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Takemichi and Chifuyu didn't know they were being watched. The arrangement of trees surrounding Musashi shrine cut the sound of their conversation from anyone who hadn't followed them beyond the edge of the leafless forest.
"Fucking devil," Chifuyu grumbled.
Takemichi said nothing. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and the bottom half of his face was nestled in a grey scarf.
"You saw him at midnight, too, right? Can you believe he celebrated New Year's with the rest of Toman's captains?" Chifuyu leaned against a tree and crossed his arms.
"Yeah, I only noticed him during the countdown."
There was a pause. A low wind howled through the trees.
"I can't stand to see him for even a second," Chifuyu sighed, "Why must he be here for anything other than formal Toman meetings? Go somewhere else! There's plenty of shrines in Tokyo! He can take his pick!"
It's New Year's Day.
And this is a public shrine.
"Just try not to think about it too much," Takemichi said as he played with a snowball in his hands. "Then maybe you can forget he's even here. The crowd is big, anyway. Maybe he went home already and we didn't notice." With tired eyes, he smiled reassuringly.
Chifuyu only responded with a subtle nod.
"Did he do something in particular tonight?" Takemichi cautiously asked.
No. Nothing terrible.
Shakily sighing, Chifuyu buried his face in his hands and curled down into a crouching position. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm losing it," he said, his voice muffled and cracked, "You're right: he didn't really do anything bad tonight. But still. He's a fucking devil."
"Don't be sorry," Takemichi gently said. He tossed his snowball against the base of a tree and went to help Chifuyu back up, but he was swatted away. Chifuyu picked himself up.
"I think some of the other members are going to the new headquarters," Takemichi said after dusting some snow off his partner's shoulders. "Want to join? I've never been there before." He didn't sound particularly enthusiastic.
Toman did not have an official headquarters, but following Baji’s–and more recently, Taiju’s–death, it had become the general consensus that Toman needed a headquarters, an official turf, for a gang of such a size, especially if they were to be targeted by The Black Dragons. Many of Toman’s former Valhalla members shared this sentiment, and Kisaki and Hanma had posed the suggestion to Mikey, who agreed to try the concept at a recently abandoned commercial building they saw fit. Many of Toman's members had been murmuring about visiting the place on New Year's Eve.
"I think I should clear my head," Chifuyu grumbled, "I'll just head home if that's alright. I'll see you later."
Takemichi did nothing to stop him.
When he walked away, careful not to slip on the thick layer of ice on the ground, he failed to notice that Kisaki was hiding behind a tree nearby.
Something was wrong with Takemichi. He wasn't happy–no one was–and anyone could see that Takemichi was no exception, but there was something else that was deeply wrong.
Simply put, the boy wasn't himself: he was no longer the optimistic and heroic "Takemitchy-kun" that he used to be. He was hardly the hero who took a knife in the hand for Draken anymore; the ugly scar remained on his left hand, but he had since become a cowardly, disoriented mess hiding behind a thin guise of toughness.
Something had snapped in him after Bloody Halloween. This could have been expected–a boy had died, after all–but Kisaki hadn’t imagined that Takemichi's disposition would change so drastically because of it. This was an important detail, though: was it really Baji Keisuke’s death that affected Takemichi so much?
Perhaps that was the only cause. Perhaps not. There was at least one other possibility.
It sounded crazy, and completely beyond the realm of possibility, but what if Takemichi was a time leaper? It seemed to be the only explanation for Takemichi's acute awareness of Kisaki's past plans to tear Toman apart, and could help to explain the dramatic change to his personality.
Or maybe it was just the breakup.
Kisaki was curious to understand what was happening in the boy's mind, as Takemichi was the only person who had ever presented a sizable threat to his plans. Takemichi's perceptiveness and persistence seemed to have quickly dwindled to nothing, but why? Was Takemichi still a threat? Kisaki wanted the truth.
Of course, this non-problem was tertiary to Kisaki's more imminent plans. He had very recently succeeded in planning Shiba Taiju's murder, and Toman could more than double in size if they were to ever absorb The Black Dragons, but there were countless loose ends to tie, and months of aftermath to deal with.
