Chapter Text
Kiyoomi spends the rest of the day and much of the night parked in front of his computer in Kita’s study, learning as much as he can about conservation policies and biodiversity in rice farming. He hasn’t studied this much since he was a student, and is surprised to find his brain still able to parse and retain such broad swathes of information.
Conservation wasn’t something Kiyoomi had ever had occasion to care about, but he soon learns that Hyogo is actually the centre of the nation’s efforts to reintroduce the Oriental White Stork to its natural habitat. In their natural environment, storks occupy the top position in the food chain, and a healthy stork population is both a product and a reflection of a thriving ecosystem. Where the modernisation of rice farming methods had once led to the destruction of the storks’ homes, the Japanese government has now instituted a range of incentives to encourage farmers to adopt more stork-friendly farming practices: reducing the use of agricultural chemicals, retaining deeper water levels in the paddies over a longer period of time, and keeping them flooded in winter. All this helps to encourage the growth of other organisms inhabiting the rice fields—from sludge worms and dragonflies, to frogs, and finally, storks.
Much of this Kita was already doing. But what he hadn’t done was contact the prefectural government about it. His actions had been driven by an intrinsic desire to do what he felt was right for the land—it just so happened that the government was willing to pay him to do it, as well.
With a list of grants and subsidies pulled up on his computer, Kiyoomi picks up the phone and dials a number he hasn’t called in far too long.
“Heeeey, Kiyo! Long time no see, man! How’s it going?”
Semi Eita had been a close friend at university, who now worked as an analyst for the government. While they were still friends, Kiyoomi had done a bad job of keeping up with their correspondence; their friendship lapsing into infrequent messages and the odd dinner every couple of months. His gut twists at the idea of asking for help after being such a poor friend for the last few years, but he has nowhere else to turn, and something tells him Semi won’t let him down. He had always been ready to help in a pinch.
“Semi, hi. I’m sorry it’s been so long, and I’m sorry to reach out to you like this out of the blue, but I really need a favour.”
“Hey, no stress man, you sound worried. What’s up? How can I help?”
With a little help from Semi’s extensive network of local government contacts, Kiyoomi gets ahold of the right department, and three representatives from the Hyogo prefectural government arrive a few days later: one from the agricultural board, one from the department of conservation, and one from the Hyogo chamber of commerce, here to see how they could better support the farm’s economic activities within the region. The three men slosh through the rice paddies in their gum boots, asking Kita questions and marking down his responses in their notebooks. Kiyoomi hangs back, not wanting to overstep his role in the whole project—but his eyes zero in on every nod, every smile that passes between them, his heart beating a hummingbird-like rhythm in his chest. He hopes this is enough.
The visit ends with enthusiastic handshakes and promises to follow up before the end of the week, and as the three cars turn out of the driveway, becoming specks in the distance, Kita turns to Kiyoomi. A wide and genuine smile paints his face, and his eyes shine with unabashed relief.
There is no need for words in this moment—the gratitude and hope flowing between them a tangible presence in the air. The two men stand in quiet contemplation of the landscape before them: this place that has come to mean so much to Kiyoomi, that was already bigger than the sum of its parts, but will soon form part of something even greater. Kiyoomi watches the sun’s slow descent behind the mountains, and feels, perhaps for the first time in his life, a profound sense of purpose.
Kita’s farm is officially listed as part of the city’s Stork-Friendly Method program in the last week before Christmas, and Kiyoomi is kept busy filling out paperwork to finalise the grants the farm is eligible for and submit records of its crop yields and production methods. Kita’s distaste for pesticides mean that his crops also qualify for the prefecture’s low-chemical certification, which entitles him to use the “Flying Stork” logo on all his packaging and marketing materials. Marketing had been another item in Kiyoomi’s master plan to save the farm, and, buoyed by his successful reconnection with Semi, he reaches out to another university friend, Kenma, whose partner Kuroo works in PR. Kuroo turns out to be more than happy to take on some marketing activities on behalf of the farm—even offering his services at a discount, since Kiyoomi is a friend of Kenma’s.
Given how lax he had been in maintaining his relationships since university, Kiyoomi is surprised by his friends’ readiness to help—but they all agree without a second thought, taking a genuine interest in Kiyoomi’s request and going out of their way to suggest additional resources and contacts for him to investigate. They all became immediately invested in the success of the project, simply because Kiyoomi himself is so invested. Because he is their friend, and this is something that matters to him.
