Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ONE

October, 2023

The bus pulled into the Greyhound terminal just after dawn. The light and noise on the coach changed and Eiji lifted his groggy head. There was none of the chatter, none of the excited murmuring that always signaled the end of a flight when he traveled by airplane. The bus passengers only shifted in their seats and gathered their belongings, apparently too tired to feel anything but deep relief as their trip finally came to an end.

Eiji was no exception. He pulled his backpack and camera bag from beneath his seat—all he’d brought with him, hoping that Owen would be willing to ship the rest to him once he’d settled… somewhere—and waited quietly for his turn to disembark. He checked his phone. It was ten past eight; Ibe was probably already on his way to work. The note in his pocket indicated the uptown address of the magazine publisher he worked for. Eiji wondered if he should just head there. He felt too sluggish for breakfast, and he didn’t know where to find anything nutritious anyway. A cab would be expensive, but he figured he’d just get hopelessly lost trying to navigate the subway.

The morning was cool, October finally bringing relief from the summer heatwaves that had scorched the entire eastern side of the continent. Eiji zipped his jacket as he stepped off the bus and into New York City. The sky was pale, blue just starting to push out the apricot of dawn—but he was too used to early mornings to really admire it. Most days he was up by five, outside running by five-fifteen, no matter the weather. By the time he ate breakfast, his body was ready for it, primed by at least an hour’s workout.

But there would be no run that day. No workout at all, unless by some miracle Ibe’s apartment building had a gym. That was assuming Ibe would even take him in, Eiji reminded himself. He couldn’t imagine the older man refusing—he’d been like a big brother to him for years—but there was always the chance. His circumstances were different now, after all, and Eiji was different, too.

Getting a cab was easier than he expected. In Toronto, Uber had pretty much destroyed the taxicab industry, but New York cabbies apparently fought harder for their share. Eiji peered out the window, amazed that the city looked exactly as he’d expected it to. Toronto had seemed like an alien planet after Izumo, but a couple of years had taught him how to navigate the bustle and throng. It seemed New York was on another level altogether. The streets were full and pedestrians were hurrying down sidewalks, almost all of them carrying paper cups filled with steaming coffee. For a moment, he felt like he was in a movie, the reggaeton beats from the cab’s radio the perfect soundtrack.

He pulled his camera out of its bag and snapped a few photos—fire escapes and red brick, lines of traffic waiting at lights. He noticed the driver watching him in the rearview and paused, self-conscious. The camera made him look touristy.

But wasn’t that exactly what he was? As a Japanese there via Canada, there wasn’t much chance he’d be mistaken for anything else.

By the time the cab stopped, Eiji was more than ready to be out of the car, to move his body after enduring the sixteen-hour bus ride. He shouldered his backpack, paid the driver, then stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, gathering his nerve before heading toward the wide glass doors etched with the magazine’s name.

“I’m not your goddamned wife, old man!”

The shout drew Eiji’s attention. A young man with shaggy blond hair leaned out of the driver’s side window of a sleek white sports car—parked on the wrong side of the road, Eiji noticed. He seemed to be yelling at an older guy in a grey suit, who’d stopped in his tracks on his way up to the same building Eiji was going to.

The older man turned, irritation visible on his face. “As long as you’re crashing on my couch, you’re pulling your weight.”

That only further antagonized the young man. “You know I can move out whenever I want, right? I don’t need your fucking couch, Max.”

The man in the suit shook his head, running one hand through his hair in obvious exasperation. “Just go to the store. Buy the five things on the list. Be an adult for ten minutes.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the building before the guy in the sports car could answer.

At the same moment, a gust of wind spiraled down the street. A piece of paper Eiji hadn’t noticed twisted out of the young guy’s hand. It must’ve been the shopping list. Without thinking, Eiji lunged for it, sprinting a few steps and springing into the air to snatch it between his fingers.

“Here,” he said, stepping over to the car and holding out the page. “I saved it.”

The man in the car watched him with wide green eyes. “How high did you just jump?” he asked, taking the paper automatically. “That looked high.”

Eiji laughed, self-conscious. “I don’t know.” He thought about how high the wind lifted the list, his own height, and the length of his arm. “Maybe half a meter?”

“Most people would’ve just let it go. Thanks. You saved me. That geezer would’ve hassled me all night.” He smiled, and Eiji was struck by how unbelievably good looking this man was. He wondered if he was a model, or even an actor—this was New York, after all—and felt his ears go warm with a jolt of attraction.

“No problem,” Eiji said, hoping he sounded casual, but not in a trying-to-sound-casual way.

The guy looked at the list, his face falling into an exaggerated scowl. “Looks like I have some groceries to buy,” he said, then looked up at Eiji, who already missed that smile. “Thanks again. See you around!”

Eiji knew better. In a city like New York, the odds that they’d ever meet again were probably astronomical. He watched the guy gun the engine and dive straight through traffic to get to the proper side of the busy road. A couple of drivers honked their horns, but his gleaming car didn’t get so much as a scratch. Eiji shook his head. Some people were just born under lucky stars, he guessed.

*

The receptionist told him that Ibe’s office was on the fourteenth floor. Eiji punched the elevator button, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the door leading to the stairwell. I didn’t get to run this morning. The stairs might help him work out the jittery kinks in his limbs.

By the time he made it to the fourteenth floor, he was breathing hard and more than a bit sweaty—he obviously hadn’t thought that through. He found the restroom near the elevator and shucked off his jacket. He splashed cold water across his face and forearms, dabbing dry with paper towels. His hairline was wet and his face was still flushed, but he supposed this was the best he could do.

He hadn’t seen Ibe in more than two years, not long before Eiji left Japan. Even then, Ibe was settled in New York, but he’d come back for the Tokyo Olympics, visiting with Eiji whenever the younger man had any down time between practicing and competing. Eiji remembered the tears in his friend’s eyes, his proud smile as he snapped photos of the medalists on the podium. Eiji stood tall, at that point still overwhelmed by the joy of competing against the best in the world, of earning a bronze medal.

Ibe was still with him a week later, after Eiji had taken the long train ride home to Izumo, eager to show his father his medal. He was there when his father shook his head, refusing to meet Eiji’s eyes, ashamed of the third place his son had worked so hard to earn.

“He’s in pain. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Ibe had told him, sitting on the bench outside the hospice where Eiji’s father was a patient. But Eiji knew better. His best had never been enough for that man. Why had he thought it'd be different now?

But Ibe always supported him. So even though it’d been years, even though both their lives had changed drastically and communication had been sporadic, Eiji was there, counting on him one more time.

The door to Ibe’s office was open—in fact, the walls were glass and it was less of an office and more like a whole department. There were several cubicles and desks in the broad, sunny room, and the whole place buzzed with activity. A woman with strawberry-blond hair smiled as Eiji nervously stepped into the area. “Hello, there!” she said with an accent that Eiji had somehow learned to associate with peaches and short shorts. “What can I do for you?”

It took Eiji a moment to find his voice. “I’m here to see Ibe-san,” he told her, his nervous brain slipping into native formality. “I mean, Shunichi Ibe,” he corrected at once.

She smiled with all her teeth. “Is he expecting you?”

“Um,” Eiji readjusted his backpack. “No. Not really. Can you tell him Eiji’s here?”

“Sure will!” She typed something on her computer, waited just a heartbeat, and then looked back at Eiji, the smile still on high-beams. “Looks like he’ll be right out.”

A moment later, a door to his right flew open and Ibe dashed out. “Ei-chan!” he cried, opening his arms to pull Eiji in for a hug. Eiji hugged him back. This wasn’t anything they would’ve done in Japan, but they had both changed since then. The warm welcome felt good. “I didn’t know you were in the city,” Ibe said, slipping into Japanese. He ushered him into the office he’d come from. “How long are you staying?”

Eiji gratefully dropped his backpack on the sofa as Ibe closed the door. “I just got here,” he told his friend. “And… I don’t know.”

Ibe caught the change in his tone immediately. “Is everything okay?” he asked, nudging Eiji onto the sofa and sitting on the chair opposite. “Did something happen?”

Nothing had happened. Not really. And yet it felt like the whole world had tilted. “I quit,” he said. He hadn’t yet said it out loud, not even to Owen, and the words felt harsh and final, even in his mother tongue. “I quit the pole vault. I quit Owen. I quit Canada.”

Ibe’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” he asked, his tone careful.

Eiji tried not to be irritated that this was his first question. To Ibe, to everyone, really, this would be coming out of nowhere. He was Okumura Eiji, the bronze medalist, the underdog who took the world by storm in Tokyo. The American papers called him “The Grasshopper” because he could jump so high, despite being a good fifteen or twenty centimeters shorter than the shortest man on the Team USA. After Tokyo, he’d moved to Toronto to study with his coach, Owen Andersson, and the track and field world was already predicting gold next year in Paris. Eiji had read the articles; he knew what was expected of him.

“I’m done with it,” Eiji assured him darkly. And it wasn’t just because of Owen, that mocking tone in his voice as he talked with God-knows-who on the other end of the phone. For a long, long, time, this day had seemed a foregone conclusion. Even though reporters liked to describe his career as a bottle rocket, unexpectedly shooting into the sky, Eiji knew it had always been more like an ash snake, spiraling into nothing while smoke obscured the truth.

His feelings about the pole vault smelled like hospice antiseptic and disappointment. He hated it.

“I can’t go back home,” he said now, leaning his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. “You know there’s nothing for me there.”

He heard Ibe’s intake of breath, heard the way he held it as he considered exactly what to say. “Your mother asked me about you,” he said at last. “A few months ago, she called me, asking if you’d been down to visit at all. And your sister is still in Izumo, isn’t she?”

His father had died three months after the Tokyo Olympics, ninety-three days after Eiji had proudly told reporters that he’d earned the medal in honor of his father, who was dying of cancer. Eiji had already been in Toronto when he got the news. He hadn’t gone home. Eiji shook his head at Ibe’s words. Going back to Izumo wasn’t an option.

“You could stay in Canada?” Ibe asked instead. “Your visa was for four years. Certainly, you can get a job there, make a life for yourself?” And stay close to Owen, close to that world, in case he changed his mind. Ibe didn’t say it, but Eiji could hear it in the hopeful tone of his voice.

“No.” Eiji shook his head. “Toronto was never a home for me.” His life there had been nothing but track and field. Running, hurdles, vaulting: anything and everything to keep him in peak physical shape for the next competition. He hadn’t even made friends—not really. He lived with Owen, and other than a couple of dinners with one of the men who trained with him, he didn’t really go out. The only people he knew were other athletes, and it would be ridiculous to keep hanging around with them after he’d quit.

Ibe looked concerned. “Not Japan and not Canada? Where will you go?”

Eiji had thought about it a lot. He’d spent a lot of time in his own head during sleepless nights, and he’d realized that the one thing that brought him any joy at all anymore was photography. Not the important, journalistic stuff Ibe did, but art photography. Cityscapes. Portraits. He looked out the window, at the forest of concrete and glass outside. There were millions of points of view in that city. Billions of angles. “I want to stay here,” he said. “I want to stay in New York.”

Ibe seemed to be expecting that answer. At least, he didn’t show any surprise. “That won’t be easy,” he answered seriously. “This country isn’t very welcoming these days, especially if you don’t have an advanced degree in something important. Even if we put in the paperwork right away, you’ll probably have to move back to Canada—maybe even back to Japan—before it’s all sorted.”

Eiji frowned. He knew that. He’d done his research. He also knew there could be workarounds. His ESTA allowed him to stay only for 90 days at a time, but the document was valid for two years. He’d thought he’d go back to Canada for a week or two and come back. He thought he could sort out the American green card angle before his Canadian work visa ran out. But now that he was here and Ibe looked so worried. Eiji felt his certainty lag. “I’m sorry, Ibe-san,” he said quietly.

Ibe stood suddenly, his face brightening. “We’ll work something out,” he said. “In the meantime, stay with me,” he urged. “I’ll call Hana. We’re in the middle to turning the guest room into a nursery, but the bed’s still in there.”

It was what Eiji had hoped for, what he’d counted on, even, but suddenly it felt like too much. He jumped to his feet. “I don’t want to be in the way,” he protested, but it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to stay.

“Not at all!” Ibe clasped Eiji’s shoulder. “We have plenty of room, and Hana’s dying to meet you.”

*

Real estate agents in New York city were morally bankrupt. Ash sighed and put down his iPad. At this point, he wasn’t even sure he was seriously looking for an apartment, but if he were, he’d be damned if he was going to spend the kind of money this city demanded. And yet, he never could bring himself to look anywhere else. He honestly wasn’t sure what was more fucked up—New York, or his attachment to it.

He didn’t want to buy a place, and yet he desperately wanted one. Needed one. Right now, he was dangerously close to putting down roots. Max’s sofa was lumpy and smelled a bit too much like bachelor-funk, but he’d been there for months now. It was starting to feel like home.

That was bad for everyone.

Max didn’t need him. Michael was living with him now, and though Max would never admit it, he’d been working his ass off to woo Jessica back. Given the number of phone calls and letters—real freaking ink-and-paper letters with stamps and everything—going back and forth between them, Ash got the impression that she wasn’t exactly telling him to get lost. Sooner or later, and Ash would put money on sooner, they’d want to be a family again, and he would only be in the way.

He took a sip of his coffee. Ugh. It’d gone cold. Just how long had he been looking at apartments online? He checked his watch. His chemistry lecture had started twenty minutes ago. Guess that meant he wasn’t going. He supposed he should go do Max’s grocery shopping, but just thinking about it pissed him off.

Everything pissed him off today.

The breeze picked up, tossing Ash’s hair across his face and fluttering the napkin pinned beneath his iPad. A red-orange leaf spiraled down from one of the trees that shaded Washington Square Park, landing in his coffee. Ash looked up into the blazing tree, half-surprised to note that summer was already over, even though it was the middle of October.

The roar of a familiar engine caught his attention as a motorcycle popped the curb and stopped on the pathway nearby. A moment later, Shorter hopped from the bike and pulled off his purple racing helmet, sliding his signature sunglasses over his eyes in the same liquid movement. Ash smiled. He hadn’t seen the guy in a couple of weeks.

“Hey!” Shorter ambled to the table where Ash had taken up residence. He ran a hand through his hair, encouraging his dark mohawk back into a standing position. “I’ve been looking for you!”

Ash kicked the metal chair across from him, scraping it across the concrete an inch or two. Shorter took the invitation, turning the chair to sit backward. “I’ve been right here for at least forty minutes,” Ash told him.

