積ん読

Old routines blend with new ones, the slow swirling of your coffee with creamer, the two liquids creating lovely patterns as they attempt to become something new. The habits you developed in Tokyo clash with the almost idyllic life awaiting you in Hyogo. You’re left teetering on the edge, hoping that something will demand your attention when all else has been attended. Small things that contribute to feeling as though you stick out rather than belong as a piece in the greater whole.

And so here you are, sent out of the house on errands to relieve your mother of your minute agitation. The air is frigid, biting the exposed skin of your face, still yet to recover from the short bout of snowfall last night. Its remnants are found dusted along the eaves of the buildings you pass, in small piles accumulated along the sidewalk and the edges of the street. Your earbuds remain forgotten on your dresser at home, but there’s something peaceful about the silence afforded the world in the beginning of January. It’s soothing in ways you hadn’t anticipated, easing the ache in your chest.

The heat of the market envelops you upon your entrance, allowing you to breathe easier. It’s busier than you anticipated, some familiar faces scattered amongst those that crowd the wide walkways between tables. For a second, you think you see the gentle smile of Granny Yumie, but when you look again, she’s gone, replaced by another grandmother belonging to someone unknown.

Behind your sternum, your heart clenches, memories of summers spent at the Kita household while your mother worked the bakery and your father worked in the city coming to the forefront of your mind. Sitting on the engawa, tiny legs kicking next to ever calm Shinsuke, melon juice trickling down your chin; visiting the shrines together in the winter, wearing freshly knitted mittens after forgetting yours at school; running along the paths between rice paddies, listening to the songs of nature, turning back to see his smile.

Your throat grows dry and you clear it, bringing yourself firmly back in the present.

Though you needn’t look at the list your mother gave you, your fingers dig into your pocket anyway, unfolding it in a search for any semblance of distraction that will keep those impossible feelings from growing. It doesn’t help, not as you select fresh daikon and leeks, perusing hakusai, carefully selecting kiwi to your standards rather than your mother’s—memories of Shinsuke crop up between each and every piece of produce you handle.

There’s no point trying to count how many times you two were sent to the market together, adolescent Shinsuke growing the least bit irritated as you intentionally grabbed the wrong vegetables if only to hear his carefully detailed explanation of what to look for when at the farmers’ market.

It brings a smile to your face, soft and delicate in ways only possible with him.

It makes that ache grow, something unfulfilled, a love that was there but unexplored, both filling you up and emptying you out.

The basket in your hand grows heavy with the weight of this week’s meals, leaving you with only a handful of items left to grab before you can return home. As you round the corner, a small group has gathered, mostly neighborhood aunties, though you spot the fishmonger among them. They all chitter, seeking the attention of the man with his back turned to the flour you need. The red of his knit cap reminds you of the red of Inarizaki. Turning on your heel, you hear the voice of the person you thought you had glimpsed earlier.

“Shin, doesn’t she look familiar? Cute, ain’t she?”

Everything grows silent as you turn in their direction once more, the only sound to break through being the growing beat of your heart. Granny Yumie stands beside him, her arm curled in the crook of his as she gently pulls his attention toward you. The familial intimacy of the action confirms that it was Shin you heard in the joyful lilt of her voice. He starts to speak, words unintelligible in your current state.

There’s a pull, slow and deliberate, redirecting your focus, your heart stilling in your chest the moment you meet familiar amber eyes, his voice ceasing.

For a second, you’re a teenager again walking up the path to his house, only for Granny Yumie to open the door and reveal Shinsuke. The curl of your lips is involuntary, a natural reaction to his presence as it has ever been, mirrored by his, surprise morphing into easy acceptance at your appearance before him.

And then you notice the ways in which he has changed.

Shinsuke is slightly taller than he used to be (or Granny has lost a centimeter or two). His shoulders are broader, obvious even under his winter clothing. The adolescent softness you once found present in his face is gone now in favor of the smooth lines of adulthood, made firm by the time spent working the land. Even from this distance, you can see the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, deeper than from the smiles you remember. The past and present flicker before you, leaving you to reconcile the boy you once knew with the man who stands before you.

He speaks your name with the same care and inflection he did while both attending Inarizaki and the sensation that’s haunted you for the last month eases, things shifting five centimeters to the right. Granny Yumie looks up at him, her grin widening before turning to you again. While you half expect her to come to you herself, easily just as responsible for your upbringing as your parents, she instead releases Shinsuke’s arm and tries nudging him in your direction.

Without taking his eyes off you, the corners of his lips quirk, the barest acknowledgment of Granny’s urging. Shinsuke hesitates, his gaze slow to release you and follow the turn of his head, but he does, proper as ever with the way he bids a quick farewell to all others seeking his attention. Their reactions vary, some smiling with knowing, similar to Granny, others with piqued curiosity.

As he approaches, time plays tricks again and you’re waiting for him just outside of class, ready to study together in the library.

He says your name again, the cadence practiced with decades’ worth of speaking it into existence, the movement of his mouth familiar with its shape. Again, your smile comes without thought and your cheeks warm as he nears.

“Ya came home.” Spoken as though this was a prediction of his that came true, an inevitability. Under his gaze, you think he might still see the truth of you, that he might still be capable of pulling you apart.

“I did.”

It’s been a decade since you two have seen each other, the years in between scattered with occasional updates, pictures sent without much said beyond basic captions. You think it’s that which causes you to hesitate, to wonder whether it’s more appropriate to call him by his family’s name—the name of his parents, of his Granny—or to call him by the name you’ve called him since you were both five. But he watches you with that expression that communicates that ten years is nothing in the face of your friendship.

