Orion was, Osamu knew he’d be surrounded by birds, whispering their secrets to him, just as the wind whispered through the trees.
A soft sigh escaped him, and he turned back to the sculpture. It was still rough in some places, unfinished. He had yet to refine the delicate lines around the eyes, the ones that crinkled when Orion smiled—lines that told of joy, of humor, and the love that had grown between them. He’d yet to add the small, almost invisible scar just below the brow, the one that Orion had gotten as a child, chasing after something or other. Each mark was a testament to time, to the years they had weathered together.
The light streaming through the window shifted slightly, throwing new shadows across the room. It highlighted the angles of the sculpture in a way that made it almost lifelike, as if Orion himself were standing there in the room, looking back at Osamu with that quiet, knowing expression he always wore when he caught Osamu staring. It was the look that said, “I know you. I see you. And I love you all the same.”
Osamu's chest tightened at the thought. He reached out again, this time hesitating, his fingers hovering just above the sculpture's cheek. “Maybe one day,” he murmured, to the silent clay, “I’ll get this right. Maybe one day, I’ll make something worthy of you.”
The bird at the window gave another chirp, a quick flutter of wings as if in agreement. Osamu’s eyes softened as he glanced toward it, imagining the way Orion would have smiled at the sight, the way his hands would have reached out instinctively to coax the bird closer. Osamu shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
"Orion," he said aloud, almost to himself, "I don’t think you’ll ever know how much of you lives in this room, even when you’re not here."
And just like that, he was alone again, the silence in the study settling back over him like a familiar cloak. But it was a silence filled with presence—with Orion’s laughter, his voice, his touch. Every line of the sculpture, every streak of clay on his hands, was a piece of Orion that Osamu had lovingly captured and held onto.
–
Orion was outside, similarly to every Wednesday he had lived since the couple moved from the confines of the city. Almost twelve years since then. It was unbelievable to a point.
His eyes zeroed in on the chunk of wood. He adjusted his grip on the ax and forced out a heavy exhale, feeling the familiar rhythm of the task settle into his bones.
With a deep breath, he swung back, the muscles in his arms straining slightly, the physical exertion a welcomed challenge. He exerted all his force into splitting the hefty piece. The wood splintered with a crack, sending halves tumbling to the ground in a shower of shards. Pausing for a moment, he wiped the sweat from his brow, relishing the peace surrounding him—the rustling leaves whispered secrets, a distant bird called out, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and earth.
He was stationed beside the shed, further from their cabin by osamu’s complaint. Claiming the splinters littered their yard and he was not fond of accidentally stepping on them. He remembered first hearing his lover say that and laughing, unable to believe that was what bothered him instead of the loud sounds or the curses that escaped him by utter accident.
Regardless, Orion moved and carried on elsewhere. Far enough from the house that his lover wouldn't be bothered, but close enough to be within reach come any conflict. The familiar rhythm of chopping wood became a meditation, a way to channel his thoughts and energy. He thought of how much he cherished these moments of solitude and how they contrasted with the warmth of Osamu’s presence waiting for him back home.
He let his mind wander, imagining Osamu inside, perhaps wrapped in a cozy sweater, surrounded by the scents of herbs and spices as he prepared lunch. The image brought a smile to Orion’s face, a warmth spreading through him.
With renewed determination, he took another swing, each crack of the wood resonating with memories of their shared life—every laugh, every argument, and every quiet evening spent together. This was not just work; it was a testament to their life, built on love and compromise.
As he finished another piece, he paused again, looking toward the cabin, feeling that familiar tug of connection. He knew that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together, one swing at a time.
As Orion wiped his brow, he took a moment to catch his breath, the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat mingling with the gentle rustle of the trees. He leaned against the shed, feeling the rough wooden surface against his back, and let his eyes drift toward the cabin. It stood proudly against the backdrop of the forest, a symbol of the life he and Osamu had built together—a sanctuary filled with shared dreams and whispered secrets.
His thoughts wandered to how they had arrived at this point. Moving from the chaos of the city had felt like stepping into a different world, one that offered not just space but also a chance to rediscover themselves. Orion remembered the first days in the cabin, the air thick with the scent of fresh wood and the sounds of nature all around. It had been overwhelming and yet equally exuberayting, like diving into a new adventure.
He chuckled to himself, recalling their first winter here—how they had bundled up in layers of mismatched clothing, laughter spilling from their lips as they struggled to chop firewood, their hands numb from the cold. He had nearly slipped on a patch of ice, and Osamu had caught him just in time, their hearts racing as they fell into a heap of laughter.
Those were the moments that had drawn them closer, each mishap a thread in the fabric of their relationship.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Orion turned his attention back to the wood. He picked up another piece, feeling the weight of it in his hands, and reflected on the way this simple task grounded him. It was a physical reminder of his strength, of the resilience he had cultivated over the years—not just in his work, but in his heart. Each swing of the ax was an affirmation of his commitment to Osamu, to their life together, to the future they were building.
Maybe they should get a cat? Or two. They would make splendid company for the both of them. Give them something else to look forward to as it was another step into their love-filled future.
Orion’s thoughts of a cat—or two—lingered in his mind as he adjusted his grip on the ax, a smile softening his features. He imagined a small feline weaving between his legs, their curious eyes watching each arc of the blade as if fascinated by this human ritual. He pictured how Osamu might react, half-amused, half-exasperated by the fur that would inevitably find its way into every corner of their cabin. But he’d give in, like he always did, because that was who Osamu was—soft beneath the surface, all his grumbles just a mask for how much he loved their shared life.
