Work Text:
Kiyoomi stares up at the blue sky and spends his limited time remaining on this earth finding new and increasingly creative ways to curse Motoya to hell and back for his decision to organize the Sakusa-Komori Annual Family Gathering at Yoshino-Kumano National Park. “It’s beautiful in the spring, Kiyoomi. Cherry blossoms everywhere!” “You won’t even have to leave the lodge, Kiyoomi. The mountains are gorgeous from the balconies.” “Come on a hike with us, Kiyoomi, we won’t go far and the trails are well-maintained.”
He gives a disparaging look at a nearby log, the only possible place to sit in the clearing that isn’t directly on the forest floor. If he could convince himself the green moss on the fallen tree isn’t full of bugs and poisonous mushrooms, he could rest his aching feet. But alas, his mind is far too overactive for such pleasant fantasies.
So he stands and waits and stares at his phone, which currently boasts no signal and a dying battery, courtesy of his listening to music during the hike to drown out his cousins and distract himself from how much he hated hiking. And also the reason he found himself suddenly separated and lost and likely to die in the next hour.
If only he had a pencil and paper, he could at least rewrite his will to leave nothing to Motoya when they found it on his dead body. He hopes somebody noticed he’s disappeared, but most of his family had been day drinking, so they may not find his rotting corpse until the head count for the bus back to Tokyo in a week.
He thinks longingly about his room at the lodge. A perfectly respectable space with a view of a nice gorge. No bugs, no dirt, no need for layers of sunscreen. Bed sheets with an impressive thread count and king-sized pillows. Room service and decent coffee for lodging outside of Tokyo.
“Samu, think I found him.”
He’s interrupted from his musings by the crackle of radio static, a loud voice, and a sudden flash of blonde hair in front of him that makes him take a step back. He blinks, wondering if maybe he did accidentally eat a mushroom because the man standing in front of him comes straight out of a very nice Kiyoomi dream. Tall and fit, wearing a nicely pressed ranger uniform that is just the right amount of tight around his thighs, a belt that cinches at a trim waist, shoulders so broad Kiyoomi immediately thinks Olympic swimmer. And also his face. Simultaneously fashion model handsome and next-door neighbor boyish, beautiful brown eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips that Kiyoomi knows is at his expense, but he doesn’t much care.
“Hello,” Kiyoomi says, very intelligently.
“Hey,” the ranger replies with a wink. “Are you Sakusa Kiyoomi? Our missing hiker? We’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
Kiyoomi of course knows that one of his family members must have had the brains and wherewithal to realize he did not return with them on the hike (likely not Motoya), but he still preens a bit that Gorgeous Ranger was combing the mountains trying to rescue him.
He nods and is about to ask Great Thighs for his name and number when the man cocks his head and beckons toward a nearby tree.
“’Course, if you had walked about two steps that way and looked through those maples, you woulda seen the lodge. Never had a tourist lost a couple dozen feet from the main trail, but you sure did make my job easy this afternoon.” He winks again at Kiyoomi, who would blush at the attractive move, but he’s already blushing from mortification and would like to be buried underneath as many decaying leaves and as much dirt as possible.
“I… didn’t want to wander and get more lost,” he manages to say.
“Very clever of ya. Can I take ya home? Won’t take too long.” Another wink. Kiyoomi should have just died when he had the chance.
“You may,” Kiyoomi replies, trying to compose himself. He’s a Sakusa, damnit. His family owns half of Tokyo’s shopping malls, and he has a PhD in Classical Literature from Tokyo University. He will not be reduced to a blubbering mess because of this momentary lapse in competency. He glances at the name stitched into the man’s shirt (and certainly does not linger on the pectorals underneath it). “Thank you for your assistance, Miya-san.”
“Just Atsumu,” he says cheerfully. “We got two Miyas on the team, and I hate bein’ associated with the other one.” He walks toward the trees, and Kiyoomi blanches at the idea of stumbling through underbrush, but Atsumu holds aside a huge tree branch with gloved hands, arm muscles bulging, to give him a clear shot through the wilderness, and Kiyoomi just about falls in love.
“Where are you comin’ from?” Atsumu asks, when they make their way back to the main trail that Kiyoomi had walked a few hours prior. Kiyoomi’s phone begins buzzing from missed notifications; he finds it ridiculous that a few feet of lumber could block cell service, but this isn’t Tokyo after all.
“Tokyo.”
Atsumu whistles. “Big city boy. Well, thank ya for gracin’ our humble park.”
“It’s very nice,” Kiyoomi says, ignoring the little devil in the shape of Motoya on his shoulder pointing out that Kiyoomi had come up with an extensive spreadsheet of reasons why their retreat should have been held at a Tokyo resort instead of the backwaters of Kansai.
“The most gorgeous place in the world,” Atsumu says proudly. “Have ya had a chance to explore?—” He grins at Kiyoomi, who resists the urge to clutch at his chest. “—Or are ya just sticking to the lodge?”
“We only just arrived yesterday,” Kiyoomi replies with some indignation, despite the fact that his previous goal for the entire trip was indeed to “stick to the lodge.”
“How much longer do we have the pleasure of your stay?” Atsumu asks.
“A week,” Kiyoomi says.
“Not nearly enough time, but enough to see a good bit of the park,” Atsumu nods. “What’s on your itinerary for the afternoon?”
Nap had been on the top of Kiyoomi’s list, but something about Atsumu’s hopeful smile makes him say, “Another hike,” like a maniac.
“Oho,” Atsumu says. “Brave of ya. Maybe we should send a ranger with ya on this one, in case you get lost again.”
“You could take me,” Kiyoomi blurts out, then blushes at his choice of words.
