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“Are you going to tell me what you planned now, Kyojuro?”
“How many times are you going to ask me when I give you the same answer!” Kyojuro replies. He’s looped his hand around Akaza’s wrist, pulling him through the busy streets of the festival. Crowds flow by them, like streams of water separated around a rock before resuming their steady flow. The night air still has a hint of the day’s warmth, entangled with the sweet scent of all of the festival foods being sold in the stalls lining the street. In Kyojuro’s other hand swings a basket.
Akaza switches tactics. “How much longer?” he asks.
“Patience is a virtue,” Kyojuro tells him cheerfully. “One that you still seem to be lacking in, even after a century!”
Akaza gives him a light shove on the shoulder. “You always have so much fun tormenting me, Kyojuro,” he complains, and Kyojuro only laughs in response.
Soon after, they have steered clear from the busier streets. The chatter of stranger’s voices fades to a lull, the loudest noise the sound of their footsteps against the pavement. Streetlights pour yellow light over Kyojuro’s features; Akaza peers at his profile, a little curious, all fond.
Three years, now, since he met Kyojuro again. (“Does that count as our anniversary too?” Kyojuro had asked him thoughtfully, once.
“It’s a bit of a morbid anniversary to have,” Akaza tells him drily, “since it’s also the day you died.”)
Reunion or death, though, either way—today feels special. And it turns out Kyojuro had felt the same, so it’s why they’d taken a train half an hour out from home and now wind through the streets of this small town.
They end up at a park five minutes later. It seems to be closed at the late hour, with the streetlights to illuminate the path, but there aren’t any locked gates, so they walk right inside.
“Are we trespassing?” Akaza asks, amused. “I thought you were a stickler for rules, Kyojuro.”
“Yes, well, you are a bad influence, it seems!” Kyojuro teases. The moon illuminates enough for them to see the outline of the path, and Kyojuro seems to know his way around, because Akaza is being tugged from the cobbled stones onto the grass, up the slope of a small hill.
Kyojuro pulls him down to sit. The grass is lush, soft and ticklish underneath his palms. Above them, the pearlescent moon, just shy of properly full, beams proudly down on them without a hint of cloud covering. It’s a lovely night.
“Well, Kyojuro?” Akaza asks, peering at him. “Are you going to tell me what you brought me here for?”
“You couldn’t even wait a moment,” Kyojuro laughs at him, eyes crinkling, and he’s all adoration; Akaza would know just by his tone of voice alone, by the way his irises soften. He doesn’t need the soul thread to tell him anything that Kyojuro makes so explicitly clear, but it echoes in his chest anyway, a quiet, happy hum. He watches as Kyojuro places the basket between them and opens the lid.
Akaza had wondered, then asked, wondered some more, then asked again—and Kyojuro had remained impressively quiet. Now, he peers at the inside to see long, thin silvery sticks. It takes him a few moments to recognize what they are.
“Sparklers?” he asks Kyojuro, eyes wide.
Under the moon, Kyojuro’s all shadow and angle, but his smile is so bright that Akaza can see it with perfect clarity, his mind’s familiarity filling in the parts the dim light doesn’t allow. “Yes!” he exclaims. “We were supposed to light the sparklers, remember? But it was raining, and then we never got a chance to afterwards. I thought we’d do it now. I bought a lot for us to burn through!”
“Kyojuro…” The syllables of his name catch on Akaza’s lips. All of a sudden he’s too overwhelmed, looking at the basket full of sparklers. Kyojuro’s hands are stemmed on the grass close to his, the tip of his fingers brushing over Akaza’s. It’s as if all the summer warmth has bundled itself into his chest, and there’s too much of it, this happiness, and Akaza is too lucky, he’s never been so lucky, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Akaza?” Kyojuro leans in, a little closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Akaza dashes his hands underneath his eyes. They come away a little wet. “Nothing, I just—I like it. I love it. I’m just happy, Kyojuro.”
A sparkler is pressed into his hand. Kyojuro produces a lighter, which he lifts to the tip of Akaza’s sparkler. It immediately fizzles into golden sparks, immediately lighting up their surroundings. He watches as Kyojuro does the same for himself.
