The rain had finally stopped by evening, leaving the air outside cool and smelling faintly of wet pavement. Inside, the living room was warm and bright — fairy lights twinkling across the wall, a soft melody playing from the speaker. You were just finishing the last ribbon on a small box of chocolates when the doorbell rang.

“Ah, there he is,” Dazai’s voice called from the couch. He was lounging there comfortably, sipping your tea like it was his own house. “Took your husband long enough. I was starting to think he ditched you for another mafia mission.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s bringing our son back, Dazai. Try not to ruin the mood tonight.”

He grinned lazily. “Ruin it? I’m the reason the mood exists. Someone’s gotta make sure you two actually celebrate instead of falling asleep by nine.”

Before you could respond, the door opened — and there he was. Chuuya stepped in, hair still a little damp from the rain, Chiyo resting sleepily on his shoulder. In his other hand was a small bouquet of white lilies and baby’s breath, wrapped neatly in deep red paper.

“Hey,” he said softly, catching your gaze immediately. “Sorry we’re late. Somebody refused to leave the bakery until he got a second cookie.”

You laughed, reaching for Chiyo, who blinked up at you with tired eyes before snuggling into your arms. “That’s your son, all right.”

Dazai stood up with a dramatic sigh. “And that’s my cue. Happy anniversary, lovebirds. Try not to traumatize the kid with too much affection.”

“Get out, Dazai,” Chuuya muttered, but there was no real heat in his tone.

“Gladly~,” Dazai sing-songed, slipping out the door before either of you could throw something.

The moment the door shut, quiet settled in. Chuuya handed you the bouquet — the scent light and sweet, the petals glistening faintly with leftover raindrops. “Happy anniversary, doll,” he said gently. “And… here.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny plush — a small white bunny with a red heart stitched on its chest. “Press it,” he murmured.

You did, and the plush lit up softly, a tiny voice chirping, “I love you.”

Your breath caught — half laughter, half awe. “Chuuya… this is so—”

“Cheesy?” he finished, smirking faintly. “Yeah. But you like cheesy.”

You smiled, handing him the small box of chocolates in return. “And you like sweet.”

He took it with a quiet chuckle, eyes softening. “You wrote me something too, didn’t you?”

You nodded, slipping a folded letter into his hand. “Don’t read it yet.”

But he was already opening it, curiosity winning as always. You held Chiyo close, rocking him gently as Chuuya’s eyes moved over your handwriting, his expression softening with each line.

'I've never known someone like you. Tangled in love, stuck by you, from the glue. Don't forget to kiss me, or else you'll have to miss me. I guess I'm stuck forever by the glue, oh, and you.'

When he looked up, his eyes were gentle, glimmering faintly in the low light. “You…” he whispered, voice rough around the edges. “You always know how to make me melt, huh?”

You laughed quietly, brushing your thumb along Chiyo’s soft hair. “It’s your fault for being so easy to love.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to Chiyo’s. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he murmured.

Chiyo blinked sleepily and reached out toward him, mumbling, “Daddy… love.”

Both of you froze, then burst into laughter — that full, unfiltered kind of joy that made your chest ache.

“You heard that?” Chuuya grinned proudly. “First ‘love,’ and it’s for me!”