“I’m leadin’ some educational tour for a bunch of cute little elementary schoolers, but a personal tour for our Tokyo guest would have been just as fun,” Atsumu sighs. “I’ll see if Sunarin—”
“I can join the tour,” Kiyoomi says. He’s already tripped halfway down the road to madness, might as well skip the rest of the way down it. “Very discriminatory to only offer education to children. I’ll have to raise this in my comments to the park.”
Atsumu bursts into laughter, and Kiyoomi blanches, certain he’s about to be ridiculed for his blatant attempt to spend more time with Atsumu.
“I’d be honored, as long as you’ll help me wrangle some excitable six-year-olds and keep ‘em from runnin’ over ledges,” Atsumu says. “Gimme your number so we can coordinate. Anybody else in your group that might wanna join?”
“No,” Kiyoomi says quickly, offering his phone to Atsumu.
“It’s a date then, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, just as they arrive at the entrance of the lodge. He tips his hat at Kiyoomi, a bright smile on his face, then turns and heads back into the park, leaving Kiyoomi feeling like a young sickly Victorian lord prone to fainting spells.
“Kiyoomi!”
He turns to see his cousin running toward him, worry on his face.
“You’re okay,” Motoya says. “I’m so so sorry. I totally understand if you want to cut the vacation short and head back to Tokyo. I’ll come with you, and we’ll go to the resort you wanted to go to. I’ll pay for it, just don’t hate me forever—”
“No need,” Kiyoomi interrupts, raising a hand. Motoya looks at him in confusion.
“My harrowing experience has given me a newfound appreciation of nature,” Kiyoomi continues. “In fact, I’m going on another hike this afternoon, but I will be accompanied by a professional and not hooligans.”
“Seriously?” Motoya asks. “I thought the only ranger-led hike today was for kids. Can I come—”
“You may not,” Kiyoomi says, stalking into the lodge. “I need to prepare myself for what I’m sure is going to be a religious experience in the wilderness. I will write something afterwards that would move Thoreau to tears. I will see you at dinner, cousin.”
---
Kiyoomi waits nervously at the entrance of the lodge where Atsumu said he would pick him up. He glances down at himself, having given a little more thought to his afternoon hiking attire than in the morning when he had just worn his old high school volleyball jersey. Atsumu better appreciate the effort; he had to beg his brother for proper hiking boots, though they are a size too small.
“Omi-kun,” he hears and stands up straighter. Atsumu jogs up to him, gives him a once-over, then holds his fingers in a rectangle like he’s getting the right angle to take a photograph of Kiyoomi. “You look like ya walked straight out of a hiking magazine cover,” he whistles.
“Well, I do enjoy hiking,” Kiyoomi preens.
“Come on then, to the ranger station. Kiddos will be there in about half an hour.”
Kiyoomi follows him to an open-top jeep parked across two spots in the lodge’s private parking. Atsumu jumps in like he’s an action movie star, then stands and leans over to offer a hand for Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi takes it and is dragged bodily into the jeep, which awakens something in him as a tall man not accustomed to being manhandled.
“Hold on,” Atsumu says, starting the car and immediately reversing out of the spots with a screech. Kiyoomi is sent pelting forward, only Atsumu’s arm thrown out in front of him stopping him from shooting through the front window.
“Is this how you drive? Is there no seatbelt on this vehicle?” Kiyoomi shrieks, holding onto Atsumu’s arm as the ranger then accelerates forward, banging Kiyoomi’s head back against the headrest.
“Sorry, Omi-kun,” Atsumu laughs. “There’s a lap belt. But you can just hang onto my arm; ranger station ain’t far.”
“You should drive with two hands,” Kiyoomi responds, nevertheless clutching at Atsumu’s prominent bicep greedily.
“I could drive through this park with my feet on the wheel, and my eyes closed,” Atsumu brags. “I practically grew up here. Dad was head ranger.” He makes a sharp turn, and Kiyoomi yells again, certain that the right side of the jeep left the ground. The vehicle skids to a stop in front of a wooden structure, and Atsumu retracts his arm to Kiyoomi’s displeasure.
“Tsumu, are ya fuckin’ crazy? Kita-san would murder you if he saw ya driving around the park like that when there are kids about to arrive.”
Kiyoomi, still reeling from the short but chaotic trip, blinks as another Atsumu with grey hair stalks out of the building.
“Don’t ya snitch on me to Kita-san, Samu,” Atsumu yells back. “Little twerps ain’t comin’ till three.”
Imposter Atsumu stops when he sees Kiyoomi, tilting his head and raising his eyebrow.
“This is Omi-kun, by the way. He’s goin’ on the tour with me,” Atsumu says, hopping down from the jeep and running to the other side to help Kiyoomi down as well.
“Huh,” Imposter Atsumu says. “Don’t look like a six-year-old to me.”
“Omi-kun had a terrible experience this mornin’. I’m makin’ sure he gets a good hike in so he has good memories of Yoshino.”
“That’s real good of ya, Tsumu, doin’ it for the park’s sake,” Imposter Atsumu drawls. He looks at Kiyoomi. “I’m Miya Osamu. Glad you’re safe, though sorry ya had to be found by this guy.”
Kiyoomi nods at him. Though he shares the same face, Osamu’s eyes don’t shine quite the same way as Atsumu’s, a more guarded look to him as he stands slouched with his hands in his pockets. It also appears that Atsumu has done some personal tailoring to his uniform—despite their similar stature, Osamu’s doesn’t hug his body in quite the same way as Atsumu’s.
“Come on in, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says. “I’ll show you around the station.” When he walks by Osamu, his brother says something to him that Kiyoomi can’t make out, resulting in Atsumu kicking at his brother’s side. Osamu jumps away from the blow and laughs, waving as he jumps into the jeep and pulls away at a much more normal speed.
Kiyoomi follows Atsumu into the station, feeling a bit like an interloper when he walks through a door labeled “Employees Only.”
