#beacon pines spoilers
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Beacon Pines spoilers with no context
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Beacon Pines
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back to school (x)
#beacon pines#luke van horn#beck moedwil#iggy beacon pines#tish beacon pines#beacon pines game#beacon pines spoilers
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Some beacon pines doodles! I love this game, although I am only watching a lets play. My computer couldn’t handle a game that big i don’t think.
A gran
A luka and a rolo
and an older Luka, inspired by (spoilers)
#my art#beacon pines#beacon pines spoilers#gran beacon pines#luka vanhorn#rolo beacon pines#rolo#artists on tumblr
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Some various beacon pines doodles
(Full ‘page’ all together under the cut)
#tumblr seems dedicated to wrecking the quality of these drawings#my art#beacon pines#beacon pines art#beacon pines spoilers
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Unknowable
A Beacon Pines William Kerr double drabble.
MAJOR SPOILERS FOR (ONE OF) THE END OF THE GAME.
Read on AO3.
Dedicated to @maverickcalf .
Learned everything about this game less than a week ago and hadn't been able to stop thinking about this pathetic asshole since.
--x
He doesn't know who he is outside of William Kerr anymore.
He has been playing this role for so long. Never slipping, not for even one second. The terror of being found out and caught and failing the Founder outweighed any want for comfort he might have. It's not like who he was before all this was worth going back to, anyway.
Sometimes, alone at night, he'd try saying his name, his legal name, out loud into the dark.
The words feel foreign on his tongue.
But this isn't so bad. The town is...quaint. Nice. Comfortable. The people are wary of him, to be fair, but nothing some smooth talking can't fix. He's good at that, talking. It's why the Founder chose him.
The mayor is kind to him.
The mayor is the Founder's son, he reminds himself.
In any case, being William Kerr is nice. Losing himself in the role is nice. Not that there was much of himself left. He doesn't mind it all that much.
He can't fully remember what the distant dream that the Founder promised him was, but the journey there...is worth it. Maybe.
He's not entirely sure he wants it to end.
#beacon pines#beacon pines spoilers#william kerr#gus x william#implied anyway#badgerh writes#look ma i wrote something!
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(Spoilers for the game "Beacon Pines")
Age regressor culture is chuckling at Sharper getting regressed to infancy in the true ending bc, y'know...
(It's also falling into the fandom and immediately going "which one of y'all is a good candidate for Regressor™️?" at every character like they’re in a police lineup)
✿
#beacon pines spoilers#age regressor culture is#agere#age regression#sfw agere#sfw agere blog#agere community#age regressor#agere blog
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⚠️ HUGE SPOILERS FOR BEACON PINES
hi im shy but i want to share some writing i did using the dialogue in beacon pines as a base... just expanding on conversations that happened in-game so that i can start writing my own stuff later :-] i wrote everything aside from the dialogue between sharper and kerr! this is purely exploratory, i wanted to explore the dynamic between them further.
this is the walkie talkie conversation that Beck picks up on her radio in chapter 5... the exchange was so fascinating to me and revealed so much about Kerr and Sharper and their relationship. made me rip off all of my eyelashes kind of
Chapter 5 - Dangers Big and Small; Radio Interference
Too angry to sleep, Beck tried dialing in with her radio set to see if she could find something interesting after her disapproving mother left her room. She had scolded her for her freshly dyed blue hair only moments before, to Beck’s discontent. How else was she supposed to hide the new gray hair she had grown just earlier that same day? She thought it made her look like some kind of mature academic, or someone who'd been through a rough office job of thirty years in a twelve-year-old’s body.
After channeling through random channels for about five minutes, she picked up on a signal. Someone was talking. The voice through the radio was strangely familiar… a somewhat nasal voice that at least a dozen in town shared, all eerily similar.
“Mr. Kerr? Are you there?” A Clipboard was on the line, a concerned and somewhat urgent tone breaking through the static. What could he possibly be requesting for at this hour? The desperation in his voice subtly got more evident at his second attempt to call. “Mr. Kerr?”
“Yes? I'm busy. What is it?” An annoyed William Kerr finally picked up, carrying a dismissive effect in his speech. He hoped this would be brief; he didn't have time for nonsense, and his urging impatience shone through in the way he spoke.
“Apologies, I have the founder on the line.”
Immediately, Kerr's attention was piqued. “Patch him through immediately.” He felt much more alert than before, heart racing in his chest. Even a mere mention of him without a name being so much as uttered was enough to send him into a fit of anxiety.
“One moment…” the Clipboard meekly replied.
Trying to compose himself the best he could given the few spare seconds he had, the hyena affably greeted the founder who was now on the other line, gleaming a honeyed presence. The man was able to switch between masks so effortlessly; it was like second nature to him. His adaptability was one of the few traits that had consistently served him well, especially in urgent cases like these.
“Hello, sir!” Kerr chirped, “It's so nice to hear from you!”
There was a pause. Kerr's mind raced in the space between; did he say something wrong? Did his words not come through?
“Skip the pleasantries.” Sharper Valentine was very straight-to-the-point; a man who always took himself very seriously, abiding by the high standards he put himself upon. He held his ego up twice as tall, his dense assertive confidence obscured all else and mismatched his temporary small stature. The irony of his voice being that of a child’s was always uncanny in the way it never aligned with how he carried himself. It was just as raspy as it was before, due to all of the smoking he did on a regular basis, throat scratchy and gruff. “What's your report on our new Lead Researcher of Deep Engineering?”
Beck’s focus on the conversation grew more and more as she processed what was going on, now even more so that they were talking about her mom. What were they doing with her?
Kerr responded a bit flatly to match the atmosphere Sharper had created. “Nelly Moedwil seems to be integrating nicely.”
Her name. Beck hearing her mom's name felt like getting hit by a truck. Now there was no denying it; something was wrong. She might be in trouble. These people can't be trusted.
“At this very moment, she's working to help us meet our deadline,” Kerr continued. “She offered to work overtime before I even had a chance to suggest it.”
“Excellent,” Sharper emphasized his next sentence, “and you have faith that she's capable of finishing the work left by her predecessor? Her work must be complete before the festival.”
“I will make sure she stays day and night until it's accomplished.”
Beck had to refrain herself from saying anything; she was in a state of shock. Even if she tried to speak, she was already stunned into silence, her throat tight.
“Good. You know how I feel about loose ends.” These words implied some ominous undertones. What could he possibly mean by that? Beck had to ruminate on this later, listening comes first.
Grimly, Kerr replied. “Yes, sir.” He'd dealt with loose ends before. At least he knew what to expect this time.
“Once she has finished the work, we need to make a determination regarding her… long-term prospects in the company.” Everything this guy says gets more and more suspicious. Every time Beck thought that it couldn't get worse, it did.
“Immediately, sir?” Mr. Kerr sounded concerned, feeling unsure and hesitant. He didn't want to argue, but something was telling him the chances this would work out well were low. “I usually have more time to fully bring people into the fold.”
“We are in the endgame, Bill.” The only one who ever referred to Kerr by that name was Sharper. The only man who knew his true identity used a nickname for a fake name. A fake of a fake. “After your failures with Dr. Prescott, I can't afford to take any risks.”
The emphasis put on the word “failures” felt like a punch in the gut to Kerr. Fully obedient and submissive to Sharper, he was determined to never let anything like that happen ever again. It was a fault of his to allow it to happen in the first place, a permanent stain on his image; a stain on his image to the man who had promised him everything he wanted, no, needed, of all people. “Of course, sir. No loose ends, sir. Once she finishes the work, she will either leave the office completely committed to Perennial harvest…”
Beck held her breath.
“...Or she won't leave at all.”
She felt lightheaded. Blood drained from her face, causing a chill.
“Perfect.” There was a distinct satisfaction in Sharper's voice. Every conversation was like a competition to him, and he had won this one; just as he always did.
Before Sharper could hang up, Kerr timidly offered a proposition that he had been waiting to give. “Sir, if I might suggest,” He swallowed and took a quiet deep breath, trembling slightly. “Maybe we should delay. Just for a bit.”
“Oh?” Sharper did not sound enthused.
Kerr felt a sudden surge of dread and regret overwhelming him, but his mouth kept running. It was too late to back down now.
“It's just… we seem to be rushing to hit this festival deadline, and rushing into some things has caused some…” He was cautious with his next choice of words, making sure he wouldn't make any remarks that could be interpreted as an insult. “... issues in the past.”
Whenever Kerr spoke to Sharper, he felt as if he was tip-toeing around landmines. Anything could set him off; the threat of consequences always loomed over the subservient fraud.
“I see…”
Kerr winced, knowing it was too late to take back his request. In a pleading voice, he added, “Please understand that I just want what's best for you. I'm eternally grateful for all that you've done for me.”
“Bill, I'll make this very clear for you.” His words felt like weights being dropped. Disapproval was drenched in his voice. “I brought you in to make things run smoothly, not to have opinions.”
“Of course, sir.”
His reply to his boss must have sounded more defeated than he intended it to, because he responded with an unusually encouraging reassurance. “Chin up, Bill. You are only a few days away from having everything you've ever dreamed of.”
