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Through winding paths, the weary traveler roams, seeking solace, yearning for familiar tones.
Then, at long last, beneath familiar skies' dome, they find their haven, the sweet embrace of home.
As he steps into the bustling terminal, the air wraps around him like a caress from the heart of winter. Each inhalation carries the delicate whisper of snowflakes, their icy breath dancing lightly on his lips, leaving behind a trace of crisp, invigorating chill. It's as if the very essence of the season has woven itself into the fabric of the airport, infusing every molecule with the purity and magic of snow-kissed days.
Outside the window, the icicles adorned branches, draping leaves and swaying grass like precious dew-kissed jewels, aglow under the tender morning light. Winter held a special magic, indeed—a marvel akin to the enchantment of of one's first love. But, he couldn't help the feeling of home that swelled up in him.
In the bloom of youth, Kazama once held airports in a tender embrace of dreams. They stood as beacons of opulence and reverence, forever echoing with the footsteps of his parents where they danced, tethered to those gleaming terminals. His father practically made a home within those terminals, and for Kazama, they had embodied promise, the compass to the life he yearned for.
Yet as the years wove their tapestry, the luster faded. The pristine white walls and their echoes grew sickening. They resonated with heartfelt farewells, glistening tears that succumbed to tearful goodbyes that never seemed to give his parents pause. None of which could beckon them to turn, to truly see him - not as a ledger entry or a business investment, but as their flesh and blood.
In those echoing corridors, he had known sorrow intimately, tears flowing as ceaselessly as his parents' absences. The only warmth he found was in the steady stream that traced his cheeks.
Now, airports stood as monuments to his bitterness, symbols of abandonment and estrangement from the haven he had crafted with Shin-Chan. They marked a departure from the cocoon of affection, a leave-taking from the sanctuary of shared love, where moments unfolded like drops of sweet honey, cherished and dripping with tender sweetness.
He could not wait to bask in that warmth again, to go back home and avoid the outside world that was filled with irritating people and idiots, to be hide under the covers with his own personal sunshine that made even the coldest winters warmer.
The gnawing hunger that had plagued him throughout the flight dissipated entirely. Who could care about sustenance when the promise of home lay so tantalizingly close? The throngs of bustling strangers only served to fortify his determination to reach his cherished haven.
When others waxed poetic about travel, they painted it in hues of grandeur and otherworldly beauty. They spoke of it like a treasure trove, likened it to the value of irreplaceable gems. They described the sensation of wind tousling through hair, and the vision of a low-hanging moon in a sky studded with twinkling jewels, as stars gazed benevolently from above.
Rarely did they speak of the solitude, the stark realization that not even Michelin-starred delicacies could supplant bento-boxes prepared with love. No sumptuously soft bed could replace the warmth found on the other side, and not even a handshake from the most renowned could outshine the embrace of a familiar, affectionate hug awaiting at home.
For how could they understand? They had never encountered a soul like Shin-Chan.
Kazama remained perpetually astounded by the fact that someone like Shin-Chan had chosen to be with him, that he had managed to win Shin-Chan's heart. As the world often remarked, their personalities were poles apart, and, as Nene delighted in jesting, they had resembled a cat and a mouse in their younger days. Shin-Chan had taken immense pleasure in taunting him back then.
The moment he found his courage and approached the boy, he had been met with an exasperated yet relieved "Finally." It had been that moment where he had found out that all of Shin-Chan's antics had been to seize his attention, to break through the walls Kazama had erected, that there had been moments where Shin-Chan had almost given up, thinking it futile.
It might have seemed unfair that someone as prickly as Kazama had won the heart of someone as vibrant and effervescent as Shin-Chan, but fairness mattered little to Kazama, he paid no heed to it. He was prepared to wage battles, to go to any length to protect what was theirs. He would face down anyone who dared to step between them.
Some might call it selfish, but he harbored no intention of letting Shin-Chan slip away, he would never release his grip on Shin-Chan, not until Shin-Chan himself wished for him to do so. With twenty years of steadfast companionship as testament, that day seemed as distant as a far-off horizon. Kazama vowed to do everything within his means to ensure it remained so.
As he gazed at the wallpaper adorned with a cherished photograph of them together, a smile curled upon his lips as he promptly booked a cab. Home was tantalizingly close, so near that he could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue.
Their home, akin to Kazama's childhood residence in its extravagance, was an opulent haven, brimming with luxuries that might have seemed superfluous to some. Yet, that's where the resemblance ended. While Kazama's former abode had been cavernous, haunted by one-sided dialogues and frigid spaces, this home overflowed with a vibrant, living energy. It was a sanctuary resounding with laughter, illuminated by a radiant light, and pulsating with the heartbeat of life. Within its walls, one could find an abundance of hugs, an outpouring of warmth, and an unceasing river of love.
It was a reality that Kazama had never anticipated experiencing, a transformation that had elevated his existence beyond his wildest dreams.
