heck no.avi

DAY 30 | FUTURE

“They looked happy, didn’t they?”

“Mn.”

These train rides are never pleasant. The red tint to each car and the swirling patterns on the floor are full of reminders of their past lives, past mistakes. It wouldn’t be such a surprise to see a red-eyed girl in a penguin hat pop up around the corner.

“I wonder what they’ll name them…”

“Them?”

“You saw, didn’t you? She’s gotta be carrying twins, or maybe triplets.”

“I didn’t know you were such an expert about this…”

“Hey, I always was pretty knowledgeable with the ladies.”

“I’m sure you were…”

Two figures stand near the head of the train. The irritation of the one is just for show, but that won’t stop the other from trying to smooth over the situation.

“Shouma—”

“Stupid.”

“…”

After a beat, they move closer to one another, white on black. Hands curl into the material of a heavy coat, features nuzzled below the neckline to avoid continuing to look at the nauseating sprawl of scenery that passes them by.

It’s no wonder that they prefer to travel through more conventional means.

“Twins, huh…?”

“Probably. It’d be fitting, too, don’t you think?”

“Eh?”

“Well, we’re…”

“Ah…yeah…”

A thin line of lips can’t contain themselves from repeatedly pressing to the other’s brow, curving upward into a thicket of blue hair. The assault is unexpected, but the subdued nature of it—as well as where they are—keeps the mirth to a minimum.

“I wonder—”

“Mm?”

“Could that have been us?”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t get pregnant, Shouma.”

Thud. ”You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Kanba…”

Clothing rustles, and white disappears into black a little more as arms encircle and tighten.

“…I guess it could’ve. Probably.”

“Maybe Himari’d meet someone nice…”

“Over my dead body—!”

There’s some laughter, though it fades fast in favor of continuing to hold on, pressed together cheek to cheek.

“Mn. I hope they make it, though.”

“Hey, they’re not us. They probably will.”

Neither of them wants to acknowledge out loud that they’re the ones who aren’t meant to have anything resembling a future. It’d spoil the moment, and it’s nothing that they haven’t already known for years.

They don’t speak again until the train stops. A small, pink-haired girl is waiting for them as the doors open. Her smile is mysterious, eyes pinning down the boy in black in particular. The fact that she’s caught them in a mildly-suggestive embrace doesn’t seem to phase her in the slightest.

“So. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Eyes roll, and they make their way off the train, back into the real world.

“I think we did.”

His tone is carefully neutral.

“Oh? Well done.”

So is hers.

She—along with the train—disappear into the night, leaving the Takakuras in the center of a deserted station. Shouma worries at his hair, while Kanba shoves his hands into both pockets with a sigh. They’re exhausted; these trips often take a greater toll on them than they expect, in more ways than one.

“…you hungry?”

“Ah…a little…”

“Let’s go someplace, then.”

They’ll need time to process the rest of their day as they slowly make the journey toward the nearest ramen stand. There, they’ll reflect on the family that they never fully got to be, and the triumphs of their counterparts from another time, another place.

Shouma wants photos, if possible. Kanba just hopes the children will grow up happy and healthy. But who knows what the future will bring.

DAY 29 | SIMPLE

In the upstairs bedroom of their new home, there’s a keepsake box (or three) that Shouma likes to hide in the back of the closet. 

As he gets older—though only on the inside—he finds that he harbors a deeper appreciation for the simple things in life, as well as the simple things done for him. Inside each box lies a bevy of material memories that he’s hoarded over the last decade or so; a minority of them are trinkets from the penguins and old items that remind him of Himari, but the majority of them come from Kanba.

It seems like a lifetime ago when their relationship was on shaky ground, nothing at all like the rock-solid foundation it has today. There’s no sense in dwelling on the far past when it’s full of mistakes that neither boy plans on making again. What interests Shouma are the series of events that followed in its wake, a second chance at a courtship with his brother that he thinks they missed out on the first time around.

Some tokens of their love are sillier than others: the first few months were full of more seahorse-themed gifts than Shouma thought he could handle. The more practical ones have been put to use in the kitchen and the front room, ranging from mugs to teapots, as well as a blanket that he’s unashamed of throwing over their couch in the winter months. He’s held on to the rest up here, jewelry that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, yet intrigued enough by their designs to not bother with tossing them into the garbage. He has a hunch that Kanba knew this too, which explains why he’d never raised accusations about Shouma not wearing this or that.

Then there’s the otters, who nearly rival the seahorses in quantity. Initially Shouma wasn’t sure why he was getting so many of these when they were Kanba’s favorite animal, not his. In time he began to pick up on the assumption that these were supposed to serve as little reminders whenever Kanba was off on business. Before an unfortunate incident met with its untimely demise, Shouma still remembers a particular stuffed otter that he’d clutch tightly to him in the dead of night, occasionally plucking out the wrinkled, handwritten note that had accompanied it to read over and over again.

The note’s buried in one of the boxes, but having that by itself just isn’t the same.

He has other letters written to him from when Kanba was forced to roam for weeks at a time beyond the city limits. Many of them contained samples of his artwork that he’s steadily tried to improve since childhood, while a rare few are full of words of love and longing that Shouma never would have thought him capable of saying, not straight to his face. It’s these that he often seeks comfort from after a particularly bad day, or when something is keeping them apart for longer than he might have foreseen. Whenever such things get whispered to him in full, it’s even better.

Shouma’s proud of his collection. He’s guilty of sneaking up here on occasion just to bask in everything that Kanba’s ever given him. It gives him hope for their future, serving as an indicator that their indentured lives don’t have to be as hopeless as they sometimes feel. True, it’s a punishment, but there’s plenty of good things sprinkled among it that makes their daily existence more bearable.

“—hey, Shouma!”

Oops. He’s caught in the act; or almost is, shoving a box behind an old container of moth balls as Kanba sticks his head through the bedroom door.

“Sheesh, what’re you doing up here? I keep calling you…”

“S-sorry!” Shouma says, hurriedly shutting the closet doors to trot over to the doorway. “I was…cleaning…” Right, cleaning.

Kanba looks skeptical, but he shrugs. “Like you aren’t gonna have enough of that to do later. D’you really not wanna try my cooking that much?”

“You know I do,” huffs Shouma, squeezing by the other to make his way downstairs.

Humming, Kanba watches him go, and takes a glance over at the closet before taking his leave. The wheels in his head are turning…but it’s something that he dismisses, trailing after Shouma to escort him.

It’s no business of his, anyway.

DAY 28 | PROMISE

Can fate be changed?

