specterthief

Fandom: SK8 the Infinity
Characters: Tadashi Kikuchi, Ainosuke Shindo | Adam, Tadashi Kikuchi's Father
Relationships: (Queerplatonic) Adam & Tadashi, past one-sided Adam/Tadashi, background one-sided Adam/Langa
Word Count: 5431
Tags: Asexuality/Aromanticism, Queer Themes, Homophobia, Queerplatonic Relationships, Childhood Friends, Healing, Post-canon
Summary:
Tadashi, Ainosuke, and three nights across seventeen years.
—
For the SK8 Heart Bingo Challenge - Fireworks, Holding Hands, Love Without Sex

originally posted on AO3 on february 19th, 2023

~~~

2005

Tadashi’s father is a miracle-worker, is the only thing Tadashi can tell himself as Ainosuke-sama clambers into the back of the car next to him, beaming. That’s the only way Father could have coaxed Aiichiro-sama into letting him—a servant!—take Ainosuke-sama out for the evening.

There is a reason, sort of; Aiichiro-sama is having some important get-together with the ladies of the house and some important political associates, and it’s the sort of affair where children are better not seen or heard, but in the four years Tadashi has been Ainosuke-sama’s friend, he’s never known Aiichiro-sama to let him do anything like this, no matter who asked. So the only solution is that Father is a miracle-worker, and he deserves to be made a saint.

(Canonized, supplies Ainosuke-sama’s prim voice in Tadashi’s head; he’s been very interested in saints lately, because he’s determined to pick an impressive confirmation name. He particularly likes martyrs who died grisly deaths, the more Tadashi squirms and begs him to stop when he describes them the better. Apparently Catholicism has a lot of those to go around.)

“Tadashi, do you have your seatbelt on?” Father asks from the driver’s seat when Ainosuke-sama has been marveling at the cup holder-turned-ashtray and the stack of old maps in the back seat for long enough. He sounds stern, but Tadashi can see that his eyes are crinkled around the corners in the rear-view mirror.

“Yes, sir,” Tadashi says, hastily buckling himself in as he says it so it only starts as a lie. Ainosuke-sama immediately seats himself, ramrod straight, and makes a big show of putting on his own seatbelt too—as if he deserves a standing ovation for doing it by himself instead of a servant doing it for him. Tadashi wouldn’t mind giving him one.

“Yes, sir!” he parrots, and Tadashi’s so struck by Ainosuke-sama calling his father sir that he can’t help himself from giggling as the car starts, which makes Ainosuke-sama laugh too, and they just keep going like that, calming down only to start each other giggling again, all the way until Father pulls over on the shoulder of a dark side road and tells them they need to walk the rest of the way.

It’s the last night of the Naha Hari; actually attending the races or any of the festivities had of course been out of the question, though Aiichiro-sama had gone on the first day to pose for pictures and look important on TV and left Ainosuke-sama to complain to no end about not being taken along to see the dragon boats and sumo wrestlers. Father swears he knows the perfect place to see the fireworks from, though, and as he’s definitely a miracle-worker, Tadashi believes him.

Father has his big flashlight with him to light the way up the hill, but outside the cone of light in front of him, it’s still really dark. Ainosuke-sama’s been swearing up and down that he’s too grown-up to be afraid of the dark anymore for as long as Tadashi’s been his friend, but he sneaks his hand into Tadashi’s as they try to keep up, an unusually shy smile just visible on his face in the faint light.

Tadashi’s vaguely aware in the back of his mind that, at ten and twelve, they’re too old for this now, that even if they were children of the same status, children who could be friends openly, people would disapprove of two boys holding hands like this. But there’s no one but Father around to see them, and he won’t mind; if Ainosuke-sama is still afraid of the dark after all, Tadashi’s just doing his duty as a servant of the Shindo household by comforting his young master.

Tadashi squeezes Ainosuke-sama’s hand and smiles back, and Ainosuke-sama bumps his shoulder against Tadashi’s arm as they get to the top of the hill. It’s embarrassing to admit that even at twelve—he’s practically grown-up himself!—he doesn’t like the dark that much either, but knowing that Ainosuke-sama feels safer with his hand in his makes Tadashi feel brave enough that he could fight anything the shadowy woods could throw at them.

