Archive of Our Own

The ferry ride is about an hour long. It is not yet quite the off-season, but it’s a weekday and mid-morning, so the boat is not even near capacity. They can’t see the ocean when sitting down, the windows are too tall. They have to hold too many bags to also be able to hold hands, so they don’t. They just sit next to each other, knees bumping when they breathe, the sea rumbling beneath them, beneath the hull.

They wait for everyone else to disembark before they do, suitcase wheels whirring beside each of them. The wharf is cobblestoned, not the most friendly for the tiny plastic wheels, so Tetsurou offers to carry Kei's bags, at which Kei scoffs.

"Is the house that far away?"

"Nothing here is that far, I don't think," Tetsurou says, stopping to watch the people walking past them, this pseudo-town-center the busiest part of the island, and still half-empty. "But we'll still have to walk, and I think the rest of the streets are mostly sand."

Kei frowns, so deep-set it's visible behind his sunglasses. Tetsurou doesn't really smile, too nervous to be amused, but he watches Kei's expression closely. "So we'll walk."

"There aren't really other options. We can't bike with the bags."

Kei pauses. "So. We'll walk."

"Yes."

"Okay. Where?"

"Down there," Tetsurou says, nodding to their left. "I can carry one more bag. Hand it here."

Kei ignores him and starts walking. Tetsurou chuckles, finally, and Kei predictably snaps his head back to stare him down, now from atop his frames. Tetsurou smiles at him, earnestly, and Kei turns back around.

It's too big a house for them, really. Too beautiful. It was Kenma's suggestion, as was the entire trip. Kenma's discreet interest in real estate, his investor's blood, and his and Hinata's frequent traveling had all united over drinks to show him a series of villa listings on Kenma's phone, each more beautiful than the last. Kenma was still sensible and had an eye for affordability, for good deals, even if too many of the houses were way out of Tetsurou's budget. What you two need is a getaway, Kenma had said. How cliche, Tetsurou had laughed somberly, like a trip will fix everything. Kenma had stared at him, as he does. How unlike you to not believe in romance.

Romance can't fix everything. This beautiful house, straight out of an old European movie, with its winding staircase and balconies and terracotta-tiled kitchen, would be good enough for a honeymoon. Kei looks around silently when they enter, rolling his bags into the hallway, Tetsurou still in the living room opening windows to air out the house. The sea breeze blows a sheet of paper off the coffee table, and Kei picks it up.

"House rules," he reads. "Please wash your feet in the garden when coming from the beach. Please care for cooking and cleaning utensils and notify the owner of any necessary replacements. Please take out the trash on Tuesdays before noon." He pauses. The sun hits his face when the curtain moves, a stark slash of white. "Be as happy in this home as we have always been. We entrust it to you."

Kei lifts his head and looks at Tetsurou. Tetsurou swallows. Kei stares.

"How cheesy." He sets the paper on a shelf and turns to the rest of the house without much care. He disappears up the stairs, his feet almost soundless on the wood. Tetsurou buries his heart down his throat and wanders into the kitchen, opening more windows, the wind and the sun filling the house with the feel of the ocean. It's a beautiful house. He stands in the living room and reads the titles on the shelves, telling himself he's not scared to head up to the bedrooms. The books seem well-loved, spines broken and pages yellowed. The house seems genuinely lived in, used, and not something artificial put up for rent. He climbs up the stairs with all his luggage, the second-floor hallway dark with the closed doors and closed windows, only slivers of sunlight peeking through. He leaves the bags in front of the bedroom door, inside which Kei is sitting on the bed and looking at his phone. Tetsurou doesn't linger; he goes to the other rooms, opening doors, opening windows.

Kei calls from the other room. "Do you want to get lunch before we go to the beach?"

Tetsurou walks towards the sound of his voice and stands in the doorway, and Kei turns to look at him. "We can. We should do a little shopping, too—bread, fruit, coffee, breakfast stuff. Toilet paper?"

"I think there already is toilet paper. We can buy stuff after we eat."

"Okay."

Kei stares. "Okay. I'm gonna take a shower."

Tetsurou starts to unpack while he showers. He sets out the nicer shirt he brought and hangs it inside the wardrobe, reminding himself to iron it at some point. He should look if the ironing board, included in the listing, is in another room's closet. This is the only en suite in the house, but there are two other rooms, one with another king-size bed and one with a queen and a single. Tetsurou can't help thinking of the house's previous life, of the life of its occupants. The lady who arranged the rental with him wasn't the owner, but the owner's great-niece, so he doesn't even know a face from the family who might have lived in this house, on this island. The life they may have lived, the love they may have shared. He's getting sentimental. They've barely gotten here. Kei walks into the room, his towel wrapped around his waist, and he looks so beautiful. Tetsurou looks at him, really looks at him.

"You look beautiful," he says. He can't help it. Kei frowns and puts his glasses on, but they're fogged up. He wipes them on the towel.

"Thanks. Are you ready?"

Tetsurou is still looking at him. Kei has turned around, taken off the towel and is now drying his hair with it, so Tetsurou looks at the small of his back, at his ass and his legs. "Yeah, sure," he says. Kei steps into a pair of boxer briefs, the elastic snapping against his skin. Tetsurou, in his mind, is reaching and touching him. Is kissing the curve of his neck, feeling the thin hairs on his navel, pressing their bodies together—the clean, showered warmth of Kei against Tetsurou's sweat, the sun of it worn flush on his skin. "Just let me know," he says, and he's on the bed, he's sitting an ocean away from Kei, a one-hour-ferry-ride away, an island, "and we'll get going."

"Okay," Kei says, looking over his shoulder, the clear, pale skin of his shoulder, the strength and the softness of his shoulder, "let's go."

They walk to the restaurant. Kei's sandy blue shorts make his skin look golden. Tetsurou reaches for his hand and takes it, their fingers only loosely attached, only barely touching, but enough. It's more casual than dismissive. An older man bikes past them, his thin shirt unbuttoned and a sunburnt cap stuffed low on his head. Within instants, once he's behind them, they hear other locals greet him and chat.

The first restaurant they find is in a family's garage, their chubby yellow dog napping in the sun, their baby snoring inside a rocking crib. The food is good and plenty and the price is good, too. Kei keeps mostly quiet during the meal, so Tetsurou doesn't care to keep trying to start a conversation. He plays with Kei's feet underneath the table and manages to get a smile out of him at one point. The family's older daughter, maybe sixteen, tells them where they can find the nearest store, and they set off for their groceries. Tetsurou takes Kei's hand again, tighter this time. Kei sways and bumps into him, softer now that he's eaten, molten. Tetsurou doesn't kiss him, but watches his mouth, faintly red with juice.

Things become more domestic, increasingly more. They fall into a steady rhythm. They don't bicker over what to buy, just silently agree. They are efficient and direct and make their way back to the house with bags in hand. Tetsurou opens the garden gate for Kei to walk through, and Kei's smile is a little less fleeting. Tetsurou walks in after him. They had forgotten to close the windows before they left for lunch; the sun, slipping through every gap, has hit the floor and warmed up the air. Kei complains as soon as he steps inside, but Tetsurou grins.

"To the beach now?"

"Yes," Kei says with a groan, pouring himself a glass of water. "Help me with the sunscreen."

He doesn't have to ask twice. Kei takes his shirt off and Tetsurou pulls him closer by the belt loops. Kei rolls his eyes, but they're not like they were before. Maybe he was hungry, Tetsurou tells himself. He splats his hands, sticky white with lotion, onto Kei's chest and Kei yelps, "Ow!" Tetsurou dives after his face and kisses him. "Jerk," Kei says after the kiss, but there's no bite to it.

"Oops," Tetsurou says, just as flatly. His grin has fully taken over his face, it's fully taken over his mood. "Sorry."

Touching Kei is its own reward. His skin is always surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly silky. Tetsurou makes sure to cover every inch of it in SPF 70 sunscreen, even inches a bit too far up the inseam of his shorts, but Kei only shoos him off after he's wandered halfway up his inner thigh. "Your turn now," he says, sloshing sunscreen onto his hand, but Tetsurou jumps away.

"No, thanks. I'm letting the sun kiss me as is."

"Tetsurou."

The name surprises him as if it's not his own. He feels, for a second, as if he hasn't heard it in forever. Maybe he hasn't: if it's just the two of them, talking to each other, they don't need to keep calling each other's names. Scarcity just makes them that much sweeter. His smile's back. "Kei."

"I'm serious, you dick—you're going to get sunburnt and complain my ear off. I am trying to care for you."

"Oh, sweetheart—"

"Don't start—"

"—you're so sweet to me—"

"—get off—"

"—please, lather me in cream—"

"—fuck off, get—get off—"

Tetsurou does not put on sunscreen. Kei gives up on him quite quickly. In fact, he pretends to leave ahead, picking up his tote and walking out the door, but Tetsurou finds him sitting on a bench one block up the road. He hasn't dropped his pose yet. Tetsurou offers him his hand, but this time, Kei doesn't take it. Tetsurou doesn't let it get to him.

There are some people on the beach but, as with the ferry, it's not the busiest of times, so there's plenty of space for them to choose where to settle. Kei watches the movement, tries to find the best spot of shade, and eventually stretches their towel and sits down. Tetsurou waits for him to look up expectantly before sitting down himself.

"This is nice," he says, nudging Kei. Kei scoffs.

"I guess."

The ocean is an incredible shade of blue-green, a color Tetsurou would like to paint the world with. The sand here isn't that pretty, a grayish yellow, but it doesn't matter. Kids play in the ocean and their families watch and shout with care. A dog tiptoes past them, smelling the ground for the ghost of a barbecue. Birds in the trees and barely a cloud in the sky—it's nice.

"It's nice," Tetsurou insists.

Kei turns to him. "Why did you want to come here so bad, anyway?"

Romance can't fix everything. The bend of Kei's knee is still a bit white with undissolved lotion. Tetsurou touches him and Kei flinches; Tetsurou pulls away.

"I thought it'd be nice." He pauses. "And it is."

Kei turns back. He takes in the ocean, the beach, the people—it's a bit hard to tell where he's looking from behind his sunglasses. His hard-to-read expressions, even if Tetsurou has them somewhat reliably mapped, are hidden by that extra layer of darkness.

"I guess it is."

"I'm going for a swim," Tetsurou declares and stands, pulling his shirt off and toeing out of his flip-flops. He gets away before the mood rests upon them, an unbearable weight, an unshakeable feeling. The shadow tied to their feet. As he runs backwards towards the sea, he yells, "You should join me!"

Kei doesn't reply. His facial expression becomes even smaller, even less discernible, the further away Tetsurou gets. Tetsurou dives into the sea and swims out as far as his lungs will take him, only coming up for air when he feels the burn. The water's cold, but the chill is pleasant. He pushes his hair out of his face and looks back towards the shore, at the red rectangle of his and Kei's towel, at the blonde dot of his face staring out at him. He looks and lingers. He dips underwater again.

