Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

6.

“You don’t need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You smell nervous.”

“Nakano.”

“They’re really excited to meet you,” Nakano says, slipping a hand in his as they wait before a traditional wood-worn door. It's painted startlingly red, like a stop sign, and he can't say if it's a bad omen or just a case of bad nerves. “They’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

As if that isn’t more pressure.

He’s brought a gift, of course: a smooth roast from Sarutahiko, clumsily wrapped and half-tied with blue ribbon, and it’s terrible. A thoughtless gift, really. Fukuoka is known for its tea leaves, not its coffee beans. Not to mention, Nakano’s parents probably don’t even drink coffee. Without a doubt, there are better gifts. A ceramic, maybe. Or a t-shirt from Masaya-san’s. He should have thought of that, but that's his own fault.

They took the six o’clock on the Shinkansen to get here, and he’d given himself the whole ride —the entirety of five whole hours— to get his story straight. It’s not like he and Nakano did anything untoward. Sure, they fucked once—Well, no, a couple of times before getting together, but that’s normal. And he may have acted like he wanted nothing to do with Nakano and said a couple of things that were a bit rude, but for the most part, it shouldn’t be…

Well.

If he were a parent, would he want someone like him hanging around his kid? Knowing what he did? Knowing how he behaved?

He swallows hard. “Taishin.”

“Hm?”

“That day, when we met on campus…” He licks his lips carefully and readjusts his grip on the gift, but it’s sweat-slicked now and clammy. The plastic crunches in his hand. “I should have told you…That is, what I mean to say is—”

The door swings open. “Oho, you’re here!”

A sweet-faced woman stops short in the doorway, peeking over a tower of perfectly stacked radishes.

“I can’t believe I almost missed you. I was just about to bring these over to—”

A dog bolts between her legs, knocking the radishes clean out of her hands.

“Oh my goodness. Kuro, no! Bad dog. Bad—! Chizuru!” She calls back inside the house. “The dog’s run off again. He’s—! Oh dear. What a way to begin. Taishin, would you…?”

Nakano shucks off his backpack and gathers them up, just as a girl in a face mask and a hot pink PURI☆BOYS t-shirt appears in the doorway.

“What do you mean he got loose? I told Dad to put him in the...”

The girl freezes the second her eyes land on him, then bolts back inside the house and slams the door behind her. 

“Chizuru! What are you—? What about the dog?” 

Distantly, said dog barks from down the street, five houses away.

“I guess I’ll just have to call Nakamura-san again,” she murmurs, sucking her teeth, as Nakano rises to his feet again, radishes-in-arms. “Oh, here, dear. Give me those.”

She slides open the door and drops them in a gardening pail by the entryway and returns with an exasperated sigh. Her eyes brighten when they land on him.

“Oh goodness! Takara senpai, forgive us. What a day it's been, but you're here. How wonderful. You’re—Honey!” She calls into the house. “The boys are here!” She turns back, positively beaming, and surveys him from head to toe. “Oh dear, Taishin didn’t mention how tall you are. You’ll want to watch the beams.”

He blinks once, then twice at the casual speech. “The...beams?”

“In the house, dear.” Casual again.

“Mainly in the family room,” Nakano adds, "and the bathroom."

"Oh, um. I see." The gift crinkles awkwardly in his hand. They should be making introductions now, shouldn't they? They should've—

“That reminds me, how tall are you, dear?”

“H-How tall?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Uh, 187, I think, um.” 

“187?  Well, that's more than tall enough." She offers by way of explanation: "We were going to get a Christmas tree, you see, but the usual help’s all been taken up. Then, there's the cart and all the trimmings. It's all so hard to lift, you know.”

“The trimmings?”

“The tree, dear. The tree.”

"I see." He startles, remembering himself, and bows. “Uh, thank you for allowing me to visit. I brought, well, it's not much, but I brought—”

“Coffee?” She steals it out of his hand, turning it over. “Oh, how sweet of you. I can’t remember the last time we had coffee.”

“Coffee?” Someone says from beyond the door. “Who brought coffee?”

“Takara senpai did,” she calls back.

“Takada senpai?”

“Ta-ka-ra.”

A man with salt-and-pepper hair shuffles into the doorway, a dog-eared book in one hand and a chipped, collegiate mug in the other. He furrows his eyebrows at her. “Is that not what I said?”

She offers Takara an apologetic look. “He’s awful with names, but he'll never forget a face, if you’ll believe it.”

The man shuffles his book around to perch under his arm. “Names are temporary, but faces…? Now, faces are...” He jerks back. “Good heavens, you’re tall.”

“He’s 187, if you’ll believe it,” Nakano’s mother pipes in.

“187?”

“187.”

“Goodness. Do you play basketball, per chance?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

“No?” He frowns, disappointed. “A shame, then.”

“Dad,” Nakano groans, “you’re forgetting something.”

“Forgetting something?"

“Something important.”

“Oh. Ah, yes, yes. Hello.” He dips forward, bowing a beat too late. His drink sloshes in his mug. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“No, the…the pleasure is mine, I think.”

“Is it? Well, that's a thought.”

Takara blinks, dazed out of his mind.

“You boys must be famished. Why don’t you come inside?" Nakano's mother says, waving them in. "The food’s been ready since three, you know.”

“I told you we weren’t gonna be here till five,” Nakano says.

“But what if the train had come early? I had to be prepared just in case. Besides, you’ve brought Takara senpai. I don’t think any of us has been able to sleep a wink since you told us you were coming. I even told Nakamura-san and Sasaki-sensei.”

“I told you not to tell the neighbors.”

“You know she has to tell the neighbors,” Nakano's father says.

“I didn't tell all of them. You hardly gave me enough time to do that.”

Takara winces. “That's my fault. I'm sorry for the short notice.”

“Not at all, dear. You’re here. That’s what matters. Now, come in, come in! Oh, and leave your suitcases in the entryway, will you? We'll put them in Taishin's old room for you.” She widens the door, angling to the side to let them in.

He follows Nakano in, stepping into the entryway, and damn-near chokes when the door slides closed behind him. This scent. It’s as if someone set a bowl of ramen before his senses, except the broth is potted soil and dried basil leaves; the contents musty, unopened books and roasted barley; and the toppings, burnt plastic and something strawberry-flavored, but nothing like what he’s known. There’s no alpha sharpness or omega pull to it. It’s just a spoonful of common things with layers of mother, father, and daughter.

And pine needles.

Taishin.

“Hopefully, the smell’s not too off-putting,” Nakano's father remarks, taking a swig of his mug. “We had curry last night.”

Nakano's mother flicks on a switch, flooding the entryway with light. “I told you to open the windows,” she hisses.

“I did open the windows.”

He swallows. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Nakano says. “I know your sense of smell is stronger than ours.”

It’s not that. It's...

