Archive of Our Own

The first anniversary of their relationship falls a little after Christmas and before New Year's, and January is both their birthday.

Well, it's more like the anniversary of when they decided to run away together. And in January of the previous year, neither of them celebrated anything, since the first few weeks of being on the run were, to put it mildly, very strange.

There was a tension between them that was hard to describe, perhaps romantic, perhaps the complete opposite. They both felt that at any moment they were about to kiss, or beat each other to death.

As the months passed and it became clear that it would be more likely the former, the tension eased and transformed into a comfort that was no less strange, but one that they were both content with. It's not exactly conventional, ending up in a romantic relationship with your former enemy, but it's the closest thing to happiness either of them has ever known. Yonoi, always subject to the yoke of the modern samurai path, an unpleasant liminal point between true bushido and Christian values, and Celliers, always escaping the guilt of the past, as if he believed that by hiding from his sins they would leave him in peace.

Now, perhaps neither of them ever imagined this would be their future, but they've welcomed this new situation with open arms. The truth is, neither of them ever thought they'd find love. Neither felt worthy of it.

Now, almost a year later, it's becoming clearer that things are settling down, that they don't have to constantly tiptoe around each other, and above all, they've begun to get to know each other better. This time, the celebrations won't find them without gifts.

So one day, strolling through a town where they'd landed, both men notice what catches each other's attention.

Celliers knows Yonoi likes to exercise and stay in shape, and for months he'd considered giving him some new dumbbells or something similar, though the logistics weren't so simple. He wasn't sure how he'd carry and pack something heavy discreetly enough. And once he figured it out, he realized it wasn't such a satisfying gift, and now he's looking for something to complement it.

On the other hand, he suspects Yonoi is thinking of giving him clothes, since Celliers fled the camp with only the clothes on his back, and Yonoi initially lent him some of his own, gradually gathering more comfortable garments from the places they visited. But he's still far from having a decent wardrobe, and Yonoi is quite interested in fashion, a topic that often comes up without him even realizing he's bringing it up. Sometimes he gets carried away talking about clothes, and when he catches himself, he blushes and purses his lips in that adorable way that makes Celliers' heart flutter.

Celliers tries to follow Yonoi's gaze toward the shop windows, where there are zoot suits in summery colors, lightweight sportswear perfect for the season, and some designs that proclaim themselves the 'fashion of the future,' trying to predict how modern men will dress in the 1950s. Others, more realistic, simply predict what will be worn during the summer of 1944.

It's terrible to think that it's almost 1944.

There are rumors that the war will end at any moment, and there's a lot of tension after the decisive Allied victory in the Bulge Offensive. Japan's allies aren't feeling very confident. Celliers and Yonoi have tried not to talk about it, but they know that sooner or later they'll have to, to know exactly where each of them stands and what they hope for in the future. If it were up to Celliers, he would return home without hesitation to be with his brother, but that didn't mean he would abandon Yonoi, though he wasn't sure how they could realistically make it work. If they wanted to stay together, Celliers could never be seen by familiar faces again, not if he wanted to keep Yonoi safe.

After kissing Yonoi and humiliating him in front of everyone, Yonoi had fainted and was replaced by a new, stricter Captain, who sentenced Celliers to be buried alive in the sun. Celliers thought, once again, that he would die at the hands of the Japanese. But as he waited in solitary confinement again, wondering how a competent, popular, young, and handsome British lawyer had ended up in this absurd situation, quietly begging his brother's forgiveness as if in prayer, in the middle of the night his cell door opened and there was Yonoi, bathed in moonlight like an angel of death. That's what he had become, for Celliers.

When they escaped from the camp, they also freed all the prisoners. They did it that very night, while the Japanese slept. Yonoi remained silent throughout the entire process, and for weeks after he and Celliers embarked, he said practically nothing. After that, they began to have increasingly long conversations about topics far removed from the war and politics, mostly about their lives, their families, their dreams. Celliers told him about his brother, and Yonoi, in turn, shared the shame he felt for not being in Tokyo on the day of the uprising. Although neither of them had any connection to the other's situation, they both understood. Both were strong, brilliant, and ambitious men who felt lost and alone, despite appearances that might have suggested otherwise. Both had been promised things in life that ultimately turned out to be illusions. Neither was proud of their past.

Now, they're unsure of their status in all of this, but they suspect Celliers is being hunted by the Japanese, just like the other prisoners they let escape, while Yonoi is certainly being sought as well to be tried for desertion and treason. Once the war is over, Celliers will be able to reappear and testify in court against the Japanese high command.

