Chapter Text
A year and a few months later, things with Kita are - good . Remarkably smooth sailing. Fantastic. Wonderful, even.
He’s managed to graft himself into almost every nook and cranny of your life like a vine despite not even living in Osaka. Your neighbours love him more than you, asking you incessantly about that kind young man who always helps them carry their recycling down to the street on the mornings he stays over. More often than not you end up on a double date at Onigiri Miya with Atsumu and Kaiyo, Shino hanging on to every word her handsome Oji-san says after he wins her heart with freshly made roasted mochi and straw planes. Atsumu isn’t terribly pleased that Kita is the only person that can plausibly keep Shino from burning down whatever structure she’s in other than her mother.
“We’re name twins after all”, Kita points out as Shino grins. You refrain from pointing out that the kanji characters are very, very different because they look far too adorable together.
Your parents love him too. In fact, you’re pretty sure your mother would throw you down the well (if she could find one in the concrete jungle of her Tokyo suburb) if you let “such a fine specimen” slip through your grubby, unladylike hands instead of husbanding him up, stat.
“There’s no rush to get married”, you tell her when her hints grow far too unsubtle that even Kita’s smile grows a little frayed.
“You’re not young anymore!” she retorts, tone stopping just short of a screech by the grace of your father’s glare.
It’s not as if you haven’t considered marriage with Kita before. You’d very much like to (how did your mother phrase it, ah yes) - husband - him up.
( because he’s patient and good and kind and lovely and has every single good attribute one could desire in a mate wrapped up in a highly desirable package of amber, honeyed eyes and sun kissed skin and if you could call him yours for the rest of your life, that’d be very, very good - understatement of the year - but yes yes yes -)
He’s fulfilled his promise of making you happier. You’d already learnt to grasp happiness for yourself, but with his companionship, his friendship, his love (and gods , his kisses are to die for ), the sprout of happiness you’ve cultivated multiplies into a whole sea of flowers in bloom. You text him little snippets, tiny portraits of your day when he can’t be physically there with you. Not to hide your worries and troubles, but to truly, truly share with him your life - and he’s done the same with you. There’s nothing to hide, not when you now talk to him about everything since he’s learnt that talking is good .
“Because you love the sound of my voice”, he repeats obediently when you remind him not to bottle up his thoughts and feelings in his heart, no matter how he never fails to surprise you with how much his heart can hold.
“That’s right”, you say. “I really, really do.”
But marriage?
Well. You’re not going to push him into a corner. He’ll let you know when he’s ready for it.
In the meantime, you’ll savour finding him in your apartment almost every Saturday morning, stirring breakfast over the stove as you rub sleep from your eyes. It’s a surprise that never grows old.
“Good morning”, you croak.
“You’re up early”, he teases.
“Can’t waste away the morning, not when my favourite person in the world is here to see me”, you reply. His smile in response sends tingles down your spine. There’s a pot of your favourite tea waiting on the counter for you, a dollop of honey already stirred into it, exactly how you like it.
“Long week?”
“Mmhm”, you hum in reply. “Had a couple of larger files these weeks. Should go back to normal soon.”
He nods, sliding a bowl of steaming porridge before you. You know he’ll tease out more details of how your week went after breakfast, but for now he simply says - “Eat”.
“Because breakfast is the most important part of the day”, you echo his words back at him and he merely chuckles with a fond “indeed”.
He spoons porridge into a bowl for himself and seats himself across you, knees touching beneath the kitchen counter. You tell him about your week without much prompting, about how your most recent clients are a bunch of sake breweries in the Kanazawa region that desperately need to be restructured - hence your longer working hours this week, a new remote working opportunity mentioned by your boss.
“Remote working?” he repeats. “How does that work?”
That means not being required to come and work into your company’s physical office everyday. It does make sense - your company has been experimenting with flexible working arrangements in a bid to retain its employees, especially those who might have young children or ailing parents at home. Of course, you might be required to head into the office for important meetings, or travel to clients for business, but your day to day work could be done anywhere in the world.