“Is it alright that I’m back here?” Kiyoomi asks hesitantly as Atsumu putters around an ancient-looking coffee machine.
“Nobody else around today. Sunarin might mosey in but he’s most likely wanderin’ around the park lookin’ to avoid being dragged on this tour himself. He hates kiddos. You want some coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Kiyoomi says, when he looks at the pot and can see how much coffee the rangers usually make from the dirty brown line on the cloudy glass of the carafe.
Atsumu shrugs, busying himself with making another pot. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll give ya a little tour once I get some caffeine in me.”
Kiyoomi looks around the small office and sees a couch that looks to be covered in as much dirt and fauna as the log in the clearing from his morning adventure. He purses his lips, trying to decide how much of his sanity he’s willing to sacrifice to not offend Atsumu.
“Oh hang on a sec,” Atsumu says, rifling through a cupboard and pulling out a blanket that he throws haphazardly over the couch. “This couch is nasty. It’s all Samu. He takes a nap on it after his mornings clearin’ the trails. This blanket is clean, don’t worry, Omi-kun.”
After physically wrestling the words “will you marry me,” back down his throat, Kiyoomi sits on the blanket, watching as Atsumu mixes far too many sugars into his coffee.
“You come with a big group?” Atsumu asks. “One of my buds who works in the kitchen of the lodge says a bunch of people who look like yakuza arrived yesterday.”
“Yakuza?” Kiyoomi scoffs.
“Yeah, nice suits, fancy gloves and watches, black hair, black eyes, briefcases even.”
“That’s… my family, yes,” Kiyoomi replies. “We have a family reunion every year, organized by my mother and aunt.”
“Aw, that’s real nice,” Atsumu says, plopping down next to him on the couch. He remains a respectful distance away, and Kiyoomi wishes the couch were even smaller. “You sure none of ‘em wanna come with us?”
“I’m certain,” Kiyoomi says firmly. “They’re likely already drinking. Half of the contents of those briefcases is expensive liquor.”
“They sound fun, maybe I’ll crash the party with ya later,” Atsumu grins.
“You are welcome to,” Kiyoomi says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too eager.
“Maybe I will,” Atsumu says. He takes a gulp of his coffee, grimacing when he swallows, then blows on the surface of the liquid a few times. Kiyoomi can’t stop staring at his lips as he takes smaller sips.
“I got somethin’ on my face, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks, cocking his head.
Kiyoomi shakes his head, trying to find something else to fixate on, and lands on an illustrated poster of various bird species in the park.
“Birds,” he blurts out, pointing at the poster like some child learning words for the first time. Perhaps he does belong amongst the six-year-olds soon to descend upon the ranger station.
“Oh, yup, my dad made that,” Atsumu says. “In fact, I should probably bring it with us. Little kids love birds. You like cheepers, Omi?”
“I do,” Kiyoomi replies, even though he actually hates them as the only creatures other than humans that see fit to disturb his mornings with their fanatical calls.
“I’ll be on the lookout for some good cheepers then,” Atsumu smiles, and Kiyoomi feels like melting into a puddle of goo, enamored with the way that this man calls birds “cheepers.”
“Lemme give ya a quick tour,” Atsumu says, finishing off the rest of his coffee. He takes down the poster and carefully rolls it up before placing it in a plastic tube. “This is obviously the office slash break room slash kitchen where Samu makes us lunch if he does some foragin’ in the morning.” He walks back into the main room where they had entered. “Educational stuff is in here. Nothin’ much but there’s a history of the park and some of the more interestin’ animals you’ll see here. Out back there’s our outdoor amphitheater and the shed where we store supplies for our tours.”
He shoulders open the back door, holding it for Kiyoomi before walking toward another smaller building. He looks back at Kiyoomi with a shy smile, “I could use your help getting some stuff ready if you’re willin’.”
For you, anything, Kiyoomi almost says out loud. Instead he accepts the work gloves Atsumu offers him, giving them a tentative sniff when Atsumu’s back is turned, and decides they are acceptable.
For the next few minutes, Kiyoomi is put to work organizing a small pack of equipment for each of the children arriving soon. A bright colored vest, a badge that contains a tracker, a checklist of plants with a small pencil, a pouch with a bag of trail mix, and a whistle, which Kiyoomi knows will be used to great effect in giving him a migraine. Still, he works to carefully arrange the supplies on the benches of the outdoor amphitheater, spacing them equidistance apart, making sure each item is in the same exact spot for each child.
When he looks up, he sees Atsumu watching him, an amused look on his face.
“What?” he asks, self-conscious.
“Samu usually just throws stuff at the kids when they arrive,” Atsumu says. “I’m sure he’s probably beaned a few kids with whistles. This looks professional, like one of those fancy conferences for businessmen.”
“Well, I… wanted to do a good job,” he says lamely.
“Thank ya, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, eyes twinkling. “Wish I could hire ya to work for us.”
“I—yes, well, I’m quite expensive,” Kiyoomi replies, then decides he should just go ahead and stab himself to death with one of the small pencils for describing himself like a male host at a high-end Kabukichō club.
But Atsumu only laughs his bright laugh and sits down on one of the benches. He looks expectantly up at Kiyoomi, who blinks, unsure what Atsumu is waiting for.
“Yes?” he says finally.
“Was hopin’ you’d give me an informational lecture, before the kids arrive,” Atsumu says.
An intense feeling of dread fills Kiyoomi at the thought that Atsumu might expect him to give a talk about birds after lying that he liked them. He tries to recall what he knows about “cheepers.” His background is sadly limited to the penguin exhibit at the Ueno Zoo that Motoya had recently dragged him to for “cousin bonding.” The African penguin is monogamous; it breeds in colonies and pairs return to the same site each year. Incubation is undertaken equally by both parents for around 40 days. (“I figured you’d like these guys, Kiyoomi.” “The spirit of partnership is admirable, but I wish they wouldn’t make so much noise.”)