Until recently, the Takakura brothers weren’t so sure. They’d spent the majority of their lives under the impression that they would never amount to anything, subject to whatever their cursed destiny had in store for them.

But now that their lives—their sister’s, too—have taken such a dramatic turn, there’s no telling what to make of matters anymore. Every day there’s a new trial to overcome, a new punishment looming over their heads, new and alarming feelings that threaten to swallow them whole, destroying everything in its wake. The world isn’t what it appears to be, not when it’s constantly overrun by bumbling penguins and a foul-mouthed hat that emphasizes the need for a certain drum, the key that will allegedly absolve those involved from their past transgressions, from their paths set in stone.

Bearing that in mind, the events of the last several hours are slow to sink in, process, comprehend. Two boys sit side by side in a hospital room that feels far warmer than it used to, given how safe and sound its current occupant is.

Takakura Himari rests easy, though the same can’t be said for the pair of good-for-nothing brothers watching over her.

Shouma, on the right, has a steadily-building need to break the silence that’s permeating the room. This is supposed to be a happy time, he thinks; Himari has recovered from her latest episode, their penguin companions are sitting quietly in a nest of knitted yarn (thanks to penguin number three), and, most importantly…Kanba is here.

Why wouldn’t he be? As bittersweet as it is to consider, Shouma didn’t think that his cries for help were going to go unnoticed if it concerned Himari. They hadn’t been on the best of terms for a span, and though it’s nothing unusual for them to be at odds with one another, they’re situations that Shouma is hardly a fan of, whether or not it’s his own fault. It’s twice as bad when the two of them have become fond toward each other in ways that they’re never meant to.

They’re fine with this, since they’re used to being abnormal, a black mark of a family who’s going nowhere.

Shouma clears his throat. “She’s stuck in bed for a while, huh?” He tries to keep his tone good-natured, neither wanting to put Kanba at unease or hearken back to the distress that he himself endured earlier in the evening.

When Kanba doesn’t react, he goes on: “We were lucky to have such a nice doctor looking after her—”

Nice, indeed, though he can’t if he’s ever see that particular pink-haired physician in the hospital before. But it’s late at night, and if he’s managed to make such a breakthrough with Himari’s condition, who is he to be so shrewd and suspicious? That’s more of Kanba’s field, and not his.

At no answer, Shouma turns to look at him. His face is blank, seemingly staring off into another world that’s far, far away from where they are now. All in all he seems incredibly gaunt and withdrawn, though the former’s to be expected when they’re both worn out from running ragged to this unexpected emergency, from having hearts in their throats as they awaited the verdict of precious little lamb either living or dying. The fact that she’s still with them is nothing short of a miracle.

“Kanba…”

Like a bear sleepily stumbling into springtime, Kanba shakes out of his daze, treats Shouma with an excess of enthusiasm he didn’t think he’d had. “You’re right!” he exclaims, then shifts to Himari with shining eyes that drink in her slumbering form. “Yeah…really lucky…”

This doesn’t bother Shouma, who knows how deeply Kanba’s devotion to Himari runs. He too can’t help but feel as though an immense weight is lifted from his shoulders; that for the first time, things seem as if they really will turn out for the best. There’s a deep,  dark part of him ready to protest that, proclaim that there’s no escaping the punishments destined for their family, something that he’s choosing to selfishly ignore in favor of finding a small scrap of peace. He doesn’t know if or when the next opportunity for such a thing will arise.

What does affect him is the lack of warmth in the hands that were—still are, he notes with a waning smile—holding his, a paleness in the skin that he’s never seen in all his life. Is this all from fatigue, or is there something else that Kanba is hiding? 

He turns one of Kanba’s palms over, lightly runs his fingertips over the creases there. That gets his attention, eyes widening as they blink rapidly in surprise—Shouma isn’t normally one to be so openly affectionate, not in public, not when a doctor or nurse could walk in on them at any time. Just sitting down and holding hands in their vigil was a feat that Kanba could scarcely believe when it first happened.

“Aah?” That’s his unintelligible question, not knowing what else to ask of Shouma when he’s so taken aback.

Shouma’s smile widens, though it’s quick to depart after he too looks over to Himari. “You’d tell me…if something was wrong…right…?”

The words drip slower than molasses, and make Kanba’s brow crease in a frown. “Wrong with what?”

“Us.” Shouma’s eyes are fascinated with the floor tiles. “You.”

“Of course I’d tell you—” It’s a reply that comes way too fast, way too sharp, and Kanba winces, fingers tightening across the expanse of Shouma’s hand. “Of course I would,” he says, softer.

He isn’t lying. Mostly.

“But you will.” Gaining a bit of confidence, Shouma lifts his gaze, roaming over Kanba again. Very thin, very pale, lifeless; he looks like he belongs in a hospital bed as much as Himari does. “You’ll tell me.”

“Yes,” says Kanba, afraid of what might happen if he dared to say anything but.

“Promise?”

Green eyes close, not wanting to look at a matching pair as he does this. Don’t ask me stuff like this, I can’t— “…I promise.”

“…okay.” Shouma lets their hands fall.

Puzzled, Kanba watches him rise, setting his panic aside at the realization that he’s probably just getting up to stretch, needs a glass of water, a visit to the toilet that can’t wait any longer.

Instead, Shouma is peering out of the door to their room, checking for interlopers and passersby. When he finds none, he steps back to Kanba, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing his face into a sea of stringy scarlet hair. 

Oh.

Kanba touches an arm that covers him, unable to do more from where he’s seated. “Shouma.”

The rest dies in the cotton of his mouth, and they stay like that for a time, till a nurse in white interrupts them with fresh tea and extra linens to warm them.

DAY 27 | LETTERS

A Series of Letters From The Takakuras

One

Penguins shuffle amongst aisles and aisles of books that stretch as far as the eye can see. They’re hard at work, while Shouma is not, tapping pen to paper as his brow furrows at the blank page. There’s something that he needs to jot down, but he can’t remember what…

Ultimately, it ends up not so much being a letter as it does a list of this and that:

cabbage rolls (what do you like to put in them)
favorite novels
favorite movies
earl grey tea 
grey socks (you’re missing a pair for the winter)
grey suits (you look nice in them)
concert tickets
call masako 

The last entry is scratched out, and Shouma sighs at the sight.

He has a lot left to do in the day before this page of things to talk about with Kanba gets filled out completely.

Two

In a plain, unmarked envelope handed off to penguin number one, there’s nothing within that really resembles a letter at all; instead, it’s filled with page after page of drawings, primarily of wildlife that Kanba’s seen on his travels. Included are more cartoonish caricatures of sea creatures, from sharks to jellyfish, whales, penguins, even kelp.