New Year's Day, 2006 was not the first time that Kisaki was titled the devil, and he knew it would not be the last. After eavesdropping on a conversation between Chifuyu and Takemichi early that morning, he visited Toman's headquarters.
Their tentative headquarters was a dusty but modestly furnished building in Shibuya, newly abandoned and four stories high, with one elevator and a lesser-known staircase that led to the rooftop. The foyer was nearly deserted, occupied by a few First Division members who were discussing how this was their first time at the place, exclaiming a jovial “Happy New Year!” to everyone who passed.
Kisaki had visited the headquarters primarily to gauge any tension in Toman regarding The Black Dragons, and maybe to speak a few words alone with Mikey, if he could. Perhaps he would run into the newly meek Takemichi, too.
When he reached the third floor of the building, he found Mikey, Draken, Nahoya, and Peh-yan sprawled over leather couches and drinking canned tea. There was no point in striking conversation with a crowd.
“Happy New Year, Kisaki-kun,” Mikey called out as Kisaki crossed the room.
“Happy New Year,” he echoed. None of the other Toman members spoke a word.
“Have you seen Takemitchy? I thought he went here, but I can’t find him,” Mikey said after Kisaki passed by.
“No.”
Uncourteously, he escaped through the door leading to the main stairwell and pondered where to go next. It would have been nice to get a word in with Mikey, but it was New Year’s Day and it would be challenging to get him alone to discuss gang politics so early in the morning. In the meantime, there were other matters to consider.
With regards to The Black Dragons, the gang would possibly target Toman out of vengeance before accepting Shiba Hakkai as their new boss, ultimately being absorbed by Toman. Hakkai had gone missing after taking the fall for Taiju's death, and while there were whisperings about him and The Black Dragons, it seemed there were no imminent, unforeseen problems brewing.
Aside from that, there was Takemichi. But he was hardly a problem at the moment. Still, he quietly persisted in Kisaki's thoughts.
With slow, languid footsteps, he made his way up the stairs, carefully considering Toman’s situation until he reached the rooftop. Maybe the view would be decent at night: a good place to think. He had never checked.
When he opened the stairwell door, the cool breeze rushed against his face and nipped at his neck. He pulled the zipper of his coat a little higher and stepped outside.
The city was bright and glittering against the blackness of night, with yellow and orange windows dotting the infrastructure that surrounded him. He listened to the symphony of street sounds–honking cars, some distant sirens, partygoers and laughter–stepping aimlessly around the rooftop until he reached the back wall of the stairwell, where he did not expect to find someone hiding in darkness, curled up and alone. He stopped in his tracks and the figure peered up. Melancholic blue eyes met his.
"Kisaki-san?" Takemichi rasped, “Happy New Year.”
There was a drowning sadness in his oceanic eyes that Kisaki had seldom seen before.
“Oh. Hero. Happy New Year," he blurted robotically.
Surely, Takemichi wanted to be left alone. Regardless, Kisaki paused, took a good look at the boy before him. He was a small puddle of a delinquent on the ground, wrapped in a crocheted scarf and a black parka with its sleeves pulled over his fingertips. His blond hair was frizzy and loosely pinned away from his face, a couple of bobby pins simply floating in it. And then there were his ocean blue eyes, deeply melancholic. Pathetic.
Stumbling into a strange state of hypnosis, the hushed voice of Takemichi resounded in Kisaki's mind.
Kisaki-san?
Even the way Takemichi referred to him had changed since Bloody Halloween. He was infinitely more respectful than he had been just two months ago. Back then, Kisaki-san was just Kisaki. Late at night, after exhausting all other topics to ponder, this was what occupied him–what haunted him.
Kisaki-san.
What had motivated the change?
"Kisaki-san," Takemichi's stuffy voice whined, and Kisaki nearly shivered at the sound of it, “Wanna join me? It's a good view.”
Strange. It was a rare occasion that Kisaki did not know how to respond, so he wordlessly took a seat. Takemichi pulled his legs closer to him and Kisaki noticed a small, pink tube between his fingers which he put in his pocket before he could make out what exactly it was.
"What's going on?" Kisaki asked.
Takemichi was visibly upset, so did he wish to discuss something in particular? Bloody Halloween? Valhalla? Had he somehow incriminated Kisaki? Did he want to talk about The Black Dragons or Taiju’s death? Would Kisaki be confronted for spying on him earlier that night? No, surely he had gone undetected.
