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#happy birthday furubaby!
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Hi!! Can I ask for a HC/scenario (whatever you feel comfortable) for Furuhashi being a good boyfriend for his fem!s/o? Add something about intimacy if you want but with some fluff I'll happy ❤️ Of: I really love your writing
He’s out in the garden every evening.
Sometimes, when she arrives, he’s still tending away to the plants: frowning in concentration, murmuring to them,  stroking the leaves before he walks past. If he’s in the garden, he doesn’t greet her; most of the time, he doesn’t even look up when she whistles a “how you doing?”
And she’s been warned about this. She’s told that a man who won’t even say hello is no man worth knowing.
“I don’t mind,” she tries to explain, “it’s just his way of doing things.”
They don’t realise that Furuhashi will say goodbye to the plants, a little while after she’s made her way inside, and follows her to the kitchen, wiping hands covered in soil against his apron. They don’t see him nudge biscuits and bread her way - “I made them yesterday. You’re the guinea pig” - blushing slightly, in a way that reminds her that this is how Furuhashi says ‘I love you’.
“It’s delicious,” she says every time, “you have to try some for yourself!”
Unsurprisingly, the two eat in silence - but that’s not to say no words are exchanged. They talk through how he allows her shoulder to bump against his, and how he rests his knee against hers, and their fingers touch when they both reach for the final slice, before they take turns to push it to the others’ side of the plate. Hence, the last slice is always split into two.
When it gets later, they watch films together, or, more commonly, just read in each other’s company. She rests her head on Furuhashi’s shoulder, and, if the book he’s reading is especially good, he might just turn to kiss her forehead. Again, it’s quiet, with the exception of the flicking of pages, and how the characters’ dialogue makes her chuckle. Maybe that’s why Furuhashi stays so still, as if even the slightest of sounds might prevent him from hearing the lightness in her laugh.
But, on the days where she doesn’t stay over for the night, Furuhashi doesn’t stay so quiet. He intercepts her journey to the door, his arms behind his back, staring down at her (seemingly blankly, though there’s a love in his eyes which only those who know him well can spy), till he brings out the flowers which he’s been hiding.
And mutters, as he places the homemade bouquet in her hands, “oi - this is for you.”
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