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“Your nails are pretty long.”
It’s early in the evening. By chance, they’re both staffing the consultation center. The newly promoted exorcists have been taking turns working at different sites.
Shima reaches for Yukio’s right hand, and Yukio lets him take it, busy eating his instant noodles with his other hand.
It’s a Saturday. With luck, tonight will be slow for the rest of their four-hour shift.
“Are they?” Yukio prods his noodles around. “I just trimmed them yesterday.”
Shima runs his thumb over the tip of Yukio’s index finger. “No, I mean the whole nail. See? Mine are shorter.” He holds his hand up for Yukio to look at.
His nails are a bit shorter, but the end of his thumb is longer than Yukio’s, arching elegantly when he turns his hand. Shima has nice hands, although it’s difficult to describe why.
“I see.”
“Your fingers aren’t very straight though.” Shima traces between his middle and ring fingers. “Mine’s kind of crooked here too. Oh. I guess our hands are about the same size. Your palm is a bit narrower,” he decides, pressing their hands together.
Yukio sets his chopsticks down to take a sip of his broth. “Are you bored?”
Shima shrugs, flipping Yukio’s hand over and laying it flat on the desk. “Yeah, but I don’t want to do billing anymore. It makes my eyes dry.”
“It’s important,” Yukio insists, but he admittedly doesn’t like reconciling the billing records either. More importantly, he wants his hand back.
“I’m just comparing—”
An old lady walks up to Yukio’s cubicle, and he smiles, setting his noodles to the side. “Hi there, what can I help you with?”
Shima leans forward to greet a middle school student, but he seems to have forgotten to let go of Yukio’s hand. Mentioning it at this point would inevitably draw attention though.
“It’s horrible,” the old lady tells Yukio. “My neighbor’s cat is possessed. It comes into my yard every night and falls down the window well.” She scoots her chair up to show Yukio a grey ball of fur on her phone. “Every night. It wakes me two or three times a night lately because I can hear the nails scratching.”
“Ah. I see,” Yukio says, but there really is nothing to see aside from the supposed blurry grey menace sprawled in a square of sunshine. “That must be difficult.”
“It really is,” the old lady mutters. “I even had my son put rails to cover them, but it goes there every night. I don’t know what to do.”
Yukio nods, handing her phone back. “Do you mind if I ask a few more questions before I make my recommendation?”
“Oh. I guess so.” The old lady stuffs her phone back into her purse. “What do you need to know?”
“How long has this been happening?” Yukio grabs a pamphlet out of the drawer for her. This is somewhat awkward but reasonably manageable with one hand.
“Oh, really?” Shima says to his client, laughing as he leans closer to Yukio. His palm is warm when he laces their fingers together under the table. “I bet that was fun.”
Yukio shoots him a furtive glance, but the old lady has begun to describe how nice and sweet the couple next door was when they first moved in. He really doesn’t care for this degree of detail.
“I warned them that planting mulberry next to juniper was going to ruin their yard, and…”
The old lady continues for quite some time. It appears she has come to complain about the cat several times now. Shiemi left extensive documentation from her last visit. The cat is a normal cat.
“Yes. Of course.” Yukio smiles when she finally stands to leave. “You can call us anytime if you have more concerns.”
“Wow, I bet she was lonely,” Shima says as he crosses his legs.
“That’s possible.” Yukio checks a few more boxes in his note and scrolls through to review for any mistakes. “What did the person you talked to want?”
“She asked about how to summon a demon.” Shima laughs. “Fun, right?”
Yukio sighs as he nods. “There always seem to be more of them in the summer.” He glances down at their hands. “Do you mind letting go?”
Shima withdraws his hand. “Oh, whoops. I didn’t even notice.”
This is clearly a lie. Yukio knows him well enough. There is hardly anything Shima Renzou doesn’t notice.
Another client comes before Yukio can respond though, and soon enough, it slips from his mind.