Including Yonoi, who will undoubtedly be tried for war crimes and sentenced to death.

Yonoi has certainly changed. The night he arrived to rescue him, Celliers felt relief, but also fear for Yonoi (not of Yonoi, curiously). He wondered how he was still alive after the humiliation Celliers had put him through. Celliers was sure Yonoi would take his own life, but there he was, in front of him, alive and beautiful, with a completely new determination in his eyes.

“Get up,” he said from the doorway, “for once in your life, don’t say anything and obey. We don’t have time.”

And Celliers did, without really knowing why. It didn’t even occur to him that Yonoi might be there for revenge, wanting to punish Celliers for his audacity. Celliers didn’t think that was the case. For some reason, he felt he could trust Yonoi. For some reason, a part of him sincerely believed that Yonoi loved him. He realized that he had always known, from the first moment he saw him at court. That's where their mutual courtship began.

"Do you have a hat for that suit?" Yonoi asks, pulling Celliers from his reverie.

Celliers sees Yonoi pointing to a display case filled with a row of classic and zoot suits, each with a matching hat.

"Actually, no, not for this suit," Celliers replies, walking over to look at the hat Yonoi is pointing to.

The suit Celliers is currently wearing is minimalist, a nice shade of blue, but nothing special. Yonoi has found a hat in the display case made of a very similar fabric, and Celliers is surprised by the former Captain's keen eye.

“The color is almost identical,” he observes in amazement, “you have a very good eye,” and saying that, he turns to him with a smile.

Yonoi stares at him, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open, then looks back at the display case.

“It’s a blue that goes well with your hair,” he remarks dryly.

Celliers smiles even more. He can’t help it.

Despite having kissed countless times and had sex together just as often in the last year, Yonoi remains so shy around him. Celliers feels stupidly in love, although that’s a point they haven’t reached yet. Neither has told the other they love them. Perhaps they never will, because it’s not necessary. They both know it.

In an impulsive move, Celliers takes his hand. Yonoi reacts as if he’s been stabbed.

“Are you crazy?” he whispers furiously, pulling away as fast as he can and looking around frantically. There are people around, but everyone is running very fast, since it's the holiday season, and there's no time to see what others are doing.

Celliers knows that the British colonial laws, so generously imposed on Asia by his people, are still in place and sodomy is considered a crime punishable by law, but he's gotten away with it his whole life so far, and he likes to push his luck a little.

"It's no big deal," he assures him, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at the shop window. Then he takes his hands out again because it's so hot.

"When will you learn to take care of yourself?" Yonoi huffs, walking away toward another shop window. This surprises Celliers, who didn't mean to offend him.

"Yonoi!" he exclaims, running after him, but Yonoi is moving even faster now. "Wait..."

Yonoi stops near the corner and turns to face him.

"I don't find it funny how you're always putting yourself in danger," he says seriously, "Don't you value your life?"

Coming from Yonoi, these words mean a lot.

“Yonoi, it’s not that bad. If someone saw us, they wouldn’t give us a second glance; they’d think it was a friendly gesture.”

“Why take the risk? Why do you always…”

Yonoi lowers his gaze.

“I don’t know why I bother. Just don’t drag me into it too.”

Yonoi takes a few more steps toward the next shop window and stops there, a few feet away from Celliers. Celliers decides to give him a moment before approaching him again.

“I’m sorry, Yon… Haruhiko.”

Using his first name usually works. Celliers notices how Yonoi’s tough exterior softens a little at his words. However, he refuses to speak further, staring intently at the display case in front of him.

Celliers watches as Yonoi’s eyes light up, finally focusing on what’s before him.

Several dresses in a light red or pinkish-orange colour are on display in the window. Rosewood, Celliers thinks that's the name of that colour; the term echoes in his head in his brother's childish voice.

They're summer dresses, short-sleeved and with a light drape to the calf. Some are plaid, while others, specifically the one Yonoi is looking at, are plain or have a faint gingham pattern, and are made of thin fabric.

"It's a pretty dress," Celliers remarks, seizing the opportunity.

"Isn't it?" Yonoi asks, still looking straight ahead.

Celliers cautiously approaches to get a better look at the dress.

"It would look nice on you," he comments as casually as he can.

Yonoi doesn't even reply; he simply turns and starts walking in the direction they came from.

"I'll go make lunch," he announces when he's several meters away.

Celliers sighs.

A year earlier, on New Year's Eve, they both set sail for their third day on the run.

Celliers is on deck, at the bow, looking out to sea, and Yonoi is nervously preparing tea in the galley.