There’s a small clearing at the very top, a cliff giving them a perfect bird’s-eye view of the shore. Ainosuke-sama isn’t shy at all when he rushes right to the edge, dragging a sputtering Tadashi along with him; the coast is dotted with lights, people bustling about like little bugs, and Ainosuke-sama’s eyes widen as he looks down at them, like a prince surveying his kingdom.

“Tadashi, don’t get too close to the edge,” Father chides; he doesn’t dare do anything that could be construed as giving Ainosuke-sama orders, but Tadashi pulls Ainosuke-sama back, safely away from the drop. Ainosuke-sama pouts at him a little, but his smile comes right back when Tadashi laces their fingers together.

Father smiles at them and lights a cigarette, and, as if they were waiting for him to be ready, the fireworks begin. Huge blooms of color explode over the water, illuminating the night sky in a rainbow so bright it almost hurts Tadashi’s eyes to look at. He hears a soft gasp next to him, and when he turns to look, Ainosuke-sama’s whole face is lit up like a Christmas tree, eyes glittering with a kind of pure, unrestrained joy even Tadashi almost never gets to see from him anymore. Even when they skate together, Ainosuke-sama’s smiles are a bit harder than they were a couple years ago, his eyes drifting off somewhere distant when he doesn’t know Tadashi is looking, but right now—right now he looks like an angel, glowing in the multicolored light, happy and free like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Tadashi’s not sure how long he stares at his profile, watching the fireworks reflected in his eyes, before Ainosuke-sama notices and gives his hand an insistent tug.

“Tadashi, you’re missing it!” he chirps, shaking Tadashi’s shoulder with his other hand. Tadashi dutifully turns his eyes forward, but his gaze drifts back to Ainosuke-sama the second he’s sure his attention is on the fireworks again. He’s not missing anything, after all; the joy and light in his best friend—his only friend’s eyes is more of a show than the fireworks themselves could ever be.

When it’s all over, Ainosuke-sama falls asleep on Tadashi’s shoulder on the way back to the estate. Tadashi curls into him, Ainosuke-sama's hair tickling his cheek, and doesn't let go of his hand until Father has to pull them apart to separate them.

2011

“Ainosuke-sama, we really ought to head back before—”

“Before what? My father notices we’re gone?” Ainosuke-sama crows, only his toothy grin visible from under his black hood. They’re on their skateboards, but he has a vise grip on Tadashi’s wrist, pulling them down the dark road at breakneck speed.

“Yes,” Tadashi hisses.

“If we get caught, this was all your idea.” Ainosuke-sama laughs, like he doesn’t even believe in the possibility, let alone seriously mean such a damning threat. He lets go of Tadashi to pull ahead, spreading out his arms like a blackbird’s wings in the night wind. “Haven’t you figured out where we’re going yet?”

“You haven’t told me, sir.”

“You haven’t told me, sir,” Ainosuke-sama repeats, in a much whinier drawl than Tadashi has ever spoken in in his life. “That’s how you talk to my father, isn’t it? Because you’re such a good dog?”

“It’s proper—” Tadashi starts, but he doesn’t have the chance to finish the thought before Ainosuke-sama abruptly brakes and hops off his board right in front of him, forcing him to do the same before he has time to take even a single breath if he doesn’t want to crash into him.

“Forget proper,” Ainosuke-sama says, tucking his skateboard under one arm and pulling out a flashlight from the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. Tadashi can see a beaten path off the road and into the trees, when Ainosuke-sama deigns to illuminate it—a familiar path.

And he can hear fireworks in the distance.

Tadashi hasn’t been to see the fireworks since his father died, and whatever miracle had earned Aiichiro-sama’s grace that night six years ago had never repeated itself, so Ainosuke-sama hasn’t been to see any in person either. But it’s the last night of Hari again, and Ainosuke-sama is shining a light on the very same path his father had led them up that night.

“Do you know where we’re going now?” Ainosuke-sama says, and smirks like the cat that caught the canary when Tadashi nods without a word. “Come on, then, we’re missing the show.”