“Um. O-okumura-kun!” A girl snags his sleeve near the entrance of the academy. “Thank you for waiting for me. Could…”
Yukio turns, and something anxious disrupts his thoughts when the girl flushes. Someone slipped a letter into his bag during lunch earlier. He kept it until now.
“Could I talk to you?” She’s short and small, twisting the ends of her hair between her fingers when she motions toward the courtyard. He doesn’t even recognize her as someone from his class.
Yukio presses his lips into half of a smile. It’s painful that he’s still awkward with this when it’s happened this many times already. “Of course. We can—”
A hand snatches his and yanks.
Yukio’s eyes widen as he stumbles backward.
“Sorry!” Shima smirks, jerking him in the opposite direction of the courtyard. “He’s busy!”
“Shima-kun!” Yukio narrowly avoids tripping on the curb, rushing to keep up with him as a gust of sweltering summer wind tears through his hair. “Where are you going? Shima-kun!”
Shima laughs a little, still gripping Yukio’s hand as he slows down on a set of stairs. “Actually, I was running from a teacher,” he says, breathless and much too exhilarated for Yukio’s liking. “I figured I’d grab you along the way. Classes are over anyway.”
A grin crosses his face as he turns to look back at Yukio. “You don’t even have cram school today, right?”
“What did you do this time?” Yukio asks, making an effort to catch his breath discreetly as Shima tugs him down the path to the train station. His grip is firm, and Yukio is still in the process of deliberating whether to drag him back or not.
“Uh, well.” Shima scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t fill out the form for future plans and career goals, and there were also the porn mags…”
Yukio sighs as he pushes his glasses up. “I see.”
Shima smiles, releasing his hand gradually as they walk down a narrow, cobbled street. “So… another confession, huh?” He lifts his hand to peer at one of his fingers.
Yukio frowns, reaching to grab his hand. “Wait. You’re bleeding.” He stops to scrutinize the scrapes on Shima’s fingers and palm.
“Oh. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.” Shima moves to hide his hand behind his back, and Yukio shoots him a withering glare. “Okay, sorry.”
“Here. Sit down.” Yukio points to the curb in the shade of a convenience store. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Nope.” Shima stretches his legs out as he sits, pulling them back in when a little girl on a bicycle pedals past them. “Seriously, it’s okay. I just pushed off a wall too hard somewhere.”
Yukio arranges his supplies in a neat row. “We should still clean it. Hold still.”
“Thanks.” Shima’s other hand flexes on his knee. “You get confessions a lot, huh? Do you ever think about dating any of them?”
He seems obnoxiously eager to talk about this.
Yukio works on cleaning the bits of grime off his scrapes. “I like you,” he scoffs, and the frustration in his own voice surprises him. He still has her letter though. Once the weekend passes, he still has to deal with it.
“She doesn’t even know me.”
He sighs and pushes his glasses up before he resumes cleaning Shima’s hand.
Shima shrugs, and one of his fingers twitches as Yukio cleans the scrape on his knuckle. “Sure. I get that.” He squints at the line where sunshine meets the blue gravel of the shade on the road. “You’re not the sort of person that gets close to people easily.”
Yukio smooths an adhesive bandage over the joint of his ring finger. “You aren’t either.” He applies another bandage to the heel of Shima’s palm. “But you’ve dated a lot of people,” he mutters, “haven’t you?”
Shima breathes a little laugh out through his nose. “Yeah. It’s just for fun.” There are diagonal scratches on the nails of his fourth and fifth fingers, as though he was running too fast, brushing along a brick wall just as he turned.
Yukio lets Shima’s hand rest on his knee for a moment, watching as the passing scenery of cars reflects across his eyes. “Why did you run today?”
“Why not?”
They used to talk like this more often, closer to the time when they first came back from the Illuminati.
“You run a lot,” Yukio says.
Shima just looks at him for a moment. A careless smile brightens his features as he withdraws his hand. “And you followed me today. I didn’t know if you would.”