When Takemichi shrugged and sighed speechlessly, Kisaki nestled into his spot on the cold ground and thought through his next words carefully.
Very carefully.
"Why don't you go find your girlfriend? You know I'm poor company."
The whirring siren of a passing fire truck filled the brief silence as Takemichi's expression contorted into misery.
"She's not here," he mumbled in a broken voice, staring ahead.
No kidding.
"Where is she?" Kisaki asked with his typical bluntness.
Truthfully, he had already heard the rumour that Takemichi and Tachibana were no longer a couple, but the details of the breakup were lucrative, and no one seemed to know said details other than Takemichi himself (Kisaki had made a point of subtly asking around about it). Perhaps he could get Takemichi to talk about it, and from there they could discuss Toman.
Surprisingly and suddenly, this seemed a golden opportunity to pick at Takemichi's brain.
"Well, we," Takemichi muttered, shrinking into his coat, "We broke up. I had to break up with her."
Kisaki raised an eyebrow. He had assumed that Tachibana had ended the relationship.
“You had to?”
"Yeah," Takemichi sighed, his shaky breath huffing out as a small cloud of fog. "It's because I'm a delinquent. Her father didn’t approve. So. That was the end of that." He crossed his arms over his knees and resignedly buried his face in them.
Well, that was surprisingly easy. Kisaki glared at Takemichi's blond head.
If he really cared about Tachibana, he would have made it work. Clearly, he had insufficiently cherished her.
Takemichi was resilient in a fight but not in love, it seemed. Whether or not he remained resilient in a fight was questionable, though, as he hadn’t been in a physical fight since Halloween. He had done virtually nothing for the First Division since being appointed as Captain.
"I see," he hummed thoughtfully, swallowing his vindictiveness. "That really sucks."
Takemichi looked up from his arms, briefly appearing perplexed, with his lips parted and eyes unsteadily wandering across Kisaki's face. Kisaki was walking the line of believable sympathy, but it was a line he had walked many times before: with Osanai, Kiyomasa, Peh-yan, Yuzuha, and more. It was like walking on a tightrope, but no one was as steady as Kisaki, and this was not his first act. It was, however, the first time he had approached Takemichi with such an intent, as it was also the first time such an attempt seemed even slightly worthwhile.
"Can I say something stupid? A bit crazy, actually?" Takemichi blurted, his big eyes glued on Kisaki.
Kisaki nodded slightly. "Go ahead."
Takemichi took a deep breath before speaking, again exhaling a visible cloud of cold winter air.
"I thought I would be fine on New Year’s, but today I found a tube of Hina's–uh, my girlfriend's lip gloss in this jacket that I haven't worn in a while."
He pulled from his pocket a glittery, pink tube with cartoon strawberries marked all over it. Kisaki's eyes widened when they fell upon it.
Oh.
It was a mundane object, and obviously not important to her if she had never asked where it went, but it was Tachibana's, and by virtue of that alone, it was astonishing just to see.
"She's the only girl I've ever dated," Takemichi said, "Tachibana Hinata. I think I miss her.”
Kisaki watched intently as Takemichi twirled the tube in his hand. Inside the pockets of his jacket, his hands were tightly balled into fists.
“I see. You must be lonely,” he murmured.
He hoped Takemichi was horribly lonely, drowning in the empty loneliness that he too was afflicted with. It was only just, because whether Takemichi knew it or not, Kisaki’s loneliness was his fault. In that respect, Takemichi’s breakup felt like progress. Oftentimes, progress was challenging to see, even with Baji and Taiju dead, even with Mikey in the palm of his hand and countless others wound around his fingers like marionettes. But Takemichi’s loneliness: that was thoroughly gratifying.
Takemichi smiled slightly before responding.
“It is lonely without her," he paused before adding, "Because I feel like she's the only person I really know. Everyone else in my life… they feel like strangers these days.'
"Hm."
Takemichi seemed more a stranger than anyone, as far as Kisaki was concerned. Perhaps he really was a time leaper. But there was no way to be certain without being blunt about it, which Kisaki wasn't willing to do.