Drained from the emotional rollercoaster of speaking with Sharper, Kerr finished off with a “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
#i cant think of a good title for this sorray#beacon pines#william kerr#william kerr beacon pines#sharper valentine#sharper valentine beacon pines#beck moedwil#beck beacon pines#beck#criticism is welcome hahaha yaay#i still dont know how tumblr tagging works#BEACON PINES SPOILERS#SORRY I FORGOT TO ADD THAT LAST ONE#btw i think it is incredibly interesting how kerr is very manipulative yet is actively being manipulated thruout the game#mr kerr...my everything....
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"Thank you, sir."
#beacon pines#beacon pines spoilers#i guess#william kerr#... honestly i am getting a bit of fuches vibes from the other person on the line#don't mind me
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the mood whiplash in Beacon Pines is incredible. it goes from 'it's important to forgive your friends' to 'two children were frozen solid until the end of time'
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BEACON PINES SPOILERS
Rolo: I’m sorry Luka
Luka: I’m sorry too Rolo
Some damn ice:
(THAT SCENE CAUGHT ME SO OFF GUARD. LIKE THEY WERE HAVING A CUTE MOMENT AND THEN, BAM, ICE ENDED THEIR WHOLE LIFE)
#beacon pines#luka vanhorn#rolo beacon pines#black adam#spoilers#frozen#meme#CUZ WHY THAT SCENE CATCH ME SO OFF GUARD
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I’m on a roll! I just finished Beacon Pines as well!!
Really loved it but why couldn’t they… ya know… put Eleanor and Rolo back to their proper ages?
“Ah yes, everything is better than ever- 2 people got their lives cut like 20 years shorter!!”
Like, they could’ve done one last experiment with Nelly since they already had the proper formulas anyways?
#beacon pines#spoilers#amazing game just that one detail bugs me#i know Nelly said the more you try to control it the more unpredictable it becomes#but didn’t she also smooth out the remaining kinks in the formula?
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fursona
#owl house#owl house season 3#owl house spoilers#owl house belos#owl house amity#owl house collector#owl house gus#owl house hunter#owl house luz#owl house willow#owl house hooty#owl house season two#beacon pines#william kerr
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Solomon my beloved (I hate him)
@hellphure look at him
#beacon pines#spoilers in tags#beacon pines game#solomon valentine#beacon pines Solomon valentine#sharper valentine#antagonist#fanart#humanized beacon pines#humanized characters
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AMVs/PMVs: A Shadowgast Rec List
This week, we have AMVs and PMVs! This week's format is slightly different so check under the cut for 15 fan videos that are focused on Caleb, Essek or Shadowgast ; and don't forget to comment and leave a like if you like them!
Fire on Fire [A Tribute to Shadowgast] by Lilith KB (1:29, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Beautiful art of affection and desire between the two wizards set to a song about these very things.
Reccer says: The art is beautiful and so is the song.
Home To Me {Critical Role Shadowgast PMV} by ShadowedKing and Sinister Suns (0:55, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Essek comes home to Caleb and drops his disguise. They embrace happily.
Reccer says: It's short, but incredibly sweet. It acknowledges the fact that there's still plenty of danger in their lives, but shows them in a sweet and happy moment together. It's also colourful in a way that matches the exuberance of the song and the scene.
A GOOD MAN - Complete Essek Thelyss PMV MAP by MAP hosted by Fieldtowns (name of channel: field) (4:27, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: cartoony depictions of blood and violence (2:03-06), cartoony mutated Lucien and blood (2:34-38), bloody sword and wounded Caleb (3:11-26)
The PMV follows the story of Essek, from his initial crimes, through his inner conflict upon meeting Caleb and the Nein and their tribulations, to his happy ending with Caleb and a group of friends.
Reccer says: There are lots of beautiful pieces of art in the PMV (some focused on Shadowgast, some on Essek himself or on Essek with the Nein) and the song fits Essek's story very well.
Essek Love Like You - Shadowgast Animatic (SPOILERS up to Critical Role C2E97) by Skye Blu (0:26, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Essek realizes the error of his ways when he meets Caleb and falls for him. He struggles to understand the forgiveness he is offered.
Reccer says: The style is so incredibly cute, it's unreal - the way chibi Essek yoinks the beacon, the way he and chibi Caleb (chibleb?) look at each other, the forehead smooch - it's just the cutest little animatic. I also love, love, LOVE the choice of song - it's a perfect description of how Essek might think of himself and of Caleb.
HOW TO BE A HEARTBREAKER - A CALEB WIDOGAST PMV by FatalDebonaire (3:40, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: Slight flash warning
A beautifully drawn exploration of Caleb throughout CR canon and the people that he loves/loved and that loved him.
Reccer says: The art is beautiful and evocative, with small details hidden throughout. The expressions and the timing with the song are so well thought-out.
i don't know how to love him by nobody _ (3:56, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Essek has himself a little crisis about having feelings for Caleb. Turns out that - uh, oh - so does Caleb - but at least he has a kitty for moral support. Unresolved pining and conflicted feelings.
Reccer says: The style of the animatic is simple, but cute, especially Caleb's freckles (and his cat!). It's a great song for these two - Essek has indeed been "changed, yes really changed", Caleb at the point where this animatic seems to be taking place probably "just wouldn't cope" if Essek confessed his feelings, and they both scare each other, love each other, want each other. It's a sweet idea altogether.
I Wouldn't Change a Thing by MAP hosted by ShadowedKing (3:50, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: few and far between depictions of blood
Starting with some parallels between the two wizards, the PMV takes us on a tour of all the highlights of their journey together, culminating in a series of art pieces imagining their future together with such fanon staples as gardening, cats and a disguised Essek visiting Caleb's classes.
Reccer says: The choice of song is inspired and the song itself is cute and upbeat. The PMV makes ample use of the song's lyrics, often juxtaposing them with truly hilarious - or tragic (or both) - events. My favourite has to be "even when I'm at your mothers" being juxtaposed first with the fight against Trent, then with the visit at the Ermendruds' grave. Talk about a variety of feelings one video can make you feel! The variety of art styles, from cartoony to very much out there (/positive) styles, means everyone will find something for themselves, and the artists simply must be commended on the effort they clearly put into the illustrations, from gorgeous portraits of the two main characters, through other characters, to the backgrounds ranging from cosy wizardly offices to Aeorian caves and starry skies. It features a breathtakingly gorgeous depiction of the forehead kiss, and perhaps the cutest greying aging Cartoonleb I've ever seen.
critical Role AMV: Essek's Promicedland (sketch version) by Isabel Silva (2:57, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Esseks growth from before the campaign up to him teaming up w the group for Aeor
Reccer says: Wonderful take on Essek's journey, A+ song choice
Critical Role- Curses by Starry Paw prints Art (3:49, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn
a Caleb-centric PMV set to Curses by the Crane Wives
Reccer says: Really captures the feeling of Caleb's character journey from traumatized hobo wizard to person capable of accepting love and confronting his past. One note: I think the artist began work on this before C2 ended, so nothing post Vergessen is covered.
Ares - A Caleb Widogast Critical Role Animatic by 42paintbrushes (3:33, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Caleb Widogast's arc from backstory to epilogue set to Ares by Winter's Island
Reccer says: It hits story beats with song beats like they were made for each other
Essek Thelyss - Liar Animatic by Cal (3:29, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Essek across the duration of the series, from the start of his betrayal up to and including Aeor
Reccer 1 says: Absolutely perfect song choice for Essek Reccer 2 says: This song is quite fitting for Essek and the art is very expressive
The following two videos each had two recs:
Lovely Night (shadowgast animatic) by Mystery Animator (1:58, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Essek and Caleb flirt under a starry sky, claiming not to have feelings for each other, but - of course - kissing in the end.
Reccer 1 says: The teasing tone of the song is a cool choice for the two wizards. I love their flirty looks and body language - it's incredibly cute, and my favourite has got to be Essek pulling Caleb by the scarf on the "I know you look so cute in your polyester suit" (and the blush on Essek's face when they inevitably kiss). The sky and the dancing lights are a pretty and romantic background and the frame of other members of the M9 spying on them from the bushes is hilarious. Reccer 2 says: Wonderfully choreographed and overall amazing
All Time Low | Shadowgast Animatic/AMV | Critical Role Campaign 2 by TJ Makes (3:28, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: Some blood as Caleb is attacked by the Volstrucker prisoner
A depiction of Caleb and Essek's coming together and thier individual "all time lows", times in thier lives where they were at their lowest, and later, how they pull each other up and thier connection makes them better.
Reccer 1 says: I like the evocative art frames, the scenes the artist chose to depict and the story told through that. Reccer 2 says: I really love the style and particularly Essek's design. The animatic imagines some additional scenes that are quite touching and shows canonical ones is very expressive ways. It's wonderful how much emotion can be shown with subtle changes in their eyes, eyebrows, gentle smiles. The creator chose to show the scenes in non-chronological order, and managed to create a sequence which matches the swells and silences of the song.
This video received three recs!
Would That I by aeli.tan.art (2:40, Not Rated) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes, blood, mostly symbolic, all violence merely implied
a depiction of the Caleb and Essek's first meeting, their infatuation and inner turmoils about their pasts, and their choice to embrace happiness.