“Interesting”, he comments when you explain all of this to him. But that’s all he has to say before directing the conversation to your plans for the weekend instead. Between the discussion of what to bring to Shino’s birthday party in the afternoon and dinner plans at your usual izakaya place, your earlier topic of conversation slips your mind. It’s only natural when you’ve learnt to brush off your mother’s naggy texts about marriage and being an adult like it’s water off a duck’s back.
But two weeks later, you’re curled up on the couch, nestled in the cradle of his arms when he asks hesitantly -
“Would ya ever consider remote working?”
Confusion curls itself into a coil, settling itself into the depths of your gut. “I suppose, if I ever needed to”, you answer slowly, attention drawn away from the movie you’re watching. “Why d’you ask?”
A fluttering heartbeat that thrums a little faster than usual. He’s methodical, leans to reach for the tv remote, lowers the volume so you can hear the thrum tumble into a waterfall, the flutter turn into a roar.
“Cos if you’d be happy with remote working, I’d ask if you want to move in with me.”
“Move in with you”, you echo blankly.
“On the farm”, he adds unnecessarily, and you resist the urge to tell him yes, of course the farm , but you’re just taken aback. Not at his suggestion to uproot your entire life for him, because heaven knows you’ve been ready from the get-go, but at the fact that old school, utterly romantic Kita Shinsuke has just proposed moving in without even talking about marriage.
But you’ve learnt to take what you can get, so you quickly nod to cover up any sign of hesitation.
“I’d like that. Just let me work it out with my boss.”
He smiles, almost relieved, and you get swept into a discussion on the logistics of shifting your life from the city to the sleepy Hyogo countryside, any doubts you might have falling to the wayside. But your worries don’t stop gnawing at you even as you begin to pack up your life, work with your boss to figure out your new work arrangement until Kaiyo slaps you out of your funk.
“If I were you, I’d talk to him about any doubts you have before the moving truck turns up.” Pearl of wisdom dropped into your lap, she chugs her cup of coffee before waving off, heading back to work from your impromptu lunch date. She has a good point. Plus, isn’t it your own advice to talk whenever you have any doubts?
(welp. time to gather some of that courage of yours)
It’s a conversation to be had in person, so you wait until Saturday rolls around and he’s back in your kitchen, countertops gleaming when you wake, breakfast already plated and ready to be served. You want to stuff your face with the fluffiest pancakes you’ve ever seen but your appetite is somewhat dampened by the difficult conversation you’re about to have with him.
( because no guy is going to react well to being bluntly questioned why he hasn’t asked to marry you )
“Shinsuke”, you say, even before your tea has time to cool. “Can we talk?”
His knees bump into yours, two tectonic plates colliding, the preface of a tsunami.
“Of course. What’s concerning ya, sweetheart?”, he replies, but you can see the worry crack through the calm wall he’s quickly constructed, spilling out into the open. It infects your already jumped up nerves, pancakes wobbling on the plate as you fiddle with your fingers, run your toes along the edge of the kitchen rug.
“It’s.” You flounder, splashing in waist deep water but he doesn’t say a word. “Well”, you try, but your tongue lies thick in your tongue, threatening to cut off all air to your throat. Still, he’s patient, holding your gaze steadily despite a flurry of ums and uhs and I don’t know how to say this and and and - this is clearly not going well -
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
He takes your hands, warmth bleeding into your cold palms before he presses a kiss to each knuckle, a tender smile on his face even though it’s slightly shaky at its sides.
“Talk to me”, he repeats, any uncertainty tainting his lips evaporating into the sun as you cling to his hands, fingers woven with his. “Because I like the sound of your voice.”
This reassurance is enough to pry open your floodgates.
“I haven’t said anything before because I didn’t wanna scare you off or pressure you, despite my mother nagging and nagging and nagging that I’m growing old - which is ridiculous, because age doesn’t mean we have to get married , but then you asked me to move in with you - which is great and I’m really looking forward to it - but that doesn’t make sense because you’re you and I thought you’d want to get married sometime soon -”
You have to stop for a breath.