“It’s nice to see you, Shinsuke.” Your mouth shapes around his name with the same ease you witnessed from him. It’s familiar. It feels like home.

“S’been a while,” his smile grows as he says it, your eyes drawn to the creases on either side of his mouth, the physical memory of frequent laughter. “Are you visitin’?”

“As of last month, I am all done with my apprenticeship. I’m back for good.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at his smile, your heart spreading it throughout your body as his grin communicates more than he could possibly hope to accomplish with words.

“Always knew you’d find yer way back to Hyogo.”

“Did you now? I’m glad to see that you are still a paragon of knowledge.”

It almost feels as though your heart is beating in time with his chuckle. “I don’t know everything. Just hopeful.”

“To me, you always have.”

Shinsuke makes it easy to fall back into things by the very nature of who he is. The world comes back around you two and the first thing you register is the tittering of the aunties behind him. Tilting your torso, you look past him, catching them watching you two with excitable grins, Granny Yumie offering a contented wave your way.

He snickers, the sound low and meant for your ears only, wordlessly calling your attention once more. Even with his eyes closed, mirth is etched into his expression, unphased by their behavior.

“Tell me: are they just as prone to gossiping as they used to be?”

The snicker turns into a chuckle, a little deeper than before. “They’re harmless.”

“Shinsuke…” You peer at him, suppressing your smile in an attempt to goad him into answering. In return, he opens his eyes, cheeks lifting higher, turning him the tiniest bit boyish. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Most of ‘em have retired since you were last here.”

“What a clever way of evading my question while telling me that their gossiping has gotten worse.” The weight of the Shinsuke-sized hole by your side hits you in full force by the virtue that it is suddenly filled. How you made it through a decade without him after nearly two with him, you don’t know.

Honey-gold eyes remain focused on you, soft in the same way they were when you last saw them. “I’m glad ya came home.”

Simple and succinct but no less potent in true Shinsuke fashion.

“I am, too.” The first time in the last few weeks that you’ve meant it with full sincerity, that constant buzzing beneath your skin finally calming.

The chatter behind him hasn’t stopped and you hear Granny Yumie’s voice break above the steady din. You can see it clearly, the way their eager assumptions about you two will spark around the town, happy gossip featuring everyone’s favorite rice farmer and the baker freshly returned from Tokyo. There’s an uncomfortable twisting in your gut that sours your mood.

Anyone who remembers you would remember how you and Shinsuke were once attached at the hip, that as children, if you wanted to find one, you’d usually find the other. Your name’s been tied to his for longer than you can remember, but everything that went unsaid and unrealized in high school still lingers in your mind.

“We should move before we’re the only thing they’re talking about for a while.”

Understanding is laced in the nod he gives you. “Alright. D’you want any help?” The question comes after a momentary glance at your basket, the right corner of his mouth lifts, his smile turning crooked as he turns teasing.

Stepping around the corner again, firmly out of sight of those whose voices have gone suspiciously quiet, he follows, allowing you to lead him to the next item on your list. “Are you accusing me of not knowing how to pick the best vegetables?”

“I remember that you used to struggle with that when we were kids.”

“I remember getting to hear your lesson again and again. One of my favorites, I have to say.” Beside you, he shakes his head, the two of you sharing a quick glance, smiles mirrors of the other’s. “All I need is rice vinegar and flour.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all. I was about to grab the flour, but, uh…”

“Let me grab that for ya.” He comes to a stop, hanging back while you step closer toward the rice vinegar.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Assumin’ you don’t wanna risk their speculation.”

Even after all this time,

“You know me so well.”

Because it’s you and it’s him and ten years separation isn’t enough to unravel the threads that tie you two together. Because ten years’ growth doesn’t erase the crux of who either of you are.

“What kind d’ya need?”

“Hakurikiko and kyoryokuko.”

With a hum and a nod, he leaves, the curve of his smile imprinted into the back of your eyelids. Shinsuke returns to you a couple minutes later, a pack of flour in each hand, adding them to your basket.

“Mama wanted to make bread at home this coming weekend. We could bring some to you and Granny.”

“I’d like that.”

There’s a little twinge in your chest similar to the infinitesimal drop to his voice, a hint of reluctance to the impending end to your incidental reunion.

“Good. Is it safe to say you still don’t use LINE?”

“That’s right.”

“Alright, then I’ll give you a call.”

“I look forward to it.”

It’s not like last time, you have to remind yourself. Still, your throat tightens just enough that you feel silly for it, especially in the face of the certainty Shinsuke carries with him always.

Spring

Spring arrives on a cool breeze that rustles through the ume tree in your parents’ yard, carrying with it the early blossoms. It starts with a gentle rain that turns into a flurry, the snow gathering in small pockets of the town before melting into the ground, nurturing the blooms to come. Ume blossoms make your world blush, the slightest gust of wind ensuring that you’ll need to check yourself for petals before tracking them into your home or the bakery. By the time ume make way for sakura, you’ve found an apartment closer to town, away from the farmhouses that mark your childhood.

The abundant blossoms in Hyogo remind you of high school, of the last few springs spent here, the change promised by the fragrant blooms signifying changes beyond the new school year.

There was rain following hanafubuki that imitated snowfall from weeks before, petal piles gathering and dancing along the paths before becoming weighed down by sudden showers. It wasn’t gradual, not with adequate warnings of an overcast sky in the morning that would’ve encouraged an umbrella from you, but out of nowhere, leaving you to run for cover under the nearest overhang. With the smooth accompaniment of the downpour, you watched Shinsuke pull out his umbrella, never failing to be prepared. His lips shaped into that knowing smile of his as he neared, waiting for you just at the edge of your covering.

