Work Text:
Another day, another marriage interview. Amon wasn’t even sure how his coworkers kept managing to trick him. This was the 10th “hang-out” this month that wasn’t reallt a hang-out.
“I’m sorry,”
He apologized, delicately taking his “date’s” hand and trying to smile,
“But I’m not looking to get married yet. You are a wonderful person and I wish you the best.”
As he left the café, Amon tried his best to ignore his potential partner’s red face and whispered,
“I’ll wait for you.”
After all, he was already taken.
Instead of heading home, Amon trudged all the way to Arima’s tiny one-person apartment on the east side of the city. It was cramped and surprisingly plain, but it had the one person in it that could make him feel at home. He didn’t bother to knock on the door, instead pulling out the key he’d been gifted only a week prior (he had given Arima a key almost a month before that).
“Koutarou,”
Arima’s soft voice managed to carry through the tiny space perfectly (something Amon loved…it was always like Arima was right next to him when he was here),
“Are you alright?”
Amon sighed and tossed his suit jacket onto the couch, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather some kind of positivity into his voice,
“Yeah,”
He responded,
“I am now.”
Another day, another marriage interview. Amon was pretty sure he was an idiot at this point. Less than 4 days had passed since his last one. Admittedly, his friends had changed tactics this time, telling him that the boss wanted to have a talk, but that was hardly an excuse.
Shifting uncomfortably, Amon glanced around the rather intimate (and expensive) restaurant. Another man across the room looked almost as awkward as him and, hoping to commiserate with someone, Amon tried to catch his eye.
The man was his boyfriend.
Arima looked like he was holding back laughter, but Amon’s heart rate immediately picked up in a panic. Oh God, his boyfriend had seen him at a marriage interview. What if Arima thought Amon was trying to leave him (not that he would veer…he wanted to…)!?
Sheer desperation lead Amon to escaping his marriage interview in under an hour, something his polite upbringing had consistently prevented in the past, and he went to Arima’s apartment at a dead sprint. Halfway there, he realized he needed to grovel properly. He’d never really had to apologize to Arima before, but Akira liked flowers and said they were the only kind of apology that was proper for a partner…
He ran to the florist (arriving sweaty and, apparently, terrifying).
After buying a massive bouquet of roses that he managed to severely bedraggle on the way home (Arima’s was home, damn it, he wasn’t going to give that up), Amon slammed into the apartment to find Arima already there. His boyfriend grinned at him (at least, Arima’s version of a grin) and said,
“Oh, are those for me? I’ve never gotten flowers before.”
Which caused Amon to immediately (out loud) vow to buy him flowers more frequently. Arima looked perplexed, but Amon simply plowed onwards with his apology,
“I’m not trying to leave you, I swear! Everyone keeps trying to set me up with strangers without telling me and-“
Arima stood up from the couch and strode over, taking the roses out of Amon’s crushing grip.
“It’s alright,”
He said, patting Amon on the shoulder (way too hard…God, why was Arima so strong),
“I was at a marriage interview too, actually. For similar reasons.”
Arima and Amon had told their coworkers almost a year ago that they were together. It had been at a company party and was totally unplanned. It had just seemed like a good time and, well, Amon was never good at hiding his happiness from others (Arima just didn’t care much, though he seemed pleased when Amon grabbed his hand). Everyone had laughed and…
Amon had a bit to drink. So did Arima. They both just…assumed the laughter was a positive reaction.
It had taken months to realize everyone had taken Amon’s (admittedly ostentatious) confession as a joke. By then, it was far too awkward to bring it up again. Amon didn’t even know how to begin explaining…it felt like he’d been keeping a secret intentionally. Still, it hadn’t seemed like a problem until the endless marriage interviews began.
“Ugh, they keep asking me when I’m going to have kids.”
Amon groaned, burying his face in his hands. Arima made a face, mumbling under his breath about Haise Sasaki (that new detective he had taken on), and muttering,
“I already told them that I have kids. All the kids that they are asking me to train.”
A black mood was beginning to take over Amon. As he sunk deeper into his thoughts, he blurted,
“It’s annoying that they misunderstood in the first place. This is ridiculous – now I feel like I can’t even ask you to move in with me, even though I have a new place picked out and I bought a bunch of monogrammed towels and I want to see your face every morning…”
Arima “awkwardness is a thing only other people experience” Kishou took his boyfriend’s sudden confession in stride, even though Amon was internally screaming. He blinked slowly before crinkling his eyebrows in thought.
“I have an idea.”
Arima said, crushing Amon’s shoulder in what he probably thought was a comforting grip,
“If we get a kid, they have to take us seriously right? So we can live together?”
Mutely, Amon nodded, though he was torn between excitement and breaking out in a cold sweat (wasn’t Arima indifferent towards kids? Did he want to have some? Was Amon ready to be a dad????).
“Is your new apartment pet-friendly?”
(What?)
Picking out their dog had been the best day of Amon’s life. He’d never seen Arima smile like he had when they’d adopted a crotchedy old Husky would hated everyone and everything. The following week had him returning from work every night with Arima to try to earn their dog’s trust together.
Once he stopped biting them and started tentatively allowing them to pet him (though his ripped ear was 100% off limits), they started finding treats that he liked. Then they started taking him for walks around the city, brushing his fur, buying him sweaters (that he tolerated just for them)…
Turns out, their dog was a huge sweetheart even if he seemed cold (Amon glanced at Arima and tried not to get too many mushy feelings). Arima, king of terrible names, called him Peanut Butter (”What? He likes it!”).
They were going to keep him.
The announcement was poorly planned, but hilariously well executed. They hired a photographer, a tiny girl named Hori, and staged a photoshoot in their new place. Arima lay on the couch, Peanut Butter tucked under his shirt like a pregnant woman’s belly. Throughout the shoot, the dog steadily wiggled his way out until he was licking Arima’s face.
Hori loved all the photos enough to scrap their original idea of sending just one out. Instead, she strung them together into a little scrapbook of Arima “giving birth” (she was one weird girl) and wrote “it’s a boy” on the front cover. She delivered them all herself, not even asking for pay.
She said seeing “embarrassing a bunch of detectives” would be enough.
Everyone called in sick the next day at the CCG detective agency. Amon and Arima went home early to play with their dog.