He grabs Tadashi’s wrist again and drags him into the trees with no opportunity for protest, barely bothering to keep the flashlight pointing at the path in front of them. It feels like a much shorter walk than it did the last time; Ainosuke-sama had always been small for his age when he was a child, but now he’s halfway through a growth spurt and seems to be taller every time Tadashi looks at him, lanky limbs filling out into the build of a young athlete. They’d both been so small back then, but it’s strange to be eye-to-eye with him now, to see more and more of Aiichiro-sama’s sharp features and less and less of the tiny boy Tadashi had found crying in the garden so long ago.

The fireworks are in full swing when they reach the top of the hill, and the display is just as Tadashi remembered it—giant flowers of light above the water, painting the whole sky red and white and gold. Ainosuke-sama drops his board on the grass and heads straight for the cliff’s edge, again; Father isn’t here to chide them to stay back this time, but Tadashi’s reaching for his wrist all on his own before he even knows what he's doing.

“Ainosuke-sama,” he warns, but Ainosuke-sama isn’t just taller, but stronger—stronger than Tadashi realized. He doesn’t budge at all when Tadashi tries to pull him back, just stands there one step from a fall that would at least put him in the hospital, still and unyielding as a marble statue.

“Ainosuke-sama, you could fall—” Tadashi pleads, and this time when he tries to tug Ainosuke-sama back, it’s his own grip on Ainosuke-sama’s wrist that gives. The momentum sends him stumbling a few paces back, and only then does Ainosuke-sama turn to look at him, his face cloaked beneath his hood.

“You could fall with me,” he says, and for a horrifying fraction of a second Tadashi thinks he’s going to step over the edge and he’ll be powerless to do anything but dive after him.

He takes a step toward Tadashi instead. Tadashi takes a step back.

“Please don’t say things like that, Ainosuke-sama,” he says—at some point he’s held his board up between them like a shield, and he can just see the tilt of Ainosuke-sama’s chin as he looks down it, and back up at Tadashi’s face.

He starts to take another step back, but Ainosuke-sama snatches one of his hands before he can.

“Tadashi, wait—” He pushes his hood down with his free hand, and he looks so young then—like the child Tadashi knew, like the child he still is, holding Tadashi’s hand because he hasn’t quite stopped being afraid of the dark. “I was kidding. Okay? I was kidding. Watch the fireworks with me.”

And there’s nothing Tadashi can say to that but “Yes, sir.”

Ainosuke-sama stays a little too near the cliff’s edge for Tadashi’s comfort, but he drags him down onto a comfortable patch of grass—we’ll both have stains on our clothes, Tadashi finds himself thinking, I’ll have to make excuses to the maids—where they can sit and enjoy the rest of the display. He never lets go of Tadashi’s hand; Tadashi forces himself to keep his eyes forward, but it’s difficult to focus on anything but that, the same unease he’d already been vaguely aware of when Ainosuke-sama had done the same as a child tenfold now. Two boys holding hands at ten and twelve was already pushing it, but they were still young enough that it might have been excused as childish—two boys holding hands at sixteen and eighteen would do more than raise eyebrows.

And he’s not stupid. He knows how Ainosuke-sama looks at shirtless athletes in magazines and nude, bleeding martyrs in religious paintings and never spares a glance at women, he knows how he looks at that long-haired friend he thinks Aiichiro-sama doesn’t know about—and he knows how Ainosuke-sama looks at him. He knows how Aiichiro-sama looks at them, when Ainosuke-sama’s a little too insistent about getting Tadashi’s attention during the day, the way Aiichiro-sama’s hawkish eyes appraise every passing word and gesture between them, the way he’s always particularly harsh with Tadashi when he’s spotted them speaking alone regardless of the reason.

Puberty had come and gone with Tadashi having no more interest in shirtless torsos of either sex than he’d started with, and the thought of anyone touching him anywhere more intimate than his arm—let alone kissing him—makes him more uncomfortable than excited, but he still can’t claim he’s being wrongly implicated by association. He’d sought out Ainosuke-sama’s friendship in the first place. He’d never discouraged Ainosuke-sama’s attention, not even as he’d started to suspect it wasn’t entirely friendly, until Aiichiro-sama gave him his position as secretary and their closeness had become more inappropriate than it already was—and even now, he’d let Ainosuke-sama spirit him away late at night behind Aiichiro-sama’s back, and can’t bring himself to do more to rebuff him than try not to think about him holding his hand.