Reccer 1 says: I adore the art, the expressions are on point and each frame is very evocative, telling the story of coming together in a beautiful way. Reccer 2 says: Wonderful Reccer 3 says: The choice of song is amazing. I love the world building - Essek's ears, his non-human pupils, the Kryn jewellery (which will come back later in the video to punch you in the heart, I warned you), the way spells look. The imagery in the video - when Caleb stops Essek from running, but it's not aggressive, it's almost like a dance pose, the ash left on Essek's cheek, the bloodied chains, the crash into the light, and again, the return of jewellery to mean something beautiful. And lastly, but not least, the emotion behind it - the pure joy in Caleb's smile as he masters a spell, the fondness in Essek's eyes, and speaking of eyes - how expressive they are when they're often the only part of Essek visible on the screen! Amazing. By far my favourite Shadowgast animatic of all time.
Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with hidden gems (less than 150 kudos)!
#shadowgast#caleb widogast#essek thelyss#critical role#cr fic recs#fan fiction rec list#aeor is for lovers#critical role fan fiction#cr fic#cr fics
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lover be good to me: part four
You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.
But it’s your wedding day.
masterlist
minors and ageless blogs do not interact
pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader
notes: we are finally at the end. thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me. this fic truly is dear to me and i can't believe it's finally done.
as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.
title and part title are from hozier’s “be”
tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.
wc: 12k
You settle into the farmhouse.
It’s easier than you thought. Maybe it’s the way Yoshida is brusque but kind; she’s not careful with you. It’s a refreshing change of pace.
You find yourself at her side most nights, chopping vegetables or marinating tofu as she tells you about growing up in the country. She spins stories like thread, weaving them together like the expert seamstress she is. Her son joins in some nights too.
You still get lost sometimes, though.
The early mornings are the worst.
The birds sing you to wakefulness, their song high and trilling, and you press your face into the pillow with a groan. “Loud. Shut the window, Aoshi,” you mumble, shoving out at him. Your hand hits empty space and your brow scrunches. You push to your elbows and find a room that’s not your own, though you blearily recognize the suitcase tucked into the closet.
You shift on the bed and realize it’s too small. A twin.
It all comes pouring back in.
“Fuck,” you say, low and quiet. The tears pool in your eyes, burning hot, and you try to blink them back to no avail. You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead as you lie back down.
You do not move for a very long time.
The world has gone blue when there’s a knock on your door, twilight settling in like the ocean tide, easing its way across the sky. You don’t answer. Another knock comes and then there’s Kita’s voice murmuring your name.
You almost ignore him. But there’s something in his voice you can’t resist, a melancholy thread woven in through the syllables of your name. You get to your feet and open the door.
Kita studies you for a moment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”
You blink. “Go where?”
“My place. I’m cookin’.”
“Shinsuke—”
“I know.”
You bite at your lower lip. Kita meets your gaze steadily, his amber eyes darkened to a deep, sweet brown by the dim lighting. There’s a promise in them too.
“Okay,” you say at last. “Let me get dressed.”
He waits downstairs as you throw on some clothes. You can hear him talking quietly to Yoshida. He gives you a little smile when you join him at the genkan.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
It’s true autumn now and the slight chill in the air proves it. The rice stalks are spun gold, swaying in the wind as the truck trundles down the road to Kita’s farm. You watch a stork wade carefully through the fields. It dips down with its long, elegant neck and disappears from sight.
The radio is playing quietly. Kita hums along with it sometimes, mostly at the old, crooning ballads. You watch the countryside roll by, the farmhouses little ships in the night, their lit windows a beacon as dusk falls.
He bundles you into the farmhouse when you arrive, handing you a pair of house slippers that have little radishes on them. You can’t help your smile.
You follow him into the living room and settle at the kotatsu when he points you there. It’s close enough that you can see into the kitchen through the open archway; he rolls up his sleeves and starts gathering ingredients from the fridge and the pantry.
“Can I help?” you ask after a few minutes, getting to your feet and joining him.
“Sure,” he says, handing you a freshly-washed daikon. “Slice that real thin, please.”
You make a cut. “This thin enough?”
He peers over. “A little thinner,” he says. “Can I?”
You nod and he takes your hands briefly, guiding them to the thinness he wants and pressing down. His hands are warm, his fingers and palm rough with calluses that catch lightly against your skin. He curls his fingers around yours, his tendons going taut, and pushes down. The knife slides through the daikon and stops against the cutting board.
“There,” he says. “Like that.”
“Okay.”
He nods and heads back to his cutting board which is laden down with a bright medley of varying vegetables. “What’re you doin’ tomorrow?'' he asks.
“Nothing,” you say. “Why?”
You sound more defensive than you mean to. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a sharp flicker of amber, but says nothing.
“Was thinking you could come out to the fields with me.”
“I don’t know,” you say.
“It’d be good for you to get outside,” he says mildly. “Rather than being up in yer room all day.”
Your knife thunks against the cutting board. Kita is unperturbed, only glancing your way briefly to make sure you’re not injured. He goes back to peeling carrots, his lean, strong hands moving quickly and with steady confidence.
You study him for a moment, taking in the set of his lips and the soft furrow of his brow. You sigh.
“Okay,” you say. “I’ll come.”
He flashes you a tiny quirk of his lips, a smile that’s as fleeting as a summer storm and just as warm.
“Good.”
He keeps cooking as he talks, pulling you from your thoughts when you get lost in them, when the fog starts to roll back in like a marine layer. It’s uncanny, how well he can tell when you’ve been set adrift. He’s a mooring you didn’t know you needed.
Kita hums his thanks as you give him the daikon. He slips them into a pickling mix before handing you a cucumber.
“Peel and cut thin?” you ask.
“Yup.”
As you peel, you can’t help but watch as he moves about the kitchen. He moves as efficiently as ever, no wasted movement, but there’s something soft to it too. You can’t quite pin it down.
“Yer staring.”
“Am I?”
“You know you are.”
You shrug, starting to cut up the cucumber. “I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Nothing important,” you say, waving him off. “Tell me how Aran is doing, he and I haven’t talked for a while.”
The rest of the cooking goes by quickly as you talk and soon you’re both settled at the kotatsu. It’s radiating warmth. You snuggle deeper into it; with the sun fully set, it’s grown even more chilly outside despite the heat of the day. Winter is still a ways off, but you can feel the first touch of it hidden in the autumn breeze that leaks in through the window Kita had left cracked to keep the kitchen from overheating.
You glance over the food. Kita’s kept it simple but hearty. There’s steam curling through the air in little smoky wisps. You watch as it dissipates and then take the plate that Kita hands you with a small thank you.
It’s a good meal. The two of you talk through it with ease, never missing a beat and rarely with an awkward pause. When you lapse into silence, it’s comfortable.
“I should go,” you say eventually, glancing at the clock. “I don’t want to wake Yoshida when I come in.”
“Alright.”
He drives you home, the headlights of his truck cutting through the night. The moon is out now; it bathes the fields with light until they practically shimmer. The crickets are calling, their song audible even over the low purr of the truck’s engine.
When you pull up to Yoshida’s, there’s a light still on at the engawa, a soft glow to lead you home. It warms something in you.
Kita walks you to the door.
“How early do I have to get up tomorrow?” you ask. “Do I even want to know?”
He laughs quietly. “Ya don’t need to keep my schedule,” he says. “I’ll come get you after lunch.”
“Okay.”
He looks at you. His usual stoicness has faded into something warm and open; you take a deep breath. You bid him a quiet goodnight that he returns just as quietly, his amber eyes knowing.
You go to sleep with your hand wrapped around your wedding rings.
***
“Sunscreen,” Kita says, holding out the tube to you.
“I know, I know,” you grouse, taking it from him. “You don’t have to remind me.”
“You forgot last time.”
“Point taken.”
You apply the sunscreen as he gathers what he needs. He’s still rustling around when you finish. You turn your face up to the sun, letting the rays brush over your skin like a lover, a sweet kiss of heat.
When you open your eyes again, Kita is watching you with a tiny smile, a crescent moon of a thing. Something in you pangs.
You glance away from him and look to the rolling fields instead. In the bright sunlight, they’re Midas-touched, scorched gold with a hint of green at the bottom of each stem. It’s a sea of rice, rippling in the breeze like kelp caught in the ocean’s current, and it’s beautiful in a way that makes you feel small.
Kita comes up beside you and gazes at his farm.
“It’s pretty,” you tell him.
“It’s gotta get cut,” he says.
“I know.”
He glances at you. You blink as he reaches out and smudges his thumb against your cheek. It’s gentle, his touch careful despite the rough calluses on the pad of his thumb. “Ya missed some sunscreen,” he says, rubbing it in with a light sweep. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.
“Oh. Thanks,” you say, biting at your lower lip as he turns away.
“C’mon,” Kita says.
You follow him deep into the field, to a swath of already cleared land. The two of you settle at the edge of it. You watch as he lays out a woven bag with a label stamped on the front of it. He crouches down by the nearest stems of uncut rice and runs a hand over them, thumbing at the panicles with a deft movement.
You don’t think he knows he’s smiling.
“What do you want me to do?” you ask.
He glances back at you. “Can you lay out the bags? One at each pole should do.”
You nod and set to work. He starts cutting at the rice. He makes it look easy, slicing through the stems as if they’re butter. The rice stalks start to pile up beside him as you make your way down the field with the bags.