They've barely spoken since their escape. They spent a night in a jungle hotel, a room with a single bed, and although nothing physical happened between them, the possibility lingered all night, keeping Yonoi awake.

Now, on this second day on the boat, each has gradually taken on a role on board, and it's already the third time Yonoi has made tea for both of them since sunrise. Aside from that and organizing the onboard inventory, he doesn't really know what else to do, and he's been avoiding being in the same room as Celliers at all costs.

"Calm down," he whispers to himself, "just bring the tea and come back."

The problem is, once he decides to approach Celliers, he doesn't feel capable of walking away. As if Celliers were a high-gravity object and Yonoi a lost satellite searching for something to orbit.

When he steps onto the deck and sees him, his back to Yonoi, leaning over the railing, the wind so strong it blows away the coat he's got wrapped around him, Yonoi hesitates, unsure whether to approach or not. He watches him for a few seconds, unnoticed by Celliers, just like that night he went to observe him during his feverish sleep.

Finally, he takes a few steps toward him.

"Is ginger tea okay?"

Celliers grunts weakly, stretching, and takes his cup without looking at Yonoi.

"It's not my favourite, but the other option is cinnamon, so it'll have to do."

He takes a sip, looks up at Yonoi, and smiles slightly.

"Thank you."

Yonoi wonders if Celliers is truly as calm as he appears, and if it's just Yonoi who feels like he might lose his balance at any moment, or if perhaps Celliers is simply a better liar.

"You're welcome," he replies, taking a sip of his own cinnamon tea. The flavor is strong and sweet, and Yonoi wrinkles his nose.

Silence returns, broken only by the waves crashing against the boat's hull and the wind whipping their clothes and hair.

"My birthday is coming up soon," Celliers remarks, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Yonoi's eyes widen.

"Mine too."

"Really?" Celliers exclaims, suddenly animated, turning to look at him with those strange eyes. "When's yours? Mine's January 5th."

"The 4th."

Celliers laughs, much to Yonoi's surprise.

"Then we're both Capricorns. That explains a lot."

Yonoi frowns. “I don’t know much about that stuff.”

“Me neither, but I was once told that Capricorns are self-critical and ambitious. I think that describes us both pretty well.”

They are both silent for a few moments.

“How old are you turning?” Yonoi asks.

Celliers laughs again, this time sarcastically.

“I stopped counting a long time ago. 35… No, I’m turning 36 this year. Good heavens… Where did the time go?”

Yonoi glances at him sideways; Celliers’s crystalline gaze is once again lost on the horizon. The wind tousles his blond hair more and more, until it’s completely disheveled, making him look much younger than his usual slicked-back style, and Yonoi’s heart aches.

“I’m turning 31.”

“Really?” Celliers is surprised. “I would have thought you were still in your twenties.”

This time it’s Yonoi who lets out a sarcastic laugh.

“My twenties feel like another life, light-years away,” he replies bitterly. “That’s for the best. Let them stay far away.”

He feels Celliers’s gaze fixed on him, even though his own dark eyes are now fixed on the ocean.

“I understand. Although for me it’s almost the opposite. This whole war seems to have happened in the blink of an eye.”

The war.

It’s still ongoing, and they have to be careful not to get caught in the crossfire, sailing across the Pacific. This ship doesn’t have radar, so they rely on their intuition and sextants to navigate. It’s not easy, but they both have some experience that has served them well.

“How do you usually celebrate your birthday?” Yonoi asks with interest.

Celliers presses his lips together thoughtfully. “I haven’t celebrated it in a long time. At work, sometimes acquaintances give me flowers and invite me for a drink, and I usually accept, but it’s not something I do on my own initiative. What about you?”

“More or less the same. I’ve spent my whole life in the military, and we don’t usually pay much attention to those things. It’s a miracle I haven’t forgotten the date, really.”

“And was it different when you were a child?”

Yonoi smiles at the thought.

“Yes. Of course, until my 15th birthday, I celebrated my birthdays at home with my family. It was nice, though it could be a little overwhelming.”

“Oh, really?” Celliers laughs, joining in. “Did they give you a lot of presents?”

Yonoi, still smiling, shakes his head.

“It was more because of the gesture. They’d make me a homemade cake, always the same one, an orange cake.”

“Ew,”

Yonoi glares at him, and Celliers raises his hand signaling peace.

“It was my favourite.” Yonoi explains, resuming his story. “My sisters would bake it by hand. They made a cake for each of our birthdays.”

“That sounds great. I’d love to meet your family.”

“Yes. They’re good people.”

Saying this, Yonoi smiles at Celliers, suddenly feeling at ease, and he thinks he sees a faint blush on his pale cheeks.