To let this go any further across the Rubicon than it already has would be suicide for them both, even if Tadashi did want the same thing from Ainosuke-sama as he’s certain Ainosuke-sama wants from him—but to reject him, to break his heart, would burn Tadashi’s own heart to ash.

It’s only when Ainosuke-sama’s fingers slide up his arm, under the cuff of his sleeve, that he can ignore it no longer, and can’t stop himself from turning his head. Ainosuke-sama is staring at him rather than the fireworks—the way he’d stared at Ainosuke-sama when they were little, or at least that’s what he’d like to convince himself of, if he didn’t know Ainosuke-sama quite as well as he does.

“You’re missing the fireworks,” Tadashi says quietly, trying to keep his face blank as Ainosuke-sama’s thumb brushes over his. Ainosuke-sama is gazing at him so intently, eyes darting over his face like he’s trying to commit every part of it to memory. It’s overwhelming, being the subject of his almost hungry scrutiny when their faces are this close together; Tadashi shifts uneasily as Ainosuke-sama’s eyes flick, unsubtly, shamelessly, to his lips.

Please don’t try to kiss me, he thinks, prays. Please don’t make me tell you no.

Tonight, at least—whether he notices something in Tadashi’s face, or simply loses his nerve—Ainosuke-sama doesn’t. He doesn’t loosen his grip on Tadashi’s hand until they get on their boards to skate home; Tadashi allows it, and hopes that’s enough.

2022

When Golden Week comes again, months after the tournament, Ainosuke-sama attends all three days of Hari. It’s his responsibility as the scion of the Shindo dynasty to pose for photos and look good on television now, but where Aiichiro-sama had merely deigned to grace the opening festivities with his presence to keep up the appearance of involvement in the local community, Ainosuke-sama thoroughly relishes in the celebration, from the races themselves to the live music to the (greasy and pedestrian, but admittedly delicious) festival food, with a joie de vivre that’s downright spiteful, as if he’s living out every year his father had refused to take him along at once.

Whether it’s by coincidence or by some unknown machinations on Ainosuke-sama’s part, Tadashi is unsure, but Snow—Langa, he supposes he should think of him—and all his friends attend on the second day. Naturally, Ainosuke-sama can’t approach them in public, and simply contents himself watching from afar as the ragtag group happens to catch their sights on their respective ways around the port, but when Tadashi spots them queueing up to ride a sabani, he takes initiative and quietly makes arrangements with the staff for Ainosuke-sama and himself—and no one else—to join them in theirs, to Ainosuke-sama’s delight.

“When did you get so proactive?” he practically purrs in Tadashi’s ear as they board the boat, and Tadashi allows himself a fleeting smile in return. By the light of day, he can’t truly grant Ainosuke-sama a reprieve from the weight of obligation on his shoulders and the eyes on him everywhere, but eight “strangers” to a sabani instead of twelve is inconspicuous enough that Ainosuke-sama is able to cheerfully chat and laugh with Langa—and even Joe and Cherry Blossom, albeit still a bit more tersely—about their recent performances at S for the duration of their leisurely trip around the wharf without concern for any paparazzi (nor for any glares from Reki, who clings possessively to Langa’s arm until Shadow threatens to throw him overboard if he doesn’t let go and row,) and that’s enough to put a spring in Ainosuke-sama’s step that’s still there all through the next day.

Ainosuke-sama is happy, Tadashi realizes. He still has to get used to that even being an option; he can’t remember the last time he’s been able to say that honestly, can’t put a number to how many years of joy Ainosuke-sama has had stolen from him. There’s no way to return those to him, nor truly make up for the time Tadashi himself had spent trying to destroy any hope Ainosuke-sama had of regaining that joy, but to see that he has regained some little piece of it now—that even though there are still bad days and worse nights and perhaps always will be, there are more and more days like this, too—could almost make him believe in miracles again.