He’s made a significant dent by the time you’re back. He leans back on his heels as you approach again, wiping off his forehead with the back of his hand. His hair is clinging to him, dark with sweat, deepening the color to slate gray, like the winter sea. He smiles at you.
“Can I try again?”
He’d taught you how to cut last time after you asked, citing the fact that you’ve been coming to the field with him for almost two weeks without trying.
“Sure,” he says. He hands you a pair of gloves; you slip them on. “D’ya remember how to hold it?”
You kneel next to him, wrapping your fingers around a handful of stems. “Like this, yeah?”
“Thumb pointing up,” he says, reaching out and adjusting your grip. “And tighter.”
He tightens his grip around your hand to show you, his strong fingers flexing. You copy him and he lets go when he’s satisfied with your grip. He hands you the knife—curved with a wicked edge—and sits back on his heels again.
“15 centimeters, yeah?” you ask, setting the edge of the knife against the stalks there.
“That’ll work.”
You slice in a downward angle; the stalks part beneath the blade like silk. You hand off the rice to him to add to the pile. You keep working, feeling the sweat start to gather on your back, a few droplets rolling down before getting absorbed by your shirt.
“Good,” he says.
He lets you do a few more handfuls before he takes the knife back. You watch him work. He’s much quicker than you, moving with an easy grace.
“Why don’t ya head back to the truck,” he says, slicing through another handful of stalks. “I’m almost done.”
You listen to him, heading back to the truck and settling in the bed of it, swinging your feet off the edge. You lay back and turn your gaze up to the sky, watching as a flock of birds goes soaring past, their wings dark against the deep blue of the sky.
Kita joins you after a bit. You’ve been watching a hawk circle, riding the current high above you, and you don’t bother to sit up when you hear him approaching.
He climbs up into the truck bed. He settles next to you and then lays down beside you, staring up at the sky with you.
The two of you are quiet. You watch as the hawk wheels and wheels overhead before it dives down, dropping like a shooting star through the sky.
You turn towards him; he’s already looking at you. His amber eyes are soft and you suck in a breath, your stomach flipping.
“Shinsuke,” you say gently. “You know I can’t give you what you want, right?”
“I’m not askin’ you for anything,” he says, just as gently.
“I know. I just—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, with Aoshi gone.”
He studies you for a moment. Then he smiles, warm and sweet and a little bit sad.
“It’s always what you’re willing to give,” he says. “Nothing more and nothing less. That’s the only idea I have.”
You suck in a breath, fidgeting with your sleeve.
“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”
You both go quiet again.
Kita pushes up to his elbows; you peer up at him.
“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get going.”
“‘Kay.”
He hops down from the truck bed gracefully before holding out a hand to help you down. You hesitate. He waits patiently, looking up at you. You take his hand without a word, his calluses rough against your palm.
You’re both quiet on the drive back to Yoshida’s. You spend the time looking out the window, watching the fields roll by. There are other farmers still hard at work, their blades flashing in the last dregs of the sunlight, like a dance. It’s a sight you never tire of.
The sun has almost set by the time Kita drops you off. You toe off your shoes in the genkan and find Yoshida in the kitchen, scrubbing down the counter. There’s something savory in the air, rich and thick, and you spot a pot bubbling away on the stovetop, steam curling up from it like smoke.
She eyes you for a moment. You don’t know what she sees in your face, but she gestures you into a seat.
“The fields are doing ya some good,” she says, her eyes still on the soapy counter.
“Are they?”
She nods decisively. “Yer different. You’re coming back to the world.”
You bite at your lip, worrying the flesh between your teeth. It doesn’t feel like it to you; some days you think you’ll never be in step with the world again, destined to always be just a few paces behind.
“It’s hard to see it in yerself,” Yoshida says. “But it’s there.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
You can’t help the smile. A smile blooms on her lips too, small but sure.
“I need to weed tomorrow. Could use your help, unless Shin-chan is going to steal you away again.”
“I’ll help,” you say, ignoring the last bit.
She studies you with keen eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but the front door opens and her son calls out a greeting.
The rest of the night is quiet and morning comes before you know it.
You stare up at the ceiling as the sun rises, watery light leaking in through the sheer curtains. For a moment, you consider rolling over and going back to bed, but you can hear Yoshida shuffling around in her room. You resign yourself to getting up for the day.
A light breakfast later, you’re on your knees in the garden. The soil is still wet with morning dew and it sticks to your skin. The scent of wet loam rises around you, like the earth is welcoming you home. You let it fill your lungs.
The garden is a beautiful one, lush with autumn vegetables. You weed around the fat, sunshine yellow squashes, each one brighter than the last. The carrots are just peeking above the soil, little suns creeping up over the horizon. Their greens sway gently in the breeze.
You’ve forgone gardening gloves despite Yoshida’s offer. It feels good to sink your fingers into the dirt, to pinch the weeds’ roots and pull them up gently.
You’re still working when Kita’s truck trundles up the driveway. You sit back on your haunches and wipe the sweat from your brow as he gets out and comes your way.
“Hi,” he says with a little smile. “Hard at work, I see.”
“Gotta earn my keep,” you say, earning a snort from Yoshida who is working just a garden bed over.
“You have time for a break?”
“Depends,” you say, glancing at the bag he’s carrying. “Are those snacks?”
“Yup.”
“Then I do,” you say, pushing to your feet. “Let me go wash my hands.”
You eat together on the engawa, gazing out into the farmland. The wind chimes rustle above you, clinking lightly, a crystalline symphony just for the two of you. You sit back on your hands as Kita unpacks what he’s brought.
It’s onigiri. They’re still warm, steam curling up from them when you break one open. A little bit of the filling spills out but you’re quick to catch it on your thumb, popping it into your mouth.
“Thank you,” you say, giving him a nudge with your elbow. “They’re good.”
“Yer welcome.”
“You take care of me so well,” you say with a little laugh.
“I try,” he says, utterly serious.
You flinch. It’s tiny, but from the way his gaze finds you, a firefly flicker, he notices. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to take another bite of his onigiri.
“Shin-chan,” Yoshida calls. “Come help an old woman with the watering.”
You glance up to see that she’s heaving a full bucket of water towards the garden. Kita pushes to his feet immediately, crossing to her in a few easy strides. He takes the bucket without even pausing, lifting it with a single hand.
“Granny,” he chides. “Ya could’ve gotten hurt.”
She shrugs. He follows her to the garden beds, glancing back to send you a little smile. You watch him as he carefully waters the garden under Yoshida’s rigid instructions. The sun catches in his hair, bronzes his tanned skin. That same smile he’d flashed you lives on his lips, a quiet contentment tucked up secret into the corner of his mouth.
Kita comes back to you when he’s finished watering, settling at your side on the engawa once more. He eats the rest of his onigiri quickly.
“I’ve gotta get back to the fields,” he tells you. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say. “Go do your job.”
He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it.
He leaves soon after. You watch him go, until all you can see of his truck is the cloud of dust being kicked up behind it, until the horizon swallows him.
Yoshida stands next to you on the engawa, shading her eyes as she watches him go too.
“He’s a good man,” she says casually.
You glance at her.
“He is.”
“You could do much worse in a man.”
“It’s not like that.”
She raises a brow.
“It’s not. It’s just…complicated,” you say, winding your fingers through your necklace’s chain. Your rings clink against each other softly, the sound lost in the myriad of wind chimes surrounding you. For a moment you drift, tears pricking at your eyes before you blink them away.
“‘Course it is,” she says. “Most things are. But ah, pay no mind to an old lady. Let’s go harvest some of the squash.”
You spend the rest of the day in the garden, harvesting away. The first frost isn’t too far off and you need to make sure you don’t lose any of the vegetables to it. Yoshida tells you exactly what to pick and what to leave.
Night falls and you cook the first of the squash, painting it with a sweetened miso glaze that gleams stickily as you serve it. Yoshida makes a few side dishes too, putting them in pretty kobachi dishes. They’re delicate things, the soft silver of the moon, and you find yourself thinking of Kita.
You shake yourself free of the thought before it fully forms. Yoshida’s son pulls you into a conversation and you chatter the night away, until you’re yawning between sentences. You finally trudge up to your room.
The window lets in the faintest hint of gossamer moonlight. You gaze out into the night, into the endless countryside. You can just barely make out the next farmhouse, a lighthouse in the sea of darkness, its lights glittering on the very edge of the horizon.
It looks lonely. You think of Kita again, of the little island of his farmhouse, how it’s tucked between the paddies with no other home in sight. You think of him alone at the kotatsu, reading glasses perched on his nose, and feel something in your chest clench.
You pull the curtains shut and go to bed.
***
The rest of the week rolls by and so does the next. It grows colder each day, winter’s first kiss. The leaves are going orange, as if little fires are catching the edges. It sets the trees ablaze with color. You hop from leaf to leaf as you and Kita walk along the road, delighting in each little crunch.
“Having fun?” he calls out.
You turn around to face him, shading your eyes with one hand. His more sedate pace has left him lagging, but he’s quickly catching up now that you’ve stopped. “Can’t you tell?”
His breath mists in the air, a marine layer, and his lips quirk up into a little smile. “I can,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah? There’s still some frost lingering.”
You hum an acknowledgement and stomp on your next leaf. He chuckles quietly and you fall back to walk with him, shoving your hands into your pockets to ward off the cold.