One particular sketch depicts an otter curled around a fishbowl, its nose lovingly pressed to peer at the tiny seahorse that floats away inside.

On the final page, buried in the confines of more miscellaneous pieces—silhouetted, faceless figures on a moving train—some space has been allocated for at least a few lines of words to be sloppily scribbled out.

SHOUMA

Remember those poems we used to read at bedtime?
I always thought that one about the general who kept seeing his wife’s face in his tea was kind of strange, but I think I get what it means now.
I can’t escape your face either.

- KAN 

Three

In the kitchen drawer, there’s a crumpled-up note that still bears the sticker of the golden star it was sealed up with. In the barely-legible characters of a six-year old girl, it says:

dont tell him i said this
but i think kan-chan likes you alot

The bottom once read “Himari”, but the signature is long-since smudged. 

Four

Accompanying a pair of bejeweled, tree-shaped pendants, a certain letter reads:

To my sons

Your mother probably told you this already, but until your names started to stick, I just called you #1 and #2 a lot of the time. Sorry.

Anyway, now that you’re older, it’s time for me to pass these on to you. I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get an extra replica made for the both of you, so you’d better hold on to these.

If I had a say in it you wouldn’t need them, but it’s what your aunt wants, so I can’t really argue with that. You’re more than just Takakuras, after all.

Take care of them.

- Kanba

Five

The scrap of notebook paper hastily handed to Kanba at two in the morning is no love letter; it’s a grocery list.

“Don’t forget the dried anchovies!” Shouko yells after him as he dashes out the door, ignoring the agitated kick in her belly for emphasis.

She can’t help it if she’s hungry.

DAY 26 | DIAMOND

“What about this one?”

“Blech! Shouko-chan wouldn’t be caught dead in that!”

“Haa, you think so—?”

“I know so! Which is more than I can say for you, Kanba-kun…”

Adrift in the uncharted territory of a high-class department store, Kanba scratches his head in confusion. Maybe she’s right; he doesn’t know the first thing as far as jewelry concerned, let alone what makes for a good birthday present, or what looks fetching on Shouko.

“Of course you don’t know anything,” Ringo crows next to him, reading his expression plain as day. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“…” Kanba can’t tell if this is a trick question or not. “Bonding…?”

Thunk. Ringo gives him a fair whack over his arm, shaking her wrist out afterward. He’s unsure of if he should thankful that it hurts a great deal less than her blows to him in the past have.

“Honestly,” says Ringo, continuing to give him a piece of her mind, “your whole family can’t do anything without me, can you?”

That wins a short laugh out of Kanba. “I guess not.”

“Tch…”

They stand shoulder to shoulder in front of a display case of earrings. Kanba was certain that choosing any of these would be a satisfying token for Shouko, but now that he’s gotten scolded for the idea, he’s starting to have second thoughts. Is it really so lousy?

Feeling some sympathy for the guy, Ringo softens by degrees, decides to enlighten him with what she thinks is best. “You can’t get Shouko-chan anything flashy from here,” she says. “It sounds like a great idea, but they’re just going to be hidden by all that hair of hers, you know?”

Kanba never considered that… “Her hair,” he echoes lamely, feeling foolish.

“That’s right. Sure, she could wear it up, but you know how much work that is for her.”

“Work…”

Ringo forgives him for being…overwhelmed, and the patting she gives Kanba is only slightly awkward.

“Ah, is the happy couple having trouble making up their minds…?”

Their heads turn toward a busybody of a salesman, who’s either overheard their plight, or decided to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. Nonetheless, Kanba puts his hands up in defense before the man can heckle them any further than he already has. A couple? Him and Oginome?

“Who, us—?! N-no, you’ve got the…” Stuttering, he looks to Ringo, who merely blinks back at him in silence. “No, not us, we’re…no, no, no, no, no, no…”

This goes on until the salesman picks up on the hint and departs, uttering some choice words under his breath that luckily escape everyone else’s ears.

Kanba sighs, slumping over—and gets hit more forcefully. “Ow!”

“Thirty-seven ‘no’s? Really?!”

“C’mon…”

“Do I not look like a catch to you, Kanba-kun?!” 

“Well…”

Smack. 

“Jeez, I’m sorry…!”

“I’m telling your precious fiance when we get home!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry…” Kanba rubs at his probably-bruised arm, wincing.

Ringo still appears none too pleased, examining her fingernails closely. “I don’t know how she puts up with you…”

He doesn’t need to ask who. “Like an angel, thanks for asking…”

“Hmph!”

As she spins away from him, Kanba worries briefly if this is going to be the end of their outing. He doesn’t want to be stuck here by his lonesome, goaded into buying more things than he needs, when all he’d like to do is make Shouko’s birthday—her first adult one, at that—something special. There isn’t much time left to do so.

To his relief, Ringo’s moving on to a different display, seemingly forgetting their altercation. “Are you coming?”

Nodding, Kanba jogs to keep pace with her, fascinated at the other baubles strewn everywhere.

Ringo’s lips are pursed, as if thinking of something important. “Hey, Kanba-kun…”

“Hm?”

“How much money are you spending on this, anyway—?” The girl stops, tilting her head over at Kanba. “It’s none of my business, but I know how much you’ve put into the wedding already, so…”

Kanba frowns again. This is a topic he doesn’t care to discuss so openly, but he supposes that she has somewhat of a right to know. “It’s…” He worries at his hair, unsure of how to phrase it. “It’s the last of that money, so…instead of having it lie around, I thought I’d put it all into this…”

Ringo taps her fingers against her chin, thoughtful. After she absorbs this information, she nods once, satisfied. “That’d make sense, huh? If you don’t do it now, there may not be another time…” Nodding to herself as well, she redirects her focus to a selection of necklaces. “Sorry for asking.”

“Nah. It’s good for you to know, too.”

“If you say so.”

Shrugging, Kanba follows her line of sight. Some of these look like they’ll be expensive enough for him to a foot a generous bill, but he’s as clueless as ever to what would suit Shouko the best.

“Maybe this one?” Ringo points it out for him: a delicate chain that carries a small pendant made out of diamond, if not something similar.

“Ah…”

“Or if you need something bigger—”

“N-no!” Kanba’s face is getting flushed, and he gapes a little at Ringo. “I mean…are you sure it’d be okay?”

“You like her neck, don’t you?”

“Aah…!” Now he’s definitely turning red.

Ringo laughs at his pain. “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s one of Shouko-chan’s best features.” She would know, she’s thought plenty of it as well; though that’s information Kanba doesn’t need to find out. There’s no sense in tormenting him with her desires of a woman she can no longer win. “Really, though,” she says, “it looks pretty good to me, but I’m not her.”