This isn’t how things go. For one, scent-talk is for family, lovers, friends, even, but not outsiders. To speak on it would be like swinging wide the doors and welcoming him inside. Like he knows them as intimately as he is known.

Like they're family. When he isn't.

And yet.

He surveys them —standing under the glow of the overhead like a portrait, all nervous smiles and open posture— and sways on his feet. "It's fine."

And it is.

But it's also something else that he can't name.

“So, Takara senpai—”

“It’s Takada-kun,” Nakano's father shouts from the kitchen.

“It’s Takara, Dad,” Nakano shouts back.

His head whips between them all. “I-It’s alright.”

“Takara-kun, dear.”

“That’s not it either, I think,” Nakano says.

“Indeed.” Nakano's father calls. “One too many syllables.”

“It’s really okay.”

They carry on regardless, refusing to be appeased. Nakano's sister slips into the room, sliding the door closed behind her. She takes the seat furthest from him, settling onto her cushion. Their eyes meet when she looks up. She flushes and looks away again, scanning the wall with an uncanny amount of interest.

“So, Takara, dear.”

Warmth shoots up the back of his neck and onto his cheeks. “Uh, yes?”

“Was it a long ride all the way here from Tokyo? Oh, what am I saying? Of course it was. You must be starving.”

“No, I’m…” He shoves his hands between his folded legs. “I’m fine.”

Nakano’s mother tuts. “Of course, you aren’t. I’m glad I thought ahead. Dinner is nearly ready. We just need to...”

Nakano's father steps out from behind the kitchen ledge with a rice cooker. “I think I burned the rice.” 

“What do you mean you burned the rice?”

He pops open the lid. A plume of smoke comes rushing out.

“Honey!”

“Oh, Dad. Come on,” Chizuru shouts, getting up to look at it.

“I thought another minute or two might... Well.” He shuffles the cooker around in his arms to push up his glasses, all murky and fogged up now. “It was a slight adjustment. Only a slight one.”

Nakano’s mother sucks her teeth, giving him a withering look, before offering Takara an apologetic one. “He has to have things so precise.” 

“Forty-six minutes is hardly precise. I didn’t think an hour would hurt anyone.”

Chizuru peers into the rice cooker and grimaces. “It hurt the rice.”

“I thought it's supposed to switch itself off,” Nakano's father says.

“That’s the newer model, dear. This is the old one.”

“The old model is black?”

“It’s white,” they all say.

“Ah. Well. We'll just have to make another batch, then.”

“There is no other batch. We’re all out of—Oh, Taishin, sweetheart. Don’t eat that. You know you don't do well with sunomono on an empty stomach. Takara, dear,” she says with a soft, exasperated look, “if you would.”

He slips the chopsticks out of Nakano's hands, lowering his voice to whisper to him. “You don't want to wait until your dad comes over?”

“I think I’m getting a headache.”

“A headache?” He resists the urge to feel his forehead. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t know. I forgot. I didn’t mean to forget. I just didn’t realize I was hungry on the way here. I was so excited to bring you. Oh.” He glances across the table. “Happy birthday, Chizuru.”

For the first time, Nakano’s sister flashes a smile, and it’s softer than anything he’s seen on her so far. “You already told me last week.”

“But I never said it in person.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “You should eat. You know how you get.”

“Yes, yes. Go on, son, and munch on something. We don’t want you fainting like last time,” Nakano’s father says, sitting at the table.

Nakano's mother offers Takara a sheepish look. “Forgive us, Takara, dear. I know this must seem so...” She waves a hand as if the word might materialize out of thin air and explain itself to him. She hands out the bowls. “He's always been this way, but I'm sure you know that. Getting so focused on a task that food'll go out the door. Well, except for sweets.”

“I had a donut this morning,” Nakano says, all too happily, not helping his case one bit, “and an apple, I think.”

As if that's even close to being enough. But he should have recognized it earlier. All that waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to pick up some pudding, then calling at ten o’clock at night to talk about the moon and gummies and pizza. Always sweets upon sweets.

“Where’s Kuro?” Chizuru asks, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“At Nakamura-san’s, thankfully, and no longer our problem.”

“But I promised Saki I’d watch him!”

“That dog was watching you more than you were watching him.”

“I watched him,” she grumbles. “Sometimes.”

“You were watching that TV show of yours, is what you were doing. Now, let’s eat,” Nakano's mother says, picking up her chopsticks. “We’ll just have to forgo the rice for the time being. Oh, but before I forget, Takara dear?”

He jolts, head snapping up. “Uh, yes?”

“Welcome home.”

“To our home,” Nakano’s father adds.

Chizuru huffs. “I think he knows which home he’s at.” 

He surprises himself and almost smiles with his teeth. Almost.

They pile in a beatdown Toyota Corolla after dinner, and it's only when they're fifteen minutes into the drive that they tell him they're headed to the Christmas tree lot.

“You don’t mind, do you, Takara, dear?” Nakano’s mother says, turning around to glance at him from the front seat. “We just figured…”

“187,” Nakano’s father says.

For some reason, he has the urge to laugh at that.

Thankfully, when they get there, they’re decisive enough to choose the first semi-decent-looking tree. Nakano and his sister wander off to get the attendant; it’s when they’re returning that Takara hears their voices.

Well, a thump first.

“Ow!” Nakano says. “What was that for?”

“You said you’d tell me what he was like!”

“What who was like?”

“Your boyfriend, obviously.”

“But I did. I told you things.”

A suck of teeth. “You told me he likes biking—”

“Hiking.”

“Same thing,” Chizuru says. “My point is you just said he was older than you.”

“He is older than me.”

“Well, you never said he looked like that.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Like he belongs on the cover of a GQ magazine!” She hisses. “I answered the door in a face mask. A face mask!”

“Oh, that’s okay. Senpai wouldn’t care. He’s very forgiving.”

Dead silence. “I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or an insult.”

A laugh catches in his chest, and he barely manages to stifle it as the attendant marks the tree and cuts it down. Takara heaves it onto his shoulder when they leave.

“Where do you need it? The roof?”

Nakano’s father blinks up at him, adjusting his glasses. “That’s…30 kilos.”

“Takara senpai goes to the gym,” Nakano explains matter-a-factly, appearing through the trees with a bagful of ribbons. “He lifts weights.”

Heat blooms on his cheeks as they walk to the car. He secures the tree to the roof, hiding behind its branches. “I don’t really...”

Chizuru huffs. “I need a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, I suppose,” she mutters, getting in the car. “Like yesterday.”

“Oh, maybe ask your brother, dear,” Nakano’s mother says. “He can help you find one.”

“Help how?”

“Well, what do you like?” Nakano asks. “For instance, I talked about bluetails. And mugwort. Oh! And pappus.”

Chizuru groans. “Great. I’m gonna be single forever.”

“Well, I say this calls for a treat!” Nakano’s father announces when they’re all in the car. “After all, we have many things to celebrate. Takada-kun’s arrival—”

“It's Takara,” they correct.