(“You’re taunting me, Shin,” said with the petulance of losing an argument lost many times before.

Rather than dignifying you with a response, he said, “Let’s go home. Don’t wanna get sick now, do you?”

Part of you wanted to resist by the virtue of the uptick of his lips, but you knew he wouldn’t leave without you. “Fine. Yeah, let’s go home.”

Usually he wouldn’t allow you to leave home without an umbrella, reminding you before picking you up each morning, but that day required you to be tucked into his side, crowding him to avoid the rain. A single glance turned into something more, admiring the shadows of the raindrops on his umbrella and how they dappled his skin, played with his eyes. They flicked to you and it was the first time you felt it: that pulling behind your navel, the tingling of your fingertips, both causing your cheeks to heat.

Your arms brushed together and your throat grew tight and you knew what it was when you wanted to lace your fingers with his, to feel the warmth of his palm in yours, different than when you were kids.

“What happened to your umbrella?” he asked, staring ahead though his attention was wholly on you.

“You didn’t remind me.”

“You shouldn’t push the responsibility of yer preparedness onto someone else.”

“When have you ever been just ‘someone else?’”

“Don’t sidestep the conversation, please. You shouldn’t need me to remind you.”

“Maybe I just like the sound of your voice, even when lecturin’ me.”

He looked at you and took a second longer than usual, attention drifting from your eyes to your nose, then your lips. Your hand itched for contact and it was the only time he let you off without a lecture.)

Again, sakura petals swirl in the wind as you as you make your way to the market, making memories of then and now dance before your eyes, as ephemeral as the nature of the petals catching in your hair and the folds of your clothes. It hurries you along, through the sliding doors and almost directly into Shinsuke.

“Oh,” you breathe, a bewildered sound escaping on your exhale.

All it takes is a quick glance over his shoulder before he’s turning to meet you fully, the soft line of his lips lifting until you’re met with a blinding smile. “Ain’t you in a hurry?”

You’re left breathless, your lungs pausing while your heart picks up, a soft pattering against your ribs not nearly as captivating as the regard with which he holds for you. It feels like a gift just for you, one you want to treasure. The moment passes and you miss the parts of your childhood when you could remain by his side and attempt to pull that reaction from him more freely than you can now.

“My Shin Senses were going off and I had to rush over and see you.” The sound of his laughter nestles itself into your skin, warming you up, and it feels like petals are suddenly dancing within the confines of your chest. “No, I was just trying to run away from the flowers and get some eggs while I’m at it.”

Amber eyes take you in, pausing at the top of your head. “Seems like ya didn’t come out unscathed.”

Without skipping a beat, his hand reaches up, picking a petal from your hair, then another. Calloused fingers brush against the skin of your neck, burning their touch into the memory of your cells.

“Thank you,” your voice is lower than you wanted, unintentionally just for him.

“Course. We keep runnin’ into each other here, don’t we?” As he steps back, his smile turns gentle.

“We do. What’re you lookin’ for today?”

Behind him, the table displays are overflowing with freshly delivered vegetables from local farms. Turning his head to look at the strawberries, your eyes catch on his throat, the bob of his smile before turning up, admiring the line of his jaw and the shape of his nose all before he meets your gaze once more.

“Granny wanted some strawberries, otherwise I need food for the next coupla days.”

“Got it. Want some help?” Shinsuke’s laugh nearly sounds like a cough, short and wry, its intent immediately identifiable. “Fine. The errors of my youth have still yet to be forgiven. Let me rephrase: want some company?”

“I’ll never say no to your company.”

It’s your turn to beam, for a pleasant hum to build somewhere near the base of your ribs. With his basket, he leads you through the displays, stopping at every other one, making comments about the farmers, admiring their crops. With expert hands, he selects sansai with care, the hint of a smile in place, happy to receive the bounty of his neighbors.

“You know,” you drawl, “it might be easier if we started planning to shop together.”

“Is that so?” He tosses you a glance, attention torn between you and the yama udo in his hand. “I don’t wanna subject you to my hours. The bakery’s more constant than the farm.”

“You say that as though we haven’t run into each other here almost once a week since I’ve been back.”

Satisfied with his bundle, he puts it in his basket, moving on to inspect the warabi. “That’s true now, but just you wait ‘til summer and autumn roll around.”

Your own attention is drawn to the mikan, mind already considering the different recipes you could try at the bakery. Your response comes a little offhandedly, something you’ve thought many times before but have never explicitly stated. “I wouldn’t mind getting used to your hours. Think it'd do me some good.”

Shinsuke turns away from the cabbage, considering you instead, soft moments with contemplations unknown to you. His silence feels charged and you look over, meeting his attentive gaze. The seconds carry on until he finally says, “I’d like that.”

Soft, carrying with it something unidentifiable (though possibly if only because you are a little afraid to misidentify it) that both frightens and steadies you.

It follows you, entwining around your heart until it feels as though you are holding your breath in anticipation, kept level with the surety of his voice as he originally spoke it.

Not until two weeks later does that breath release, in your sempai’s restaurant several streets over from the bakery.

You sit at the only table for two, her counter seats full of her regulars. Every now and then Fujiwara makes eye contact with you and smiles apologetically and each time you want to laugh because she used to talk about wanting this exact scenario. There’s a steady din, people enjoying her work, the careful cultivation of her time and love, and it leaves you with a pleasant hum beneath your skin.