“And here I was checking on campus. You know, where your classes are?”

“What do you need?” Ash took a quick look around them. He wasn’t a gang leader anymore and there wasn’t much reason to be wary in a busy park—he’d walked away from that shit five years before, when they’d finally put Golzine into the ground—but old habits die hard, especially when he was with Shorter. His friend’s process of breaking old ties was ongoing; some connections refused to be severed.

But Shorter didn’t look worried. He poked at the fruit in Ash’s bakery box, swiping a strawberry and two grapes. “Nadia wants you to come over for dinner.” He tore a bite from Ash’s untouched Danish and grinned, shaking his head. “Why do you even buy these things?” he asked, licking cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. “You never eat them.”

Ash swallowed his smile. “It’s a lure. You usually show up to eat it for me.” Honestly, he just liked the way it looked, flaky and sweet and surrounded by whichever fresh fruits the bakery could scare up that morning. He figured one day he’d actually eat one, but until then, he’d happily support the business. “When does she want me?”

“Two weeks from Saturday.” Emboldened by Ash’s answer, Shorter claimed the entire pastry for himself. “She says be there by five-thirty. Dinner’s at six.”

Ash loved dinner at Nadia’s. She always served their old favorites from the Chang Dai menu, and for a couple of hours at least, it felt like time hadn’t sprinted away from him. Sure, things were different now, but most were changes for the better: Charlie was easier to be around now that Ash’s presence wasn’t a conflict of interest for him, and Shorter’s girlfriend Sunny—the first person he’d ever brought home to meet Nadia—already felt like family. But lately there’d been the one problem.

“She’s not planning to try to set me up with anyone again, is she?” Ash asked darkly. Over the last month or two, it seemed like Ash had become Nadia’s favorite project. His lack of a love life—a deliberate lack, though Nadia wouldn’t believe it—had her in matchmaker-mode. “I don’t know if I can handle another Chelsea.”

Shorter grimaced. “Chelsea was a mistake,” he said, taking another bite. “Even Nadia says so. She had no idea she’d be so. . . intense.”

Intense was an understatement. He’d had to get a new phone number because of that one. “Why’s she so hung up on this?”

“She means well.” Shorter leaned his head in one hand, his long fingers idly fidgeting with his earring. “I think she’s worried about you.”

“Worried?” Ash had always been able to take care of himself. It was ridiculous for Nadia to worry, especially now that his life was finally on the right track.

“Because I’m with Sunny, I guess.”

Ash scoffed. “What do you and Sunny have to do with me?” Sure, he’d moved out of Shorter’s place, claiming that spot on Max’s couch not long after Sunny moved in, but it wasn’t like he’d felt like a third wheel or anything—Ash just thought it was time to move on, to leave them alone.

“I’m pretty sure she thought that we were a thing,” Shorter said. “Before.”

Ash barked out a laugh. “What the hell gave her that idea?”

Shorter gave him a dry look over his sunglasses. “She did catch us kissing that one time.”

“That was six years ago!” It hadn’t even been a real kiss, not really. It was back when Shorter was just starting to realize he wasn’t straight. He’d wanted to kiss a guy, just to see how it felt. Ash, who had already kissed a whole lot of people he liked a whole lot less than Shorter, was willing to be the guinea pig.

The kiss itself hadn’t been bad. What Shorter lacked in skill, he’d made up for in enthusiasm. Ash had been showing him how to go deeper without threatening his partner’s masculinity—where to put his hands and how to be submissive but still direct—when Nadia walked in.

For a long, panicked minute, they’d both stared at her, Shorter’s hands still cupping the back of Ash’s neck, Ash’s lips still parted and wet, until Nadia turned and bolted, calling out a frantic apology. Ash was mortified. She’d been so flustered she hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for weeks.

“So what?” Ash asked now. “Does she think I’ve been pining for you all this time?” It was an absurd notion. Irritating. “That I need some girl to complete me now that you’ve moved on?”

Shorter sighed. “She just wants to see you happy.” He licked the last traces of icing from his fingertips. “To tell the truth, I get it.”

Ash would never understand why, once people fell in love, they were so gung-ho to see their friends do the same. In all the years that they’d been friends, he’d never given Shorter any reason to think he was even remotely interested in that sort of relationship. Ash wasn’t even sure he was capable of it.

“I’m happy,” Ash growled.

Shorter raised his eyebrows, his lips quirking into a skeptical grimace.

“Seriously,” Ash insisted, though he wasn’t absolutely sure what being happy even felt like. Dino was dead. Griffin avenged. He had Shorter and he had Max, and no one had pulled a gun on him in the past three years. If that wasn’t happiness, then what was? He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t angry or afraid or ashamed of his own existence.

“So, I can tell Nadia you’ll be there?”

Of course he’d be there. He’d survived Chelsea, hadn’t he? “Is it too much to hope she hasn’t already invited some pretty, single friend to meet me?”

“I think her name is Zoey this time,” Shorter admitted. “And she might be Charlie’s niece?”

Ash heaved a deep sigh. “I’ll be there,” he conceded. “But will you tell them to knock it off? Please?”

Shorter pursed his lips doubtfully. “I’ll try.”

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Good God, what was Ash supposed to do with Charlie’s freaking niece? That wasn’t just a set-up—that was some kind of trap.

Chapter Text

TWO

“You should try the sushi here,” Max Lobo said with confidence as they sat down. “It’s amazing.”

Ibe caught Eiji’s eye and shook his head, nearly imperceptibly. Eiji hid a smile. Sushi was a dangerous gamble outside of Japan. He’d learned the hard way in Toronto. “What are you having, Ibe-san?”

Ibe didn’t even look at the menu. “Soba. They make tensoba that reminds me of my mother’s.”

“That sounds amazing!” There’d been a soba stand near Eiji’s high school in Izumo that sold the best tensoba he had ever tasted. He hadn’t had any at all since then. Owen, who was a nutritionist as well as a coach, did most of the cooking at his place, so Eiji hadn’t had fried food, let alone authentic Japanese fried food, in years.

“You’re missing out,” Max said, shaking his head. He ordered a large sushi combination meal for himself and bowls of soba for Eiji and Ibe.

Ibe’s friend had invited them both to lunch as soon as he heard that the Japanese photographer had a visitor from home. Max was a reporter at the same magazine where Ibe worked but Eiji hadn’t ever read his articles. He was familiar with his name, though, because of the wild adventure Ibe had been involved in with him a few years back. Ibe’s stories about it were almost beyond believing, but looking at Max Lobo, Eiji thought they might actually be true.

He looked like the kind guy who worked as a private eye in a comic book—tall and broad with sandy brown hair and a chiseled jaw. Very attractive, in an “everyman” sort of way, though a bit scruffy and a bit sloppy.

Eiji had been startled to recognize that he was the man with the shaggy brown hair and grey suit from the previous morning. Geezer, the guy in the sports car had called him, but up close, Eiji could see that he probably wasn’t even forty. As introductions were made, Eiji was distracted by a buzzing in his head, a strange feeling that he hadn’t felt since middle school. It was the same feeling he’d gotten when he’d first scrawled his name on the roster for the track and field club. When Eiji was fourteen, he’d thought it was the sound of discovering his destiny. Now he was pretty sure it was just tinnitus.

“Max will have good advice,” Ibe had told Eiji in the elevator on the way out. “He helped me with immigration when I first came here.”

“I thought you had a work visa?”

Ibe laughed self-consciously, scratching his head. “Ah, well, not at first. I had an ESTA, just like you, but I stayed too long. There was so much going on, and I didn’t want to miss any of it. After that, I was afraid to leave because they might not let me come back. Max had some connections—he helped me get the work visa.”

Now, as they waited for their food, Ibe told Max about Eiji’s situation. “I hoped that, since you were able to help me out when I overstayed my ESTA, you might have some advice for Eiji.”

Max rubbed his chin, his expression skeptical. “Well, you’re not here illegally, so that’s a start. The work visa in Canada makes it weird, though. It’d be easiest to go back to Japan and apply from there.”

Eiji was absolutely not going to do that. He shook his head. “Ibe-san warned me that it may be difficult even then. Because I don’t have anything to offer the United States.”

“What?” Max gaped at him. “Aren’t you an Olympic medalist? Shunichi has been bragging about you for years. The buzz is that you’re good for a gold in Paris! I’ll bet they’d love to have to defect onto the US team!”

The server brought their meals, and the conversation paused as everyone appreciated their dishes. Eiji inhaled the aroma of his food, shoving away a pang of homesickness. The snap of the chopsticks beneath his fingers, the crunch of the seafood tempura—it reminded him of all the things he’d left behind. And all the reasons he couldn’t go back.

“I’m through with pole vaulting,” Eiji told Max in a tone that sounded obstinate, even to his own ears. “I want to live in New York and photograph the city. I can work in a restaurant, or a bodega, or wherever they’ll hire me. I don’t care. But there’s no way I’m going back to Japan or Canada!” He took a breath, realizing he’d gotten too loud. A woman in a purple cardigan watched him from halfway across the room.

Max also noticed their audience. “If she recognizes, you,” he said with a smirk, “then you’ve just announced your retirement.”

Eiji was abashed. Ibe and Hana—and now Max—were the only ones who knew he was quitting for good. He’d left a note for Owen, but he doubted his coach believed it. It wouldn’t be good for an internet rumor like that to start. Not until he sorted out his immigration status. Or at least had a plan in place. But he didn’t want Max Lobo to think he was backing down. “It’s true,” Eiji said, using his chopsticks to pick up a chunk of fish from his bowl and hoping it looked casual. “I don’t care who knows.”

For a long moment, Max didn’t say anything. He studied Eiji as he ate another sashimi roll, then glanced at Ibe and quirked up a half-smile. “He’s got a stubborn streak, huh? Remind you of someone?”

Ibe laughed. “You just think all kids are the same.”

For a moment, Max looked affronted. “No way. Michael is a perfect angel!”

“You’re letting him hang out with Ash Lynx,” Ibe reminded Max dryly. “You’re not worried he’ll be corrupted?”

Now it was Max’s turn to laugh. “I’d trust Ash anywhere. Besides, Michael’s probably a good influence.” He took another bite of sushi and suddenly looked like he’d reconsidered. “Ash does swear like a sailor, though.”

“So does Jessica,” Ibe reminded him with a smirk.

Eiji gave up trying to follow the conversation and waited until they were done. Yes, he was stubborn, and yes, he could see how that might make him seem unreasonable, but his whole life, people had been telling him what he could and couldn’t do. First his parents, then his teachers and coaches. And when his best wasn’t good enough, he’d always pushed harder, focused more, ignoring anything else he might want for himself. He was sick of it.

He thought again of his camera in its bag, still untouched in Ibe’s guest room. More than anything, he wanted to slip away, to leave Max and Ibe to their conversation and take a photo of the sign out front. He’d noticed some starlings roosting there and liked the contrast between the sleek, clean lettering and the conglomeration of grass and garbage that made up the nest. He considered using his phone, but couldn’t get up the nerve to just stand up and go outside. He couldn’t be that rude to Ibe.

The thought brought a pang of guilt. Eiji was relying too much on Ibe. He knew that. He also knew that Ibe would never protest, never tell Eiji it was time to grow up and act like a man. Ibe was too kind for that. Eiji suspected—though Ibe would never admit it—that the older man tried to make up for Eiji’s father’s failings. It probably wasn’t possible to undo the harm his father had wrought, but Eiji would always be grateful to his friend for trying.

“Wasn’t that right after you met Hana?” Max was asking. Eiji had missed an entire section of the conversation.

Ibe flushed a bit. “Yes. We were married what? Three weeks later?” It was clear to Eiji that Ibe was still madly in love with his wife of four years. He was glad for him, though he regretted that he hadn’t been able to come to the for the wedding. He’d been in Japan then, competing for his spot in the Tokyo games.

“And after I did all that running around, getting you a work visa,” Max grumbled good-naturedly. “You ended up married less than two months later. Could’ve just waited for that green card.”

Ibe was just about to answer when Max jumped half out of his seat. “Of course!” He grinned, then dropped his voice. “I know just the way solve your immigration problem, Eiji. We just need to find you a wife!”

Ibe and Eiji shared incredulous looks. “A wife?” Ibe asked, clearly skeptical. “That’s illegal.”

“That’s never stopped us before,” Max crowed. “If we’re careful, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Ibe said firmly.

“But I’m serious! There are all kinds of provisions for long-distance relationships, and those USCIS agents aren’t always the sharpest. We can do this.” He looked at Eiji and grinned. “What do you say? Jessica even has a girlfriend who—”

“It won’t work,” Eiji protested, holding up his hands. “I’m gay.” He felt his face flush deep red at the admission, then was more embarrassed because his discomfort was so obvious. Ibe knew—it wasn’t like Eiji wasn’t out—but he still found it awkward to speak of, especially to a brand-new acquaintance who’d assumed he was straight.

Max only chuckled. “It’s a marriage of convenience, Eiji. You don’t have to consummate the damn thing.” He leaned close to Ibe’s ear. “Though Jessica’s friend seems pretty hard up for it, if he changes his mind.”

“You don’t understand!” Eiji cut in, loudly enough that several other of the restaurant patrons looked up at him, startled. “It’ll never work,” he continued at lower volume. “My coach knows I’m gay.” Because of course immigration officials would speak to Owen. “They would check, right?”

“Ohhhh,” Max said, nodding.

Ibe took a sip of his water. “That makes sense.”

For a moment they all fell silent, as though Eiji’s awkwardness were contagious. Eiji poked at his noodles, his appetite gone. Max was only trying to help. It was rude of Eiji to shoot down every idea he suggested. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”

“It’s no problem,” Max said. He tipped back his glass and downed the last of his beer. “We’ll just find a man.”

*

Ash threw his bag on the floor by the door and shrugged out of his coat. Wednesdays were the worst. He was taking a double class load—hoping to get that four-year degree in only two—and Wednesdays were chemistry, global economics, trigonometry, and 20th century American literature.

Then there was the grocery store. He never did get around to Max’s list the day before, which meant that Michael didn’t have any cereal for breakfast that morning. It made Ash feel enough like shit that he prioritized the grocery run that afternoon. The store was crowded and loud and he’d had to wait twenty minutes while the lady in front of him in the checkout line redeemed about a thousand coupons. Ash didn’t understand the point of grocery stores in a city like New York. There was takeout for literally everything. Want a donut for breakfast? Rossy’s Bakery was across the street. Sushi for lunch? Domakase was two blocks away. You could even pick up a corned-beef sandwich for a midnight snack from Joey Roses.