It’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long without air, and you’re about to continue rattling on when you stop short, snap your mouth shut when you realise that there’s a black velvet box in Kita’s palm, and oh my god why is he getting down on one knee -
“I made a reservation for dinner tonight at our usual izakaya place since it holds a lot of good memories for us. And I made an appointment to go ring shopping tomorrow because if you’re going to wear the ring for the rest of your life, I think you should definitely have a say in its choice.”
“Ring shopping”, you repeat, startled. “ Oh .”
“It’s not the most romantic gesture to propose with an empty box, but I do think it makes the most sense, since you should get to decide what you’d be wearing for the rest of your life.” Then he adds, almost as an afterthought - “That is, if you’re willing to marry me.”
“To marry you ”, you parrot blankly. “ Oh .”
He chuckles, rising to his feet to cup your face tenderly with gentle, calloused hands. Sunlight spills, golden and liquid from the windows, but even that pales in comparison to the lovelight shining in his eyes.
“Yes, sweetheart. I’m askin’ ya to marry me”, he says, eyes soft and bright. “If you’ll take me for who I am. I’m not a rich man by any means, just a simple farmer who lives off the land. I don’t even know if I will always make ya happy, but by the gods I swear I will never stop trying my best if you’ll give me the chance to.”
You’re still frozen stiff with shock when he murmurs gently - “unless I’m readin’ things wrong and ya don’t want to marry me - ”
“Absolutely not!” you blurt out, and his lips curl, amused. “Of course I will - marry you, I mean - if you’d take me for who I am - a klutz, a boring office worker - “
“A good woman with a kind heart”, he interjects, breath fanning across your lips. “You’re brave and funny and smart - the best person I know.”
“You flatter me, sweet talker”, you accuse him playfully but he simply shakes his head.
“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth, sweetheart”, he replies, voice earnest and low.
That night, you’re back at the izakaya with a simple ring around your fourth finger. Kita orders a spread of your favourite food and when the lady boss thanks you for returning to their establishment again with your handsome boyfriend you stop to correct her.
“Not my boyfriend anymore”, you say with an impish smile. “He’s decided to upgrade to my fiance now.”
The lady boss cries out her congratulations, the staff cheer you both on.
Kita stays silent, but there’s a soft glow in his eyes that blooms as he looks at you, his hand warm in yours.
-----------------------------------------------
Your mother shrieks when you break the news to her, but you promptly put her on mute when she starts dishing out her demands regarding the wedding because you can’t be bothered about how her second sister’s son got married in some grand hotel with hundreds of guests. She’ll find out later that you and Kita have planned a simple wedding at the village shrine sheltered by maple trees with golden leaves, holding a intimate reception after the ceremony at the guesthouse for family and friends - but you’ll cross the bridge (or beg your father to control her) when it comes to that.
Kaiyo also shrieks when you break the news to her too, so loudly that Atsumu nearly trips himself when dashing over to her to make sure she’s alright. She waves him away, grinning so widely that you’re afraid her face might crack in half.
“You can borrow my Shiromuku kimono so you don’t have to rent one”, she says, whipping out her phone to dial her mother. “It should be tucked away in my parents home - ”
“Shouldn’t you save it for Shino when it’s her turn instead?”
“Please - it’ll turn yellow way before then”, Kaiyo replies, as you thank her mother, who like her excitable daughter, shouts her own congratulations to you. “Besides, you’re the closest person I have for a sister. It’d be an honour if you borrowed my wedding outfit. My tsunokakushi should still be around somewhere...”
“I’m not sure anyone would believe my resolve to be a gentle and obedient wife even if I wear that’, you say, scrunching up your nose.
Kaiyo shrugs. “It’s not as if Kita’ll expect that. I’m pretty sure ‘Tsumu didn’t. If he did, jokes on him.”
“Still the best wife in the world”, he calls from the counter, even as Osamu rolls his eyes, muttering “suck-up”.
You giggle, even as you reach over to take her hand. “I’d love to borrow it. Thank you ”, you say, and you know from the way her eyes crinkle at the side that she knows you’re referring to far more than just a borrowed kimono.