“Hey,” you say softly. “You know my sabbatical is almost over, right?”
He nods. “I know.”
“I think I’m gonna go home midweek next week,” you say. “Just to give myself some time to settle before I have to go back to work.”
“Makes sense,” he says. “Let me know the details and I’ll get you to the station.”
The two of you keep walking, huddling into each other slightly when the wind picks up. Some of his hair wisps across your face, the touch like silk against your skin. You shiver with it and return your gaze to the countryside, to the rolling hills and the shorn paddies.
One or two of the trees are already fully bare; they reach towards the sky with long-fingered branches. There’s a murmur of swallows nestled in the nearest one, so numerous it’s as if the tree has leaves again. As you watch, they take to the skies, undulating through the soft gray-blue of it.
“I’ll miss it,” you say softly.
“Bein’ here?”
“Yeah.”
“Ya can come back anytime, y’know. There’s always a place for you.”
You glance at him. His stoic face has softened and you think of the thaw of a spring day. How the quiet warmth of it melts the chill away.
“Thanks, Shinsuke.”
“Mhm.”
The two of you walk together quietly before turning around to head back to Kita’s farm when the chilly breeze becomes a whistling wind. It whips through the fields to cut through your clothing and you press into Kita without thinking, seeking the warmth of his solid form. He unwinds his scarf and drapes it around your neck; you don’t bother to protest. He’s immovable about things like this. Instead, you burrow into the warmth of it.
You all but tumble into the genkan of the farmhouse. Kita follows you at a more sedate pace. You toe off your shoes and slip on your usual pair of house slippers. He does the same and you watch as he puts his shoes away carefully, arranging them perfectly within the cubby.
You both settle at the kotatsu, huddling under the thick down of the blanket. You trace a finger over one of the origami cranes patterned into it. They’re perfect, so different from the clumsy paper cranes you’d both made with some of the local children the other day.
Kita turns on the kotatsu. It starts to warm almost immediately and you sink into the heat of it with a quiet sigh.
“What’re you smiling about?” you ask him.
“You,” he says simply.
You roll your eyes. “Okay,” you say.
“D’ya want tea?”
“Sure.”
He slips out from under the kotatsu and heads into the kitchen. You turn enough that you can still see him; you like watching him make tea. He’s careful and respectful of the process from beginning to end, but you like how it loosens his shoulders, how he unfurls, a night-blooming flower.
He rejoins you at the kotatsu once the tea is made, handing you a steaming cup. The scent of it billows through the air. When you sip at the tea, it settles warm in your chest, pushing out the autumn chill.
“You’ll have to teach me how to make tea like this,” you tell Kita.
He smiles into his cup. “It’s not hard.”
“Says you.”
“Might not have time to teach you before you go,” he says with a frown. “The farm—”
“You can teach me when you visit.” You pause. “You will visit, right?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” you say, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You can teach me then.”
He agrees and the conversation flows until it’s late. You peer out into the darkness and see the moon—full-bellied with light—is beginning to set, sinking through the dark ocean of the sky like an anchor.
“Shit,” you say. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”
“S’fine,” Kita says. “I don’t mind.”
“I know, I know. Ugh, I’m gonna wake up Yoshida when I get in.”
“You can stay, y’know.”
You glance at him. He meets your gaze steadily.
“I have a guest room,” he reminds you.
“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”
“You’ll have to get up early, though.”
“That’s fine.”
He smiles softly. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s finish cleaning up.”
You clean up the kotatsu quickly; despite the late hour, Kita still takes the time to wash the dishes. He washes them with careful concentration and something in your chest pangs.
“Go ahead to the guest room,” he says. “‘M almost done here. I’ll see if I can find you somethin’ to sleep in.”
“It’s fine,” you tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
“Alright.”
The guest room is homey, with a handmade quilt patterned with rice plants that almost look like they’re rippling in the wind. You trace a finger over one of them as you glance around the rest of the room, taking in the way the stark cleanliness is offset by the items scattered about: the fan patterned with cherry blossoms hanging on the wall; the plant at the window, lush despite the season; a paperweight on the desk, glass swirled through with blue and white, the ocean roiling within it. It’s not quite Kita, but you can sense him in it all the same.
Kita knocks on the door frame. You turn to look at him. “Here,” he says, holding out a toothbrush and toothpaste. “Thought you might need these.”
“Thanks,” you say, sending him a little smile. “Appreciate it.”
“‘Course.”
“Night, Shinsuke.”
“G’night,” he says. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”
“Sounds good.”
He disappears into his room.
You get ready for bed and slide under the covers. The quilt is heavy and warmth builds quickly under it, like a banked fire. You turn your face into the pillow to hide from the moonlight slanting in through the window. The pillowcase smells vaguely like Kita and the simple detergent he uses.
Sleep comes easily.
So easily that it feels like you’ve only been asleep for a second when Kita’s knocking on the guest room door to rouse you for the day. Blearily, you slip on your clothing before trudging into the kitchen.
Kita glances up as you enter. His hair is still damp from the shower; it glistens like the gray winter sea beneath a bleak sun.
“Mornin’,” he says.
“Hi,” you grumble.
He breathes out a quiet laugh. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”
You drowse on the ride back to Yoshida’s, just aware enough to hear the quiet hum of the radio as it fills the truck’s cab. The sun is starting to rise, the first fingers of light painting the horizon orange, like embers just beginning to catch. You turn away from it, curling into yourself in the front seat.
The truck rumbling to a halt wakes you. You grouse and Kita laughs again. He doesn’t bother to dodge when you swat at him.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” you say with a yawn, one hand on the car door’s handle, already looking forward to crawling back into bed.
“‘Course,” he says. “You always have a place with me.”
You pause.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”
His eyes crinkle with his smile.
“Go to work,” you tell him.
“Yes ma’am.”
You hop out and head to the genkan. You hear the truck rumble to life behind you, the engine practically purring. By the time you make it to the genkan and look back, Kita is already down the road.
You watch until he’s gone from view.
***
This early, the train station is quiet.
The sun is still rising, casting pale golden rays across the parking lot. It haloes Kita in light as he pulls your suitcase from the truck bed, his muscles flexing with the movement. You take it from him and the two of you head towards the platform together.
“Travel safe, alright?” he says when you come to a halt just before the doors.
“Shinsuke,” you say, “thank you for everything.”
“Anytime.”
“You’ll visit?”
“I’ll visit,” he confirms. “You?”
“I’ll come back,” you say.
“Good.”
He smiles at you, a slow, sweet thing that makes you think of the sun’s rise. It’s steady and sure, unshakeable.
You throw your arms around him in a hug. He stumbles for a second, caught off guard, but he catches himself quickly and wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly. You bury your face in his shoulder. He smells like plain soap, fresh and clean, with the faintest kiss of lemon, a touch of sour citronella that you know he uses for the fields.
When you pull away, the tips of his ears are pink.
“Bye, Shinsuke,” you say.
“Bye,” he says softly.
You head inside the station. When you glance back, you can just make out the silhouette of him, lean and strong. He must be able to see you, because he gives a little wave before he turns away.
The train is almost empty when you board it and you settle in a window seat. You close your eyes and turn your face towards the sun, the gentle rays just barely starting to warm as they brush against your skin.
You open your eyes when the train starts to move, peering out of the window as the countryside speeds by. The rice fields are shorn short now but the gold of them hasn’t faded. The remains of the stalks reach towards the great blue sky, two expanses meeting. Beyond the fields, even the hills are going golden, though they’re slower, with green patches scattered across them like lily pads in a pond.
You think you might be leaving a part of yourself in the expanse of the country. That the fields have swallowed up some part of you, like the earth swallows a seed. It makes something in you pang.
Soon enough, the countryside melts away into the suburbs. Then come the neon lights of the city, streaking by like fireflies, little blips of color that blink to life here and there.
You hadn’t realized how much you missed it.
The house is quiet when you step into the genkan; only the musical clink of your keys fills the space. The greeting is on the tip of your tongue, but you catch it behind your teeth and swallow it back down. You take in a deep breath and set your suitcase down before brushing by the photos in the entryway, most of them facedown.
It takes time to unpack. Most of your clothes are clean, but you run a load of laundry anyway, listening to the way the water swishes and spins, the low rumble of it filling the house. You text Kita to let him know you’ve arrived safely and then collapse onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling.
You don’t know how long you lie there before you hear the door to the house open. Muffled bickering floats to you from the genkan and you push yourself up just as Abe comes barreling around the corner.
She skids to a stop just before the couch and grins down at you.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” you reply. “Did you break in?”
“No,” Yoshikawa says, appearing from around the corner. She twirls something around her finger; it glints in the light. “Used the spare.”
“It’s funny,” you say. “I don’t remember inviting either of you over.”
She shrugs elegantly, her long hair swaying like kelp in a current. “Did you really think we were going to miss you coming home?”
“No,” you say with a little laugh. “I didn’t.”
“Good.”
You exchange hugs with both of them, holding them tightly and yelping when Abe spins you in a circle. Yoshikawa is more sedate but her hug is strong and warm. You blink away the tears before they can fall.
The three of you settle into the living room. You catch up with each other easily, swapping stories and laughing together, the sound billowing through the room to fill even the darkest corners with joy. Your heart aches as Abe throws back her head and laughs, her dark hair shimmering in the light, her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.