Instead, he was putting away peanut butter and Cocoa Puffs in Max’s miniature kitchen. He looked at the idiotic bird on the cereal box. Eventually someone was going to have to teach Michael about real food, and it looked like Max just wasn’t up for the task.

Michael came home from school about twenty minutes later, while Ash was reading As I Lay Dying for his American lit class. “Hey, kid. Had a good day?” Ash glanced up from his book when the boy didn’t answer. He stood just inside the door, his backpack in one hand and a far-away look on his face. “Mikey?”

Michael blinked and looked around, seeming to just now realize that he was home. “Oh.” He pulled the Yankees cap from his head. “Hey Ash.” He smiled, but he was definitely distracted. “I’m gonna get started on my homework.” He disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Ash frowned. In all the weeks he’d lived there, Ash had never seen Michael come home from school anything less than exuberant. He loved his hundred-year-old school building. He loved his posh New York classmates. He loved taking a field trip to see Hamilton on Broadway. He even loved taking the city busses to and from school. It seemed the sunshine and beaches of southern California were no match for Michael’s fascination with New York.

Usually, the kid raided the fridge as soon as he got home, bending Ash’s ears the whole time with a blow-by-blow account of his entire day. He looked at the closed door to his bedroom, wondering if he should check on him. He was thirteen, after all. Weren’t kids supposed to get weird and moody at that age? Ash remembered himself at thirteen, furious with the world and out for blood—but there was no comparison. Not really.

God, he hoped not.

His hands were shaking as he crossed to Michael’s closed door, determined to find out what had happened at school. Was it just a squabble with a friend, or was there a teacher whose teeth he needed to knock out? If anyone—anyone in that whole goddamned city—put even a finger on that kid that Michael didn’t enthusiastically consent to, Ash would destroy them.

His breath came hard and furious as he raised his knuckles to knock, but something stilled his hand.

He was being weird, right?

Just because it had happened to Ash, that didn’t mean it would happen to Michael. That kid had so many people looking out for him. Not just Max and Jessica, but also Shunichi and Shorter and half the NYPD.

Besides, wouldn’t Ash just freak him out, asking questions like that? Michael knew about sexual assault—Max had given him the stranger danger talk before letting him take public transit to get to school in August. And Ash had added the less popular, but extraordinarily necessary it’s-not-usually-a-stranger addendum. But Ash didn’t want to make him think at all about those ugly things if he didn’t absolutely need to.

He leaned his forehead against the closed door, waiting for his heartbeat to slow, for that rush of rage and adrenaline to fade. He could hear the opening theme song of one of those Japanese cartoons the kid liked so much. He imagined Michael flopped across his bed, his homework postponed for the serotonin boost that came with mech battles and anime girls with huge purple eyes.

A moment later, Ash dragged himself back to the sofa, back to Faulkner and his own coursework. He’d let it go for now, he decided, but he was going to pay close attention. There was no way Michael Glenreed was going to slip through the cracks the way he had. No fucking way.

*

Max didn’t get home until after seven. Ash hadn’t bothered to try to cook, so he was relieved to see the older man had his hands full of takeout bags. “What’d’ya get, Pops?” Ash asked from the sofa. He watched, amused, as Max struggled to put the bags down on the tiny kitchen table, his briefcase and keys dangling from just his pinky finger. Eventually the keys slipped, and the loud clatter of them on the wood floor made Max start, sending one of the bags into the floor instead.

Ash laughed out loud.

“Get your useless butt over here and help me,” Max growled, his stern voice belied by the twitching smile he tried to suppress.

“Useless?” Ash pretended to be outraged. “You didn’t seem to think I was useless when I drove your ass to work again this morning.”

“I noticed that you couldn’t be bothered to pick me up,” Max observed.

Ash crossed his arms over his chest. “I was busy.”

Max glanced at the books and papers scattered across the coffee table. “Looks like you were,” he conceded. “Is that overstuffed schedule starting to get to you?”

“Nah. I’m good.” Ash started gathering his mess. It would take more than double courses to bother him. He was actually grateful for the dense workload. He was afraid to find himself at loose ends, afraid that old habits would rear their ugly heads and derail all the progress he’d made toward having a normal life.

Michael came out of his room then, lured by the scent of fried chicken. “Hey, Dad!” He greeted Max with a smile, peeking into the takeout bags. “They’re holding auditions for the winter play this week, so I’ll be home late tomorrow and Friday.”

“What show did they decide on?” Max took paper plates from the cabinet.

“Little Shop of Horrors. We still have the DVD, right?” Michael pulled all the containers from the bags. In addition to chicken, Max had bought mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. Ash wasn’t as enthusiastic as Michael, but he took a spoonful of vegetables and a chicken breast, then retreated to the couch to eat.

“Isn’t that a little mature for junior high?” Max settled on the couch next to Ash, passing him a cold can of Pepsi.

Michael gave his father a pitying look. “We’re not babies, Dad. Besides, we’re doing a gender-swapped version. To avoid the misogyny.”

“Wouldn’t that just mean that one of the girls in your class will have to be abusive toward one of the boys?” Max asked. “I don’t think that’s any better.”

Michael sighed. “It’s just acting. No one’s really like that.”

Max ran his hands through his hair and looked at Ash for help. Ash deliberately took a bite of his food, staring at Max to show the old man he was on his own. Ash didn’t know jack about musicals, and even if he did, he wasn’t about to come to Max’s rescue. He’d done enough of that to last a lifetime.

While they argued it out, he watched Michael closely. He seemed completely normal. Whatever had been bothering him this afternoon, it looked like he was over it. Maybe he’d just been nervous about the audition? Maybe he’d had a fight with friend? Ash couldn’t pretend he knew what junior high school friendship dynamics looked like.

Ash had lived with Dino when he was thirteen. He ran off sometimes, but it was never more than a few days before Marvin or some other goon caught up with him. That’s when he’d joined the gang, though it was a still a couple of years before he could claw his way to the top of that particular hierarchy. At Michael’s age, Ash didn’t have any close friends. It just didn’t seem worth the risk—he didn’t need anyone figuring out his situation with Golzine.

He hadn’t had a real friend until he met Shorter, a couple years later. Any time Ash had tried to pick a fight with him, it hadn’t worked. Shorter was way too reasonable to be baited and when they disagreed, he was usually right, though Ash would never say so.

Thinking about Shorter led Ash to thinking about Nadia Wong. She’d been flickering through has thoughts ever since he talked to Shorter the day before. He’d stopped being surprised by her invitations years ago. He knew she considered him family, but he didn’t understand why. She shouldn’t have forgiven him for what he’d done to her real family, what he’d dragged Shorter into.

Back when Shorter was still in the hospital, Nadia had called Ash, asking him to come to Chang Dai. He’d dreaded her fury but knew he deserved it. He arrived at the restaurant steeped in self-loathing, unable to look her in the eye. It was Ash’s fault. All of it. Shorter had only gone to California because of Ash, and he’d nearly died for it. He was prepared for her to scream and hit and rail at him. He wouldn’t stop her.

But she hadn’t. She didn’t say anything at first, just pulled Ash close, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head in the space below his clavicle. He stood, stunned, before finally sliding his arms around her shoulders and hugging her back. “Thank you,” she’d whispered again and again against his shirt. “Thank you for saving him.”

Saving him? At the time, Ash felt guilty, as though his had been the hand holding the knife.

He still remembered that night in Los Angeles like it’d just happened, remembered hearing Shorter and Yau-Si in the next room. He’d thought that maybe the pretty Chinese boy would do Shorter some good, that Shorter was wound too tight and could use some mindless fun. Ash definitely hadn’t trusted Yau-Si, but none of the people Shorter fucked around with before had ever done anything to earn Ash’s trust, so he kept his mouth shut.

He’d put his head under his pillow, trying not to listen, wondering how Max and Ibe slept through it. But then the sounds changed. They were arguing. When Shorter’s angry murmur cut off in an audible gasp, Ash dashed through the connecting door, his gun cocked. He pulled the trigger the instant he saw Shorter’s torso, all that blood and Yau-Si’s hands slick with it.

He’d had to roll Yau-Si’s body off him, had to staunch the stab wound with bedsheets while he screamed for Max to help.

Shorter almost didn’t make it. Ibe was the only person rational enough to realize that an ambulance would mean cops. He’d taken the truck and rushed him to the nearest hospital. Ash never found out what kind of story he’d invented to deal with the police, but whatever he’d said, it worked. Meanwhile, Ash and Max—at Max’s insistence—rushed to finish searching the house. The Lees would be on them at any moment.

They had discovered the dragon tattoo on the dead boy’s neck. It was just confirmation of what Ash already known, what he’d realized the moment his best friend’s passion became cries of agony. Ash had always wondered why Shorter had disregarded that tattoo. He had to have seen it, known what it signified. But even all those years later, Shorter never talked about Yau-Si and Ash never had it in him to ask.

Because he had destroyed their youngest scion, the Lees declared war on Ash Lynx. Because Shorter survived and Yau-Si did not, they included him in that war. A week after Shorter was able to be transferred to a hospital in New York, only days after that afternoon with Nadia, Chang Dai burned to the ground. Shorter’s family’s restaurant—the place where he grew up and where all his memories of his parents still lingered—was gone because Ash had involved him in his investigation into banana fish.

He’d helped Nadia sift through the rubble, collecting everything that wasn’t burned or soaked beyond repair. She hadn’t cried at all that time, and Ash admired her strength.

That same night, he stole an entire offshore bank account from Golzine to help her resettle in the part of the city he could still protect. He’d “invested” in the new bakery she opened, and had been banking every dime that investment earned until he could figure out a way to give it back to her.

Ash owed Shorter and Nadia everything. He would do anything in the world for them. Well, anything except tie himself to whatever girl she chose for him. If Ash deserved anything, anything at all in his whole shitty life, it was to finally decide things for himself. He’d eat what he wanted, live where he wanted, and love whomever the fuck he chose.

As of right then, he chose no one, and no well-meaning set-up was going to change his mind.

*

After Michael was in bed, Ash thought about telling Max about his son’s peculiar behavior that afternoon. He decided not to voice his suspicions out loud, though, not if he wasn’t sure. He still remembered the look on Jim’s face when Ash had come home after that first time, the way his irritation at Ash’s lateness slid into a look so horrified, so guilty, before his expression shuttered against him forever. The flash of pain on his father’s face was so raw that Ash had regretted not hiding the situation, regretted going to his father for help even as he threw himself, sobbing, at the old man.

Could he do that to Max, too?

Not without evidence.

“I had lunch with Shunichi today.” Max came into the living room rubbing the back of his neck. He usually spent his evenings hunched over the keyboard. His exposé on Banana Fish had been out for eight months now, and his publisher was pushing for more. The old man looked tired, though, and Ash wondered if he had anything else in him.

“How’s he doing?” Ash hadn’t seen Shunichi Ibe in months—not since that dinner in the spring celebrating A Perfect Day for Banana Fish landing a spot on the New York Times Bestseller list. It tapped out at number twelve, but even that was beyond anyone’s wildest expectations.

“He sends his best.” He grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and popped the cap off. “Want one?”

Ash shook his head. He had to give a presentation in Cantonese the next morning, and even though it was pretty basic stuff, Ash’s brain didn’t absorb languages the way it had when he was younger. He needed to stay sharp. He wished the bits he’d picked up from Shorter was more useful, but most of those phrases weren’t fit for company. “Can’t risk muddying up the stuff I crammed into my head tonight,” he told Max.

The older man frowned slightly and dropped onto the couch next to Ash. “Are you sure you’re not overdoing it? I know that brain of yours is top-notch, but I don’t want you to burn yourself out.”

“I’m fine,” Ash assured him, closing his laptop. “I like keeping busy.”

The expression on Max’s face changed from worried to something Ash wasn’t sure he liked. “Busy is good,” Max said, “but school can’t be your whole life.”

“I think we have quantifiable proof that I get into less trouble while I’m in school.” Ash didn’t really think he was in much danger of returning to a life of crime, and not just because it was a requirement to keep state prosecutors off his back. He was sick of everything about that world. But he’d discovered that being sick of one life didn’t mean it was easy to settle into a new one. Ash didn’t like leaving his mind to its own devices, didn’t like the dark corridors it tended to stray into.

“You should socialize more,” Max was saying. “You’re young! Go have fun with people your own age.”

“I do.”

“Shorter doesn’t count.”

“Why the fuck doesn’t he count?” Ash pretended he was more outraged that he really was. In truth, he understood what Max was saying. But Ash didn’t trust himself to live a normal life and associate with normal people. Not yet. Not while his past still seemed so much closer than his future. Explaining this to Max, however, would be impossible.

“Shunichi has a friend in town,” Max continued. His tone was even. Casual. It made the hair on the back of Ash’s neck stand up.

“And?”

“And I thought maybe the four of us could go out for dinner.”

“The four of us?” Ash raised his eyebrows, skeptical. He could think of only two reasons why he’d leave Michael out. Either this was had something to do with Banana Fish, which was highly unlikely, or else— “Jesus, Max, you’re not trying to fix me up with someone, are you?”

He could tolerate that from Nadia, but Max knew better. Max knew all of it.

Max shook his head, holding his hands up in the universal sign that he had nothing to hide. “No way. Nothing like that. I just thought that you and Eiji could—I don’t know—help each other.”

Ash crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. He couldn’t think of a single reason why helping a total stranger—even a friend of Shunichi’s—would be something he’d want to do. Especially if Max was suggesting it. He didn’t even want to hear it, really, but once Max got an idea in his head, the man just could not let it go.

“Eiji is having a tiny bit of immigration trouble.”

“Want me to find you a forger?” It wasn’t at all what Ash was expecting, especially since, technically, he wasn’t supposed to associate with those types anymore. “I can give you some names, but you’ll have to contact them on your own.”

Max’s face brightened in a comically fake way. Ash watched him make a show of listening to him, of pretending to consider the idea, before shaking his head. “He’s a bit high-profile for that,” he said cryptically. “What he needs is a green card.”

“And he can’t apply for one like everyone else?”

“We were thinking, maybe something faster? Remember how I worked my ass off to get Shunichi a work visa? That took months. And then what’d he do? Married Hana. Boom! Permanent residency.” Max shook his head. “All my work, wasted.”

No.

No fucking way.

Max was absolutely not suggesting that Ash marry this guy. He shook his head. If there were anywhere to go, he’d leave the room.

