Chapter Text
“We need to stop at the bank and get New Year money for the patriarchs,” Maki noted as she turned a corner.
“Can’t we use an ATM?” Tomi asked; the lines inside of banks were always so annoyingly slow moving.
“We need to make sure it’s nice, crisp new bills.”
Tomi sighed.
Maki gave a scoff and admonished, “What other preparation do you even have to do besides show up?” She parked the car.
“Spend half the evening playing piano,” Tomi retorted, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“That’s not preparation, you already know the songs,” Maki said as she got out, then came around and opened his door for appearance’s sake. “And you can’t pretend that you don’t like playing.”
Tomi grimaced as he stepped out of the car, feeling past the brick wall in front of him and the line of people inside. “The line is long,” he said. “It seems everybody else is also trying to get ‘nice’ bills for their children.”
“We probably should have done it last week,” Maki said with a little sigh.
“I think I remember you saying that last year,” Tomi noted.
Maki cocked her head to the side, looking up at him with a flicker of amusement in her psyche. “You need to be more patient,” she chided. “People won’t be so lenient with an adult.”
“I don’t see why I should be so lenient with daudlers.”
000
“You alright, sir?”
Daken blinked, shook himself, and turned his attention to Otou. “Sorry?”
“You’re quiet today. Sorta zoned out,” the driver said, glancing briefly sideways at him then back to the road as they approached the passenger terminal. “I’m not trying to pry at anything that isn’t my business, just asking if you’re alright.”
Daken sighed and nodded, running a hand back over his hair. “Just distracted, making lists in my head. It’s a busy time of year,” he said.
“Sure,” Otou agreed, weaving his way through the cars and shuttles in front of arrivals. “Did you do poems again this year?”
“Mhm.” Daken nodded. “I haven’t copied them onto cards yet, but I have enough new ones.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Otou said, and nodded toward the curb. “There they are.”
Daken pushed his door open and stepped out as they pulled up, putting on a smile. “Welcome home,” he called, as a teenager lunged at him.
“Mister Daken! You came to meet us!” Tsudo exclaimed, throwing his arms around Daken.
“Of course I did,” Daken said, returning the hug with a light pat on the back and casting a smile and a nod to Hiro, who was now taking the handle of his little brother’s roller-bag along with his own. “How was your flight?”
“So long!” Tsudo laughed, letting him go. “But worth it, we’re so happy to be back!”
“And the seats were very comfortable,” Hiro added in a pointed tone. “Thank you, sir.”
“Oh yes, they were! First class makes me feel so important!” Tsudo agreed with another laugh, and dipped a little bow. “Thank you, Mister Daken.”
“You are important, boys,” Daken replied, opening the back door as Otou helped Hiro put their roller-bags in the trunk. The two climbed in the back seat, and Daken slid onto the facing one, pulling the door shut behind him as Otou got back in up front and pulled away from the curb. “How are things in New York?”
Tsudo cringed and clapped his hands together in beseeching apology, dipping his head. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, Ishida at the cafe stopped talking to me!” he said. “She’s been mad since she found out I was going home for New Year.”
“It’s okay, Tsudo, I’m sure she’ll get over it,” Daken said soothingly. “It’s just difficult for her, but I’m sure she knows you haven’t done anything wrong. She won’t stay angry forever.”
“The target mostly keeps to the bar section, I see him come in and leave more evenings than not,” Hiro said, a hint of a frustrated sigh in his voice. “Other teachers and students eat in the restaurant area regularly though, and I listen. We wrote reports and shredded our notes before we came.”
“Perfect.” Daken smiled warmly at them. “The clan appreciates your bravery and efforts.”
000
Tomi paused a moment at the top of the stairs, and then started down the hallway toward Daken’s room instead of his own. Knocking, he received a soft, distracted, “Come in,” and stepped inside. Daken was at his table, hunched over a small stack of A6 bristol cards and his notebook, a brush-pen in hand. He paused, glancing toward his phone, sitting on the corner of the table. “Are you just getting in?” he asked, apparently taking note of the time.
“There was a long line at the bank,” Tomi replied. “Maki insisted we needed to go inside to get ‘nice, crisp’ bills for New Year money.”
Daken nodded, looking back at his work. “Presentation matters.” His psyche was staticky and distant.
“You’re making poetry postcards again?” Tomi asked.
“The patriarchs like them,” Daken murmured, brush-pen delicately gliding against cardstock. “And they seem to make good little game prizes. The children have been collecting them, in some cases maybe more out of competitiveness than poetry appreciation.”
“Are these new?”
“Mhm.” Daken nodded vaguely.
“Will you read them to me?”
The brush-pen paused, hovering for a moment, the static in Daken’s psyche intensifying. “I want to get them finished up tonight, and I have to read Hiro and Tsudo’s reports, in case I need clarification on anything before they leave again,” he said. “You should catch up with them. The poems are all in my notebook, I can read them to you anytime.”