Yukio shifts his legs to prop his elbows on his knees. “It’s the weekend tomorrow, so,” he whispers, “your timing was good.”
They’re second years now. Third year will be busy, full of studying for entrance exams and graduation plans. It’s an awkward time they’re in, not far from an intersection between important things yet not close either.
“What did you write on your form?” Shima’s shoes scuff the bits of gravel at the curb as he turns toward Yukio. “Are you going to keep being an exorcist?”
He looks honestly curious for some reason.
“I’m not telling you,” Yukio says, and a quiet sort of amusement curls in his chest when Shima pouts.
“Come on, Sensei,” Shima whines.
Yukio zips his bag closed, tugging it over his shoulder before he stands. “What about you? You’re going back to Kyoto after you graduate, aren’t you?”
Shima stands, dusting his pants off. “Why are you asking about that?” He smirks as he falls into step beside Yukio. “Are you going to miss me?”
Yukio lifts an eyebrow. “Why would I?”
Shima laughs, a bit louder this time.
They pass a flower shop with fragrant rows of arrangements in the entrance. Yukio’s gaze lingers on their reflections in the window.
A bundle of peonies near the door is just a shade lighter than Shima’s hair. The smile leftover from his laughter is fond in a way Yukio doesn’t see often.
“I might miss you.” Yukio turns back, and a smirk tugs at his lips when Shima gives him a startled look. “If you do well with the Tokyo Branch in these two years, they might just be understaffed enough to not let you go when you graduate.”
“Ohh.” Shima tucks his arms behind his head. “Well, that’s not a bad idea.”
“You always complain about Sato-san from the tamer division assigning you too many shifts,” Yukio says, “but if she likes you enough, she’ll fight your father to keep you on the Tokyo roster.”
Shima snorts.
“We’re short tamers, you know.” Yukio adjusts his glasses. “It’s dire.”
“Ah.” Shima giggles, and their shoulders brush. “Well, I hope it becomes more dire.”
These summer days are long. They’re in a strange time full of idle potential, running from some things and waiting to face others.
“I don’t think so.” Yukio inspects the chestnut he peeled, handing it to Shima. “Masayuki looks honest to me. I bet he’ll side with the third son.”
Shima snickers, huddling deeper in his mess of blankets as he nibbles the chestnut. “Yeah, right. He’s way too ambitious for that. Oh, look, look! She’s back.”
The ghost they started watching this period drama for has indeed appeared once again, hovering behind the shogun’s shoulder. She seems to be confused, and this occasionally is quite amusing.
Yukio frowns. “Hold on. Rewind. I was busy watching her. Why is Masayuki’s sister being sentenced to death?”
Shima laughs. “See, I told you. He’s totally the antagonist. They wouldn’t have cast him with someone so special looking just to have him be some supporting character.”
“Special?”
“I don’t know.” Shima crosses his arms. “He looks… special.”
Yukio ponders on this as he grabs a new chestnut to peel. Rin roasted them a few days ago, and he brought a bag along with some soup after he heard Shima was sick.
Konekomaru helped them peel a small pile before he left for a club event, and he was impressively deft. Yukio’s hands are tired and considerably not as deft.
“Wow. Miyamoto is so good,” Shima huffs. “Why can’t he show up more often?”
Yukio shoots him an incredulous look. “He’s just an umbrella merchant. All he’s here for is so the characters have a meeting spot. He only has one outfit.”
“But he’s so good looking.” Shima sniffles. “Just look at that jawline.”
Yukio considers Miyamoto’s jawline for half a second before the camera shifts away.
Shima clicks his tongue, rewinding and playing several times before he manages to pause on a blurry moment.
“He looked really good in episode one. This one’s not as good.”
Yukio hands him another chestnut and flexes his hand a few times to stretch his fingers. He wrote a lot earlier during class too. “He’s okay. If he stays unimportant, he won’t have to suffer like everyone else.”