“Well, if you really think…” Kanba inches closer to get a better look. The pendant, while noticeable, is a small enough size to not draw too much attention to itself. It glitters when the light hits it in just the right way, and its quality as a whole seems nothing short of superb to his untrained eye. Hopefully it still is to the right one, as well.

“I think you should go for it,” Ringo urges him. “Any woman would be lucky to get something like that.”

“Really…?”

“Hey, I would.”

Her comment strikes him strangely, but she’s looking away from him, so Kanba figures it’s a good idea not to pursue that.

Grabbing a less-pushy salesman than the one they encountered earlier, the purchase is made, and they soon find themselves standing out in the street,  Kanba clutching a velvet box bewilderingly while Ringo looks upon him with pride.

“Well done! You’re a classier man than I pegged you for, Kanba-kun.”

“Wasn’t it your idea to come here…?”

“Never mind that!” Ringo waves it off, and steers Kanba by his untouched arm away from the department store, and through the rest of the district they’re in. “Come on, I’ll buy us lunch.”

“You? Buying me something?” Kanba can hardly believe it.

“Hey, if you’ve got more yen to burn…”

Now that she mentions it… “Ah, never mind.”

“As expected of the classy Kanba-kun. Now, hurry up!”

Struggling to catch up to the ever-exuberant Oginome Ringo, Kanba hopes that she doesn’t plan on making a habit of these outings as the days tick down to his wedding.

DAY 25 | WINTER

His phone is ringing.

Kanba doesn’t need to think twice about who’s on the other end: this particular time of day is always set aside for Shouma, who likes to check in with him every two or three days when he isn’t otherwise occupied in the library annex. It’s a poor substitute for real contact, but it beats typing messages into their cell phones that eventually boil down to the same old wishes of I miss you so much, come home soon.

And it never hurts to get to hear Shouma’s voice.

“Hey,” he says, silently wishing the rest of his body was as warm as his tone is.

“Hey yourself.” Shouma doesn’t sound as exerted as he does—Kanba can picture him having just made dinner (or eaten it with the penguins, perhaps), settling down in the kitchen for a while to talk to his partner on the road.

Dinner sounds good right now. Kanba’s stomach growls, reminding him of the meals he’s skipped in order to make time.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Shouma, apparently, whose begrudging concern can be heard from hundreds of miles away. “Jeez, Kanba, did you forget to eat again…?”

“Didn’t forget,” Kanba explains, politely declining the dried fish that penguin number two holds up to him. It’d figure that on the week they decided to switch companions, he’d get stuck with the one that has food on the brain. “Just decided not to.”

“Honestly…” There’s some rustling from Shouma, and any mental images of loitering in the kitchen are laid to rest. Kanba’s heard that enough times to know when and where Shouma’s probably laying…judging from the sound, he must be curled up in the faithful red chair that used to belong to their sister, not their newer couch or the recliner upstairs.

All of those sound like nicer places to be in than getting stuck out here in the cold. Kanba hums into his phone, a little wistful, not wanting to spark a lecture on how he should be taking care of himself while abroad.

Fate’s on his side tonight when Shouma deigns not to continue scolding him, moving on to other pleasantries. “Where are you?” he asks, often curious about the number of places that Kanba gets sent to, the lives he’s saving.

“Nagano,” replies Kanba, breaths growing heavier as he walks. “It’s freezing here.”

“I bet.” There’s more rustling; Shouma’s moving around on the seat cushions, tucking his knees in to get more comfortable. He pats the head of a wandering penguin absently—oh, it’s penguin one—who climbs up with him, looking at the telephone with interest. “Looks like someone’s lonely,” he adds, continuing with his brusque patting (Kanba’s penguin was never one for smothering signs of affection).

“I know the feeling…” Kanba stops to do the same, though it’s more in the form of plopping down unceremoniously onto a bench, holding up penguin two in his lap. “This little guy never shuts up when we bed down for the night.”

“Is he okay…?” It wouldn’t be Shouma if he didn’t slip into the mindset of an overly-concerned mother every once in a while. “Are you feeding him? Do you take a lot of breaks? You know his feet get when you’re up for too long…”

“Yes, yes…” 

What Kanba doesn’t tell him is how the poor thing ends up taking a ride on his shoulders more often than night. It’s lighter than it looks, so he doesn’t really mind—especially during the moments when he pretends that the beak nuzzling into his messy curls isn’t coming from a penguin at all, but from Shouma.

Like their phone calls, it’s a poor substitute, but he’ll take what he can get.

“That’s good.” The answer seems acceptable to Shouma, letting some silence sink in for a spell while while he listens to his brother’s breathing, contemplates what he’s in the middle of doing right this second. “Did it snow?” is what he settles on asking, not willing to end their call just yet, but a bit clueless on what else they can discuss.

“Sure did.” Kanba’s brushing some of the snow in question off of his bench, off of his shoulders, off number two, who couldn’t care less. “You’d think I could get sent somewhere else in the winter—like down to Okinawa…”

“Do you really want to go there?” wonders Shouma, skeptical.

“Well…”

Now Shouma laughs, wishing for a second that it wasn’t the smooth plastic of his phone that he’s unconsciously caressing. He stops after realizing what he’s doing, embarrassed, though there’s no one besides a sleepy-eyed penguin to see it. Said penguin appears to be much more concerned with holding his free hand in its flippers, anyway. Must be what Kanba’s in the mood for doing…

“Idiot,” Kanba grumbles, equally distracted by a penguin curling into his chest. Like Shouma, he wants it to be somebody different, carding fingers through the fluffy feathers all the same. “…I miss you.”

This is where it starts to break down. The smile Shouma gives into the receiver is wan, wiggling out of number one’s hold to brush a thumb next to its beak. “I know,” he says, well-versed in acting much more calmly than he feels on the inside. It wouldn’t do to blubber to his brother that he needs to come home, fill in the empty seat at their dinner table, the emptier space in their bed. “Are you leaving soon?”

“Hopefully…” There’s the momentary sound of rustling paper; Kanba’s flipping through the journal he keeps, most likely. “There’s a salaryman I have to track down tonight before he’s too drunk to remember anything.”

Shouma rolls his eyes, not envying his position. “Make sure you don’t get drunk too, okay…?”

Kanba snorts. “It’s less fun without you,” he says. As an afterthought: “…everything is.”

Nothing articulate comes to mind from a clumsy compliment like that. Shouma’s mouth twitches upward, and he shuts his eyes, wanting to pretend he’s not just laying against the love seat cushions any longer. It’s fleeting, and he knows his bone-deep sigh is just as shared by Kanba, who does the same. “I’ll let you go,” he slowly says, figuring he shouldn’t make this more worse for them than it is.