“About you, Omi-kun,” Atsumu clarifies after a beat. “I’d like to learn about the species Sakusa Kiyoomius. What makes him tick? What does he do during the day? What does he like to eat as a treat? Does he have a mate?” Atsumu’s eyes twinkle as he gazes up at Kiyoomi, who unfortunately finds this juvenile line of questioning to be unbearably endearing.
He clears his throat. “The species Sakusa Kiyoomius has a PhD in Classical Literature and mostly uses it to lob obscure insults at his family members. Otherwise he can be found in Tokyo coffeeshops trying to find a passable cappuccino after a recent visit to Milan. He does not have a partner, though his cousin has recently tried to make a dating profile for him but gave up when he could not locate a single smiling photograph of Sakusa Kiyoomius.”
Really? Recent visit to Milan? You sound simultaneously boring and pretentious, he tells himself angrily, but Atsumu is giggling as if Kiyoomi had told him a particularly clever joke.
“Omi-kun, I gotta talk to your cousin. You don’t need to be smilin’ to get lots of right swipes. You just gotta stand there in the sun and let your cheekbones do the talkin’.”
“I have been told I look like I’m sitting on the point of the Tokyo Tower in every photograph,” Kiyoomi says.
“No way,” Atsumu announces, standing up and pulling out his phone. He holds it up to Kiyoomi who immediately puts up a hand to block the camera.
“Don’t,” Kiyoomi warns, but Atsumu bobs and weaves this way and that, making camera click sounds with his mouth as he prances around Kiyoomi.
“Lookin’ good, Mr. Model, the camera loves ya,” Atsumu says, and Kiyoomi can’t help but smile, shaking his head at Atsumu’s antics. He finally gives up trying to block the camera and marches back toward the ranger station.
“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu calls. Kiyoomi glances back over his shoulder and sees Atsumu’s phone still raised in the air.
“That’s a keeper,” Atsumu says, looking down at his phone before stuffing it in his pocket. Before Kiyoomi can demand to see it, he hears the sound of children laughing and shouting. With a wink, Atsumu whirls past him back into the ranger station and begins yelling his own welcomes.
---
“Are you a Ranger-san too?” a small child asks him.
“No,” Kiyoomi says stiffly.
“Then why are ya here?” another demands.
Because I would like to spend quality time with that extremely attractive man walking next to you and you heathens are preventing me from doing so.
“Omi-san is a trainee,” Atsumu says glibly. “I’m teachin’ him everything I know.”
“So he will be a Ranger-san soon?”
“Yup,” Atsumu says. “Next time you come, Omi-san will be leadin’ this hike.” He gives Kiyoomi a wink, then stops in his tracks.
“Gather round, kids, this is our first stop. Does anyone see anythin’ interesting around here?”
“A tree,” one child announces, and Kiyoomi almost snorts.
“Close, kiddo,” Atsumu says, patting the foolish child on the head. “Why don’t ya try a little closer to the ground?”
“I see a hole,” another more intelligent child announces, pointing at a burrow nearby that Kiyoomi had spotted as soon as they had stopped. Kiyoomi nods at the girl’s keen senses, happy that the next generation of Japanese minds is sharp and focused despite the advent of TikTok.
“Bingo,” Atsumu says. He pulls a chocolate bar out of his pocket and helps the child put it in her fanny pack. “That’s for later,” he whispers. “Though if ya eat it in the park, make sure to take the wrapper with you.” She nods solemnly.
“That’s what called a burrow. Can ya guess what animal might have made that?”
Kiyoomi watches as the children guess all manner of nonsensical animals—Atsumu patiently and cheerfully leads them toward the correct answer, squatting on the ground so as to be closer to their height. Kiyoomi sighs in what he hopes is not an overly dreamy way. He has no interest in children, but seeing a man so well-equipped to handle them makes him feel a motherly instinct he had no idea he possessed.
“Omi-san, are ya tired?” a little boy near him asks. He is the smallest of the bunch, his tiny face flushed and red.
“No, I’m fine,” he says.
“I’m a little tired,” the child says sadly. “But my ma said I shouldn’t sit on the ground.”
Kiyoomi looks around, then shrugs off the vest he borrowed from his brother and hands it to the child. He feels no possessiveness toward the object and decides it can be soiled.
“You can use this,” he says. “So you don’t sit on the ground.”
The child thanks him profusely, then glances around the clearing for a suitable location to sit. To Kiyoomi’s complete and utter surprise, the child puts the vest down on Kiyoomi’s boots, then sits down on them, leaning back against Kiyoomi’s shins and looking up happily at him. Kiyoomi stares down at the upside-down gap-toothed grin and can only blink in confusion.
“This is how I sit on my pa when we go to the zoo and there isn’t a bench,” the child says.
“I am not your father,” Kiyoomi says faintly.
“You’re tall and strong like him.”
“I—well, pay attention to the lesson,” Kiyoomi says, miffed that he has allowed a child’s flattery to sway him.
“Yes, Omi-san,” he chirps, and they both redirect their attention to Atsumu, who is pretending to be a snake, moving his body in a sinuous way that makes Kiyoomi feel a little warm. There are children, Kiyoomi, he warns himself.
“Okay, and those are the little critters who live on the forest floor,” Atsumu says, straightening up. “Let’s go on to the next location, troops.” The children cheer, and Atsumu looks around, gaze landing on Kiyoomi and the child perched on his feet. He raises an eyebrow, and Kiyoomi can only shrug as Atsumu makes his way over to them.
“You tired, kiddo?” Atsumu asks, crouching down in front of the boy. “Want me to give ya a piggyback ride?”