Tomi didn’t mind Hiro, he liked his straight forwardness, but Tsudo was a hair’s breadth from rabid. Hiro was his handler and babysitter as much as his elder brother. The prospect of tolerating the younger’s half-mad, inane yammering would have been less than appealing even if Tomi were in a social mood. And right now, he wanted nothing but to stay right here until Daken looked at him, stopped evading him. Tomi drew a breath, mouth opened to speak, paused, and then said, “Sure. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Of course.” Daken nodded.
“’Til then,” Tomi said, and walked out, sliding the door silently shut behind him and making his way down the hall and up the adjoining one to his own room. It was the third day Daken had been distant and vague, psyche mired in the radio-static of anxiety and avoidance, with an excuse for spending the evening alone. Tomi bit his lip, scrubbed a hand against his face, and drew a deep breath. The fact that dread seemed to be very suddenly overtaking Daken in the week before Tomi was to come of age put a knot in his stomach. Was it so dreadful?
Confronting, asking, mentioning the sudden spike in Daken’s anxiety before New Year’s Day wasn’t an option. He’d made his line in the sand very clear six years ago, saying he couldn’t even think past it, and clearly defined rules and boundaries were one of Daken’s ways of managing his nerves. He may not be in dread at all, but only struggling with not thinking ahead; he was always a planner in all other things. Tomi should be following his example of not thinking about it early. He drew another deep breath, trying to force calm on himself, and went to change into more comfortable clothing and brush his hair before dinner.
000
Daken found the Sokuto brothers out by the gate, helping a few other boys unload two large entry decorations from a mini-truck, the pine barrels crowned with bamboo poles a good three meters tall and generating laughter and chatter as the boys got them moved into place on either side of the gate. Daken watched and waited until the barrels were placed and one of the boys was driving the mini-truck away, before he called out to his queries. “Hiro, Tsudo. Do you have time to answer some questions?”
Tsudo flashed a manic grin, his brother’s more subdued, and started over. “Of course, Mister Daken! About our reports?”
“Yes, there was something in yours I’d like some more detail on,” Daken agreed with affected calm. “And it’s possible Hiro could have heard little bits on his side to fill in the picture.”
“I’ll try my best.” Hiro gave a small nod.
Daken lead them into the building and to a small dayroom, where a hostess was just placing the tea and snacks he’d requested onto the table. She stood and gave him a polite smile and a bow, then excused herself. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Daken said. He beat Tsudo to the teapot, pouring while the brothers got settled, and they radiated a bit of flattered embarrassment as he set cups in front of them. “Tsudo, I’d like to hear more about ‘Kintaro’. You wrote in your report that this boy heals, but you don’t mean like me, do you?”
“No, Mister Daken. I’m sorry, I should have clarified,” Tsudo said, picking up his cup. “Ishida said one of their friends nearly died, but he healed her.”
“Nearly died how? Did you ask?”
“Yessir, of course!” Tsudo nodded quickly. “Ishida said she wasn’t there to see it herself, but she heard that the girl was stabbed all the way through her guts by a terrorist.”
If that wasn’t an exaggeration, a severe perforation of the stomach or intestine would come with a handful of consequences beyond the wound itself. “And this boy kept her alive. Did Ishida know or mention how long it took her to complete recovery?”
“It didn’t,” Tsudo replied. “Kintaro just touches people and makes it like the wound never happened right away.”
Daken pursed his lips a moment, gaze dropping, unfocused, to a dish of senbei and cookies sitting on the table. He drew a breath, eyes still in contemplation of the biscuits. “No scar?”
“I’ve seen that girl, she comes into the cafe often, but she doesn’t wear those little short shirts like some other girls,” Tsudo said with a hint of hesitance. “So, there could be a scar, but it doesn’t seem like it from the way Ishida talks.” He shifted to a proud grin then. “I did like you taught me. I double-talked like I was impressed but didn’t believe her at the same time, and it made her try to brag and tell me off, just like you said.”
“Well done, Tsudo,” Daken praised, giving him a soft smile.
“I do know who he means, I have heard the instructors talking about that boy,” Hiro said, then frowned. “It’s confusing sometimes, their conversations, I think there’s more than one boy with the same name. It may be common? Jyashi...?”
“Joshua, or maybe the shortened form, Josh. It’s a biblical name, and anything from the Bible does tend to be common in the states,” Daken agreed.
Hiro nodded, turning his cup around slowly in an unconscious fidget. “There’s a tall, dark woman who comes with her friends very often for happy hour, but they sit at a booth in the diner so I’ve been able to listen to them many times,” he said. “My impression is that she is the homeroom teacher for two boys with this name, and she has also adopted the one of them.”
“The healer?” Daken asked, and received a nod. “Orphaned or abandoned?”
“Abandoned,” Hiro said. “The woman has mentioned this several times, and I- I apologize for not more carefully considering this in my report, I was focusing on the faculty.”
“That’s what you were asked to do, Hiro, you don’t need to apologize,” Daken said gently. “But I appreciate whatever you’re able to remember about him.”
