The lone consolation, Tooru decides as he surveys the bags of groceries in the trunk of the car, is that he didn’t need to buy cat food or litter this week. They were running low on toilet paper, but it’s not like he actually needs his hands for that. He can just sort of…kick it

up the step from the garage and into the house, keeping his hands completely free.

Hajime’s car is in the garage now, so he’s most likely at home, but there is a slim possibility he could have stepped out somewhere. Either way, it’s not as though Hajime actually need to be

bothered, after all, Tooru mastered the art of bringing in groceries in one trip years ago. Depending on how you view the word mastered.

He will have to maneuver his way around Hajime’s car, as it’s in the space closest to the door, but that’s no big deal. Tooru sets the

package of toilet paper on the ground in front of him, and then returns to surveying the rest of the groceries.

Tooru curses the both of them, for going so long without stopping to the store, but neither of them have had the time. Which is what put him in this predicament, he

supposes. He sighs and begins grabbing bags, hanging them off of his left arm, the heavier totes slung around his shoulder.

Tooru alternates between his arms as he grabs bags, because it’s always far more difficult to place them if one arm is already weighed down with groceries.

His arms feel like they’re going to be ripped out of their sockets and canvas straps bite into the skin around his arms and wrists, but Tooru has, successfully managed to empty the contents of the trunk in one go.

He kicks at the toilet paper and progresses around his car.

And then he remembers the carton of eggs in the front seat. He sighs and shuffles his way over to the door, failing a few times before he manages to actually open it. A couple of swipes with his fingers before he catches the handle of the bag, the handles of which he places

between his teeth.

The short yet arduous trek is punctuated by the sound of Tooru’s foot punting at the toilet paper until he reaches the step. He kicks it up, and very carefully, maneuvers himself into the empty space next to it, bags slamming into the door as he tries to

open the handle.

The thumping noise is so faint Hajime would miss it, if he weren’t listening for it. He heard the garage door opening, and that coupled with Tooru’s note saying he’d gone to buy groceries, has put him on the alert. He sighs and pushes the chair he’s been

sitting in back and away from the table.

Hajime pauses just next to the door, hand resting on the handle. There are a few more thumps against the door before he turns it.

Much as he expected, there’s Tooru, perched precariously on the lone step leading from the house into the

garage, about ten bags of groceries on each arm, another between his teeth. Hajime shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Why are you like this?”

Tooru’s response is jumbled by the bag between his teeth. With a sigh, Hajime pulls the bag out of Tooru’s mouth and places one

hand one Tooru’s waist to steady him.

“Because it’s easier to bring everything in at once,” Tooru claims, same as always.

“It really isn’t though,” Hajime says, as he begins to pluck some of the bags off of Tooru’s wrists. His eyes linger on the marks where the skin has

begun to rub away. “What happens when you dislocate your shoulder bringing in groceries and have to sit out exactly?”

Tooru stares back at Hajime, slight indignation on his face, lips twisting into a pout. As if Hajime has somehow managed to offend him, even though he’s the one

currently standing there struggling with the weight of their groceries.

They’ve had this argument many times over the years, not that it’s anything of consequence. For whatever reason, Tooru absolutely refuses to make more than one trip when it comes to bringing them in.

Often, as long as he's home, Hajime will take pity on him and help him out. It could be worse, Hajime supposes. They could have more stairs than they do.

Once he’s removed about half of Tooru’s load, Hajime heads into the kitchen, places the bags down, Tooru following suit.

The latter breathes a sigh of relief when he places his bags down and begins shrugging his shoulders.

“Let me see,” Hajime demands, gesturing at Tooru’s wrists. Compliantly, Tooru extends his arms and Hajime runs his fingers over the slight abrasions, frowning at him. “Pretty

sure you’ll live.” He brings each of Tooru’s wrists up to his lips, kissing them gently.

Tooru’s self-inflicted wounds tended to for now, they set about unloading the groceries in silence.

“I still win,” Tooru says after several minutes elapse.

“Exactly how does one win at

groceries?”

“Because I brought in more than you and I did most of the work,” Tooru huffs.

Hajime steps over towards him and tweaks him on the nose. “You are, completely and utterly ridiculous. But yes, if it makes you feel better, you can claim you won at groceries today,

I suppose.”

He knows Tooru well enough after all these years that Tooru is about to ask about his reward. Hajime scoops him off the ground, noting the brief flicker of surprise in Tooru’s eyes, and places him down atop one of the counters. Tooru blinks back at Hajime

expectantly as he leans forward, one of his hands still braced against Tooru’s hip. Tooru’s fingers press work their way into Hajime’s hair.

Apparently unsatisfied with just the one kiss, Tooru tugs at Hajime’s hair, and Hajime rolls his eyes, but indulges him anyway, because

they’re both winning in this instance.

It takes a while, for them to actually return to putting the groceries away.