“You sound happy, Kiyoomi,” Kenma muses through the phone, and Kiyoomi feels himself blushing on the other end of the line.
“I am.”
The days leading up to Christmas are a blur of phone calls, video meetings, and visits from the conservation department. When he’s not in a meeting or busy preparing reports for the prefecture, Kiyoomi helps Kita out in the fields. His relationship with the farmer has advanced significantly in the past week, to the point where Kiyoomi no longer feels like a guest in Kita’s house. Each day, he rises at the crack of dawn and helps the farmer with his labour. They cook and eat their meals together, and take turns performing household chores. His body has adjusted to the physical work just as quickly as it did to the early mornings, and he is surprised to find that the impending sense of dread that normally plagues him from the moment he wakes up is no longer present.
When not answering the beck and call of the farmland, the pair discuss the future of the farm. Aside from the grants and subsidies Kita will now be receiving, he will also have access to a wider network of sustainable farming experts, and be a regular contributor to the prefecture’s conservation efforts. The representative from the Hyogo chamber of commerce had been in touch to request that the farm be included in next year’s eco-tourism campaigns, and Kita was now working with the tourism board to plan a series of scheduled visits in the summer.
Kiyoomi anticipates that the increase in publicity, combined with the prestigious ‘Flying Stork’ logo Kita is now entitled to trade under, will create sufficient demand to warrant Kita taking on a few extra farmhands during the warmer months. Kita looks genuinely taken aback upon hearing this, and Kiyoomi has to walk him through the spreadsheet of projections to get him to take the idea seriously.
“This’ll be good for the town,” he muses, rubbing his hand against his jaw in a motion that makes him look far older than he is. “It’s hard for the young ones to get work ‘round here. If we can give ‘em something to do, something to feel invested in and believe in, we might be able to keep a few more of ‘em, instead of losing ‘em all to the big cities.”
Kiyoomi looks down at his desk full of ecological reports and biodiversity audits.
“It’d be enough for me,” he says quietly. “It’s enough for me to believe in.”
The 23rd of December brings a heavy snow drift, the season’s worst yet. Tufts of snow have amassed on top of the wooden posts that mark the boundary of each rice paddy, creating a strangely hat-like effect, almost like a row of garden gnomes standing guard over the fields. Both Kita’s old truck and Kiyoomi’s little yellow Toyota are snowed in, and after checking on the produce in the polyethylene tunnels, the pair make a start on digging out the cars, attempting to clear a path from the house down to the driveway.
Kiyoomi is standing ankle-deep in snow, his shoulders aching from shovelling, when a low whistling sound from Kita’s direction rouses his attention.
The farmer is standing with one hand on his hip, the other leaning against the shovel he has wedged in the snow.
“Incomin’.”
Kiyoomi follows Kita’s gaze to see a fire truck ambling its way up the driveway, the heavy tread of its tyres marking a slow but steady pace up the snow-covered dirt road.
The truck stops about twenty metres away, and behind the wheel Kiyoomi can see Ojiro Aran adjusting the collar of his jacket as the engine clicks off and the door swings open. His muscular form is still discernible through the thick cotton of his uniform as he climbs down out of the truck, eyeing Kiyoomi suspiciously. He nods a wordless greeting at Kita, folding his hands into the pockets of his bright orange trousers. He looks commanding—protective—and Kiyoomi can see how he has risen to such a high station despite his young age.
“All good up here? Didn’t get snowed in?”
“All good, Aran,” Kita replies calmly.
“No power issues?”
“Nope.”
There is a pause, Aran seemingly waiting for Kita to elaborate, while the farmer stares placidly back, not saying a word.
“Been a lotta movement up these parts, Shin,” he calls. “Lotta folks comin’ and going. Anything we should know about?”
The young farmer crosses one leg in front of the other, leaning more of his weight against the handle of the shovel, and at this distance, Kiyoomi can see a mischievous gleam forming in his eyes.
“Depends who’s askin’. ‘We’ the fire department, or ‘we’ the town rumour mill?”
Aran frowns, rocking back on his heels. “Ya can’t blame people for bein’ concerned, Shin. This has taken a lot of folks by surprise.”
