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The lake was already awake when Obanai arrived, though it hadn’t quite decided what kind of morning it wanted to be.
Mist lay low over the water, thin and drifting, curling in lazy ribbons that clung to the surface like it was reluctant to let go. The sky above was pale, washed-out blue, the sun still caught somewhere behind the treeline, turning the tops of the distant hills gold while the shoreline remained cool and shadowed. The dock creaked softly beneath his boots as he stepped onto it, damp wood chilled from the night, slick with dew.
The air smelled clean. Wet earth, moss, the faint metallic tang of water. Somewhere nearby, reeds whispered against each other as the breeze passed through. A bird called out from the trees, sharp and brief, and then fell quiet again.
Obanai paused near the edge of the dock, fishing rod balanced in his hand, and took it all in.
He hadn’t been fishing in a long time. Long enough that the place felt both familiar and distant, like something he remembered more with his body than his mind. The way the quiet pressed in. The way the world seemed to narrow to water and sky and whatever waited beneath the surface.
He adjusted his grip, fingers tightening and loosening as if testing himself.
“Didn’t think you’d get here before me.”
Sanemi’s voice cut through the stillness, rough but low, like he was careful not to disturb it too much.
Obanai didn’t turn right away. He’d heard the footsteps—boots on gravel, the faint scrape of wood—but Sanemi had a way of announcing himself without really intruding. Like he knew exactly how much space to take up.
“Could say the same,” Obanai replied.
Sanemi came to a stop beside him, a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He looked different out here, Obanai thought. Less sharp around the edges. The morning light softened him, caught in the white of his hair and the scars tracing his face, made him look almost… calm.
Almost.
Sanemi followed Obanai’s gaze to the water. “Ever done this before?”
The question was casual, tossed out like it didn’t matter either way. But Obanai felt it anyway, the quiet curiosity beneath it.
“Yes.” he said.
Sanemi glanced at him, brow lifting slightly. “Yeah?”
Obanai hesitated, just for a moment. The mist shifted, drifting closer to the dock, brushing against his ankles like something alive.
“I used to,” he said finally. “With my brother.”
Sanemi didn’t need clarification. “Kyojuro and you used to fish?”
Obanai nodded. The name settled between them, warm and familiar. Kyojuro was still very much alive—loud, bright, impossible to ignore—but the memory that surfaced was an old one. Early mornings. Cold hands. A voice too cheerful for the hour, insisting that this time, Obanai would definitely catch something.
“He was good at it,” Obanai added, quieter. “I wasn’t.”
Sanemi huffed, not unkind. “Doesn’t mean you didn’t like it.”
Obanai looked back at the lake. The surface rippled faintly, disturbed by something moving beneath it. “I liked being there,” he said. “He didn’t mind waiting.”
Sanemi’s expression softened at that, just a fraction. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s like that.”
They fell into silence again, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. The dock creaked as Sanemi shifted his weight. A fish broke the surface somewhere farther out, leaving concentric rings that slowly smoothed themselves away.
Obanai cast his line, the motion was stiff, controlled—practiced, but rusty. The lure hit the water with a soft splash, ripples spreading outward. He watched them until they faded, his reflection warping and settling again.
Sanemi watched too. “You’re holding it like it’s gonna fight back.”
Obanai bristled. “It’s fine.”
Sanemi didn’t argue. He stepped closer instead, boots thudding quietly against the dock until he was standing just behind Obanai’s shoulder. Close enough that Obanai could feel the heat of him, the subtle brush of fabric when the breeze picked up.
“I’m not saying you’re bad at it,” Sanemi said. “Just… loosen up.”
Obanai’s jaw tightened. “I am.”
Sanemi snorted softly. “Sure you are.”
Before Obanai could snap back, Sanemi reached out. His hands hovered for a second—a pause, deliberate—before settling over Obanai’s.
The contact was light but sure. Calloused palms, warm from his pockets. He adjusted Obanai’s grip by degrees so small they were almost imperceptible, angling the rod, easing the tension out of his wrists.
“There,” Sanemi murmured. “You don’t need to choke it.”
Obanai swallowed. His heartbeat felt loud in his ears, out of sync with the quiet morning. He became acutely aware of how close Sanemi was—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid presence at his back.
They stayed like that, the mist curling around their legs, sunlight creeping closer with every passing minute. Obanai cast again, letting himself follow Sanemi’s lead.
This time, the line flew farther. The splash was cleaner. Smoother.
Sanemi’s hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before he pulled back. “See?”
Obanai didn’t answer. He was watching the water, chest tight with something that wasn’t quite nerves and wasn’t quite calm either.
The line tugged.
He stiffened instinctively. “Sanemi.”
“I know,” Sanemi said immediately, already stepping back in. His hands closed over Obanai’s again, firmer this time. “Don’t rush it.”
The pull came again, stronger. The rod bent. The dock groaned beneath their shifting weight as Obanai leaned back, pulse racing.
“That’s it,” Sanemi said quietly. “Easy.”
Obanai let himself listen. Let the rod flex instead of fighting it. The water near the surface churned, silver flashing just beneath.
A sound escaped him—short, startled, breathless—before he could stop it.
Sanemi froze for half a second, like the laugh caught him off guard. Then his mouth curved, small and genuine. “Guess you’re better than you thought.”
Obanai focused on reeling the line in, on the steady resistance, on the way Sanemi stayed close without crowding him. When the fish finally broke the surface, small but shining, Obanai felt something settle in his chest.
