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Light dances against his lids, and Ainosuke groans. He pries his eyes open, frowns at the darkened screen staring back at him. The glint reflecting off the monitor makes his eyes blur. When did he shut off his laptop? Or fall asleep? Head stuffed with cotton, he blinks rapidly and tries to stretch, but his back twinges in protest. What time is it? He glances over his shoulder, brows tight as he traces the light through the window—a full moon.
The long hours of hard, questionably honest work have finally caught up with him.
Ainosuke stands and closes his laptop, then stumbles from his office, his feet dragging. The empty, dim halls lure him to his room with the promise of a swift return to sleep, but he doesn’t care if he makes it to his bed. The floor will still be better than the keyboard likely imprinted on his cheek. One hand rubs his burning eyes while his weighted legs carry him by memory.
Too many late nights, too much practice finding his way in the dark.
When he reaches his room, his free hand grasps the handle, his hip pushing against the thick mahogany. The door swings open—and light spills out.
What the hell?
Ainosuke squints, shields his eyes, then peeks through his fingers. The room glows, not from the flush of the moon, but from candles littered across every surface. Their unified fragrance floods the air; vanilla and cinnamon. A single cupcake sits on the nightstand, the blue swirl atop almost glittering from the flickering flames. And rose petals decorate the floor, forming a path from the threshold to the ensuite bathroom.
He follows their guidance and takes a deep, satisfied breath at the bubbles peeking over the edge of the clawfoot tub.
Ainosuke’s lips twitch. “Tadashi?” A call. Not shouted, but the stillness amplifies his weary voice. Besides, he doesn’t need to yell. He rarely does.
Tadashi is usually closer than he seems.
Footsteps. Ainosuke turns. His secretary halts by the bedroom door, head dipped low. “Yes, sir?”
“What’s this?” An obvious question, on the surface, but facts matter little when intention bares much of the weight. Tadashi often tries to anticipate his master’s needs. His job demands it. Ainosuke demands it. But this degree of forethought and preparation and softness?
Tadashi straightens, and their gazes lock. “It’s your birthday.”
Of course. May 1st. But to Ainosuke, it’s just another day. He has a career to focus on, the Shindo honour, the legacy expected of him. His aunts have never celebrated, his father never bestowed well-wishes. No gifts, no praise. At least, not unless earned through hard work, dedicated training, and faith in their guidance—life is pain, but pain is love, and love is a gift in its own right. But simply existing doesn’t make one a worthy recipient.
If it did, he’d already be in Eden.
But Tadashi never forgets. Every year, without fail, Ainosuke’s secretary turns foolish and sinful and dote needlessly upon his master. But isn’t Ainosuke just as foolish, just as sinful, if not more for allowing such undeserved adoration to continue? For replicating it?
The power of temptation; he’s learned more from the snake than just skating.
Ainosuke steps across the room on shaky legs, ignoring his body’s plea for rest, and grasps Tadashi’s chin. “And what am I to do with all this?” His secretary’s throat bobs, eyes wide. He tries to flinch away, but Ainosuke forces his head higher and holds him still. “Such a waste of valuable resources. I can’t eat that sugary dough myself. It’ll ruin my diet. And that soapy monstrosity could swallow two adults whole.”
Maybe the candlelight plays tricks, but after a second, Tadashi’s eyes seem to twinkle and his shoulders relax. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Are you?” A frantic nod. “Good.” Ainosuke releases him and strides back toward the bathroom. Despite his heavy limbs, fabric drops to the floor one by one, his body growing lighter with each layer he peels away. Exhaustion still claws at his mind, tries to nibble on his eyes, but how can he pass up an opportunity that only happens once a year? Naked and standing in the door frame, Ainosuke glances over his shoulder. “I hope you’re prepared to rectify the situation?”
As he steps into the bath, rustling and soft, panted breaths follow behind him, and Ainosuke smiles.