Hiro pursed his lips and nodded, looking down at the table. “From the way I have heard the woman talk with her companions, when something is said of her foster son’s powers, it sounds as if they are a very unusual kind, and perhaps worrying? Twice I have listened when she was with Doctor McCoy, it seemed specifically to talk about the boy, and something he said... I’m sorry, sir, I don’t remember exactly.” He smelled of frustration and embarrassment, a slight wrinkle on his nose.
“What was the gist?”
“It sounded as if they were concerned that they had been unable to guess the boy’s upper limit,” Hiro said, looking up.
Daken frowned slightly, chewing on that. “... That doesn’t add up,” he murmured. “If he’s a healer, why would the upper limit not simply be exactly as he did for that girl? Making someone fine with a touch after a potentially lethal injury seems like as high as a healer could go... Unless they think he could raise the dead or something...?”
“I- I’m not sure, sir,” Hiro said, obviously embarrassed to admit it. “He... He changed his skin though. My understanding is that he looked normal when he arrived at the school. It seemed as if his foster mother and the doctor were concerned that he’d changed himself.”
Daken turned his eyes back to Tsudo. “And ‘Kintaro’ is literal?” he asked.
“Yes. His skin is a very bright gold color and shine,” Tsudo agreed.
“... He’s a biokinetic. That makes sense now,” Daken murmured. “It’s a very rare and very dangerous power...” He bit his lip and tapped a fingernail against the table, turning it over and over in his head. “... An extremely dangerous kind of mutant to annoy...”
“Annoy, Mister Daken?” Tsudo asked. “You’re worried this boy will interfere with the mission?”
Daken shook his head. “No. I had thought, if he were just a healer...”
“You were thinking of Shishido’s eyes,” Hiro said quietly.
Daken nodded, sighing in frustration and disappointment. “But if his own foster mother is afraid of what he’s capable of...”
“It sounded more as if they were afraid of his ignorance to his own power, but also that there may be some kind of harm in telling him...” Hiro said doubtfully.
“Mister Daken, might it be helpful that his powers only work when he’s awake?” Tsudo asked and, encouraged by Daken looking sharply up at him, went on, “He can’t even heal himself if he’s unconscious. Ishida told me how she once shocked him awake after he had sustained a life-threatening injury, because he couldn’t right himself unless he was fully awake.”
Daken stared at him for a moment, the gears turning again. “... Yes, that might be helpful,” he murmured. “Tell me any gossip you picked up related to this boy, regardless of whether it seems insignificant or outlandish.”
“Yessir,” both boys said, Tsudo beaming and Hiro more subdued but smelling pleased.
000
Tomi had stripped his futon but left the mats out and waiting for clean linens, and was dressed and brushing his hair when someone stopped at his door, knocking. He recognized Maki’s psyche and called, “Come in.”
She slid the door open and stepped through, then closed it behind herself. “I got you a birthday present,” she announced, holding up a giftbag by the ribbon handles as she walked over.
“You’re a day early,” Tomi replied.
“It’ll be busy later.” Maki shrugged. “And anyway, this one’s not for the public party.”
Tomi frowned, setting his brush down. “You’re giving me something inappropriate,” he guessed.
“It’s a gay sex kit,” Maki said.
Tomi wrinkled his nose. “So inappropriate and none of your business.”
“All the stores are going to be closed this week. It’s important to prepare ahead for anything you might need,” Maki reasoned dismissively, setting the gift bag on top of his dresser.
“Perhaps I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” Tomi retorted.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m kind enough to be presumptuous on your behalf,” Maki said airily, turning around. “Don’t feel obliged to thank me, I wouldn’t want you to feel so presumptuous as to be grateful, in case you’re worried about jinxing it.” She gave a large shrug, sliding the door open again. “See you at breakfast.”
Tomi gave an irritated, or maybe nervous, sigh after she left. He put the gift bag inside a drawer and out of sight from any potential visitors before heading downstairs.
After breakfast, all residents of the main office spent the morning hours cleaning the compound, despite the excessive number of hands constantly getting in each other’s way. After lunch, the majordomo gave the twin patriarchs a box of a ten mini straw wreaths, and they proceeded to run all around the mansion, excitedly debating with each other where to hang each, then were invited to help in the kitchen with the preserving and layin. The boys and girls continued with cleaning and decoration into the early evening, before the majordomo declared the compound to be in a satisfactory state and dismissed everyone to the baths.
When both the compound and those within it were clean, the boys, the girls, and a few officers moved into the large salon, and the patriarchs came running jubilantly back from the kitchen for games. Tomi took a seat at his piano and received cheers as the first few bars of the Ninth were struck. The party then began arguing over which game to play first and dividing into smaller groups for playing. A couple minutes in, Tomi felt Daken come and settle on the tatamis next to him. This was normal, banal even, but Tomi felt a surge of relief in it. He didn’t let his fingers falter or slow as he carefully observed Daken’s psyche, somewhat detached but without the film of static, apparently relaxed by the festive atmosphere.