“Hear me out,” Max insisted.

“No way.”

“It wouldn’t be for long—two years. Okay, more like five. Five at the most. And it would only have to be on paper. Once the government was off his back, you won’t even have to see him.”

“Why should I risk my neck for someone I never met? Look, I like Shunichi just fine, but the DA is just waiting for me to step out of line. You’re asking me to commit a goddamn felony, Max!”

Max had the decency to look sheepish. “No one would even know. Young people get married all the time. Their reasons are nobody’s business.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Besides, Eiji’s a nice guy,” Max continued as though Ash hadn’t spoken. “He’s just in a rough spot right now and he needs a little help.”

“Not my fucking problem.” Ash pulled his blankets and pillow from where they were tucked beneath the end table. It was the universal signal for I’m-going-to-sleep-so-leave-me-the-hell-alone, but Max was immune to subtlety.

“So, you won’t even consider it?”

“I’m already trying to forget we had this conversation.” Ash pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it across the back of the couch. He elbowed Max hard in the process, hoping he’d get the message and go to his own damn bed.

It seemed to work. With a heavy sigh, Max stood and trudged toward the bathroom. He switched off the floor lamp and turned back. “Just think about it?” he asked. “And get some sleep. You look like hell.”

There wasn’t anything to consider. Ash was astonished that Max would think he’d even entertain the idea of marrying a strange man. It was like he hadn’t heard a word Ash had said to him all those years.

Ten minutes later, when Max stepped out of the bathroom in boxer shorts, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, Ash spoke. “Why’d you even think I’d do it?” he asked in a much calmer voice.

Max paused and peered at Ash through the darkness. “Well, you’re single.”

“So are you.”

Max opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to admit to those late-night phone calls to Jessica. “No one would believe it,” he said at last. “I’m too old.” Max shook his head, chuckling. “Besides, I’m straight.”

“Hey, wait,” Ash protested as Max went into his own room and closed the door. “What the fuck made you think I’m not straight?”

But the old man had finally shut up.

Chapter Text

THREE

It was possible that Eiji felt worse now than he had in Toronto. He’d been in New York for a week and he was no closer to figuring out what the hell he was doing there than he’d been that first day. At Ibe’s insistence, which Hana later echoed, he’d agreed to stay in their spare room until he figured things out. He’d helped Ibe put sheets on the twin bed, then they shoved the crib, changing table, and other nursery furniture against one wall so there was just enough room to move around. Guilt stabbed through Eiji as they worked. Hana was due in less than two weeks—he shouldn’t be occupying the space they’d made for their baby.

He’d almost given it all up when he met Hana. He’d known she was pregnant, but he hadn’t expected her to be so far along. He was crash-landing into their lives at the worst possible time, he realized. There was no way he could take their baby’s room.

When he’d said as much, Hana laughed it off. “Don’t think for a second that I’m gonna let this kid sleep in her own room until she’s at least six months old.” She showed him the bassinet that was already in place in the room she and Ibe shared. “You have plenty of time to get yourself settled.”

Instead of doing anything at all toward that end, however, he’d spent every morning running and every afternoon doom scrolling on his phone instead of looking into immigration options or trying to find work. He rarely even took pictures. Owen called three or four times every day, and every night, Eiji deleted his voicemails without listening to them. The whole situation left him feeling completely worthless.

Now he leaned against a parking meter, stretching his hip flexors. He’d finished his warm up and was ready for the real deal—a five-mile circuit toward the northeast this time. He pretended it was a way to explore the city, to get to know the neighborhood, but in truth, he never paid attention to anything while he ran. Instead, he let his mind go gloriously blank.

He never got to run distances under Owen’s program. Those days had been filled with sprints and strength training. Every afternoon was vaulting. Vaulting until it no longer felt like every cell of his body was independently learning to fly. Vaulting until even that zero-g instant—that transcendent moment of weightlessness between rising and falling—felt mundane. Even now, the earth felt harder, its pull stronger than it used to be.

Eiji wondered if he’d ever again feel the euphoria of flying.

But now wasn’t the time for worrying about it. Now was for running. He picked up speed and his thoughts dropped away.

The cool air, the autumn colors, they were merely a backdrop to the rhythm of his own breathing, to the scuff-slap, scuff-slap of his running shoes on the concrete. His heartbeat, already elevated from his warm up, intensified until he could hear it in time with his steps.

Once he was in the zone, everything Eiji fell away from him. He was merely a body: two powerful legs and a wide-open torso. He was blood and oxygen flowing to muscles and joints and bones. He became nothing but sensation—sweat soaking through his shirt, dampening his hair and trickling down his neck. He was the cold shock of autumn air in his throat and lungs, the impact against the balls of his feet, the spring of knees and pelvis as they absorbed every shock.

For forty glorious minutes, Eiji disappeared entirely. It wasn’t until he slowed down, letting his consciousness return as he reached the arch at the entrance to Washington Square, that he even realized he’d been gone.

The sound of his slowing heartbeat was soothing. “Again!” Owen would bark, day in and day out as he put Eiji through the drills meant to transform a good athlete into a magnificent one. Eiji still heard the echo in his head. “Again!” Skipping the rigorous trials, not jumping at all—it felt like he was doing irreparable damage to himself, but he reminded himself that he didn’t care. He’d spent every day for the past ten years being just one version of himself. The only version he’d really ever known. It was strange now, to turn his back on that, to pretend he could be anything or anyone else.
Without the meets, the medals, the constant push, who was he? Could he still be Okumura Eiji if he’d forgotten how to fly?

The park wasn’t crowded. The air was cool. The morning sun through the autumn leaves was golden. Nothing was too serious. Nothing too deep. He saw a boy walking three poodles and an English bulldog. A woman in ankle boots and a down vest chatted on the phone while her baby slept in stroller next to her. Eiji tried to notice everything as he took lazy loop around the park to cool down, and then found a sunny patch of grass for his post-run stretches.

Eiji was on the ground, doing calf stretches when he saw him. He was walking through the park, a messenger bag slung across his body, and Eiji recognized him at once as Max Lobo’s friend with the white sports car—that golden-haired boy with the rude vocabulary.

He didn’t mean to stare, but it was startling to see someone familiar in this sea of strangers. This man strolled through the dappled sunlight, a lightweight trench coat falling open with each stride. He looked confident, like he owned the whole damn city. And for all Eiji knew, he did.

He wondered why he was there, so close to Ibe’s place. Did he know Ibe? Eiji’s mind whirled into a fantasy of them meeting again, of those green eyes shining the way they had when he’d asked Eiji about his jump.

If he lived close by, then maybe Eiji would see him again. Maybe they’d talk and Eiji would find a way to make him smile.

As if sensing Eiji’s eyes on him, the man turned his head, catching Eiji mid-stare.

Eiji’s cheeks grew warm, but he didn’t look away.

The blond man paused and cocked his head. Recognition bloomed in his eyes and the barest hint of smile crept over his lips.

Eiji raised one hand, half a wave.

To his surprise, the man’s smile grew, lazy and lopsided. He nodded his own greeting before continuing on his way. Eiji watched him go, bewildered and giddy.

The encounter took less than thirty seconds, but the warm flush in Eiji’s cheeks spread over his whole body and the memory of the man’s smile lingered as he finished his stretches.

*

Ash was sure that someone was watching him. He packed his laptop more slowly than usual, watching the lecture hall empty around him. Other students lingered—some vying for the professor’s attention, but others, like him, were slow for no apparent reason. He scanned the huge room as casually as he could manage. No one stood out. A guy in a striped sweater loitered nearby, but a girl who’d sat closer to the front was hurrying to meet him. A trio of girls in the back were crowded around a cell phone, giggling at whatever was happening on screen—Ash doubted they realized that the lecture was over.

No one looked out of place. No one paid him the least bit of attention.

He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. His whole life, he’d relied on his instincts to keep him alive, and now his body refused to believe he wasn’t in danger anymore. He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door.

It was a cool day—brisk enough to button his coat, but not so cold that he minded the nine blocks back to Max’s. As he walked, he sorted through the day’s lectures, planning the evening’s homework and studying. Even into his second year, it astonished him how easy it was to entangle entire days in school work. As a little kid, he’d looked anxiously toward evenings and weekends for the freedom of long hours unoccupied by teachers and learning. Now he was content to let his coursework fill his time, often spending weekends on unnecessary rewrites of literary analysis and history papers.

As he walked past the shops and apartments on 3rd Street, however, his mind wandered away from his assignments. Instead, he thought of that guy in the park that morning. Just like during his chemistry lecture, Ash had gotten the uncanny feeling that someone was watching him. When he’d turned to look, the boy didn’t even try to hide it.

Ash’s first thought had been that he looked young—maybe only eighteen or nineteen—but that had quickly been replaced by his realization that he’d seen the young Asian man before. That morning outside of Max’s work, the kid who’d caught his shopping list when it blew away. Ash was startled to see him in Washington Square, miles away from Max’s midtown office.

People had looked at Ash his whole life. Whether filled with lust or fear, their eyes had been something that he’d had to get used to. He’d never learned to like it. But this boy’s gaze had been different, his curiosity unguarded. Non-threatening.

It was a weird feeling, realizing that he hadn’t minded that the kid was staring. Realizing that he wanted to stare back.

Ash’s cell buzzed in his pocket. It was Max. Calling again, like a geezer, instead of sending a fucking text.

“What?”

“Easy,” Max chided over the line. “No call to be rude.”

“I’ll decide that,” Ash countered. There wasn’t a thing Max needed to say to him that couldn’t’ve been relayed via text. Or not at all. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to remind you that we’re having dinner with Shunichi tonight. Wear a tie.”

Ash stopped, ducking under an awning so he wouldn’t block the sidewalk. “What the fuck, Max! I said I wasn’t going.”

“No,” Max’s voice was too even, making a show of being reasonable. “You said you wouldn’t marry the guy. You never said you wouldn’t go meet him.”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“Free dinner?” Max offered. “We’re going to Roussillon. How often do you get a meal like that?”

Ash ignored Max’s botched pronunciation of the French and even the fact that by now Max should know that food didn’t exactly motivate him. Instead, he went for the low-hanging fruit. “Why the fuck would I need a free dinner? Have you forgotten that I’m a multi-millionaire?”

Max huffed in annoyance. “You’d never guess it, the way you mooch off me all the time,” he grumbled. “Maybe if you paid rent once in a while, I’d remember you’re part of the monied elite.”

“Maybe if your place wasn’t an absolute shit hole, I’d be more inclined to pay,” Ash let his voice climb. He wasn’t angry, but tense and alarmed at this whole scheme Max had dreamt up. Besides, pressing Max’s buttons was the only entertainment he had these days; the old man deserved it.

“We’re leaving at six,” Max growled. “Wear a goddamned tie.”

“Only if you fucking learn to text,” Ash countered.

Max hung up without answering and Ash smirked, glad to get the last word. He supposed it would be nice to see Shunichi again, too, though he’d never let Max know that. He wasn’t remotely interested in meeting this friend, but apparently that wasn’t his choice. He really hoped that Max hadn’t made any unfortunate promises.

October was winding down. As he continued home, he passed dozens of shops decked out in zombies and ghosts, and he realized that Halloween was in less than a week. Ash definitely didn’t want to still be Max’s at Christmas—he didn’t even want to imagine how painfully eager the old man would be, celebrating his first Christmas with his son in so many years—so he had to get serious about looking for his own place.

The money he’d stolen from Dino was not insubstantial, but neither was real estate in New York. Ash knew he had expensive taste, but figured he didn’t need a lot of space. He’d seen some cozy apartments in Greenwich Village going for about a million dollars too much, but he supposed he should bite the bullet and just go for it.
He dialed his realtor. It was time to set up some tours.

*

Eiji hoped it would just be Max at the restaurant. While he knew he had to figure out some way to handle immigration if he didn’t want to go back to Canada—worse, Japan—he knew it’d be best if Max hadn’t found anyone for his ridiculous scheme.

He was in a taxi cab with Ibe, uncomfortable in dress pants and a dark red sweater. It was the first time in months he’d worn anything but loose sweats or gym shorts and he felt like he was wearing a costume. He tugged at the collar of the button-down shirt, wishing he’d thought to wash it before putting it on. It felt stiff and chemical and he didn’t want a rash. His new shoes rubbed his pinkie toe and he wanted to call it quits before they even reached the restaurant.

But no. This wasn’t just a dinner, another social obligation to endure and forget. If Max had actually found someone, the direction of his entire life might hinge on this meeting. If he bombed this, if he made such a bad impression that Max’s friend refused to help, he couldn’t very well expect Max and Ibe just to find some other willing candidate and try again until one stuck.

Be friendly. Be open. Smile. Eiji was hopelessly out of practice. His last few months in Toronto, he’d barely spoken to anyone, even Owen, and they spent hours together every day. Whatever was broken in Eiji’s jumping was broken in his spirit, too, and he didn’t know how to locate the wound, let alone mend it.

Tonight, he would hide that ache. He’d smile and laugh and be charming. And, if he was lucky, Max’s friend would be happy to help. Or, if he was really lucky, Max would tell him he’d found another way—something that didn’t involve marrying a total stranger.

The cab pulled up at the restaurant too soon. “This place looks posh,” Eiji murmured to Ibe as they got out. The deep plum awning over the door had single word stitched into it with gold thread. Roussillon. Eiji didn’t know what it meant. Toronto wasn’t the French part of Canada, so Eiji had never been pressed to learn it.

“It’s not as fancy as it seems,” Ibe whispered back. “I mean, the menu’s in English, at least.”

Max was waiting for them in the atrium. He was alone, poking at his cell phone with his index finger. Eiji breath caught in a mixture of relief and disappointment. The relief won out, and he smiled when Max glanced up at them.

“Shunichi! Eiji!” Max grinned and slid the phone into his pocket.

Ibe seemed just as relieved as Eiji to find Max on his own. “I’m glad you didn’t seriously invite anyone to meet us,” he told his friend. “We can find some legal way to settle things.”

“Oh, Ash is here someplace.” Max scanned the room and Eiji followed his gaze. Everyone else seemed to belong to other groups.

“Ash?” Ibe looked incredulous. “When you said you’d find someone, you meant Ash?”

Max looked sheepish. “He hasn’t agreed to anything yet,” he admitted. “I just thought that once he got a good look at Ei-chan here, he’d reconsider.” He elbowed Eiji suggestively. “Good looking guy like you might just turn his head.”