“I have a brother too,” Celliers tells him then.

That is the afternoon Celliers tells him about his past.

After the argument, they have lunch in silence on the boat.

Celliers doesn't believe he committed such a serious offense as to warrant this behaviour from Yonoi, but the Japanese man remains cold and distant as he eats his portion of noodles and meat.

Celliers had planned to invite him to lunch at a restaurant, but Yonoi stormed back to the boat before he could suggest it. Celliers would have liked to take a walk together on the beach for a while after lunc He is considering suggesting it anyway, if Yonoi allows it.

Yonoi clears his throat, and Celliers looks up.

“Do you want to… go for a walk after lunch?” He gently suggests.

Celliers' face lights up with relief.

"Of course! I was going to suggest it myself, but I thought you were upset."

"I'm not... upset, Celliers."

His tone stings. Yonoi had started calling him by his first name more often, and if he's decided to use his last name, it's because the situation warrants seriousness.

"I would understand if you were upset," Celliers begins. "I know I acted recklessly, it was childish of me, and I'm sorry. But I don't like it when you stop talking to me, Yonoi."

"I'm not upset," Yonoi insists, and Celliers feels the urge to freeze in his seat. "Really. It's just... you scare me, Celliers. You really scare me."

Celliers swallows, not daring to make a sound.

“We’ve been together on this boat for a year, and somehow we haven’t run into any significant danger. Do you realize how lucky we’ve been? Because you don’t seem to. You’re constantly going around doing things that put you in danger.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I realize I behave in a way—”

“You don’t understand,” Yonoi interrupts, his eyes shining. “I just wish…”

Yonoi’s hand tightens around his glass of water.

“I just wish this could last.”

With that, Yonoi lowers his gaze to the floor and leaves it there. Celliers instinctively reaches out to Yonoi’s hand on the table to comfort him.

“Me too,” he says, taking his hand. “You have no idea how long I spent searching for this kind of peace. Well, not this kind, exactly. Not in a million years would I have ever imagined it would end up like this.”

Yonoi lets out a snort, almost a laugh. It's a good sign.

"And I don't know how long this will last," Celliers continues, and Yonoi intertwines his fingers with Celliers's, looking up and paying attention. "But I assure you, I don't want it to end either. Maybe... Maybe the reason I keep doing stupid things is because I don't feel worthy of you, Yonoi. Of this."

Yonoi opens his mouth to speak, but Celliers raises his hand. "Let me finish. I've always sabotaged the good things that come my way because I feel like I don't deserve them. Yes, it's always been that way. But now I want it to be different. I want to make it work. Because nothing before has been as worthwhile as what we've accomplished in the last year, and—"

Without realizing it, his eyes have filled with tears too, perhaps out of sympathy, or perhaps because this topic affects him more than he had anticipated. Yonoi raises his hand and places it on his cheek, wiping away his tears with his thumb.

“I want us to celebrate our birthdays together this year, to remember everything we’ve been through,” Yonoi says with a gentle smile, and Celliers feels a lump in his throat. He’s captivated by those dark, sweet eyes, unable to look away.

“Really?”

“Yes. We didn’t do anything for Christmas again, and New Year’s is tonight, and we’ll still have to buy a bottle of champagne, if we can even find any in stock at this point. Let’s plan a birthday celebration for both of us this weekend, the first of many birthdays together, hopefully.”

Celliers wipes away a few more tears, waiting for his breathing to calm down a bit before speaking.

“I’d like that. Let’s go for a walk and stop by to buy some champagne, and while we’re there, see what else we might need for the weekend. The shops will probably be closed in the first few days of the year, so we’ll get a head start.”

Yonoi smiles at him, and Celliers struggles to feel worthy of the way he looks at him with such adoration.

“Let’s go.”

On Saturday afternoon, the ship’s galley-dining room is decorated with simple paper garlands, and a new, matching tablecloth adorns the table.

The two of them cook several dishes together, though it will just be them as always.

The menu ideas were from Yonoi, a mix of Japanese and other culinary styles, several different salads, miso soup, curry rice, pork and chicken gyoza, shrimp tempura (this was the most expensive item on the menu and caused a minor disagreement, as Celliers wanted chicken instead of shrimp, but he was happy to give in when he saw it already prepared), a variety of tsukemono, and a tray of halva and another of naan that they found at a Persian-style food shop, which miraculously was open and had stock the day before. The line Celliers had to wait in was almost an hour long, but it was worth it; the food was exactly as advertised.

They also bought two different types of champagne, one Brut, the other unidentified with a label that revealed nothing, but recommended by the wine merchant.