“—for a job well done, and for Chi-chan’s less-than-satisfactory relationship status.”

“Wow. Thanks, Dad.”

So, they go for ice cream.

In the middle of December. At 10:30 at night.

By Saturday, he's certain he's flirting with a cavity, thanks to Nakano's family treating dessert like its another food group.

Every meal, apparently, must be met with dessert —sweet teas and sponge cakes and cream-stuffed breads drizzled with honey— and it’s decidedly unending. After lunch is another sweet treat. After dinner, another cavity, and it’s a wonder he’s managed to pack it all away somewhere.

Nakano's mother, of course, is no help.

“Here,” she says, one morning, setting two mugs on the table piled high with whipped cream. “Some hot chocolate.”

Nakano pulls his eagerly toward him, while he can only stare into the abyss of his own mug, dumbstruck.

“Do all of you like sweet things?”

“Mhm!” Nakano beams, slurping his mug and returning with a cream-colored mustache. “Mom says why wait for a special occasion when life can be the occasion?”

Why, indeed.

He takes a sip of his own mug out of politeness alone. The sweetness clings to his tongue.

“Sorry, it's not all that spicy,” Nakano says, ducking his head low between his shoulders.  

He snorts and ruffles his hair. “Sip your drink.”

“You never told me why you like things that way, even when I asked before.”

That’s because he doesn’t have a clue either. He can only remember when. He’d been, what? Thirteen? Fourteen? No, he’d have had to be thirteen.

That was the year they divorced.

He can still remember the look of the convenience store: the linoleum floors glinting off the overheads like jewels as he walked down the aisle to mic his ramen. The chili peppers had seared the taste buds off his tongue so bad he couldn’t taste anything for a week. Could hardly feel anything either. At one point, he’d even bitten his tongue without noticing.

Even then, he didn’t feel a thing. He never does.

“I can tell Mom to stop bringing you things,” Nakano says, “so you don’t have to eat something you hate.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“But you said you did.”

“I said I didn’t like it, not that I hate it.” He considers, adding, “Not because it tastes bad either. I’m just...not used to it.”

That’s putting it lightly. Eating all this cake and pudding and chocolate is like the first time he went abroad and tasted an American cheeseburger for the first time.

It’s just as foreign and equally as strange.

He clears his throat. “What about you? Why do you like all of this stuff?”

Nakano shrugs. “I'm not sure,” he says, “but lately, it's been reminding me of the day I met you.”

“Huh?”

“That day was so bitter, but you were so kind. Sweets taste like that to me.”

“Like kindness?”

Nakano licks the chocolate mustache from his lips. “Mhm.”

“I don’t think kindness has a taste.”

“But doesn’t it?”

He doesn’t know, but if it does, he doubts he's ever tasted it before.

At lunchtime, Nakano takes him to the backyard and announces with a wide-open smile: “Our Lisbon.”

True to his word, a lemon tree stands evergreen in the middle of the yard. It’s frailer than he expected, thin and spindly at the bottom but abundant at the top, and blindingly colorful. It looks like someone plucked it out of some tropical travel magazine and misplaced it here.

Something so sunshine yellow in a world of grey.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Nakano says.

He approaches it with a listless step, squinting up at its brightness. “That’s one word for it.”

Nakano appears beside him. “You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what?”

The door slides open behind them. Chizuru pokes her head out. “Hey, Mom said to grab some lemons for her custard while you’re at it. Well, actually, she asked me to do it, but Season 2 of Class 2-B  just came out, so I officially dub you responsible. Thanks!”

“Wait,” Nakano calls. “How many does she want?”

“I dunno. Ten, maybe?”

“Ten? But I don’t have a basket.”

“Well,” Chizuru says, “I guess that’s what you have a boyfriend for.” She winks and disappears back inside, waving a hand behind her. “Ta-ta!”

The door slams closed behind her.

Nakano flashes him a sheepish look. “Sorry. She can be a bit of a handful sometimes.”

His lips lift, flirting with a smile. “Just take five and I’ll take the rest. We'll slip them in my pockets.”

It’s a good enough plan. That is, until they approach the damn tree and Nakano is one too many apples short of reaching the branches.

He sighs, crouching down. “Climb onto my shoulders.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I weren’t. Just make sure you squeeze your legs around my neck. That’ll keep you stable.”

“B-But what if I suffocate you?”

He rolls his eyes. “As if that’d be the first time.”

Nakano goes startlingly red. “Uh, sorry about that.”

“Never said that I minded. Now, hop on.”

He waits until Nakano settles his weight directly over his shoulders before rising to his feet without so much as a wobble. 

They work in relative silence, with Nakano handing him a fresh lemon every few seconds. His pockets grow heavy with them. His fingertips grow sweet with their zest.

“Did you ever do something like this when you were younger?” Nakano says, passing him another one.

“Something like what?”

“Like this. Picking lemons. Or yuzu. Or apples.”

He slows his own reach, stilling. “No.”

The branches stop rustling above. “Not even with your dad?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He resumes picking, yanking one lemon off and reaching for another. “Because I—” He rips his hand back and hisses. “Shit.”

Taishin glances down at his finger and grimaces. “Oh no, you’re bleeding. Here, let me down.”

He races into the house, returning only seconds later with a first aid kit in hand. He beckons him back onto the nure-en.

“Sorry, I thought Dad cut the branches back. He usually does by now.”

He sucks the blood from his fingertip, shaking his head. “Wasn't one of the branches. One of the thorns, I think.”

“Lisbons don't have thorns," Nakano says, wrapping a bandaid carefully around his finger. "It must have been a modified stem.” 

“A stem did this?”

Nakano nods, crushing the bandaid wrappers and closing the first-aid kit. “They’re meant to protect against herbivores that may try and eat the shoots. You know, the younger parts of the tree? They haven’t developed bark yet, so the stems grow around them to protect them.”

He raises a disbelieving brow. “I thought they were protecting the fruit.”

Nakano shakes his head. “Lemons can always grow back, but the shoots are the future of the tree. They’ll grow up into branches one day, then leaves, then flower-bearing stems, but if they’re eaten, none of that will happen. They’ll lose their ability to blossom.”

“So, the tree will die?”

“No, not all things that are harmed die. Lisbons just turn into smaller versions of themselves. They become more vulnerable."

That explains getting stabbed then.

“You shouldn’t yank the lemons, you know,” Nakano scolds. “Lisbons don’t like that. They’ll hurt you for it.”

He steals the bandaid wrappers from him. “Clearly.”

Nakano flashes him an apologetic smile. “They aren’t cruel. You just need to show them that you mean no harm.”

“You talk about them like they’re people.”

“People aren’t the only ones that matter. Everything does.”