“You’re too easily entertained,” Yoshikawa informs her, but there’s a smile playing at her lips too, downy-soft and deeply pleased.
“Shut up,” Abe says, still giggling.
For a moment, you just watch them, taking in their features, their smiles, the sound of them. You want to commit them to memory, parts of them that you’ve taken into yourself to treasure, to keep. Pieces never to be lost.
“Hey,” Yoshikawa says. “What’s wrong?”
You realize that your cheeks are hot and wet. You scrub a hand over your face as more tears fall.
“Nothing,” you say. “I just really missed you.”
She hums, but doesn’t push you on it, sending Abe a look when she opens her mouth. “We missed you too,” she says. “Do you want us to spend the night?”
“Yeah,” you say softly, thinking of how empty the house was before they filled it. “That would be great.”
“Okay.”
The conversation picks up again, only pausing when you order takeout as night falls. Though you’ve spoken consistently with them while you were in the country, there are still stories to tell. The three of you talk and talk, full of laughter and love, and it only feels a little bittersweet.
As the night deepens, Yoshikawa and Abe go to the genkan and grab the bags they’ve brought, much to your embarrassment. Abe pats you on the shoulder as you bury your face in your hands. Neither of them comment.
You tumble into bed with them in a mess of limbs. When the dust settles, you’re curled up on your side of the bed, almost pushed off the edge by Abe’s starfished limbs. You poke her in the stomach and she curls up with a groan. You reclaim the space quickly.
“Rude,” she tells you.
“You were taking up the whole bed!”
She grumbles but doesn’t bother to argue.
Quiet falls, only the gentle sound of breathing filling the room. You snuggle down into your comforter, pushing closer to Abe and relishing her warmth.
“I invited Shinsuke to visit,” you breathe.
Yoshikawa pushes up to her elbows behind Abe, peering down at you with her dark, knowing eyes.
“Here?” she asks.
You nod, the pillowcase crinkling against your cheek.
She hums, low and sweet, a honeyed thunder. “You’ll let him stay at the house?”
“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of Takao, the way he’d been flayed open when he asked you to not bring Kita to the house. “Aoshi—”
“Isn’t here,” Yoshikawa says gently. “You don’t have to hold on to that promise if you don’t want to.”
You blink against the tears as they swell up, beading on your eyelashes like little diamonds. Abe reaches out and cups your cheek.
“You’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “You don’t need to know now.”
You close your eyes, a few more tears trickling down. The pillowcase is damp beneath your cheek. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re right.”
“I always am,” she says, and then yelps when Yoshikawa pinches her. “Ow, Yocchan!”
Yoshikawa ignores her, settling back down onto the bed with a yawn.
It’s contagious; you find yourself yawning as well and snuggle down deeper into the comforter once more. Abe shifts closer, seeking heat.
You fall asleep with her pressed tight against your side.
It feels like coming home.
***
Fall fades away.
The trees lose their leaves entirely, leaving branches that reach into the sky with scraggly fingers. Frost creeps over the windows in icy whorls, a cobweb of winter, fanning out in intricate patterns that melt when you breathe on them. The winter sun glows in the softened blue of the sky, only to be replaced with gray clouds.
The first snow is falling when you go to pick up Kita.
The flakes are fat and fluffy, perfectly crystalline. They flutter through the air like butterflies, spinning in great, lazy arcs as they drift to the ground. They melt as soon as they hit the pavement.
They catch in Kita’s hair as the two of you head into the house, little dew drops that make his gray hair shine. He’s cherry-cheeked with the cold, his face half-buried in his scarf. It’s cute. Something in you pangs when he sends you a little smile, only discernible by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges.
The two of you peel off your outer layers in the genkan. Kita puts his away carefully, at odds with your slightly haphazard method of kicking your boots away to find later.
“It’s future me’s problem,” you tell him and he just shakes his head, a small smile caught in the corner of his lips.
You show him to the guest room, freshly made up for his visit, and linger in the hallway as he stores his suitcase.
“Dinner?” you ask as he steps out into the hall again.
“That’d be great.”
“C’mon, I’ve got some things ready in the kitchen.”
“Sounds good.”
He follows you into the kitchen and insists on helping. You direct him to the plates as you check on what you’ve made. There’s colorful tsukemono, each pickled vegetable bright in its own way, stained to watercolors by the pickling liquid. The curry is thick and bubbling, with chunks of heavily marbled meat and vegetables coated in the sauce. The rice is steaming lightly and so are the nikuman, each bun pinched shut perfectly.
“Ya didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Kita says, eyeing the food as he sets the table.
“Too late,” you say cheerfully. “Eat.”
He smiles softly, shaking his head, but sits down when you gesture. You join him and the two of you start to fill your plates.
You talk quietly as you eat, all easy chatter. Part of you can’t help but think of the beginning, when everything with him was stilted and careful. That’s changed through the years but it’s even easier now, the conversation flowing like a river, calm and unchanging.
When you’re done eating, Kita collects the plates and brings them to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves and turns the water on. You sigh but don’t bother to say anything. Instead, you settle in next to him with a dish towel in your hand.
He’s radiating a soft, gentle heat. It takes conscious effort to not lean into him.
He washes and you dry, falling into an effortless rhythm.
“Are you seeing Aran while you’re here?” you ask.
“He’s away trainin’,” Kita says, handing you another dish. “So’s Atsumu. I’ll see Osamu, but you know I’m here to see you, right?”
Your cheeks heat. “I know,” you say. “But two birds, one stone, y’know?”
He hums, rinsing off the final dish and drying his hands. He leaves his sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. For a moment, you watch the play of his muscles, the way they coil beneath his tanned skin as he picks up the dry dishes and brings them back to the cabinet. You look away when you realize what you’re doing.
You both go to bed early that night; Kita’s tired from his usual early wake-up and the travel. You try not to laugh as he bids you goodnight. It’s cute, the way he blinks sleepily, his amber eyes softened to a honeyed brown.
You can hear him as you get ready for bed, the quiet little noises of another person’s presence. It soothes something in you.
You glance at your wedding rings, ensconced in a little jewelry dish on your nightstand. They gleam in the light. You run your fingers over them, tracing the cool metal gently.
You put them away in a drawer before you go to sleep.
***
The snowstorm hits on the last day of Kita’s visit.
The wind whips between buildings, catching the snowflakes and tossing them about like ships on a stormy sea. The snow piles up into thick drifts, the silken white of it gone yellow beneath the glow of the street lights, like a melting pat of butter.
You and Kita watch the storm from where you’re tucked under the kotatsu. You’d pulled it out when you’d heard the forecast, the two of you working together to get it set up. It still works, luckily, and the two of you sit next to each other and bask in the soothing warmth.
The wind slows; you gaze at the snowflakes as they slow, drifting like dancers across the stage, each puffy flake a part of its own ballet. Everything has gone quiet, muffled at the edges. It’s like the world is waiting to take its next breath.
“What are you thinking?” Kita asks softly.
When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.
“I don’t know,” you say, your voice just as soft as his. “All sorts of things.”
He hums quietly.
The wind picks up again; the windows rattle with it. You shiver, snuggling further under the kotatsu. Kita shifts. His leg presses against yours, a line of warmth even under the heat of the kotatsu.
You glance at him. He’s watching the storm. It reflects in his eyes, lightening them, taking them from amber to gold. You think of the rice fields at their peak, when they’re treasured gold, and can’t help the small smile that curls around your lips.
Perhaps he feels your gaze, because Kita turns to face you. In the low light, he’s softened at the edges, a watercolor being. His eyes are aglow, like sunlight pooling. He gives you a small smile.
“What is it?”
“I’m so lucky to have you,” you say quietly, the words pouring from you like a waterfall, something unstoppable.
He goes still for a breath, a statue of old. Then he softens again.
“You’ll always have me,” he says, and you used to hate how true it is. Now, though—now it feels different. Just a bit.
“Thank you, Shinsuke,” you say.
Something flickers over his face like heat lightning, too quick for you to comprehend. You think you might have disappointed him.
You turn your gaze away. It lands on a picture frame placed face-down. You suck in a deep breath. Before you can stop them, the tears are burning behind your eyes, starting to trickle down your cheeks. You scrub at them with one hand.
“Sorry,” you say to Kita.
“S’alright,” he says. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you say, even as another tear trickles down to pool salty on your tongue.
He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between the two of you. He waits.
You nod.
He cups your cheek and sweeps his thumb under your eye. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise. You lean into his palm, keeping your eyes on his, your cheeks hot as he smiles at you sadly.
He wipes away the tears before pulling back. You can see the gleam of them on his thumb.
“Thanks,” you say softly.
“Course.”
You scrub away the remains of the tears and then blow out a big breath. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”
Kita studies you for a moment. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he nods, giving you a soft smile. “Sure.”
“Great,” you say, pushing to your feet. “You choose.”
“If you want,” he says, standing as well and heading towards the living room. “No complaining, though.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a minute,” you call after him, leaning down to turn off the kotatsu. You tuck the comforter in, tidying it up lightly. You nod to yourself. When you turn around, you pause for a moment, your gaze settling on the face-down picture frame.