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

??? ”You will…?!”

Kanba shrugs, forgetting that the other can’t see it. “Hopefully. I’ll try my best.”

“…okay.” A pause. “I love you.”

The shimmer in penguin two’s eyes—as Kanba sneaks a peak down at it—borders on nauseating, and he quickly looks away. “I love you. Goodnight.” 

Both of them have a feeling they’re going to have to put up with some very out-of-character penguins tonight, but in the position that they are, it’s just par for the course.

DAY 24 | OUTSIDE

“Hey, wanna eat outside?”

”???”

Shouma doesn’t appear to have understood the question; he looks at Kanba, the store clerk he’s been chatting with, and back again.

“Outside…?”

“Why not? It’s a nice day, the sun is shining…”

That does sound nice, Shouma admits to himself. Being given an extra hour most afternoons from the powers that be to do as they please—lunch, presumably—isn’t something that the boys normally take advantage of. If they do, eating tends to be the last thing that’s on their minds.

Needless to say, it’s quite unexpected to actually be taken out today. The fact that it’s at this particular café simply sweetens the deal, in more ways than one.

Ah, he shouldn’t keep Kanba waiting. He nods once, smiling so broadly that his cheeks might be hurting a little. “Okay.”

That’s what Kanba likes to see. Pleased, he returns to his conversation, makes the arrangements, and moves to escort Shouma outside with a wink. “I knew you’d see it my way,” he says, though he wasn’t really expecting otherwise.

Shouma snorts, confirming as such. “Why would I say no to you?”

“I don’t know…” Kanba plans on leaving those thoughts unfinished. The past is the past, and there’s nothing they can do to change anything that’s happened. 

He’d prefer to focus on the positives: Shouma’s eyes widening at the carrot cake placed in front of him, for instance. His big brother chuckles softly, less enthusiastic when it comes to his own slice of rum raisin, but still just as eager to devour it.

Before they start, buffered by Shouma’s subdued thanks for the tea, he stops, considers something. “You know—”

“Eh?” Kanba’s already muttered his blessings, and has a mouthful of cake as he looks up at Shouma.

Rolling his eyes at the sight—pity he can’t take a photo of Kanba’s stuffed cheeks at the moment—Shouma continues, “This isn’t really what I’d call lunch, Kanba.”

He’s just poking fun at him. The redhead shrugs at the comment, keeps eating. “S’not like we have as much of a need to…”

That’s true. After all these years they never have gotten around to determining exactly what it is that they’re supposed to be; cursed humans, ghosts, or perhaps some other type of individual entirely. As such, it’s hard to notice when they’re fatigued, starving, or any other kind of condition that would bog the average person down. Kanba often claims that he’s doing it out of habit, whereas Shouma doesn’t want to think about the possibilities of not being normal ever again, choosing to continue doing what he always does.

Regardless, they’re here for some cake and company, and they’re both content with that.

A comfortable silence reigns for a short while. Shouma spends a lot of his time watching Kanba, who slows down on his food, drinks his tea, meets his eyes periodically only to look away, face slightly flushed.

It’s cute, Shouma thinks, and he sighs happily. “We haven’t been here in a while,” he says, taking a look at the scenery, the people in the street who wander by.

“Not since that one time,” agrees Kanba, choosing to let go of those thoughts as well. He doesn’t want to dwell on the first year or two they’ve spent on their own, the mistakes he’s made and what he’s tried to do in order to correct it.

Thankfully Shouma is of the same mind, nodding at him, finally taking a sip from his teacup. He’s happy to leave it at that, though his other hand rests on the tabletop, crawling along at a snail’s pace to reach for Kanba’s, let their fingers brush ever so slightly.

Kanba looks lost in thought, lightly reciprocating the action, but making no further movements. After a pause, he declares, “Haa, I remember when I first brought you here…”

Shouma isn’t prepared for that sort of statement. He blinks rapidly, giddier at that news than anyone should be; he knows the difficulty that the other has in remembering their past lives, distorted as it is from putting up with interference from the penguin hat multiple times. “You do?” he asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“…” Kanba raises an eyebrow, patting his hand. “Calm down,” he laughs, and slouches in his seat, trying to think.

A minute passes before he can properly say what he wants to. “I saw a TV couple while you were out,” he explains. He can’t remember if he was watching the news, a television drama, or something else. It might be the second one, given his daytime habits, but he wouldn’t want it to be revealed, and made fun of some more. Clearing his throat, Kanba adds, “I guess I wondered what it’d be like if we tried…doing some of that stuff…”

Looking back on it now, of course, he couldn’t be happier that he made the decision to, even if the so-called “date” was a little rough at the beginning.

Shouma just smiles at him. “I’m glad we did,” is all he says.

“Me too.”

The silence returns, and Kanba shoves the last piece of cake into his mouth, faintly sad now that it’s gone.

Not knowing if he can finish the rest, Shouma pushes his aside, wonders if his next question is worth asking. “Do you…remember anything else? From that day?”

He doesn’t expect him to, secretly impressed when Kanba mentions, “Parts of it…”

Since he doesn’t elaborate, Shouma’s willing to drop it, smiling further when more of his fingers are caressed and held across the table, not minding his sibling’s feeble attempts at a public display of affection. They could do plenty more, but he appreciates the discretion.

Their hour is running out, and while Kanba hates having to be the voice of reason, one of them is going to have to do it eventually. “We should go,” he sighs, swallowing what’s left his tea.

Humming in agreement, Shouma nods, takes their dirty dishes into the café. He doesn’t need to, well aware that it’s the staff’s job, but it wouldn’t feel right if they simply left them alone, in his opinion.

It’s something Kanba shakes his head at, taking his hand fully as they leave, cinching their fingers together.

After the first block, he says, “I never did get to thank you.”

“…?” Shouma’s confused. Thank him for what?

“Back then,” Kanba clarifies, hesitant to look over at him, though he does. “For coming along.”

Oh, that. It…makes sense, Shouma supposes, given how fresh their relationship was at the time. They hadn’t officially established what their arrangement was going to be past Kanba pinning him to the floor every other night, making near-unreasonable demands every time he tugged him into an empty restroom at school, or under the bleachers after one of them had finished with gym class. At that juncture he could have easily said no, scolded Kanba for setting his sights so high, that what they were already doing was fine. They didn’t need to be a real couple, that pretended to do so was twice as wrong as what they were up to.

He could have, but instead he said yes, let’s go, wondered what it was that Kanba had in mind.