“Daken!” Karasu’s voice called, and he lifted his head a little to demonstrate attentiveness. “Are there prizes?”
His psyche warmed and he gave a nod back. “Winner for each group gets a sweet, and I have new poems for the all-room winners for three rounds each of sugoroku, menko and karuta.”
The room dissolved into noisy game play. As one group would finish the chosen game, they’d begin cheering and heckling the others. When the entire room had completed the round, points were compared to determine the all-room winner who would receive a hand-scribed, original work of Daken’s aesthetic brilliance. That treasure would most likely end up pinned or taped to a wall like some generic postcard in an act of vulgar philistinism, simply to brag of winning a game, by a boy or girl incapable of truly appreciating the piece. Tomi couldn’t calculate what he would give to be able to fully savor those perfect, little gems Daken crafted, to see his wordplay and the quality of his caligraphy, no doubt as deft and elegant as his movements in a spar.
Whenever such a prize was claimed, per the tradition established over recent years, the winner would attempt read out the five-line poem. They’d most often be stumped once or twice by a kanji above their level of schooling, prompting an intervention from Daken. At which point the reader and the room would laugh together, amused and sympathetic in their camaraderie as high school drop-outs and those who had barely squeaked by. The butchery of Daken’s art grated on Tomi, but this ritual, a game in itself, didn’t irk Tomi as much as it might have, had they not been rightly awed by the vast intellectual gulf between themselves and Daken.
After closing the obligatory rendering of Beethovman’s Ninth, Tomi had moved on to a sonata he’d composed two years ago, one of Daken’s favorites. While the evening wore on, his attention drifted back and forth between the music and watching the colors and shifts of Daken’s psyche, paying little attention to the rest of the room. Tomi wanted badly to talk to him, about anything, to bogart his attention. But the clan and the small patriarchs were demanding it, Daken’s role in these rituals having evolved over time into a games master. And moreso, Tomi wasn’t confident at the moment in his ability to steer away from banned topics, and chafing at Daken’s recently stretched nerves.
Only about half the promised prizes had been given out when a pair of hostesses came to the room to announce that dinner was ready. Toratoraeru quelled lamentations by pointing out they had three days of holiday ahead and shooing the party off to the dining room, where the patriarchs and the full compliment of officers were eating with the boys and girls for the occasion. Daken settled at Tomi’s left, the same as ever. A few minutes into dinner, he lightly tapped the butt of his chopsticks against Tomi’s left hand, and asked calmly, “Are you interested in the singing battle this year?”
Daken already knew the answer to that well enough. “I’m sure it’s festive, of course, but despite the music, it really is something that’s made to be looked at,” Tomi replied; he once might have scoffed derisively at the suggestion, before Daken had drilled into him the importance of not belittling the interests of his colleagues, and how easy it was to avoid giving his opinion in nearly any circumstance by simply stating a semi-related, objective fact.
“True enough,” Daken murmured. “I can make time to read you the new poems, and there was another matter I wished to speak with you about that won’t keep through the holidays.”
Tomi’s breath caught for a tiny moment, before he forced it to resume at a measured pace and nodded. “Yes, it’s a good time,” he agreed softly.
As dinner wrapped up and most of the resident clan members started moving toward the television lounge to watch the holiday singing battle, Daken laid a hand lightly on Tomi’s shoulder, and said, “I’ll fetch my notebook and meet you in the garden?”
“Alright,” Tomi agreed, lingering as Daken climbed to his feet and strolled from the dining room. Tomi’s mind’s eye following his movements until Daken slipped beyond his range. Then he made his way to the mudroom, stepping into his galoshes, and out into the courtyard. He stood waiting under the shelter of the eaves, with the faint sounds reaching him from the television lounge behind and the muffled silence of the snowy garden ahead. He felt Daken in the mudroom and half-turned as the door opened. “From what I heard during the games, the words sounded brilliant, though the delivery left something wanting,” Tomi murmured with a wan smirk.
Daken chuckled softly. “Oration isn’t the first priority in recruiting children to the clan,” he quipped, as they stepped down onto the garden path together.
They strolled slowly beside each other as Daken read from a small spiral notebook, his more-than-human eyes having no difficulty with the darkness, and in the full grip of night the temperature was low enough that what snowflakes happened to fall on the pages didn’t melt there to smear the ink. His voice brought the verses to life as the clumsy stuttering in the game room had not, though far from lulling Tomi into a calm daze of art appreciation, he only felt his heart beat faster with each composition. Daken had said he wanted to speak about something that wouldn’t ‘keep’. Dread lurked amid excitement. In the years Tomi had pined after Daken, he’d frequently felt frustrated but never truly in doubt. Only now, this close, did ultimate rejection seem like an actual possibility.