The lavish abode exuded an air of opulence and refinement, yet welcomed all who entered with a warm embrace. Tall, arched windows bathed the rooms in a soft, golden glow, their heavy curtains draping gracefully to frame the outside world like works of art. Expansive Persian rugs adorned the gleaming hardwood floors, their intricate patterns whispering tales of craftsmanship from distant lands.
In the heart of the living room, a grand fireplace stood sentinel, its marble façade adorned with exquisite carvings that seemed to dance in the flickering light of a crackling fire. Plush, oversized sofas and armchairs invited guests to sink into their depths, their upholstery a tapestry of rich, earthy tones that spoke of comfort and calmness.
Bookshelves lined the walls, their mahogany frames showcasing a curated collection of leather-bound tomes and delicate porcelain figurines. ‘Each piece has it's own story,’ Shin-Chan had claimed. ‘It's own place in the tapestry of our lives.’
Kazama still thought it was an excuse just so Shin-Chan could buy any statue or toy that caught his eye, probably why their house wall full of Action Kamen figurines. Though, Shin-Chan protested that Kazama that Kazama had been the one to buy all of that, especially the limited edition ones, to which Kazama had no rebuttal—what could he say? He liked spoiling his lover—and so the number of figurines increased.
In their dining room, a long, polished table played host to an array of crystal stemware, fine china, and silverware that glittered in the ambient light. Above, a chandelier of cascading crystals hung like a shimmering constellation, casting prismatic reflections across the room.
Their kitchen, which was Shin-Chan's pride and joy right after his Action Kamen merch, boasted gleaming stainless-steel appliances and marble countertops, where pots and pans gleamed in anticipation of the next culinary masterpiece. Shin-Chan loved to cook, much to the surprise of their friends, but it was true. Kazama fully believed that if Shin-Chan hadn't decided to become a comedian, he would have become a wonderful chef.
Upstairs, the bedrooms consisted of canopied beds draped in sumptuous fabrics commanded attention, their plush linens promising nights of blissful slumber. French doors opened onto private balconies, offering glimpses of lush gardens and the distant cityscape.
Throughout the home, carefully chosen artwork adorned the walls, each piece a testament to Kazama's discerning eye and Shin-Chan's passion for aesthetics. Fresh blooms graced every room, their fragrant presence a much-needed comfort on horrible days.
This home was a harmonious marriage of luxury and comfort, a testament to the art of living well, a tangible expression of the story that unfolded within its walls. It bore witness to the rollercoaster of their lives, marked by tragedies and incidents that, perhaps, were never meant to be. Yet, it also held the echoes of jokes taken too far and hearts laid bare.
Through it all, their love shone through, an unwavering force that cut through adversity and emerged even stronger. It was a love that had weathered the storms and emerged more resolute than ever before.
The key slid into the lock with a satisfying click, signaling that the finish line had finally been crossed. He paused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, savoring the long-missed essence of home. His suitcase was left behind in the living room, hastily discarded as he kicked off his shoes, urgency coursing through him. Patience was a fleeting memory, for he was so close to the person he longed for.
The two-week separation had been an eternity, and now, he was so close to reuniting with his beloved. During those weeks, glimpses of Shin-Chan had come through late-night video calls, snatched moments in between the younger man's busy schedule filming his hit comedy show. Shin-Chan, not one to rise with the sun, often preferred to linger in the warmth of their bed, thus, it had come as a delightful surprise when, upon returning from that first business trip away from home, Kazama had found his beloved waiting for him on the sofa, sleepy smile etched on his face.
Shin-Chan was not a early bird, and preferred to be in his bed snoozing away, so it had surprised Kazama when the first time he had come back home from the first business trip away from home he had found Shin-Chan sitting on the sofa, patiently waiting for him.
Knowing where his lover must be right now, he enters the kitchen, his footsteps uncoordinated in his rush, the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden hue upon the dining table which was piled with food—it had become a common occurrence, Shin-Chan loved to cook, said that it helped 'clear his mind' and well, if the outcome was delicious food, who was Kazama to say no? This time, it seemed, was no different.
A pristine, porcelain bowl cradled a mound of perfectly steamed white rice, its grains glistening with a subtle sheen. Beside it, a trio of small, ceramic dishes offered an array of delights. In one, pickled plums rested like tiny jewels, their vibrant red hue a stark contrast to the pale ceramics. Another held a medley of freshly grated daikon radish, its crispness promising a refreshing bite. The third contained a delicate square of silky, snow-white tofu, adorned with a drizzle of fragrant soy sauce.
A lacquered tray boasted an assortment of perfectly sliced sashimi, arranged with meticulous care. The delicate slices of salmon, tuna, and mackerel lay like a painter's palette of colors, each piece a testament to the artistry of the chef's knife. Next to it, a small, lidded bowl held a miso soup, its aroma wafting gently towards the ceiling. Within, a fragrant broth cradled tender cubes of tofu and slivers of wakame seaweed, offering the comforting embrace that only Shin-Chan could give.
Nestled on a bamboo mat, a pair of golden, lightly-battered tempura pieces glistened invitingly. He reached out and grabbed one, unable to help himself, the delicate crunch of the tempura coating gave way to reveal succulent prawns and a medley of seasonal vegetables, their flavors more elevated than the five star hotel Kazama had ate at.