But he knows better than he did when he was twelve; his father had been no miracle-worker when he convinced Aiichiro-sama into letting him take Ainosuke-sama to see the fireworks, just a man who had seen a child in desperate need of relief and done whatever he’d had to do to make it happen. Langa Hasegawa was no miracle-worker, either—just brave enough, crazy enough, kind enough to not back away as Tadashi had done, to grab hold of Ainosuke-sama’s hand himself and not let go until he’d pulled him back from the edge, no matter how hard Ainosuke-sama tried to drag him down with him.

Miracles are the stuff of childhood bedtime stories. Happiness takes work, and a willingness to do it.

So Tadashi decides to ask some questions and make some calls, and just as the closing festivities are starting on the last night of Hari, he pulls Ainosuke-sama away from the crowd.

“This had better be important.” Ainosuke-sama scowls, at first, no doubt expecting business, politics, his aunts—any number of reminders of what an inhospitable world awaits his return, that this brief reprieve from his duties has a time limit. Tadashi shakes his head.

“Only to me, sir,” he says. “If I might trouble you to walk with me…”

Ainosuke-sama’s brows stay furrowed, but the set of his jaw softens, and when Tadashi leads the way away from the shore, past the stalls and stages and cars, he follows without complaint.

The beaten path off the main road had been cleared away over the years, the way up the hill paved and fitted with a proper staircase, but Tadashi can see from the look of bald-faced disbelief on Ainosuke-sama’s face that he knows exactly where he’s brought him.

“Tadashi,” he laughs, showing his canines, and gestures to the pylons and caution tape barring the staircase.

“I made arrangements to keep this area blocked off from the public for tonight,” Tadashi explains. “I apologize, Ainosuke-sama, for overstepping my station by making use of your name to do so.”

Ainosuke-sama laughs again as Tadashi tears the caution tape down, shaking his head as if all this is the most absurd thing he’s ever seen, but he doesn’t hesitate to climb over the pylons and fall into step beside him on the concrete stairs.

The top of the hill has been paved over and turned into a proper viewing area, a waist-high railing blocking off the cliff side and the yellowish glow of a lamppost cutting through the darkness with no flashlight necessary, but the view out over the port is exactly the same as Tadashi remembers it. No pets, warns a sign at the top of the steps; Ainosuke-sama huffs in amusement when he catches sight of it, smirking over his shoulder, and Tadashi doesn’t miss a beat.

“They were willing to make an exception,” he says, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from quirking up, just for a moment, “when I assured them that Representative Shindo’s dog is perfectly well-behaved.”

“You are not,” Ainosuke-sama snaps back. “Doing all of this behind your master’s back.”

Tadashi raises his eyebrows. “Do you disapprove, sir?”

Ainosuke-sama doesn’t answer for a few long moments. He takes his time retrieving his cigarette case from his jacket pocket and selecting a cigarette; for the first time Tadashi can ever recall seeing since he picked up the habit, it takes him two tries to strike a flame with his lighter to light it with.

“No,” he says, finally. “Damn dog, I don’t disapprove at all.”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and—as if on cue, as if they were waiting for him, like so many years ago—the fireworks begin. Tadashi joins him next to the railing, staring out at the great blooms of light scattering across the water, illuminating the port and the ant-like crowd on the shore. He’s seen plenty of fireworks in the last decade—various events and festivals both his masters attended with him in tow—but this view, he thinks, will always be the finest of them all.

When he turns, a moment later, to look at Ainosuke-sama, he finds Ainosuke-sama already turning to look at him, face bathed in rich, shining colors. There’s a look on his face that Tadashi can’t quite interpret, something halfway between wistful and piercing.

“Do you remember, when we were children…” he starts, only to trail off, but Tadashi doesn’t need to hear the end of the sentence to nod.

“Of course, Ainosuke-sama,” Tadashi says. He’s never once forgotten that night, but it’s impossible not to remember it now—now that he has proof that Ainosuke-sama’s brilliant smile truly isn’t lost to him forever.

“I held your hand all night.” Ainosuke-sama takes another puff of his cigarette, only turning away long enough not to blow smoke in Tadashi’s face. It’s a small courtesy, but any courtesies at all are still a welcome change. “Do you remember that?”