Tetsurou likes swimming. He doesn't get many chances to do open-water swimming, especially not in the ocean, but he tries to do laps in his gym's pool, especially since he pays the premium to have access to the pool, so he might as well make it count. Sometimes, it feels like too solitary of an activity, but he thinks it's because he got too used to volleyball, and a bit too proud to join a local team. Too busy, as well. Swimming feels more peaceful than regular working out, so he tries to go for it whenever he can. It's a great way to meditate, too.

Swimming in the ocean is a different thing. The salt, the cold, the current. He's never been scared of sea creatures or the like, so that's not a factor, but the vastness is one, in some way. He wishes he could swim forever, maybe swim the one-hour-ferry-ride away. He can't, but he tries, and swims until he fears his limbs will give out. He can still see Kei when he looks out towards land. He floats for a bit, to rest. Every part of his body stings, but pleasantly, the warm sun soothing, a layer of warm water on the very surface of the ocean. He could nap like this, floating in the sea. He lets his mind wander and imagine it, the body a raft, fishes underneath, gulls above.

When he's had enough, he swims back to shore in installments, stopping to float some more every once in a while. The people-sounds get louder the closer he gets, children laughing, the occasional salesperson walking around with their pitch of popsicles or sunhats or beach towels. The crashing of the waves gets louder, too, a constant rumble pulling him to land.

He doesn't ruffle his wet hair onto Kei, but, maybe, at a different time, he would have. He sits beside him and breathes deeply, tired from the cardio, watching Kei's own calm breathing. "What are you reading?"

Kei shows him the cover. "Same as on the train when you asked. And on the ferry. I'm not that fast a reader."

Tetsurou ignores the snark. "How are you liking it now?"

"Same as on the train, and on the ferry—"

"Nothing has changed?" The silence, which is not silent at all—the ocean, consistent, continuous—, lingers a beat too long. Tetsurou tries to get around it. "You're on the beach now, in this paradise, no travel stress, no uncomfortable seating, nothing—can't you appreciate it a little better?"

Cool. He makes it worse. Kei breathes, his ribs expanding as wide as they go, then slowly contracting. He closes the book, takes off his sunglasses, takes off his shirt. "I'm going to take a dip." Tetsurou should apologize. Or maybe he shouldn't acknowledge it, maybe he should muffle his wrongdoings with more sweetness, but look where that has gotten him. He opens his mouth to say a million things, but Kei is already too far away. He walks into the ocean slowly, maybe bothered by the water temperature. His blue shorts go thirty shades darker when wet, and his hair about twenty. His skin looks whiter, paler, yellower. He turns back for a second, but Tetsurou knows he can't see him without his glasses. He doesn't know what he is turning back for.

They stay at the beach for a few hours, not too long—they're still tired from the traveling. At Kei's first suggestion of going home, Tetsurou agrees, and they set off in silence, kicking the sand off their feet with every step home, tiny mounds of wet dirt gathering around their sandals. When they get to the house, they wash their feet off with the garden hose and sit on the porch, water dripping off their toes, their shorts leaving wet marks on the wooden planks.

Tetsurou should apologize. They've changed subjects, talked about other things here and there, sunbathed and got dry and got wet again, but when the wind blows it still leaves the questions there, unanswered. Kei doesn't seem mad, not any more than usual. Not any more distant than he's been for a while.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Tetsurou asks.

Kei, who had his head thrown back, neck stretched towards the sun, lifts it back up and looks at the empty street across from them. "I don't know. Is there anything to do?"

"Surely," Tetsurou says. He turns fully towards Kei and touches his wrist, drawing lines between the moles on his arm. Kei lets him, perhaps begrudgingly. "We could go out to eat, maybe a seafood restaurant by the beach. I saw one that only opens on weekends, but there should be at least something going on. Tomorrow I thought we could go dancing…"

Kei snickers. "Dancing?"

"Yeah. There's a local band that plays every Friday night at the church square. I'm hoping they take requests."

"Christ. I hope they don't."

"What!" Tetsurou laughs and pokes Kei between the ribs; he squirms, but smiles. "You're gonna dance to Elvis with me, baby. Trust."

"Elvis? I thought you would at least try to pick something listenable."

"What do you want to dance to?"

"I don't want to dance—"

"Not an option. What do you want to dance to?"

The sun is turning from gold to amber, an evening shade. Two kids run by their house without even noticing they're there, watching.

"I don't know, Tetsurou, I don't want to dance."

Tetsurou stands and pats the last grains of sand off his legs before heading inside the house. Kei looks up at him, confused, but Tetsurou doesn't meet his gaze. "You have until tomorrow to decide. Think carefully!"

Once they've showered and gotten ready, they are back to wandering the island streets leisurely, hand in hand. Tetsurou has been complimenting Kei again, because he does look very handsome, and Kei has been ignoring him. The dense humidity of the beach is making his hair even curlier. At the first restaurant they stop at, while Kei ponders the menu to decide if they'll go inside, Tetsurou runs his fingernails up the back of his neck, into his scalp, and Kei shivers without acknowledging it directly. It might be the best that Tetsurou will get for now, so he takes it.

Not that many establishments are open, but they roam the coast until they get up to the town center, where they finally find people in the streets, sitting on benches, wandering between gift shops, biking home from watching the sunset at the beach. The restaurants here aren't as elegant as others they've walked past, but the louder, busier rhythm of their immediate vicinity helps explain why. And they're not looking for anything particularly classy, anyway, both still in sandals and Tetsurou in shorts, so the options they have are all good enough for them right now. They check menus and discuss cuisines and prices, eventually deciding to go for seafood another day, when they have better pickings, and tonight settle for Italian in a small restaurant a couple blocks away from the main road, with a slim sea view through its small front windows. Tetsurou asks if Kei wants to sit facing the beach, but he declines. What Tetsurou sees, with the dark blue water and the indigo sky framing Kei, lit by the intensely orange restaurant lamps, is so picturesque he could paint it, three strokes of blue and one of yellow.

"What?" Kei asks.

"Nothing. Just—"

"Oh, I've put up with you all day, if you say something like just looking at you or just how beautiful you are I will leave. I will actually leave."

Tetsurou chuckles sheepishly. "Jeez, sorry."

How weird, or funny, that they've known each other for so long, loved each other for so long, and still, it's been so easy for them to fall out of sync. Kei sighs. "Sorry. That was harsh. What were you going to say?"

"No, you got me. Something corny. I don't have anything better to say."

"Tetsurou, I'm sorry—"

"No, it's fine," Tetsurou smiles. "Really. I've been one-note today, and I was—" there it is "—kind of a dick earlier, at the beach, too. I just—" now's as good a time as any "—am really glad that we're here. I really want…"

What he's always wanted. Eight years now? In a way, ten. Jeez.

"I really want this to be good for us."

Kei's eyes are crystalline. He looks at Tetsurou lengthily, reading his face, before he replies. His voice is so much quieter now, and Tetsurou knows the sound of it before it even comes out of his mouth. "Me too."

Tetsurou smiles something so happy, so sad, so relieved, it almost pains him. Kei laughs back at his face, and he laughs, too. "I'm glad. Oof! Okay. Okay. Food. Do you want to get an entrée?"

They order a set of arancini and a bottle of pinot grigio, finally talking normally again, finally back to a neutral starting place. Tetsurou teases, Kei scoffs. They order their main courses, ravioli for Tetsurou and fettuccine for Kei, and grow increasingly warm. Another bottle of wine—maybe it's the wine. Tetsurou reaches for Kei's hand and Kei lets him take it. They share the restaurant with families, older couples, big young groups of travelers, and nothing seems to get to them. It still feels private, being here in the middle of nowhere, even if the island is not so remote; a paradise, no cars, no tall buildings, no business, just the ocean and the gulls and the people. Kei can't finish his plate and asks for the rest of it to go. They order a single serving of tiramisu which he eats most of. Tetsurou doesn't say a word.

Tetsurou kisses him as soon as they step out of the restaurant and into the street. Kei kisses him back. The streets are pretty much empty now that it's a little later in the evening; there's another couple walking a little far off, and no one else. They're still in front of the restaurant, its warm glow lining their shadow against the sandy road, but it doesn't feel like anyone in the world matters or even exists alongside them. Tetsurou touches Kei's face and Kei touches his waist. They pull away and breathe each other's air, Kei's lips still open, still warm. Tetsurou kisses him again, but for no more than a second. He pulls him by the hand, starting their walk home. Kei stumbles before he falls into step.

After a few blocks, the streetlights vanish, but it doesn't get dark: the sky is clear, the stars uncountable, and the moon only a few days away from full. They're not catching the full moon while they're here, unfortunately, as much as Tetsurou checked and tried to align the dates. He looks up happily, breathing deeply, feeling as if every single problem has already been solved—maybe it's the wine. "I don't remember the last time I saw this many stars."

Kei looks up, as well. They stop walking. "For me," he says quietly, "not since I moved to the city."

Tetsurou thinks of Kei's hometown and the countryside. Thinks of training camps and clumsy, misstepping teenagers. He didn't have the peace of mind to think of the stars back then. He glances at Kei's face but quickly looks back at the sky. "Yeah. I can't help but feel like this must be what the sky looked like when I was a little kid, before I moved—but I honestly can't remember."

"Do you really not?"

They start walking again, slowly wandering across the island. Their hands are properly together now, fingers completely entwined. Tetsurou, in fact a little sunburnt, though so faintly it might be gone in the morning, can feel heat radiating off himself, and the slightly cool touch of Kei's arm. "The sky, no, not at all," he laughs. "Even my friends, sometimes I think I only remember their faces because my grandma kept the kindergarten pictures. I mean, eight is pretty young for a big move. I wouldn't expect myself to remember."

"But from when you met Kenma on, you do remember."

"I mean, yeah, kind of. What I don't remember, I can imagine, you know? I can imagine Kenma being there, I can imagine the house we lived in, so my mind at least tries to fill in the gaps. You know how it is. I'm sure you don't remember everything from when you were, I don't know, seven, but you can picture Yamaguchi and your brother and your house and at least guess."

"I guess," Kei frowns. "It's easier, maybe, since I never moved. The people never changed. There were just more of them eventually."

"Do you ever have a memory that you think is false? Something you hoped had been true, or something you dreamed and then misremembered?"

He frowns again. They can see their rental now, just a couple hundred yards ahead. "No."

"Really?"

"No, I don't think so, no."

"Wow. I really do. I have this one really intense memory of a bet I made with Bokuto, I think when we were second-years, and he swears it didn't happen—which wouldn't matter, I would still think I was right, but Akaashi really backs him up. I've started to think I made it up, but I can picture it so clearly, it's crazy."

"What was the bet on?"

"That's the funniest part." Once again, Tetsurou pulls the garden gate open for Kei to walk through, and Kei murmurs a thanks. "I have no idea."

"No way. Of course you do."

"No, I swear! I just remember, like, putting money on it, really insisting upon it, thinking of it all the time, but I don't know what it is that I wanted to prove. Maybe I just wanted to win."