“I’m okay, Ranger Atsumu-san,” he replies, pulling himself up by grasping the fabric of Kiyoomi’s pants. “I can do it.”
“You’re a strong little man,” Atsumu says. He pats the boy gently on the head then stands.
“I’ll watch over him,” Kiyoomi says, surprising himself. He has never volunteered to watch over anything in his life. Motoya had to bribe him with promises to help steam clean his carpet for three months in order to get Kiyoomi to stop by and feed his pet fish for a few days.
“Thanks Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, straightening up and flashing Kiyoomi a grateful smile. “Wrangling twelve kids just by myself is tough. I’m glad you’re here with me.”
“Of course,” Kiyoomi says, feeling faint. He stares at Atsumu’s back as he leaves to lead them to their next location, eyes roaming over his broad shoulders and the shapely jut of his scapula. He hears a demure little cough and glances down at the boy next to him, who has a knowing look on his face.
“What?” Kiyoomi demands.
“I bet Ranger Atsumu-san would like ya a lot if you gave me a piggyback ride,” he announces, holding up his hands and making a grabby motion with his grubby paws.
“You just refused one from him,” Kiyoomi says, flabbergasted at the blatant attempt to take advantage of Kiyoomi’s feelings.
“My teacher said not to make trouble for Ranger Atsumu-san, but you’re not him.”
Kiyoomi eyes the child, who gives him a winning smile while missing half his teeth. He supposes he can appreciate the boy’s legal acumen.
“What’s your name?”
“Are ya gonna tell my teacher I was naughty?”
“I don’t give strangers piggyback rides.”
“’m Chihiro.”
“Come then, Chihiro, let’s get this over with,” Kiyoomi sighs, bending down and allowing this small boy to clamber onto his back in a desperate attempt to make a handsome park ranger like him even a smidgen better.
---
Kiyoomi decides that this particular band of children is likely training for some youth Olympics. They have been clambering over rocks and traipsing through the forest for what feels like five hours. Kiyoomi’s feet, trapped in his brother’s tiny shoes, feel as though they had dropped off nineteen miles ago and he’s just walking on the bare stumps of his ankles. Halfway through, Chihiro had taken pity on him and hopped off Kiyoomi’s back, instead choosing to walk next to him and chatter his ears off about their school lessons.
Atsumu had checked on him multiple times. Kiyoomi had managed to stifle his cries of pain and smiled wanly each time, even giving Atsumu a silly thumbs up in lieu of an answer at one point when he could no longer trust he wouldn’t let out a whimper.
“Chihiro,” he asks seriously. “Did your teacher mention whether this was an out and back trail or a loop trail? My life depends on your answer.”
“What’s a loop trail?” Chihiro answers, picking his nose. Kiyoomi just barely manages not to scream when he thinks about Chihiro’s hands gripping his shoulders for twenty-five miles.
“As in, have we not yet made it to the halfway point, or will the ranger station be just beyond the crest of that hill?” Kiyoomi asks hopefully.
“I dunno,” Chihiro says. “My teacher just said to drink lots of water. Do you want some of mine, Omi-san?”
It is a testament to how incredibly thirsty he is that Kiyoomi even considers it for a brief second. But then he thinks about backwash and how filthy a human mouth truly is and gains control of himself again.
“No, thank you.”
“Should I ask Ranger Atsumu-san if you can have some of his water?” he asks mischievously.
“I’m not thirsty,” Kiyoomi glares, though he wouldn’t mind sharing Atsumu’s canteen. He watches as Atsumu takes a gulp from it, head tilted back, Adam’s apple moving with each swallow—
“Omi-san, you’re all red.”
“Mind your own business,” he snaps. The ground chooses this moment to shift under his feet, and he trips over a root. He stumbles forward a few steps, barely able to keep his balance. He feels his soul leave his body when he grabs the closest thing nearby with both arms and his cheek touches the mossy side of a dead tree, and he looks past it with dull eyes, ready to accept his defeat at the hands of this demonic forest.
But then he sees the ranger station, shining as if newly descended from the heavens above. The trials and tribulation from the past day are forgiven as he gazes at its homely wooden walls. Then, his eyes land on Atsumu, who looks at him quizzically.
“Lovely tree,” he croaks out.
“You’re a literal tree-hugger, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says cheerfully. “That’s real dedication.”
Kiyoomi lets go of the nature-infested thing and looks down at Chihiro, who gives him a double thumbs up and a conspiratorial smile. “Good job, Omi-san. Don’t worry, I’m going to tell Ranger Atsumu-san that you’re the coolest person in the whole world.”
“See that you do,” Kiyoomi says, regaining some of his composure.
---
When Kiyoomi is finally able to sit in front of a box fan in the ranger station, he barely suppresses what would surely have been an intensely lewd moan. Sheer force of will and stubbornness had kept him standing as the children filed onto their school bus with their teacher, who Kiyoomi noted did not go on the hike and should be summarily fired in his humble opinion. Chihiro had started to cry and hugged him with an incredible strength for his stick arms—Kiyoomi patting him gingerly on the head until his teacher managed to extract him. Kiyoomi had helped Atsumu clean up and accepted Atsumu’s offer of a cup of coffee in order to be able to rest before heading back to the lodge.
“Chihiro really took a shine to ya, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, holding a cup out to Kiyoomi. “Seeing the two of you together was real cute. He told me afterwards that he wishes you were his big brother.”
“He is a… bright child,” Kiyoomi replies.
“What did you think of the tour?” Atsumu asks. “Anythin’ I can improve on?”
Make it shorter, Kiyoomi thinks. “No, it was very informative,” he says.