"You know I've never said that before?" Takemichi said with a forced laugh, "Not to anyone. Not to Chifuyu-kun, not to Draken-kun. But why would I? Sometimes I feel like I don't even know them and they don't even know me."
"Why tell me, then?" Kisaki asked. He watched as Takemichi hid Tachibana's lip gloss back in his pocket.
"I don't know," Takemichi shrugged and looked at the black sky above. "Because I'm thinking too much and you happened to find me."
Kisaki raised an eyebrow. That was certainly a lie. As practiced as he was in manipulation, this had been far too easy.
"No," Takemichi corrected, "I lied. Honestly, it’s because we aren’t friends, anyway," he sighed, "So if I say these things you won’t get insulted. I don't feel obligated to pretend I understand you like I do with the others."
Kisaki frowned.
Was there comfort in that?
"You're obligated to tolerate me," he thought aloud, recalling Mikey’s rule against infighting. They had a short history of butting heads, but Mikey’s leadership had kept their disagreements in check. Kisaki knew that some of Toman's members continued to distrust him, but no one ever outright acted on that distrust. Well, no one but Baji.
"Yeah, I guess I am obligated," Takemichi chuckled half-heartedly. His pink lips curled into a small, sincere smile.
Kisaki stiffened. He had done awful things–albeit things no one could prove, no matter how many times they called him the devil–that should have prevented Takemichi from ever smiling at him like that, and yet his wonderful blue eyes were glowing with honesty. Takemichi's smile was gentle and healing, vibrant enough to make night seem like day. There was no guessing how he had stolen Tachibana's heart.
Tachibana-san.
Kisaki thought of Takemichi, small and vulnerable and unsure, falling into the arms of Tachibana, who would kiss him tenderly and say what an excellent job he was doing, even when he was failing. Then there was himself, who had no cushion if he fell and no one to congratulate him on his successes. At last, Takemichi was beginning to share that loneliness.
Kisaki studied the hero beside him with dull eyes.
Where did he find the audacity to smile at him like that?
Even within arms reach, Takemichi seemed miles away. His palm was flush against the concrete ground, the dark, scarred skin on his hand still harsh under the blanket of the night. Kisaki hadn’t been present when Takemichi had gotten that scar, but he understood that he was essentially responsible.
Intrusively, he thought of grabbing Takemichi and stabbing his other hand with his pocket knife, marking him like the martyr he would be for his greater cause, which still had years to go. He craved a physical manifestation that could demonstrate to himself and to Takemichi that even this painfully emotional conversation was only for the distant hand of Tachibana Hinata. This was a surefire way to avoid seeing that sentimental smile ever again.
Stabbing him would be senseless, of course.
Even worse, Kisaki could hold the hand he had so badly wounded: show a trace of feeling, some real reverence for the lonely hero beside him. He didn’t.
Suddenly, a brilliant, golden firework exploded in the near horizon, shooting off a rooftop.
"Oh, wow," Takemichi beamed, "Do you think–"
Another booming firework drowned out his voice. And then another.
"What's that?" Kisaki asked, ignoring how violently his heart throttled as he swallowed his brewing impulsivity.
"Do you think they're doing a show?" Takemichi chuckled as more fireworks went off, quickly illuminating the night with a show of gold, red, green, and pink glitter.
Kisaki focused on steadying his breathing, synching deep inhales and exhales with the cracks and booms of the fireworks. In a way, the vibrant fireworks that quickly faded to grey seemed an awful lot like Takemichi.
The hero watched the luminous display in awe, the melancholy dwindling from his eyes with each colourful eruption. Soon those eyes were approaching a certain lightheartedness that could only be recognized from a distant memory: two years ago, when their paths first crossed and fate was decided.
Kisaki was staring. Not at the fireworks: at Takemichi. He only realized this when the boy turned to him, a contented smile still on his face.
"Hm? What is it?"
For a moment, Kisaki was at a loss for words.
"Um. This is nice," he finally whispered, sinking his face into the collar of his jacket, hardly audible against the erupting fireworks. Takemichi inched closer to hear him better.
"Yeah."
Against the cityscape before them, the fireworks died in number as the show came to a close, leaving behind nothing but a spread of grey smoke as an echo of something wonderful. The early morning air was only getting colder, but it went unnoticed with such a distraction and another person so near.