It’s a photo you know well, one of you and Takao on the beach, the ocean a vast expanse behind you, glittering with the searing blue of the tropics. You’re caught mid-laugh as Takao plants a kiss on your cheek. It’s always been a favorite.
Before you leave the room, you stand the picture frame back up.
***
You drop Kita off at the train station early the next day. You breathe him in as you hug him goodbye, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He tightens his grip around you with a little laugh.
“I’ll come to the farm in spring,” you tell him. “I promise.”
“Good.”
You wave goodbye as he enters the train station; he glances back right before he disappears through the doors. Something warm blooms in you. It settles in your stomach and flutters there.
When you’ve made it home, you pull out your phone. You settle onto the edge of the couch as it rings, your shoulders stiff.
It rings until the voicemail clicks on and Takao’s voice floods your ears. You close your eyes as his voicemail message plays, letting his voice wash over you like a summer storm, a warm, sweet rain. You listen to Takao talk, relearning the cadence of his voice, the way it rises and falls, the way his tongue curls around words. You hadn’t realized how much of it you’d forgotten.
“Hi,” you say when the tone beeps. “I miss you.”
You’re quiet for a moment; the line carries on, reflecting you breathing back to yourself.
“Shinsuke just left,” you say. “Aoshi—I think I like him. More than I ever thought I could. Is that alright?”
The line is silent.
“I didn’t mean to like him,” you say. “I really didn’t. But he’s good, Aoshi. He’s so good.”
You sniffle.
“I don’t know what to do,” you murmur. “I don’t know how to leave you behind. But I think—I think he’s okay with that. I just—it feels like giving in. Like our choice, the one we made over and over again, was for nothing.”
You take in a deep, steadying breath.
“I know that’s not true. I know that our choice was for everything. That it never really was a choice in the first place, not for me.”
“I just—I really think I like him, Aoshi. Is that alright? Please tell me it’s alright.”
The voicemail beeps; you’ve hit the end of the time you can record. You hang up and bury your face in your hands.
“Fuck. Fuck!”
You lay back on the couch, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. You curl in on yourself.
You grab your phone and dial again.
“Hi.”
“Natsumi.”
“Oh, shit, no nickname, that’s not a good sign.”
“I think I like Shinsuke.”
She pauses. “Is that a bad thing?” she asks gently.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“It just—”
“Feels like giving in?”
“...Yeah. Was this always going to happen?”
“Maybe,” she says. “But maybe not. You don’t have to be with him, you know. If you don’t want to, that is.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“I think you do,” she says gently.
“I don’t, Nat-chan.”
“Okay. Okay. Let me put it this way: is your only issue with Kita the fact that he’s your soulmate?”
“He’s not Aoshi.”
“No one is going to be Aoshi. You know that.”
“I do.”
“Liking Kita isn’t giving up on Aoshi. It’s not leaving him behind. It’s just moving forward. You’ll bring him with you no matter what, no matter how far forward you move,” she says, and you bite at your bottom lip until you can taste blood.
“I don’t want to be with my soulmate just because they’re my soulmate.”
“Do you really think you might like Kita just because he’s your soulmate?”
“...No.”
“It’s not bad to like him,” she says, not unkindly. “You’re not bad for liking him because of who he is.”
“I don’t even know if I really like him.”
“Sweetheart,” Abe says, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t.”
You go quiet. As her words settle in, you glance out the window. The snow on the ground is still pristine; it glimmers under the bleak winter sunlight. The neighborhood children are starting to stomp through it. They’re bundled up tight, practically waddling as they play. You take a deep breath.
“Maybe you’re right,” you say.
“I don’t know how many times I have to say that I always am before you believe me.”
“You’re wrong way too much for me to believe that.”
“Don’t be mean!”
You smile. “Thanks, Nat-chan,” you say softly.
“Any time,” she says. “You’ll figure it out.”
As you hang up, you know that you will.
***
Winter melts into spring.
The snow gives way to crocuses, which bloom like bruises, deep purple with stamen peeking shyly out of the center. The trees come to life, budding quickly, little specks of green dotted along the branches like stars.
And on the farm, there are ducklings, tiny and fluffy, their down pollen-yellow.
“Oh, Shin,” you say as he hands you one, dropping it carefully into your hands. It peeps its protest before snuggling up in your palm like a tiny sun. “I love them.”
He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “I thought you might. Do you wanna name ‘em?”
“Really? You’ll let me?”
“Course.”
“I’ll have to think of good ones,” you say. “Can I have a few days?”
“Take as much time as you need,” he says. “They’re not going anywhere.”
You nuzzle up against the one in your hand; it peeps again, as if grumbling at you. When you glance at Kita, he has a fond smile playing on his lips.
He takes you around on some of his other chores. There are seedlings in the garden, tiny little things just barely poking out of the ground, a promise of green growth. You water them carefully, wary of their thin, delicate stems.
Finally, you find yourself back in Kita’s genkan. Your boots—a pair of his, really, laced tightly to keep them on—are muddy, so you stop just inside the door. You’re leaning down to untie the boots when Kita kneels before you.
“Shin…” you say and he glances back up at you with mischief in his smile. You decide it’s not worth it to try and stop him.
He makes quick work of the laces with his deft fingers. You watch his bent head quietly, taking in the thunderstorm gray of it, edged with blackened clouds. You catch yourself before you run your fingers through it.
“Up,” he says. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you step out of first boot; he wraps his hand around your wrist.
It’s not long before both boots are off. Before you can even start to move, Kita has your house slippers in hand. He takes your ankle in his big hand, waiting for you to lift your foot so he can slip on the first slipper.
You almost balk. But he looks up at you with his keen amber eyes and you can’t help yourself. You lift your foot and he slides the slipper into place. He does the same thing with the second slipper.
“Thanks,” you say, cheeks hot.
He nods. He pushes to his feet, a graceful ripple of motion, and tilts his head at you. “Lunch?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds good.”
You cook together with ease. You know his kitchen by heart now, able to pull pans from their place without looking, knowing which of his fresh herbs to clip without double-checking with him.
It makes something in you ache.
Kita returns to the fields after lunch. You choose to not go with him, deciding instead to curl up on the engawa with a book. You settle into place with your book on your lap and stare out into the countryside.
It’s just beginning to go green with the flooded paddies glinting in the sun, a false ocean. The water glimmers with movement as the breeze rolls over you. A stork prowls through the paddies, long and elegant, moving with slow precision. Its beak flashes as it darts down to snap up some little creature. It takes off after that, spreading its wings wide and soaring into the blue expanse of the sky. You watch until it’s no more than a dot in the vastness.
You curl up and start reading and don’t notice when evening starts to fall. That’s where Kita finds you when he comes home from the fields. You hadn’t even noticed his truck trundling up the driveway.
“Hi,” you say as he comes up on the engawa, marking your place and getting to your feet.
“Hi,” he replies. “Have you been here all afternoon?”
“How’d you know?”
“Just a guess.”
You eye him, trying to figure out what’s given you away. Kita stays stoic, as if carved from stone, and you huff.
You follow him inside, kicking off your outside shoes before he can even try to kneel, and hop up from the genkan. As usual he goes to shower, ready to rinse off the fields. You keep reading.
He comes padding back into the kitchen a while later with a towel wound around his neck. His hair is still damp and you can see a cowlick curling at the back of his head. His tan skin glistens.
“Dinner?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “What do you want to make?”
You discuss your options in front of the fridge, crowded in next to each other to see what he has. He’s still warm from the shower. You press closer to him and see him glance at you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, soft and sweet, and turns his attention back to the fridge.
Eventually, you finally decide. Kita hands you a handful of carrots and you start to julienne them thinly, your knife—perfectly sharp, the most well-maintained kitchen knife you’ve ever seen—flashing in the light.
He starts halving baby bok choy, little gems of green and white. The pan hisses when he drops them in, giving it a good toss before he moves on to his next task.
“Is it really okay for me to be here during such a busy season?” you ask.
He glances at you. “I wouldn’t invite ya if it wasn’t a good time.”
“True.”
“Besides, I told you there was always a place here for you, and I meant it.”
Your cheeks heat. “I know.”
“Good.”
Quiet falls, broken only by the sound of your knife against the board and the hiss of the pan as Kita stirs it again. It’s comfortable, though, and you feel no need to fill the air. The two of you cook away, moving around each other easily in his small kitchen, as if it’s a dance you’ve always known.
It’s comforting in a way you’d almost forgotten.
You take a deep breath, your stomach churning a bit, and Kita glances over at you.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Just tired.”
He smiles softly. “If you wanna go to bed early, I don’t mind.”
“We’ll see,” you tell him. “Now finish up, I’m hungry.”
He laughs, but the two of you are done cooking not long after. You settle down to eat. You tell him some ideas you’ve had to name the ducks (“Duck is a perfectly good name, Shin!” “If ya say so.”) and he tells you about his day. It’s peaceful. Easy.
You’ve just finished eating when you reach out and cover Kita’s hand with your own. “Shin,” you say. “Thank you.”
“Fer what?”
You shrug, unable to put the jumble inside you into words.
He turns his hand over under yours and laces your fingers together. You don’t pull away.
“Yer always thankin’ me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to.”
“I do, though.”
“You don’t.”
You look at him. He meets your gaze easily, amber eyes gone whiskey-dark. He gives your hand a little squeeze.
“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says.