After reading the nine short-form poems he’d turned into party favors, Daken read the two four-stanza poems the patriarchs would be receiving tomorrow. Where the short poems were a selection harvested from Daken’s musings throughout the previous year, the longer compositions displayed a deliberate crafting for their intended owners and a thematic aesthetic evoking the New Year. They were beautiful, of course. “The illustration is two crows perching on a snowy bow of pink dawn tree,” Daken described, not from the notebook but of one of the large sheets of local artisan paper, safely waiting in his room and adorned with Daken’s own sumi painting.
“I wish I could see it,” Tomi sighed.
“About that... I said there was a time-sensitive matter I wished to discuss with you,” Daken said softly, giving his notebook a hard shake to dislodge any clinging snowflakes, before folding it shut and tucking it under his arm.
Tomi’s heart skipped, though the segue seemed uncharacteristically forced and clumsy. “Is the garden the appropriate place for it?” he wondered.
“Everybody’s watching the song battle. Or anybody who isn’t certainly wouldn’t be out here in the cold and darkness like a crazy person,” Daken replied with a note of gentle humor, then tilted his head to glance up at Tomi. “Have you had enough of it? Want to go in?”
“I’m fine,” Tomi said, giving a small shake of his head. “It’s atmospheric, and I like the quiet.”
Daken hummed softly and nodded, then he sobered, a hint of nervousness painting his psyche. “Something unanticipated came up in Tsudo’s mission report. I spoke with him and Hiro about it yesterday afternoon to get some clarification,” he said.
Tomi frowned, thrown off and deflated, because whatever tidbit had caught Daken’s interest in Tsudo’s mission report was obviously a very different topic than Tomi had hoped they were going to be discussing.
Daken took a deep breath. “With the very important preface that this is not certain,” he said carefully, “there is a possibility that one of the students at that school may have the power to restore your eyes.”
“... Oh,” Tomi breathed, his lungs feeling slightly constricted.
“It’s also not without significant risk,” Daken explained softly. “Between what Tsudo heard from the girl who works at the cafe with him and what Hiro picked up eavesdropping at the diner, this boy has fully healed at least two people who were on the point of death, and healed the powers of a mutant who had had them in some way stolen previous.”
“... I see...”
“Where I mentioned risk though, some of the things Hiro overheard suggest that the boy is a biokinetic, not just a healer, which could make him extremely dangerous when angered, even to you or me,” Daken said carefully. “However, it seems as though he himself is unaware that he isn’t a healer, and that he has to be fully awake to use his powers.” He paused, drawing a deep breath and wetting his lip. “In light of those facts, I think he could be transported under sedation, and if he really doesn’t know his destructive potential, he could potentially be intimidated, and then with the further application of a carrot, cajoled into compliance.”
Tomi nodded slowly, and vaguely noticed that they’d stopped walking at some point.
“I’ve thought through it, and if this is something you would want to pursue, I don’t believe this would harm the original mission, as long as the boy himself does prove manageable,” Daken said, turning toward him, and Tomi mirrored the movement so that they were facing each other. “So it is something that bears your consideration... I don’t expect an immediate decision. Tsudo and Hiro are here until the bonfire festival, so we have until then to begin pivoting.”
“I meant it, that I want to see the beautiful things you make,” Tomi whispered.
“I didn’t doubt it.” Daken shook his head. “But besides the inherent danger in fucking with a biokinetic, the other matter that makes it something for deliberation is that being healed won’t change the nature of your mutation,” he said softly. “If you decide to pursue this, and if it is successful, you will have to be very very careful for the rest of your life... I don’t think I’m wrong to believe that this aspect of your powers would be more often a burden than an asset.” He pursed his lips for a moment, putting a hand gently on Tomi’s arm. His face had a downward tilt and was turned to the side slightly, gazing off at a snow-dusted bush. “I want you to understand that if you were to decide you’d rather skip it, that wouldn’t be cowardly. Just because an opportunity presents itself, you don’t have to take it back.”
“... I think the mutant revolutionary leaders would disagree with you,” Tomi murmured.
“It’s rather easy for mutants like Magneto or Exodus to make proclamations when they won the lottery for powers,” Daken scoffed, annoyance crossing his psyche. “You still have your strength, your psychic sight, your unparalleled talent. No one can justly say you aren’t mutant enough, or that you haven’t suffered enough for it.”
Tomi drew a deep breath and sighed, shaking his head. “... I remember a thing I said back then, when we were in the woods... That if my eyes hadn’t been taken, killing Romulus would have been easy.”
Daken was quiet a moment, then lifted his head to look at Tomi’s face. “I remember something else you said... That your eyes hadn’t been your greatest weapon, your intellect was.” He reached up and touched Tomi’s cheek. “And then it was ultimately that cleverness that ended him,” he whispered.
Tomi lifted his own hand and caught Daken’s. He turned his head, kissing Daken’s fingers, and felt his psyche go blank. It wasn’t the anxious static of recent days, it was a sudden vacancy, almost feeling like unconsciousness, as Daken’s mind retreated into itself, away from itself. To escape Tomi. His stomach turned, and he let go.