Once everything is ready, they sit down to eat, each on one side of the table.

Celliers is wearing his best suit, which looks quite decent if you don't look too closely. The edges of the sleeves are starting to fray, and there are a couple of stitches on the back. But the way Yonoi is looking at him makes him feel perfect. Besides, it's a greenish shade that Yonoi has complimented before, saying it matches his eyes. He's left his hair a little messy too, since he's noticed Yonoi likes it that way.

Meanwhile, Yonoi is wearing very simple civilian clothes—a piqué shirt and off-white cotton pants—and Celliers thinks he couldn't look any cuter. His hair has grown out a bit in the front, and although Yonoi has complained that he wants to shave it again, and Celliers wants to respect his decision, he's secretly looking for a way to tell him he looks perfect and to please let it grow a little longer, until he can part it in the middle the way the young Asian men he's seen on the street wear it.

“Thank you so much for the food,” Yonoi says before starting to eat.

“Thank you, really, Haruhiko, for preparing all this.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you; it was too much work for one person,” Yonoi replies sweetly.

Cellers makes a face of disbelief. “Yes, I was really helpful boiling the rice and almost burning it.”

“Oh, don’t say that. Besides, you stood in that long line for the naan, and you had the foresight to buy halva and another champagne too.”

“Recommended by the wine merchant!” Celliers adds cheerfully.

They both allow themselves to savour the moment, and then begin to eat.

“Remember to start with the miso,” Yonoi tells him, since Celliers isn’t used to eating Asian-style food and, with more than one course, usually starts with whatever his instinct tells him to. It's not that Yonoi is too particular about these things, but he prepared everything with a certain vision and is trying to execute it as best he can.

"Yes, yes," Celliers grumbles with amusement. The miso is warm, and it tastes slightly fermented and spicy. It's pleasant, different from what Celliers was used to eating in the past.

The minutes pass in pleasant silence, occasionally interrupted by small, mundane conversations. Everything is fine.

Then, Yonoi gets up to fetch the champagne.

"Need any help?" Celliers gestures to get up as well.

“It’s not necessary, we already have glasses, I’ll just get the bottle.”

Cellers smiles. “I’ll go to the toilet quickly.”

While Yonoi searches the cabinet, Celliers runs to their bedroom. There, under a stool, he has hidden two gift boxes, one on top of the other, both with the same simple and elegant design, adorned with a large floral bow. Celliers takes the top box and hesitates, wondering whether to take the other one as well, but tells himself the decision is made, and runs back to the kitchen with both packages.

In the kitchen, Yonoi is waiting for him with the drinks already poured. His eyes widen when he sees Celliers enter with the gifts.

“I know we didn’t talk about gifts,” Celliers begins, “but it’s a tradition. They count as birthday and Christmas gifts.”

“Gifts, plural?”

“Um, yes.” Celliers smiles somewhat shyly, placing both boxes on the table.

Yonoi smiles warmly.

“Thank you so much, Jack,” God, the way he pronounces his name never fails to make Celliers’ knees go weak. “But, can we make a toast first?”

“Oh, sure,” Jack places the boxes on the kitchen counter and quickly raises his glass. “Sorry. Thanks for the champagne.”

Yonoi raises his glass as well. “I’d like us to toast to a whole year of good luck.”

“And twenty more!” Celliers exclaims, clinking his glass against Yonoi’s.

“Forty more, I hope,” Yonoi laughs, tilting his own.

Celliers loves seeing him like this, this man who once waxed poetic about the honour of harakiri.

They both take just a few sips and then set their glasses down on the table. They don’t want to be too tipsy on this special occasion.

“I have a gift for you too,” Yonoi says, lifting a box from the floor that Celliers hadn't seen him take from the cabinet. It's a square box with a lid and a simple ribbon. Celliers can't remember the last time someone gave him a gift, and he feels a pang of tightness in his chest for a moment.

“Thank you so much, darling,” he says with intent, enjoying the way Yonoi's golden cheeks take on that lovely rosy hue.

He opens the box as carefully as possible, and although he had some idea of what was inside, it still amazes him.

Inside is a light brown summer suit, the fabric thin and lustrous. It comes with a white shirt and a matching tie. Also, toward the back of the box are two hats. One is a brown hat to match this new suit, the other is the blue hat that Yonoi pointed out to him in the store a few days ago.

“I assumed you still have the same measurements as always, but in case you don't, or if you don't like it, there's a slip inside the box you can use to request an exchange.”

