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Kurosawa thinks Adachi is beautiful.
It had taken him months to internalize that fact, longer to accept it. Adachi had never paid quite so much attention to his appearance to think of himself as either way - though he’d certainly say he was more on the side of average, especially when compared to Kurosawa. Kurosawa had those soft eyes and that lean body and that stunning, blinding smile. Adachi was aware that he probably looked a little plain by comparison. Floppy hair that was constantly in his eyes, loose clothes that didn’t show off the length of his legs or arms, and a smile that was awkwardly startled out of him more often than not.
But Kurosawa never seemed to think that way. He liked Adachi’s hair, liked to smooth it back into place or absently run his fingers through it while they were reading or mess it up irrevocably while he kissed Adachi senseless. He liked his baggier clothes, liked his shy smiles, liked his laugh and his hands and his just-about-everything, if Adachi really thought about it. And there was the mole fixation, obviously, which had become a sort of game to his boyfriend - how many times could he target that mole with his mouth and land it on the first try?
(The answer was every time, because Kurosawa wasn’t perfect, but he was good at most everything he set his mind to.)
His thoughts were always full of praise towards Adachi’s appearance, and for a while he just didn’t get it.
“I think I might need a new suit,” he mused one morning after breakfast, holding out his rather ill-fitting but reliable blazer in front of him as Kurosawa was doing the dishes, “where do you get yours from? You always look so put together.”
The sound of soapy scrubbing halted, running water no longer audible against the metal sink. “Is there something wrong with yours? Did it tear?” Kurosawa sounded concerned, worry in his eyes as he poked his head out of the kitchen, neat and presentable as always in a striped button down and pressed slacks.
“No, but it doesn’t look nearly as nice as you,” Adachi replied absently, turning his head back at the sound of muffled footsteps. Kurosawa cupped his cheek with a slightly damp hand and kissed his forehead gently.
Only you could make that suit look so adorable, echoed in his head at the contact, sending a flush high into his cheeks. (He gets a new one anyway, because the old one really didn’t fit, and the new one made him feel much better about himself.)
“Should I cut my hair?” He asked one day, blowing up at his bangs in the mirror. They were getting long, constantly in his eyes. He thought of the constant bedhead he used to have compared to Kurosawa’s or even Urabe-san’s far more professional styling. “I’ll need a trim soon anyway. What do you think?” Kurosawa’s reflection was looking back at him with such a potent mix of fondness and consternation that Adachi’s heart skipped several beats, and then skipped several more when his boyfriend leaned moved around the side of the table to run his fingers through Adachi’s bangs, rubbing a long lock between his forefinger and thumb.
“Adachi should do whatever he likes with his hair.” I love Adachi’s hair, it’s so soft, and perfect for running my hands through. The dissonance between his thoughts and words took him aback. He thought about it again when he was at the salon a week later, and only had the stylist trim off enough so that the ends sat just above his brow.
He liked watching Kurosawa get ready in the mornings - slacks, undershirt, button-down, tie, blazer, hair. It was a routine that took his boyfriend from gorgeously messy to gorgeously presentable, while Adachi lounged around in his pajamas and didn’t bother dressing until right before it was time to leave.
This morning, Kurosawa was having trouble with his hair, several strands refusing to sit properly against the side of his head.
“Let me help,” Adachi giggled, brushing his hands gently across Kurosawa’s forehead and doing very little to actually help but still liking the way that Kurosawa’s eyes went soft and happy, “you’re always so neat, Kurosawa.”
“Adachi is neat, too,” Kurosawa replied, stealing a kiss against Adachi’s cheek that made them both smile uncontrollably.
He shook his head. “I wear a suit. You look like a model.”
Kurosawa’s smile dropped, his brow creasing as his hand raised to the spot on Adachi’s cheek that he’d just kissed. His thoughts matched his words. “You’re lovely.” He cupped his cheek more firmly and kissed him gently once, twice, three times before he remembered that they were both dressed for work and definitely shouldn’t get too distracted.
Kurosawa had a mild fixation with his moles, Adachi thought - there were several of them dotting his neck and jaw, much to Kurosawa’s delight, and they were his favorite places to target when he had Adachi laid out under him, the topmost buttons of their dress shirts undone and his hands in Adachi’s hair.
Gorgeous, lovely, beautiful, how is he this beautiful? He’s so pretty when his cheeks are all flushed like that. How did I ever deserve this? Kurosawa’s warm, talented mouth easily distracted Adachi from Kurosawa’s thoughts, though they still snuck their way into the forefront of his mind whenever he broke off for air.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Kurosawa murmured almost incomprehensibly into the side of his neck, probably into one of Adachi’s moles.
Adachi’s brain was little more than mush. “Am I?” He responded instinctively, gasping as Kurosawa bit down gently on his pulse point and scraped his teeth over sensitive skin.
His boyfriend pulled back instantly. “That sounded like an actual question.”
“Uh-,” Adachi laughed nervously, pushing himself up onto his elbows, “I mean, I-,”
“Yes,” Kurosawa said fiercely, cupping Adachi’s face between his palms and kissing him hard, over and over until Adachi couldn’t help but slip his hands into Kurosawa’s soft hair and tug gently. “You- Adachi, you’re so cute.” Kurosawa moved to mouth along his jaw. “Stunning.” A playful nip at his ear that had no business feeling as good as it did. “The prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”
His laugh was a pitchy, awkward mix of anxiety and disbelief and mild arousal. “I mean they say that thing, you know, about how it’s all in the eye of the beholder and everything.”
“Nope,” Kurosawa replied happily, kissing him far more gently this time, “my boyfriend is an angel. The loveliest angel. Everyone else just has to deal with it.”
So, sure. He still didn’t get it. But, if he really thought about it, he didn’t have to - Kurosawa looked at him and saw beauty. Maybe, someday, Adachi would see the same.