They step into the house and Tetsurou locks the door behind him. Here, it is dark; Kei, a few steps ahead, turns on the weak light in the hallway. Tetsurou steps silently behind him, touching his waist, asking for permission. Kei leans into the touch. "Typical."

"What is?"

His voice is so much quieter now. Everything in this big empty house feels like it echoes, feels like it listens. Tetsurou presses his nose to Kei's neck. "You, wanting to win," Kei says. Tetsurou smiles, the curve of his lips dragging against Kei's skin. It gives him goosebumps, the prickly hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"Not like you can say anything."

"Well…" Kei turns around within his grasp, keeping their faces touching, cheek to cheek. When he speaks, Tetsurou can feel the air of it on his temple, on his ear. "Maybe that's our issue. Wanting to win too much."

"No. There's a lot more I want."

Kei must roll his eyes; Tetsurou can't see. Tetsurou has stretched his palm across the small of Kei's back, and he can feel the bumps of his spine, still discernible even though he's so much stronger now. He moves his hand up, slowly, pushing his shirt up with it, feeling the purring in his chest where he breathes, where his diaphragm pushes up, then relaxes. "There's a lot more I want, too."

"Typical," he retorts, his voice shaky. He's been breathing in Kei's skin for too long, growing dizzy with it. A fair bit turned on, as well, he'll admit.

"What is?"

"You pointing at me, when my biggest problem is you."

"What—"

Tetsurou kisses him, an insistent press, Kei taking a step back in uncertainty, but it only presses him against the wall, nowhere to turn to, nowhere to run to. He tries to speak, but Tetsurou kisses the chance away. Kei's kisses feel confused, unsure, deciding if he wants to give in or if he wants to hold back. He's given up the pose. He's deciding if he'll take it back up. He puts his hand on Tetsurou's chest, at first just a touch, but eventually he pushes him off and holds him at bay, deciding against surrender—picking a fight.

"What do you mean by that?" He whispers, the tone of his voice sharp, warm, almost, just almost angry. His eyes are flitting across Tetsurou's face, trying to read his expression in the poor lighting. They're standing so close to one another, it doesn't matter that his glasses are out of place.

"What do you think?"

"No, Tetsurou. What do you mean?"

Tetsurou laughs. Kei's gaze drops to his mouth, not unreadable but telling. "At this point, you're the only thing left. The only thing I can still win. And I want to, and I don't want to, and I just never seem to quite get it—I never seem to quite get you. I bring you to an island to have you all to myself and we still—" He pulls away, one step back. He's raising his voice, and he doesn't want to. The warmth in his chest is now something bitter, rising ashy to his tongue. He tries to take a deep breath and it ends up ragged. "We still fight and not talk and not figure out any of the problems I've been hoping we would for months—and I hate it. This sorry excuse for a relationship isn't enough. Not for me, not for you. I just want it to work. I just want to be with you and figure things out. It's not just—" He's out of breath. He takes another step back, hitting the wall before he thought he would. "It's not just a hope, either. I don't just believe we can, whatever. I know we do. I know it."

It's an embarrassing attempt at an argument. He's too drunk, too emotional. Too pent up, too over all of it. Kei only looks at him, quietly, letting the last of Tetsurou's voice stop echoing. The tight hallway, with its framed pictures and ornate rug, muffles all the noise. This house, with all its love. Tetsurou won't dare look at Kei's face, already imagining the shape of it, the disgust in his eyes, the snarl of his mouth.

"Right," Kei says, and his tone is all Tetsurou expected to hear. "And the best way to go about it is to blow up at me, instead of saying anything at any other point."

"When was I supposed to—"

"No, no." He raises his voice too; Tetsurou turns his face away, like Kei's anger is a slap. "My turn to speak now. You say anything you want all day, and I'm real nice about it. I think you forget, or you deliberately ignore, how much of my life I've put in your hands, and I still do, because I still want to. What, do you think I want us to grow distant and cold, that I want to be in a 'sorry excuse for a relationship'? Oh, be honest with yourself, Tetsurou. Be honest with me. Look at me—look at me."

He does.

"I have been in love with you since I was seventeen. Seventeen years old. Have you looked at a seventeen-year-old lately? That's a child. And I gave you that. I gave you my youth and my first love and everything I wanted the most. I gave you years of long-distance relationships and open relationships and only being with you for a few months at a time, I gave you patience, I gave you everything I had, and how is it not enough? Do you think of me? Do you think of how it is for me? Oh, you 'bring me to an island', and then you don't talk to me like I'm a real person, don't talk to me like I'm your boyfriend of eight fucking years, don't talk to me like we've known each other for the whole of a fucking decade? Oh, please, Tetsurou. If it's to be like this, then I deserve better. If two bottles of wine is what it's going to take for us to get anywhere, then we may as well stop where we are."

It isn't a real threat, but it hangs in the air like one. Tetsurou is looking at Kei's face now, and he can see, past his redness and his furrowed brow, that they're both equally miserable. How did it come to this? How did they let things get like this?

Tetsurou opens his mouth to say a million things. Then he closes it again. He stands up straighter, bumping a picture-frame askew with his shoulder, then shifting to fix it. He licks his lips. "I'm sorry."

Kei scoffs on instinct, but looks to immediately regret it. He shakes his head, "I am too." He reaches, for the first time, for Tetsurou's hand. It's a small touch, a small gesture.

"Do you—"

"Can we go to bed?" Kei interrupts. "Can we not—" He pauses, hesitates. He scrunches up his face like he's trying to find the right words to settle things down instead of inflaming them further. "Can we talk in the morning?"

Tetsurou blinks, then nods. "Yeah. Of course."

They lie facing each other, faces blue in the darkness. Tetsurou doesn't say a word. Would his love make a difference right now? How is it different now, anyway, from what he's carried in his chest and his hands for years on end? Kei has his eyes closed. Tetsurou can tell when he starts falling asleep, his face relaxing, his breathing going even quieter. Only then does he think of closing his eyes.

Kei usually wakes up very early in the morning. Tetsurou has a hard time remembering times when he woke up to Kei's sleeping body, to his face blank and swollen, clean, clear, open. It happened sometimes when they were each at university, when they visited one another and got too drunk, or were too tired. It hasn't happened in years.

Tetsurou wakes up in a cold sweat at four in the morning and can't fall back asleep. Pangs of guilt and desperation force him back to breathing exercises, washing his face in the en suite, going downstairs for a glass of water and the stale wind of before-sunrise. He would expect himself to know better, to act better. He is equally to blame for the state of things.

A four-day trip can't fix an eight-year relationship. No matter how much they love each other, this fight, just like any other—of the many others that have burnt and stung across the years—, can be a change, the start of something, a new beginning, but it will never be a true remedy. He puts his face in his hands and forces himself to breathe. He sees Kei's face at fifteen, when they barely knew each other; at sixteen, bright and confident, sweaty on its way to victory; at seventeen, when Tetsurou asked if he wanted to take a gamble on the two of them. Because Tetsurou had been out of his life for over a year and realized that what he wanted had been left behind, a boy bright and cunning and, despite it all, infinitely tender. He's had Kei for all this time without ever having the grace, the manners, to offer not just what he wanted to give back, but whatever Kei wanted to take for himself. He hasn't let Kei ask.

Or he has; there's no way, he doesn't believe, that they'd be together for all this time if they really have had the same problems for forever. Kei, at least, values himself enough to know his worth. He wouldn't let Tetsurou treat him if not in the way he deserves. Or would he? If Tetsurou's his first love, then Kei doesn't know any better—he doesn't know anything else. He has the same walled, tender heart he had ten years ago. The only person who has always had a home within it is Tetsurou, and the only person who hasn't had the ability to appreciate it, too.

So what can a four-day trip do that eight years can't? An island in the middle of the sea. A ferry, a bike, a walk. The thin stripe of gray sand and the continuous expanse of blue water, the green and gray of the nearest town visible on the horizon. The sun starts to rise. Tetsurou heads back upstairs.

There isn't any sunlight in their bedroom yet, but Kei is already stirring at the faintest, grayest suggestion of it. He's flipped over from how he was lying before, now curled in upon himself, the sheets strewn across the bed and barely covering him. His fingers twitch. Tetsurou lies next to him, staring at the ceiling, thinking of every word he knows. A gust of wind, a knife. A spike, a thorn. His own breathing steadies. He can suddenly see the dust specks fluttering near the floor, the first ray of sun edging up the horizon, glittering through their window. Kei shifts and Tetsurou turns his head to look at him. He hasn't woken up, not yet. He's frowning.

Tetsurou sits back up, a pain in his chest again, and drinks some more water. He focuses on his breathing again. Behind him, Kei mumbles something too quietly for him to hear, but it's enough to make him look back and find that he's woken up. He's still frowning, grimacing, but his eyes are half-open now.

"Good morning," Tetsurou whispers, just loud enough to hear.

"You're awake."

"So are you. Water?"

Kei takes the glass from Tetsurou's hand and rests on his elbows to be able to drink it. He downs it all and gives it back without speaking. Tetsurou watches him, watches the crooked curl pressed neatly into his forehead, the embroidery patterned on his cheek from the pillow case. Not often does he look so—crumpled. Vulnerable. Here. Not often is he here.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

The furrow between Kei's eyebrows deepens and Tetsurou smiles. Kei rubs his eyes and reaches for the bedside table, putting on his glasses before he's even finished waking up. "I don't eat breakfast. You know that."

"Yeah, but," and Tetsurou shrugs. "I figured we could make an exception."

We. Kei looks at him, flattening his expression. And stares. He suggests, noncommittally, "Eggs?"

"Yeah," Tetsurou smiles. "Yes. I'll be downstairs. Come down when you're ready." He stands up, a little weak in the knees, and gives Kei a ridiculous little thumbs-up. Kei raises his eyebrows.

He doesn't have that many options in the kitchen; yesterday, at the store, they bought about enough food for three days' breakfast and a bottle of wine, but they're lacking in variety. Kei said eggs. Tetsurou brews coffee, strong and unsweetened, and lets it drip into the pot. He makes frying-pan toast, scrambled eggs, cuts up an apple and rubs a halved lime on it so it won't brown. He tries to dress up the plates, tries to make something that seems intentional, that seems appealing, but his effort does not translate. His intention is there, and he hopes Kei catches it. A little after he's done, and after he's silently worried about the food going cold, Kei appears at the foot of the stairs with his hairline humid and his face washed.

"Eggs," Tetsurou says, stretching his hands out in show. "And other stuff."

"Please be normal," Kei says. Tetsurou blinks, and his shoulders immediately go slack.

"Yep. Sorry."

"But don't apologize," Kei says, taking his plate and his mug and carrying them to the front porch. "Or you'll be at it the whole day."

"Hey, that's not—Kei!"

