Seasonal depression is a real thing. At least, according to Mina it is. Personally, Sana had never experienced it. Its entire premise just didn't really make sense, is all. Watching the leaves change colors and fall was beautiful, and when winter rolled around the corner, so did the holidays and days off. If anything, wasn't that a reason to be happier?

 

A sneeze interrupts her train of thought, and Sana feels a pang in her chest at the sight.

 

It's officially been three days with a flu-struck Mina, and they both hoped it would've gotten better by now, but if anything it only seemed to have gotten worse. The time reads a quarter past two, and Sana can't help but sigh. 

 

Mina's been stuck on the couch since noon, curled up in their warmest blanket trying to watch the latest sitcom episode. Her drowsiness is palpable, and every time she reaches for a tissue to blow her nose, Sana flinches.

 

If seasonal depression corresponded with Mina's well-being, then maybe Sana relates to it more than she thinks. And though Sana is chock-full of sympathy, her urgency to comfort Mina proves stronger.

 

And so Sana begins to rack her brain for different methods to make Mina feel better. Unfortunately, keeping her thoughts in order was never her strong suit, and somehow her memories digress to the day they took the love language test, even before they started dating. Much to her embarrassment, Sana doesn't actually remember what Mina's love language is, and she's way too prideful to ask. Luckily, the nostalgia ends with the spark of a lightbulb, and Sana smiles. She knows exactly what to do. 

 

— 

 

The quest to rediscover Mina's love language begins with the first type: words of affirmation.

 

Slowly, Sana saunters over to Mina, trailing her fingertips over the leather of the couch, then over the fabric of the blanket, gently and gradually, until they find their way to Mina's shoulder, and Sana leans down so they're promptly face to face. The quiet chatter from the TV fills up empty space, but it's not enough to force Sana to speak loudly. So she doesn't. Instead, she inches ever so closer, until she can make out every beauty mark on Mina's face, and she breathes, hardly above a whisper, "You're so beautiful."

 

In an attempt to play the compliment off, Mina merely rolls her yes. She blames her illness, though, when she can't contain the slightest inklings of a smile forming, nor the red flush that threatens to overtake her cheeks. She pairs a gentle slap against Sana's arm with the statement, "I look like ," and the accusation, "you're just saying that to make me feel better."

 

If it was even possible, Sana moves in closer, propping one hand on the couch arm for support so she could lift her other hand to rest perfectly under Mina's chin. Sana swipes her thumb over Mina's skin, hot to the touch, but she can't tell if it's from a blush or from the fever. "You might be right," Sana concedes, humming as she takes in every detail of Mina's current state—rosy nose, puffy eyes, dry skin, messy hair—and yet Sana can't seem to find any flaws. Inspection complete, Sana searches for the one thing she knows she can find. Ever so faintly, glimmers dance in Mina's eyes, and when Sana catches them with her own, like she's done before a million times, she repeats herself. "You might be right. I could just be saying that to make you feel better." Sana tucks one of many stray hairs behind Mina's ear before reaching down to cup their hands together, "But that doesn't make it any less true."

 

And Sana can see it, can physically see it, how all of Mina's insecurities instantly crumble, like a house of cards collapsing upon itself, melting away to make room for new walls, sturdier this time, built from affirmations and confidence and care.

 

A verbal response isn't required. All Mina does is smile, subtly, so that her lips barely curve up, and she closes her eyes. But even this speaks volumes, because it's Mina's cue of absorbing all the good things around her, no matter how small. It's also Sana's cue to add one final speck of positivity to Mina's realm with a sweet kiss to her forehead, before she takes her leave to give Mina her much-needed space. 

 

—

 

Mindless chatter continues to emit from the TV, and when Sana peers into the living room, she spots Mina tucked away in her same spot on the couch, only this time her head rested lower and hung open, blissfully asleep and temporarily free from the virus that ailed her.

 

Sana is quick to shimmy on her coat. Braving the bite of winter air, it was time to do some shopping for part two, giving gifts, in her mission to determine Mina's love language.

 

Months of taking extra shifts, saving up, determined observations, and heavy research all culminated into this one moment. She was battling not one, but two, life-or-death decisions. The first was to pick which gaming console to buy, and the second was to pick which game to correctly pair with said console. Her dedication to this plan, despite being executed weeks before the planned date, does not fail her, and fifteen minutes later Sana is walking back into their home as if nothing even happened.

 

Luckily, Mina is still asleep, which gives Sana enough time to wrap up (literally) this phase of the journey and get a head start on the next: acts of services.

 

— 

 

About a million things fly through Sana's head when she watches Mina ease out of her slumber, the most prominent thought being how adorable she looks, but the most important thought being how sick she still must feel, and how it's engraved in Sana's soul to fend off Mina's demons.