Daken’s hand fell limply to his side. There were a few seconds of silence, before a hint of Daken flickered back on. He swallowed and murmured, “Please don’t take how anybody would perceive you into account, as you think it over.” He was apparently ignoring Tomi’s lapse, if he hadn’t outright blacked out and misplaced the last minute. “All that matters is what will be best for you, for having the life you deserve,” Daken said calmly. “Take a few days to give it full consideration.”
“Okay,” Tomi whispered.
000
After the holiday song battle had wrapped up and good luck noodles had been eaten, everybody was bundled into winter coats, umbrellas were collected, and they packed tightly into cars, as the city’s biggest family started its pilgrimage to ring in the New Year. If the arrival of a parade of large, black cars weren’t a tip off, the appearances of the patriarchs and their immediate entourage were distinctive enough to be recognized. The line wasn’t as long as it might have been at one of the temples at the heart of the city, but what there was of it parted before them, denizens waving the clan to go ahead of them with nervous smiles.
The courtyard in front of the bell filled in, the attendance of Ogun-Rengo’s whole home office making it a bit overstuffed for the temple’s size, but the boys and girls knew to be on their best behavior and none of them were caught complaining or casting any menacing glares when crowded. Finally an attendant called that it was time to start the ringing. One by one, attendees took their turns swinging the striker, cleansing the sins of the old year.
When they weren’t taking their own turns, Karasu and Sojobo were sitting on Tomi and Shumai’s shoulders to survey the proceedings, puffed up like fat little penguins in their down jackets, eyes bright with excitement. They were far more alert than in previous years. Though their private tutoring would likely continue, they’d be middle schoolers in just over a year, Daken realized. The progression of time had become much more tangible when it meant something more than just changing fashion and music trends. Watching the twins sprout, the girls and the Sokuto brothers bloom, and Tomi grow into an imposing physical stature to suit his ability and clout.
“Daken?”
A hand had caught under his armpit, steadying, supporting. Daken blinked quickly to clear a dimness from his eyes and shook his head, finding his knees slightly buckled and his breath ragged. “I- I’m okay,” he mumbled. “What-- How many is that?”
“Thirty-eight,” Tomi answered, still keeping a hand on him and smelling of worry. “You stumbled.”
“What’s wrong?” Karasu asked from Tomi’s shoulders. Dooon. Thirty-nine.
“I... haven’t been sleeping well,” Daken whispered. Dooon. Forty. Dooon. Forty-one.
“Please take care of yourself, Daken,” Karasu said. Dooon. Forty-two.
“It’s fine. Just falling asleep a little.” Daken gave her a smile. Dooon. Forty-three.
Karasu still had a worried frown on her face, but she nodded and looked back at the bell. Dooon. Forty-four. Dooon. Forty-five.
Tomi’s hand was still on Daken’s arm. Dooon. Forty-six. He said quietly, “You’re shaking.” Dooon. Forty-seven.
“It’s cold,” Daken muttered. Dooon. Forty-eight. He could tell the excuse held no water with Tomi. Dooon. Forty-nine. He knew very well that Daken handled cold far better than a human, and he was jacketed and scarved as well as anybody else in the crowd. Dooon. Fifty.
“Daken--”
“Please,” Daken panted. Dooon. Fifty-one. “Let go.”
Tomi froze for a moment, the rhythm of his breath interrupted. Dooon. Fifty-two. His hand dropped, releasing Daken. Dooon. Fifty-three.
Daken put his eyes forward, staring at the bell. Dooon. Fifty-four. Half of the old year’s earthly sins cleansed. He lifted a hand to his mouth, curled in a loose fist to hide it as he bit down hard on his first knuckle, continuing to shake.
000
As the first hour of the new year got underway and everybody packed back into the cars for the drive home, it came as a relief that Daken chose to sit next to Tomi. This was normal, of course, but the normality in itself was a comfort after Daken’s strange panic attack during the ringing. He now seemed to have subsided into bleary exhaustion, leaning heavily against the door panel and gazing out the window as they rolled through the night.
Tsudo, Maki and Takeko chattered brightly through the short drive, and even as the noise grated on Tomi’s nerves slightly, he was none the less grateful they were keeping themselves and the rest of the car occupied. The cars disgorged the clan in front of the mansion once more, and an even mix of happy birthdays were called at Tomi and general good nights to all present, as everybody started clamoring inside, shedding galoshes and outerwear and dispersing toward their bedrooms.
“Are you alright?” Tomi asked softly, as he and Daken walked slowly to the stairwell.
Daken drew a deep sigh and shrugged in reply.
Tomi didn’t press the issue, still shaken from Daken’s rebuff at the temple, and continued climbing the stairs, silent but twisting inside. On the upper floor, Tomi faltered, still worried, wanting to see Daken safely to bed and rest, but dreading the potential pushback if he continued to pester. While Tomi was hesitating indecisively, Daken walked past him and down the hall. Not the one leading to his own room, but to the left. Tomi’s breath caught for a moment, then he wordlessly followed in Daken’s wake. Neither of them said anything as they made their way to Tomi’s door.
