Sometimes, Hisoka was positively adorable.

Now, this was something that Tsuzuki never said out loud to his rather volatile partner, as his sense of self-preservation was intact in that respect, if not in others. It was, however, a thought that often crossed his mind - at least, when Hisoka wasn't doing a rather good impression of a PMS-ing woman and bashing him over the head with the nearest hard object. Of course, it wasn't that Hisoka was particularly violent or irrationally bad-tempered; usually, Tsuzuki had done something to deserve his partner's wrath, even if he couldn't for the afterlife of him figure out what. Nonetheless, Tsuzuki was sure that informing the young Shinigami of his adorableness was a guaranteed ticket to getting the patented Hisoka glare, a few choice expletives, and perhaps a bash or two to his cranium with a bony fist.

The threat of bodily harm that came with the thought, however, still didn't keep Tsuzuki from insisting the aforementioned statement to be true. Though, doubtless, Hisoka had many other characteristics to commend him - strong, determined, focused, understanding, honest - "adorable" was the one Tsuzuki liked to describe Hisoka with the most often.

Hisoka had a number of habits that made Tsuzuki liken him to a kitten. To Tsuzuki, a kitten was adorable, and therefore, by the law of syllogism, Hisoka's kittenish behavior made him adorable. It wasn't so much that Hisoka had a tendency to blink in a rather owlish manner at Tsuzuki when tired, or that he like to stretch in back-breaking contortions that made Tsuzuki feel squeamish in more ways than one. It had much more to do with Hisoka's sleeping habits.

On languid, slow days during the spring and summer, the youth had a tendency to disappear after lunch breaks - completely unintentionally, anyone could assure you, as he could, more often than not, be found sleeping soundly in the cherry tree grove, perched on a branch high above the ground or half-hidden in mounds of fragrant blossoms. As the boy had a reputation for insomnia and keeping strange hours, they generally let it slide, and Hisoka was allowed to sleep as he would.

During the weekends, Tsuzuki often stopped at Hisoka's apartment to find his partner curled up in some patch of sunlight, either reading or simply enjoying the warmth that beamed through his many windows. Sometimes, he would be comfortably ensconced in his favorite armchair, a pale-green, worn affair with yellow stuffing poking out of its many rips and tears. Inevitably, he would be clad in an overlarge sweatshirt he had stolen from Tsuzuki long ago, his fingertips barely peeking from the ends of the sleeves and the folds of his equally large sweatpants bunching about his slender hips and pulling up to expose pale, smooth, hairless skin above mismatched socks. Sometimes, Hisoka would be lying in the bright rectangle of sunlight that poured from the main window in his living room, sleeping contentedly to the buzz of the many motors pumping air into his numerous fish tanks. There was also that one memorable occasion when Tsuzuki had been unable to find Hisoka in any of his usual haunts; it was not until Tsuzuki heard a faint snore from the large pile of freshly dried laundry heaped in Hisoka's laundry room and saw the single socked foot that protruded from the clean-smelling shirts and pants that he realized where his errant partner was. As tough as Hisoka might try to be in the office, intrinsically, he was still a child at heart. Though he might grumble and glare when Tsuzuki ruffled his hair, and though he might blush with embarrassment when Tsuzuki found him sleeping in odd places, Tsuzuki knew that the youth treasured every affectionate touch and glance sent his way.