“You’re welcome,” Shouma says at length, preoccupied in warmly remembering all the other things they did that day; the happenstance of the hot springs, their train ride, Kanba’s startling gentleness when they were alone in their room and where exactly that took them.

It’s impossible to tell if Kanba is thinking the same thing as they go further down the street, but the way that he’s tugged closer and learned on as they walk is enjoyable all the same.

He wouldn’t mind spending more afternoon breaks like this.

DAY 23 | THOUSAND

I. The first 1,000 seconds

Kanba is distracted; not by their menial discussion over tea, but by trying to figure out what it was that happened to them the night before, how they ended up tangled together like long-lost lovers, and why he’s having such difficulty in finding the answer.

They aren’t legal adults, and it wouldn’t be Shouma’s style to accept alcohol in the first place, so they can’t blame it on anything of that nature. He also doubts that it had to do with any outside interference, seeing as how the last thing that stalker girl would probably want is for her tentative acquaintance with Shouma to end up compromised. Doesn’t she have a thing for him, besides? Kanba’s memories are muddled on that as well, though that has more to do with an overall lack of interest.

He shudders to think who else might be behind this. Masako? Plausible, perhaps, though unlikely. She’d have nothing to gain from this when the reputation of the Takakuras, as far as he’s concerned, was already run into the ground for years.

As much as he hates to admit it, this might be something he needs to ask Shouma about.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Huh?

Kanba watches Shouma leave the table, retreat to the bathroom. The sensation of a penguin tugging on his arm stops him from having second thoughts, and it’s after a long moment of indecision that he gets to his feet, following after him.

He has no idea what’s convincing him that he’ll find his answers underneath a showerhead, or why it sounds so good in the first place to join his brother in there, but it’s something that he can’t just leave alone.

II. The first 1,000 minutes

Shouma can’t go back to sleep, but that isn’t something he wants to publicly announce, not when it’s still pitch black outside. He considers leaving the futon—he can’t tell if it’s his or Kanba’s, now that one of them is missing—then realizes that there aren’t many other places he can go. With a flashlight or candle, he supposes he could read a book, double-check his homework while he has the time, or some other quiet activity that won’t disturb his bedmate.

On the other hand, that would mean having to leave him. As…strange as this arrangement is, part of him doesn’t think it’s so terrible, either, to be laying beside his twin. His head’s been pillowed on his chest for the majority of the night, feeling a lot more secure and at ease in this position than he thought he was going to be. It helps that Kanba hasn’t tried any funny business ever since they retired, partially dreading (and yearning) to be seized like he was two times prior, made to moan and writhe and so many other unspeakable things he never thought he would do.

Underneath him, Kanba stirs, and his heart stops for a split second, anxious to know if his mind is being read somehow and their so-called adult activities are going to begin anew. Shouma’s ashamed to feel so relieved when all he does is roll over onto one side—

—bringing him along for the ride. Oh.

Is he asleep? Kanba’s movements are sluggish, so it’s a possibility. Being trapped in the circle of his arms like this still isn’t something that Shouma’s fully adjusted to; like earlier, it’s nothing loathsome or troubling, though it does make his face grow hot, and his body restless when he recalls the other ways that Kanba’s embraced him today.

They haven’t specified whether this was a one-time affair or not. It surprises Shouma that he’s not necessarily opposed to the idea of having it continue, the longer that he thinks about it. 

A shudder courses through him, huddling closer to Kanba, parting his legs with a thigh in spite of the thinness of their pajamas. He can’t be entirely certain but he thinks he can still feel Kanba moving above him, face tilting down to sleepily at his bangs, press his face into the hollow of his neck and kiss him there. Briefly Shouma wonders if it’s going to escalate from here, relaxing slightly when there’s nothing further past a soft sigh and the continual slow sweeps of his lips that eventually come to a stop.

If every night was like this, Shouma definitely wouldn’t see a reason to say no.

III. The first 1,000 days

Three years—or something close to it, give or take—is a long time for anyone of the same age to have a lasting relationship, in Shouma’s eyes. He’s seen countless couples split up for arbitrary reasons, ones that never would have it past three days, let alone as long as he has.

The beginning was by no means easy, and until recently, things weren’t always so nice. But he thinks that he and Kanba are in a fairly comfortable spot at the moment; they understand now what’s expected of them as boys who are no longer of this world, and any former grievances they may have had with one another are, for the most part, laid to rest. He knows there are days where Kanba struggles with his guilt, feels responsible for the position he’s put them in and the trouble he caused in their old lives.

It’s on those days where Shouma will reassure him that it’s fine, that he loves him now more than ever. And it’s never not a thrill to be told the same ten times over, especially when they’re backed up by a pair of extremely persuasive hands, and additional saccharine-sweet words he wouldn’t expected Kanba to say, not to him.

Occasionally they can’t shake the thought that this isn’t where they’re supposed to be, it isn’t how their story planned on ending. Kanba often laughs at bringing it up, brags about the notion that they’ve somehow cheated fate, given God a taste of his own medicine  by ruining his plans. Shouma doesn’t know if he can say the same, not with all the restrictions they have to adhere to, how they can’t see Himari and live normal lives. 

Then again, if their love for each other can survive a thousand days, if not longer, then perhaps there’s something to be said for feeling at least a little smug over their relative success.

DAY 22 | MAD

“Shouko?”

“…”

“Shouko—”

He has to fight the urge to call her Shouko-chan, like when they were younger—chances are that it’d hurt more than help.

Kanba sighs into his pillow, at a loss for what to do.

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” he asks. 

Given that Shouko won’t roll over to him in their futon, it’s safe to say she’s definitely still mad.

Contrary to popular belief—and periodic reassurance from his sisters—Kanba is neither a perfect big brother, or boyfriend, or husband. He’s tried hard to be the first two in the recent past, tries hard now to be the third, but often comes up short through no fault of his own. Generally these slip-ups are minor, and easily forgiven; so it’s all the more frustrating when he’s had to endure the silent treatment for the last three days without knowing where he’s gone wrong.

So far he’s spent that time hoping to determine what it is that’s rubbed Shouko the wrong way. Was it because he forgot to bring in the laundry? Bought her decaf instead of regular coffee? Is it due to…no, he’s held himself back from getting too amorous. They haven’t made love in over a week, no thanks to their busy schedules that never give them room to meet in the middle, unless it’s right at bedtime. By then they’re too exhausted to bother, which clearly means there’s something else amiss.