"You know," Takemichi said, "One time, Hina and I watched fireworks from her rooftop. It was summertime, though. Not so cold.”
Kisaki’s eyes narrowed. Hearing Takemichi and Tachibana’s romantic triumphs from their golden days was not his preferred way to start 2006, but there was also a quelling, aching curiosity in his heart that wished to know all they had ever done together.
“It’s kind of embarrassing, but,” Takemichi paused and twisted his lips, studying Kisaki’s plain, unchanging expression before continuing. “Fine. I’ll tell you. It's funny.”
Kisaki raised an eyebrow. With his sleeves still pulled over his hands, Takemichi turned a bit to face him before elaborating. One last firework exploded, and they glanced at the biggest expanse of golden glitter yet, falling like streamers before fading to nothing.
“We were watching the fireworks," Takemichi began, "I wanted to make the move to finally kiss her for the first time." He took a deep breath before continuing with a small smirk. "But first I was going to start by holding her hand, right?”
Kisaki grimaced. Was Takemichi immediately jumping to the most romantic memory he had?
“No, no, it’s funny!” Takemichi responded with a chuckle, and Kisaki’s expression softened, a little confused. “I reached for her hand, but then I realized I had accidentally grabbed her brother’s hand, completely killing the vibe.”
"You–what?” Kisaki’s jaw dropped. ”Why was her brother there?"
“I didn’t know he was there!” Takemichi exclaimed with a goofy smile, his pink fingers curling into fists over his jeans, “Needless to say, I didn’t kiss her that day.”
Kisaki smiled, too; he enjoyed a good plot twist.
“I did, of course, kiss her later on," Takemichi continued, probably embarrassed. "She even said I was good at it, which is kind of unexpected because I’ve never kissed anyone else.”
Kisaki rolled his eyes.
“Sorry," Takemichi stammered, "That was a weird thing to say. I'm not bragging.”
“Whatever,” Kisaki grumbled. His heart sunk at the idea of Tachibana giving such a compliment, and his stomach was boiling with jealousy, intensifying by the minute.
“Have you had your first kiss yet, Kisaki-san?” Takemichi asked hesitantly.
Kisaki twisted his lips and stared ahead at the cityscape. The residual cloud of smoke from the firework display was quickly dispersing and would soon be invisible.
“No."
"Oh!" Takemichi abruptly chuckled, and Kisaki jumped a little. "I beat you to it!"
It was lighthearted, but if Takemichi knew the quiet rage it inspired he probably would not have said it.
"I guess you did."
"That actually surprises me, Kisaki-san. It seems you're always one step ahead of everyone else," Takemichi smiled. Again with that smile.
"Thanks?" Kisaki blurted in a knee-jerk response to the butterflies in his chest, a rare sort of humiliation. He could have lied, but for his goal of getting on Takemichi’s wavelength, he had chosen honesty. He had failed to expect a compliment in return, though.
Takemichi carefully regarded Kisaki's expression for a second, his own features a little obscured by the night. His eyes were still vibrant, almost luminescent.
“You know,” he continued softly, "I could show you how to do it. I wouldn't mind."
He wasn't smiling anymore.
“Now that’s a weird thing to say,” Kisaki snapped.
It was a really weird thing to say, especially given their history, especially given Takemichi’s happy admission to not understanding him in the slightest. They were by no means friends. But Takemichi knew something that Kisaki didn't: how Tachibana liked being kissed, and was that information he could so willingly let slip by?
Why one would offer such a thing, Kisaki could scarcely comprehend. Maybe Takemichi was only joking, but no, by the meek tone of his voice it was clear he was serious, and Kisaki had a certain intuition for knowing when someone was making fun of him. Maybe–and this was most likely, Kisaki figured–Takemichi was just that lonely. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to hold someone, even–or perhaps especially–if that someone was incomprehensible and distant.
“Fuck. Sorry, I," Takemichi stammered. His complexion had deepened to a tomato red, but Kisaki did not notice, as he was steadfastly gazing at the twinkling city before them. 'I just thought–”
"Fine."
Takemichi stopped. For a few seconds, even the streets below seemed to fall silent.
"Huh?"
"Don't make me say it," Kisaki mumbled, not finding it in himself to speak the explicit sentiment. He didn't need to.