Tetsurou comes to join him on the porch. The sun is still rising over the sea, the air is still cool. Kei grips his coffee mug with both hands and holds it below his chin. Tetsurou picks up an apple slice and takes a bite, the sour of the lime, the crunch of the peel. He doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know how to start. He's nothing like himself. He's run out of moves.

"Yesterday I asked you," Kei starts, and it relieves and worries Tetsurou at the same time, "why you wanted to come here so bad. You said some bullshit about it being nice. Then last night, you said you wanted me here to have me 'all to yourself', whatever the hell that means."

He stops speaking and doesn't end with a question. Tetsurou nods and stretches his legs in front of him. "Well," he begins, "this island kind of seems like it shouldn't exist, doesn't it?"

Kei looks at him blankly, as if telling him to go on.

"Like, it's so close to civilization, but so far. This little island with no cars and all cute little old houses. The quiet—like, listen. Sometimes there's birds, but then it's just—"

They sit in silence. Kei drinks some of his coffee. Tetsurou thinks fleetingly that the food will definitely go cold.

"I wanted to go on a trip with you. I thought you might like this place." He pauses. Kei won't speak. "And yeah, I thought it might be—What we needed. Whatever that is."

"What is it?"

Another apple slice, another shrug. "I don't know. A chance to talk."

"You can't talk to me normally?"

"No." Tetsurou says it too fast. He turns to look at Kei again. "No, I can't. Not recently."

"Is that my fault?" Kei asks honestly. Tetsurou stops to think. When he's silent, he can hear the waves crashing on the other side of the road, gentle in the low tide.

"A little? I mean, you're—" Real, here, now. The love of his life, Tetsurou still believes. "We have never been the best at just saying what we mean," he decides to say, instead. "I think recently the time, the weight of it, has gotten to me. I've gotten scared."

"Am I scary?"

"Yes. Obviously."

Kei giggles. "You've had a lifetime of Kenma and Yaku and even Akaashi, and you're scared of me?"

"This is gonna sound stupid, and you're more than allowed to make fun of me for it, but I think if I wasn't scared of you, maybe I wouldn't love you at all."

Kei stays quiet. Tetsurou looks at him. He knows his face, this face, every smallest turn of it. "I love you a lot," Kei says, quietly. It burns a cold, somber fire within Tetsurou's heart.

"So do I."

"So what do you want me to do?" It's a desperate, irrational question. It's the very last step before falling off a cliff.

"No, really, I—" Tetsurou sighs. Where are his words? Hasn't he always carried himself by his words? He turns to the sea, he looks up at the sky. At its gray, violet, then slightly coral shade. "I want you to tell me that. I think I need to hear that from you."

"What do you mean?"

Tetsurou echoes his words. "What do you want me to do?"

Kei blinks at him.

The food does, in fact, go cold. The coffee, too. The sun rises into a circle of light in a fully blue sky. Tetsurou can't stomach more than the apple slices while they talk, and Kei doesn't eat anything at all. Once they're done talking, or at least once they decide they've talked enough, Kei goes back upstairs to shower and Tetsurou heads back to the kitchen, hoping his food can be at least somewhat saved by the microwave.

His hands are shaking a little. He's hungry, but it's not that. He feels better than he thought he would, he's more hopeful than he thought he'd be. He can feel the ghost of Kei's touch on his shoulder, where he rested his hand after getting up. He pours their mugs down the drain and pours himself some of the still-warm coffee in the pot. He figures they'll go for a walk, explore the island, get lost. He feels a bit dizzy, cloudy, like words and resolutions have taken the air out of him. He wants to be normal again; he wants to go back to seventeen. He looks at his hands and breathes.

Once Kei comes into the kitchen, he turns his head and asks, softly, "You're sure you don't want to eat anything?"

"Yes," Kei says, a slight smirk signaling the highest degree of thanks that Tetsurou will get for his carefulness right now. "I'm sure. If I eat now, I won't have lunch."

"Or you won't eat either."

Kei shrugs. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Tetsurou smiles. "Right. Fine. So, where are we going?"

"That's for you to decide," Kei says, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't this your trip?"

Tetsurou rolls his eyes. The half-smile on Kei's face grows a bit wider. Tetsurou's widens in return, and he takes a step forward and wraps an arm around Kei's waist. "Ours," he says, his face inches from Kei's.

"Mm, that's undecided," Kei says, flirting. "What is it that we share, anyway?"

Their whole lives; they've just been over this. Tetsurou kisses him. Kei puts his hands on Tetsurou's neck, kissing him back. They relax into it, melt into each other. They kiss and kiss a bit more. Tetsurou knows the circles Kei draws behind his ear; Kei knows the breaths Tetsurou suggests into his mouth.

"We should get going," Tetsurou whispers. Kei kisses the corner of his mouth.

"Your call."

Tetsurou would stay here if he could, but they're not there yet. This love, this momentary passion, is an expression of intent, not of the reality. He pulls away from Kei, their eyes still glued to each other. "I'll just change. And we can go."

Kei nods. "I'll tidy things up here. Go on."

Tetsurou wants to kiss him once more before he goes. They stand still, waiting for whoever moves first, whoever gives up the advantage. Tetsurou likes the flush of Kei's face, likes the low collar of his shirt. He takes a step forward and kisses him again, pressing him into the counter, a pleased gasp licked into his mouth. Kei asked him to be straightforward, asked him to be present, asked him to be mindful. To ask for what he wanted and to heed what he was asked. To be true, to be realistic above that. Tetsurou asked him to be honest, to be kind. To be himself as much as he could, if that self could stand by Tetsurou. Kei drags his teeth along Tetsurou's lip. Tetsurou puts one hand on Kei's neck and holds him, a domineering touch, an assertion—Kei gasps, his short breaths folding into moans.

"I love you," Tetsurou says, but his voice is dark. Kei doesn't speak, just looks down into Tetsurou's eyes, his breaths strained. His lips are parted, pink. Tetsurou kisses him again, quickly, chaste, even. He lets go of his throat. Kei surges forward to kiss him again.

That's the conclusion they got to—love. Presence, pressure. Last night's fight is finally ending, back to what it had interrupted, touch and fire and wetness. Late-summer air wading lightly in the morning, before the afternoon weighs it down with humidity. Kei pulls Tetsurou closer, tighter, and it will never be enough. They make do. How much they have desired one another, how long they have played at this simple, complex desire. Always practicing, training, rehearsing the confrontations, acting up to be shot down. Tetsurou slides his hand between their bodies, palming Kei's cock, liking the edges of his body where he leans hotly into Tetsurou, where he does desire. His body blurs, fizzes. Dissipates. Tetsurou drinks him in hungrily, gladly, through his smile, through his teeth. He filters Kei on his tongue, lets him sit there. He pulls back and Kei follows.

"Suck me off," Kei asks, his breath unsteady when Tetsurou moves his fingers down to his balls. "Tetsurou."

"Yeah," Tetsurou says, prodding Kei's chin with the flow of their mouths. A breath. He takes a step back and drops to his knees. Kei pushes his shorts down and they fall to his feet.

He's plump, but not completely hard yet. Tetsurou takes all of him in his mouth at once. Kei grips onto the edge of the counter and whines, maybe trying to use his words, but suddenly failing. Tetsurou asked him to give in, to allow himself, to be open. With his back to the counter, just firm enough to not bend over, Kei puts one hand on the back of Tetsurou's head and holds him in place.

They started their day early. By the time they leave, it's barely past ten, the weather settling into an open sky, the vaguest sound of people talking heard from a quarter-mile away. Just a hum. Gulls pecking at the sand, the waves crashing as the tide rises. Instead of walking north like they did yesterday, they walk to the west and are surprised by a curve of the shore that reveals, suddenly, a small wooden lighthouse.

A young girl takes an older woman's picture in front of it, at the end of a stone jetty that drowns in the tide. Once the picture's taken, she walks slowly and carefully back to land and hunches over the girl's phone to check the pictures, shielding the screen from the sun. Tetsurou turns to Kei and grins, "Want a picture?"

"No, thank you." Tetsurou stops and tugs him by the arm. When Kei turns back, he's frowning. "What, do you?"

"I'm gonna ask them to take a picture of us."

"What—here? At the decrepit little lighthouse?"

"Yes," Tetsurou insists, nodding.

"What—"

"Go on. Here—Hi, excuse me—"

The jetty isn't as unsteady as it looks, and Tetsurou runs down it to meet Kei at the door to the lighthouse. They have to take a step out in front of it to not be in its shadow. Tetsurou puts his arm around Kei's waist, and Kei puts his around his shoulder.

"Smile, now."

"I am."

The lady down at the beach gives them a thumbs-up. Tetsurou squeezes Kei's waist, holding him as close as can be. Posing, he can't see his face. He smiles and hopes it's enough. The girl gives them a thumbs-up, as well, and gestures for them to come back. He thanks them, who, in turn, ask him to take a picture of the two of them. Kei sits on a nearby bench and waits, in his passive-aggressive, impatient style. He's not really bothered, though. Tetsurou does not mind, and takes as many pictures as the mother and daughter want.

"They said I'm a great photographer," he says, sliding to sit next to Kei.

"News to me."

"Right." He bumps into Kei. "Want to explore some more? I don't know if there'll be a restaurant if we keep going that way."

"You know I don't get hungry."

"You know you have to eat."

"I'm not—" Kei sighs. He rests his head on Tetsurou's shoulder; Tetsurou, for a second, freezes. He doesn't have to. He relaxes and puts his arm around Kei, his hand resting on his hip. "I'm not twelve. I'll eat."

"Okay," Tetsurou says quietly. "How about, we walk a little longer and, if we don't find anything, we'll go back to the same place as yesterday?"

Kei hums. Then he adds, absentmindedly, "There's nothing to do out here."

"Well, yeah," Tetsurou chuckles, "that's part of the point. To be able to do nothing. To have nothing else to do."

"Next time we'll go somewhere busy."

"Would you actually prefer that?"

Kei hesitates. "Next time we'll stay at home."

Tetsurou laughs. "Nope. That's worse. Come on, let's get moving."

There are hidden corners to this island despite its already small size. This southernmost, westernmost edge doesn't have a beach proper, just a patch of woods and rocks. Tetsurou finds a path to pull Kei down, a hole in the rocks, and eventually a half-secret pier, in a far worse state than the jetty leading out to the lighthouse. Some planks are missing, some are rotten. It takes some convincing to get Kei down to it, and he refuses to walk more than a couple feet out.

"Okay, just—Just sit, here, come, come on," Tetsurou asks, laughing.

"If I fall onto the rocks you'll mourn for the rest of your life."

"You won't die if you fall—hey, careful!"

"I'm going to kill you," Kei says through gritted teeth, resting all of his body weight against Tetsurou and sitting with his legs dangling off the edge. "I'm going to push you off, if you're so sure I won't die."

"I am perfectly confident. But please don't push me."