Under the golden light, he can see Kyojuro’s features better. Bright eyes, the constellation splash of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had freckles in his last life, too, but noticeably less than now. It must have been because Kyojuro spent more time under the sun these days. He’s so pretty with the sparks spilling over between them. He’s everything good, everything Akaza had waited for, everything that Akaza isn’t. The best parts of him. And he’s all Akaza’s, inexplicably, undeservedly.
“How long have you been planning this?” Akaza asks him, when the lump in his throat has subsided enough that he’s a little more confident he can form a coherent sentence.
“Well, technically, I’ve been wanting to do it for over a century!” Kyojuro replies. He spins his sparkler around, leaving a golden afterglow of a circle. “I kept on thinking about it back then, you know, that we never got to finish lighting the sparklers. And I know I had far more crucial matters at hand I needed to focus on, but it was all I could think of! That we had promised each other.”
“It’s okay, Kyojuro,” Akaza says. They’re far past the point of it’s not your faults—they’ve exchanged those words far too many times. Instead, he leans his head on Kyojuro’s shoulder. “We have an entire lifetime ahead to figure out what promises we still have to make up to each other.”
Kyojuro makes a noise of agreement. The sparkler in Akaza’s hand is exchanged for another new one, and it shatters into brightness, imprinting a trail of luminescence into the depths of Akaza’s vision.
They sit in companionable silence for a little while, just tracing the pattern of the stars with their sparklers, burning through them one by one.
How funny, Akaza thinks. Once upon a time, he had considered that evening spent with Kyojuro as an anomaly. A small sliver of time stolen away for each other, because it was all they could afford. Just one night, to watch the fireworks and pretend they had no obligations to anyone but each other.
And now that sliver of borrowed time has become their everydays. They’ll finish lighting the sparklers in an hour or so and there will be no need to promise each other next-times, because next-times are tomorrows, and the days after that, and those are as close as guarantees as they will get in this uncertain life: waking up next to Kyojuro with the heralding of the morning sun, climbing into bed with him in the dead of night, walking around the block hand-in-hand.
Gone are the loneliest days, the longest nights. Akaza makes some comment about the sparklers and Kyojuro laughs in response. Easy warmth travels through the soul thread, humming with happiness that settles like a ribbon around Akaza’s heart.
It’s a little while later, when Akaza has burned through his eleventh or twelfth of fifteenth (he’s long lost track) sparkler, that Kyojuro speaks up again.
“Do you remember that story I told you about past and future lives?” he asks.
“Is this some kind of trick question?” Akaza asks, swivelling around to look at Kyojuro. “In case you’ve forgotten, Kyojuro, I pretty much bet everything on that story.”
“Ah, well!” Kyojuro replies with a smile. “I’m glad you did, Akaza. And I am glad you remembered it, since you used to act annoyed every time I talked about the stories my mother told me!”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Akaza protests, but he knows Kyojuro is right. He did use to scoff at any hint of sentiment.
Kyojuro gives him a look, utterly unconvinced by Akaza’s protest. Still, he doesn’t argue. “It was a life of planting,” he starts, “a life of watering, a life of reaping, and a—”
“—life of cherishing,” Akaza finishes for him. He feels oh-so-tender. The way the earth becomes tender in the wake of spring’s first rain. Soft and once again ready to bloom. “So, Kyojuro, which life do you think you’re on now? It’s definitely not your first.”
“Maybe my second!” Kyojuro says. The rest of his sparkler has fizzled out to the ends, but he doesn’t make a move to take another one. “I would hope I have two more!”
“Yeah?” He lets the phantom of a similar memory hang between them. Akaza knows they’re both remembering it. “Did you want to meet me in the next, Kyojuro?”
“It turns out I was right,” Kyojuro points out. “We aren’t a demon and a slayer this time around. And I didn’t end up agreeing to become a demon, but you have become a human!”
A smile tugs at the corner of Akaza’s lips, and he gives up fighting to suppress it. “I suppose I’ll give you that one, Kyojuro.”