You squeeze back. “I will, though.”
He sighs but doesn’t argue.
For another moment, you both sit there, hands intertwined. You watch each other. You can feel the strength in his fingers and the hint of sweat on his palm. It’s warm and solid and real. Something in your chest stirs.
You’re the one that pulls back first, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Kita lets you go without a word.
The rest of dinner is quiet; you both go to your rooms early, influenced by Kita’s schedule. You murmur a soft goodnight in the hallway. You can still hear him when you’re in the guest room, listening to him rustling around before it all goes silent.
You gaze out the guest room window, taking in the rising moon. It’s waxing, almost full-bellied with light, pouring over the fields. It reflects off the water of the flooded paddies, a distorted mirror of itself. Under the moonlight, the fields go silvery, delicate and gossamer as they start to come to life. It’s beautiful in a foreign way.
You curl up on the bed with your book, texting Yoshikawa and Abe here and there as your phone lights up. When the moon is high in the sky, you finally get ready for bed.
You fall asleep thinking about the weight of Kita’s hand in your own.
***
Something shifts between you.
It’s slow like a dune in the wind, the sand taking on a new shape, but neither of you have mentioned it. Maybe you don’t need to. Maybe it’s all said in each fleeting glance, a language written in the amber of Kita’s gaze.
The days pass in a flicker of quiet moments. You spend a morning naming the ducklings, tucked in close to Kita’s side so he can see which one you’re pointing to. You repeat yourself as he takes them in, his brow furrowed as he notes the name for each nearly-identical duckling.
Some days you join him in the fields, kneeling down into the muck to sow a shoot into place. He guides you with careful hands, his warm fingers wrapped firmly around yours. You eat lunch in the bed of his truck, mud flaking off of your boots, and bask in the spring sun.
It’s easy. It’s terrifying.
You think of the taste of ozone, how it crackles on your tongue. The slow, sharp bite of it.
You know something will give. That the storm will break over you and change everything in its path.
You think you might finally be ready for it.
***
You come awake with a jolt.
The sheets stick to you, caught in the layer of sweat accumulating on you. You sit up and press a hand to your heart, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings.
Once you’ve regained your breath, you stumble over to the window and pull it open. The countryside breeze billows inside. It still carries the sharp bite of winter, but it’s mellowed under spring’s tender bloom. You close your eyes and let it flow over you.
The breeze cools you, your sweat going tacky before it dries down completely. The dream rolls over you again and you shudder.
You find yourself padding down the hallway without realizing it. You stop just in front of the door. You tug at your lower lip with your teeth before taking a deep breath.
You knock gently on the door and then open it.
“Shin?” you whisper.
The lump on the bed stirs. Kita pushes up onto his elbows. He’s bathed in moonlight, his hair haloed silver, the dark tips a moon’s eclipse. He’s bleary-eyed but he focuses on you instantly.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Bad dream.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
You hesitate.
“That bad?”
You shake your head. “I just…can I lay with you for a bit? Is that okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. You need to know he’s still here. That he’s real.
His eyes widen before they go soft. He pulls back the covers and scoots over to give you more room. You’re across the room in an instant, slipping onto the futon. It’s still warm with his body heat and you shiver, goosebumps dancing across your skin.
You keep a small distance between you when you lay down, but you let your head turn towards him. He’s still up on one elbow, the muscles in his bicep bunched with it, and he’s studying you carefully.
He’s handsome, you realize, not for the first time. He’s sleep-rumpled, his hair messy and ruffled and his shirt wrinkled and bunched up just enough to show off a silver of his paler belly. The moonlight plays over him like a lover, lingering on the arch of his cheekbones and the dusting of freckles sprayed over his nose. His thick lashes flutter as he blinks, showcasing eyes gone golden, and you almost sigh.
He lies back down when you don’t move. The space between the two of you is small but it feels massive, a gulf between your two bodies, separating the shores of you.
“You okay?” he asks again.
You shake your head.
He reaches out and hesitates halfway, his big hand hovering in the air. In the moonlight, the constellation of his scars is more visible, little nicks and cuts that gleam bone-white in the light.
“Can I?” he asks.
Your nod is tiny; the sheets crinkle with it.
He cups your cheek. His palm is rough against your skin but he’s careful with it, touches you as if you’re made of glass. It’s almost reverent. He sweeps his thumb across the apple of your cheek.
“What did you dream of?” he breathes.
“You.”
“Me?”
“I couldn’t find you,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I looked and looked, but you weren’t there.”
“I’m here now.”
You hum.
“I’m here now,” he says again and it sounds like a promise.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “You are.”
You shift on the futon. The sheets smell of him, of the faintest hint of the salt of his skin and his soap, and you close your eyes to let it envelop you. You nestle down into the pillow with a little yawn.
“Go back to bed,” Kita murmurs, caressing your cheek with careful fingers. “You’ll be tired in the morning.”
You stir under his touch, opening one eye. He’s watching you, his amber eyes unbearably fond, and something in you pangs. You press closer to him; he radiates a gentle warmth and you relax into it.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask quietly. “Please?”
You pretend to not hear the way his breath catches.
“You sure?” he asks.
You press closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
“Yes.”
“You’re gonna regret it when my alarm goes off at dawn,” Kita says, a smile written in his sleep-rough voice.
“I won’t,” you say. “Promise.”
He hums skeptically.
“Maybe you’ll regret it,” you whisper into the salt of his skin. “You might.”
He stills, and then he’s coaxing you up to look at him. His eyes gleam in the dim, a flash of amber, of the richness of the earth. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.
“No,” he says. “I could never regret you.”
He always hears what you can’t quite bring yourself to say.
“Never?”
He nudges his nose against yours.
“Never.”
His breath stirs against your lips, and you take it in, make it your own. You sway closer, undulating like kelp, half-dizzy with it, and then you sway closer still.
He waits for you.
(He always has.)
When you kiss him, it’s simple. It feels right.
Kita sighs into it, one big hand coming up to cup your face, his rough palm reverent against your skin. There’s no urgency to him; he’s honey-slow with it, melting into you under the cover of night.
You kiss him again, and again, like the tide against the shore, lapping at the edges of him until you’re etched into his skin. He meets you each time, sweet and steady.
You kiss him until he is all you know, and then you kiss him once more.
You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he sweeps his thumb over your cheekbone.
You part your lips, and he presses a little kiss against them before he pulls back. In the dim, his amber eyes have gone whiskey-dark, deep and heady.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to explain.”
You press your face into the warm crook of his neck again. He smells of plain soap and a lingering hint of citronella from the fields, sweet and stinging. You breathe him in, let the scent of him settle into you, a part of him to carry always.
Kita curls a gentle arm around you.
“Go to sleep,” he breathes, and you pull back to look at him. He watches you, his vulpine eyes unbearably fond, and he smiles against your lips when you kiss him again.
He cups your cheek and pulls you into a deeper kiss before he backs away. He sweeps his lips against yours in a chaste peck and says again, “Go to sleep.”
“Fine,” you murmur. You curl up into him as his breath starts to even out. You listen to the tide of it, the ebb and flow, a balm against a bruise you’ll always have, and close your eyes knowing that he’s right there.
You wake to the quiet beep of his alarm clock. He rises from bed with quicksilver ease, the thick muscles of his back rippling under his sleep shirt. It’s barely dawn; wan light filters in through the curtains like an azure sea, outlining him faintly as he moves around the room. He looks like something out of a painting, sketched out in broad strokes of soft shadows.
He looks too good to be true.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs as you shift on the futon. His sheets are well-worn, the type of broken in that comes with years of use and careful care. “It’s early.”
Instead, you get up with him, slipping out from beneath the warmth of the comforter with a soft sigh. Kita gives you a little smile, a crescent moon tilt of his lips, and your cheeks heat. You glance away and hear him huff out a laugh.
He disappears into the bathroom, and you make up the futon, smoothing your hands over the wrinkles until they disappear.
By the time he pads into the kitchen, the old coffeemaker is hissing and gurgling, spitting out a steady drip of liquid. He brushes by you to get a mug, his hand warm on your lower back as he sidles past. The heat of him lingers.
The two of you eat breakfast in a comfortable silence. He slides his portion of your favorite onto your plate without a word; you push your share of pickled daikon into one of his small kobachi dishes. He says nothing,, but his lips quirk at the edges, the faintest hint of a sweet smile.
He gets up when you’re both finished, pushing to his feet in one fluid movement. His muscles coil with it, going taut beneath his tanned skin. It’s more distracting than you thought it would be.
You peer at him from the corner of your eyes as he starts to clear the table. He moves with careful intent, his big hands steady against the delicate porcelain.
You want to kiss him again.
Instead, you get to your feet and finish clearing the table, handing him dishes when he gestures for them. You wash the dishes together. Over the whisper of the running water, you talk about your upcoming day, trying to decide if you’ll be able to eat lunch together as well. You can’t quite keep the smile from your lips.
When the dishes are put away, you walk with him onto the engawa. He cups your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone, and smiles.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says.
“I’ll be here,” you say, soft and full of promise, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.
You watch from the engawa as he disappears into the distance, into the paddies, swallowed up by the verdant world he’s created with his own hands. He glances back at you once, just before he disappears from sight.
You raise your face to the gentle warmth of the rising sun.
It’s a new day.
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