 

Unable to contain her excitement, Sana approaches Mina with her arms tucked behind her back, very conspicuously hiding something. Mina doesn't even get the chance to sit up before Sana kneels beside her, looking up with the largest pair of star-filled eyes. 

 

Sana brings both hands forward, so the two presents display themselves proudly between the giver and receiver. "I was going to wait until Christmas," she shuffles the gifts into Mina's arms, "but I can't stand seeing you like this." Sana balls her fists into her lap to prevent herself from tearing away at the wrappings herself. "I hope you like it."

 

Piece by piece, bits of red and green foil fall to the floor. No amount of congestion or itchiness in could suppress the yelp that burst from Mina's voice. "Sana," she begins, but the growing lump of emotion in her chest was making it damn near impossible to finish her sentence. "You really didn't have to."

 

Sana beams. "Yes I did. I know how much you miss your old Switch."

 

"You mean the one I threw out the window because I couldn't pass that one stupid level of Super Mario?" 

 

It's clear that Mina is very unfond of the memory, but Sana simply finds it all the more endearing. "That's the one."

 

The grin on Sana's face has yet to falter, and suddenly the swells of appreciation that lap at Mina's heart transform into guilt. She imagines all the sacrifices Sana must have made in order to afford this, all the nights out she had to refuse, all the late shifts she had to seek out, just to buy her a replacement for something Mina broke in the first place. Mina swallows a lump of equal parts indignance and admiration down , ready to air out further protest because Mina really doesn't deserve this, and she sure as hell doesn't deserve Sana.

 

And Sana can imagine all of Mina's internal turmoil, of course she can, which gives her all the more reason to assure Mina that she does, in fact, deserve the entire world. It's also happily up to Sana to deliver it to her. One warm hand placed on Mina's cold ones and a couple of soothing circles rubbed atop of them later, and Sana has effectively drawn Mina out of her own bubble and into theirs. 

 

"Whatever you're worrying about," Sana exhales, "don't." When Sana senses the tension releasing from Mina's body, she drives her point across with a home run. "Plus," she nods at the game she bought to accompany the console, Mario Kart 8, "we can play together this time, too."

 

There's no reason to argue, Mina concludes, especially not against Sana. A deep breath resets her mentality, and Mina tries her best to return to her usual self, biting back a smile. "You know I won't go easy on you, right?"

 

"Oh please," Sana ruffles Mina's already messy hair, "in your condition, you'll be begging me to go easy on you."

 

Frowning, Mina takes a moment to envision this unlikely scenario. Unwilling to even entertain the possibility of losing to Sana, she dodges the challenge altogether. "How about we play another time," she mutters.

 

And at that, Sana jumps to her feet, grabbing the Switch and the game in one fell swoop. "I knew you were gonna say that," she giggles, "which is why I prepared something else."

 

After quickly shooting a prayer to whatever gods were out there, Mina tentatively says, "Please don't tell me you got another ridiculously expensive gift. This is more than enough." You're more than enough, she wants to add, but doesn't.

 

Sana all but skips to the kitchen. "I wouldn't exactly call this a gift." A painfully slow thirty seconds pass until she returns to the couch in the living room, to Mina, carefully balancing a plate of various desserts in one hand, and cradling what appeared to be a lighter in the other.

 

Mina squints, double checking she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing. "What exactly would you call it, then?"

 

Figuring that calling it an act of service would be much too blatant, Sana settles on "Lunch."

 

"Lunch?" Mina eyes the plate, definitively making out two chocolate bars, a sleeve of graham crackers, and a bundle of marshmallows.

 

Once her rendition of a charcuterie board is secure on the coffee table, Sana maneuvers her way onto the couch and under the blanket, shoulder to shoulder with her one and only. "You haven't eaten all day. And I know you probably don't want to eat a proper meal," Sana gestures at their awaiting food, "but I also know you crave sweets when you're sick."

 

It should be second nature by now, really, with how many times Sana so casually demonstrates just how well she knows Mina, maybe even more than Mina knows herself. But Sana leaves her in awe every time, regardless. 

 

S'mores are their designated comfort food. Their entire process is just so enjoyable, from prepping the ingredients and assembling the structure, to trying to eat the whole thing in one bite lest the remnants ooze out the sides. And so they do just that.

 

Lacking anything close to a fireplace or a firepit, they roast marshmallows skewered with chopsticks above the dim flame from the lighter. As per the laws of physics (or something like that), the first marshmallow never goes well, and they both end up with a big black burnt chunk of goo. Mina effectively hurls hers in the trash, but Sana dares to take a nibble off her own. She learns that curiosity does, in fact, kill the cat, and Sana scrambles to wash out that terrible ashy aftertaste on her tongue. Then she hears the faint sound of Mina snorting, and she concludes that it was worth it.