If he could, Kanba would ask why, but it’s that same busyness that hasn’t given them the free time to talk about it. Not to mention the likelihood that Shouko wouldn’t reveal her secrets, or at worst, give him a sound smack to his solar plexus  that would leave him reeling for ages to come.

At least he won’t ever have to fear if his wife can take care of herself or not…

However, since they’re both wide awake well after midnight, there may be some merit in an attempt to get Shouko to open up. After all, how can Kanba fix what’s wrong if he can’t find out what it is?

Here goes nothing. “Is…something the matter?”

“…”

As he thought. Grimacing in the dark, Kanba inches closer to her. The space in their futon has gotten so vast lately that he sometimes wonders if it’d be less lonely to sleep on the couch, or in Himari’s old room.

Himari would know what to do here. Too bad he can’t call her right now, see what she has to say on the matter.

Moving as close as he can without touching Shouko, he tries again. “Is it me?”

That earns him a rustling within their blankets, and what he assumes is Shouko finally turning to glower at him over his shoulder. It’s no concrete answer, but it is progress.

“It is me,” Kanba confirms, dread creeping into his voice. Great. So what was it he did?

The frown on his face deepens, shifting to find a more comfortable position as he gives it some thought. If he doesn’t play his cards right, his line of questioning won’t lead him anywhere, and they’ll be more worse off than when they started.

First: “Did I forget something?”

Silence.

“Someone?”

“…”

“Did I lose it?”

“Did I…wear it…?” Anything to get a reaction from her.

It does provoke another glare, accompanied by a weary sigh. Shouko’s beginning to grow frustrated, something Kanba hadn’t set out to do, so he recoils, fingers crossed that the physical distance will help cool her down.

Under her breath, Shouko mutters a string of unintelligible words that Kanba can’t quite hear.

“Ah?”

She does it again, features turning petulant as she stares at her spouse, expecting him to have understood everything there is to in that long, jumbled-together sentence.

“I don’t—”

Shouko breathes out, her ire fading into despair as she looks away, curls into herself. Though it tugs at the string’s of Kanba’s heart, that’s quickly replaced by her grumbling: “My pan.”

“Your what?” Kanba didn’t hear that.

“You ruined my pan.” 

And there it is, the thorn in her paw from three days ago. Unfortunately, Kanba doesn’t recognize what she’s referring to. Which pan does she mean? With over a dozen tools in their kitchen to choose from, he frequently loses track of what goes there, whose is whose, plus…

Wait.

Wait. “???”

He ruined—

“—gah!” He remembers now. ”Y-your pan…” How could he have forgotten?

Shouko’s pan is—or was, now that it’s beyond saving—her most prized item in the kitchen, ever since she’d inherited it from her parents. Though she’d cooked with many pans before, and several since, none ever matched up to her favorite: it conducted heat evenly, cooked everything to perfection, was never a nightmare to clean, unlike certain non-stick hand-me-downs that were always more trouble than they were worth. But now…now…

The memory leaves Kanba squirming. How was he to know that from a couple of minutes of neglect (on the phone, he said, which was probably true) and a plastic utensil left in the thing it’d leave such a horrendous and irreparable mess?

Shouko cried for half an hour straight. Kanba thought it was due to the news of Ringo not being able to make it out to see them for the weekend (were they really still that close? he’d thought).

It’s funny how crying over the loss of a frying pan makes so much more sense to him.

“Ah, ah…” What to say? For the rest of that day he’d said ‘sorry’ countless times, and since that hasn’t seem to have done any good, he’s sure it’d fall on deaf ears here as well. Kanba’s mouth twists, struggling to come up with a solution that will have Shouko less distraught, if not on speaking terms with him again.

“H-hey…” He stutters, fails, and has to start over completely. “Hey, we could…get you a new one…?”

Shouko’s head hakes vigorously. 

“I can pay for it?”

“…stupid…”

The sound that falls from Kanba’s lips doesn’t quite pass for a whimper. He’d swear by it. “Why not—?”

“S’not the same,” mutters Shouko, clutching their blankets tighter to her.

She’s never acted so childishly before, not even when they actually were children. Kanba can’t decide if that’s bothersome, or really, really cute.

He chooses cute, what with how her bottom lip is jutting out.

“Maybe not,” concedes Kanba, “but if it came from me, that’d still be something, right?”

“…”

“Right…?”

“…I guess…” Shouko doesn’t look too thrilled with the idea.

Not willing to give just yet, Kanba resumes his advance, slightly anxious when he thinks he’s put himself too far, being nose-to-nose.

“C’mon, we can pick it out together?”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s not the same pan,” Kanba says, “but it can be a new one for a new family. That’s not so bad, don’t you think?”

It’s a gamble, praying that he’s said something that sounds right. They’re a bit past the newlywed phase by this point, but it’s early on enough where he’s guessing that sounds significant.

According to Shouko, it does, who draws into herself less and peers up at her husband with wide eyes, all negativity seemingly forgotten at this. “Really?”

“Of course.” After giving it some thought: “If you really want, we could replace a lot of other stuff, too…”

“—not the toaster.”

Kanba blinks at her. “Not the toaster?”

“It’s a…” Shouko stops, unsure of why she’s bringing this up. She huddles back into her nest of blankets, suddenly very sheepish about the whole thing. “Really good toaster…”

“…”

They both laugh after a span, and Kanba can only assume that he’s (partially) forgiven. Shouko isn’t shoving him away when he closes what little distance remains, arms tight around her as he pulls her near, bedding and all. The night’s too warm for him, anyway, so she’s welcome to have them.

“…I’m sorry about your pan,” he says, still seeing the need to deliver one final apology.

Shouko huffs against him. “I think I’ll just demote you from here on,” she says eventually.

“Hah?” A demotion? 

“To my…” Ah, what is it she wants to say? She hides a smile in Kanba’s shoulder, continuing, “…right-hand man in the kitchen, I suppose.”

That doesn’t sound terrible. It just means he probably can’t cook unsupervised any longer. But it sounds fair, so he chuckles softly into her hair.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

DAY 21 | SUNSET

Someone is watching the Takakura house. They’ve staked out the area for the better half of an hour, not daring to move a muscle as they lie in wait. In particular, their eyes are trained on the front door, dying to know if there’s anybody coming in or out. Thus far there’s no trace of a single soul, but that could change in a heartbeat.

Five minutes turn to ten, then fifteen, and right when the figure squatting in the bushes is convinced that enough is enough, the door opens, revealing a bumbling-yet-determined blue penguin. It mops its brow with a handkerchief, scans the perimeter with intense eyes, and once they land on what it thinks is the right spot, it sticks a thumb in the air in confirmation—or would, if it had more at its disposal than a pair of flippers. 