Kei stares at him angrily and Tetsurou kisses him. He digs little pebbles from in between the pier's planks and throws them down to the water, the rumble of the waves drowning out whatever sound they make when they hit the surface. Kei eventually relaxes, taking deep breaths, resting back on his hands and putting more of his weight onto the wood. It doesn't even creak. Tetsurou sneaks a glance back at him, who has his eyes closed, basking in the sun. He looks so peaceful, almost—just on the edge of—content. Tetsurou looks back to the water, watching the white of the foam come and go, disappearing between the rocks.

"It really is very quiet," Kei says at some point.

"Isn't it? It feels like we're the only people on Earth."

As if on cue, laughter from the path way up in the woods. It fades as quickly as it appeared. Kei reaches for Tetsurou's hand and entwines their fingers.

"It's hard for me to see us for what we are," he says. Tetsurou holds back the urge to point out how cryptic he's being, instead hoping he'll elaborate.

"What do you mean?" He says, finally, trying to keep his voice kind instead of provocative. Often his effort is in vain. This time, Kei takes a long look at his face, but gives him an opening.

"Maybe it's something that got into me when we were in school—a bad habit I never got rid of. Sometimes I have to remind myself that we are, and have been, happy and together for all this time, not just always against each other, trying to make do."

Tetsurou frowns, then laughs. "That's terrible."

Kei smiles. "It is, isn't it?"

"Jesus! Yes." He pauses. "If that's what it seems like to you, how—why haven't you ever given up?"

"I love you too much. That's what I've been saying, I—I want to love you. I'm fighting myself to be able to love you."

"Fighting me, too?"

"Yes, definitely." Kei leans in, another opening. Tetsurou goes the rest of the way. He kisses him kinder, deeper, putting one hand behind his back for support. Kei reaches for his shoulders, rests most of his weight onto Tetsurou, depends on him—then the planks beneath them creak loudly and he flinches away, "Oh, Christ—No. No. Let's get out of here."

Tetsurou cackles. "Sure. Whatever you want."

They climb back up to the road, which curls around and leads them back north, back to more houses and rental signs. They ask an old lady on her porch if there's anywhere to get lunch around here, and, following her directions, they find themselves at the same place they went to yesterday. The dog is nowhere to be seen. The older daughter, with a nod of acknowledgment, sits them down and walks off to serve the other customers.

"Busier today," Tetsurou comments when she comes back.

"Fridays," she shrugs, jotting down their orders. There's a noticeable uptick in movement; their food takes longer to arrive, the restaurant's cozy, homey feel replaced by constant conversation from the other tables. The quiet they've been experiencing, and noting time and again, might have been a reflection of the middle of the week, everyone still in town, still at work. Maybe there's more to do during the weekend, as things open, as people come.

"Are we going dancing tonight?" Tetsurou asks with a smile.

"Are we?" Kei replies, grimacing.

"I'm glad you asked. Yes. I hear they start at seven."

"Okay," Kei hums, playing with his food. Tetsurou looks at him without saying much.

"Have you thought about your request?"

Kei looks up at him. "Yes."

"What, really?"

"Yes."

"Are you gonna tell me or is it a secret?"

"Are you going to ask?"

Tetsurou rolls his eyes, but his smile's too big for it to seem serious. "What do you want to dance to tonight, darling?"

Kei blinks at him. His face is blank, but it's clearly an effort to keep it so. "It's a secret."

"Oh, my God, you're so predictable."

"Says you."

"No," Tetsurou says, pointing at him with his fork, "you're worse. Because you seem like a mystery, but one just has to learn."

"Took you quite a while to learn."

Tetsurou tuts, kicking Kei's feet under the table. "Not really. Had you down on the first day I met you."

Kei stares at him, the same easily-provoked face, the very same expression. Tetsurou sees him. "You're such a dick." Tetsurou laughs.

They walk home after the meal, the heat settling too close to the ground, the island slowing to a halt, cats on walls napping and songbirds playing in puddles. It's so idyllic. Tetsurou could never live here, could never let himself get used to this and not see it for the wonder it is. It would not be fair to the island, to its organic, but carefully protected peace. Kei walks two paces ahead of him, breathing slowly, jingling the house keys in his right hand.

"I'm gonna take a nap," he announces when they get home.

"I'll lie with you."

"No, you're gonna feel me up and try to fuck me," Kei warns. "I want to sleep."

Tetsurou pouts. "Just one kiss?"

Kei takes a single step forward, just close enough to lean and peck Tetsurou on the mouth. "There."

"No," Tetsurou says, stepping closer, pulling him in by the waist, his nose on his neck. Kei lets him, even if for a moment. "A proper kiss."

"You're terrible," Kei says. But still lets him.

"Just one."

Tetsurou angles Kei's face down, just slightly, and kisses him right. Meaning it. Their mouths are cool, wet, and fit together without any effort. Kei takes a step back and pushes Tetsurou away. "There."

"Sweet dreams, baby."

Kei nods and walks towards the stairs. At the first step, he turns back sharply, "Do not," and a pause for emphasis, "get into bed with me."

"Ow, so cold."

"Wake me up around two, please."

"Sure."

At the top of the stairs, his voice muffled by the ceiling, Kei adds, finally, "If you do want to get in bed after two, then maybe that's fine."

Tetsurou grins. "Sleep well!"

He doesn't have much to do while he waits. There really isn't anything to do here, to a point where it's almost suffocating. Tetsurou doesn't let it get to him. He leaves his phone on the coffee table above a note, if you wake up early, I'm just at the beach, and walks out. He heads toward the lighthouse without exactly meaning to, sits at the same bench as before without giving it much thought. It's shaded, its view is pleasant. The sea here, licking at the jetty, gurgling between the stones, is particularly hypnotizing. A seagull lands on top of the admittedly short lighthouse and, after the first gust of wind, flies away. The wind is enough to not feel the heat, even if for a breath. He closes his eyes, his hair certainly a mess, his shirt ballooning and billowing against his chest. If he just focuses, just pays attention, he feels a part of it. He feels its peace. He feels at peace.

Tetsurou whispers, "Hi," but Kei doesn't stir. He slides under the blanket, running one hand softly through Kei's hair, and then he starts to rouse, scrunching up his face, leaning closer to Tetsurou's warm touch.

"Is it two?" He murmurs, voice hoarse.

"Quarter-past."

"Mm." He tugs at Tetsurou's shirt, pulling him to lie beside him, and hides his face in his shoulder. Tetsurou cups the back of his head, fingers tracing senseless shapes, his mouth flush to the top of his skull. Kei squirms one of his legs between Tetsurou's, hooking his foot around to pull him even closer. Clingy.

"Want to sleep a bit more?" Tetsurou asks, caring more about the question that lies beneath the one he speaks aloud.

"No," Kei replies. When he speaks, his lips drag against the fabric of Tetsurou's top—he moves his mouth, pressing it hotly to Tetsurou's neck, his Adam's apple when it bobs, the soft bottom of his jaw. Kei slides against him like a misplaced puzzle piece, trying to fit, rubbing his nose up his chin, his lower lip, his cupid's bow. Kissing him is more like finding a port, a landing strip. A kiss lazy, comfortable, like coming home. He reaches one hand below the fabric of Tetsurou's shirt, resting it on his chest within an inch of his nipple, feeling the warm rise and fall there. With his other hand, he suggests a skirmish below the waistband of his shorts.

The sun dances on the wall, white-bright.

"What did you do while I slept?" He asks uncuriously.

"Nothing," Tetsurou replies, voice rumbling in his chest and throat and mouth the way Kei wants it to. "Looked at the sea. Read, some. Nothing."

"Nothing to do here," Kei says.

"Nothing at all." He turns his face to the side and Kei dips for his neck, moves his hand to pinch his nipple, moves his other hand to brush against the half-hard bulge in his pants. The time could pass just like this, some kissing, some touching. Tetsurou has his eyes open; he wants to see. The matted curls on the back of Kei's head, the little divot behind his ear where his glasses fit; he wants to see. The things that are fleeting and the ones that won't change, all of them. Whichever. Whatever is under his hands, right now, whatever is within his grasp. He smooths his hands down Kei's shoulders, down his arms. Kei's hand is fully down his pants now, working at him there. It's not enough to distract him.

Eventually, Kei pushes Tetsurou to lie on his back and throws one knee over his hip, hovering over him, as if his pleasure rises like a fume and he has to drink it all up. Tetsurou closes his eyes, then, when Kei keeps his open. Eventually, they're back on their sides, looking into each other's eyes, laughing between a kiss because they're saying something and it amounts to—nothing at all. Eventually, Kei falls asleep again. Eventually, they get up and shower, Tetsurou pushing Kei's chest flush to the tiled wall and kneeling behind him, the water gluing his hair to his forehead, until they decide to switch it off and do one thing at a time. There's nothing to do. Kei shoos Tetsurou out of the bathroom to finish the shower on his own and Tetsurou wanders over to the other room, the one with the balcony, where he sits and watches the sky go lilac.

"Bathroom's free," Kei calls out at one point.

"Thanks," Tetsurou calls back, but doesn't move. He feels it again, a thrumming in his chest. Calmer, now. The day's heat is dissipating. Kei walks up to the balcony and watches Tetsurou's face.

"What's up?"

Tetsurou looks at him. "Nothing." Kei raises an eyebrow and Tetsurou smiles. "Nothing, really."

"Okay. Go get ready, then."

"Yessir."

This isn't their life, is the thing. A four-day trip will never be an eight-year relationship, and they're fully aware of it—they've discussed this, too. Tetsurou could move or they could find a middle ground, some way to be together, to have this—any amount, any degree of this—all year long. But they can't know. They can't know. They don't know what they'll have, and what they'll have to deal with, until they're face to face with the things they cannot predict. And eight years ago, they couldn't know what they'd be facing now, and that's why it was a gamble, an attempt, a challenge, to try this at all. What did they know about their future when they were nineteen and seventeen? What did they know about themselves? Tetsurou watches Kei fuss with his hair in front of the bathroom mirror while Tetsurou slowly buttons up the one nice shirt he brought, which he didn't iron at all. Kei knows he's being watched, but he doesn't acknowledge it. Tetsurou gets up and stands behind him, meeting his reflection's gaze in the mirror.

"Let's go dancing."

The church and its adjacent square are way up on the north bit of the island, a little over a mile's walk. Even though they walk through the inner streets, a shortcut compared to following the coast, the increase in movement compared to the previous evening is already noticeable. They walk by more people, they see more lights on, they find more places open. Every other block is dotted with chatter or music, a dog barking here, a wind chime there. Tetsurou doesn't speak much, and neither does Kei. They turn a corner when they're about halfway there and can already see the cluster of lights and people around the square. A couple hundred yards, and they start to hear the music.

It had been so peaceful up until now, it had been easy to forget it was not yet the off-season. Locals and tourists mix and mingle around the square, different food and beverage carts lined around the walls of the neighboring houses, each with their own colorful sign to attract customers. The 'local band' is no more than a trio, two men with acoustic guitars and one woman with a drum. An older couple sways in front of them, dancing to a simple waltz only one of the guitarists strums to, the other one humming the lyrics.