It seems impossible now that they were ever that young, that Ainosuke-sama’s hands were ever that tiny. But of course he remembers—the hesitant fingers in his, the way Ainosuke-sama had brightened when he’d squeezed his hand in return. He’d felt like a little knight, guarding his prince.

“You were afraid of the dark,” Tadashi says, and Ainosuke-sama rolls his eyes dramatically.

“I was not.” He pauses for a beat, then cedes before Tadashi even needs to raise an eyebrow: “That wasn’t why. Don’t play dumb with me now, after all this time—you, of all people, know the real reason.”

Tadashi blinks, once, then twice. “Even then, Ainosuke-sama?”

He’d known the real reason when they were older, young men rather than boys, but he’d always thought of that as coming later. A complication of puberty, bringing attraction into something he could otherwise guiltlessly remember as innocent—

Ainosuke-sama smiles thinly. “As long as I can remember. It was love at first sight, I’m afraid.”

—but, Tadashi supposes, his guilt had always been the problem, not Ainosuke-sama’s love. Ainosuke-sama had loved skateboarding, and Ainosuke-sama had loved him—truly, wholeheartedly, before the world had taught them both that his love was wrong. What could be more innocent than that?

“I must have spent a decade dreaming that you would sweep me off my feet and run away with me,” Ainosuke-sama continues, leaving Tadashi watching his profile as he turns his eyes back to the fireworks. “To some wonderful, fairy tale of a place where no one knew either of us and we could love each other out in the open. My very own Garden of Eden—with my very own Eve.”

Tadashi turns away too, at that, but he finds himself staring at the reflections on the water, unable to lift his eyes to the sky above.

“Don’t make that face,” Ainosuke-sama says, but when Tadashi glances at him again, he isn’t even looking at him to say what face he is or isn’t making. “I’m well aware you never felt that way about me.”

It’s true, and yet it feels wrong at the same time—Tadashi felt something, surely. He feels something, surely. He doesn’t feel any lust towards Ainosuke-sama, no desire to kiss him, to receive any of the grand romantic gestures he’s so fond of, to have sex of any sort—he’d tried most of that, in the years Ainosuke-sama was in America and the estate had felt so empty in his absence. With women, and much more discretely with men, just to see if he would understand when he had done it for himself. Each experience that had gotten below the belt had left him nauseous and wanting to crawl out of his own skin, when he could even manage to see the thing through, and the thought of repeating the affair with Ainosuke-sama rather than near-strangers only barely makes it less unappealing—

—but if he’s honest with himself, just standing by Ainosuke-sama’s side, not even touching one another, feels far more intimate than the thought of sex ever could.

“Forgive me, sir,” Tadashi murmurs, even if the unspoken admission feels woefully incomplete. But to his surprise, when he turns to look at Ainosuke-sama again, he’s smiling around his cigarette.

“Oh, Tadashi, Tadashi,” Ainosuke-sama says. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Ainosuke-sama?”

“I’ve already made my peace with that. In fact, I’ve embraced it.” Ainosuke-sama exhales another stream of smoke, iridescent in the light of the fireworks. He turns to face Tadashi, stretching out both his arms in a swooping, theatrical gesture Tadashi knows well from S—the king, the ringmaster, making a grandiose announcement to delight his adoring audience. “There never was an Eve to begin with! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Tadashi blinks. “But Snow—”

“Oh, he is lovely, isn’t he? What a delight it’s been to get to know him better...” Ainosuke-sama sighs happily and twirls his cigarette through the air, tracing out a shape with the lit end that might have been a heart. “But my dear Langa-kun could never have been Eve. He made me realize—no, you both made me realize that I had spent all that time trying to replace something that I’d never had, and never needed. Something that had never existed in this world to begin with.”

He takes one more drag of his cigarette, leaning his weight against the railing. The metal is sturdy, the whole viewing area well-maintained—Ainosuke-sama is in no danger of falling, yet Tadashi still has to bite back the impulse to try and pull him away. Perhaps he always will—but he has hope, now, that in time he’ll be able to see Ainosuke-sama stand on a cliff’s edge and know he has nothing to fear.