Simply put, it would be an exchange. Takemichi was lonely and Kisaki was hungry for information. Simple as that.
Takemichi blinked, and Kisaki finally summoned the willpower to look at him: diminutive, wide-eyed, and hugging his knees against his chest.
"Okay. I mean, it's not so weird, really."
"I suppose it's not," Kisaki fibbed.
He said it to assure Takemichi as well as himself–to assure Takemichi that this was ordinary and to assure himself that there was no other way to learn how Tachibana liked to be kissed than by kissing Takemichi himself. He needed assurance that he was imagining any nagging curiosity for whether he would enjoy it, too: a kiss from the hero who had saved Tachibana and stolen her heart. Because no matter how miserable he was, Takemichi was still the heroic boy under all that sadness.
"Right now?" Takemichi grinned awkwardly, still hugging his knees against his chest. "Seriously?"
Kisaki nodded. "Sure. Hero." While Takemichi stiffened, Kisaki stared expectantly, blankly, under a heavy guard that kept even his most imminent nerves invisible.
"Uh, okay," Takemichi stammered.
Carefully, Kisaki inched a little closer, so that they sat face to face.
"Alright, then," Takemichi murmured. "Well, first, get rid of anything that'll get in the way." He gestured at Kisaki's eyeglasses.
Kisaki carefully pulled off his glasses and hung them over the collar of his jacket. Takemichi's face grew a little unclear, fuzzy. In addition to losing the obstruction, he was perhaps better off seeing like that: not seeing the precise anxiety in Takemichi's expression, but instead just his face. Clear enough to tell who he was but not enough to remark on the multitude of blues in his familiar eyes.
"Then,” Takemichi mumbled. His voice trailed off as he reached toward Kisaki but stopped, second-guessing himself and closing his hand.
Kisaki waited calmly, studying the blurry blue of his eyes.
“Um, then tuck her hair behind her ear,” Takemichi eventually whispered. He smiled slightly as he curled his fingers around Kisaki's ear, for his hair was too short to tuck. His cold fingers spread across Kisaki's buzzed hair, his thumb against his temple. "And hold onto her. Like so."
Kisaki swallowed stiffly, his stomach tightening.
"Now…" Takemichi mumbled, barely audible. He slowly pulled in with closed eyes, and Kisaki pursed his lips a little in anticipation.
Then Takemichi kissed him.
He tasted like artificial strawberries–sort of like candy, but less sweet. His lips were plush and the kiss was nothing more than a gentle peck over Kisaki’s upper lip, but then he kissed him again, a little more decidedly. His movements were soft and meditative, chaste but lingering, and increasingly deep as smaller pecks on Kisaki's lips seemed to query for permission to continue.
Kisaki closed his eyes and sighed into the wonderfully safe but vulnerable feeling as Takemichi ran his fingers through his hair. One of his hands found Takemichi's waist and he held on, nearly melting from his gentle intensity.
A booming firework echoed loudly in the distance, and Kisaki slowly opened his eyes to find Takemichi incredibly near, with one palm cupped warmly over his cheek.
His face was drawn with tears, illuminated by the golden firework.
Kisaki's lips parted but no words arrived.
"Sorry," Takemichi mumbled, blinking frantically and roughly wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.
"What is it?" Kisaki asked, breathless and bewildered, "What's wrong?" His stomach was woven into knots, and suddenly the notion of throwing up a slew of butterflies and his still-beating heart didn't seem so unlikely.
"I–I'm sorry!" Takemichi stammered, rubbing at his cheeks, and a couple more fireworks set off from the same location as before, apparently gearing up for round two. He looked away, pretending to watch the distant glitter fade only to reappear in new colours seconds later. "Fuck," he forced a laugh, "I just ruined that. Fuck…"
Kisaki frowned. His first kiss wasn't exactly the kind of thing you could ruin; it was no treasure. However, if he understood Takemichi correctly, all that Takemichi knew was that someone he barely knew was willing to give away his first kiss because he was lonely, under the excuse that Takemichi was the one doing the favour. Indeed, Takemichi was doing him a favour, but he couldn't have possibly understood the extent of it.