"Isn't this nice," Tetsurou exclaims, turning to Kei.

"Not this again," Kei rolls his eyes, walking towards a young man selling drinks.

"What!"

"Nice, nice—that's like one of those non-words teachers warn you about."

"What? No, it isn't." Tetsurou walks over to Kei, trying not to interrupt his purchase, but firm on his point. "Non-words are, like, 'interesting', or 'important', but things can be 'nice'."

The vendor snickers. Kei nods at him, as if they're sympathizing with one another. "'Nice' is worse than 'interesting'."

"You're just saying that because I've been trying to get you to agree with me—come on, this is nice!" Tetsurou realizes he's trying to get the vendor to agree with him, as well. He opens his arms, gesturing at the people, at the music, at everything—"Isn't it?"

The vendor laughs, shrugging. "It's nice." Kei sighs defeatedly, even if he's smiling, and pays.

"See? It's nice."

"You haven't won me over yet. Use better words, Tetsurou."

"It's lovely," he says, stretching out his syllables.

"Oh, lord."

Tetsurou laughs. "Oh, come on! What? Do you want me to be more descriptive? This is… Nocturnal. It's, um—the church. Ecclesiastical."

Kei rolls his eyes again and offers Tetsurou a bit of his drink. Only too late does he realize his mistake, when Tetsurou's eyes light up after a sip, "Don't—"

"Ooh, that's nice."

"Stop. No."

Tetsurou steals a kiss, barely able to keep his mouth closed through his smile, and nods over to a bench. "Come on. I swear I'll keep quiet."

"I don't want that, either," he says, but sits next to Tetsurou and lets him take his hand between his. Tetsurou sandwiches Kei's free hand between both of his and brings it up to his mouth, kissing the tip of every one of his fingers. Kei's drink, a frozen pineapple thing, drips condensation onto the thighs of his pants while they sit and watch, talking about uninteresting, unimportant things. More people gather, the band switching to mellow ballads, and, once Kei stands to throw away his empty plastic cup, Tetsurou goes after him and convinces him to dance.

Kei follows him silently to the middle of the square and they fall into step quickly. Their dancing is just a classic swaying, some steps this way, some steps the other way; whenever it strikes Tetsurou, he raises one arm and Kei does a little twirl. It's an excuse to be closer than they already were, an excuse for them to touch cheek to cheek, chest to chest.

"What song are you going to ask for?" Tetsurou asks.

Kei hums. "I don't know if you know it. I don't know if they'll know it."

"Surely they will."

Kei shrugs. Tetsurou feels slightly uneasy when he can't see Kei's face, when he can't see the degree of brightness in his eyes when he says something or does something. He feels, and he rapidly realizes the fear-reflex in it, like he's still stepping on eggshells. The music shifts, something with a steadier beat, and their dance shifts to larger steps, tighter grasps. A strum of the guitar, some people clapping. Tetsurou closes his eyes, feeling Kei next to him, holding him there like an anchor. This is what he wanted. This is what they came here for.

After two more songs, they walk off the floor, buy a water bottle and watch the other dancers. After five, Tetsurou walks up to the band and asks if they can play Elvis, at which the woman smiles and nods, "Of course."

Kei is smiling when he walks up to meet Tetsurou and not-help-falling-in-love-with-him in the middle of the dance floor. It's a popular pick, more and more couples gathering to sing quietly to each other, mouths to ears. When the song wraps, Tetsurou gestures to the band with his head, "Your turn now."

There's a breath of hesitation before Kei goes, but he does go. Tetsurou watches him shyly approach the players, mention the song, show his phone screen, and come back to him with a calm, defeated face.

"No luck."

"What, really?" Tetsurou frowns, looking over Kei's shoulder to the musicians, who have switched to groovy tracks that play off of the last song's vibe. "They can't look it up?"

"I wouldn't want to play an unknown song if I were them, either. It's fine. Tetsurou, it's fine."

"No, but—"

"Come on," Kei smiles softly, moving his torso, convincing Tetsurou to dance again. "It's not a big deal."

"I wanted to dance to your song," Tetsurou says.

"I know."

"What song was it?"

"I told you, I don't know if you'll know it. It's called, um, 'La Barca'."

Tetsurou doesn't. He looks from one of Kei's eyes to the other, looking for something there, but Kei won't meet his gaze. "What is it like?"

"It's a bolero. It's a little sad, but mostly romantic."

"What is it about?"

Kei smiles. "A boat." There's no sarcasm to his voice, no meanness. His voice, too, is a little sad, but mostly romantic. His smile is thoughtful, seven-layers-deep, and Tetsurou feels like he can't get past the first. He kisses him, touches their foreheads to stay warm in his breath.

"Good choice," he says, unsure what he means by it. Unsure what he wants it to mean.

"Yeah," Kei nods. Tetsurou cups his cheek and reaches for the corner of his eye with his thumb, wiping the tear that began to gather there. Kei kisses him this time, leaves their lips entangled even when he laughs, meekly, sadly.

"I want to dance to it," Tetsurou says.

"Yeah, well—"

"Let's go home."

"What?"

Tetsurou steps away, taking Kei by the hand. "Let's go home. And dance to it."

"Tetsurou," Kei calls, standing still once they're out of the crowd. "No. You wanted to come here."

"I wanted to dance with you," Tetsurou shrugs. "I already have. I want to dance to your sad romantic song. I want to—"

"Go on." One step forward, then another. Now Tetsurou's the one who can't hold Kei's gaze. He doesn't want this again. What he wants is not this. "Tell me." Kei's tone is gentle, but it never is. It can never be. Tetsurou takes his other hand, tries a smile.

"At home, we can drink wine, dance to our songs, not care—not be seen by anyone else. We can do whatever we want, really."

"Right," Kei nods. He runs his thumb up and down the back of Tetsurou's hand. "Why do you want that? Is it because you think I want it?"

Tetsurou wants them to have this perfect, romantic evening. This candle-lit, slow-song evening. He wants this to be something they can hold onto, something they can look back to, something that will last beyond—despite—no matter what happens. His heart is breaking, he can't know. Today was such a good day, too. Maybe it's nightfall. Maybe he'll have to stop running at some point.

"No," he says, not defiantly, exactly, but more sharply than before. "I don't think you want it. I just want it. What do you want?"

Kei tilts his head to the side. "I don't know for sure."

"Then let's go home. Because I want to. And if you want to do something else, then—"

"Let's go home," Kei says, quietly, walking ahead. Tetsurou has had enough of questions and says nothing else. What is the point of running into the same obstacles, asking the same double-meaninged questions, hanging in the same weighty silences. It has never been easy, but it doesn't have to be this difficult. It doesn't have to be difficult. It doesn't have to be very many things at all. Nothing, nothing at all.

At home, Kei plays a version of his song on his phone, the rendition by Los Panchos, and Tetsurou brings two glasses of red wine from the kitchen. They didn't turn the living room lights on, so they step in the half-darkness, the front door open and letting in the orange glow of the streetlights. Kei sets both glasses on the coffee table and leans against Tetsurou, who begins to sway to the warm, warm rhythm of the song.

"It's a great dancing song," he says.

"It is."

When it ends, another bolero plays, a sweet drum and some whistling that Tetsurou tries to copy. Kei giggles, a wet, sorry little laugh, and hides his face in Tetsurou's shoulder.

The bed is empty in the morning. It doesn't peeve Tetsurou, who sees the sun already high in the sky outside and knows Kei will have woken up some time ago. He lies on his back and breathes, preparing himself, in a way, for another day. It doesn't take very much; he finds that he already feels ready. He feels fine. He pisses, washes his face and clambers downstairs, each of his steps echoing in the empty house.

Kei is on the living room couch reading, his legs stretched out in front of him, so much of his skin exposed. He looks at Tetsurou from above the frames of his glasses. "Good morning."

Tetsurou smiles and leans against the doorframe. When he opens his mouth to speak, he yawns. "Morning."

"I made coffee."

"Thanks, babe."

Kei furrows his brow for a moment, but lets it go. Tetsurou scratches his lower stomach and Kei follows the movement with his gaze. Tetsurou grins with satisfaction.

"Did you wake up a long time ago?"

"An hour, maybe," Kei shrugs, turning his attention back to the book. Tetsurou turns around and walks into the kitchen, raising his voice to continue the conversation.

"Did you do anything besides read?"

"Not really."

Tetsurou hums and pours himself a mug of coffee, throwing a slice of bread on a frying pan and watching for the sound of a sizzle. They bought some bananas that have now become half-covered in a menacing, spotty brown, so he eats one while he waits for the toast. He takes his food to the living room and sits down on the couch, lifting Kei's feet, sitting, and setting them gently on his lap.

"We didn't go to the beach yesterday," Tetsurou remarks. Kei glances at him briefly.

"We did not."

"Wanna do that today?"

"Sure."

Tetsurou watches his bored face, the bullet-quick movement of his eyes scanning across a page. "We have a few options," he says, scritching up the length of Kei's leg with the tips of his fingernails. Kei gets goosebumps. "There are the bigger beaches but also some, like, hidden ones. Those have no structure, but we don't have to stay super long, if they suck."

"I'd prefer whatever's emptier."

Tetsurou smiles. "I'm sure." Kei looks at him, one eyebrow raised, and Tetsurou doesn't change his expression, rising to the challenge. It's Kei who breaks into a tiny little smile, which he hides with his book. Tetsurou squeezes his knee, laughing. "Right. Well, I'm ready to go whenever."

"So am I."

"Okay, then, chop chop. Go put on sunscreen."

Kei looks at him disdainfully, like he ruined his perfectly peaceful morning. Tetsurou, once more, does not back down, and pushes Kei's legs off the couch with a laugh.

A little beach so small they almost take up the whole of it lying down. It's not a whole beach, not really, just the segment between two bigger rocks, but it's hidden, secret enough for it to feel like they're the only people in the world. Again. Kei lies reading in the sun and Tetsurou lies in the shade, looking at him, looking at the horizon, the white clouds settling both fluffy and solidly there.

This is not very far from their house. They didn't even bring food, it's so close. It's just beneath the road leading out to the pier, one of the last patches of sand before the shore turns fully into rocks, and even still it's not a sandy beach, made up mostly of tiny pebbles and fragments of shells. Tetsurou picks some up in his hand and between his fingers, feeling the grooves and holes and edges of the each of the little pieces. He lies back, the greenery shielding him from the sun, and takes another deep breath. The crashing of the waves, a weak licking at the shore, lulls him into a half-nap, his eyes closed, his thoughts drifting a million miles away. As far as an hour in the ferry, more in the train, some in the car, whole days at home…

He doesn't notice when Kei comes up to lie beside him, and only opens his eyes when Kei touches his stomach softly. It doesn't scare him; he opens his eyes already smiling. Kei leans down to kiss him.

"Hi," Tetsurou says when they part.

"Hi."

"Liking the sun?"