“I love givin’ tours,” Atsumu says happily. “It’s really amazin’ to see people comin’ to understand the park better. Loads of people just walk around without seein’ all the wondrous things happening just around ‘em. It’s not just the leaves changing color or the cherry blossoms, it’s the osenchikogane—they’re these earth boring dung beetles that look like little jewels and keep the forests breathin’. At night, there’s the shii-no-tomoshibi-take, it’s this bioluminescent mushroom that grows on decayed tree trunks—Omi-kun?”
The veritable straw breaking the camels’ back was the way Atsumu’s eyes shone talking about dung beetles. Kiyoomi knew then, with a frightening clarity, that Atsumu could never come to like someone who nearly passed out at the mere concept of a decayed tree trunk. He buries his face in his hands and begins babbling.
“Atsumu, I have a confession. Many confessions. I’ve lied to you. I hate hiking. I dislike cheepers. Dirt and bugs and plants disgust me. These are my brother’s shoes and my cousin’s stupid hat. I only went on this hike with you because I found you unfairly attractive, but I’ve also since learned that you are kind and generous and clever and thoughtful and truly truly care for this park. And I really really really like you. But everything is doomed because I’m scared of everything you love,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut as the words tumble out of his mouth.
It's quiet in the ranger station, the silence almost stifling. Kiyoomi doesn’t dare open his eyes, knowing that when he does so, he’ll see Atsumu’s offended, displeased expression. He’ll have to make a quick retreat to the lodge and hide there the rest of the trip. Atsumu will laugh with his fun ranger friends about the dumb man from the city who stalked him for a day and then could barely finish a hike that children could do.
He hears a strange huffing sound and cracks one eye open. Atsumu is doubled over on the ground, clutching at his stomach.
“Are you ill? Atsumu?” Kiyoomi asks, sitting up straighter. Atsumu looks up at him, and Kiyoomi realizes that he is laughing, tears in the corners of his eyes as he grins up at him.
“Omi-kun, oh Omi-kun. I know. I know you don’t like hiking or cheepers or dirt or bein’ outdoors. When I first found ya, you were staring at some moss like it had personally killed your grandmother or somethin’. You weren’t exactly subtle about how much you don’t like bein’ outside. I didn’t take ya on the tour because I thought you’d love it; I just wanted to spend time with you. This hot guy from Tokyo who made me nearly run into a tree when I first spotted ya standing there in the sunlight. I thought it was cute that you kept wantin’ to prove you liked bein’ at the park.”
“I like the park,” Kiyoomi interrupts. “From a respectable distance. Like my room in the lodge. It is very beautiful. I… assumed you wouldn’t be attracted to anybody who would rather remain indoors.”
Atsumu wipes his eyes, still chuckling. “I’ve been flirtin’ with ya the whole day, you know, Omi-kun.”
“I…” Kiyoomi frowns. “I thought you were being friendly and wanted me to understand the wonders of Yoshino-Kumano National Park.”
“I literally asked ya if you had a ‘mate.’ I spent the whole forty-five minutes of the tour watchin’ ya as you took care of a cute little kid who loved ya, Omi-kun.”
“Surely that hike was more than forty-five minutes long,” Kiyoomi interrupts.
“No, it was just about forty minutes actually,” Atsumu says.
“We will debate this later,” Kiyoomi says. “Please continue with what you were saying.”
Atsumu smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I like ya, Omi-kun. I’ve only known ya a few hours, and I’m kinda obsessed with you.”
“Good,” Kiyoomi says primly, trying to breathe despite feeling like he’s misplaced his lungs somewhere on the five hour hike. “Though I think you should have made this known to me prior to the hike. I can no longer say with much certainty whether I still have all ten of my toes.”
“I thought you were limpin’,” Atsumu says, kneeling down on the floor and picking up one of Kiyoomi’s feet to rest on his thigh. His first thought is to wonder where his smelling salts are. The second is not so much a thought as a panicked barrage of fear that the world’s most beautiful man is about to see his knobby toes.
“I’m fine,” he says, trying to pull his foot back.
“Nah, Omi-kun. You gotta take care of blisters right away,” Atsumu says, wrestling his shoe off. Kiyoomi hisses in pain, but also with a bit of relief as his foot is released from its prison.
“These ain’t proper hiking socks either, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says. “You gotta get some good, thick wool ones.” He turns Kiyoomi’s foot to one side, and Kiyoomi really does nearly faint when he sees a blot of dark red on the pinkie toe side of his white socks. Atsumu, without moving his lower body, twists around to pull a first aid kit out of a nearby cupboard. The movement untucks his shirt from his pants, and Kiyoomi finds himself regaining consciousness when he sees the strip of tanned skin of Atsumu’s trim waist.
“Must have really hurt,” Atsumu says sympathetically, slowly peeling off Kiyoomi’s sock.
“Not that bad,” Kiyoomi says, very bravely in his opinion as he watches Atsumu cradle his foot and begin dabbing at it with an alcohol prep pad. He clenches his teeth at the sting, but the methodical and careful way that Atsumu tends to him keeps him calm. He takes the opportunity to observe Atsumu from up close, his tanned cheeks with a smattering of dark freckles, his long eyelashes shadowing his face as he looks down in concentration, his short undercut that Kiyoomi wants to run his fingers through.
“Next one, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, startling Kiyoomi from out of his daydreaming. He obediently lifts his other foot onto Atsumu’s waiting leg, resting his other on a cushion that Atsumu had taken off a nearby chair.
“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says quietly after Atsumu cleans and bandages the blisters on his other foot.
“It is my pleasure, my prince,” Atsumu says, bowing his head dramatically. He stands and makes his way over to the sink, pausing to look back and say with a wink. “Weird ass toes ya got though, Omi-Omi.”
Kiyoomi flushes, picks up the cushion his foot is resting on, and throws it at Atsumu, who catches it and laughs, before moving to the sink to wash his hands.