Nevertheless, the kiss had actually been instructive. It had also been warm and sweet, and Takemichi was vulnerable and real, real in a way that the distant Tachibana was not, and would not be for a long time. Kisaki realized he did not mind the prospect of trying again.
"It's alright," he said. Gingerly, he reached for Takemichi's hand and felt the rough, scarred skin with his finger. "Were you thinking of Hina?"
Hina.
He had never referred to her as such aloud before. She had always been Tachibana-san, but never so familiar, never so close. With the residue of Takemichi's taste on his lips, the name was only sweeter.
That was the taste of Tachibana's lip gloss.
"Yeah," Takemichi smiled sadly. "I was thinking about her."
Buried beneath his calm mask, Kisaki was appalled by the notion that he personally had not been thinking about her. He didn't have that option, not when he was so focused on Takemichi's every movement–Takemichi's eyes, Takemichi's fingers, Takemichi's lips, Takemichi's breathing–even his heartbeat. He had relayed it all perfectly to memory. But now at the back of his mind was the plaguing fact that his first kiss had been with Takemichi and not her. It shouldn't have mattered, but Takemichi and Tachibana had been each other's first kiss, and all Kisaki had done was give away his as a fake pity kiss to the lonely Takemichi.
It was fine, though. Kisaki had established long ago that he was in this for the long-run: Tachibana would be his one day, but not for a while. In the meantime, playing with the crybaby hero could actually be productive. Yes, this was fine in its own right.
"I was thinking about her," Takemichi murmured, "But also…" His voice trailed off to nothing and he rubbed his rosy, sniffling nose.
"What's that?" Kisaki asked in a restrained voice, quiet against the harsh crack and boom of the fireworks he was failing to watch.
“It’s just…” Takemichi sniffled and bowed his head before continuing. "It's just–earlier, you called me 'Hero'. No one's called me that in a while."
Oh.
So he still wants to be the hero. Of course.
As incredible as the fireworks nearby were, Kisaki and Takemichi could not deign to look away from each other.
"It hasn't been so long," Kisaki said. He wondered if being called a hero was anything like being called "Kisaki-san".
"Yeah. Maybe," Takemichi sniffled again, "I guess you're right, Kisaki-san."
Kisaki's heart panged.
"I've heard what they call me," he blurted.
Still blinking frantically, Takemichi rubbed at his nose. "What? What do they call you?"
"They call me the devil," he admitted, fighting the rising swell of angry adrenaline in his chest. "But I'm pretty sure you already knew that."
Takemichi stiffened. Looked away. Kisaki watched as he shrunk into his scarf and buried his face in his arms.
"Do you agree?" Kisaki asked, and Takemichi's hands curled into weak fists over his knees, "Do you think I'm the devil, too? I want you to tell me."
"No!" Takemichi exclaimed. His face was still buried, leaving his voice muffled.
There was no other practical answer.
"I really don't," he mumbled, and his blond head rose from his arms like the morning sun, dewy with tears, "I don't believe it." The subtle moisture of his cheeks captured the light of the fireworks display, painting him colourfully. "I swear, I don't. Especially not now. It's just–sometimes people assume things that aren't true because they can't find another answer. They don't know you–"
"Takemitchy?"
The pair stiffened in sync at the sound of Mikey's voice. Recalling their proximity, Kisaki urgently pulled away, and suddenly Mikey and Draken were standing before them.
"What's going on?" Mikey asked, raising an eyebrow.
Takemichi began to stammer foolishly, but Kisaki wasn't nearly as tongue-tied.
"Nothing, really," he said plainly. Ignoring his rapidly pounding heart, he put his glasses back on and Takemichi and the others grew clearer.
Mikey smiled at the pair while Draken simply stared at Takemichi, likely noticing how flustered he was. Thanks to the weather, it wasn't obvious whether he was so red and blotchy from crying, embarrassment, or the cold.
"Hi, guys," Takemichi finally said with an unsubtle sniffle. Again, it could be attributed to the cold. Thank goodness for that.
"I was wondering where you were," Mikey said, "Hey, there's such a good view of the fireworks here! Why don't we all watch it together?"
“Oh. Yeah,” Takemichi mumbled as if emerging from a trance, only then noticing that the fireworks were still going off.
“Come on.” Mikey helped Takemichi up, and the four of them walked to the railing that enclosed the rooftop.