 

They tackle the issue of melting the chocolate next, at Mina's insistence, because chocolate must also conform to the meltiness of the marshmallow if it wants to be deemed deserving of its place in the s'more. But it's Sana who requests to handle this part because she doesn't want to risk Mina getting burnt. 

 

And so Mina watches as Sana carefully heats the chocolate piece by piece over the fire. And Mina notes all of Sana's habits she's picked up on over the years. How Sana's tongue peaks out from the corner of when she's super concentrated, how she furrows her brows when she tries to see better, how she forgets to blink when there's one specific thing on her mind. And Mina feels herself likewise melting like the chocolate, because even to this day, she still can't fathom how she was so lucky to have Sana to call hers.

 

"I hope you're hungry," Sana announces, grinning ear to ear. 

 

Mina reciprocates the expression. It's assembly time. 

 

They make a mess. It was inevitable, honestly. There was only so much precaution to be taken from their comfy position on the couch, legs and feet all tangled up in each other. And they wouldn't have it any other way.

 

Laughter outshines any noise from the long-forgotten sitcom playing on the TV. Each bounce of Mina's shoulders from an accompanying chuckle is followed by the blanket sliding down, just a bit. Sana tries to be slick when she drapes her arm around Mina, a front to make sure she can pull the blanket back up every time it threatens to slip. But this is Mina. Mina, who notices everything that Sana does for her. Mina, who's grateful for all of it. Mina, who doesn't think she can love Sana any more than she already does.

 

—

 

An impromptu nap is essential for their post-s'more recovery. The last two love languages, physical touch and quality time, are much harder to gauge. Considering Sana's affection is on full display 24/7 and the fact that she counts her entire lifespan with Mina as quality time, she can only hope Mina treasures their moments together as much as she does. And honestly, at this point, Sana is much too tired to care about her quest to uncover Mina's love language. The only mission on her mind is to get Mina as close as possible, and so she seeks to accomplish just that.

 

Pulling Mina into her arms, they slump onto their sides, feet dangling off the edge of the couch, hands wrapped around shoulders and backs, and eyes locked unwavering onto the other's. Sana slips the fleshy part of her bicep under Mina's neck, fashioning a faux pillow, and rests Mina's head against her chest, just above her beating heart.

 

Mina squirms in a weak attempt to create some distance between them. (She's not successful.) "I'm gonna get you sick."

 

Sana only snuggles closer. "I don't care," emphasizing her point with a chaste kiss upon her forehead, and then, oh so gently, on her nose, both cheeks, and finally, still ever so softly, on her lips. 

 

They've long since outgrown the butterflies in their stomachs. What used to elicit sparks of electricity at every touch now resound in echoes of warmth. And lying here, in Sana's embrace, in Sana's comfort, in Sana's life, Mina feels so safe. She'd spend eternity with Sana if she could, but right now, when the passage of time has all but stopped as they continue to hold each other in their own beautiful world, what they have right now is all Mina wants.

 

—

 

They wake up as they were, still entangled in each other's body, each other's affection, each other's hearts.

 

Mina lets herself drown in the serenity that was Sana before she asks the question that's been tickling the back of her mind the whole day. "What was up with you today? You were oddly kind, even more so than you usually are."

 

An instant flush of red rises upon Sana's cheeks, and if Mina didn't know any better, she'd think Sana was the sick one, not her. "This is gonna sound stupid," Sana pouts.

 

And to that, Mina's first instinct is to reach for Sana's hand and intertwine their fingers, still perfectly warm under the blanket. "Nothing you say is ever stupid." It's true. On a scale of endearing to adorable, never once has Mina thought Sana resembled anything close to the word stupid.

 

Sana bites her lip, but holding her tongue was historically a weak spot of hers. So she confesses, "I hated seeing how miserable you were, and I wanted to cheer you up, but I forgot what your love language is, so I thought I'd do one of each to see which one you like the most, but you were equally receptive to all of them, and I feel dumb for not knowing what means the most to you."

 

When Mina doesn't immediately respond, Sana sighs and chides herself. "I told you, it's stupid."

 

But Mina just laughs, sporting a grin so wide her eyes turn into mini crescent moons. "Minatozaki Sana, you're ridiculous in the best way possible." She unlaces their finger in favor of cupping her palm around Sana's cheek, still blazing from embarrassment. "Did you know that?"

 

Sana flits her gaze downwards, uncharacteristically shy towards the one person she's bared her entire soul to. "Could you still remind me what your love language is?" she sheepishly requests, adding on, "just for future reference."

 

Mina just smiles, and she hopes her words are enough to convey the intensity of the way her whole body swells with an undeniable warmth every time Sana does anything. "As long as it's with you," Mina uses her thumb to tilt Sana's head back up, ensuring Sana can see just how sincere she is when she says, "I love it all just the same." And then she leans in, breaths already mingling, lips centimeters from meeting, hearts seconds from colliding, when she whispers, "I love you all just the same."