---
“I assure you I can walk on my own,” Kiyoomi says stiffly.
“With what shoes, Omi-kun? You ain’t gonna stuff your toes back into those hiking boots. And I have a feeling you aren’t gonna accept Samu’s spares to wear,” Atsumu says, pointing at a pair of mud-covered boots in the back of the jeep. “You let me give you a piggyback ride from the station to the jeep, what’s the big deal now?”
“I will call my cousin to bring me my shoes,” Kiyoomi says. He pulls out his phone and makes a big show of dialing Motoya’s number. It rings for a few moments then goes to voicemail. He seethes, knowing from the time that Motoya is likely at the hotel bar with the rest of the drunkards he calls family.
“Hm,” Atsumu says, stroking his chin. “Seems like we’re at an impasse, Omi-Omi.”
“You may carry me, but please move quickly so we’re not seen by anybody,” Kiyoomi says, relenting. He clambers out of the jeep and puts his arms around Atsumu’s substantial shoulders. Atsumu easily holds him, his big arms slotting under Kiyoomi’s legs. He smells like fresh air and fresh-turned soil, or what Kiyoomi imagines that might smell like.
“How does someone who traipses around in the dirt all day smell so good?” he asks grumpily.
“What can I say? I’m just naturally blessed,” Atsumu answers, walking into the lobby of their hotel.
“As you are not overly dirty, would you like to stay for a cup of tea?” Kiyoomi asks, feeling strangely bold as they make their way into the elevators in this intimate position.
“Tea? I thought half your suitcase was expensive liquor. You’re not gonna offer me any of the good stuff?”
“It’s 4 PM,” Kiyoomi huffs.
“4:35. So if we’re gonna be roundin’, I’d say we’re at 5 PM.”
“Fine, will you stay for some expensive liquor?”
Atsumu doesn’t respond, and Kiyoomi begins to tense, wondering if he had indeed moved too quickly.
“Ah fuck,” Atsumu sighs. “Was tryin’ to come up with an excuse to give to Kita-san about why I randomly took the rest of the day off. But I really can’t, Omi-kun. Believe me, I want to, more than anything, but even now I’m technically supposed to be checkin’ the markers on the Yakehashiri trail.”
“Oh, of course,” Kiyoomi says, embarrassed at the time he has already taken from Atsumu, who has a real job. The elevator bell chimes. “Th-this is my floor. I don’t mind making the rest of the way by foot—a shower will be my first order of business regardless.”
“’m gonna find out which room number is yours, so I can send ya a present tomorrow mornin’. I work an early shift tomorrow, so I’ll be free by noon for you,” Atsumu says, marching along the hall and resisting Kiyoomi’s attempt to wriggle off his back.
“1005,” Kiyoomi says, giving up.
Atsumu laughs at this. “Well, easy enough to remember then. Here we are, Sir Omi. Your steed has brought you safely home.”
Kiyoomi leans over his shoulder to tap his card against the keypad, and Atsumu pushes the door open to his room. He turns and lets Kiyoomi drop down.
“Got you to a clean floor,” Atsumu says, saluting. Kiyoomi doesn’t bother telling him that hotel room floors are just as filthy as the hallways because at the moment, he doesn’t much care. Instead, he feels strangely buoyant as he stands in the cool darkness of his room and looks at Atsumu, who is almost haloed by the bright light of the hall. Tomorrow he will have a fresh start, one unencumbered by the memory of being “lost” three seconds from the lodge, maimed by footwear, or operating under false pretenses as a lover of nature. Despite all the aforementioned, Atsumu still wants to see him again. He extends a hand.
Atsumu stares at it, then shakes it.
“Thank you, Ranger Atsumu.”
“Uh,” Atsumu responds.
Kiyoomi continues, not knowing what words are coming next but wanting to say them regardless. “For finding me this morning at one of the lowest points of my life, for providing an illuminating tour of the park in the afternoon, and for making sure I make it safely home even when it interfered with your work. I did not start off on the right foot, but moving forward, I would like to see more of you, when your duty allows. I would like to learn more about you and what you care about. You have already endeavored to show me that ‘a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.’ And I would like to show you a different side of me, one more competent and sincere. So, tomorrow then.”
Atsumu stares at him, and as the seconds creep by, Kiyoomi contemplates shutting the door and drowning himself in Yamazaki 12 Year Single Malt Whisky.
“Tomorrow then,” Atsumu says finally, shoulders relaxing down as a shy smile blooms on his face. He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth from his toes to his heels.
“Journey-work of the stars?” he asks.
“Walt Whitman, Song of Myself,” Kiyoomi says faintly.
“Gotta get used to both you and classical literature lines takin’ my breath away, I guess. ‘s pretty just like you,” he says, his cheeks turning red. Before Kiyoomi can say anything further, he gives Kiyoomi a quick salute then marches down the hallway at a fast pace.
---
Noon the next day finds Kiyoomi pacing around the shaded valet parking booth in front of the hotel. When he had woken that morning after very little sleep, he had found a box in front of his hotel room. In it was a pair of hiking boots that fit perfectly over the wool socks and heavy duty band-aids also nestled in the box, along with a note that said “NOON IN FRONT OF THE HOTEL. XOXO.”
“Sir… is there anything I can assist you with?” the hotel employee manning the valet desk asks him.
“No,” Kiyoomi replies. Then he pauses. The employee looks young, perhaps in her early twenties. “XOXO. Does that still mean hugs and kisses? Or has the new generation coopted that to mean something else?”
“Um,” she says. “I think so?”
“You think it still means hugs and kisses, or you think it’s been coopted to mean something else? If the latter, what has it come to mean?” Kiyoomi asks, annoyed at the ambiguity.
“No, I think it still means hugs and kisses.”