The bell above the door rings and your eyes flicker to it, distracted from your reverie by a swift burst of the remnants of sunlight left in the day. The smile that graces your lips belongs solely to the unexpected appearance of Shinsuke, curious and unassuming in his arrival. You’re granted a few seconds before he spots you, admiring the relaxed set of your shoulders, the gentle greeting afforded Adachi. Then he notices you and his lips quirk and that pleasant hum turns warm.

In your periphery, Fujiwara looks at you again and you gesture between you and Shinsuke, making her assess her newest customer with heightened interest before nodding. Adachi notices, directing Shinsuke to your table leaving the two of you alone under the watchful gaze of your sempai.

(Of course she’d be interested in him, what with how many times she tried setting you up on dates during culinary school, only for you to back out one way or another time and again.)

“This is a lovely surprise,” you greet, the end of your sentence lifting with your lips.

“Do you often eat here?” His appraisal of her restaurant is quick as though eager to make you the sole recipient of your attention once more.

“I do. The chef and I attended the same program in Tokyo. We bonded over family businesses and both hailing from Hyogo.” Just like your smiles with him, you can’t help but smile when talking about her, looking over once more, catching her with a grin of her own as she jokes with the patrons at the counter. When you turn back to Shinsuke, you find him watching you with an air of contentedness, honey eyes warm.

“I’m glad.” He watches you for a beat longer, nodding to himself with a satisfied hum you don’t think you were meant to hear. You offer him your menu and he peruses it, taking in each line with equal consideration. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”

Humming, you review the menu and settle on— “I think you’d enjoy her ochazuke.”

“Alright.”

The food comes quickly and you spend more time watching Shinsuke than eating, content with his enjoyment of your recommendation.

It always pleased you when you could accurately guess his tastes, though it was usually with your own food that you’d experiment. Honestly, you’ve forgotten how it started, but it was some time in high school. If you had to guess, probably in your first year at Inarizaki. A fondness creeps up on you, warming the tips of your fingers, traveling up your arms, if only because it was your sharing of food that caused the Miya twins to argue about whether you and Shinsuke were together.

You aren’t sure when that started, either, when that afternoon in the rain sparked into blurred lines, into the liminal space that was your relationship with Shinsuke. What were once platonic touches turned charged. Wiping a stray grain of rice from your face would turn the tips of his ears pink. When you two walked home and your arms would brush against the other’s, fingers sometimes catching. A chuckle bubbles past your lips at the memory of your classmate surprised when you stopped loitering between class and club, all so that you could be mindful of Shin’s desire to walk you to club without being late to his.

“What’s funny?”

Tilting your head, your gaze settles on the miniature shrine Fujiwara established on the wall, inhale getting caught with your thoughts. “Do you remember… how I used to dawdle after class before club?”

“Yes.”

“I was just remembering when Inoue made a big deal about me leaving on time so I could walk with you to club.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “She was loud with that one,” he says, voice a little wistful.

“D'you remember when the twins started arguing about us?”

The resigned exhale tells you he does, sparking your smile, irrepressible, causing your eyes to crinkle. Instead of answering in the affirmative, he surprises you. “Which time?”

“It happened more than once? I only remember when they started raising their voices after we passed by their classroom.”

Atsumu was insistent that you and Shin couldn’t possibly be together because you two ostensibly behaved as friends compared to some of the other couples around campus. Osamu, on the other hand, claimed that you must’ve been a couple because of how often you two shared homemade meals. What started as needless gossip turned into another one of their fights.

“That was the first one,” he says before drinking his tea, eyes shifting the side. “Aran told me that they kept arguing because I wouldn’t entertain their questions. He was probably right.”

“Why didn’t you answer them?” Maybe if he answered them, things would have felt a little less… opaque between you two. That liminal space needn’t have been extended as long as it was.

The light breaks through the window, the last bastion with the sun’s descent into the sky. It perfectly illuminates Shinsuke’s face, turning his eyes golden and glowing when he looks at you again. “What happens between us isn’t for anyone else to know. It’s ours.”

Your breath is stolen from you at the same time that something light rushes past your sternum, setting you alight. Heat spreads across your cheeks and he continues to watch you as though he hasn’t just stopped your heart. A hand comes to cover the bottom half of your face and you’re drawn to the subtle twitch of his lips.

“Always has been.”

Summer

Summer comes on the heels of the rainy season, the steady showers replaced by the familiar weight of the sun, rising temperatures fully bringing to life all that slumbered when you arrived. Farmers are busy with their fields, balancing out the deluge with the unrelenting heat. The kitchen has offered no relief, though the joy on your customer’s faces has been reward enough, watching them enjoy that which you carefully crafted into existence, ingredients turned into treats.

Today is no exception, sweat trailing down the back of your neck, slipping beneath the collar of your shirt. You’re almost reluctant to turn off the aircon, your only salvation, even if the exertion of cleaning negates most of its effects. Even with the late hour, you’re unsure whether you’ll find reprieve outside.

That doesn’t stop your grin from forming—the least bit shy—when you walk to the front of the shop and see Shinsuke waiting for you just outside. In the present, he doesn’t notice you just yet, staring at something down the street, allowing you a minute to take him in. He wears a plain white shirt and you admire the subtle tan-lines on his wrists, only about four centimeters, the distance between his gloves and his protective wear. His hair has gotten a little longer and you wonder whether he would like a haircut or is interested in growing it out a little longer. As if feeling your attention on him, he looks at you from his periphery, a soft smile developing as he turns to face you in full.

It pushes you forward, to walk out of the shop and lock it behind you, keys clinking together with your movements.