Shima laughs, setting the bag of chestnut peels aside as he scoots closer on his bed. It’s squeaky, and the laptop balanced on their stack of textbooks wobbles precariously. “That’s kind of dark.” He holds his hand out, motioning for Yukio’s. “Hey, want me to give you a hand massage? You peeled a ton of chestnuts for me, after all.”
His cheeks are flushed from his fever, but he looks surprisingly excited.
Yukio shifts his chair to sit closer to him. “Okay,” he says as he smiles. “If you want to.”
“Sure. Let me go grab some lotion.” Shima keeps a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he shuffles away to his bathroom. A drawer opens. “Okay.” He sits back on his bed as Yukio rewinds the drama for him. “Here, give me.”
Yukio holds his palm flat, watching as Shima smears a small blob of lotion on his hands.
“Just relax,” he whispers.
The lotion smells a bit sweet and like aloe. Shima’s hands are colder than usual. He starts at the base of Yukio’s fingers, applying pressure between his knuckles and smoothing in circles up to his fingertips.
It feels pleasant and rather calming, even if it’s a bit unexpected.
Shura did tell him once about how nice back massages are, but he doesn’t know much about hand massages.
“It feels much better,” Yukio tells him. “Thank you.”
“That’s good. One of my exes taught me,” Shima says. “She’d do it a lot for her grandparents.”
“Oh.”
Shima’s fingers press slowly into his skin, tracing between the tendons of the back of his hand, up and back down to a soothing rhythm.
“You know, Masayuki kind of reminds me of that one exorcist from that shapeshifter mission we went on together. He does that thing with his eyebrows.” Shima twists his mouth into a scowl as he pushes his eyebrows together. “Like—”
Yukio laughs, covering his mouth with his other hand when it’s louder than he expected. “I didn’t even notice,” he huffs. “He really does…” He clears his throat, fighting to keep from laughing. “I can’t even look at him now.”
Shima grins, pushing his thumb up and along Yukio’s palm. “Right? I couldn’t figure out what was up with him until now.”
He looks back to the screen, wrapping his fingers around Yukio’s wrist as his other hand kneads the tense spot between Yukio’s thumb and index finger. It really is nice. His movements are unhurried and thorough.
Yukio keeps his eyes on the laptop, but he can feel himself beginning to drift off.
Shima coaxes his other hand open, and Yukio holds it out obediently.
It’s late in the afternoon. The newer dorms have quiet walls. He wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep around Shima before, yet his presence became comforting somewhere along the way.
A ribbon of sunlight leaking through the curtain has wrapped across their hands, glowing a shade between red and pink near the edges.
“Did you fall asleep?” Shima whispers. “Sensei?”
“No,” Yukio mumbles as he rests his head on his elbow, accepting the blanket Shima drapes over him blearily. The drama has shifted to advancing its romance side plot, and the background music is soft. “Wake me if your umbrella merchant appears.”
“Yeah.” Shima laughs softly, reaching to brush something off Yukio’s cheek. “Okay.”
“No.” Yukio flips a page, jotting down the number for his citation. “I need to study for my anatomy midterm.”
“Come on, Yukio-sensei,” Renzou whines. “Just once. I’ll cover two, no, three of your consultation shifts. Please?”
Yukio glances up.
Renzou’s chin is on his elbow, and his hoodie sleeve has misfortunately caught a bit of the whipped cream from his complicated, orange-colored coffee. It smells like fall and sprinkles.
He smiles, and Yukio looks away.
“No.”
“It’s a tamer position though.” Renzou’s smile turns into a smirk as he leans forward. “Don’t you want to use your shiny new meister for—”
“No.”
Renzou puffs his cheeks out around his coffee straw as he reaches for Yukio’s hand. “Please? I’ll buy you food.” He cups Yukio’s hand with both of his own, giving it a sad pat the way that old granny at the convenience store does when she tells Yukio to eat more vegetables. Rin gossips with her more and more lately.