Kyojuro laughs. “What I mean to say, Akaza,” he starts, “is that I would want to spend my next life with you. And the next. That is a choice I’d make in a heartbeat! But of course, it isn’t a choice I am given and we never have a guarantee, so the only thing I can make sure of is to spend the rest of this one with you.”
Something along the lines of, of course rise to the tip of Akaza’s tongue. Isn’t that a given, he could reply. You’re stuck with me, remember? Yet for some reason, every response tangles at the tip of his tongue, and Akaza finds himself unable to get the words out. He can sense the soft pulse of Kyojuro’s emotions through the soul thread, a touch of anticipation, an overflowing lake of fondness. He looks towards Kyojuro. “What do you mean?” he asks instead.
Akaza feels both of his hands picked up. Oh, he’d put down his sparkler—he hadn’t even realized he’d done so. Kyojuro is looking at him with earnest and soft eyes, his expression visible even under the barest illumination of the moon, and part of Akaza has the sudden urge to hold his breath.
“I suppose this is more of a formality than anything!” Kyojuro says. “We’ve been through so much and found each other regardless, and—well!” The pad of his thumb rubs over the back of Akaza’s hand in a circular motion. “I mean it wholeheartedly when I say that I want to spend the rest of this life with you, Akaza, whatever that might look like. And I want all of you as much as I want to give you all of myself.” Amber eyes flicker over his face, searching. Akaza watches as Kyojuro’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. His thumbs stop circling against Akaza’s skin, and instead, he tightens his grasp on Akaza’s hands. “I want to spend this whole life with you,” Kyojuro repeats earnestly. “So—will you marry me, Akaza?”
The world stumbles to a quiet stop, liquifying around Akaza. It’s tunnel vision at its finest; all he sees are Kyojuro’s expectant eyes, feeling the warmth of his fingertips where they dig ever so slightly into his skin.
Maybe he shouldn’t be shocked. Maybe this is something that should be quite expected. It isn’t as if their lives aren’t already intertwined down to the smallest strands, so naturally, this would make sense as a next step. Like Kyojuro said, it’s more of a formality than anything, because it doesn’t change anything except provide something in writing, on paper—to tell the rest of the world what they have long known. And it isn’t as if Akaza hasn’t thought of this far too many times. It isn’t as if he doesn’t have his own question stored away into the bottom of his drawer, that tiny box housing the gold ring he bought nearly a year ago now, a yearning that he has never quite summoned up the courage to ask for, but still…
But still, Akaza can’t help but feel out of his depth, so happy and thankful that it edges into terrified. Here they are, remnants of the day’s summer heat clinging to their skin while the night breeze soothes it with a cooler hand; here they are, a basket of sparklers beside them, the moon pouring silver and his heart alive and fluttering like a hummingbird in the cage of his ribs. Here they are, a hundred years later. No more wishing and hoping for a kinder, better lifetime. They’re here now, a thousand wishes granted, while Kyojuro is offering him yet another one. All he needs to do is to say—
“Yes,” Akaza says, and it comes out as something more akin to a sob. “Yes, Kyojuro, of course I’ll marry you, of course I’ll—”
He’s being swept into Kyojuro’s arms before Akaza can choke out the rest of his incoherent agreement. He thinks he might be sobbing. Or laughing. Or both. He buries his damp eyes into Kyojuro’s shoulder, pressed tight against the rise and fall of his breaths, hearing the fond sound of his name said by a voice more familiar than Akaza’s own.
“How long have you been planning this?” he finally manages, and the words come out a little hoarse, breathless like he’s been running for a couple of miles. “When did you even…” Akaza shakes his head, pulling back just enough so he can see Kyojuro’s face again. He’s smiling brightly, as though he’d just landed on the best possible outcome, which was ridiculous. Kyojuro couldn’t have possibly suspected any other answer except a resounding yes from him. This should have been a given.
“A month ago, when I was picking you up from work,” Kyojuro says. “You were talking about making bento for dinner and I suddenly thought that…well, that we should get married! It doesn’t really change anything of course, but I just thought it would be nice to have that on paper, too. Officially. And so I went to get the ring the next day!”