All clear. Kanba emerges from his hiding spot, breathing out a sigh of relief.

He feels silly for doing this, but outside of calling his partner—which he doesn’t want to be caught doing, or it’d spoil the surprise—he has no way of knowing if there’s a person lurking around indoors, or if they’re hard at work inside the library annex upstairs. The fact that he’s given the go-ahead by penguin number one means that Shouma isn’t up there, and if he were in the house at large, he’d surely have come out by this point, if only to determine what Kanba’s penguin is doing around here without its owner.

Now he can set his plans in motion, though they don’t really amount to much. He just wanted to give Shouma a pleasant surprise by showing up from his travels abroad a day or two ahead of schedule. If he were a different young man, a young man privy to gaudy gestures and bouquets of red red roses, he’d do more than simply sit atop the plastic giraffe in their front yard, swinging his legs, waiting patiently. Shouma’s probably out getting groceries for the evening—he’ll return soon. As an afterthought he does send his penguin scurrying into the house for a few items, figuring it’s nicer to do than to loiter here with nothing to offer.

At some point between the leaves changing color and what would have been the Takakuras’ eighteenth birthday Kanba has tried his utmost to be on his best behavior. He knows that he has hundreds of days of miserable treatment to make up for, and although it’s time that plays the bigger part in healing their wounds, that doesn’t stop him from wanting Shouma to feel warm and welcome at home, see a smile on his face, tell him he loves him without seeing a shred of doubt in the other’s eyes. They’ve reached the stage where the boys can say that they’re comfortable with one another, which may not be exactly where they were in the past, but Kanba hopes to get there one of these days.

And doing things like this certainly can’t hurt.

His back straightens stiffly when he thinks he’s spotted Shouma at one end of the street, surrounded by penguins with grocery bags in hand. “I knew it,” he mutters to himself. At this time of day, when the sun’s beginning its lazy decent into darkness, where else would his partner be?

“Hah?” Shouma is slower to recognize the shape that’s taken residence in his front yard, head curiously cocked to one side as he closes the distance. No one ever comes to visit, and the mail carrier is always perplexed when they place envelopes into the mailbox of a house that doesn’t seem to exist. The boys haven’t questioned why that is, assuming it’s a side effect of not quite being in touch with reality.

He’s less suspicious after catching that shock of red hair, and he relaxes visibly. Ah, it’s just Kanba.

…wait, Kanba? So soon…?

“You’re home early,” he says, but he’s smiling widely.

It’s a look that Kanba help imitating, eagerly leaning forward on his perch. “H-hi,” he croaks, mortified at how he sounds, so he clears his throat and tries again. “I mean…hi.”

“Hi,” Shouma echoes him, then pauses, a bit confused. Why is he outside, anyway? If he’s thinking of laying a trap in the main room again…

On instinct, Kanba winces, looking away nervously. He’s seen that look enough times to know when the other’s suspicious of something being amiss. “N-nothing’s wrong,” he stammers, all the anticipation of running into Shouma making him clumsy. “I just got here, so I thought I’d…wait…”

When his intentions sail over Shouma’s head, he swallows and adds, “So I’d be the…first thing you saw…”

Ah, now it makes sense. Shouma’s smile widens, and he laughs behind a free hand, shifting one of his bags over to the other. It’s sweet of him, though he won’t tell Kanba that, letting him figure it out for himself instead.

It doesn’t immediately click for Kanba either, who frowns, furrows his brow, belatedly realizes that he probably isn’t being made fun of. Clearing his throat for a second time, his gaze shifts elsewhere, to the glow of the sun sinking ever further below the horizon as the evening crawls closer.

He knows what else he can do, once their awkward silence passes on. “Hey,” he says, sitting up straighter. “Come sit with me.”

“Eh?” Shouma rapidly blinks at his brother, looks to the bags he’s holding, then back to Kanba. “But I…”

Kanba waves his hand vaguely. Ahead of them both, penguin one’s returned from its trip to hold congress with its fellow feathered friends, who all chirp in agreement and wrestle the groceries away from Shouma, carrying them into the house.

“…” Shouma stares after each of them, bemused. At length he turns to Kanba, eyebrows raised. “Did you plan this?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Kanba’s reply is a slow one. “Slightly,” he admits, sharing a glance with his penguin, who winks at him and ducks through the door behind the rest of the entourage.

Shouma shrugs it off, though his eyes are wary as they rove over Kanba up and down. He’s sitting alone with his hands planted behind him, legs kicking idly in mid-air, a peculiar contrast of posture when he’s still wearing his darkened outfit that he always goes traveling in.

If he’s noticed how it makes him look, he doesn’t seem to care, shrugging at Shouma in turn. “Come sit,” he insists, scooting over on the giraffe.

Hesitant to do so—he remembers the last time that Kanba made an effort like this, when he ended up bent over one of the other animals in their yard filled to the brim instead—Shouma worries at his hair, thinks about it, and finally comes close, hopping up on the giraffe next to Kanba. There isn’t a lot of room, legs bumping together as he wiggles around to get comfortable, no easy feat when this isn’t waht the poor animal was designed for.

But Kanba’s clearly happy to see him here, grinning at him from ear to ear as he settles down. “The sun’s setting,” he explains, as though Shouma hasn’t noticed it before. “I thought we could watch it…”

Oh. That’s ten times more innocent than Shouma expected, and he nods at the suggestion, pleased. “I’d like that.”

There isn’t much for them to say past that—they catch up on things that have happened since Kanba’s gone away, gratefully accepting the mugs of tea that penguin number one carries out to them. It’s amusing to watch it try its hardest as well, doubly so when it sits in the entryway with number two, getting fed an assortment of chocolates that it can’t entirely fit into its beak. It has nowhere near the appetite of penguin two, who curls up at its side and pats its belly lovingly regardless.

The boys have learned to take these actions and more from their penguins in stride, and they shake their heads, redirecting their attentions to the colors streaking across the sky. It’s a pleasant view, red and gold giving way to orange and later purple, then a deep blue as nighttime blooms in full.

“We should probably go,” Shouma says, half of his mind on the grilled eel he wanted to cook for dinner. He didn’t account for setting an extra plate tonight, but he’s bought plenty, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

The rest, however, is on the smooth set of lips that softly press to the side of his neck and do no more, listening to Kanba hum in dissent. “In a minute,” he says, loathe to leave when Shouma’s hair smells good, and his hands are so soft and nicely-fitting when they’re nestled within his.

That minute becomes five, then ten and twenty, and it isn’t until long after the moon is out that they find the incentive to slide off the giraffe they’re sitting on and stroll indoors, hand in hand.