Not victory.
Relief.
Sanemi let out a low whistle. “Not bad, Iguro.”
Obanai exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He glanced sideways, meeting Sanemi’s gaze. There was something warm there. Something patient. For a moment, the lake was quiet again, mist thinning as the sun climbed higher. The world felt narrow and expansive all at once.
Obanai thought of Kyojuro—of loud laughter and steady hands—and then of Sanemi, standing beside him now, close enough to feel real.
By the time the sun had properly cleared the treeline, the mist was thinning, lifting in soft shreds that caught on the reeds before dissolving into nothing. The lake looked different in the full light—less mysterious, maybe, but calmer. Honest. The water reflected the sky in a way that made it hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
They didn’t leave right away.
Sanemi reset the line without a word, movements were easy and practiced, and Obanai found himself watching the way his hands worked more than the water. The quiet between them stretched, comfortable now, filled with small sounds—the click of the reel, the distant buzz of insects waking up, the low rush of wind moving through the trees.
Obanai caught another fish. Then another.
Nothing impressive. Nothing worth bragging about. But each time, Sanemi gave him that same sideways look, like he was quietly pleased despite himself. Like this was exactly how he’d hoped the morning would go.
Eventually, Sanemi leaned back on his hands, boots dangling off the edge of the dock. “You hungry?”
The question came out easy, like it was an afterthought. Like it didn’t matter what the answer was.
Obanai blinked, thrown just enough to hesitate. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Fishing had been the plan. Just fishing. An hour, maybe two, and then they’d go their separate ways like always.
“I-” He paused, then nodded. “Yeah.”
Sanemi’s mouth twitched. “Good.”
He stood, stretching his arms over his head with a soft grunt. The motion pulled his shirt up just enough to expose a strip of skin at his waist, sunlit and warm-looking. Obanai looked away before he could think too hard about it.
“There’s a place a few minutes from here,” Sanemi said. “Nothing fancy. Just good food.”
Obanai adjusted the strap of his bag, heart thudding in a way that felt suspiciously like anticipation. “Alright.”
They packed up together, movements unspoken and oddly in sync. Sanemi took the rods without comment, slinging them over his shoulder, while Obanai gathered the rest. It felt natural. Too natural.
The path away from the lake was narrow, worn down by years of footsteps. Gravel crunched under their boots. The air warmed as they walked, sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead, dappling the ground in uneven patterns. Sanemi walked just ahead of him at first, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. After a few minutes, he slowed without saying anything, falling into step beside Obanai instead.
Their arms brushed.
Once. Twice.
Neither of them moved away.
The town was small—quiet streets, shuttered shops just beginning to open for the day. A café sat on the corner near the road, windows fogged slightly from the heat inside. The smell of coffee hit Obanai before they even reached the door, rich and bitter and grounding.
Sanemi held the door open for him without thinking.
Inside, it was warm and loud in a gentle way. The low murmur of conversation, the clink of dishes, a radio playing something soft and old. Sunlight spilled across the wooden tables, catching on mugs and napkin holders. They chose a booth by the window. Sanemi slid in first, stretching his legs out, posture loose. Obanai sat opposite him, setting his bag down carefully at his feet. He wasn’t sure why his chest felt tight again. Nothing had changed. They were just eating.
Just… together.
They ordered without much discussion. Sanemi remembered what Obanai liked—no sugar, barely any milk—and Obanai pretended not to notice how much that meant.
While they waited, Sanemi leaned back, gaze drifting out the window. “You should come fishing again sometime.”
Obanai’s fingers curled lightly around the edge of the table. “With you?”
Sanemi glanced back at him. Held his gaze. “Yeah.”
The word landed heavier than it should have.
“I’m not very good,” Obanai said quietly.
Sanemi snorted. “Neither am I. Half the time I just get lucky.”
Obanai huffed a small breath of a laugh before he could stop himself. It surprised them both. Sanemi’s eyes widened just a fraction, then softened.
The food arrived. Steam curled up from the plates, mingling with the scent of coffee and oil and something faintly sweet. They ate slowly, conversation drifting in and out—university, nothing in particular, small observations about the town. Nothing serious. Nothing heavy.
Sanemi’s foot brushed Obanai’s under the table. Didn’t move away.
Obanai found himself relaxing into it, shoulders lowering, breathing the evening out. The tension he usually carried—the constant awareness, the vigilance—eased in a way that felt unfamiliar and dangerous and good.
When they finished, neither of them reached for the check right away.
The moment stretched.
Sanemi broke it first, snapping out of his daydream and reaching for the check. “We could… walk around a bit. If you want.”
Obanai nodded before he could overthink it. “Okay.”
Outside, the sun was higher now, the town fully awake. They walked without a destination, drifting from street to street, pausing at shop windows, sharing observations that didn’t need to be important to matter.
At some point, Sanemi’s hand brushed Obanai’s again. This time, he didn't pull away.
Their fingers tangled, tentative at first—a question more than a statement. When Obanai didn’t resist, Sanemi’s grip tightened just slightly, warm and solid.
Neither of them said anything.
They didn’t need to.
It wasn’t a date. Not officially. No lines had been crossed, no words spoken that couldn’t be taken back later if they needed to be.
But as they walked side by side through the sunlit streets, hands clasped, the lake and the quiet morning already settling into memory, Obanai had the strange, steady feeling that something had shifted.