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Shiro groans when the lights flicker out.
It's not the first time this has happened. The building is old and he thinks it might have aluminum wiring or faulty breakers, or that maybe its spot on the grid is just particularly tenuous. He's not sure. What he does know is that tomorrow is his first day of class, and he absolutely does not need this right now.
After sitting for a minute in the dark, he stands, cracks his hip as he straightens and tries to decide what to do. First, he checks the cabinets for candles and finds some tea lights and a half-burnt pillar under the kitchen sink; he finds matches in a drawer, buried underneath rubber bands and disused phone chargers.
Once the candles are lit he sits on the couch, restless. He knows he shouldn't stare at his phone, not when the power might not come back for hours. He can't watch TV or click mindlessly around his laptop like he usually does to kill time, so he finally settles on trying to read. It's been years since he finished anything that wasn't a manual or textbook.
His bookshelves are full of unread novels and a few history books, things he promised himself he would read and never quite found the time. He skims the backs and avoids novels described as “incendiary ”, “searing,” or “electrifying”; he does not want to be riveted right now. Eventually he settles on a series of sci-fi short stories, something he figures will distract him enough from his anxieties about tomorrow without getting him so worked up that he can’t sleep at all.
Candlelight isn't quite enough to see by but Shiro squints into it until exactly two paragraphs in, when someone knocks on his door.
He debates not answering it at all. He’s not expecting anyone, not this late, and the thought of having to talk to anyone right now preemptively exhausts him. Still, he reasons that someone may need help, so he double checks the seal on his prosthetic and musters the energy to stand.
“Hi, sorry, is your power-” the man's voice stops as he looks up and makes eye contact. Shiro freezes for half a second as the cogs in his brain clank into place, seemingly frozen in time until suddenly everything registers and he says,
“Adam?”
The man who may or may not be Adam says,
“What - Shiro?”
Ah, definitely Adam then.
Shiro can't stop himself as he pulls definitely-Adam in for a hug.
“Oh my God, how are you?” he says into Adam's neck. He can feel Adam's fingertips pressing into the meat of his back.
“I'm great,” Adam laughs as he pushes Shiro away. He looks taller than he did the last time Shiro saw him, broader and more sure of himself somehow.
“What are you doing here?” Adam asks, abruptly baffled.
“Oh,” Shiro stammers, startled out of his nostalgia. “I'm starting classes tomorrow. Just undergrad,” he clarifies with a shrug, “but you know.”
It's easy after that. Shiro invites him in and they talk, learning each other anew in warm candlelight. Adam asks about his classes but never about the war, and if he notices that Shiro's arm is not his own, he says nothing. Shiro learns that Adam studied electrical engineering, that he's halfway through his PhD. He’s spent his summers in labs and tries to avoid big companies, preferring to throw his chips in with the little guy as always. Adam tells him that his parents are doing well and laughs when he says that they’ll never believe that he and Shiro ended up in the same building.
Something in Shiro's chest cracks when Adam smiles and says, “God, how long has it been?”
“Seven years?” Shiro suggests, “eight?” He picks at the thin label around his beer.
Adam is quiet for a long moment before he takes a deep breath.
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if,” Adam sighs. Shiro's not sure if he's glad that Adam pulled the punch. He doesn't want to finish the question for him but he can't think of any other way this conversation is meant to go.
He tries, “If I'd stayed?”
Adam's mouth is a thin line. He won't look up, won't meet Shiro's gaze. Shiro gnaws on the thin skin of his chapped lips and laughs, just barely.
“Yeah,” Adam finally says, and looks up. It's more a motion of his head than his eyes and it brings out the sharp pride of his jaw.
“Yeah,” Shiro echoes in response, “all the time.” He holds Adam's gaze as he admits it. He can see the fine lines starting to appear at the corners of Adam’s eyes.
Shiro is struck, then, by all the ways in which Adam changed and is still the same. He still wears glasses but his frames are more stylish and make him look less like the teenager who spent his free period in the journalism lab. His hair is still light but there are a few premature grey hairs around his temples and Shiro wonders if he'll dye them, if he'll hit thirty and decide that he's too young to look so distinguished.
“I wish you wouldn't have gone,” Adam whispers.
Shiro nods. What is there left to say? He'd been out of options at the time, without family and without a plan. The appeal of flying warplanes over unknown territory had been undeniable, the dreams of heroism, of guaranteed income and shelter. Getting shot down and briefly captured hadn't been part of the plan anymore than running into his first love the day before he started his new life, where he'd go by Takashi and no one would look closely enough at his hand to notice the prosthetic flesh.
When Shiro doesn’t respond, Adam stands.
“I should get going,” he says, “I’m sure you need your rest, too.”
Shiro nods even as he thinks, I can't walk away this time.
He says, “Wait,” and doesn't know what he's asking.
Adam stares at him, even as ever.
“I don't,” Shiro starts to say and falters, can't think of anything to say or do or be until it occurs to him that he doesn't have to let Adam walk away, either, not if Adam might want to stay, not if they want to fix things, not if this is a person he loved once and across oceans. He doesn't know the answers so he stands up and pulls Adam in by his shoulder. He pauses, then, gaze searching, until Adam leans in and kisses him hard.
Shiro immediately goes offline. He knows Adam's body, knows he used to love it when he cradled Adam's jaw with the breadth of his palm, knows that Adam always liked how big Shiro was and that he never turned down Shiro's urgent, crowding kisses. So he tries, moves like they're the same people they were ten years ago and leans in. Adam's warm, yielding mouth is a comfort.
The stubble underneath Shiro's lips tells him Adam hasn't shaved lately. It sends heat through him for reasons he can't quite articulate - the idea of Adam, so much older and yet still the same. His mouth moves down Adam's neck and he smiles at his sharp inhale until Adam's hands are creeping under his shirt, running over the planes of his stomach and teasing at his fly.
Shiro pulls away, gasping.
“Fuck, I don't know, I'm sorry if,”
Adam laughs, embarrassed and sexy and somehow a little sad, all at once.
“I've missed you,” Adam says like it's simple, obvious.
Shiro looks at him and his eyes burn.
“Yeah,” he whispers, “I've missed you, too.”