“You’re very welcome”, she replies, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
It should’ve been a hint that she’d be completely unable to stop herself from crying when she sees you off at the station. Your things are already packed and shipped off to the farm a few days earlier, and you’ve been holed up in Kaiyo’s apartment for the last few days to say your goodbyes to the friends and colleagues you’re leaving behind. Kita wanted to pick you up and drive you back to the farm. You turned him down because it’s harvest season and you know he’ll probably be exhausted, but more importantly because you want to recreate your very first trip to the farm. Purely for sentimental reasons. You want to mark your transition from a city drone to a farmer’s wife as grey, bleak concrete fades into fiery streaks of autumnal shades.
But first - you grip the hands of your best friend, and wish you didn’t have to let go. You’ll see her at your wedding, and you know that Kita will drive you down to Osaka as often as he can, but it’s not the same - living miles and miles away from your best friend. Life’s current sweeps you away in a different direction, towards rolling hills and sprawling fields instead of concrete jungles and tarred roads.
“I’ll be back for visits as often as I can.”
A consolation prize, one that she grasps at desperately, replying - “And we’ll come up to visit you at the farm.”
“Promise?”
She doesn’t need to respond with words, simply links her pinky with yours and waves you off with a teary but firm nod.
It’s a promise you’ll both keep, though you don’t know it yet.
A little less than a year later, Kaiyo will have her second child, a little boy named Shoma who seems to have inherited his uncle’s quieter, calmer temperament, and you’ll follow her a few months later with a daughter, Asami, named for the sunrise. Despite the distance, Kaiyo will steal away with the children to stay over with you at the farm, and reciprocate by throwing together play-dates for the children at her city apartment. Two decades later, Kita will turn white when Asami, the light of his eyes, brings Shoma home for dinner and informs him that the young man with a striking resemblance to his father and uncle is her boyfriend. You and Kaiyo will just celebrate at the prospect of being in-laws while Atsumu muses over the coincidence of both of his children ending up with the children of his captains.
But that’s getting ahead of yourself.
For now, you lose yourself in easily in the nostalgia of riding the same train you did two years ago at twelve forty-five in the afternoon, changing once at Himeiji , a castle town that you’ve never explored before despite passing it at least once a month for a year and a half now, reaching the sleepy town of Takeda at exactly three twenty-two when the sun is still high in the sky. You are the only passenger that alights at this station, the platform is quiet when you tug your suitcase through metal gates. A nod to the station master who’s seen you too many times to count before you stumble out, almost tripping over your bag as a familiar pair of hands shoots out to catch you before you fall.
“Hello”, you say, to a familiar pair of amber eyes that’s overflowing with honey and a smile that you know is just for you. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Too long”, he replies easily, never mind the fact that you just saw him last week. “I missed you, sweetheart.”
You’d say I missed you too - but you don’t need to because you’re here with him now. He walks you to the parking lot where the truck is awaiting, your loyal steed, and you curve through mountain roads that you can trace with your eyes closed. But the landscape never grows old - always changing in a perpetual cycle of seasons and now it’s fall, with golden leaves and scarlet streaks, the breeze singing almost as if it’s welcoming you back home. It feels almost as if you’ve docked at the port of your final destination where you can rest at the end of a long, arduous journey when the farmhouse comes into view. The waves of gold shimmer in the fields as the truck coasts to a stop.
Your foot meets solid ground.
First, you greet the river of flowers that flows around the farmhouse. Roses bloom in fall, so right now the bushes are dotted with rubies, crimson toned, treasures that he tucks into your brow. Second, you bend over the pond to greet the newest fluffy occupants who quack when they see Kita but only treat you with interest when you open your hands to reveal an offering of breadcrumbs. Third, you kneel to kiss the threshold of your new home, seek the blessing of household gods. You can hear obaa-san humming in the kitchen out back. Later, you will greet her, and she will greet you as her grand-daughter, telling you that nothing makes her happier than if you’d allow her to call you that.
But before that, you step into the farmhouse.
Two feet in, you’re no longer battling towering waves of loneliness. Instead, you dip yourself in the pool of sunlight spilling in through wide windows as you greet your co-captain, your mate for life.
“Tadaima”, you call. “Okaerie”, Kita answers. “Welcome home. ”