Daken slid it open and drifted inside. Tomi followed, turned to slide the door shut behind them, then paused, bracing himself with hand still on the door, taking in Daken’s posture and the tone of his psyche. He’d walked to the center of the room and then just stopped there, silent and frozen, still facing the direction he’d been walking, the remoteness and exhaustion now had a film of anxious static.
Tomi left the door and walked slowly over to him. “... Daken?” he asked softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Daken turned and took a quick step, the next moment against Tomi’s chest and leaning into him, arms locking around his back in a stiff manner and fingers gripping the fabric of Tomi’s shirt. Daken pressed his face against the side of Tomi’s neck, a small sound of distress in the back of his throat. He was trembling.
“What is it?” Tomi whispered, enfolding him, heart beating hard and fast enough that he was keenly aware of the feeling.
“I- I can’t compartmentalize anymore,” Daken whined. “Or the compartments are wrong now, I have to reorganize them, but I- I’m having trouble... I...”
“You’re exhausted,” Tomi murmured, stroking the hair at the back of Daken’s head, stopping his fingers above the nape. “You need to sleep.”
“Here,” Daken whispered.
“What?”
“If you make me go to my room, I’ll only keep spiraling,” Daken said, voice wavering and pinched. “Let me sleep here.”
“... You’re welcome here,” Tomi breathed, a knot in his throat. He thought he might have been shaking now too.
Daken shifted slightly, lifted his head without drawing back, and very softly kissed the corner of Tomi’s jaw. Heart hammering, Tomi moved his arms to adjust Daken’s position and captured his mouth. The flicker of discomfort in his psyche and the way Daken’s shoulders seized informed Tomi the kiss was too forceful, exacerbated by his unpracticed clumsiness. It drew up the memory of his first attempt, and the violent horror it had triggered in Daken.
“I’m sorry,” Tomi gasped, pulling back and loosening his grip on Daken, who, he was further dismayed not note, started hyperventilating and trembling harder. “I’m sorry.”
“N-No, I...” Daken mumbled, pressing his forehead against Tomi’s collarbone and gripping his shoulders hard. “I’m just...”
“Tired. You’re tired,” Tomi whispered, stroking his back in a way he dearly hoped was soothing. “Let’s go to bed.”
Daken nodded, swallowing audibly, and seemed to relax a little. He pulled away and started unbuttoning his blazer.
Tomi faltered, not in actual indecision, just a slight flustering that was far too adolescent, and then he went to his closet and fetched a pair of empty hangers to lend Daken, after which he started changing for bed. He was glad he’d had the forethought to make up his futon earlier, after retrieving his linens that afternoon. Though Daken’s company wasn’t anticipated, Tomi had known he’d be getting in late and need to be up again early tomorrow. He found himself awkwardly perched on a knife’s edge, between naturally, automatically, taking in the movements within his perception radius and trying not to watch Daken, out of a feeling of it seeming untoward at this moment.
After stripping to his undershirt and drawers, Daken used Tomi’s en suite and washed his face, then went and sat on one side of the futon, waiting there as Tomi made his own use of the lavatory.
Coming back into the room, Tomi kept his steps even and unfaltering, though his heart was still in palpitations. He settled down on the futon, hesitated for a brief moment, and offered his arm, deeply gratified when Daken allowed himself to be enfolded as he lay silently down against Tomi’s chest. After a minute of stillness, Tomi pressed a light kiss to Daken’s temple; there was no panic reaction, only a soft sigh.
“... I think I may have lied to both of us,” Daken whispered wearily.
“How so?”
“When you asked me, back then, whether you could have me when you came of age, and I told you I couldn’t know,” Daken said, fingers feathering over Tomi’s deltoid. “Stupid to think there was ever a question... when my life and soul were already yours by right.”
Tomi felt himself shiver and tightened his arms around Daken. “... I understand why you needed to have your line, why it was important to you, why you couldn’t so much as look beyond it. It’s not stupid,” he assured him. “... Go to sleep, my love.”
Daken sighed again, and after a minute or two, Tomi felt him succumbing to his fatigue.
000
Daken woke to the sounds of feet and brooms on the roof, though not directly overhead. Two... three little brothers, sweeping the snow and ice away. Probably a forth on the ground spotting and holding the ladder. The activity was far enough away, on the eastern side of the mansion, that it wasn’t disturbing Tomi, so Daken stayed still and silent in his arms. He’d guessed early on that a factor in Tomi’s initial infatuation was his body reading Daken’s neutral pheromones as alluring; he tiredly wondered if the current nocturnal arousal came of having spent the past few hours breathing him, or if it was more a factor of the tangible closeness of satisfying his long time frustration. He mused over what dream was accompanying the erection. Some erratic, discontinuous anti-narrative, as dreams were, but would the dream have Daken’s face or be an anonymous abstraction?
