Jesse learned to show affection in gestures, small things that added up. (His mama laying out his clothes and breakfast, Captain Amari cleaning his gun when he came in too ragged and jittery to focus after days in the field, Reyes making sure his cammies got replaced when Jesse wore them through.) He keeps Hanzo’s favorite brand of tea in the pantry. He keeps a bag of chocolate truffles on his desk (Not hidden but not too obviously for Hanzo either. They taste better stolen). He learns the intricacies of maintaining all Hanzo’s equipment and makes sure it’s always in good order. (Bow strings appear a few weeks before Hanzo needs them, new gloves when his begin to thin, his quiver fastidiously cleaned after a long op and impromptu escape through a filthy culvert.) There’s a pragmatism to everything Jesse does for Hanzo, but it’s all done out of genuine love just the same. Hanzo notices, because being observant has kept him alive this long, and he treasures every one. It’s a strange and precious thing to have someone else care, to do something that smooths his way for no other reason than that he can.
Now, Hanzo, Hanzo is constitutionally incapable of doing anything less than his utmost. Spoiling Jesse whenever he can becomes a personal mission. He spends weeks planning Jesse’s birthday dinner, pouring in more attention than he would for one of Winston’s missions. (He finds a place that does a good job of the kind of southwestern American fair Jesse misses, and not too fancy, because fine dining sets Jesse on edge. Candles and a private room, however, were a must.) He’s always on the look out for good cigars and better whiskey, anything to surprise Jesse with, to show he’s been paying attention and knows what he likes. Jesse basks in the attention, has so very rarely had a partner that put so much effort into him. He loves the game of trying to weasel whatever Hanzo’s planning out of him, loves that Hanzo always manages to find something new or unexpected.