Yukio flips a page. “What kind of food?”
Renzou’s eyes gleam. “Want to go to that new curry place on…”
He wilts when Yukio levels him with a disdainful look. “Okay, okay. We can go to the hot pot restaurant by headquarters, and you can get your fancy monkfish or whatever seafood you want. Okay? Please?”
Yukio clicks the end of his mechanical pencil. “Fine. Make sure you cc me on the email.”
Renzou beams. “Yes! I knew I could count on you. You’re the best,” he declares, pulling Yukio’s hand close and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Hold on. I’ll send it right now.”
Yukio blinks, looking down at his book when he feels blood rush to his face. What? Why did he do that so casually? Is it normal to kiss people’s hands when thanking them?
“How… is your sister doing?” He runs his hand through his bangs absently. “I remember you said she was learning to play the koto.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s getting better. Our relatives are all over it, and Kin-nii keeps trying to get her to join their band.” Renzou sets his phone down in front of Yukio, unwinding a tangled pair of earbuds. “I recorded her last week. Want to hear?”
Yukio takes one of the earbuds, pressing his elbow against the table as he leans closer. The little coffee shop they’re in has glass tabletops, and he can see their knees knock together through it.
Renzou’s recording has a tinted quality, but the notes are clear and fairly crisp. Yumi must be in her bedroom. Clearly Renzou put considerable effort into recording her well. It’s rather endearing.
“It sounds nice.” Yukio smiles when Renzou reaches to pause the video. “She’s improving so quickly.”
“Yeah. Yumi’s always wanted to play an instrument.” Renzou crams his earbuds back into his hoodie. “I wanted to get into something for a while too, but I couldn’t really decide.”
Yukio nods, unzipping his backpack to switch textbooks. “What instrument?”
“I don’t know.” Shima grins as he leans back in his chair. “I was thinking about guitar for a while, but it’s kind of…”
He rolls his wrist in a wordless gesture, and Yukio finds his eyes drawn to the motion.
“Can I show you something?”
“Sure.” Renzou tugs his sleeve up a bit, frowning when he flicks the speck of whipped cream off.
“Press the thumb and pinkie of your hand together.” Yukio turns his hand so the palm faces up. “No, of the same hand. Yeah. Like that. Keep them together and bend your hand in toward yourself.” He smiles when he points to the visible tendon in Renzou’s wrist. “I learned this in anatomy lab last week and wanted to show you.”
“Huh.” Renzou sets his coffee down to try with his other hand, flexing his wrist at an angle to make the tendon protrude. “That’s fancy.”
“It’s the palmaris longus muscle. About seventy-five percent of people have it.” Yukio flexes his own wrist to show him. “It starts at your elbow and comes down.” He flips through his workbook, turning it around to show Renzou the drawing. “See?”
“Huh.” Renzou smiles. “Cool. How come some people don’t have it though?”
“It helps you flex your wrist just a little, but it’s hereditary.” Yukio takes a sip of his tea. “Not having it won’t compromise your grip strength though. Nii-san only has it in one arm.”
“Really? That’s funny.” Renzou turns a page in his workbook, reaching for Yukio’s hand as he smiles. “Tell me some more cool stuff. What’s this little fan?”
“That’s the palmar aponeurosis. It’s actually the fascia of your hand, which is a thin layer of connective…”
Renzou listens with impressive focus, nodding as Yukio folds and extends his fingers to show him each movement the muscles are responsible for. There are a lot of individual muscles in the hand, after all. It’s why they have so much dexterity.
Renzou’s hand has a few calluses and a few familiar scars, remaining pliant as Yukio demonstrates for him. He has nice hands. Perhaps it’s because they’re well proportioned, or it’s the way he moves them—curving lazily around his coffee or reaching up to run through his hair. Yukio has found his eyes drawn to them on more than one occasion.