“Well, ya can tell them there ain’t no need for concern. Isn’t that right, Kiyoomi?”
Kiyoomi blanches at the sudden use of his name, shrinking at the hostility of Aran’s stare. But then Kita is nodding at him encouragingly, and Kiyoomi somehow finds his voice.
“That’s right,” he says, the words ringing out across the field. “There’s no need for anyone to worry about the farm. It’s not going anywhere.”
A small, proud smile makes its way across Kita’s face, and he turns back to Aran amiably.
“C’mon inside, let us show ya what we’ve been workin’ on.”
When Aran leaves several hours later, it is with a firm handshake and a rough clap to the back that Kiyoomi suspects he will be feeling for the rest of the day.
“Town’s behind ya 100%, Shin. Ya just let us know what ya need and we’ll do it.”
Kita nods thoughtfully. “I’ll be takin’ ya up on that. Lot of work to do ‘round here in the New Year.”
“Ya’ve done well,” Aran notes. Kind eyes rake over Kiyoomi assessingly, a genuine smile collapsing his face into a series of laugh lines. “The both of ya.”
As the truck begins its slow descent back to the main road, Kiyoomi feels a weight lifting off his shoulders. He has at least redeemed himself in the eyes of one town resident.
“He’s right about that,” Kita murmurs. “I could use some help ‘round here. Someone with a head for numbers, good at business. Someone like ya.”
Kiyoomi’s head whips around to stare at the farmer’s profile, at the elegant slope of his nose and the way his eyes narrow pensively as he surveys his land.
“You want me to stay here? Work with you?”
Kita turns, eyeing him thoughtfully. “If yer interested.”
Kiyoomi’s heart sings, and he knows his answer already.
“It would be my honour, Kita-san.”
Christmas Eve finds Kiyoomi restringing the wire that connects one fence post to another in the bottom field, closest to the road. A pair of heavy gloves protect his hands as he unfurls, measures, and cuts the wire, twisting it into place around the notches in each post. The previous day’s snow has settled, leaving a thick blanket of white across the landscape, but the sun is shining in the grey winter sky, and Kiyoomi feels content in the knowledge that his presence here is both welcomed and appreciated. Every action he takes here has meaning, purpose: it all contributes to the operation of the farm, to the health of the rice paddy ecosystem, to the maintenance of nature's perfectly devised processes.
Kiyoomi breathes in, letting the cold air fill his lungs. Today is the first day of his new life, and he intends to make the most of it.
His joy is cut short, however, by the sight of a familiar blue truck approaching on the main road, slowing into a sharp turn as it reaches the farm gate. It is too far away for Kiyoomi to see the face of the driver, but the distinctive shearling jacket and shock of blond hair leave no room for doubt as to their identity.
Atsumu stops in the middle of the driveway, climbing down from the cabin and trudging silently through the snow towards Kiyoomi. The open field suddenly feels too small, like all the air has been sucked out of the world, and Kiyoomi’s heartbeat rings in his ears, his skin becoming clammy under his many layers.
The other man halts a few metres away, staring at Kiyoomi with a broken expression that looks so out of place on his normally jovial face.
“What are you doing here?” Kiyoomi stutters.
“Aran told me. What ya and Kita-san have been doin’. What ya did.” He searches Kiyoomi’s eyes, a searing desperation bleeding into his expression. “Ya really did all this? For Kita?”
Kiyoomi swallows. “It wasn’t just for Kita. I mean, it was the right thing to do.”
Silence stretches between them, Kiyoomi’s eyes remaining trained on the small tuft of grass poking out between patches of snow at his feet. He senses Atsumu moving in his peripheral vision, shifting his position slightly to avoid sinking further into the sludge.
“Ya know,” he begins. “Kita-san called up Osamu after ya left, told him off for kickin’ ya out. Really gave him what for,” he huffs out a laugh, and Kiyoomi finds the courage to look at him, then. Atsumu shakes his head, staring off into the middle distance with a rueful smile painted across his face.
“Never seen Osamu so sheepish. He had that look dogs get when ya scold ‘em, all sad and regretful.” He looks up at Kiyoomi then, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“Kita said we’d underestimated ya. That ya were never tryin’ to shut him down. That ya’d always listened, that ya’d been trying to help him all along, and that he had full faith ya'd succeed.” He stares beseechingly at Kiyoomi, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s true, ain’t it? About the farm? Kita doesn’t have to close?”