The clack of hyoshigi and young, male voices started up, faint even for Daken’s ears at this distance but probably quite loud in the basement, as the boys started through the halls, clacking away and shouting a wake up call. It would take them a few minutes to reach the upper floor, so Daken didn’t stir yet. He contemplated Tomi’s scent, currently savory with arousal. Somewhere near a year prior, there had been a day when it suddenly occurred to Daken that Tomi had, at some point, started to smell like an adult. He’d then gone to sequester in his room for a panic attack, sick with himself for noticing.
He should put an effort toward eradicating such neurotic frailties; he’d been a mess last night, forcing Tomi to deal with him in that state would likely get tiresome very quickly, and he couldn’t allow himself to be tiresome. He was Tomi’s. Tomi had allowed Daken the time to keep his integrity, but that was no longer a relevant concern, and he needed to reorient himself to the new reality before he tried Tomi’s patience. The boys reached the stairwell and were running noisily up it, clacking and shouting for everybody to wake up.
Tomi started, drawing a small gasp as he woke, and then he froze for a second. “... Did you sleep?” he asked, voice quiet but slightly strained, and touched with a hint of worry. He could probably tell that Daken had already been fully awake.
“Yes, until they started sweeping the roof,” Daken murmured, laying a hand on Tomi’s hip, and then drawing it toward the front, just slightly, just enough to make it a gesture. “I could help you with that.”
“Ah- I--” Tomi flustered slightly before recovering. “I want to take our time. And it would probably be healthy to have a conversation about it first.”
“Okay,” Daken breathed, and then shifted to reach Tomi’s lips and kiss him gently. He could feel a slight trembling in him as Tomi struggled with how badly aroused he’d woken. Daken pulled away and got his knees under him, rolling his shoulders and stretching his back as he sat up. “I’ll need to sneak back to my room and get my notebook,” he yawned, and climbed to his feet.
“R-Right,” Tomi agreed, breath agitated.
Daken retrieved the hangers with his clothes from the previous night, while Tomi disappeared into the en suite, which soon thereafter housed the quiet but distinctive sounds of seeing to his morning erection. Daken bit his lip as he buttoned his shirt and tried to suppress some irrational hurt at Tomi refusing the suggestion of letting Daken perform that chore for him. He wanted to take his time, that wasn’t a brushoff, just a pop culture driven over-romanticizing of the ‘first time’ concept, inevitably leading to disappointment and embarrassment.
Daken draped his blazer over one arm and ran his fingers back through his hair with a yawn, then walked to the door and listened to the hallway for a moment, before stepping out. He’d reached his own room before other residents of the upper floor started spilling out of theirs, where he changed into jeans and a sweater, fetched his notebook, and left again. Down in the mudroom, hostesses were handing out cups of coffee while coats and jackets were being pulled on by yawning clan members.
Daken put on his jacket, but rather than finding his shoes, he took his socks off, garnering disbelieving exclamations turning to whoops and encouragement from the rabble, and several of the younger boys started following suit, and then with much yowling and laughing followed him outside like that. Two ladders were propped against the east side of the building, with clan members milling around the bottom in the gradually brightening sweetlight, waiting their turn to climb up to the roof.
“You’re barefoot,” Toratoraeru accused, as he came up behind Daken. “And now so are half the little brothers.”
“I’m sure it’s fine, they won’t be out long enough for frostbite to dig in,” Daken replied with a shrug. “I’m barefoot because I’m going to be standing up up there. I assume the boys just feel it’s a good a macho challenge.”
Toratoraeru gave an irritated groan, knuckling his forehead, and then moved toward the ladder, cutting the line to make his way up.
The breeze was at his back, and so Tomi’s scent reached him first, then the crunch of snow under foot, then the hand on his shoulder. “You’re barefoot,” Tomi sighed.
“Less likely to slip and fall off when I try to stand on tiles,” Daken explained.
“It would ruin the ambiance if you broke your neck,” Tomi agreed, earning a chuckle.
They managed to get everybody up the ladders and sitting shivering on the roof, the patriarchs nestled in the middle of the party with a quilt wrapping them together. Daken tracked the time on his phone as idle chatter drifted in the air, then stood up carefully, the tiles under his bare feet slick with a thin film of ice, and flipped his notebook open while those near him took note and started calling for quiet. Daken took a deeper breath. “My family, I am fortunate to greet another year in your service and embrace,” he called. “Our beloved patriarchs have requested I share these words as we prepare together for the blessing of the New Year’s first light.” He read out the eight stanzas of a new sun-greeting poem he’d written with careful measure, reaching the closing line just as the orange sun broke the barrier of the horizon, and was answered with whoops and cheers of appreciation for the perfect timing.
When he started to lower himself back down to sit again, his foot did slip, despite the precaution of shoelessness. Before Daken could come down hard and ungracefully on his ass, Tomi came to his rescue, catching him halfway and easing him down as those boys and girls close enough to have seen the slip gave more cheers, mingled with giggles.