They didn’t agree to meet up today, yet Yukio runs into him from time to time at this shop on weekends. He never stays long when he’s here alone, but today…
The lightning in the coffee shop is diffuse and gentle on Renzou’s skin. It’s raining outside, and the leaves have scattered like flecks of rust in the streets. Time feels slow but detailed.
The distal phalanx of his thumb is long, pressing absently against Yukio’s palm as he listens. There’s a soft smile on his face, and his eyes are always fond whenever he nods.
They stay for the entire morning, and then a bit longer after that too.
The sun has set by the time the train reaches his station. It’s spring. The nights are gradually growing warmer, scattering deep violet clouds above the city’s buildings.
He slips his phone into his jacket pocket as he crosses the street. A large group of nearly twenty exorcists has collected by the front of the bookstore. The pale lighting draws his line of sight up, and a smile tugs at his lips when he spots a familiar shade of pink.
Renzou’s eyes are slightly narrowed with focus. They must be briefing for a mission. He’s standing at the back of the group, leaning on his staff.
Yukio reaches over the caution tape as he walks by, nudging Renzou’s elbow.
The thin rings of Renzou’s staff tinkle, and a flicker of surprise crosses his eyes when he turns. “Sensei,” he says under his breath. “You snuck up on me.”
“Did I?” Yukio whispers as he grins. “I suppose you were paying attention, then.” He lets his hand linger on Renzou’s arm for a moment, motioning back to the exorcist leading the operation as he—
Renzou’s fingers curl against his, tugging him back for a brief second. The caution tape rustles, and his arm stretches out a bit further before their fingertips separate.
“Call me after,” Yukio offers.
“Okay.”
A light changes at the intersection. Yukio thinks about him for the duration of his walk home. It hasn’t been long since they saw each other, yet it feels that way at times.
Renzou calls him late at night. They always talk for too long, catching up past midnight about idle things.
A week later, it happens again. He’s in line buying lunch when a hand tugs on his. Yukio looks up, smiling when Renzou waves as he leaves.
It’s an endearing, restless feeling.
Yukio catches him heading into the grocery store just as he’s leaving, and he lets the back of their hands brush. Renzou usually looks startled, but he just laughs this time.
Yet they could only play this game so many times.
It’s raining one night. The sleet is cold and sharp with the air of fall preceding winter. He’s sitting beside the window on the second floor of the library when a splotch of pink catches his eye.
The streets are thick with a familiar scent, like salt and iron. Wind catches under the brim of his umbrella every couple of minutes. He hovers near the perimeter, flipping absently through a set of flashcards on his phone.
Renzou’s mission is nearly over by the time Yukio spots him again. They must be debriefing, judging from the collection of injuries and cans of drinks from the nearby vending machine.
Yukio taps his shoulder, and Renzou turns slowly, grabbing hold of his hand.
“I miss you,” he murmurs. Perhaps he noticed Yukio too. He always notices things.
Yukio steps closer, raising his umbrella to cover him. “I missed you too.” His voice feels loud, even like this. “It’s been a while.”
The rain splatters in shallow puddles in the streets. A soft, tired light settles across Renzou’s face as he tightens his grip. His hands are cold and wet.
Wait for me, he must mean to say, mouthing the words without breath or sound.
It really… has been a while.
Yukio wraps the warmth of his palm around Renzou’s fingertips, and the weight beneath his sternum quivers when he lets go. Perhaps there’s a way to articulate this feeling. He couldn’t possibly find those words now.
“Of course,” is all he manages to say. Rain patters gently against the umbrella he eases into Renzou’s hand. “I’ll wait.”
His shoes are soaked by the time he finds an awning of a bakery to stand under, not because he walked far, but because he stepped in all the puddles trying to keep his eyes on Renzou. More than half of the exorcists are people he doesn’t know. He still takes missions from time to time, but years have passed now.
Yukio sneezes. It’s colder than he expected. He wipes his phone screen on his slacks a couple of times as he deliberates on what food to order. Something warm would be good.