Eiji felt queasy. They were talking about Ash Lynx. He’d heard of Ash Lynx—he featured in most of Ibe’s New York stories from when he’d been caught up in something so dangerous that he couldn’t even call home—but it would be an understatement to say that Eiji hadn’t gotten the best impression. Clearly, Ibe was also skeptical.

Max said that Ash hadn’t even agreed to go along with it. Eiji clung to that, hoping that maybe it wouldn’t come up, that they’d have a normal dinner.

“He’s gonna be great for this,” Max was telling Ibe. “Trust me.”

“I wouldn’t trust Max as far as I can throw him, and with my scrawny arms, that’s not far.” The voice came from behind Eiji, startling them all.

Eiji turned. His breath left his lungs. It was the young man he’d seen in the park that morning—the one he’d unabashedly stared at. Eiji felt his face flush. The fact that he was also Ash Lynx was simultaneously absurd and, in hindsight, perfectly obvious.

“Hey,” Ash’s smirk broadened into a smile. “You’re the kid who can jump.” He reached out to shake Eiji’s hand—an uncomfortably formal gesture that felt out of place in Eiji’s jumbled mind. He swallowed hard, grateful that no one knew how many times Ash’s green eyes and lopsided grin had flickered through his mind that day.

Before Eiji could answer, Max broke in, laughing. “Of course, he can jump. He’s an Olympic medalist.”

Ash raised his eyebrows. Eiji hated this moment and its inevitable question. “Gold?”

Heat poured across Eiji’s neck. “Bronze,” he said, his stomach twisting. Before Tokyo, a bronze had seemed like an unattainable dream, but clearly it hadn’t been enough. Not for his father. Not even for total strangers, it seemed. “Pole vaulting.”

“Damn,” Ash shook his head. “That’s incredible. The most athletic thing I can manage is to press an elevator button.”

Reflexively, Eiji’s eyes scanned Ash’s body. His chest was broad and, he could tell through the pale blue dress shirt he wore, lightly muscled. Slim, but not skinny. Eiji could see he wasn’t an athlete—nothing like the jocks he’d always hung out with—but he seemed to be naturally fit. He was clearly selling himself very short.

When he glanced back up at Ash’s face, his sharp eyes were peering at him curiously. Eiji felt a blush creep up the back of his neck, mortified to be caught checking him out.

“You have no energy because you sleep all the time and eat like a bird,” Max grumbled.

“Maybe if you brought home food that wasn’t complete garbage—”

At that moment a young man in a tuxedo approached them. “Lobo, party of four?” he asked in a smooth voice.

Ash smirked at Max. “I upgraded our reservation,” he said. He reached out and straightened Max’s tie. “Look presentable, old man.”

Five minutes later, they were seated at an oval banquette table that faced a low stage where a blonde lady crooned a French song into a 1940s-era microphone. Eiji slid onto the curved bench seat, his fingers plunging deep into rose velvet upholstery. The light in the restaurant was dim; each table was lit by a fringed pendant lamp cloaked in a brocade shade. The effect made Eiji even more certain that the place was way too fancy for him.

Eiji sipped water from a stemmed glass, not quite sure how he was supposed to hold it. He’d ended up between Ibe and Ash. Max, on Ash’s far side, leaned across the table to talk with Ibe about what to order.

Eiji surreptitiously watched Ash navigate his menu. He seemed like a totally different person at the table, his long fingers paging through the wine list, a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. He leaned toward Max, apparently suggesting a bottle for the table. Max nodded without arguing, which seemed like a compliment to Ash.

Eiji looked down at his own menu, feeling like a complete idiot. Salmon en papillote? Lamb shank navarin? Escargot? He barely recognized anything. He’d never been so out of his element before—certainly not when his whole future was at stake.

“Do you like chicken?” Ash murmured in a voice so low that it took a moment for Eiji to realize he was talking to him.

“I do.”

“Try the coq au vin. The burgundy they use is particularly good.”

Eiji was startled by his kindness. “Thank you.”

Ash Lynx had been the leader of a particularly violent street gang once, according to Ibe’s stories. Eiji remembered that he’d been involved in some kind of mafia war that had gotten a lot of people—even high-profile politicians—killed.

He would’ve thought he’d be terrified, sitting next to someone with such a history of violence, but somehow, he wasn’t. He didn’t know how to explain it, but it was clear to Eiji that there was more to Ash Lynx than his past.

He remembered that first interaction he’d witnessed between Ash and Max. He’d been more like a child then, churlish and petulant—that boy was almost believable as a gang leader. But Eiji was having trouble reconciling that knowledge with the young man in front of him. Here, he matched the venue. He seemed born to the place, at home with elegance and wealth. This man had elegant manners and expensive tastes, judging by his car and elegant wool peacoat.

How did such a person end up sleeping on Max Lobo’s couch?

It seemed rude to try to talk while the lady was singing, so they were all quiet while they waited for their food. The waiter came out with wine—a deep red that he poured first for Max. In a show that even Eiji saw through, Max pretended he knew what he was doing, sniffing the drink cautiously before taking a sip. It was obvious that he had no idea, but he nodded appreciatively to the waiter nonetheless, and then they were each poured a drink.

Eiji wasn’t much of a drinker. In fact, other than celebratory champagne, he’d never had wine. He took a careful sip and was startled by the intensity of the flavor. Another sip sent a warm ribbon curling through his middle, and it was gratifying to concentrate on that for a while, rather than the young man beside him.

The singer performed two more songs before stepping down to light applause, and that’s when the food arrived. Eiji watched the servers—a man and two women in black tuxedos and white gloves—set plate after plate on the table. While they’d waited, Eiji finished his wine and had poured himself another glass, which he sipped now.

“How did you meet Max?” Eiji asked Ash as the servers walked away. Beside him, Ibe suddenly coughed into his napkin, apparently choking on his water.

Ash looked at Eiji, his expression neutral. “We were roommates,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “In prison.”

While Eiji wasn’t at all surprised to hear that Ash had spent some time behind bars, he glanced, startled, at Max. The older man nodded sheepishly. He’d have to ask Ibe about it later. Right now, he focused once more on Ash. “What were you in for?”

It came out sounding like something out of a gangster movie, and Eiji felt his cheeks flush, He didn’t really know how else to ask, though.

One golden eyebrow quirked up. Ash studied Eiji for a long moment, and Eiji tried not to squirm under his gaze. “Murder.” His tone was even, maybe even a touch heavy, like he was daring Eiji to react.

He had no intention of taking the bait. “Did you do it?” he asked instead, reaching as casually as he could manage for his wine glass. He took a sip, not breaking eye contact with Ash.

Eiji must’ve passed the test, because something quirked in the corner of Ash’s mouth. “Not that one.” The regret was obvious in his voice. Did he regret killing other people? Or did he simply regret not killing this one?

“Do you wish you had?” Eiji definitely hadn’t meant to ask that out loud. It was rude, and really, really personal. But now that he had, he needed to see it through. He carefully cut a bite of chicken, playing at nonchalance. “I mean, since you were in prison for it anyway?”

Ash blinked, startled into widening his eyes. Beside him, Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Eiji must’ve touched on something real, then.

To Eiji’s surprise, a short laugh tumbled out of the guy beside him. “Every day,” Ash said, shaking his head. “I’d say someone did me a favor, but I think I would’ve preferred to do it myself.”

Eiji took a moment to process that. He wondered what it would take to make him want to kill someone, to regret that he hadn’t been able to do it with his own hands. “That person must’ve been really terrible,” he said without thinking.

A cloud passed over Ash’s face as he remembered something obviously painful. “Yeah,” he said softly. “He was really, really, fucking terrible.”

“Then I’m glad he’s dead.”

Ash reached for his wine glass. Eiji watched his lips close over the crystal rim, watched his throat move as he took a deep swallow of wine. The rose-colored lamplight bathed Ash in shades of pink and gold, fuzzy around the edges from, Eiji realized, a bit too much wine. He looked at Eiji with those clear, jade eyes, and Eiji felt like maybe Ash was actually seeing him for the first time. “Me too.”

Scattered applause made pulled Eiji’s attention to the stage, where a muted trumpet started the sultry intro to a song that was familiar, but impossible for Eiji to place. This new singer was a throaty alto, and the French lyrics rolled out of her like cigarette smoke.

Eiji was glad for the excuse to stop talking, to stop looking at Ash. The food on his plate was exquisite, and it dulled the radiant warmth from the wine. He was happy to be there, sitting next to a man like Ash Lynx. He knew, of course, that Ash was not going to agree to help him get his immigration papers—ten minutes in the same room had made that pretty obvious—but he was glad just the same.

*

By the time they’d eaten all four courses and drank three bottles of wine between them, everyone was feeling pretty good. Or at least, that’s how it seemed to Ash, who was the only one who’d had only one drink. While Max was inside, settling the check, they’d come out to enjoy the cool night air, coats slung over their arms despite the autumn chill. Shunichi stood a distance away, pecking at his phone like an intoxicated hen, trying to order a cab to take him and Eiji home.

Eiji leaned against the iron pillar that held up the restaurant’s awning, his flushed cheeks turned up as he gazed at the glowing city above them. Beside him, Ash fished a cigarette from his coat pocket. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked, already reaching for the engraved Zippo he’d lifted from Blanca that last night before he’d returned to the Caribbean.

Eiji shook his head.

The flame flashed and the tobacco crackled as the initial flare faded to a smolder. Ash inhaled deeply, appreciating the way he felt instantly steadied by the routine of it. “I’m guessing you don’t smoke?” As a world-class athlete, there were probably a thousand things he couldn’t do, which went a long way to explain how quickly the wine had intoxicated him.

“I don’t,” Eiji acknowledged. “But I don’t mind. It reminds me of home.”

Ash couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not. Eiji’s face was unchanging—something in the cityscape obviously captivated him. “What do you see up there?” Ash asked at last.

“The light makes the angles more interesting,” Eiji murmured. His voice rocked like a boat on the tide—not the slur of a sloppy drunk, but melodically tipsy. Ash liked it. Eiji pointed up at a dark, sharply angled skyscraper, tracing a line with his finger. “Just look at that. I wish I had my camera.”

Shunichi had talked about photography over dinner, explaining to Ash and Max that he’d given Eiji his first camera years ago, when the boy was still in high school. “I thought he’d take a few pictures of cherry blossoms and forget about it,” he’d said. But Eiji had surprised him. He’d taken that camera everywhere. “A magazine in Japan published a spread of his taken during the Olympics in Tokyo,” Shunichi explained. “He’s really developed a unique perspective.”

That was the reason Eiji had given for staying in New York. Photography. Ash didn’t really get it. He could take pictures anywhere, couldn’t he? Why New York? Why not Toronto, or wherever he came from in Japan?

Now, Ash took another long drag on his cigarette, watching Eiji soak in the ambiance. “Are you really going to marry some random guy, just to stay here?” Ash hadn’t meant to ask. It wasn’t his business. Like, at all.

But Eiji shrugged. “I’m not going back to Toronto. I’m done with all of it—the Olympics, the pole vault, Owen, Canada.” Before Ash could ask about why, or who Owen was, Eiji continued. “And I’m not going back to Japan, either. I don’t have anything there. I don’t have anything in Toronto. So why not? Why not marry some random guy and not have anything here, too?”

It was profoundly sad, but Ash didn’t know how to comfort him. He wasn’t sure why he even wanted to. “Why New York?”

Eiji lifted his arms up and out, his hands encompassing the whole city. The gesture was broad and sloppy and yet it made perfect sense. There wasn’t another city like it in the whole rest of the world. “Why did you come to New York?” Eiji asked.

Unbidden, Ash’s mind flashed to his childhood, of wanting to find the polar opposite of his hometown on Cape Cod. Back then, he’d believed that nothing could’ve been worse than what he’d run from. “I had things to leave behind.”

“Then you understand.” Eiji sighed deeply. “I’m willing to do whatever I have to, to stay here.”

Ash was old friends with last-ditch efforts and desperate compromises. They sounded worth it at the time, but experience told him that they tended to betray you. “Just make sure it doesn’t turn out to be worse,” he said, partly to Eiji and partly to the kid he’d been, all those years ago.

Eiji’s gaze finally shifted away from the city, his dark eyes coming to rest on Ash. “It won’t. It can’t. I mean, is there anything worse than nothing at all?”

Ash knew the answer to that, but he wasn’t willing to say so.

Chapter Text

FOUR

“Ash?” Michael’s voice was small. “Can I talk to you?”

Ash looked up from his homework. Once again, Michael had gone straight to his room after school, this time even quieter than before. Now he stood in the doorway, looking young and pale. It was still hours before Max would be home, and every cell in Ash’s body suddenly heavy with dread. “Sure,” he said, trying to keep his voice cool. “Always.”

“I got the lead in the play.”

Ash felt a rush of pride, but was immediately alarmed by the flat tone of his announcement. “That’s not a good thing?”

Michael sighed and dropped onto the couch next to Ash. He pulled his knees up to his chin and sighed again. “I got the role of Austin—that’s Audrey, but gender-flipped—and it’s the part I really wanted but.” He sighed a third time. Ash didn’t like the sound of it. “I’m thinking of quitting.”

Fear clutched at Ash’s throat. He honestly couldn’t imagine what would make this kid quit a show. He swallowed hard, tried to keep his voice neutral. “Why would you want to quit?”

Michael curled up even tighter, pressing his head against his knees. “There’s someone,” he started, his voice muffled against his legs. “I mean, it’s been fine until now, but there’s someone I don’t think I can work with.”

Ash stood up. He paced across the small room and back, trying to control the rush of emotions this tiny confession brought to the surface. He concentrated on breathing, like the state-assigned therapist had taught him years ago. Breathe in. Breathe out. Let the fear go first. The rage would follow.

Shit. It wasn’t working.

He looked at Michael—so small and golden and so fucking small—and the fear crashed harder. He’d thought that he could use his own experience to help Michael. He’d warned him that a lot of grown-ups were completely untrustworthy, taught him a hundred red flags. Was it all for nothing? Was it possible that he couldn’t prevent his own fucked up history from repeating in Michael’s life?

Or was it proximity? Ash had been afraid, when Max said that Michael was moving in, that somehow it wouldn’t be safe for an innocent kid to get tangled up with him, as though his bad luck would rub off. But his therapist had told him, over and over, that Ash wasn’t cursed or contagious, and he’d started to believe her before their court-mandated time had run out. But what if she was wrong?

His fingers itched for his gun.