Kiyoomi shakes his head, cold air whipping through his ear canals at the sudden movement.
“No, he won’t close. The grant from the business council, combined with the support of the department of conservation should be enough to carry him through the winter months. And then in the new year, we’ll look to expand the reach of the product, get new customers, new stockists. It’ll take time, but he won’t have to struggle anymore. And he won’t have to close.”
Atsumu stares at him, brows crinkled in thought.
“Ya said ‘we’. ‘ We’ll’ look to expand. Are ya…stayin’?”
Kiyoomi shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot, shoulders hunched against the cold air creeping in under the collar of his puffer jacket.
“Well, yes. I mean, Kita has asked me to. And I’d like to, if the town will have me.”
Atsumu looks like he’s about to say something, but Kiyoomi cuts him off before he gets the chance.
“Atsumu, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for the way I treated you when I got here, for how rude I was. I wasn’t used to someone taking a genuine interest in my life—I couldn’t understand why you cared. And then I got to know you, and…” he shakes his head, searching for the words. “You’re such a good person, Atsumu. The epitome of kindness. You never seem to run out of it. You’re selfless, and there’s not a single person here who hasn’t felt the benefit of that. You amazed me, and getting to know you, seeing how you were—I wanted to be part of that too.”
He swallows, looking around at the snow-covered fields as he struggles to process the emotions spilling forth from his mouth.
“I know I should have told you why I was here. Especially after you told me how much the farm meant to the town. But I was worried you’d get the wrong impression—that you’d think less of me. It was never my intention to destroy this place. I could see how important it was, and I wanted to help. But helping people, being good—it doesn’t come naturally to me the way it does to you. I wasn’t sure how to go about it; didn’t realise how keeping it all a secret left it open for misinterpretation. And then, Osamu, and…”
He inhales deeply, steeling himself for his final confession.
“I couldn’t stand the idea of destroying something that matters so much to everyone here—that matters to you. I didn’t do it so you would forgive me. I don’t expect you to. But I thought if I could just do this, just put this one thing right—then at least I’d have done right by you.”
Silence greets him when he finishes speaking. The soundtrack of life at the farm plays out softly in the background: the quiet rustling of leaves; the drip of melting snow as it falls from the gables of the farmhouse onto the ground below; the distant calls of birds, transmitting messages to one another from across fields and between treetops.
“Yer wrong,” Atsumu croaks, and Kiyoomi’s heart stops. Fear runs through his veins like ice water, but he forces himself to look up anyway. What greets him is golden fire: determination blazing in the brown eyes he has come to know so well.
“Yer wrong about it not comin’ naturally to ya. I’ve seen ya, watched ya. Watched how ya got to know the other folks in the town, got involved in little projects. I watched ya workin’ with the team at the donation drive, takin' photos for people at the Illumination festival. Yer kind, Kiyoomi. Good.”
Kiyoomi sniffles, looking down at his feet as he scuffs his boots against the snow-covered gravel.
“I wasn’t always. I didn’t know how to be until I came here. Until you.”
He looks up hesitantly, peering at Atsumu from beneath his lashes. The other man smiles softly, his expression so loving and genuine that it sends a shiver of a different kind through Kiyoomi’s frozen limbs.
“Nothin’ grows in barren soil, Kiyoomi. All ya needed was the right environment, and ya grew exactly the way ya were meant to.”
Kiyoomi feels his face crumble at the same time as his insides, a tide of emotion overtaking him with a force so swift and sudden, it takes him entirely by surprise. He feels hot tears slip down his cheeks, turning cold against his skin the moment they are exposed to the frosty air. Sobs wrack his body, his chest heaving with the effort of each shuddering breath; the air leaving his lungs just as quickly as it enters.
A gloved hand comes up to cradle his cheek, and then Atsumu is there: warm and solid, and so, so kind. Kiyoomi meets his eyes and finds that same loving expression, worn so openly, given so freely that he can hardly believe it is being directed at him.
The hand not supporting Kiyoomi’s face twists around his forearm, holding him in place—supporting his weight, his self, the way it has from the first moment they met.