The wind picks up, tossing the Lisbon’s branches in the air. They wave like neighbors, and he can’t help but track the movement, as if seeing it all for the first time. To be honest, he’s never once thought of nature that way. Trees are trees are trees. Everywhere and nowhere and easily forgotten, like scenery passing in a moving car. They’re the backdrop of life, beautiful only insofar as they’re things to admire. Objects that cut through a hiking trail. Objects that people cut down.

Objects.

He shifts his weight and the lemons jostle with the movement, his pockets heavy with the tree's stolen fruit. He swallows.

“So, what’s the secret, then? If yanking is off the table.”

“Oh. Just pull gently and twist.”

“Pull gently?”

Nakano nods. “Here. I’ll show you.”

He hops up from the nure-en and beckons him to follow. Together, they duck under the tree.

“Pull that branch down,” Nakano directs.

Obediently, he does, watching all the while as Nakano selects one of the closest lemons and twists, plucking it clean off the branch. He holds it out triumphantly.

“See? They respond better that way.”

He snorts. “Or they just respond better to a gentler hand.”

Nakano steps back from the tree and smiles up at it. “Yes,” he says. “Most things do.”

The custard turns out to be a bust by evening. Nakano's mother shouts as much from the kitchen. She settles on cake instead.

“Well, I say, why not?” Nakano's father says, sitting down on the nure-en with them. Moths plink against the lamplight overhead, flitting around their heads. “It is, as they say, the equivalent of turning lemons into lemonade.”

Chizuru looks up from her Nintendo and rolls her eyes. “No one says that anymore, Dad.”

“And I don’t think you’ve ever picked lemons before,” Nakano muses innocently, peeling back an orange. He pops one in his mouth. “Didn’t you fall off a ladder once?”

“Thrice actually.”

“Not to mention you’ve never made lemonade a day in your life,” Nakano's mother adds, sticking her head out the back door.

“Well,” Nakano's father says primly, readjusting his glasses, “at least, Takada-kun is on my side. Right, Takada-kun?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Honey, please. It’s Takara, not Takada.”

He pays her no mind. “None of that ‘sir’ stuff. I’m not nearly that old. Besides, I’d like to think I’m still young and sprightly yet.”

Chizuru snorts. “Not with that memory.”

“Chizuru.”

Taishin’s mother slips in and hands Takara a china plate. “Here, dear. Have some cake.”

“Tomiko,” Nakano's father sighs, “you’ve already brought the boy two bags of jagabees, a bean-paste bun, a plate of rice crackers, and a cup of tea. Plus dinner. I’d be surprised if he had anywhere to put that cake.”

“Oh.” She frowns, turning back. “Takara, dear, is that too much?”

“No. Uh. No, this is—this is fine.”

It’s not fine at all. He’s so fucking full he could burst. Not to mention, he doesn’t even like cake, and yet, somehow, he's still shoveling two forkfuls into his mouth, folding again.

Nakano's father turns toward him. “So, Takada—”

“Takara,” they all correct.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He waves them away. “So, what has tickled your fancy as of late?”

“Tickled my…?”

Chizuru huffs and glances up from her Nintendo. “He’s asking about your hobbies.”

“He knew that,” Nakano's father says.

He, in fact, did not know that.

“As you can see, my wife has a penchant for cooking. Taishin, with birdlife. Chizuru with that game of hers—”

“It’s called Kiss Quest.”

“Yes, the Quest of the Kiss.”

Chizuru shakes her head, grumbling.

“So, that begs the question, what are you interested in?”

The nure-en's wood creaks as he shifts his weight, leaning back. “Nothing really.”

“That’s not true,” Nakano pipes up. “He likes marbles.”

“Marbles, you say!”

“Marbles?” Nakano's mother says, wiping her hands on her apron. “How’d you get into that?”

Heat creeps up the back of his neck. “Uh, my grandfather, but, it wasn’t really—”

“You should see them," Nakano says. "He keeps them all so organized. They’re really beautiful to look at.”

“They, you say?”

Nakano nods. “He has thousands.”

“Not thousands.”

“Hundreds then?” Nakano's father asks.

The heat burns hotter. “Something like that.”

Chizuru clicks off her game. “You seriously have that many?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Her head tilts to the side as her eyebrows furrow together, and for a brief second, he’s sure she’s going to ask why. Instead, she says, “Oh. What do you like about them?”

“What do I…?”

They all nod in unison.

“They’re just…” He licks his lips. “Nice to look at, I guess.”

“Well, I think that's just wonderful,” Nakano's mother says. “And to think, hundreds of them.”

“When you look through one, it’s like you can see the entire world inside of it,” Nakano says. “It’s like magic.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Really? Is that true, Takara, dear?”

His mouth opens, then closes, as he stares at all of them. Flushing, he sets the china down, thumb catching on a smudge of cake on the plate. He sucks it off, but the sweetness lingers long, even after it's gone. “Yes, I…” He swallows and finds sugar upon sugar. “If you hold it up to the right light.”

“Amazing,” Nakano's father says. “You know, this reminds me of the first time I saw the spores of a woodland moss. I’d never seen anything quite so beautiful under a compound microscope. The year was 1989, I think, when—”

Chizuru huffs. “I'm going inside,” she says, disappearing inside the house.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Honey, you know how long your stories go,” Nakano's mother says.

“They aren't so long. Besides, I was just trying to…” He takes up on another tirade, and Takara can only look on as their voices weave and wane in the open air, braiding together. Even after night falls, they're still lounging under the yellow lamplight, batting away moths and talking over one another as if the middle of a thought is only the starting place of a new one, and it’s so strange.

All of this is so…

It continues though—

“Takada-kun, what’d you say you were majoring in again?”

“Takada-kun, what was that mountain you said you hiked?”

“Takada…”

But it continues in other ways too—

Takara, dear. Takara, sweetheart. Takara, darling.

He’s never heard his name spoken so sweetly.

Even now, it still feels like a trick of some kind, like the calm before the storm, before everything goes to shit. All this kindness when he’s done nothing to deserve it. 

And yet, later—

“Next time your birthday rolls around, you should come here. We can throw a party. Oh! I can make a cake," Nakano's mother says. "Wouldn't that be fun?”

He startles so bad he bangs his head on the inside of the cabinet. “That’s, um, very kind of you, but I couldn’t.” Shouldn’t is more like it. That’d be inappropriate. Too familiar when they’ve only just met.

She flashes him an apologetic look that’s so much like Nakano it’s uncanny. “You’ll have to forgive me. Taishin’s spoken of you so often, it’s as if I know you already. I forget that it’s not like that at all. We must seem like such strangers to you. We are strangers to you.”

“It’s alright,” he replies, and he means it.

In ways he can’t even begin to describe.

“Still, I'd love it if you'd consider it,” she says, regardless. “After all, we’re all family here.”

He stills at the thought. Family? Is this what it’s like?

He can’t help but think that, even later into the evening, when they’re all sitting at the dinner table and Nakano's father is adding poorly cut shiitake into the pot, while Chizuru beats Nakano over the head for stealing the last of the hiyayakko, and it’s strange all over again.