“Is it your drama teacher?” he asked, trying to keep his anger in check. He wanted to put his hands on Michael’s shoulders, to make him look up at him and tell him the truth, but touching had always been the wrong answer. “Did he do something to you?”

Michael peeked out from under his shaggy blond curls. “What?” His voice was totally normal, as if he’d forgotten that he was upset. But something in Ash’s expression must’ve scared him. His next words were alarmed. “Ash, what’s wrong with you? No one’s done anything to me!”

It was the truth. Ash could tell it was the truth. Thank God.

Shit.

He really was broken. He couldn’t look at any situation without twisting it into something perverted. He couldn’t recognize a normal kid-problem without conflating it with the nightmare he’d lived. Four years of therapy and he was just as fucked as before.

He sat back down on the couch, carelessly jostling his open textbook to the floor. The spine cracked. Broken. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He pressed his fists into his eyes until he saw lights. “Fuck, Michael, I’m sorry.”

The boy watched him with clear, blue eyes. He didn’t look scared anymore, but concern furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

The breathing trick was helping now. In. Out. In. Out.

He searched for five things he could see, listing them in his head: Michael, his chemistry book, Max’s sagging couch, sunlight streaming through the window, his glasses abandoned on the table.

Four things he could touch: the threadbare sofa arm, his socks against his feet against the dirty wood floor, the stickiness of sweat drying in his palms, the breeze coming from the heating vent.

Three things he could hear: his own breathing, city traffic beyond the window panes, the far-way roar of the boiler pushing air through the vents.

Two things he could smell: stale coffee and dust.

One thing he could taste: the lingering bitterness of coffee in his mouth.

The list hadn’t taken long, but Michael looked like he was about to freak out. “Yeah,” Ash told him. “I’m okay.”

The crease between Michael’s brows didn’t go away, but he nodded shortly. “I’m glad.”

For a long time they sat together, silent, until Ash felt normal enough to talk again. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Remember how I told you that my life was pretty fucked up before I met your dad?” Michael nodded solemnly. “That shit kind of highjacks my thinking sometimes.”

“I get it,” Michael said. “Sometimes I’m sure my friends are mad at me, even when they’re not. Brains are weird.”

Brains were definitely weird. “Is that what’s bothering you now?” Ash asked, glad to have a pivot for the conversation. “Are your friends mad at you for getting the part?”

“No way! They’re really happy. But.” Michael’s cheeks bloomed red—he looked like Jessica, but he blushed like Max. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

Holy shit. Was that what this was about? Ash was absolutely the wrong person for Michael to choose to have this conversation with. But at least this seemed to be a girl problem. Undoubtedly, a very age-appropriate girl problem.

“Sure,” he said, ignoring the fact that the only girl he’d ever wanted to kiss died before he’d gotten the chance. The realization that he’d been about Michael’s age at the time was not lost on him, and he tried to remember her, tried to remember what it was like to want. “Is there a girl in the play that you want to kiss?”

Michael shook his head emphatically, but then stopped and made a confused face. “I don’t think so, but maybe?” He dropped his head onto the arm of the couch—frustration or perhaps embarrassment. “My friend Kaylee is going to play Simone—the girl version of Seymour. As Austin, I have to kiss her.”

“Is that a problem?” If he kinda-maybe-sorta wanted to kiss her anyway, it seemed to Ash that this could be a low-stakes way to explore that.

“Of course it’s a problem!” Michael lifted his head to glare at Ash. “Kaylee and Xavier Williams have been going together since seventh grade!”

“Are you afraid Xavier will want to fight, or something?” If this was it, then maybe Ash could help after all. He didn’t relish teaching the kid to fight, but he guessed Michael would have to learn how to protect himself at some point. “I can teach you a few moves.”

“I don’t want to fight Xavier,” Michael said, his voice going quieter with every word. “I want—” He cut off abruptly, looking down at his fingers. He’d picked the cuticles raw, and one was starting to bleed.

Oh.

If this was what Ash thought it was, it was completely unexpected. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to say something that would send Michael into retreat. “Xavier—he’s a good friend of yours?”

Michael nodded, but he looked miserable.

“And you don’t want to kiss Kaylee because you don’t want to mess up your friendship?”

Michael nodded again. “It’s confusing,” he mumbled. “Because Kaylee is really pretty and I liked her before, but—”

“But you like Xavier more?”

Michael went still, not answering, barely even breathing.

“Has Max or Jessica ever talked to you,” Ash started carefully, “about what it means to be gay?”

Michael looked up at him in an indignant rush. His cheeks were stained with his embarrassment, but a look almost like disdain twisted his lips. “I know about being gay, Ash. I figured out two years ago that I must be bisexual, all right?”

“Okay, okay. That’s good.” Ash was vaguely bemused by the sophistication of this young generation, but he knew this would be the worst time to be flippant.

“But being bisexual doesn’t mean that I’m okay with kissing the girl who kisses the boy I like!!” Michael was past being mortified and was starting to get upset again. “I’m not jealous of Kaylee—I swear, I think they’re great together. I just want—” he broke off, fiercely tearing a new gash into the cuticle of his left thumb. “I don’t want anything to happen that might bring stuff up. They’re my best friends.”

This was so far removed from anything that Ash had prepared himself for that it took him a while to process it. Michael was not being abused. He had a crush on his co-star, and also his co-star’s boyfriend. He was fine with being bisexual, but was maybe torn up about the objects of his affection finding out?

“Look kid, you’re still pretty young.” Outrage flashed across Michael’s face and Ash hurried to clarify. “I’m not saying that you’re too young to understand your own feelings—anyone who tells you that is either out of touch or a bastard or both. But the truth is, you don’t have to understand them right now. You have plenty of time for that.”

Michael blew a frustrated breath out of his mouth, but he nodded. “That doesn’t make me feel any better about kissing Kaylee,” he reminded Ash.

“Is Xavier in the play?” Surely the boyfriend would understand—Michael went to a very artsy school, and theater was just part of their world.

“No.” Michael shook his head. “He’s a musician. Not a singer—he plays the cello.”

“But he’s cool about theater—like, he knows that someone is going to kiss his girl in the show, right?”

“Yeah. He went to the audition with us. He was pretty excited that we both got leads.”

“See? It’ll be weird to have to kiss Kaylee during the show, but Xavier understands that it’s just acting.”

Michael nodded, but the frustration on his face didn’t change. He was quiet for a long moment, picking his nails and working out how this related to his problem. Ash recognized that kind of processing—when he was a kid it took him ages to work out what he actually felt about almost any situation.

“It’s not about how Xavier feels, though,” Michael said at last. “It’s about me. About how I might feel, kissing Kaylee and knowing that Xavier is in the audience, watching.”

The maturity in Michael’s tone took Ash’s breath away. This kid was really doing the emotional labor of understanding himself and his own sexuality. A part of him envied Michael the freedom and strength to really evaluate his feelings like that. A larger part was unsettled by the entire conversation.

“Look,” Ash told him. “It really boils down to this: You worked hard to nail that audition. Do you think you deserve the role?”

“Yeah,” Michael admitted.

“Then, instead of giving up what you want, maybe talk to Kaylee. Tell her you think it’ll be weird to do the kiss and maybe the two of you can come up with some kind of solution. Or maybe just talking about it will help.”

“I can’t tell her how I feel about Xavier.”

“Absolutely not. This is between you and Kaylee. Two actors working out a difficult scene. It doesn’t have to be any more than that.” Ash could see Michael visibly calming down, and he reached out to put his hand on the kid’s head. It was comforting, feeling his warm hair beneath his palm, feeling connected to someone in such a harmless way. “Does that help?”

Michael nodded. “Hey, Ash?” he looked up at Ash, his blue eyes big and entreating. “Don’t tell Dad, okay? I’m not ready for all that yet.”

Max had a hard time accepting that Michael was old enough to tie his own shoes—he definitely wasn’t ready to hear the word bisexual coming out of the kid’s mouth. There was no way Ash wanted to be the one to let a secret like that slip. “No problem.”

*

Eiji’s phone vibrated insistently, and a matching tremor of anxiety made its way up his spine. He didn’t want to answer. He already knew it was Owen. His coach had called him nonstop at first, then switched to texting when Eiji continued to ignore him. Now, it seemed, he was back to phone calls. Eiji had been in New York over three weeks now, certainly long enough for Owen to accept that Eiji had meant what he said.

He slid the phone from his pocket. It buzzed in his hand, Owen’s name bright across the screen. Maybe it would be best just to get it over with? Eiji heaved a sigh and accepted the call. “Owen.” He didn’t know how else to greet the man. Everything that needed to be said between them had been in his letter.

“Eiji! Thank God! Where the hell are you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Eiji looked out the window at the slate grey sky. It looked like it could rain at any time, but the light had an otherworldly quality that he suddenly wanted to capture. “I’m not coming back.”

Owen laughed. He’d always had a kindly laugh. It was the kind of laugh that could make someone want to know him, that could make someone move to the other side of the world because he’d sounded like someone who had your best interests at heart. Like someone genuine. But now his laugh sounded condescending. “Eiji,” he said, his voice placating. “You don’t mean that. You just have the Olympic jitters, that’s all.”

Jitters? Was that all he saw? The jitters didn’t explain Eiji’s complete lack of joy in competing. They didn’t explain why he’d started fantasizing about falling, about broken bones, and career-ending injuries. Jitters definitely didn’t cover the coolness he’d sensed from Owen those last months, the barely-masked disappointment when Eiji’s practice performance didn’t climb a steady path upward.

“This is the most critical period in your training,” Owen was saying. “It’s absolutely not the time for tantrums!”

“You think this is a tantrum?” Eiji demanded.

“I think you’re being hysterical,” Owen said flatly. “I think you’re making the mistake of a lifetime because you let the pressure get under your skin. I think you should grow the fuck up and get back here where you belong.”

“I’m done.” Eiji pressed his forehead against the cool window. “Please don’t call me again.”

He hung up and tossed the phone onto his bed. His hands were shaking. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. Owen would’ve had to stop trying eventually—Eiji wondered how much training he’d have to miss before his former coach gave up on his ability to win.

Because that’s all this was. Owen wanted an Olympic gold.

If he doesn’t bring home gold in Paris, he can find another coach.

He’d overheard his coach on the phone one morning in early October, when Owen had thought Eiji was in the gym, training. The words were sharp and cold. Eiji felt like he’d been doused with ice water.

Owen had only four students. Eiji was the only one who was going to Paris.

He’d been trying. He’d been shoving away all the intrusive thoughts, he’d been pushing his body to its limits. There was no one else to win gold for, so Eiji had decided to win it for Owen. Owen, who had always supported him. Owen, who had sometimes felt more like a father than Eiji’s own father.

Eiji knew he couldn’t let himself dwell on it. Owen’s shitty attitude only accelerated the process for him, after all. His love for the sport was mortally wounded years ago, in that hospice room where his father had shriveled into the worst version of himself. The years after that were simply its slow, agonized death throes.

“Eiji?” Hana rapped twice on the half-open door. “Can you run to the store for me?”

She’d braided the long waterfall of her hair, and Eiji noticed she’d put on a nice sweater and earrings. Her pants, however, were flannel with a Hello Kitty print. “You have work?” She was on sort of an unofficial maternity leave, working from home until the baby came. Then she’d be on real maternity leave, he guessed. She was due in about a week.

The whole thing made Eiji very nervous.

“My boss called an emergency meeting. Thank God for Zoom.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “However, I’m absolutely desperate for perogies.”

“Perogies?” Eiji wasn’t 100% sure he knew what those were. Some kind of dumpling maybe? “You’ll have to tell me where to get them.” He didn’t mind running an errand. He liked Hana, and it was only fair that he did what he could for her, given that he had crashed into her life without warning. Besides, he was itching to get outside and do something. Anything.

“There’s a place called Little Poland on 2nd Avenue.” She handed him a bundle of folded bills wrapped in a post-it with the address. “There’s a list of my favorites on the back. You’d be my hero if you would get me some.”

Eiji plugged the directions into his phone and grabbed Hana’s bike—unused since the previous summer—from the storage closet by the door. By the time he got out to the street, the grey sky had become ominous. He checked his phone. He could probably get there and back in less than thirty minutes. He hoped the downpour would wait.

He got all the way to Little Poland, bought the food on the list, and was on his way back before his luck ran out.

Eiji was pedaling through a park on the corner of 10th and 2nd when the sky opened up. The rain was shockingly cold, soaking through Eiji’s clothes in moments. He hurried to tuck the paper into the limited shelter of his jacket, scanning the area for some kind of overhang or pergola.

The park was too tiny for structures, but a building with a low, sheltered entry flanked one end. Eiji cruised his bike through the open gate, through something that looked like it would be a beautiful garden, come spring, and came to a stop beneath the columned overhang.

He wasn’t the only one taking shelter there. An older woman leaned against one column, talking loudly into her phone over the roar of the sudden deluge. Further back, a pair of young men sat together on a bench with a red-headed girl. They huddled close together, watching a video on a phone.

One man was turned in a way so he mostly faced Eiji. The first thing Eiji noticed was that he was wearing sunglasses, even in the dark of the rainstorm. His hair was swept up in a striking mohawk. The girl in the middle was holding the phone, her shoulders hunched in a denim jacket covered in colorful patches. Her hair was a riot of fire-engine-red curls, buzzed on one side to expose a row of earrings up one ear. Both were interesting, but they weren’t the ones who’d caught Eiji’s attention. The man with his back angled toward Eiji had the same shaggy blond hair as Ash Lynx.

A week had passed since that dinner with Max and Ash. The wine had gone to Eiji’s head, leaving his memory blurred and muffled. But he remembered the cold night air, the incandescent glow of the city around them as they waited for their cabs. They’d talked, he remembered, though he was less clear about what had been said.

Later, in the taxi back to Ibe’s apartment, Eiji had been warm with alcohol and the feeling that they’d connected. The next day, he’d been in a constant state of expectation, and it wasn’t until after noon that he realized he’d been waiting for his phone to ring, never mind that they hadn’t exchanged numbers.

Looking at that blond head now, he was acutely aware of how embarrassing it was to feel like that. At his age, a one-sided crush was mortifying.

Behind that mortification, however, bubbled something effervescent. How long had it been since he’d felt anything that wasn’t colored by dread or indecision? Maybe he could allow this feeling, enjoy it while it lasted?

“Eiji?”

Eiji’s attention snapped outward once more, his cheeks coloring as he realized he’d been caught staring by the man himself, who turned out to be Ash Lynx after all. Eiji immediately wondered what his face had given away. The guy with the mohawk and the girl turned to look, expressions curious.