With that, Kyojuro turns back to his basket of sparklers. He rummages through for a few seconds before returning with a small black box. He opens it, taking out a ring that gleams under the moon’s faint glow, and tilts his head expectantly at Akaza. It takes him a few moments to realize that Kyojuro is waiting for his hand. So he does, offering it to Kyojuro who slides the cool metal band over his ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.
The metal catches even the minimal illumination of the moon. The ring is a polished silver with a gold band around the center, simple but elegant. Akaza turns his hand around, still feeling like he’s wading through the waters of a dream.
“I went with my mother,” Kyojuro explains. “I thought that I would use a bit of her help picking it out! Although it ultimately ended up being my choice, having her there was still helpful!”
“It’s perfect, Kyojuro,” Akaza says, and he means it, more than words can convey. It really is lovely, the gold clasped between silver. He blinks a few times, eyes still wet, and decides that he can’t be bothered wiping away his tears because he’ll probably just start crying again anyway. “I love it. I really do. I just… I just wasn’t expecting this, at all. I wasn’t expecting any of this.”
“I suppose that is a good thing, since it was meant to be a surprise!” Kyojuro says. His smile is a little teasing, all fond. “Do you want to light the rest of the sparklers, or save them for tomorrow?”
“Let’s finish them,” Akaza says, because even though it’s late, even though his heart is bursting, too filled to the brim with affection and joy, they hadn’t gotten the chance to burn through all of them last time, and he wants to now. “Since we have time.”
So they do. The press of metal against his finger, the tiny miniscule weight—somehow, it takes up all of Akaza’s senses. He keeps on going back to it, admiring the way the gold and silver gleam under the sparks lighting up the air between them. Kyojuro knocks his sparkler against Akaza’s with a grin, laughing harder when Akaza protests and hits him back.
Later, after Kyojuro offers him the very last sparkler, the entire basket empty, the moon having migrated to a higher position in the sky—later, they head back to the hotel, hand in hand. Kyojuro clasps his left hand with his right, and Akaza feels him brushing his fingers over the shape of the ring.
“Kyojuro,” he says after a few moments.
“Hm?”
“I got you one too, you know,” Akaza finally admits. “A ring. Nearly a year ago. I just—I was so determined when I bought it, but after I got home I couldn’t ever figure out the right time to ask you, and then I wasn’t sure if it was even necessary, and then…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I guess I couldn’t summon up the courage to.”
Kyojuro blinks at him, wide-eyed and surprised. “What! Did you think I would say no!” he exclaims.
“That wasn’t why,” Akaza protests. “I don’t know. Sometimes I still feel like things are too good to be true, and I’m scared that if they get even better, I’ll just lose it all again. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s happened so many times and I can’t help but wonder if it’ll happen again.”
The hand holding his squeezes once, twice. “I’m not going anywhere!” Kyojuro promises. “I told you before, you’re stuck with me. And now you’re going to be stuck with me legally, too!”
Akaza’s breath escapes him in a laugh. “Maybe for the next two lives as well.”
“I hope so,” Kyojuro replies, and although Akaza had said it as a joke, the fondness in Kyojuro’s voice makes his heart melt all over again. “You are going to give me the ring when we’re back home, right?”
“What else would I do? Return it?”
“My mother is going to be delighted,” Kyojuro says excitedly.
“Please don’t tell her I had it for a year,” Akaza says, much less excited at the prospect.
“She’ll think it’s sweet!”
“That I couldn’t summon up the courage to propose until you did?”
“Not when you frame it so negatively,” Kyojuro chastises. “She’ll think it’s sweet that we had the same idea, that’s all!”
Same idea, indeed. Akaza doesn’t bother fighting his smile. Instead, they walk down now-empty streets, stepping through puddles of warm yellow cast by the streetlamps, flickering in and out of the moon’s paler spotlight. A now-empty basket of sparklers, a ring on his finger, another waiting at home, hand-in-hand—all the way back.