Renzou shuffles over soon enough. His staff is dangling in his other hand, held slightly away as he lets Yukio take the umbrella.
“You should come over,” Yukio offers, nudging him to walk on the inside of the street. “I’ll order food.”
“Sure.” Renzou follows half a step behind, and he smiles when Yukio slows his pace to match. He’s wearing the shoes he kept pestering Yukio about. It seems he finally decided on the red ones.
“Are you busy?”
Yukio smiles. “No.” At a certain point, it doesn’t matter how busy he is. He’s not too busy for this. “I miss everyone a lot,” he says as they stop to wait at an intersection.
“Izumo-chan’s birthday is next month. We’ll probably all get together for that.”
“Yeah.”
“Guess what? Bon finally shaved his head. See?”
“Oh.” Yukio leans closer to squint at his phone. “He looks good though, especially in the robes.”
“Yeah.” Renzou shrugs. “Once he takes over as head priest, I can stop taking missions for both branches.” A grin brightens his eyes. “He said he didn’t want me hanging around Myodha if I didn’t want to.”
“That’s good.” Yukio smiles. “I’ll see you more often, then.”
“Right? Maybe I’ll stop freeloading at Koneko-san’s place and find an apartment,” Renzou mentions. “Hey, we should go hiking at the place you sent me. The leaves will be pretty and red by next week.”
“It’s getting colder though.”
“That’s totally the point.” Renzou shudders. “Last time we went, a dragonfly landed on me.”
“Oh, I remember.” Yukio laughs as he pushes his glasses up. “I think they like you.”
“Sensei!” Renzou whines.
Yukio smiles, raising the umbrella a bit higher as they walk, and Renzou takes it from him not long after. For some reason, he insists on holding it between them with his opposite arm, as awkward as that would seem.
Their hands keep brushing as they walk.
It’s a warm, restless feeling. He knows it well now, yet it lingers in his chest for days at a time.
“Oh.” Renzou holds his hand out for a moment as Yukio unlocks his door. “It’s snowing early this year.”
“Yeah, it is.” Yukio’s breath fogs when he glances up. The cloud cover is thick from the snow, shaded a dim golden hue by the streetlight outside his apartment complex.
The door creaks when he leans against it. “Thanks for walking with me,” he says as he brushes a flake of snow from Renzou’s bangs. “Hold on for a second. I have some gloves in one of my coats.”
He switches the light on and rummages through his coat closet, motioning for Renzou to come inside.
Renzou clicks his tongue as he nudges the door closed. “You have so many good coats.” He tugs on the sleeve of one of Yukio’s peacoats. “How come you don’t wear this one much? It looks so good. We bought it together… last year, didn’t we?”
“I like it, so I don’t wear it as often.” Yukio holds a pair of gloves out to him. “Here. They’re the ones you can use with your phone. Nii-san got them for me.”
“Cool.” Renzou’s eyes brighten as he takes them. “I’ll give them back soon, then.” He glances at his phone. “After my apartment tour tomorrow.”
Their fingertips brush, and Yukio pauses, reaching for his other hand. “How are your hands so much colder than mine?”
“I don’t know. I’m not that cold,” Renzou insists, but he smiles when Yukio cups his hands together and breathes over them. “Thanks.”
“Your hands are dry too.” Yukio runs his thumb over the thin white cracks around Renzou’s knuckles. “They didn’t used to be so dry.”
“Yeah. I lost my lotion somewhere.” Renzou looks down at their hands. “They didn’t always get dry in the winter. It’s just been like that these past couple of years.”
Renzou’s ears and cheeks are tinted pink from the cold, and so are his fingertips. Yukio rubs his palms against his hands in an attempt to warm them up, just for a little longer.
It’s a busy time for both of them. They likely won’t see each other aside from in passing until the end of year.
“Is the place you’re touring tomorrow the one with the nice view?” Yukio prompts.