“Ash!” Surprise and embarrassment made his voice pitch too high. “Hi!”

Ash strode toward him, his hands in the pockets of a leather bomber jacket. “I didn’t expect to see you way out here,” he said. “Aren’t you staying at Shunichi’s?”

Eiji pulled the bag out of his jacket, showing the logo to Ash. “Hana wanted perogies,” he explained.

“And when a pregnant woman is hungry, you don’t ask questions,” Ash said. “How far along is she now? She must be due any day?”

“In a week or two, I think.”

The mohawk-guy leaned over Ash’s shoulder, grinning. “Your girl about to have a kid?” he asked. His voice was excited, like he approved of kids. Or girlfriends. Or maybe he was just friendly?

Either way, it flustered Eiji. He shook his head, waving his hands emphatically. “No, no!” he protested. “It’s not mine! I mean, she’s not mine! I mean—”

“Hana is Shunichi’s wife,” Ash cut in, elbowing his friend. “Didn’t you fucking go to their wedding?”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up over the rims of his sunglasses. “You’re a friend of Shunichi’s?” he asked enthusiastically. “Man, I haven’t seen him in ages. Since what? Max’s book party?’ He glanced at Ash for confirmation. “How the hell is he?”

Ash sighed, but Eiji thought it seemed good-natured. “Eiji, this is Shorter Wong. Shorter, Eiji Okumura. He’s a recent transplant from Japan.”

“Via Canada,” Eiji hurried to add. He was not interested in a conversation about how good his English was.

A sharp squeal interrupted whatever Shorter had been about to say, and suddenly the girl squeezed between Shorter and Ash. “Eiji Okumura?” Her voice squeaked over his last name. “Like, the champion pole vaulter, Eiji Okumura?”

“Um,” Eiji didn’t know how to meet this girl’s enthusiasm. She was tiny—barely 150 cm, Eiji guessed—but her presence felt huge. She’d wrapped one arm around Shorter’s waist and gazed up at Eiji with something like reverence. He looked into her round, pretty face, and swallowed hard. This wasn’t weird at all. “Um, yeah. I am.”

“Holy fuck!” She grabbed Ash’s arm. “Holy fucking Cheez-its, Ash! You know Eiji Okumura?”

Ash’s face was impassive, but he allowed himself to be jostled aggressively by this very small woman. “Apparently,” he said blandly, and now Eiji could hear the hint of humor in it. “Eiji, meet Sunny Wu.”

She whipped out a hand to shake, so Eiji took it. “Good to meet you,” he said, flustered. “It’s good to meet you both.”

“How do you know Ash?” Sunny demanded, shaking hard and not letting go. “And what are you doing in New York? Aren’t you training in Toronto right now?”

“Easy, easy.” Shorter put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her away. “Sorry about my girlfriend. She’s an Olympics junkie. Learns the top players and stats of basically every sport.” He put one hand on her head, his fingertips lost in her curls. “It’s usually cute.”

Eiji smiled, hoping he looked more friendly than alarmed. He’d met people like that before—people who loved the sport enough to see him as some kind of minor celebrity. It was usually unnerving, but there was something about Sunny’s friendly grin that made him think she was okay. “I’m visiting the city for a while,” he told her. He wasn’t ready to announce his retirement yet, so he hoped she wouldn’t press.

“Welcome to New York,” Shorter said with a little flourish. “I’m glad you have more friends in town that just this guy. With Ash as your tour guide, you’ll probably see only the shittiest neighborhoods.”

Eiji didn’t know what to say to Shorter’s assumption that he and Ash were actually friends. Or even that they had spent any time at all together. He looked at Ash. Not hoping for help, exactly, but to see what he thought of the situation.

Ash looked…wistful.

That expression—not soft exactly, but soft at its edges—nearly pulled Eiji’s insides apart. It made him think of homesickness and feeling lonely in crowds.

“I should get these to Hana before they get cold,” he said, suddenly desperate to be gone. He nodded at Shorter and Sunny. “It was very nice to meet you both. And good to see you again, Ash.” He knew he sounded like an overly-formal Japanese grandmother, and he caught himself just before executing a reflexive bow.

“Wait.” Something in Ash’s voice made it impossible for him to do otherwise. Ash lifted the flap of his messenger bag and pulled out something white. “A plastic bag,” he said, nodding to the paper sack of perogies that Eiji held. “So they don’t get wet if the rain soaks your jacket.”

It was a very considerate gesture, and Eiji found himself smiling into Ash’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said, taking it from him. “Hana will appreciate it.” So do I, a voice in his head added, but Eiji felt like he’d already said too many things.

He wrapped up the take-out bag and tucked it back into his jacket. Shorter grinned at him as he got back onto his bike. “Tell Shunichi I said ‘hey.’”

The deluge had worn itself out quickly, but it was still a steady, cold rain as Eiji pedaled back across town. He had a long way to go and the water was like ice against his flushed cheeks, but the contrast was soothing.

*

Hana’s baby came early.

Three days after Eiji got her perogies, Hana’s water broke while she and Ibe were making lunch in the kitchen. There was a mad flurry of gathering important baby things and calling a cab, and Eiji was relieved that it had happened on a Saturday, when Ibe was home.

Ibe didn’t seem to be a lot of help, however, forgetting where the suitcase was—right next to the door—and being suddenly unable to speak enough English to direct the taxi to their apartment. Hana plucked the phone from him and gave the address, hanging up just as a contraction drew a sharp cry. Ibe put his arm around her, murmuring something low and soothing.

The look of love and joy on their faces made Eiji feel like a voyeur. “I’ll just stay here,” he offered as their cab pulled up outside. “I don’t want to be underfoot, and I can come tomorrow to meet the baby.” Neither parent seemed terribly concerned about Eiji, so it was agreed and they dashed out the door.

The silence that followed felt empty.

Eiji turned off the stove and mopped the kitchen floor, and then, because he didn’t have much else to do, he loaded the dishwasher and started a load of laundry. He scrolled through Netflix as he waited for either to finish, not really looking for anything to watch.

He knew he was well and truly bored when he wandered over to the built-in bookcase at the back of the living room. His eyes scanned, unseeing, over most of the titles, pausing to read the words only when the spine was a nice color or the font was particularly interesting. A bright yellow cover on the top shelf caught his eye, and Eiji pulled the book down. A Perfect Day for Banana Fish. The author photo on the back showed a version of Max Lobo that Eiji hadn’t met—better-dressed and somehow more civilized than the man Eiji knew.

Eiji had never been an enthusiastic reader, but his curiosity about Ash Lynx drove him to the sofa with this particular book. He tried reading the introduction, but lost the thread of it quickly. He’d never quite gotten the knack for serious reading in English. He skipped ahead to the first chapter—a chapter that seemed to be about Ash finding the mysterious drug in the first place.

A long time later, the phone rang.

The room had gotten dim, the sun low enough that it was blocked by the man-made horizon of skyscrapers. Eiji blinked, suddenly aware that he’d been straining his eyes to read, swept up by the story Max had told.

The phone rang again. It wasn’t his phone, but the landline that sat on the kitchen counter like an artifact from another era. Eyeing it warily, Eiji stood. It felt strange to answer Ibe’s landline, though he supposed it was probably Ibe himself, eager to share good news.

“Hello?” he asked. “Ibe-san?”

“It’s Ash.”

“Ash!” Eiji’s face pulled into a grin despite himself. “Hana is having her baby. Ibe took her to the hospital earlier.”

“Max told me,” Ash said. Eiji thought he detected a matching smile in his voice. “Shunichi said you’d been left all alone, so I thought I’d invite you to dinner.”

Everything inside Eiji fluttered in joyous panic. He wanted to say yes, but was afraid to sound eager. In Japan, eagerness was rudeness. “Would it be okay?” he asked, tripping over his own tongue. “I mean, Ibe might call.”

“Bring your phone, then.” Ash insisted. “If the baby comes, we’ll bail early. Nadia won’t mind.”

Nadia? The name dampened the effervescence in his stomach. Eiji almost asked who she was, but decided it was none of his business. “I don’t want to intrude,” he protested.

“I want you to,” Ash said easily. “Just say yes.”

How did he sound different every time Eiji spoke to him? Ash sounded almost buoyant right then. Was it the promise of a new baby? Was it because of Nadia? Or was it that he simply wanted Eiji to come out with him?

“Yes,” Eiji said, almost too eager, almost reluctant.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes,” Ash said.

Eiji looked down at his warm-up pants and hoodie. “Wait!” he cried before Ash could hang up. “What should I wear?”

“I don’t know.” Ash’s voice tipped lower. Confused? Irritated? “Wear whatever you want.”

“Okay.” Eiji was quick to agree. “I’ll be ready.”

Besides the outfit he’d worn to their dinner, Eiji didn’t have much more than hoodies and t-shirts, though he did have some decent jeans. He put on a pair with a clean t-shirt, then stopped the dryer just before the buzzer sounded. Ibe had a sweater in there—chocolate brown and made of some kind of soft yarn. Eiji hoped Ibe didn’t mind him borrowing it.

As he ran the electric razor over his chin and applied a splash of aftershave, Eiji reminded himself that this wasn’t a date. It was a pity dinner at best. With a woman named Nadia, no less. Still, he found himself smiling as he ran his fingers through his hair.

He was going to see Ash Lynx again.

Chapter Text

FIVE

Eiji was waiting outside when Ash’s car pulled up. He’d seen it the one time before, but now that he was expected to ride in it, he noticed how shockingly expensive it looked. The passenger door opened like no other door Eiji had ever seen, sliding smoothly upward as Eiji walked toward the car. Inside, Ash cocked his head, motioning for Eiji to hop in.

Eiji tumbled into the low-to-the-ground sports car and found the button that made the door come down again, latching with a click. The charcoal grey upholstery was already warm, and the bucket seat seemed to fold around him like it was holding him in a tender embrace.

“What kind of car is this?” Eiji asked. He’d never owned a car, though he used to drive his father’s Toyota, back in Izumo. Owen had also had a Japanese car—a Honda Civic. This was a different species entirely, like alien technology.

“It’s a Maserati,” Ash said, watching Eiji’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

“I’ve never been in an Italian car,” Eiji told him. “It’s amazing.”

When Eiji reverently lifted a hand to touch the dashboard, Ash’s lips quirked. “It’s definitely an experience,” he said, “but I love it ‘cause it’s fast.”

As if to demonstrate, he threw the car into gear and roared down the quiet street. Eiji, who was still trying to buckle his seat belt, fumbled for an extra moment before finally fastening it. The dash lights glowed blue and the sound system played frenzied classical music.

“Mozart?” Eiji asked. He didn’t know why this music surprised him—he barely knew Ash—but somehow it wasn’t what Eiji had been expecting.

“His pace is good for driving.”

Eiji didn’t argue, but he wasn’t sure any pace would match the aggressively fast start-and-stop style of Ash Lynx’s driving. Ash kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting cooly on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift. He seemed determined to get the speedometer over 50, despite the dictates of the much slower traffic. Still, Eiji wasn’t afraid, even when it looked like Ash might careen into other vehicles, mostly because Ash’s expression never changed. He was steady like they were taking a leisurely drive in the countryside.

“Where are we going?” Eiji asked. They’d driven past the blocks that Eiji was familiar with, onto shabby avenues where graffiti covered walls and grates and even windows. “Are we meeting your friend at a restaurant?”

“Nah. Nadia has a bakery, but it’s closed for the night. Her apartment is upstairs, though. We’re going there.”

Instead of wondering again who Nadia was and what her relationship with Ash might be, Eiji imagined photographing this area. He liked the gritty look of the neighborhood, the tired businesses and overgrown lots.

They paused at a corner, waiting for a light, and Eiji watched as a girl sprayed bright yellow paint across the white door of a parked police car. ACAB, she scrawled across the driver’s side, yellow rivulets of overspray sliding down to speckle the asphalt below. The girl was gone before the light even changed, running down a dark alley before the cops returned to find her work.

“What’s it mean?” Eiji asked when he noticed that Ash, too, had been watching her.

“All cops are bastards,” Ash explained ruefully. “Generally true, but there are still some good guys on the force.” The light changed and Ash hit the accelerator. “Max used to be a cop.”

“He was one of the good ones?”

Ash barked out a laugh. “Max is one of the bastards,” he corrected. There was fondness in his voice, though, and so Eiji wasn’t sure he meant it. Or maybe he liked bastards. Either way, there wasn’t any malice in the way Ash said it.

It was nearly full dark by the time Ash pulled into a parking space on a tired-looking street. Eiji watched in wonder as the doors lifted open in perfect unison, like some kind of spacecraft, rather than a car at all. Eiji climbed out and watched as Ash rummaged in the darkness behind the driver’s seat—there was no back seat in this car—and pulled out a slim, dark green box.

“I didn’t get a hostess gift!” Eiji realized, dismayed. Though there had been no real opportunity, short of rummaging through Ibe’s cabinets.

Ash looked bemused. “It’s not that kind of dinner.”

Eiji wasn’t buying it. It seemed to him that meeting Ash’s friend for the first time by coming to dinner at her house was exactly that kind of dinner. “You have one, though?” He asked, nodding toward the package.

“This?” he asked. “This is just chocolate.” He looked genuinely confused.

Were all Americans this exasperating, or was Ash Lynx special? “Is there a convenience store nearby?” Eiji asked, checking his pocket for his wallet. He didn’t want to show up with a corner- store gift, but it was better than nothing.

“Take mine.”

Something in Eiji’s face must’ve remained skeptical, because Ash ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Max’s boss gave them to him,” Ash explained, looking at the box. “He didn’t want them and I didn’t want them, but Nadia likes this sort of thing.” He looked embarrassed. “Look, it’s literally never occurred to me to bring her something just because I’m coming for dinner, and that’s kind of—” he cut off, looking self-conscious. “Well, it’s kind of shitty. I see that now.”

Now Eiji felt bad. Did his mother never teach him manners, or was this how things were done here? Even in Canada, bringing a gift when you were a guest at someone’s house was a thing, though usually it was just a case of beer or something. “You should be nicer to your girlfriends,” Eiji said at last, hoping that teasing him would decompress the mood.

Ash’s eyes went wide. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he protested, sounding exactly like a thirteen-year-old kid.

A bubble of laughter burst from Eiji. Ash glared at him over the sports car, indignant. But after a moment, his scowl melted into something more like amusement. “Seriously, she’s not,” he reiterated, walking around the car and shoving the box into Eiji’s hands. “She’s Shorter’s sister.”