In the corner of the room, a small teapot, its porcelain adorned with delicate cherry blossoms, sat as a cherished gift from Shin-Chan's mother. It held Kazama's preferred tea, steeping gently with an aroma that permeated the air. Beside it, a handle-less cup stood daintily, its surface adorned with an Action Kamen sticker. To the surprise of those who knew them, it was Kazama's favored cup, not Shin-Chan's. The jest had been a lighthearted one, a declaration that Kazama would now drink the invigorating power of Action Kamen. Little did Shin-Chan expect that Kazama would leave the sticker intact. For Kazama, it was a tender reminder of simpler times, of a five-year-old Shin-Chan who had playfully adorned him with stickers, proclaiming that they brought happiness.
"You return from a two-week journey and head straight for the food, I see? Well, good to know it's not terrible," the voice, once confined to the dubious quality of a phone line, now danced in the air, rich with mirth. Kazama spun around, his heart pounding, and swept the grinning man into a warm embrace. The familiar scent, the warmth, it was all real. They were finally together again.
Their eyes locked, and Kazama gently released his embrace, cupping Shin-Chan's face in his hands. Despite the telltale signs of fatigue etched beneath his eyes, Shin-Chan's presence radiated a newfound luminosity. His ebony curls cascaded softly around his features, the sharp contour of his jawline emphasized by the play of shadows and light. His obsidian eyes gleamed like polished sapphires, a window to a soul that had weathered storms.
Kazama couldn't help but notice the subtle thinning, a detail that stirred his protective instincts and rose a note of concern in his heart. Shin-Chan had always been a voracious eater in their youth, but as time passed, he seemed to forget the importance of sustenance, often remembering only when someone else partook in a meal. There had been a time when Kazama had to physically intervene, dragging him away from his work station to ensure he ate and stayed hydrated. Shin-Chan's relentless dedication to his work sometimes eclipsed his own self-care, an issue that had persisted even as he grew older.
Shin-Chan, driven by a fierce work ethic, rivaled even Kazama's own parents in dedication. The belief that productivity equated to self-worth was a sentiment Kazama was determined to challenge. Shin-Chan's self-worth had made progress, but it still lingered at a level that fell short of what Kazama deemed ideal.
Unable to contain his emotions, he pressed his lips against Shin-Chan's with an intensity that conveyed the depth of his longing, pouring every ounce of his soul into the kiss. He aimed to bridge the entire expanse of their two-week separation in that single moment, infused with longing and desperation.
As he withdrew from the kiss, a surge of pride washed over Kazama at the sight of the slightly dazed expression on Shin-Chan's face. Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss on Shin-Chan's forehead and whispered the words he had longed to say aloud, letting them hang in the air, "I'm home."
A soft smile graced Shin-Chan's features, a departure from his usual iconic grin, but no less enchanting. It was a smile that felt like the delicate unfurling of blossoms, intimate and beautiful. "Welcome home," Shin-Chan murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Kazama's lips. "Now, come on, the food's getting cold. I didn't go through all that effort for nothing."
Heart blooming with happiness, Kazama let Shin-Chan tug him to the dining table, smiling sappily as his husband chided him on how thin he was and how he had become pale, and had he gotten any sleep at all.
With the lull of familiarity, Kazama's mind unfurled like an old, sepia-toned photograph, each memory etched with vivid clarity. He recalled the airport's sterile expanse, a place where tears fell like silent raindrops, lost in the vastness of the echoing concourse. With a bated breath, he'd watched planes ascend into the heavens, their distant forms akin to fleeting dreams, wondering if they would ever touch down on solid ground.
The specter of that cold house arose, its walls a canvas of barren solitude, a haunting symphony of emptiness. He could still feel the tendrils of fear that gripped him when lightning tore the sky asunder, illuminating the hollow spaces within.
And yet, amidst the chill and the desolation, he held in his heart the memory of the Nohara family. Their home, a sanctuary of vibrant warmth, exuded an ethereal light, most radiantly from Shin-Chan, a ball of sunshine in human form. It was a warmth that permeated even the coldest corners of Kazama's memories.
Kazama thought about the times he had spent weeping in the airport, watching the planes take off and wondering if they were ever going to land, he thinks about that cold house, the empty walls, how scared he had been when the thunder had flashed, he thinks about how he had wondered at the warmth that the Nohara family, especially Shin-Chan seemed to emanate effortlessly, a ball of sunshine that seemed to defy the shadows, he wishes he could go back in time and tell his younger self that it would be okay, that it would all turn out fine. That the storms would pass, leaving behind skies painted with hope and promise.
The desire to rewrite the past had always lingered, a siren's call that tugged at his soul, tempting him to unravel the threads of his past. Yet, he knew, in the marrow of his being, that every twist and turn, every choice and consequence, had woven the tapestry of his life. They had guided him unerringly to Shin-Chan, and that, Kazama would never regret.
The ache of longing had given way to the sweet embrace of belonging, and that, Kazama knew, was his home.