“Yeah.” Renzou breathes in deeply. “I’d always wanted to get a place in Tokyo, but now I’m kind of indecisive.”
Yukio smiles. “I see.” He runs his thumb over the tips of Renzou’s fingers. “You could always move in with me. I’m a decent roommate,” he adds. Perhaps it sounds a little desperate rather than amused.
It’s something he’s thought about before, now that Renzou doesn’t have to split his time between Kyoto and here. It’s something he keeps thinking about, late into the night, after they call each other and inevitably hang up.
Renzou’s features are pensive but soft when he looks up. “Yukio,” he begins.
Yukio’s hands slow when he doesn’t continue.
Soft hair tickles his cheek when Renzou leans to whisper in his ear. He holds still, pressing his back slightly against the wall to ground himself. “What is it? You sound so serious.”
“I wanted to tell you that I…” Renzou hesitates for a moment. “Well, actually that was ages ago,” he murmurs, stepping back to face Yukio again.
Somehow, even before he’s said it, Yukio knows his intentions. Perhaps they were both thinking about it—lately and ages ago, whenever they’re together.
Yukio’s breath catches in his throat when Renzou leans forward.
“I love you.”
Renzou lowers his arms, shifting his fingers to hold Yukio’s hands loosely between them. His eyes are bright and expectant, reflecting the dim light in the hallway as he smiles.
Yukio’s lips part. “You really…”
Oh. He can barely breathe, let alone say those precious words aloud.
Renzou just nods once. His thumbs trace gentle circles along the back of Yukio’s hands as he waits. The rustle of his coat is smooth and calming.
Yukio looks down, lacing their fingers together as he breathes in. “I…” His voice quivers as he lifts his eyes.
“I love you too,” he says, tensing his grip on Renzou’s hands.
Renzou steps close, reaches, and pulls him into a tight hug. They’re both still wearing their coats, and his is full of air and down, cold from the night wind.
Yukio trembles, holding him close as his heart quivers from the flustered warmth in his chest. “I love you too,” he repeats, curling his fingers into Renzou’s hair. He feels so incredibly alive right now. “I love you too, Renzou.”
“I’m so happy,” Renzou mumbles against his shoulder. “I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know at the same time.” He beams, cupping Yukio’s cheek when he tilts their foreheads together. “I love you so much. I really do.”
Yukio smiles when he nods. “I wanted to tell you for so long, but I didn’t know how.” He shifts to wrap his arms around Renzou’s waist. “I don’t know. Do you want to move in with me?”
“Well, obviously.” Renzou laughs, stroking his thumb across Yukio’s cheek. “I was thinking about how nice that would be. I don’t want to be your roommate though, or your friend. I want to be yours.”
Yukio grabs his hand. “Yes. Stop looking for an apartment and live with me.”
Renzou giggles. “Okay.” He brushes his fingers along Yukio’s knuckles. “We’ll live together,” he says, soft and overwhelmingly fond.
Yukio swallows as he nods, smiling when he pulls Renzou into another hug. He’s so close now, and he’ll stay. It’s an exhilarating, beautiful feeling.
“I have so much stuff though. Just warning you,” Renzou says.
“I know.” Yukio laughs. “We’ll have to get a separate rack for all of your shoes.” He looks down as he laces their fingers together, and indescribable warmth floods through him.
“We’ll live together,” he repeats, and Renzou nods, smiling as he tightens his hold on Yukio’s hand.
Over the duration of a couple of weeks, Renzou’s belongings gradually make their way into his apartment. His mugs have filled Yukio’s cabinet. The guitar he secretly started learning to play goes in the living room. They place his shoe organizer beside Yukio’s bookshelf, and their coats hang next to each other in the closet.
Whenever their hands touch now, he’ll lace their fingers together, almost without conscious thought. Renzou always smiles, tugging him along here and there, and Yukio lets his touch linger.
As winter settles in, their lives finally stop brushing past each other. They simply overlap as they intertwine, like a pair of hands held tightly together.