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[Yujin sees the truth of those "allergies". He could tell moments before the tears moisten his waistcoat, not only from the sight of Sholmes's expression but also from his tone of voice. He wouldn't be the Great Detective's most treasured partner if he couldn't observe the little details and identify them for what they are. It's startling, not only because such genuine and raw shows of emotion come rare to Sholmes, but because of why these emotions were stirred in the first place.

He chuckles, both at the half-joke and to relieve some of his own tension. Then he moves both of his arms around the man's midriff to pull him in as close as possible.]

Thankfully, I'm not frightened with such ease. However... Half of the blame lies with me. I kept as quiet as you did. [Which isn't to say that he dragged his feet. He simply... never considered moving those feet forward to begin with.]

[ That admission immediately casts all of his memories in a new light. How could he have allowed himself such an enormous blind spot? Maybe Mikotoba's patient kindness—extended to most everyone—was to blame. The same shown to Sholmes wasn't out of the ordinary—even if, he now wonders, his own eccentric behavior made this uniquely challenging. Perhaps that in itself should have been damning evidence: that the man could weather the storm of his chaos long enough to see the semblance of calm on the other side of it.

At the embrace, Sholmes’ own arms tighten in kind, and the warmth he finds threatens a fresh spate of tears. He blinks them back and clears his throat in an attempt to restore the stiff upper lip that is his British birthright. ]

What a fine pair of lovestruck laggards we make! [ He lifts his head to plant a firm peck on Mikotoba's cheek, then gives him a playful tug sideways to sprawl on the grass. The last of the flowerworks pop overhead, casting warm flashes over the blue, moonless night. ] I must say, that shock of grey was the spark that lit the fire under my feet. I thought to myself: Sholmes, I must lay claim to this fine man before we’re both in the sere and yellow.

[In actuality, Yujin's not entirely in control of his composure either. There's such an overwhelming surge of emotions happening, from relief to exhilaration to apprehension, that it's sending chills through his body and causing his fingers to tremble a bit. The tightened embrace does very little to alleviate that.

But then Sholmes suddenly pulls them over sideways and his shoulder hits the soft grass. That was so very spontaneous and whimsical, Yujin can't help but laugh softly.]

I should hope that deadline is still a long while away. We do need enough time to enjoy this new arrangement, after all.

[ That quiet laughter causes a fresh flutter in his chest. Truly, countless novelists and poets—including the Bard himself—have put the symptoms of love into words with obnoxious accuracy. ]

If we maintain our brisk constitutionals and a bit of healthy mischief we might defer it further yet. [ Although talk of the future gives Sholmes pause, and his smile falters—what does that look like here, anyway? The situation has neatly solved the issue of geography, but how long will this last? Will he suddenly wake up to Iris' prodding—all of this quite literally the stuff of dreams?

Pesky anxiety—just like it to elbow in and sour a bit of happiness. He won't stand for it. Instead, he smooths a palm down the slope of Yujin's lapel, and resumes his smile with a wink. Suggestive? Joking? Who's to say? ] And if we wish to recapture some of our misspent youth, I'm sure we could arrange it in a dream.

[Yujin doesn't like to think too hard about their future, be it immediate or that deadline they referred to. That's far too intimidating to him. He'd rather take things one small step at a time without planning too far ahead in too great a detail. Such a thing might only lead to disappointment and heartbreak.

When Sholmes winks at him like that, he gets a bit flustered by it. What is his friend suggesting? Though his cheeks burn, he's still smiling. One hand is raised to the side of Sholmes's head, ruffling his hair a bit.]

Indeed, we could. Though I should hope there are no strikes with fish involved, then. That would rather sour the moment, I believe. [He is never going to let this go.]

[ It's his turn to laugh—both at the joke and the clear flush on Yujin's cheeks. He's delighted to discover this exciting new way to torment his friend. ] Hah! Absolutely no fish will be allowed in the boudoir, Mikotoba.

[ A pause, then he arches a brow and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ] Unless of course ... you'll allow me my most secret piscine proclivities?

[ That he manages to maintain a straight face and steady eye contact is a testament to his skill as a detective. Or his commitment to a joke. Either way, this is more comfortable territory than earnest confessions of love. ]

[Oh, it's torment, alright. Yujin's not used to joking about these sorts of things. Not because he's gone so very long without a partner in that sense, but because it's so very indiscreet. It's not the sort of thing he made light of with Ayame either.

But Sholmes will be Sholmes, he knows that. It's hardly avoidable now, so he tries to roll with the punches instead.]

I'm afraid not, my friend. As I said, it would sour the moment. If you have any more common proclivities, I may be willing to take those into consideration instead.

[ Given his lack of hands-on experience, he has no business joking about this, but the quips come far too easily. Especially when he's fighting back nerves; the process of fully sinking into this intimacy is still teetering between terrifying and comforting. ]

Not to worry. Sigmund Freud would find me woefully pedestrian when it comes to such matters. [ His smile loses its twinge of mischief, resting back into easy admiration. ] Except, of course, for this peculiar fascination with another man.

[ To make up for the crude remarks, he finds Yujin's hand and brings it around, tight in his own. He pauses a moment to admire its clean practicality—a fine specimen of a doctor's hand—before he plants a chaste kiss on his knuckles. ] Though you may not be a lady, you still deserve all the rigors of a proper courtship, my dear.

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