“Yer good , Kiyoomi,” he whispers. “Yer good. I see ya.”
Kiyoomi leans into the touch, closing his eyes against a fresh wave of tears.
“You make me want to be,” his lips tremble, and the words come out more mumbled than he’d intended. “You make me want to try.”
Atsumu presses a feather-light kiss against his forehead, and Kiyoomi feels the warmth of it down to his feet.
Sunlight glints in Atsumu’s eyes, turning his irises a warm shade of amber. The skin around his eyes crinkles, small fissures appearing atop his cheekbones: evidence of a life spent in pursuit of love and happiness for those around him. Warm breath leaves his mouth as he exhales on a smile, lingering in the air between them.
“Tryin’s all ya can do, Kiyoomi. It’s all I’d ever ask of ya.”
And for the first time, Kiyoomi hears a request being made of him and doesn’t feel like it’s an imposition. It feels like an offer: like a hand reaching out, waiting eagerly to hold Kiyoomi’s own.
For the first time, Kiyoomi reaches back.
Epilogue
June
The high-pitched squeals of the school children are the first things to reach Kiyoomi’s ears when he steps out of the farmhouse. Shading his eyes against the sun, he looks out towards the rice paddies and sees the school group wading knee-deep in the water, their clothes decorated with splashes of mud their parents will no doubt be horrified to discover later. Kiyoomi watches as the two girls closest to the fence kneel down in the water, letting the tiny fish that live in the rice paddies swim in between their fingers, laughing and guffawing at the odd sensation of the lithe, scaly bodies against their skin.
It is a feeling he himself has now grown used to, but he still remembers the wonder of that first encounter—the discovery of an entire world beneath the surface of the water, feeding off and giving life to the very same plants that sustain the human population.
Kita and his newest farmhand, Hanako, stand in the centre of the group, explaining the makeup of the rice paddy ecosystem, and instructing the children how to safely engage with the critters currently swarming around their ankles. It is a role Kita has taken to naturally—educating and mentoring a new generation of farmers and ecologists, be they school children, novice farmhands, or university students. The farm has quickly gained a reputation as a fertile source of data and tactile experience, attracting learners from around the prefecture and putting their little town on the education department’s map.
A car door slamming behind him rouses Kiyoomi from his thoughts, and he turns to see Atsumu striding towards him, hands in his pockets and a cheshire grin painted across his face.
“How they doin’?”
Kiyoomi follows his gaze back out to the children in the fields as Atsumu comes to stand beside him.
“They’re very cute. And Kita and Hana are doing a great job, as always.”
“This is the third group this month, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and we’ve got more bookings for the rest of summer, too. We’re having to turn them down now, so they don’t interfere with the harvesting period.”
“Oh, speakin’ of—I stopped at the post office this morning, Natsuki wanted me to tell ya yer new bags have come in.”
Kiyoomi perks up at that—they had been awaiting a shipment of rice bags. With Kita's rice now being used in major restaurants around the prefecture, Kuroo had deemed it time for a logo upgrade.
“Oh, brilliant. I’ll pick them up this afternoon.”
“Give me a call when yer planning on headin’ down. There’s a lot, it’ll be easier with two of us.”
Kiyoomi smiles at him, taking in the way the golden sunlight reflects in his blond hair.
“Sure. Thanks.”
Atsumu winks in response. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the truck.
“Anyway, brought all the bentos for the kids’ lunch. Samu looked half dead from preparin’ all this stuff so make sure ya tell him the kids loved it. Even if they didn’t, I don’t care. Just tell him anyway.”
Kiyoomi laughs. “Okay. I’m sure they will love it, though.”
“Yeah,” Atsumu exhales, holding his gaze. They stare at each other under the glimmering sunlight, simply enjoying the ease of the moment and this new routine they have fallen into. Atsumu traces a finger up and down Kiyoomi’s arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, and Kiyoomi leans into the touch of the man who has so quickly become the centre of his own ecosystem: who gives life to all those around him, and who inspires equal kindness and generosity in return.
“I better get goin’,” he whispers, breath warm against Kiyoomi’s skin. “See ya at home later?”
Kiyoomi smiles, warmth blossoming in his chest. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing those words.
“Yeah, see you at home.”