Though cooler than you anticipated, the humidity keeps everything cocooned, the warmth of the sun on the pavement having nowhere to go. Your clothes begin to stick to you when they didn’t before and you can nearly hear the sweet call of your shower.

“Good evenin’.”

“Good evening, Shinsuke.” Peeking over your shoulder, you catch him watching, his smile endlessly tender, something you know you’ll end up thinking about in the moments before you go to sleep. “You don’t need to do this, y’know.”

“I know.”

The locks click in place and you test the doors out of habit before turning. “It’s late.” Your brows pinch together, searching for any signs of exhaustion on him, only to find none. You both know that he’ll wake before the sun, just as he did today, that were it any other night, he would have been asleep two hours ago. “I can get home just fine.”

“I know. I like walking ya home.”

It was like this then, too, insisting on walking you from class to club, and from club home. As much as you want to argue, to insist he care for himself and his hours, you know him to be nothing if not responsible. One who loves routine as much as he is making a statement by changing it.

It’s not lost on you, and so you allow him a truth.

“I like it when you walk me home.”

The answering grin that lifts his cheeks leaves you dizzy, makes you feel unbearably light. “Then come. Let’s get you home.”

The night is quiet, something never quite achieved in Tokyo. You missed it, the comfort that comes with a world asleep, no distractions to keep you from your thoughts, guaranteeing a moment of reflection. That you can share this with Shinsuke makes you happier than you thought it would—you always loved the night but it was something that only ever belonged to you.

“There’s going to be a storm in a coupla days.”

“Not a thunderstorm, right?”

“That’s not in the forecast right now, but it might change.”

“So what does that mean for you?”

“Gotta make sure the ducks will be fine, otherwise not much I can do.” He turns to look at you, head tilting in a question that goes unasked.

“Does it align with my days off?”

He nods. “It does. I thought we could spend the day together.”

Whenever rain would preclude you two from your usual chores and activities, the two of you would often curl up together in the tatami room with books or shogi. Curiosity tickles the back of your mind, whether he would have you return to tried and true traditions or if he wishes to do something else.

“What were you thinking?”

“A friend has a rice sake farm on the other side of the mountains. He gave me a list of izakayas in the area that ordered his sake. I thought we could go to the bookshop and then grab lunch.”

“I’d like that. After, can we swing by the farmhouse and read like we used to?” The smile that shapes his lips is effortless and his eyes brighten, making it near impossible to not respond in kind. “You have me looking forward to a summer storm.”

Shinsuke’s chuckle is a tiny thing, meant for himself, but the two of you say nothing more. It isn’t until your arms brush that you realize the distance you had started with has disappeared. Whether it was you or him, it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change anything.

His truck comes into view, parked in the empty spot belonging to you, almost as though it belongs.

“Hope ya don’t mind—”

“Shinsuke,” you interrupt, exasperation bleeding through. “You’ve been picking me up every Thursday for the last month. Do you think I’d mind? Do you think I’d mind if you hadn’t been?”

This laugh is louder, his smile reluctant to leave. “Alright, you’ve made your point.”

“Good. You’re always welcome at my home.”

And it hits you, sudden and striking, a truth that’s existed for decades, a flash of lightning against the shore of a lake. It isn’t home if Shinsuke’s not there. It’s almost suffocating, your breaths coming in a little shallow, leaving you glad for the lingering heat, for the deep shadows of night, even with the street lamps that attempt to provide light. Warmth blossoms from behind your navel and part of you is surprised that you’re reacting to such a truth like this when it’s not the discovery of something new but the uncovering of something that was always there.

While he slows, you continue forward, the door to the stairwell calling you. (Perhaps a cool shower will be enough to sooth your racing heart).

“I have somethin’ for you.”

The truck creaks after he unlocks it, the door opening while he ducks inside the cab. He reappears, something in his arms and you step forward. Stepping around the open door, he nudges it closed with his elbow, revealing a pot with two of the same plant, tall green leaves with dainty stems that curve and dangle a series of small white cupped flowers.

“Thought you could use some green in yer apartment. They’re suzuran. Lily-of-the-Valley.”

The flowers dance with his movement, delicate little things. A perfect gift from him, if you had to say.

“Thank you.”

“C’mon. I’ll help you get ‘em inside.”

Autumn

From summer, it’s a gentle transition into autumn. With days growing shorter incrementally, it grows cooler, the heat that chased you since July tapering off to bearable temperatures. The world becomes awash with gold and crimson between the farms and tree leaves, the final exhale before a deep slumber.

It’s warm for the final weekend of October, the sun still high overhead, a counterbalance to the intermittent cool winds. Earth and petrichor carries on the breeze, remnants of the rains from two days before filling your lungs, leaving you satisfied. There’s a little give in the dirt beneath your feet, packed in from the visitors that came before. A sea of cosmos stands before you, waves of pink sensations and orange flares bobbing and undulating with the wind, the untilled paths disappearing and reappearing.

The brim of your sunhat lifts and your hand is quick to come to the band to keep it in place. Behind you, your favorite heh, heh rings and you can’t help but turn to find Shinsuke watching, looking first at your hand, then at you.

“We’re here,” you call, stepping ahead before rotating until you’re facing him. “It’s been so long. When did you last visit?”

He catches up in a couple strides, nodding his head in silent encouragement for you to continue. His brows furrow for half a second, the briefest shadow crossing over his face. “A year after you left for Tokyo. Granny wanted to cut the sunflowers.”