Hisoka liked warmth and fuzzy, soft fabrics; he liked things that smelled good and were clean; most of all, Hisoka liked things that promised security. To Hisoka, Tsuzuki was all of these things, though Tsuzuki had only begun to be aware of this fact recently. The boy had an unobtrusive habit of standing close to Tsuzuki in the office, sniffing lightly, and Tsuzuki doubted that Hisoka himself realized his tendency to do so. He liked Tsuzuki's fleece pajamas and had, in a sneaky kleptomaniac sort of way, stolen them - not that Tsuzuki minded. They were a bit too small for him, but large for Hisoka. He also found the image of Hisoka curled up in washed-out images of jumping sheep rather cute. Hisoka liked being petted, or having his hair ruffled. Of course, to the casual observer, the youth hated such actions with a passion and usually rewarded the owner of the hand tormenting him with indignant yells and furious blushing. Tsuzuki knew, though, that if Hisoka really didn't like it, he wouldn't allow himself to indulge in it for the brief few moments that he did - and he wouldn't nuzzle against the hand in an unconsciously desperate way. It both amused and saddened Tsuzuki to realize how well he knew Hisoka - funny because it was Hisoka, and sad because it was him knowing. Tsuzuki, in moments of self-deprecation, knew he wasn't the best person to know Hisoka in such an intimate fashion. Hisoka seemed to think otherwise.

Now, Tsuzuki had a little dilemma. Was Hisoka just another ordinary teenage boy - well, another ordinary, dead teenage boy - Tsuzuki would have had no problem with thinking of all the adorable things Hisoka did and getting away with it unscathed. However, Hisoka wasn't just another ordinary, dead teenage boy. He was an empathic dead teenage boy, and that damned psychic ability made Tsuzuki's existence all the more troublesome. Not only did Hisoka have startling moments of insight into Tsuzuki-s troubled psyche, but he also had a disturbing tendency to figure out what Tsuzuki was thinking at the oddest of times. Tsuzuki might have blamed his own habit of staring at Hisoka blatantly and admiring, say, the twirling thing Hisoka did with his pen when he was bored, for why his partner seemed to be uncomfortably aware of his growing affection, was it not for the fact that said partner had aforementioned empathy. As it was, Tsuzuki, more often than not, found himself affixed by a searing green gaze whenever he stared too long - and those eyes had an unnerving habit of making him feel exposed like nothing else. Tsuzuki was now convinced that Hisoka knew that he - dare he say it? - loved his caustic young counterpart, a suspicion that seemed to be confirmed by Hisoka's growing unease around him. It was a not-good thing in itself that Hisoka knew, but Tsuzuki didn't know what he was supposed to do. From here, he supposed, there were a number of courses of action he could take. He could continue to ogle Hisoka in blissful silence, avoiding any imminent explosions by pretending that there was no problem at all. He could confront Hisoka and make him confess his own feelings towards Tsuzuki - but Tsuzuki wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. He could apologize, but for all that Tsuzuki could be a bit of an idiot at times, he didn't feel that there was anything to apologize for. It wasn't as if he could help falling in love with Hisoka. In the end, pondering over the various things he could do left him invariably depressed, and he simply decided to continue on as if nothing was wrong. He assumed that Hisoka would agree and pretend along with him.

For everything Hisoka was, though, he was not predictable.

It had started out innocuously enough. Another conversation over tea like so many others under the cherry trees, both partners sipping from their cups and watching as the ever-blooming blossoms fell like pink and white snow upon the carpeted ground. Tsuzuki enjoyed Hisoka's presence as he always did, talking about inanity after inanity without any real expectations for serious conversation. It had been in the middle of some rambling about chocolate cake when Hisoka interrupted and turned Tsuzuki's world upside-down. Pink-eared with embarrassment, Hisoka stammered and stuttered, worrying Tsuzuki until Hisoka finally managed to spit out what he was trying to say.

"You really think I'm like a - a cat?"

After a long, stunned moment, Tsuzuki had smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. Hisoka, for once, did not whap his hand away, but his pale cheeks turned pink as he ducked his head.

"Yeah. Like a kitten. Adorable." Tsuzuki had said with a wink, gently brushing his knuckles against Hisoka's cheek. Then, Hisoka had turned to him with the expected frown, his brow furrowed with discontent.

"I'm not adorable." He insisted, but slowly - very slowly, the corners of his lips had turned up in a smile. It was then that Tsuzuki realized that he had been wrong all along. Hisoka was not adorable.

Hisoka was beautiful.