Family.

It's so funny. He can’t remember ever crying much as a child. Not after she left. Not when they divorced. Not even after months passed with no calls or texts from anyone but Gramps.

But for some reason…

“Takara, dear, would you pass the daikon?” Nakano's mother asks.

He blinks away the sting in his eyes and reaches for the bowl. “Of course.”

“You okay?" Nakano whispers that night, staring at him from across the bedroll. The whites of his eyes gleam in the moonlight, pretty even while sad. Even when the sadness doesn't belong to him. "I feel like you haven’t been.”

“I have. I am." He winces. That lie has teeth to it and it's gnawing at his gut, goading him to say: "It’s just hard to explain. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I feel like I should.”

Nakano shakes his head. “You don’t. Not when it’s a big feeling.”

“A big feeling?”

“Mhm. That’s what Mom calls them,” he says. “Sometimes, I have these feelings and the only way I can let them out is by crying. They’re like that. Big feelings. Sometimes, there are no words for them.”

“No,” he agrees. “There aren’t.”

“Is it okay if I hold you?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“Sorry. Is that weird?”

“No, no. It’s just…” Different. New? 

“It’d only be for a little while.”

He says nothing to that, just allows himself to be manhandled under Nakano's covers, then onto his side until Nakano is drawing him into his chest.

“Is this okay?” Nakano whispers.

“Mm.”

It's almost laughable, though, their size difference. His legs are hanging off the bedroll, while Nakano's knees are digging into his chest, fetal-positioned and scrunched up, but Nakano is carding fingers through his hair now. He's pressing wet kisses to his forehead.

He smells like soap, like the bath they took earlier together, like laundered blankets and the forest out back. He smells like a home Takara has never had but saw once in a waking dream, and it's so gentle.

Almost as gentle as the arms that hold him.

“Everyone’s so happy you’re here,” Nakano says. “We've been waiting so long for you.”

“You wanted to invite me?”

“Since the beginning.”

He doesn't know what to say to that. No one says things like that. At least, not to a person they met once in the woods.

“Sorry about my mom, by the way. She can be a little excitable at times. And I told my dad not to talk your ear off, but he can be a bit forgetful.”

His lips quirk. “Like the rice.”

“Like the rice,” Nakano apologizes.

“It’s fine.”

“Chizuru, too. I told her not to overwhelm you with all her staring, but she doesn’t listen too well.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s just that I’ve never brought anyone home before, so everyone’s a bit curious,” he says, “but we all love you. I hope you know that.”

He knows. Of course, he does.

There is no place in the world like this place, and no people like the ones who live here. He’s spent enough time in high society —thanks to her— to know that most people are the same type of coward. Everyone is afraid of their own reflection. It’s easier to be something else. An ideal that no one would reject. A projection of fool’s gold dressed in finery, and he’s hated it from the day he was born.

But this place?

This place is a cap-sized microcosm of ordinary things: burnt, overcooked rice and spiced lemon cake; patchwork blankets and gardening soil in the entryway; open doors and open arms and a family that’s too open to be safe.

And it doesn’t hurt.

Being so open. Somehow, it doesn't hurt.

He wets his lips. “You know, your mother invited me back for my birthday.”

Nakano winces. “Sorry, she can get a bit carried away at times.”

“I don't mind. I've never celebrated my birthday before like she suggested, so that was a first.”

Nakano pulls back, gaping down at him. “Wait, you've never...?”

He looks away, tense for nothing. “It's not that huge of a deal. I hardly care for it, most of the time.”

“But I thought, at least, your dad would...”

“He's busy most days." Something bitter curdles in his gut and his lips twist with it, sardonic. "To be honest, I don’t think either of my parents could tell you what TV shows I liked as a kid or my favorite color. But it's funny. I come here and your dad keeps asking me about hiking tips, even though he seems terrified of heights. And your mom… She keeps asking me if the food is spicy enough, even though I'm only here for the weekend and it hardly matters. None of it does, but it's so strange. It’s so…”

“It’s okay,” Nakano says, cradling his head, holding him close. “It’s fine.”

“I know it's fine.”

“No,” he says, “I don’t think you do. I don't think you have been. Not for a very long time.”

Something anxious and flighty leaps in his gut, but Nakano only quiets it all with a kiss. He kisses him slow, like they have all the time in the world to untangle this.

“Takara senpai," he says after they part, "I think I know what you’re feeling now.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he says, pulling him closer. Holding him impossibly tighter. “I told you before, didn’t I? It's not hard to love you. It's the easiest thing in the world to love you.”

He doesn't know about that.

But, somehow, he can't help telling him everything. About his upbringing. His childhood. Her.

And them.

How, in high school, people would slip him notes, asking him out with the assumption that he'd say yes because, of course, he'd say yes. Why wouldn't he? How, even now, they'll make up rumors about him fucking some girl from Bunkyo and another guy from Suginami because there's no way someone like him could be a virgin —was a virgin— even though he's never taken his clothes off for anyone but Nakano. It doesn't matter anyway. They'll laugh and smile and say "how good it must feel to be so popular, to be so gorgeous," and he'll whip out another practiced smile because it doesn't matter and he never did.

“But it doesn’t feel good.”

The confession hangs between them, sandwiched between his lips and Nakano’s chest, like a love note only passed between their hands. He’s never done this before —shared his heart like this— and he understands, now, the vulnerability of it all.

The possibility of humiliation. He feels it.

But Nakano only clutches him tighter and weeps for him. He only looks down at him with full eyes. “Takara senpai…”

He wipes his tears away gently. “Don’t cry.”

“I have to,” Nakano hiccups, “because you won’t. You never will.”

He can't say anything to that, if only because it's true. He cups Nakano's cheek instead, lingering on the warmth of his skin. He's always been so warm, even from the beginning when they didn't know each other and he was less than kind.

A knot forms in the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry. For the way I spoke to you before.”

“Eh?”

“When we first met at school. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

His eyes sting. “No, it’s not.”

Nakano offers him a soft smile and cuddles him closer. “I think I came on too strong,” he says, “and you were afraid. You get that way when you’re afraid.”

“It’s no excuse.”

“But it explains everything,” he replies easily. “I think you thought I was another fan, but I wouldn't treat you that way. Senpai, I’d never…” His eyes fill with fresh tears. “I want you to know, if there’s ever something you don’t wanna do, or something you don’t wanna talk about, or something you’re uncomfortable with, you can tell me. You can always tell me. I want you to feel safe. You deserve to feel safe.”

“I do,” he croaks.

“Then, let me take you somewhere tomorrow,” Taishin says, tracing his lips with the pad of his fingers. “Will you go with me?”

“Mm.” He nods, planting a kiss upon them. “Anywhere.”

Anywhere turns out to be nowhere.

Well, the middle of nowhere. The middle of the woods, to be exact.

