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It’s been ten years, now. They’re older, maybe a little wiser, stronger, experienced. They know a bit, now. They’re not going to make the same mistakes again.
And they’ve found the best thing either of them have ever had.
Love.
They’re sitting in the cinema, hands clasped. There’s a packet of chocolate in the cup-holder on Terasaka’s seat, but it’s been completely forgotten, pushed out of their minds by the hero swinging around the screen.
Itona looks over as Terasaka – “please don’t call me Ryouma was asked once, and remembered. He’s smiling, face lit by the flickering glow of the film, and Itona thinks this is the happiest he’s ever been, that ten years ago he wouldn’t have believed this was possible.
Sometimes he still doesn’t. Sometimes, even now, he finds himself waiting for the catch, for everything to fall apart, but those thoughts are few and far between these days. He’s getting better. He’s learning to trust. He’s got a job, a home, a new family in Terasaka’s mother and sisters. He loves a man who loves him back.
It’s getting easier, every day.
Terasaka can’t concentrate on the film – he’s too nervous. His stomach feels like there’s a rope in there, tangling around his guts. Yes, he’s been planning it for months, but he only decided today would be the day this morning, when he stumbled out into the kitchen to find Itona already awake, sleeves rolled up and tinkering with some bit of mechanism. He looked up and smiled like a sunrise, and that’s when Terasaka knew – he couldn’t wait another day.
The film ends. Terasaka goes to stand, but Itona grabs his arm and pulls him back down.
“Hang on,” he says. “There’s another bit.”
They sit through the credits, watch the stinger, and all the time the knot in Terasaka’s stomach pulls tighter. The little box seems to burn a hole in his pocket.
The stinger ends, and they join the crowd spilling out of the theatre. The night is warm and the crescent moon shines yellow overhead, and Terasaka thinks back to their first kiss, back when they were assassins and fighting for the world, on a warm summer night just like this one.
He looks across at Itona, who’s smiling, carefree, whistling ‘Message To You Rudy’ as he walks, and feels the nervousness melt away. He’d planned to wait until they got to the restaurant . . .
Screw it.
One hand goes to his pocket, the other catches Itona’s arm. He drops to one knee on the pavement.
Itona stops at the touch, turns. His mouth opens. His wide eyes get wider.
“Saka?”
Terasaka wrestles the box from his pocket, holds it up, flips it open with his thumb. He’s doing this. The words come out fast.
“Itona, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and that includes you beating me up in the river, although that kinda sucked at the time. So, um, I know we’ve never talked about this, and I can understand if you don’t want to, but – shit, everyone’s staring – I guess what I’m saying is . . . will you marry me, Itona?”
Itona is silent for the longest time.
He’s screwed up, he knows he has.
Oh, God . . .
Itona can’t speak.
Terasaka . . . wants to . . . to marry him? Him?
“Saka . . .” he says again, trying to get his thoughts into some coherent order. “Terasaka, I . . .”
Terasaka’s smile is fading. No! That’s not what he meant.
“I . . . you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, too. You saved my life back when we were kids, you saved it again when you talked me down off that bridge and Saka . . . I . . . you are my life. I want to spend my life with you, if you’ll have me.”
“Was . . . was that yes?”
Itona finds himself laughing and crying all at the same time. He drops to the pavement too, wraps his arms around Terasaka’s shoulders. “Of course it was, you big gorilla,” he mumbles into the other man’s neck. His fiancé’s neck. “Of course.”
Eventually they stand up and Terasaka’s right: there are people watching them. Some of them are clapping. Itona goes red, and Terasaka hooks an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close as they leave.
“Y’know, I didn’t actually plan on doing this in front of the whole city,” murmurs Terasaka, grinning. He feels giddy.
“No?” Itona’s eyes are sparkling.
“Really no.” Terasaka shrugs. “But . . . well, it turned out okay, hmm?”
“Yeah,” says Itona, pulling him closer. “It turned out okay.”
They don’t end up going to the restaurant. They wander the streets for a while instead, wrapped up in each other, barely noticing the world outside. Someone tries to mug Itona, and regrets it.
Finally, they wind up outside Schoolyard Ramen, Muramatsu’s all-night shop. The logo is a mortar board, wrapped in improbably bright yellow noodles. Muramatsu is not subtle.
He makes great ramen, though.
Muramatsu himself is there when they walk in. he says he likes the night shift because of the peace and quiet. Privately, Itona thinks he likes it because there are hardly any customers and he can sit there playing dating games on his phone.
He almost falls off his stool when he sees the rings.
“For real?” he manages, looking from one glowing face to the other. “You finally got around to it?”
They nod.
“Oh. My. God. Hang on a minute . . .” he goes for his phone, almost dropping it in his haste.
“Hazama! Zama, wake up. I win, I win the bet!”
“What?” says Terasaka, at the same time as Itona says, “You had a bet?”
“Hm? Yeah, of course,” says Muramatsu. “Zama said you wouldn’t get around to it until winter, I reckoned you would.”
Hazama’s voice comes tinny through the phone’s speaker. “Who popped the question? Go on, who was it?”
“Um . . . Saka,” says Itona awkwardly.
Hazama’s crackly hiss of triumph startles them all. “Well done, both of you,” she says, and they can tell she’s laughing. “I’m going back to bed, but rest assured I will turn up at your place very soon and demand you tell me everything.”
“You owe me ten bucks, Zama,” calls Muramatsu.
“That’s fine, Yoshida owes me fifteen,” comes the reply. “Night, lovebirds!” She hangs up.
“Right . . .” says Terasaka slowly. “Do you guys have any other bets going about . . . us?”
“Yep!”
“And they are?”
“That would be telling, and that would kind of defeat the purpose.”
Itona sighs, but he’s grinning. ”I physically can’t be mad at you right now,” he says. “You’ve stolen my mad, Saka. Give it back.”
Terasaka laughs, and pretends to hold something high above his head. Itona tickles him, and the whole thing turns into cuddling pretty quick. Muramatsu looks disgusted.
“No PDA in my shop!” he says. “Go on, get out of it!” He flaps at them ineffectually with a dish towel. When they break apart, he sighs with relief and drops the towel on Itona’s head. “You know what this calls for?” he says to the shop at large, and hurries off into a back room.
Terasaka tosses the towel into a sink. “No, what?”
“A drink!” Muramatsu emerges again with a bottle of sake and three glasses. Itona looks immediately uncomfortable and opens his mouth to speak, but Muramatsu cuts him off.
“Don’t panic, Tankbot, I got lemonade too.”
Itona hates alcohol, hates losing control even the slightest bit. It’s too much like . . . before. It’s also why he’s always the designated sober driver. Muramatsu detours via the fridge and collects a bottle of lemonade, and Itona smiles his thanks.
Terasaka pours the drinks. Muramatsu grins and raises his glass, leaning back against the counter.
“To Tankbot and Tarzan,” he says. “Long life and happiness.”
Their glasses clink together.