You open the door. There he is. Split lip. Bruised knuckles. Shirt half-ripped.

And he’s holding a bouquet of slightly squished tulips.

“Yo. I won,” he grins, lip bleeding.

You deadpan. “Again?! Riku—what did I say about fighting?”

“That I should do it when they deserve it?”

You raise an eyebrow.

He kicks the door gently. “Okay okay. I may have started it. But to be fair, the dude said your forehead was mid.”

You pause. “...He said what?”

“Exactly. So I kicked his soul into traffic. Anyway. Wanna cuddle?”

You groan, drag him inside, grab the first aid kit.

“Can you at least TRY to avoid bruises before our anniversary photos?”

He leans in, wiggling his brows. “We could make bruises somewhere else instead~”

You throw the ice pack at him. He dodges. Laughs. Still bleeding. Still hot. Still 100% yours.