A single thread of melancholy weaves itself throughout his answer, unusually succinct after he’s asked to visit the fields for the last couple months. As much as you want to pull at it, to receive the answer he would willingly give, you hold back. Even if he would give it willingly, you wish for him to reveal it to you when he’d like.

“I remember the first time we came here, I fell and scraped my chin at the playground,” you say, pointing in the direction of the play structure near the top of the hill, voice turning wistful. “I was bawling and you went and got our grannies and I thought that you were so awe-inspiring.”

A laugh bubbles past your lips at your childlike wonder, but the sentiment hasn’t changed all that much. Reaching your left hand out, you let the leaves come and go to your fingertips. Shinsuke stands beside you, steady and firm. He lets you nudge him with your shoulder, the back of your right hand bumping against his left.

“I was just doing what I should’ve. Wasn’t anythin’ special or awe-inspiring.” Your hand sways when you do and his follows, warm against yours, until he shifts, slotting your palms together, fingers laced with yours.

“Both can be true. Just because you are steady with your routine and are the accumulation of all the tiny choices you make every day doesn’t mean you aren’t awe-inspiring. I think you are.”

“Fair enough.”

Taking another couple steps forward, he follows your lead, and when you look over your shoulder at him, his smile is so achingly gentle, it makes your heart squeeze.

“They really are beautiful, Shin.”

“Ya always did like the flowers. Think ya had more fun here than you did at the top of the hill.”

Further to your left, two siblings run through the fields, their parents not too far behind. The one in front calls for the second, voice light, a perfect counterpart to the chime of his sister’s laughter. “Maybe. I used to have dreams of coming here, running through the flowers with you like we used to do with the paddies. I’d wake up feeling happy.”

The silence is full, comfortable, a bubble encapsulating you two even as the wind blows and the children run through the fields.

“D’you know what they mean?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers. Do you know what they symbolize?”

Turning from him to the cosmos colored blush pink and magenta, you try to remember the books Granny Yumie lent to you decades ago. “No, I’ve forgotten.”

Without missing a beat, he answers. “They can mean harmony, peace. The joys that love and life can bring.”

He would remember, ever diligent with all his lessons.

“So what are you saying? My dreams were a little more pointed than happy memories here?” you tease.

Smiling to himself, he shakes his head. “Perhaps. Granny always said the gods are watching us. Maybe they were guiding your dreams.”

“Maybe,” you acquiesce. “Okay then… What do sunflowers symbolize?”

“Sunflowers?”

“Yeah, since we’d always come in the summer when the sunflowers were in bloom.”

Shinsuke takes a deep inhale, contemplation thick in it, and his exhale is carried on the wind. “Sunflowers can mean adoration. They can also mean false riches.”

Clicking your tongue against your teeth, you say, “I prefer adoration.”

“I expected as much.”

Pink makes way for the orange, the warmth that lingers from summer, bleeding into autumn. Signs advertise the flower trimming that will start next week, always coming just before the end of the flowers’ lifespans. You enjoy the ephemeral nature of it all, of roughly four million flowers planted and nurtured from September to the end of October, their growth and beauty allowed to flourish and be appreciated year after year. When you reach the line separating the crops, the new flowers running perpendicular, Shinsuke guides you back to the main path, doing so with little more than a squeeze of his hand.

Walking along the street, he gestures to the market, strategically placed amongst a popular park to best host the farmers’ best crops. It’s a little smaller than the market back home—not that that says much—but you always remembered the vegetables in this market being your favorites to work with.

Noticing your wandering attention, Shinsuke chuckles. “You don’t wanna carry those squash for the rest of the day, do you? We can come back next weekend for the cuttings. Let’s get lunch for now.”

There’s individually packaged meals made fresh, both of you reaching for the umeboshi onigiri with tamagoyaki. By the time you two check-out, your stomach is starting to growl, glad for the timing of it all (knowing Shin, it was intentional).

The wind has died down when you reach the outdoor dining area, leaving you two to eat your meal in peace. Your mind wanders to the flowers again, lining the fence that separates this area from the rest of the park.

“What’s your favorite flower?” If you were to ask most other people, you doubt they would have an answer, however—

“I’ve always liked magnolias.”

“They are pretty, aren’t they?” His neighbor had a tree in their yard, the blossoms always marking the end of summer. “What do they mean?”

“Perseverance, dignity. You should know these. Granny gave you the same books.”

“That suits you. A little too well, I think,” you laugh.

“What’s yer favorite flower? The blue hyacinths still?”

“You remembered. My favorite shade of blue.” As if you made it hard to forget, arguing with a classmate that they were better than the pink or yellow ones during break in elementary school.

He snickers, smile lingering as he looks at his hands. “They mean constancy and sincerity. They suit you, too.”

You forgot that the flowers have their own language, that sometimes their voices are heard without knowing them. With how easily he recollects the flowers and their meanings and how intentional he is with everything else, each small action in a day building up to make him who he is, to impact the world around him…

“Hey, Shin?”

He looks up, golden honey sweetness erasing the insignificant sliver of anxiety at the question on your tongue, and hums.

“What about suzuran?”

At that he grins, slow but sure, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“They represent sweetness and the return of happiness.”

New Years Eve

The blanket and pillow both smell distantly of Shinsuke’s detergent, cleaned and then stored away for when his guest room would be put to use. They’re older, soft with age and care, attended to for who knows how long. The house is silent, the wind and rain from earlier in the week having dissipated, enough that you can hear the soft tup, tup, tup of the cat down the hall. Your belly is full, the nyumen from earlier keeping you sated.