“This is Kanmabu Park,” Nakano says, leading him up a hill by the light of his phone. The moon hangs overhead, peeking through the trees. The branches are entwined together like joined hands, writhing in the breeze and creaking like an old bed frame. They look like dark figures like this, convulsing against an endless dark sky.

Nakano tosses a glance behind him. “It shouldn’t be much farther.”

“What is?”

“Oh. This.”

The hill evens out, giving way to stretches of green, and Takara rocks on his feet, breathless. Beyond them is the skyline; the city below, sparkling like glints of glass, and the stars above. Between it all is this plot of land.

A little window seat to the world.

A slice of heaven, here on Earth.

“I thought we could camp here,” Nakano says, turning to him with a shy smile. “I brought a tent.”

“We’re staying overnight?”

“You don’t want to?”

He looks out toward the city lights. Below, cars honk and wail, faint and intermittent, but above them, the stars are so silent. The world from up here is just the same.

His chest swells, full of some inexplicable big feeling. “Of course I want to.”

“I’ll set up the tent then,” Nakano offers.

As if he could. The little squirt doesn’t even know how to set up a tent well enough without his help, but he lets him have at it anyway. He passes him stakes and tosses old rocks away; he directs him toward the flat ground by blocking off the hilly sections, and through it all, Nakano is none the wiser. This is all his idea, and Takara is, apparently, only the recipient of his effort.

He smirks. As it should be.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asks when they’re sitting inside the tent, perched at its edge.

Nakano peers down from the stars and blinks at him. “Plan?”

“You brought us here.”

“Oh! Yes! I wanted to show you the stars.”

“The stars?”

“U-Um, yes? Is that bad?”

“No, I just…I didn’t know if this was a special occasion or something. You made it sound like it was.”

“It is,” Nakano agrees warmly, reaching into his bag and pulling out a plastic container filled to the brim with torimon. He offers him one, which he insistently declines, before munching on his own, leaving powdery sugar around his lips. “You’re here, and you opened up to me. That is cause to celebrate, isn’t it?”

Warmth spreads up the back of his neck. “It’s not that big of a deal...”

“I don’t think that’s true. You don’t open up to anyone easily, so this must be special. It must mean everything.”

A breeze kicks up around them, sending the rainfly clapping like hands. His ears fill with its applause.

“Or not,” Nakano says, picking at a loose button on his jacket. “I’m still learning your scent, so I forget that it says things sometimes. It might be saying the opposite of what I’m thinking.”

“It’s not,” he admits.

Still, Nakano offers him a timid glance, tucking his head low between his shoulders. “I feel like I should say sorry in advance.”

“Why?”

“It’ll be harder, I think, in the future," he says, "because I can’t smell things as well as you can. You can't claim me either, so, people will think we’re just—”

“I don’t care what people think.”

“But I won’t be able to keep up with you during your ruts, and you’ll always have to prep me.” Nakano sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, and Takara doesn't know if it's just the cold or the pain of it all, but he nudges Nakano into the tent and toward their packed bags either way. He digs out napkins, dabbing at his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t know there was so much to do. I didn’t know it could be easier.”

“I don’t want easy with you.”

Nakano looks up at him, clutching his knees, and it’s the look in his eyes —that broken, uncertain vulnerability— that makes him say more.

“I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Inside the tent, Nakano’s scent blossoms like a tree bud in spring, except there is nothing floral to it. It’s as syrupy and earthy as tree sap. He should always smell like that. But there are times when he doesn’t. Like now.

Always over the same damn thing.

“I wish you would tell me.”

Nakano turns to him. “Tell you what?”

“Who made you think like that. Who made you feel like you’re just…” He looks away, jaw tensing. “You never thought that way before.”

“I guess not,” Nakano says, hiding half of his face in his knees, “but I’d never been to Tokyo before. I didn’t know people saw the world so differently.”

“They see it wrongly.”

That, a least, prompts a laugh out of him. “But I don’t?”

“No,” he says with every fiber of his being, “you don’t.”

Nakano offers him a small, shy smile, but says nothing more. For a while, they just sit in silence until Nakano breaks it again.

“I wish you would say my name.”

He glances off, flushing all over. “I say it...”

“Not so often. Not as often as I’d like.”

“Does it matter that much to you?”

He nods. “I like the way you say it. You say it like you want to keep me. Like I’m only yours.”

“You are mine.”

“Then, would you say it?”

He sets his jaw and breathes out through his nose. He breathes out through his nose and fixes him with a steady look.

“Taishin.”

“Again. Would you? Please?”

“Nakano—”

“Don't. Not that. That’s my family, but I’m yours. You said that I was yours—”

“You are.” He adds, forgetting himself, forgetting his promise, hot now all over: “You are, Taishin.”

Taishin crawls over to his side and into his lap. His hands find his shoulders. “So are you.”

The lamp flickers above them, disrupted by an outside wind. It sends light shards dancing across Taishin's face, like little stars, and it's so pretty on him. Devastatingly pretty.

He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “I want to thank you.”

“Eh? For what?”

“For bringing me here and introducing me to your family. It’s…” He wets his lips, braving the words even as he speaks them. “I’ve never been so happy.”

“You will be. I'll make sure of it.”

He snorts. “I'm afraid life doesn’t exactly work that way.”

“But wouldn't it be nice if it did?” Nakano replies. “Wouldn't it be amazing to have everything you’ve ever wanted?”

He doesn't know, but kissing him is the closest thing to it. Their mouths melt together like the seasons, shifting from tempered to something scorching hot, and the moan that leaps from him is more than appreciative. Taishin tastes like decadence, like days spent savoring sweet treats on bitter days; like sweet chestnut and torimon and four months of falling in love. 

He can’t help moaning when their tongues brush, fingers tightening around Taishin's hips to get him closer. He’s never dared to reach for anything —lest life draw more blood— but this is so different. His fingers won’t stop shaking, reaching for this. His fingers won’t stop fumbling, reaching for Taishin’s jacket, for his skin, for his body.

Taishin’s hands slide down his back, pulling off his shirt, then his belt, then the rest of his clothes, as he, too, is undressed. He draws him between the heat of his thighs. 

“S-Senpai.”

"Is this what you wanted?" His fingers trail up Taishin's thigh. 

Taishin stares up at him with big, wet-rimmed eyes and nods. “Don’t you?”

He wets his lips, swallowing hard. “Just you. I just need…”

Taishin captures his lips, kissing him once, then twice more. “You have me. You always do.”

He falls back on the sleeping bag, quivering against the lamplight, but his eyes are a sharp, glassy gleam, glinting against the dark. Takara's cock twitches, and he settles over him, feeling along his thigh to the curve of his ass. His fingers come up wet.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wanted to be prepared.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, and he can't help from planting kisses on his palms over and over again. He reaches up with one hand and clicks off the lamp, drowning them in darkness. With the other, he presses Taishin's hand to his cheek.

“Can you see me?”