“Yonoi, it's perfect. Thank you so much,” and, putting everything back in the box, he sets it on his chair and throws himself into a hug with Yonoi. Yonoi hugs him back with equal enthusiasm.

“Come on, try it on,” Yonoi encourages him, and Celliers laughs. “I want to see how it looks on you.”

“Right away. But, ah, open yours first.”

Celliers hands him the heavier package, placing it in front of the other package as if hiding it would make Yonoi forget it exists. Suddenly, his nerves have taken hold of him again.

Yonoi says nothing, he just proceeds to open the package Celliers gave him.

“It's really heavy! What could it be?” He says with a knowing smile, and Celliers stares up at the ceiling, pretending to be clueless.

“Oh, it's fantastic!” Yonoi exclaims, taking the two black metal dumbbells out of the box.

“I hope I got it right, they're adjustable weight, five settings, starting at 2.5 kg, which I think is what your old dumbbells weigh.”

“Yes, that's right,” Yonoi says excitedly. “It's perfect. I've been meaning to buy some exactly like these for a while, but I could never find them anywhere.”

“It wasn't easy, I admit. I found them in one of many catalogs I looked through, and I had to place the order months ago to make sure they'd ship them here on time. In that sense, I was lucky too.”

“You went to so much trouble!” Yonoi sounds touched.

“It wasn’t that much. Actually, when I picked up the order, I felt it wasn’t a big deal as a gift. I would have liked to buy an orange cake too, but by the time I thought of it, there were only a few days left, and—”

“No, Jack, I really don’t know how to thank you. You’re… You’re the best.”

That’s saying something, coming from Yonoi, and Celliers can’t help but beam.

“Is that for me too?” Yonoi asks, pointing to something behind Celliers.

Oh, right. There was another box.

“Yes, but, uh, I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

Yonoi raises an eyebrow and extends a hand. “I’ll decide that.”

With sweaty hands, Celliers takes the box and hands it to Yonoi, who carefully lifts and lowers it, as if assessing the contents by their weight.

“I just ask that you don’t get offended; I meant well.” Celliers’s explanation makes Yonoi narrow his eyes.

“Celliers, what did you do?” And he begins to unwrap the gift.

When he lifts the lid slightly, he lets out a sound of surprise and slumps back in his chair with the box on his lap.

“Jack,” he sighs, unrolling the delicate garment inside the box.

It’s the rosewood dress that had been in the display case. The neckline is heart-shaped, with a fitted bodice that flows lightly and airily to mid-calf. It has a subtle gingham pattern and buttons adorning the chest, along with a matching red ribbon belt. The fabric is luminous and soft, with a perfect summery, tropical feel.

Yonoi carefully picks up the garment.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I thought it would look good on you,” Celliers explains, taking a seat and leaning slightly toward him. “I thought it was beautiful, but more than anything, it was the way your eyes lit up when you saw it. I knew it had to be yours, Yonoi.”

“But… how?” Yonoi examines the dress inch by inch.

“I chose the largest size they had; the measurements were similar to yours. I admit I held it up to my body in front of the mirror to see if it would actually fit a man, and I saw the saleswoman laughing at me.”

“Oh.” Yonoi’s face shows an inscrutable expression.

“Don’t you like it?” Celliers hates the way his voice sounds so pleading and vulnerable.

“Jack.” Yonoi looks at him then with those beautiful, luminous eyes full of emotion. “I love it, I love it.”

Jack claps his hands together. “Awesome! Want to try it on?”

Yonoi keeps looking at him, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed over.

“I don’t know if I’ll look good in it. It’s not made for…”

But Celliers won’t listen to anything else. The blond jumps up and takes Yonoi’s hand to help him to his feet.

“No nonsense, I want to see you wearing it.”

Without another word, Yonoi obeys, going into the room. But he immediately turns back and peeks his head back in the door.

“You too, put on your suit!”

Celliers laughs, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, and grabs his own box, following Yonoi into the bedroom.

“We’re like a couple of teenagers at prom,” Celliers remarks with a chuckle. “Who would guess we’re both in our thirties?”

“Stop talking, put on the suit,” Yonoi replies, unable to stop smiling. “I’ll change in the bathroom.” With that, he closes the door behind him.

Celliers feels butterflies in his stomach like he rarely does in his life. He knows the circumstances are definitely strange, but he tries to enjoy it while it lasts. The thought of Yonoi changing into the new suit behind the bathroom door makes him feel both nervous and excited.

The nerves return as he puts on the suit. He checks his reflection in the vanity mirror they share, which serves its purpose even if it isn’t a full-length one. Celliers doesn't spend much time looking in the mirror; he knows how he looks and how people usually perceive him. But now he wants to look good for Yonoi, and he uses his fingers to smooth his hair back into place, making it look casual but neat.