“—And that this world isn’t such a worthless place to live in, despite that,” Ainosuke-sama continues. “Even Adam and Eve left the Garden for a mortal life, in the end. Perhaps the snake had better intentions than he’s been given credit for.”

Tadashi considers that for a moment, and then, against his will, feels his lips tug up into a small smile. “You’re welcome, Ainosuke-sama.”

Ainosuke-sama gives another bark of laughter. “How forward. What am I going to do with such an impertinent dog?”

Tadashi bows his head low, concealing the fact that he’s still smiling. He’s sure Ainosuke-sama knows regardless. “I will accept whatever punishment for my impudence you deem suitable, sir.”

Ainosuke-sama doesn’t say anything in response, and when Tadashi finally looks up several long moments later, he simply has his empty hand outstretched. At Tadashi’s look when their eyes meet, he arches one sharp brow and waggles his fingers invitingly.

“For old times’ sake. It’s practically tradition.”

And Tadashi can’t find any room to argue with that. He takes the offered hand; if this is Ainosuke-sama’s price to forgive his indiscretions, it’s hardly a terrible one to pay, even if he does feel an instinctual stab at panic at the thought of what would happen if they were seen. Holding hands as children was harmless, playful. Holding hands as teenagers was dangerous. Holding hands now, as grown men in their very particular stations in life… A single photo of this tiny intimacy would likely see Ainosuke-sama disgraced and disowned, his hard-fought-for career mercilessly torn to pieces, Tadashi cast out as a wicked seducer of the Shindo dynasty’s shining scion—truly the serpent in the Garden of Eden after all.

But Tadashi had taken all the necessary measures already; there isn’t a soul around to photograph them, no one around to even catch a glimpse of them. And perhaps that privacy, the very reason Tadashi had arranged this evening for him in the first place, is why Ainosuke-sama grips his hand so eagerly, despite proclaiming himself completely at peace with the idea that Tadashi could never truly be his lover. After all, Adam can lavish his attentions on Langa in his mountainside kingdom to his heart’s content, with a crowd of fans cheering him on, but for Representative Ainosuke Shindo to simply enjoy a quiet evening with a male companion, to hold hands while watching the fireworks—such an innocent gesture of affection that few would even notice, were his partner a woman—is an impossible fantasy.

No, a near-impossible fantasy. Tadashi repositions his hand to lace their fingers together properly, and relishes a little in the gentle twitch of surprise on Ainosuke-sama’s face at his initiative. There will always be needs of Ainosuke-sama’s he is unable to fulfill, but that’s fine; Ainosuke-sama is happy for the first time in years, Ainosuke-sama has Langa and the band of old friends and misfits the boy has become so inseparable from, and Ainosuke-sama has his loyal dog by his side, now and forever.

Tadashi can’t be Eve, but Ainosuke-sama does not need another to complete him if Ainosuke-sama is not incomplete in the first place. And Tadashi can drive him to Crazy Rock and love hotels alike to fulfill the demands of his body, Tadashi can buy the roses he showers Langa with to fulfill the demands of his heart, and Tadashi can hold his hand and let him pretend, for one night, that he lives in a world that wouldn’t scorn him for ever having wanted more.

Tadashi can accept, the way he couldn’t at eighteen, that Ainosuke-sama loved him, and that in some way, he still loves him—perhaps, finally, in a way he can truly return.

Ainosuke-sama has put a collar around his neck for life, after all, and Tadashi can think of no man he would rather hold his lead. What else can he call that but love?

They stay there in the glow of the lamppost long after the fireworks have ended, long enough for Ainosuke-sama to finish a second cigarette that he rather impressively lights one-handed. They keep their hands entwined until they’re far enough down the stairs to be in sight of the road; Ainosuke-sama’s fingers never stray, and Tadashi never wonders, let alone fears, if he’s going to try to kiss him. They part without awkwardness, returning to their roles—the master taking the lead, the servant dutifully coming to heel—as seamlessly as if they’d never stepped out of them.

Ainosuke-sama hums Beethoven all the way back to the car, and Tadashi knows, beyond any need to hope, that this is enough.