The display crescendoed into a more wondrous show of dazzling colours than before, appearing in massive expanses of sparkles, shaped in stars and hearts and falling to glittery dust. Kisaki did not look at the boys beside him, but focused on the sparkling welcome to the new year, exploding with vibrant colours that faded just as quickly as they appeared, only to return again moments later with another crack and a boom.
Kisaki wondered if the old Takemichi would ever return, if he would ever recover his remarkable intuition for his convoluted plans and fight back, if he would ever call him the devil that he was. Perhaps Takemichi would instead preserve his new naïveté until Kisaki made it abundantly clear that he sought no other outcome than to rise to the top of Toman, no matter the bloody cost.
"Takemitchy!" Mikey suddenly exclaimed with a bout of laughter, "If you're cold, have Ken-chin warm you up! Not me!"
Kisaki looked to his side and found Mikey placing Takemichi's hands in Draken's, whose eyebrows were pinched together in confusion.
"Huh?" Draken grumbled as he let Mikey close his fingers around Takemichi's hands.
"I–I didn't mean to–" Takemichi stammered only to be interrupted.
"You have warm hands, Ken-chin!" Mikey clarified and turned back to Takemichi, "I use Ken-chin as my personal heater all the time."
"Oh. Yeah, it's true," Draken hummed with humble pride. “Mikey's always ice-cold. Hold my hand instead if you need some warmth.”
Takemichi chuckled nervously. "Um, okay."
That was when he caught Kisaki's eye, and Kisaki noticed how flushed his cheeks were, how his laugh sounded fabricated, and how though he should have been looking at Mikey and Draken because they were speaking to him, he was looking at someone else instead.
Kisaki quickly looked away, assaulted by a strange instance of déjà vu, though he couldn't find the original story in his memory. Perhaps the memory belonged to Takemichi. He disregarded the feeling, but he could still sense Takemichi's deep blue eyes on him.
What a shame.
Takemichi had probably realized too late that while he was lonely, no one could, for even a second, take Tachibana's place. Perhaps he realized he may have just kissed the devil, that maybe Chifuyu's intuition had been correct, even without substantial evidence. That either way, he had to live with whatever consequences would arise: consequences that even Kisaki had not fully imagined yet.
At this point, it was a situation best left alone.
Kisaki was well-trained at hiding his emotions, but Takemichi wasn't, and he had little interest in watching this sorry aftermath.
"Hm. I have to leave," Kisaki said, ignoring Takemichi's foolishly humiliated, wide-eyed expression. "I'll see you later. Happy New Year."
"Bye Kisaki! Happy New Year!" Mikey said. Draken and Takemichi said nothing.
Kisaki walked away without another word, only acknowledging the stuttering goodbye that Takemichi mustered seconds later with a subtle smile and a wave. When he turned the corner and reached the door leading to the stairwell, he paused. The fireworks were still booming behind him, but beneath the resounding noise he heard Mikey's voice.
"What were you guys talking about? You weren’t arguing, were you?"
"Huh?" Takemichi squeaked, "No! We were just talking. We're on okay terms, I swear! I really–I don't mind him."
A pause.
"Okay, then," Mikey continued, "I believe you. But if there's trouble, I need to know about it. No infighting allowed."
"Will do," Takemichi obediently exclaimed.
After that, the trio went silent, quietly enjoying the fireworks from their unblocked view. Once Kisaki was certain there was nothing else to hear, he headed down the stairwell and left headquarters.
It had been a productive night–well, morning. The new year presented many new opportunities, and with Takemichi woven around his finger, Kisaki could at least relax on that front for the time being. The boy who was once his worst critic now seemed just as susceptible to manipulation as anyone else–Osanai, Kiyomasa, Peh-yan, Yuzuha–you name it. And, as it turned out, wringing emotions out of him was actually kind of fun. This exciting new prospect carried Kisaki home, practically floating while he replayed his first kiss in his mind, transcribing over and over again every detail and the persisting warmth in his chest to memory. Itching at the back of his mind was the question if Takemichi would soon return to his prior disposition, if ever.
When Kisaki finally arrived home, in his bedroom, he closed the door behind him before trying on the strawberry lip gloss he had stolen from Takemichi.