"Celliers?" Yonoi calls to him from the bathroom.

"Yes?"

"I don't have any shoes to wear with this."

Celliers laughs. "Your usual saddle shoes will be fine."

"Maybe, but not with these socks!" Yonoi exclaims, sounding a little annoyed.

Yonoi always takes everything very seriously.

"Do you want me to get you some other socks?" Celliers asks.

Yonoi sighs in frustration. "No, it's fine. You go ahead, let me think for a bit."

Celliers is worried about his tone, but he obeys. As soon as he finishes buttoning his suit, he puts on his hat and goes upstairs to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he puts water on to boil for tea. He manages to pour the two cups of Ceylon tea before hearing Yonoi's footsteps and turning to face him.

On the doorstep, Yonoi dazzles in his rosewood dress. Celliers is immediately relieved and proud that Yonoi decided to appear without reservation like this. He looks incredible; the dress fits him perfectly. He's changed his socks for shorter, lighter-coloured ones so they won't be noticed, and he's wearing his white and brown saddle shoes. His cheeks are flushed, as expected, but he manages a small smile nonetheless as he approaches.

"Wow, it looks even better on you than I thought!" Celliers exclaims sincerely.

"Thank you," Yonoi whispers shyly. "It's truly beautiful."

Yonoi enters the kitchen and slowly turns around, showing off the dress from every angle and making the fabric billow. Celliers suddenly feels a surge of absurd affection for this beautiful man, and is grateful for whatever he's done right in his stupid life to have reached this point.

"I can't lie, I feel a little ridiculous," Yonoi confesses with embarrassment, facing Celliers again. "But I'm happy."

"I understand it might take time to build confidence, but I'm so glad you liked it. I do think it was made for you," Celliers realizes he's tilted his head to the side, like a lovesick fool.

"How did you know? You know what I mean." Yonoi asks, lowering his eyes to the floor, his long, dark eyelashes casting shadows over his pretty cheekbones.

Celliers knows exactly what he's talking about. "It's not that it's obvious, don't worry," he quickly adds, "it was the way you looked at the dress. I knew it right away."

Yonoi looks at him curiously. “But how did you know it was more than just an appreciation for something conventionally beautiful?”

Celliers smiles. “Yonoi, I’ve known you for over a year. I know when you truly like something and when it’s just appreciation.”

Yonoi looks down again, and after a few seconds of silence, closes the distance between him and Celliers, throwing his arms around his neck.

“Thank you, thank you.”

Celliers hugs his back, stroking his shoulder blades through the thin fabric of his dress.

“I love you,” Yonoi whispers.

It’s the first time, and Celliers hugs him tighter.

They stay like that for a while, slowly leaning back and forth until it almost feels like a dance.

“Hey,” Celliers says suddenly against Yonoi’s neck, “this is getting a little too serious.” He leans back to look him in the eyes, placing his hand on his cheek. “Shall we put on some music?”

Yonoi smiles broadly. “We’ll have to dust off the gramophone.”

“I’ll take care of it, you pick a song in the meantime!”

“You know which one I’ll request,” Yonoi says with a mischievous grin, and Celliers can’t help but smile knowingly too, as he pulls the gramophone out from among the odds and ends in the kitchen trunk. It hasn’t been that long since they last used it, but with all the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, it’s easy for things like that to get buried.

The night in 1942 when, escaping through the jungle, they slept together in a hotel room, Celliers couldn’t fall asleep. He could feel Yonoi trying to keep his breathing steady to pretend he was asleep, and no matter how hard he tried to do the same, he simply couldn’t calm the storm raging in his heart.

What had he done? He had just ruined all his chances of going home by escaping with the enemy. No, actually, he had ruined everything from the moment he decided to join this stupid war. No one had forced him to make this decision, but he desperately needed someone to tell him what to do with his life, as always. He was incapable of making a real decision, of thinking for himself. And now he was here, sharing a bed with his captor, the man who had perhaps saved him from death for the second time, but at what price?

Besides, he hadn't had any physical contact in a while other than a friendly arm draped over his shoulder from one of the lads. And he couldn't deny that he was attracted to Yonoi. He knew Yonoi felt the same way, and that only made things worse, because now they were in the same bed less than a meter apart, and neither of them was sleeping.

He tried to focus on his breathing and not on the tiny movements he felt Yonoi making from beside him, and he concentrated on breathing in four counts, holding for four seconds and exhaling for another four. He had learned this technique when he joined the army and had trouble sleeping in the barracks, almost four years ago now.

