Work Text:
The image of Kita standing in the middle of the rice field, head tilted upward toward the sun, is one that Aran can’t get out of his head. All of these rice stalks sprung to life only because Kita’s hands grew them, if they were anybody else’s hands, these stalks wouldn’t have grown to be this beautiful, Aran is sure of that. Oxygen and water and sun be damned, for what are they compared to Kita Shinsuke?
Aran, like Shinsuke, felt at home in that field. It reminded him of his grandmother, laughing loudly as she told him off lovingly after he’d gone on a rant about how smelly the cows on their farm were.
You small boy, what do you know about the world?
It reminded him of the neighbors’ kid telling him that they had the same nose. He remembers looking at her face and thinking, Oh someone who looks like me. It reminded him of his hands deep into the sand on the beach and his aunt telling him to be careful lest a snake came out of the sand and bit him. Of the smell of the river in the middle of August as his grandmother prayed, Let the rain fall around us. Not on us. He recalls asking, Why did you say that? Rain is good. His grandmother had squeezed his cheeks and again said, You small boy, what do you know about the world? Do you want to scoop the rain out of this house, small boy? Do you want to watch the roof fall on our heads?
The first time he came to the farm was during his last year of high school. Shinsuke had told him of this dream he had, to take over his grandmother’s farm and grow rice. Aran couldn’t help but want to hold his hands. To feel those hands that will break open to grow life. He wanted to press his mouth to the palm which, come spring, will become one with the soil of the earth.
Shinsuke waved at him when he spotted him back then, his smile giving the sun a run for its money. He couldn’t help but smile back. Kita waved again and turned back to his work, well-aware that he had thirty minutes left until he’s done for the day and that Aran understood. And he did understand. He sat outside the field, lounging on a chair and kept his eyes steady on Kita’s back. These rice stalks will learn both of them well. They will learn Kita’s strong hands and they will learn Aran’s gaze, all in due time.
-
The winter after Aran graduates university, he asks Shinsuke to go back home with him. “Why?” Shinsuke asks. I want my grandmother to meet you. I want the river in our hometown to wash your feet. I want to see you by the mango trees, laughing.
“I think you’d like it.”
-
Aran and his family don’t visit home a lot so his grandmother is surprised when he comes into her view, Japanese boy behind him. He asked his aunt to keep it a secret, just so he could see this look on his grandmother’s face. She stares at him for too long, hand above her heart. Then she looks at her daughter, Aran’s aunt, and laughs. She turns back to Aran and beckons him toward her. He walks into her embrace, bending his knees to make sure he’s not too tall for her.
She holds his face, and smiles at him. “Oh you small boy so you finally came home, heh?”
“Grandma, let me introduce you to Shinsuke, my friend.”
Upon hearing his own name, Shinsuke moves from behind Aran and bows low in front of his grandma. His grandmother bows back, smile dizzyingly bright. When they rise, she puts her hands on Shinsuke’s shoulders and says, “Welcome to our home.”
Aran translates the Arabic to Japanese and watches Kita light up the way he does only when talking to his own grandma. It’s midday, and the only reason they can bear to be outside is because of the large neem tree standing strong and tall in the middle of the house. The leaves’ shadows make their mark on Shinsuke’s back as he bows again. “Thank you.”
His grandmother hugs them both and she says, “Well, it’s time to feed you both. Come along.”
_
They wake up just before sunrise, and Aran decides they should go to the river. Kita agrees.
He’s surprised he still remembers the way to the river. He was only twelve the last time he visited and now he’s twenty-two, fresh university graduate. And in a few months, he will play as an outside hitter for the Tachibana Red Falcons and the world will open to him and maybe in a few years, his grandmother will watch him win the Olympics.
There’s a huge garden by the river that they sneak into. He remembers his cousins told him that it belonged to some man. He grew mangoes and oranges and lemons and guava. All around them was green and then the blue of the Blue Nile. The same river that will in a few hundred kilometres hold hands with the White Nile to make the world’s longest river - the Nile. The same river that gave past empires the power to grow to build pyramids and invade lands and drink champagne. His ancestors met these same rivers, stood on the same banks, saw similar trees and perhaps one of them came here with a man they wanted to be with.
“It’s beautiful,” Shinsuke breathes out. “Can we go in?”
Aran takes Shinsuke’s hand for the first time in his life and before the two of them can react, he drags them into the river. It’s a little too cold and they both gasp in shock. Shinsuke turns to Aran and puts their interlocked hands up to the sky that’s reddening with the sun’s rays. “I can’t believe I had to meet your grandma for you to finally hold my hand.”
Aran turns away, embarrassed. “Shut up. You didn’t do anything either.”
Shinsuke then grabs hold of Aran’s left hand as well, and pulls them below water. He’s lucky they can both swim, these waters are not kind. Aran learnt to swim in this same river, his grandmother’s hand on his back, demanding he let go. The world exists only to amplify Shin’s beauty, Aran decides then. The rice fields and the mango trees and the blue of the river, all created for one Kita Shinsuke.
Aran puts his hands on Shinsuke’s cheeks and just like the Blue and White Nile, they connect, mouths pressed to each other. Six years and counting, Aran hid away from all his feelings. And now he’s here, in this river he calls home, hands interlocked with Shinsuke and blue all around.