"Yeah, it's not too bad." Kei rolls onto his back and leans back on his elbows. "I'm almost done with my book. I think I'm gonna finish it and we can go somewhere else."

Tetsurou hums in agreement. "What time is it?"

Kei reaches for his bag, over on the other side of Tetsurou, stretching his arm over him. Tetsurou kisses his shoulder. "Eleven."

"Do you want to make lunch at home?"

"Do we have food for that?"

Tetsurou shrugs. "We can buy some if not."

"No. I'm not really hungry. We can go to another beach and see if there's something near there."

"Right. Okay."

"Okay?"

Tetsurou grins, his eyes closing with it. "Yes. Kiss." He doesn't see it, but he's sure Kei rolls his eyes before kissing him. He can feel the upturn of his lips, the show of his teeth. He pulls him in by the back his head and lets him go when their laughing's too much.

Kei waits at the gate while Tetsurou heads inside, his feet less sandy and easy to just pat down clean. He tries to be as quick as possible, taking another banana from the kitchen for his own hunger and Kei's spare book from their bedside table. When he's almost out, Kei shouts for him to get the bottle of sunscreen, and he goes on a second trip to pick it up.

"Thanks," Kei says, wiping the front cover of his book and turning it around to re-read the blurb.

"No prob." Tetsurou bites into the banana, looking sideways at Kei. He hasn't really swum today yet, just walked to the edge of the water and let it lap at his feet and shins, so his hair is still dry, still fluffy. His face is pinker than usual, but it also just glows in the all-around sunlight. "God, I was hungry. Want some?"

Kei scrunches his nose at the banana and shakes his head. "No, thank you."

"You're so bad at eating."

Kei turns to him, frowning. "Wow, thanks."

"No, really! I know you were worse as a kid but it's still so surprising to me. How you got so big without eating."

"I'm not big, just tall."

Tetsurou waits for Kei to get a half-step ahead of him and wraps his arms around his middle from behind, his waist slim but clearly strong, muscle rippling under him especially as Kei squirms. "Naw, you're buff."

"Get off me, please."

Tetsurou kisses the back of his neck and complies. "I mean, you're the only pro athlete here right now."

"You still spend more time at the gym than me."

"Not hard to do that, though. You're so negligent."

"Why are we on my case all of a sudden?"

Tetsurou laughs. "I'm always on your case."

"Oh, I know."

"What, want me to back off?"

Kei looks at him silently, at the sharp grin on Tetsurou's face, and his eyes don't mirror the devotion that Tetsurou always keeps in his gaze. Tetsurou can still read him, though. Can still feel him, backed against a wall, forced to face his own emotions, his own decisions. This, like everything else, is, or can be, a test. This, like everything else, is the question he keeps asking. What does he want? What do they want? What is it that they have? What have they to offer each other?

Kei shoves him. "No. But don't piss me off."

"I can't help it!"

They walk by more and more people as they head further into the town. There's not a single closed business today, even if not all of them are at their busiest. They follow along the coast, the beaches half-full, full enough, with people and noise, clearly wearing away at Kei's patience. Tetsurou watches him discreetly. They stop at an ice cream parlor to have what shouldn't be, but is, lunch, Tetsurou filling his cup to the point of spilling onto his hand, and Kei being a bit more modest. He dodges Tetsurou's sticky hands after they finish, and they head down onto the sand. It's harder to find a good spot to put their towel, but it's not terrible, and Tetsurou walks off into the ocean to somewhat wash his hands. When he comes back, Kei looks a little uneasy, watching him with a tightness in his face—a different one from the usual.

"What's up?" Tetsurou asks casually.

"Can you ask someone to watch our stuff?"

"What? Sure." Tetsurou furrows his brow, then relaxes with his guess, "Wanna go for a swim?"

"Yes." Kei seems unwilling to admit it, for whatever reason. He looks cute like this. With the passing of time, he's become both sweeter and meaner towards Tetsurou, more sure of his words and less scared of the possible outcomes of them—not that he's ever been particularly scared, anyway. He was just more reserved at some point. Not now. Nowadays, it's rare for him to get this hesitant, this quiet, out of insecurity, out of overthinking. Tetsurou touches his face and smiles.

"Okay." He gets a nearby old lady with a kid to watch their bags and walks backwards towards the sea, watching as Kei stands, his shoulders hunched in on themselves in a way he hasn't done in years. It is almost endearing. Kei takes his shirt off, his body opening with the motion, and Tetsurou takes a deep breath. Now, again, he can see the fifteen-year-old only in the stark difference to the twenty-five-year-old. This is another man. Kei runs down to him on the sand, squinting without his glasses, and Tetsurou laughs loudly when he takes him in his arms.

They walk up to the edge of the water together, Tetsurou running his hand up and down Kei's forearm to get him to relax. "Is the water very cold?" Kei asks.

"Better than at the other beach," Tetsurou says, tugging at his arm, coaxing him to step forward. Kei does, flinching, then takes one more step. Tetsurou brings their hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of Kei's. "You gotta dive in. It'll be easier."

"It's fucking cold, give me a moment." Tetsurou splashes Kei's thighs with water, and Kei shoots him a death glare. "Do not. I am warning you."

"Or, what?"

Kei takes one more step forward, putting one hand on Tetsurou's chest, and he's already comfortable, already back to normal, even if he hasn't fully realized it himself. Tetsurou has. He's made sure this happened. "Or I'll leave, or stop talking to you, or drown you in the sea and leave you to—"

Tetsurou cups his hands together and pours water over Kei's shoulder, who immediately jumps, yelping.

"Oh, I'm going to kill you—"

Tetsurou laughs, diving into the ocean and swimming away, resurfacing to taunt Kei, who smiles at last and dives in after him. He swims up to Tetsurou, punching him in the arm, and comes up for air.

"You're an asshole."

Tetsurou kisses him, mouths salty and slick. "You love it." Kei kisses him again, and again, and more. Where Tetsurou swims, Kei swims after him. When Kei floats, Tetsurou puts his hands beneath him, without touching his back, to feel something of the ghost of his weight. Then he floats beside him, linking their pinkies, the sun warm and impossibly far above them. They stay like this a while, then Kei gets out. Tetsurou stays, swimming from one side of the bay to the other, until his chest strains, his mind goes fuzzy. He lies on his back again and lets the water shift around the very edges of his body.

When he gets out of the sea, he's starving, and tells Kei that he's gonna look for somewhere to have a proper lunch.

"Would you mind if I stayed here?" Kei asks, looking up at him with his hand above his eyebrows, shielding his gaze from the sun.

Tetsurou thinks for a second. "No," he smiles kindly, "it's fine."

"Okay. I'll be here."

He steps into his sandals and walks off into the street, looking for somewhere that sells packed lunches or ready-made sandwiches, anything with meat. From up here, he can watch the beachgoers at a distance and see Kei among them, his head of golden hair sticking out amid a sea of umbrellas and dark-haired children. Tetsurou sees when he lifts his eyes from his book and looks around for a bit, unaware he's being watched, unaware he's being caught in the act of caring. He looks around at the people that are sat beside him, tilts his face to pay attention to something, then turns back to the sea and stares off into the distance for a little bit before looking back down into his book. Tetsurou's still-heaving chest, still full of exhaustion and empty of fuel, fills with endearment. He keeps walking, looking for any store, and Kei fades out of view.

He comes back to the beach with a roast beef sandwich, a chicken one and a turkey one. He sits beside Kei and opens his hand like the three sandwiches are tarot cards. "Which one do you want? Beef, chicken, and turkey."

Kei opens and closes his mouth. He too has spent enough time with Tetsurou to learn that, eventually, he just has to give it up. "Turkey."

They eat in silence, Tetsurou finishing both his sandwiches in the same time as Kei eats his singular one. The afternoon is drifting by, the ferry leaving the port a half mile down the shore, wandering into the horizon until it almost disappears from view.

"We're going out for dinner tonight, yeah?" Tetsurou asks with his mouth full. Kei stares at him disgustedly.

"Swallow before speaking."

Tetsurou makes a show of swallowing and kisses Kei's cheek. "Dinner."

"Yes, I suppose."

"We should leave soon to get ready."

"Okay. I'm going for another dip before we go."

Tetsurou grins, immensely pleased. "Of course. Don't swim too much on a full stomach, careful."

Kei rolls his eyes, standing. "I'm not going to swim."

"Careful!" Tetsurou shouts after him after he's walked off, and Kei turns with the clear intention of showing him the finger; reconsidering because of the children around, he decides to show him his tongue. Tetsurou smiles so big it hurts his face.

They walk home hand in hand, Tetsurou doing stupid little jumps and walking to one side or the other, pulling Kei with him. They stop under a tree and kiss, for longer than they mean to; a passer-by on a bike whistles and Kei, self-aware, jumps away from Tetsurou, who shakes his head half-amusedly.

They sit at the porch again, their feet wet after washing, and kiss more. When they head inside, Tetsurou keeps touching Kei, slipping his hand under his speedo, and they have slow, warm sex in the bathroom, the walls closing in on them, the salt on each of their skins clinging to the other's tongue. Kei kicks Tetsurou out of the bathroom when it's time to shower, and Tetsurou sits out in the hallway like a gloomy puppy. When Kei steps out, he clings to his leg, whining, and Kei doesn't manage to hide his laugh before he shimmies out of Tetsurou's grip.

The whole time he showers Tetsurou can't believe his luck, the pure joy of it. A four-day trip. Three days in. Rationally, he knows they are distanced from reality and isolated from their real problems, from what plagues them in the day to day, but the hope spreads across his chest like an ivy, clinging to whatever gives. Laughing at himself, he thinks that maybe romance can fix things. Maybe it is worth believing in. And even if it's not, he's choosing to, right now. He can choose that. He's at peace with that.

Kei, a much more prepared traveler than him, had brought more than one nice shirt, and so Tetsurou steals one of his spares. He can tell, from the way Kei stares at him after he's put it on, that Kei likes it on him. Tetsurou calls him closer and they kiss more, lazily, lengthily, Tetsurou's back to the dresser and Kei's hands on his face, holding him in place like he'll melt, like he'll vanish.

For dinner they decide to finally use the two bikes parked against the side-fence of the house, the host's advice on how to get around. They like walking, Tetsurou especially liked being able to take both the island and Kei slowly, with attention, but there's romance to the bikes and this is their last chance to make use of them, so he convinces Kei. They take to the inner streets instead of the coast, pedaling without any hurry, looking, at every crossing, at all the small lives or short holidays being lived around them. They, too, are background characters in all these people's days, in whatever events are occupying their minds and hearts. This thought soothes Tetsurou's heart some more.

They hadn't thought of making a reservation. When they get to the restaurant, an intimate, fancy-looking seafood place with dim lighting and quiet live music, there's a small line out the door, a pair of other couples and what seems to be a group of five. Tetsurou asks the hostess for the wait time while Kei chains the bikes nearby.