And yet, you lie here awake, sleep elusive, your attempts to grasp it as fruitful as trying to grasp the smoke that rises from a fire. The tendrils that usually pull at your mind and lull you into a state of rest are nowhere to be find, and so it’s with a defeated exhale that you remove the blanket and resign yourself to wakefulness.

Deciding on the chill of the night rather than the warmth of the kotatsu, you dress, only so far as to put on your jacket and scarf, otherwise folding the blanket in half before wrapping it around your shoulders. The slippers soften your steps, attempting to remain as silent as possible, not wanting to disturb Shinsuke’s rest. Your shoes wait for you in the genkan, and with that you’re free. With your first step toward the door, the cat comes around the corner, trilling in a bid for you to let her out, disappointed when you shoo her away.

It’s not as cold as it has been in years past, not that different from your last New Years spent in Tokyo. The air feels refreshing, crisp, your exhales little puffs in front of you. Shuffling, you decide to sit on the edge of the engawa, careful to keep the blanket from touching anything other than you. The wood is cold, instantly chilling you, making you shiver, but the restlessness from earlier begins to fade, bit by bit.

If you look past the eaves, you can see the stars, scattered lights across the night sky, something you missed dearly while away. With Shinsuke in the country, your view of them is clearer than you’d find even in town. Where he remembers the books on hanakotoba and your grandmother’s attempts for you to learn ikebana, you remember the constellations. As you make out their shapes and remember their stories, the door slides, immediately pulling your focus.

“Can’t sleep?” Shin asks, having thrown on a cable-knit sweater and scarf, peering at you curiously as he leans against the enbashira with crossed arms.

“I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t you. Momo was complainin’.” The corner of his lips quirk. When you jerk your head in an invitation, he sighs, pushing himself in your direction.

“Share my blanket with me.”

He comes to your side, careful as he descends, taking the edge of the blanket you hold open to wrap around his shoulders. He’s warm, firm.

“So why’d ya choose to sit out in the cold instead of warm by the kotatsu?”

“I missed the stars.”

His hum is deep, rumbles in his chest. “You always did like the stars.”

The silence isn’t so bad with him by your side, the steady rising and falling of his chest in time with his breaths, making it easy to follow his rhythm. You worry about the interruption to his sleep, especially given that he’ll be waking earlier than he usually would so you two could watch hatsuhinode on the beach instead of in the mountains.

“We don’t have to go to the beach tomorrow. We could still make the hike,” you say, voice low.

“You wanted to go to the beach.” He says it so matter-of-fact, as though the alternative is no longer viable. Your learned preference for the beach thanks to your time in the city made that the only logical course of action.

“Yes, but you like the mountains.”

“I want to see the sunrise at the beach.” Such a simple way to end the argument.

It’s another routine of his, something done each year, followed by hatsumoude, almost sacred with the way he carries it out, but he’s welcoming you and the changes you bring so readily, it’s a little intimidating. How many people had you witnessed struggle to adjust to living alone or somewhere entirely new while in school? How many times had you been one of them?

“What’re you thinking about?”

“The international students in my program and how scary it must’ve been to come here.” He simply hums in response, letting your mind continue to wander. “I remember it was the first or second year of the program, but we all got together and were talking about traditions and it was fun hearing about what other cultures do for New Years.”

“Like what?”

“Ah, I had a friend from Spain who said they’d eat twelve grapes with the twelve chimes of the clock. Apparently it would help achieve good luck each month of the year. Or one of my classmates visited Brazil and said everyone wore white at the beach, something to do with wishing for peace and luck. And another was American. She told me that they had New Year kisses, where they’d kiss their partner at midnight. It meant they’d have a good year together.”

“I don’t understand that. Wouldn’t it be better to put in the work to be a good partner? If two people come together while both putting in the work, wouldn’t that translate to a ‘good year’ together?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you laugh. You’re long used to his logic. “I don’t know. It seemed a little romantic to me. She also said that it was like promising each other that the coming year would be full of love and dedication. I liked the sound of it as a promise.”

He hums again, as much of an answer as you’ll receive for now, though you’re sure he’ll turn over your words and give them consideration as he so often does. You shift against him, leaning your weight against him, content when he rests his head against yours. It’s not long after that Momo starts crying, audible through the door. Shinsuke chuckles, the sound tired, and he nudges you.

“We should get inside. She’ll stop complaining if we’re both inside.” He pulls away from you, standing with ease, extending a hand. You take it, your hand fitting perfectly in his, and he helps lift you to your feet. “I’ll turn on the kotatsu.”

“You’re not tired?”

His eyes drift to the right before coming back and he shrugs. “I like spendin’ time with you.”

The kotatsu is still out from earlier, quick to warm, relaxing your muscles. Momo circles his feet, chirping at him as though scolding him for keeping her inside. He ignores her for the most part, only acknowledging her to say, “In the morning. Yer capable of waiting.”

He comes to join you, offering you a cup of yuzu tea as you place your phone on the table, uncomfortable with it in your pocket. As you drink, enjoying the smooth citrus and honey blend, lulled into a state of peace previously out of reach, the framed pressed cosmos draw your focus. Shin had told you that he wanted to preserve one of the flowers you cut, just as a reminder of, as he said before, the joys that love and life can bring.

“Do you mind if… never mind.” Even if your curiosity burns and you’ve still yet to discover why it was so important to him to visit the park, what matters is that it was important and that it’s a memory you two have together.

“What do you want to know?”

“I was just… curious why you wanted us to go to the park a couple months ago.”

Shinsuke straightens, the lift of his lips slow, and you’re reminded of that thread you wanted to pull in the autumn. “The last time I went to the fields, it was with Granny. I didn’t realize until I was there, lookin’ at the sunflowers, that it was the only time I hadn’t gone with you.”