“A little.”

He takes his cock in hand, brushing it against his entrance. “But you can feel me?”

“S-Senpai,” Taishin says, moaning his name when he sinks inside.

The sleeping bags shift, rustling with the first rock of his hips. He closes his eyes to it, focusing only on the sound, the slick sweat sliding between them, the puff of Taishin’s breath wet in his ear as he thrusts slow, driving his cock deep.

Minutes in, though, and it must not be deep enough because Taishin places a hand on his chest and shuffles out from under him, climbing on top of him.

“You can relax. I’ll, um. I'll take care of you.” He sets a trembling hand to his chest, reaching blindly behind him. Takara jolts as cold, trembling hands find his cock. 

“Take care of—? Oh, fuck.”

He gapes up, wide-eyed at nothing, as Taishin sinks down. A shadowed figure pants above him, a tiny, picturesque outline, like a vision pulled straight out of his wet dreams. 

But he chokes on a groan the second Taishin rolls his hips.

“Holy shit.” He fumbles for his waist.

“Does it—ah—does it feel good?" Soft thighs tremble against his legs. "I want you to feel good.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” Taishin pants, pressing steadying palms to his stomach. He swivels his hips. “Let me give it to you.”

He does more than that. He lifts his hips slow and grinds down hard, taking the entirety of his cock, and Takara’s mouth falls open, disbelieving. This can’t be real. None of this is. Taishin, especially. He’s riding him like he’s making love to him, like he’s more than a pretty thing to be displayed before women. Like he isn’t an object, but a lemon tree, meant for gentle hands and tiny things that’ll always protect the youngest parts of him.

His eyes burn, swimming hot. He understands now what Gramps meant when he took him up the mountain that day. He’s spent a lifetime peering through marbles to see the world differently, only to find a boy who doesn’t need glass to turn the world upside down. Taishin will do it all on his own, just by making shoddy care packages and house calls and stupid trips to knick-knack stores, all for a few marbles’ sake. In his world, clouds are nothing but pappus and alphas are nothing but mugwort, less than intimidating and more than healing, and useful for more than maintaining order. In his world, alphas are a balm to a societal wound and that balm is love.

What would he tell the youngest parts of himself? That version of himself, even months ago, scared to death of bloodying someone with the fists of his want? He doesn’t know, but he can’t help thinking of that little boy dressed in frilly blouses, and this one he’s fallen in love with, and the possibilities are endless. He was once a child, making his home among the mountains; but sometime, around that time, another boy was making his place amidst the trees, and he sees it all so clearly now. It’s no wonder they met there, years later.

They could only meet in the place that made them.

“It's okay,” Taishin breathes into his lips when his voice strains thin, climbing, climbing. “You need this. Please. Let yourself have it.”

“I’m not—" He pants, open-mouthed, sweaty and tongue-tied. "I'm not some sex fiend.”

“No,” Taishin says, slowing, panting against his mouth. “You just need to be loved. That's why you never ask for it. You act like you don't want it when that isn't the truth. You want to be touched. You want to be held.”

“Taishin.”

“I love it too," he admits. "I wish I could see you. You always look so lovely when you're like this, senpai.”

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “I look like a mess, is what I usually look like.”

“No,” Taishin replies, dragging his fingers through his sweaty hair. “You're beautiful. This side of you is so beautiful.”

His throat closes up, but Taishin simply kisses him like he’s a precious thing, glass-like and fragile and in need of safe handling, and Takara knows now if he never knew it before.

I’m going to marry you. One day, I’ll marry you.

But that day isn’t today.

Today, he'll leave his mark. He'll leave his fingerprints all over Taishin’s body like traces, and it’ll be just like the beginning.

Like one dark, starless night on a hiking trail.

Like fingerprints, fingerprints over everything.

He’ll remember this moment for the rest of his life, but if he doesn't, he can always return to this simple truth:

Kindness, if anyone asks, has a taste, and it tastes like him.

It’s always been him.

“I meant to thank you,” Taishin's mother says on the last day, when they’re sitting in old chairs in the backyard, watching the sun sink low behind the mountain line. “For bringing him home again.”

He shifts in his seat, uncomfortably. “There’s no need to thank me.”

She shakes her head. “But there is. There are so many reasons to."

He doesn't know about that. Honestly, he doesn’t even know how he ended up here with her, while everyone else is lounging on the grass. It's warmer out (thanks to maritime climate, apparently), so of course, they're bird-watching and playing and reading, while he's here. 

Hanging back.

Watching them from the shadows like a guard would.

"That day, when Taishin stormed out, we thought he’d never come home, but then, next thing we knew, he was walking through the door again, ranting about a kind senpai he’d met on the mountain," she says. “You brought him home to us. I still don’t know how to thank you for that. I don’t think we ever can, but please know that you’re welcome here anytime. Think of this as your home away from home.”

He sidesteps the invitation, politely. “I’d hardly call a college apartment home.”

“But surely, when you’re on break…? There must be somewhere you return to.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, forcing his shoulders back, and it’s so stupid. He can only imagine how he looks, like some flint-faced soldier headed off to the war front, when all she’s done is ask him a question about home.

“I go hiking with my grandfather a lot. There’s hardly time for anything else.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to consider this your home, then.”

He startles. “Huh?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just…” He swallows carefully, unsure how to say it. Better to err toward politeness. “I’d hate to impose.”

For some reason, that makes her laugh. “I’d hardly call you an imposition, dear. Not with the way you help around the house.”

That’s expected, though. He’d hardly be a proper guest if he just lazed around. He says as much to her, but she just waves the words away as if they’re only negligible things.

“We’re just happy you’re here.”

The woodsmoke drifts from the outdoor stove, a damp ribbon of heat curling against cheeks. He blames that —it can only be that— for the lingering warmth on his skin. The night chill is doing little to cool it.

“Senpai!”

His head jerks up. Taishin jumps up and down on the hill, waving with both hands.

“Look!” He shouts, pointing to the sky as a wide-winged bird soars over the house, disappearing behind the roof in a streak of white. A whooper swan. “I’m gonna go chase it!”

A laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it. Somehow, it turns into a full-fledged smile. “Be careful.”

He won't, undoubtedly. Careful isn't in his DNA. He'll have to watch him then. Always, he'll watch him. 

“Taishin spoke so highly of you when we were on the phone, you know," she says. "Takara senpai this and Takara senpai that.” A laugh bubbles out of her, making her rock back. The chair creaks with the movement. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if any of it was real, but look at how things turned out now. He's so different. More confident, I think." Her eyes trail back to him. "I know that's because of you. He's changed since meeting you.”

That’s not true. It’s he who’s changed. 

“You’ll take care of him, won’t you? That is, you must know Taishin is… Well, we're all a bit..." She fiddles with her knitting, searching for the words. "To us, he’s such a special boy.”