"She says it's not long," Tetsurou says when Kei comes to meet him at the end of the line. "Maybe fifteen minutes. I think that's fine, right?"

Kei nods, leaning against the wall next to Tetsurou. Tetsurou pushes one of Kei's curls behind his ear and Kei closes his eyes, a cue for Tetsurou to continue with the small caresses. He doesn't have to be told twice. He rubs his thumb over Kei's cheekbone, runs his fingers from his temple to the back of his scalp, careful not to knock his glasses out of place.

"What time do we have to leave tomorrow?" Kei asks quietly.

"Before noon, I think."

"Not a lot of time."

Tetsurou thinks they've had plenty of time. Little of it, but stretched to fit their needs. He feels like he's walking out of here into a place different to where he came from. "No," he agrees.

Kei breathes, his eyes still closed, and opens them to look at Tetsurou impassively. Tetsurou reaches for his hand and splays his fingers so Kei will fit his in between. Neither of them speaks. The moon is now almost, almost full, just two days off, already round and bright in the sky. It gleams off the frames of Kei's glasses. Tetsurou breathes, too, in the exact same pace as Kei. They still don't speak. Tetsurou doesn't want to know what goes through Kei's mind—not out of fear, not out of uncertainty, but exactly the opposite. He cannot be shaken in his hope right now. He cannot be led out of his serene joy. So they watch the ocean in silence, holding hands, feeling each other's warmth. During dinner, they talk quietly, almost dismissively, laughing sweetly about subjects that matter little—a Bokuto anecdote Tetsurou thought he had told already, but that Kei says he doesn't mind hearing again; Kei's opinion on the next exhibit at his museum, and some curatorial beef; memories of the time Tetsurou tried to cook lobster when they were still in university and wasted half his month's salary.

It starts raining right after they pay. With all the voices, the music, and the expected ambient noise of a restaurant, it takes them a second to notice; Kei looks outside and hesitates, only then asking, "Is it raining?"

Tetsurou and their waiter look out the window, and the waiter answers first. "Oh, yes. But the rain isn't too bad this time of year—if you don't mind getting a little bit wet, you're fine to go home. If you leave soon you won't get, like, soaked."

Kei and Tetsurou exchange glances. Tetsurou shrugs, "I don't mind." Kei needs some time to think about it, clearly, so the waiter smiles and thanks them for coming. At the door, Kei sighs, stretching his arm outside of the awning and feeling the lightness of the drizzle. Tetsurou mimics him. "Oh, it really isn't heavy at all. And it's warm."

"I didn't want to get wet," Kei says.

"I'll run you a bath once we get home," Tetsurou suggests.

"There isn't even a bathtub."

"There is, in the other bathroom."

"No, that'll take too long. It's fine."

"We can wait it out, if you want." They didn't ask the waiter if the rain usually lasts very long, but they could go ask. Tetsurou half-turns, his body a suggestion of doing exactly that, but Kei shakes his head.

"No, it's fine. Let's go before it gets worse."

"You're sure?"

"No, but I'm willing."

Tetsurou smiles. "Okay. Let me get the bikes, you can stay here where it's dry."

"Right. Do that."

Walking through the wet-sand streets is worse than getting rained on, and it splatters up onto the hem of Tetsurou's pants. He's glad, suddenly, that they went for the bikes without even knowing it'd rain. This'll save them. He pushes both bikes back to the other side of the street and wipes the seat of Kei's as best he can. They set off slowly, Kei hunching over as if that will protect him, Tetsurou laughing and leaning back in his seat—if he's going to get wet anyway, he'll at least enjoy it.

"Are you having fun?" Kei asks, looking back at him with just an edge of irritation.

"Yeah, are you not?"

Kei scoffs like the answer's obvious. Tetsurou swerves his bike closer to Kei's, slow enough not to alarm him, and pries his hand off the handlebar to hold it.

"Come on, it's not that bad. Isn't this romantic, too?"

"Biking in the rain?"

Tetsurou nods, smiling stupidly.

"I don't think so, no."

"Think again."

They're not drenched when they get home, Kei running off to stand under the porch, but they are sufficiently wet to be a bit uncomfortable. Not cold-wet, still, but cooling off by the minute. Tetsurou hoses off their bike tires to get rid of the clumps of wet sand and rests them back against the fence to dry in the morning. He comes up to Kei, holding him softly by the elbows, kissing him lightly.

"Want to take a shower?"

"I don't know," Kei says between gritted teeth. "Can't think right now."

"Aw. Why?"

Kei furrows his brow. "I'm trying to not let you convince me."

Tetsurou's taken aback; he laughs, pulling Kei closer, pulling him off-balance. "What! What do you mean?"

Kei looks to the side, pouting, and Tetsurou kisses his cheek over and over. "I'm trying not to let you make this romantic."

Tetsurou keeps laughing. "I'm not doing anything."

Kei turns his face and kisses him proper. "Like shit you aren't."

They take a shower together, steamy and sweet, almost innocent. They kiss and get hard and jerk each other off, but they do it more for fun than for pleasure. Kei blow-dries Tetsurou's hair into a puffy cloud and Tetsurou laughs more. They lie in bed entangled in one another, smiles pressed into their faces so definitively they only fade when both fall asleep.

Kei is next to him when Tetsurou wakes up, sat up and reading his book. Tetsurou likes the surprise of having him there—it's not something he's used to. It's not something he usually has in any way. He rolls over onto him, resting his head on his shoulder.

"Morning," he says, his voice thick.

"Good morning," Kei says without moving, seeming to barely acknowledge the body now pressed against his. Tetsurou does not like this, and bites Kei's shoulder—"Ow!"

"What'ya reading."

Kei closes the book with his thumb to mark his spot, showing Tetsurou the cover.

"Mm. Good?"

"Better than the other one."

"Yeah? Better how?"

"Better written, for one." Kei reaches for the bedside table and picks up his bookmark, finally admitting defeat to the six-feet-tall annoyance he shares a bed with. "But also more engaging. Better paced."

"Well that's good." Tetsurou wraps his arm around Kei's middle and pulls him closer after he puts the book away. Kei doesn't resist it and leans into Tetsurou's chest.

"Yes, it sure is."

"Mm. You're warm."

"It's warm out. I'm room temperature."

"What time is it?"

"Nine."

"So we have time."

"I guess we do."

Tetsurou kisses the same spot he'd bit, trailing quick little kisses down Kei's collarbone, up his throat, and he can't help licking up the underside of his jaw and meeting his lips as if delightedly surprised. Kei doesn't complain about his morning breath, though Tetsurou can taste the fact that Kei's brushed his teeth. They kiss their way to a happy medium. Tetsurou runs his hand up and down Kei's stomach, feeling from the dip of his ribcage to the line of his hipbone, and Kei hums contentedly into his mouth. Kei reaches inside Tetsurou's boxers, exploratorily, his hand a few degrees colder than the rest of his body. Tetsurou doesn't mind, maybe even likes it.

After they're done, Kei heads downstairs to bring Tetsurou a cup of coffee while he packs. Packing is more about tidying up the mess he's made during the course of the trip, picking up half-dirty clothes where he's left them to air, bagging his toiletries, getting his towel and beach things from the balcony and putting them, unfortunately still humid from the rain, inside a separate plastic bag from the rest of his laundry. Kei keeps reading on the bed while Tetsurou packs, his own bags closed and ready by the foot of the stairs.

"Did you check the timetable for the ferry?" Tetsurou asks, the thought just now slipping into his head.

"Eleven-thirty, then one o'clock."

"Do we think we can catch the eleven-thirty?"

Kei glances at him mockingly. "No, darling."

Tetsurou smiles and shrugs. "I don't know what time it is."

"Yes, but we still have to shower, tidy up the house a bit and leave. We can grab something to eat near the station, that'll take up enough time."

"Okay. Do you want to shower ahead of me? I didn't see your stuff in the bathroom."

Kei doesn't lift his eyes from the book. "I was thinking we could shower together. And use your things."

Tetsurou blinks, then grins. "Shouldn't you have offered before I put my toiletries at the very bottom of my bag?"

"Well, putting them in the bottom is just stupid, really."

Tetsurou climbs onto the bed, knocking Kei's knees open to kneel in between his legs. He kisses Kei's thigh, its hairs almost white, its skin now a honeyed shade, ever-so-slightly tanner than usual. Tetsurou's shoulders have gotten properly sunburnt. He kisses the divot of Kei's muscles, the toned line of his inner thigh. "You shouldn't give me too much credit."

"I already don't," Kei says, folding his hand into Tetsurou's hair, the floppy mess of it, flattened from the blowdried frizz of the night before. "You're reaching new lows."

Tetsurou sucks him off and sends him to shower on his own, but Kei ropes him into showering together, his fingers a bit too tempting, his invitation a bit too obscene. Tetsurou has to close his bags in record time to leave before the check-out time; Kei helps by tidying the house downstairs, throwing away the last, spoiled banana, washing the wine glasses and sweeping the front porch clean of the last bits of sand.

Walking back to the wharf with all their bags is nostalgic, even though it's only been a handful of days. The weather has completely cleared from last night, and the Sunday is sunny and gorgeous, the beaches full, the birds joyful. Tetsurou feels like he's washed his soul clean. Kei looks at him in a way that makes him think he feels the same, or something like it.

It's a quarter past twelve by the time they walk up to the station, and they find a little corner store that offers ready-made lunches that they share with glasses of cold, fresh juice. Tetsurou looks longingly at the sea and, when he turns back to Kei, finds he was being watched. He smiles, "What?"

"Nothing."

"What? Come on."

Kei licks his lips like he's thinking over what he'll say. Tetsurou kicks his feet under the table. Kei smiles hesitantly, "This was—"

"I don't want to hear you say it was nice now, of all times," Tetsurou interrupts him, holding his palm up to Kei's face.

"What?"

"I don't want to hear it."

"You've been asking this all weekend—"

"No, sir. I stopped. I already know it was nice, you don't have to tell me."

"You know it was nice for you, I haven't told you my opinion."

"You don't have to. I can see it on your face." Tetsurou smiles, curling his feet around Kei's ankle. Kei splutters, and Tetsurou knows what he would say, so he doesn't even have to say it, already being interrupted, "Yes, you're that transparent. Come on, I know you."

"Whatever," Kei says, turning his flushed face to the side. Tetsurou's smile widens.

"We should do this more often," he says.

Kei nods gently, fading back into honesty. "We should."

"This was good for us, you know. I think—" Tetsurou chuckles, interrupting himself. Kei looks at him clearly, willingly, hoping to listen. The love on his face is everything Tetsurou has ever wanted, his whole life. "I think things can be different."

Kei doesn't retort snarkily, they better be, or I sure hope so. He takes Tetsurou's hand, his gaze just that bit unreadable, the bit that Tetsurou knows the meaning of. "I think so, too."

On the ferry back to the mainland, they leave their bags on the floor and hold hands for the hour of it. When they dock, they wait for everyone to disembark before they do, carrying their baggage off the boat.