“Oh.” It was an annual trip, usually in the summer in that sea of petaled gold, turned toward the sun. You hadn’t thought anything of the fact that it’s been nine years since he had gone, but it should have stood out to you.

“It didn’t feel right. I wanted us to go back to fix that.”

Releasing the hold you have on your cup, you reach across the surface of the kotatsu to where his hand rests and squeeze. He opens it for you, letting you pull it until it’s between you both. When you’re done, he laces his fingers with yours, thumb smoothing over the back of your hand.

“We can make it an annual trip again. Maybe not in summer, but we could see the cosmos each year.”

“Ya know… it was in those sunflowers that I first knew.”

“That you… knew?” Your heart hiccups and your cheeks warm incrementally while your mind tries to parse his meaning, almost as though your body knows something you don’t.

“How I felt about you.”

That hiccup picks up, turns into a faint thrumming.

“When was that?”

“The summer of our first year at Inarizaki. You ran ahead like ya do and you turned around to call my name and it sounded like you were callin’ me home.”

Your lips part and you inhale, trying to find something, anything to say. “Shinsuke… That long?”

How long did you spend questioning whether it was you and you alone? Whether he watched you as your best friend or as something more? (Why did you assume that the latter didn’t include the former?)

“Why didn’t you say anything before I left?”

Shinsuke shuffles, bringing himself closer. The movement pulls his hand from yours but you release it, mesmerized by the words he left hanging in the air and the words yet to come. “It wasn’t gonna change anythin’. Not the way I felt and not the opportunity you had. To me, there’s only been you.” The hand that was entwined with yours comes forward, reaching for you. His index and middle fingers touch you first, barely there, and then his thumb brushes against the swell of your cheek. “You’re worth the wait.”

His eyes flicker to the left before meeting yours again, giving you no time to worry about the vibrating of your phone, full of a love you swear will swallow you whole. When his palm presses against your cheek, you lean into it, trusting him with the affection he has to offer. Your heart is in your throat as he closes the distance, moving leisurely. Warm breath fans against your lips before his nose bumps against yours. At the same time you close your eyes, the fingers along your jaw tighten imperceptibly, giving you the only warning you’ll receive.

Shinsuke brushes his lips against yours before pressing again, responding when you reciprocate. It’s gentle, languid. He kisses you like he’s taking his time with you. He pours his love into you, constant and unwavering, something as sure as the rising of the sun tomorrow morning. The product of years worth of loving you, as natural as breathing is natural.

When he pulls back, it’s only enough so he can rest his forehead against yours, lips still brushing against yours when he whispers, “Happy New Year.”

It feels like a promise.

As your feet touch the cool floor, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you planted. Before you can turn, you hear a muffled grunt.

“Where the hell d’ya think you’re goin’?” His voice is muddled, not fully cognizant. Most often you hear this voice when the cat wakes him shortly after he’s fallen asleep or if anyone has the misfortune of calling and waking you both at inopportune times.

“Where am I going?” you repeat, your smile lifting your voice.

Haruka’s grip tightens, though still gentle in the way he holds you. When you look over your shoulder, you find him half-sprawled across your side of the bed, his right eye screwed firmly shut, leaving his golden eye to grumpily peer up at you. His expression is cemented with a pout that rivals the ones you used to see when he was still in Bofurin. He nods, a subtle movement that barely disturbs his hair.

“Yeah. ‘m supposed to wake up first.”

“You like waking up first?” Despite the light tug of his hand, you remain firm, still thinking about omurice.

“Yeah. Like watching you sleep.” Spoken as though it’s an obvious, immutable truth, akin to the rising of the sun each morning. He tugs again, still a silent request, and you can’t help but give in. Only once you lean back and allow him to wrap his arms around you, strong and sure, does he ask again, voice rumbling in your ear, “Why were you tryna leave?”

“I was thinking,” you start, drawing out the last consonant, pausing when he presses his face into the crook of your neck, “of surprising you with omurice.”

He hums, his breath tickling your neck. “We could just go to Pothos.”

Clicking your tongue, you smack his arm where it sits coiled around your ribs, earning you a laugh, a warm huff that settles on your cheek. “Or you could let me surprise you for once. I’ve gotten better.”

“I still remember the egg you got all over the stove top last time you tried to make it. I want to eat something.”

“Hey. The rice and everything tasted fine, didn’t it?”

You feel the lift of his cheeks once more, the shift against your skin, a smile hidden from sight but not from you. “Yeah, but you can’t call that omurice. That’s just rice.”

“Shut up, will you? Not all of us received lessons from Kotoha.”

He laughs again, the sound living in the spaces between the beats of your heart, and you try to wriggle away, knowing he’ll keep you in place. Sure enough, his arms wrap tighter, trapping you against his chest. “Stay with me a bit longer.”

“But your food…” Even as you say it, you settle in his hold, growing comfortable once more.

“Worry ‘bout that in a bit.”

The fan whirs and the curtains dance, letting light flicker across your morning, soothing in conjunction with the steady thrumming of Haruka’s heart against your back. Even as his breathing steadies and slows, you know he remains awake, basking in the quiet of your life just as much as you.

“You’ll at least let me try to make omurice, right?” you ask after another minute has passed.

“Ya already know I’ll eat whatever you make.”

“Oh, how sweet. You’re a sap in the morning, did you know that?”

“Shaddup. Maybe we should go to Pothos."

His laugh rings in your ear as you lightly elbow him, more than content to lounge here with him for as long as he’ll have you.