He looks out toward the hillside, to the little shadow there searching the setting skies with a pair of binoculars, and smiles softly. “Mm. He knows a lot about birds.”

Her knitting goes slack. When she turns to him, her eyes are glistening with fresh tears and, for a moment, nothing passes between them except understanding. “Yes," she says with a watery smile. "Yes, he does."

“And flowers. He loves them. They love him just as much, I think.”

“They do,” she replies, staring at him. “Everyone can see how much.”

He turns away from her, forcing his face even. “Flowers. They grow so quickly, you know. You’d think, for how small they are—how small the seeds are, I mean, that they’d take longer. You’d think they’d need more time.”

“Perhaps,” she says, “but some things don’t need time to sprout. They already have everything they need to bloom.”

“Nakano-san.”

“There’s no need to be so formal, dear.”

“For this, I thought I should…That is, I meant to speak to you about my intentions.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, at least not immediately. Instead, she looks out toward the horizon, its rays setting on her face in irregular slices of orange.

“I think we’ll be seeing more of you. On the weekends. Maybe, even, as a permanent fixture in our lives.”

He licks his lips carefully, but the words don’t come. To agree would be too presumptuous, like inserting himself in a home he hasn’t yet deserved to be in, but to disagree would mean lying.

And he can’t lie about this.

She places a hand on his arm and settles it for him: “I’d like for you to be a permanent fixture in our lives," she says. "You're such a sweet boy.”

His eyes prickle, and it takes everything to fight against the urge to do more than that. He steals the poker instead, stoking the fire with a sniff. “I’d like to get a job first, of course. Something that could support both of us.”

“While he’s in school?”

“And beyond that.”

She raises a brow. “You don’t want him to work?”

“It’s not about wanting him to or not wanting him to. We've talked about it. I’d just…prefer if he didn’t have to worry.”

“About a job?”

“About choosing between his needs or mine.”

He’s seen it enough times in Taishin: the overextension, the sudden overwhelm, the need to ask once, then twice more about someone’s meaning, or figure of speech, or joke they shared. It’s salvageable, for now, in college, but the workplace is different. He can almost picture it: Taishin leaving at god-knows what hour in the morning, only to return long past dinner; trading in his colors for grey suits and his love for the outdoors with fluorescent lighting, and it’d be the worst thing to ever happen. He wouldn’t have time to roam the forests anymore or lie idle in the grass, bird-watching. He’d have to hang all of that up in favor of practicality.

And it would be a slow death.

Like caging a wild bird.

“I don’t mind staring at a computer all day, but he’s meant to be out there. Doing what he loves, not worrying about money. He could work at Aeon for all I care and I don't. Care, I mean. As long as he's happy, that’s all that matters.” He looks away, picking nonsensically at his khakis. “At least, that’s all that matters to me.”

For a long time, she says nothing.

“Takara-chan.”

He jolts as if zapped by a live wire. “Uh, yes?”

“Do you think your grandfather would mind if you spent Christmas with us this year?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“Would he mind," she says again, "if we took care of you for a while? After all, there are meals to be had and dates to be shared. Christmases and New Years and birthdays. Do you think he’d mind horribly if we spent some of them with you?”

He searches for his voice, but even when he finds it, it's nothing like he's known. It's frailer. Younger. “I don't think he'd mind.”

“No?”

He shakes his head, looking beyond her to Taishin, chasing birds on the hills, and Chizuru fiddling with her Nintendo on the grass, and their father prattling on beside her, and it's better than anything he could have dreamed of.

It's everything he's ever wanted.

"No," he says, smiling, "I think he'd like that very much, actually."

That leaves only one thing left to do.

He slips out in the evening when the moon is high in the sky and the train is a faint, steady blare somewhere in the distance. He waits until it passes to take out his phone, pulling up the video caller.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Well, well,” Gramps says when the screen pans out, a canopy of dark trees behind him, “I was starting to think I’d have cut my trip short to come and find you.”

“Sorry. I’ve been…busy.”

“Busy, you say?” He chuckles. “And what’s taken up so much of your time you couldn’t give your ol’ gramps a call, hm?”

“I took a trip. To Fukuoka.”

“Oh, really? And what are you doing there?”

He scuffs his shoe against the dirt, digging the toe in.

“Takara?”

“I met someone.”

“Oh?” His brows lift suggestively as he plops down on a bench. “And would I be right in guessing this mystery person is in Fukuoka?”

“Their family is.”

Gramps raises a brow. “That sounds…serious.”

He wets his lips, glancing down at his feet. Leaves curl and tumble over his shoelaces, lifted by a gentle breeze, and he plucks up the courage to lift his eyes to the lemon tree. To the future.

“Precious things typically are.”

Gramps goes still. “What?”

Behind him, the back door slides open. Taishin pokes his head out, barefoot and bare-legged, beckoning him in, but Takara catches the moment Gramps spots him. The moment he puts two-and-two together.

“Takara…”

“There’s someone I’ve been meaning to introduce you to.” Turning around, he pulls Nakano off the ledge and into the frame, setting him in front of him. “This is Nakano. Nakano Taishin.” He glances down. “Taishin, this is my grandfather.”

Taishin flashes one of those open, awkward smiles of his and bows, nearly knocking his forehead against the screen. “It’s, um, nice to meet you, sir.”

Gramps tears off his bucket hat and presses it to his chest. “No, it’s…” He trails off, eyes gleaming and watery. “Nakano-kun. What an honor it is to meet you.

“Takara senpai said you’re hiking?”

“Yes,” he says. “But perhaps, one day, the three of us might take a hike together? There’s a spot I know near the northern Alps. You might like it. There are so many beautiful things there. We can take a trip there someday.”

Nakano beams, bouncing on his heels. “I’d love that.”

“Would you?”

Takara smiles. “We both would.”

“Then, it’s a deal.”

Nakano smiles and slips back inside, waving goodbye. Only when the door slides closed does Gramps turn his attention back, grinning from ear to ear.

“So,” he says, “you’ve found your treasure.”

“Mm. Seems like it.”

“What was it like for you? Strange? I imagine it must have been.”

He stares out into the night. To the outline of mountains there. “Do you remember that trip we went on when I was nine?” he says. “You showed me the trees. They were yellow, I think.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“It’s just like that. The same feeling.”

Gramps hums, leaning back into the bench. “He seems like an extraordinary boy.”

“Yes,” he replies, smiling with all of his teeth. “He is.”

“You must know, it might not be the easiest in the coming years," Gramps says. "It was different during my time, but people don’t value treasures as much as they used to. Some don’t even think they still exist. They may not realize what you are to each other.”

“But we will,” he replies, “and if it comes to it, I’ll protect him.”

“See that you do. A treasure, as they say, is a heavy burden.”

He glances behind him, watching Nakano laugh in the kitchen with his father. He spots him and cheeses with all his teeth, waving.

Grinning, Takara waves back. “Maybe,” he says into the phone, “but he's mine and that's all that matters.”