The years had passed quietly, tenderly, and with a rhythm that only Haru and Sora seemed to understand. Their apartment was full of warmth, light, and the occasional chaos of a life lived together — a life that had grown richer with every shared morning coffee, every quiet evening, every laugh echoing through the rooms.

Haru had learned the subtle language of Sora’s expressions: the way his eyes would crinkle at a private joke, the way his lips would twitch when he was plotting some playful mischief. And Sora had learned every twitch of Haru’s brows, every sigh, every slight shuffle of his feet that meant he was trying — sometimes desperately — to hide a grin.

One Saturday morning, they were sitting on the balcony, sunlight spilling across their laps, drinking tea and reading. Haru leaned back, smirking, watching Sora carefully stir his tea.

“You know,” Haru said lightly, “I still think you looked way too smug in that white suit on our wedding day.”

Sora raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Too smug? I looked radiant. Glowing, even. Like the sunlight itself wanted to follow me down the aisle.”

Haru laughed, shaking his head. “Radiant, huh? More like someone who knew he was stealing everyone’s attention — and mine, especially.”

Sora leaned closer, nudging him with an elbow. “Well… I did. Admit it — you thought I looked amazing too.”

Haru’s cheeks colored faintly, but he pressed a hand to Sora’s shoulder and squeezed. “Of course I did. You were… perfect. Even with that ridiculous little grin you tried to hide.”

Sora giggled, resting his head on Haru’s shoulder. “Ridiculous grin or not, I still won you over. And don’t pretend you didn’t look amazing yourself. Black suits suit you, you know.”

Haru smirked, brushing a kiss across the top of Sora’s head. “I suppose I do look good in black. Though I still say the white suit had the better half of the couple glowing.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Sora teased, lifting his head, letting out a bit of a chuckle of amusement. “We’re keeping score now?”

“Maybe just a little,” Haru replied with a laugh, taking Sora’s hand in his. “But only because you keep trying to one-up me with charm.”

They laughed together, soft and unrestrained, the sound mingling with the morning breeze. It was a laughter born not just of humor, but of love, comfort, and the joy of knowing that, no matter how many years passed, they still delighted in each other.

And even as their teasing continued, gentle and endless, they both remembered that day — their wedding — and the way their hearts had spoken before words, the way their promises had become reality.

“You know,” Sora murmured, squeezing Haru’s hand, “I’d marry you all over again, in every lifetime, just to tease you like this.”

Haru chuckled, resting his forehead against Sora’s. “And I’d do the same, you little show-off.”

The laughter carried on, soft and warm, echoing through the rooms of their home. And in that laughter, in every shared smile, they could hear it clearly: the sound of love, the sound of joy, and the sound of a life lived together, tender, playful, and infinite.