Because I need more aging!Aoba/Clear in my life.

Aoba is getting old.

He realizes this one chilly morning when he almost falls out of bed because of the stiffness in his joints.

"Good morning, Aoba-san," Clear says, deftly catching him and depositing him back on the bed. "Are you okay?"

"Damn cold," he grumbles in way of greeting, pulling the blankets around him and refusing to move until it gets warmer. Thankfully, Clear slides in beside him and they spend the morning doing nothing.

It takes him a while to accept this. Getting old.

He starts to notice little things he hadn't before. The way his hands freeze up a little while doing maintenance on Ren. The way his back aches when he spends too long at the counter. The way Clear's hand still feels so smooth in his, aged and weathered as it is.

He expresses his concerns to Clear.

"But you're not even fifty, Aoba-san," Clear says, brow furrowed in confusion. "You're not old."

"I am," Aoba insists. "Look, I found some gray hairs this morning." He pulls back his fringe and makes sure Clear gets a good look at the dull strands at his temple. He pulls his mouth back in a grimace when Clear takes an interest and pushes his hands out of the way so he can have a better look.

"Oh, you really do have some growing in there," he says, enthused, and Aoba swats his hands away with a glower.

"And whose fault is that?" he asks venomously, pulling at Clear's cheek.

"Huh? Ah - ouch! Aoba-san, please stop!" Clear cries, somewhat garbled with Aoba's finger hooked in his mouth.

It reminds him so much of their younger days that he pauses and lets the smile slide off his face.

Clear looks exactly the same as he did then.

Aoba doesn't. Lines surround his mouth and eyes; he chopped off his long hair ages ago.

Clear picks up on the change in atmosphere and lets Aoba's hands drop to his side. "Aoba-san? Is everything okay?" he asks, cocking his head.

"I'm getting old," Aoba repeats, and sighs, shaking his head. "It's nothing."

Clear looks exactly the same as he did then. He'll look the same long after Aoba is gone.

Clear. Beautiful, inquisitive, energetic Clear. He hasn't changed one bit.

He touches Clear's cheek and Clear startles, then smiles softly and covers Aoba's hand with his own.

"I love you, Aoba-san," he says, and kisses Aoba.

Twenty-five years later and it still manages to take Aoba's breath away.

"I love your eyes. I love your smile. I love your hands. I love your hair." He lists this all between soft kisses. "I love everything about you, Aoba-san," he murmurs against Aoba's lips, smiling gently, and pulls Aoba into a warm embrace.

"You need a new scarf," Aoba mutters into his shoulder. "This one's all ratty."

"Mean," Clear says, laughing a little. "You bought this scarf for me, did you forget?"

Aoba doesn't admit that yes, he did forget, and instead slips his hands into Clear's back pockets.

"My ass is getting saggy," he murmurs mostly to himself. Clear hears him, and pats it.

"Hmm, no, I think it's perfectly fine," he says after a considerable amount of patting.

One thing leads to another until Aoba is gasping on his back, sweat beading along his forehead. He's pleased to note that Clear isn't in much better condition.

"I love you Aoba-san," he says again, like he hasn't said it enough today. He fumbles for Aoba's hand and holds it to his chest where his heart would be. Aoba can't help but smile at the familiar sentiment.

"Love you, too," he says back. Clear's hand tightens just a bit on his, and he sighs contentedly.

It makes Aoba feel young again, if only just for a little while.