Taking another deep breath, Orion swung the ax again, the satisfying crack of the wood splitting filling the air. He paused after the last piece fell, straightening up and rolling the tension out of his shoulders. The sun had climbed higher, its warmth seeping into his skin, and he let the moment linger, savoring the quiet peace of their homestead.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Orion let out a contented sigh, feeling a sense of completeness wash over him. He took a step toward the cabin, letting the ax rest against the side of the shed. As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to the first time he and Osamu had discussed moving to the countryside. It had been Osamu’s idea initially, spoken in a moment of frustration after yet another sleepless night in their noisy city apartment.
“We need space,” Osamu had said, his voice low and certain. “Space to breathe, to create, to just be.”
Orion had been skeptical at first, attached to the bustling energy of the city, but Osamu’s determination had won him over.
Now, as he looked around at the life they had built here, at the trees that framed their home and the sea that stretched beyond, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. The cabin wasn’t just a house; it was a canvas, painted with years of shared moments and small triumphs, of laughter that echoed through the walls and quiet nights spent in each other’s arms.
He reached the porch and paused for a moment, hand resting on the wooden railing. The door to Osamu’s study was closed, as it always was when he was lost in his work, and Orion respected that space. He knew better than to intrude, even though part of him ached to see what new masterpiece Osamu was bringing to life. It was enough to know that whatever creation lay within those walls, it was a labor of love, shaped by hands that knew him better than he knew himself.
Orion leaned against the porch railing, his gaze drifting to the sky, and wondered aloud, “Do you think they’ll like it here, Osamu? Our future cats?” His voice was soft, almost wistful, carried away by the breeze that whispered through the pines. He knew Osamu couldn’t hear him, but the question was more for himself than anyone else. At one point, when he was young, he would have asked if it were suitable for kids. But that did not exist in his mind anymore. Not when he had what he wanted right here, right now. Of course, minus the presence of friendly furballs.
The whisper of the pines seemed to answer him, carrying away the question he no longer needed to ask: whether their life here was enough, whether it was whole. It was a question he might have voiced once upon a time, back when he thought of homes filled with children's laughter and the chaos that accompanied it. But now, he understood that the life he had built with Osamu was the one he’d never known he truly needed.
He let the thought of children drift away on the breeze, like a dream set free. It was a different kind of contentment he’d found in Osamu’s presence—a stillness, a peace that filled the spaces in his heart that he didn’t realize were empty. The idea of a cat—or two—was enough. A simple addition to their life that felt right, in its own quiet way. Something to keep them company as they grew older, watching the sun rise and set over this patch of earth they called home.
The distant crunch of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Osamu approaching, wiping his hands on a rag stained with clay. There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes, mixed with a touch of exasperation that always seemed to surface whenever he caught Orion lost in one of his daydreams.
“What are you muttering to yourself about now?” Osamu asked, his voice teasing but laced with affection.
Orion shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just thinking about how we could use some company around here. Maybe a cat to keep us in line.”
Osamu raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward in that almost-smile he tried to hide. “A cat? You want to share this cabin with a creature that sheds more hair than you do?” He sounded bewildered. “I think not. It is hard enough to keep this place clean.”
“I do not shed, thank you kindly.” Orion laughed, the sound echoing softly between them. “But fuck it. Maybe I do?” His snippy comment earned him a questioning stare. One to which he smiled at. “You know, something to cuddle with when you’re holed up in your study all day.”
“Why not get a dog?” Osamu inquired. When Orion’s smile faltered, he snickered. His lover was never fond of overbearing canines. After the laugh, his expression softened then, and his defenses slipped as he stepped closer to Orion. He reached out, brushing a speck of sawdust off Orion’s shoulder, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “If you think a cat will keep you company since you miss me so badly, as if I don’t feel the same, then sure,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Let’s get two.”
Orion blinked, surprised, then grinned so wide it made his cheeks ache. “Two, huh? Now you’re talking.” He leaned in, just enough so that their foreheads touched, their breath mingling in the cool afternoon air. “I’m holding you to that, you know. No take-backs."
Osamu rolled his eyes, but there was a softness to his expression that spoke of fondness, of a love that had only deepened with time. He sighed dramatically, as if already resigned to his fate, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed him. “Fine, fine. Two cats it is,” he said. “But under no circumstances are they allowed in the study.”
Orion chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “No promises,” he replied, reaching out to cup Osamu’s cheek with his rough hand, the same hand that had swung the ax and split the wood that would keep them warm tonight. “I will help you clean though? Maintain that shining interior you seem to obsess over.”
For a moment, the world seemed to still, the wind holding its breath, the sun casting its last golden rays across the sky. It was just the two of them on that porch, and all the years they had lived through seemed to fold in on themselves, bringing them to this simple, perfect moment.
“Idiot,” Osamu murmured, but there was no bite to his words. He closed the last inches between them, pressing a soft kiss to Orion’s lips, slow and tender, as if sealing a promise.
As they pulled apart, Orion’s eyes drifted to the cabin again, imagining it filled with the lazy sprawl of cats basking in the sun, the flicker of Osamu’s laughter, the smell of coffee and clay in the air. It was enough to fill his chest with a warmth that reached down into his bones, a certainty that this—Osamu, their home, their life—was everything he had ever wanted.
“Come on,” Osamu said softly, a smile ghosting his lips as he tugged Orion toward the cabin. “Let’s go inside before you get any more ideas.”
Orion laughed, his heart light as he followed Osamu, the future stretching out before them, filled with the possibility of simple joys and the quiet, steady rhythm of a love that had weathered every season.
And maybe, just maybe, the pitter-patter of paws across their cool wooden floors..