“Okay,” Kiyoomi nods. He thinks a little longer about this. “Is XOXO generally reserved only as a marker of close friendship, or might one use it for an expression of romantic affection?”
He jumps when he hears the sound of a car horn behind him. The woman’s expression also morphs into one of relief; she jumps down from her stool and hurries toward the car.
“Sorry, love,” Atsumu calls out the window as she approaches. “I’m here for that handsome man over there, just stoppin’ for a pick up.”
“No problem, sir, I’m grateful, sir,” she practically yells, ducking away and past Kiyoomi back to her post.
Atsumu steps out of the car and moves to the passenger side door, leaning back against the frame of the car in an unfairly attractive way as Kiyoomi walks toward him. He’s not dressed in his ranger outfit, which is a pity, Kiyoomi thinks, but instead wears a short sleeve collared shirt with too many buttons undone and a pair of khakis that strain to contain his thighs, which is nice, Kiyoomi also thinks.
“Nice boots,” Atsumu says, pushing away from the car to stand closer to Kiyoomi than he needs to.
“Thank you for the gift,” Kiyoomi replies.
“They do make ya look taller than me though,” Atsumu says with a frown.
“I am taller than you,” Kiyoomi scowls.
“Agree to disagree,” Atsumu shrugs, opening the passenger side door and beckoning for Kiyoomi.
“I disagree to agree to disagree,” Kiyoomi says, stepping in and letting Atsumu close the door behind him.
Atsumu slides into the driver’s seat and opens his mouth to say glibly, “Agree to disagree to agree to dis—”
Kiyoomi covers his mouth with a hand before he can continue. He can feel Atsumu’s smile beneath his palm, the warmth of his breath.
“Where are we going?” he asks, pulling his hand away and facing forward. He names the only place in the entire park that he knows by name, “Mount Yoshino?”
“Odaigahara,” Atsumu replies. “It’s a gorgeous day and it’ll be quiet and beautiful. Only scrubs go to Mount Yoshino for the cherry blossom on a day like this. You’ll see more people than blossoms.”
“That’s where some of my family are going today.”
“Well, I ain’t gonna say your family are scrubs, but that’s very scrub-like behavior. They’ll have to wait in line even to get on the hikin’ trail. Samu and Suna will be over there ready to break up fights all day. Tell ‘em to go to Daijagura and try Mount Yoshino tomorrow when it’ll be a little cloudy. Cherry blossoms look better when the sky is overcast and ain’t as many people on a Monday.”
Kiyoomi nods, taking out his phone to text Motoya. He hesitates for a moment.
“Daijagura isn’t near where we’re going though, correct?” he asks.
Atsumu laughs. “Nah, we’re goin’ to the best place, but I wanna have ya to myself, so I’m sendin’ them to the next best place.”
“Excellent,” Kiyoomi says. As much as he appreciates his cousin, he would rather not spend the day listening to him and Atsumu chattering and becoming best friends.
“You know this park well,” he says after texting Motoya and immediately getting a “Thank you but you better tell me how you know that tonight and say hi to the ranger who carried you back home on piggyback yesterday. I have eyes everywhere, Kiyo.”
“Practically grew up here,” Atsumu laughs. “Samu and I have left secret marks on half the trees in the forests.” He opens the window and points toward a mountain in the distance. “When we were eleven, we used to sneak out of the ranger quarters at night and go to Hidegatake lookout, watch the stars, and fall asleep up there.”
He leaves the window open and rests his tanned arm on the windowsill, occasionally lifting his hand up and facing his palm toward the breeze. The wind whistling into the car moves through his soft hair, conjuring extravagant metaphors in Kiyoomi’s mind of honey and silk. Atsumu’s eyes gaze forward, a half-smile on his face as he remembers some dear memory of the forests and the mountains. Kiyoomi doesn’t move a centimeter, barely breathing as he watches Atsumu at peace.
“Will you show me,” he finally croaks out.
“Show ya?” Atsumu asks.
“What you’re thinking about, what makes you smile like that?”
“Oh?” Atsumu laughs. “Well I was thinkin’ about you. About the way you lined up the kiddos’ pencils on the benches and used the pamphlets to carefully measure out the distance to the next pencil location. How proud you were of that random kid who saw the burrow at our first pit stop. The way you would hover your hand behind Chihiro’s back whenever you saw a root that might trip him up. How sexy classical literature sounds when you say it. You want me to tell you more?”
“No, that’s fine,” Kiyoomi says, feeling his cheeks warm. “That’s enough. I assumed you were thinking about bears or mushrooms.”
“You want me to show you bears or mushrooms?” Atsumu asks dubiously.
“I think,” Kiyoomi says, settling into the seat more comfortably. “I think I could eventually like to see those things. If you’re the one showing me.”
“Lots of pressure on Ranger Atsumu,” his companion laughs. He switches his hands on the driving wheel, holding his left hand palm up between them. “Let’s start with wrens and a type of moss that I swear won’t kill ya if you sit on it.”
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived,” Kiyoomi says, tentatively taking his hand.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “What you said.”
“It’s from an essay called Walden.”
“I got one for you too. Take me home, country roads, to the place, I belong.”
Kiyoomi frowns, trying to parse what Atsumu could possibly be quoting.
“Really famous philosopher named John Denver,” Atsumu says.
“I’ve… never heard of him.”
“Stick with me, and I’ll show you a whole new world,” Atsumu says as they park at what appears to be another ranger station. He squeezes Kiyoomi’s hand, then lets go before sprinting out of the car and circling around to Kiyoomi’s door. He opens it and holds out his hand again.
“Shall we?” he asks, eyes bright, full of both challenge and invitation.
“Yes,” Kiyoomi says, taking his hand and allowing himself to be pulled out into the beautiful unknown.