He thought he'd managed a light sleep, because it was like a blink of an eye, and suddenly it was darker and he felt less tired. But he also felt something else. He was hot and had taken off his bedclothes at some point, but somehow, Yonoi's heavy, warm hand had ended up on his waist.

"Captain," he whispered, just to check that Yonoi was asleep.

He never knew why, but the next thing he did was intertwine his own fingers with Yonoi's on his waist, despite the heat. Perhaps he wanted to know how Yonoi's skin felt against his, even if only a little. After all, it was his waist, thank you very much, and he had the right to put his hand there if he wanted.

Then he fell asleep again, and the next morning, Yonoi no longer had his hand on him, but he was still curled up beside him, snoring. That made him smile. Finally, he could detect a flaw in the stoic and dignified Captain.

He closed his eyes to rest a little longer, enjoying the small moment and not wanting to wake Yonoi just yet.

From somewhere in the hotel, someone started playing an Al Bowlly song.

I’m living in a kind of daydream,
I’m happy as a king…

He couldn't help but hum along a little under his breath. Then he felt Yonoi stir slightly, as if stretching, and suddenly freeze behind him, probably remembering where they were.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Celliers asked, regretting having made the noise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I invaded your space without realizing it,” Yonoi began to apologize. “I really didn’t mean to.”

“Hey, it’s okay, love,” Celliers said, turning to face him, and bit his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth, seeing Yonoi’s face turn completely red.

“Um, sorry, it’s a habit, it’s something we English people say.”

“Yes, I understand.”

An awkward silence fell, with only the song playing in the background.

“Were you singing?”

Celliers grinned. “Well, if you call it singing. It’s an old song that was always playing at my house back in the day.”

“Oh,” Yonoi lifted his head as if to focus on the lyrics. “It’s… romantic.”

Celliers smiled somewhat sheepishly, “Yeah, the lyrics aren’t anything profound. It’s one of those songs made for dancing, not for analyzing.”

“I like it,” Yonoi declared, for some reason quite seriously.

And to Celliers’ surprise, the Captain began to hum along to the melody. It seemed as if he were searching for something to hold onto to feel comfortable again, and little by little he relaxed and sat more comfortably on his side of the bed.

Celliers, still lying down, stared at him, dazed. Yonoi wasn’t looking at him, but rather his eyes were fixed on the wall in front of him, as if lost in thought. He almost seemed relaxed.

Celliers wondered what the Captain was like in his private life, when no one was watching. Would he still be so rigid, or would he let some of the tension fall from his shoulders?

When the song ended, Yonoi, who had closed his eyes, slowly returned to the present and got out of bed without looking at Celliers again. He spent the rest of the day exchanging only the bare minimum of words with him. Perhaps he was still embarrassed about having gotten so close during the night, or perhaps he had never truly stopped being nervous around Celliers. But Celliers was grateful for the lifeline, because he, too, didn't know how to act around Yonoi.

That was over a year ago, and since then, although they never discussed it as such, that song became their song. When Yonoi found a record of Al Bowlly's greatest hits, he didn't hesitate for a second to buy it for the old gramophone Celliers had acquired from a pawn shop at the beginning of 1943.

After that, they got several other records, but none received as much use as the first. Although they've never used it for dancing, until now.

Now, the melody begins to play, and Celliers immediately starts swaying loosely to the rhythm as he moves closer to Yonoi again.

I see your face in every flower,
your eyes in stars above.

Yonoi laughs, and suddenly seems surprised, as if remembering something.

“Oh, I didn’t ask you, the suit. Did it fit you?”

“What do you think?” Celliers asks, still swaying, and takes his hands, leading him to the center of the kitchen.

“I think you look very handsome,” Yonoi says, surprising him again with his boldness.

“Aw, thanks. You too.”

Yonoi laughs without amusement. “I doubt I look handsome like this.”

“No, no, you always look handsome. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know if I feel handsome, but I feel good,”

Yonoi says this and leans his head back to kiss Celliers' lips, and Celliers closes his eyes.

They both start swaying from side to side as they continue kissing, again and again, and they keep going when the song ends and the next one begins, with a much more upbeat rhythm but much more somber lyrics.

You seem to laugh and to smile, just all of the while
With me feeling awfully lonesome and blue
I sigh, and I cry, I know I would die
If anything happened to you

Yonoi pulls back with a grimace somewhere between a smile and distaste.

“Should I put the other song back on?”

“Please,” Celliers replies with an identical expression.

Yonoi puts their song back on, their song, and everything is alright again.