The explanation sent a wave of warm relief through Eiji’s body. He glanced down at the chocolates and recognized the gold embossed logo on the ribbon. “These are Japanese,” he said, too startled to come across as anything but dumbfounded. It was a box of fancy champagne chocolates. “They’re really expensive. Are you sure Max doesn’t want them?”

Ash shrugged. “He said give ‘em to Nadia, so that’s what we’re doing. Come on.”

He led the way across the street toward what must’ve been Nadia’s bakery. It was closed for the night, but through the window, Eiji could see curved glass display cases, marble counters, and a chalkboard menu with handwritten options. White café tables graced the window where the name Short & Sweet was painted in pale green script.

A sturdy door painted the same green stood next to the bakery, demarking the space between it and what seemed to be a 24-hour deli. “This way,” Ash murmured.

“Does she own the building?” As soon as he asked, Eiji felt foolish. This was Manhattan. People didn’t just own their buildings. “Of course not. Sorry.”

“Actually, it’s mine,” Ash said.

Eiji stopped to gape up at him in astonishment. “You own this?”

Ash waved the question away. “It’s an investment,” he said dismissively. He walked up to the door and pressed one of three call buttons. “It’s me,” he intoned into the microphone even before anyone could answer.

“I’ll be right down,” a cheerful voice answered.

A willowy Asian woman with a pixie cut opened the door. Nadia, Eiji realized. Shorter Wong’s sister, he reminded himself as she wrapped her arms around Ash’s neck. Not Ash’s girlfriend.

Eiji stood back, fidgeting with the box of chocolates. “This is my friend, Eiji Okumura,” Ash said as soon as he stepped out of her embrace. “Eiji, this is Nadia Wong.”

“Welcome!” She ushered them inside and up a flight of dim stairs. “I’m so excited to meet one of Ash’s friends!”

“Sorry for showing up, uninvited,” Eiji said as they reached her apartment.

“Ash called to let me know he’d be bringing you,” Nadia assured him. “He’s never brought anyone over before, so we’ve been on pins and needles!”

Eiji offered her the slim green box. “These are Japanese chocolates—I was surprised to see them in New York.”

She looked at the label and raised an eyebrow. “Royce’?” a smile crept over her face. “You went all the way to Midtown?”

“It’s from both of us,” Eiji said, and it felt like a lie. Like it suggested a relationship between them that wasn’t there, and embarrassed panic started to bubble in his chest. “And also, Max Lobo. You know Max, right?”

He slammed his mouth shut to prevent more apologetic babble from spilling out. It used to frustrate Owen, how much Eiji apologized. Stop making yourself small, he used to scold. Nadia didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, however, and Eiji’s gaze slid over to the man beside him.

Ash Lynx was definitely hiding a smile.

*

Ash was well-fed and content. Neither was typical for him, so he sat back on the chair by the window and for a long moment, simply enjoyed it. Nadia’s small living room was warm and familiar, and just now, it was crowded with people he cared about.

Her dinners were a long-standing tradition. The menu was always different and the guest list revolved through her seemingly endless cache of friends and relatives, but Ash was always invited. At first, he’d thought he’d been an obligation—Ash was the one who’d saved her brother’s life, the one who helped her open her bakery—of course she’d feel like she needed to repay some of that.

After a while, though, Ash realized that there was more to it. Back when Ash was a skinny, angry kid, Shorter always stuck by him, bringing him to Chang Dai when he needed food, dragging him upstairs to play Mario Kart and watch DVDs when he needed normalcy. Nadia had allowed it all. Welcomed him. She’d simply accepted him as part of the family.

He owed her so much—it was his fault she’d lost Chang Dai, after all, and he’d almost gotten Shorter killed. But Nadia never let Ash take any of the blame for the way things had turned out. She simply welcomed him into her comfortable world again and again.

Ash shook his head. The drinks Shorter had mixed for them after dinner must’ve been more potent than they’d seemed. Ash was almost never sentimental, and right then he felt like writing fucking poetry.

He glanced across the room at Eiji. He seemed to be having a good time. Sunny had somehow talked him into a tarot reading, and they sat at the table, going over the spread of cards in front of them.

Sunny had tripped into fangirl mode again when they first showed up. She’d gazed at Eiji with a beatific glow while Ash introduced him to Charlie and Zoey. “I can’t believe we’re having dinner with the best pole vaulter in the entire world,” she’d said.

Eiji looked abashed. “Thank you,” he said, still shaking Charlie’s hand. “But Armand Duplantis is the best in the world. Not me.”

Sunny gaped at him. “No way,” she protested. “Paris is yours. 100%!”

Ash had seen the urge to disagree rising up under Eiji’s skin, watched him push it down with a pleasant smile before Nadia called them all to the table. Ash didn’t need to know Eiji’s reasons for not wanting to compete to understand that it wasn’t easy to talk about.

But now that they’d chatted through dinner, it seemed that Eiji and Sunny had become friends. Ash watched Eiji pick up a card and study it while Sunny explained what it meant. At first, Ash had thought Eiji was just being polite about it, but now he leaned across the table, listening intently to whatever she was telling him.

“Your friend is an Olympian, huh? That’s pretty cool.” Zoey, who turned out to be Charlie’s cousin, not his niece, perched on the arm of Ash’s chair. He shifted, uncomfortable with the proximity. Unsurprisingly, she’d ended up next to him at the dinner table, and she’d made every effort to monopolize his attention. He wished she wouldn’t.

Zoey followed Ash’s gaze to Eiji and Sunny and smiled. “Maybe she’ll foresee gold next year.”

Ash didn’t actually know why Eiji was walking away from pole vaulting, but he thought he understood something about him from their conversation after last week’s dinner. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” he said. Eiji didn’t strike him as the sort of man who changed his mind, once he’d made it up.

Zoey laughed. “So mean!” she said, though her tone suggested she was delighted. “You don’t think your friend can win?” She shoved playfully at his shoulder, and Ash had the unsettled realization that he was being flirted with.

“He’s kind of a shortie, so I get it,” she continued. “And Charlie said he got bronze last time.” She pulled a fake-sympathetic face, as if a bronze medal in the fucking Olympics was something to be ashamed of.

Ash had thought she was pretty enough before, but not so much now.

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking back toward the table. Nadia had come by to refill drinks, and Eiji said something to make her smile. He looked pointedly at Zoey. “I imagine you are an exceptional—what’d you say you do again?”

“I’m a dancer.” He might’ve imagined it, but she seemed to flex her spine at the word, sitting up straighter. Perkier.

“Riiiight. You’re in the cast of Wicked.”

“You remembered!” She leaned closer, putting her hand on his bicep and giving it a squeeze. God, he needed Nadia to stop setting him up like this.

“So, you may be an exceptional chorus girl,” he said, enjoying her indignant jolt at the label. “But are you among the top talents in the world? If there was some kind of international dance off, would you come in third?”

Zoey stiffened. “Probably not,” she admitted, smiling tightly.

“Didn’t think so.” He looked again at Eiji, who was laughing at something with Sunny and Nadia. “Eiji has already done something that almost no one in the world can do. Being snide about it makes you look small.”

Ash stood up abruptly, unbalancing the chair so she had to lurch to her feet. “It was nice meeting you, Zoey, but I don’t think this”—he motioned between the two of them—“is gonna work out. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

Before she could protest or say anything at all, Ash strode across the room and into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, relieved to have his personal space bubble back. He wondered if Charlie would be pissed, but immediately realized he didn’t give a fuck either way.

A moment later, Shorter stepped through the doorway with an empty beer bottle. “What’s up with Zoey?” he asked, opening the fridge for a fresh beer. “She just told Charlie that she was leaving.”

Ash plucked the bottle from Shorter’s fingers and popped the cap with the bottle opener on the counter. “Professional insecurities. Someone reminded her that she’s mediocre as shit.”

Shorter grinned all the way to his canines. “You’re brutal.”

“Only when cornered,” Ash countered.

Shorter grabbed another bottle and for a long moment, they simply drank together in silence. Ash was able to let his irritation fall away. He’d always felt the most himself when it was just him and Shorter.

“Sunny really likes Eiji,” Shorter said after a while. “I mean, more than the pole-vaulting thing. She’s genuinely enjoying him.”

Ash shrugged. “Yeah. He’s okay.”

Actually, Eiji was more than okay. There had been something disarming about him that had made Ash sympathetic to his sadness before, but now, after watching him praise Nadia’s cooking and listen attentively to Shorter’s bullshit stories, it was more than that. Ash thought he might be one of those rare, genuinely good people.

“He’s definitely an improvement over the asshats you usually hang out with,” Shorter said before gulping down most of his beer.

“You’re the only asshat I hang out with,” Ash pointed out.

“I stand by what I said.”

*

Nadia shooed them all out before midnight, reminding them that she had cinnamon rolls to bake in the morning. “Thank you for letting me crash your party,” Eiji said to her at the door. “Everything was delicious.”

She hugged him. “You’ve been a delight, Eiji Okumura. Come back and see me.” She looked at Ash over Eiji’s shoulder and frowned. “But don’t let Ash bring you in that expensive car,” she added sternly. “I’ve told him a hundred times that a car like that doesn’t belong in this neighborhood. He’s asking for trouble.”

“No one’s gonna mess with my car.”

Nadia put her hands on her hips. “Because you’re Ash Lynx?” She demanded. “How long do you think that name will mean anything around here?”

The boys who ran the neighborhood were still Ash’s, even if he wasn’t their leader anymore. Alex had finally gotten a respectable job as a mechanic for a shop in Queens, but almost everyone else was still there, still keeping relative peace on those streets. That’s why Ash had installed Nadia here, rather than in Brooklyn or the Bronx, even though those boroughs were much farther from Chinatown.

“No one’s gonna mess with my car,” Ash repeated. “And I’ll bring Eiji back to visit.”

Eiji looked pleased. Ash watched him shake Charlie’s hand and then say goodbye to Shorter and then Sunny, who also snatched him up into a hug. “Ash won’t let me,” she said as she squeezed, “so you’re getting twice the hugging by proxy.”

Eiji’s laugh was genuine. It tightened something in Ash’s chest. These people mattered. He liked that Eiji liked them. He liked that they liked Eiji.

He didn’t scrutinize what that meant.

“Your friends are nice,” Eiji said as Ash started the engine. His phone pinged and Eiji glanced at it. “Ibe says the baby is taking its time,” he added, shaking his head. “I hope Hana is all right.”

“That mean you’ll be home alone?”

“I’m not a child. I can stay by myself.” Eiji looked indignant. “How old do you think I am?” he demanded.

“I dunno? Nineteen?” Ash teased. Max had told Ash that Eiji was twenty-five, but he really did look like a kid.

“I happen to be older than you!” Eiji insisted. “Does Max know you’re out past curfew?”

Ash chuckled and for a few blocks they were quiet.

“Thank you again for inviting me,” Eiji said after a while. He was looking out the passenger window, his face turned partly away from Ash. He looked serious in the light of the dash. “If I had stayed home, I would have spent the whole time worrying about Hana. As it is, I might not sleep.”

Something about that struck Ash hard. Eiji hadn’t known Hana very long—Ibe had mentioned at dinner that his wife had been excited to finally meet him—but Eiji cared about her. Enough to worry about childbirth, which most men tried hard to never think about.

Ash’s heart was suddenly knocking in his chest and he could feel the adrenaline working its way through his veins. He felt impulsive. Reckless. “I changed my mind,” he said. The idea had been flickering through his thoughts all night, and Eiji’s face just then brought it to steady life like a neon light.

Eiji looked confused. “About what?”

“I want to help you stay in New York.”

It was as though a jolt of electricity passed through the passenger seat. Eiji sat bolt upright. “Max said it was very complicated, that it would take a long time. Do you know a shortcut?” He sounded hopeful. Eager.

Ash had to fight back a grin. “I meant I’ll marry you,” he said. “For that green card.”

The smile tumbled from Eiji’s face. “What? Why?”

Ash shrugged. “You don’t want to go back, right? And I don’t have anything else going on, so why not?” Ash gave in to the impulse to laugh. “Never tell him I said so, but Max is right. It makes sense.”

Eiji shook his head, blinking away the dazed look in his eyes. “No!” he cried. “It’s a terrible idea. Max shouldn’t have asked you to do such a thing!” They had stopped at an intersection, and Ash was able to see Eiji’s wide-eyed alarm in the red glow of the light, the nervous way he carded his fingers through his hair. “Isn’t it a federal crime?”

There was no way that Eiji didn’t know his history. He had to know about the crimes he’d committed before—they’d even talked about it at the restaurant. “What makes you think that would matter to me?” he asked, sounding a bit more defensive than he meant to.

“It’s too much of a risk,” Eiji protested. “If we got caught, they’d just send me back to Japan. But you could end up in jail.” Again. He didn’t say the word, but Ash could hear it lingering, unspoken, between them.

The light turned green and Ash put the car in gear. “You’re not wrong,” he conceded. This would fly in the face of the deal he’d struck with the DA, though Eiji didn’t need to know anything about that. It would undoubtedly nullify the agreement he’d made with the state—there was no statute of limitations on most of the things the DA already knew he did. Worst-case scenario would leave Eiji banned from the country and Ash in federal prison for a long, long time.

Ash’s emotions were running hot and he didn’t understand why. Fundamentally, Eiji was absolutely right. It was dangerous and stupid. And yet, Ash wanted to do it anyway and was irritated that Eiji had refused.

He thought about Eiji that night outside the restaurant, his tipsy melancholy and the yearning in his face as he looked up at the city lights. He recognized that expression. It was the look of someone who was out of options, who knew that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, but hadn’t quite resigned himself to it yet.

It was how Ash had felt his whole goddamned life.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of Shunichi’s building. Eiji pulled his key out of his jacket pocket and fumbled for the button to open the car door. As the door slid open, Ash reached for him.

“Wait,” he said just before Eiji stepped out. He’d reflexively wrapped his fingers around Eiji’s wrist, but let go as soon as he felt the shock of his skin. The cold night air was at odds with the heater, and a siren wailed a few blocks away. Eiji looked back at him, his expression wary, apologetic, and a little embarrassed.

“Listen,” Ash told him. “I think it could work.”

Eiji shook his head. “No.”

“It’s nobody’s business why two people get married, right?” Ash couldn’t believe he was trying to persuade Eiji to let him break the law. To persuade him to marry him. “I’m used to taking risks. I’m not afraid.” He ran a hand through his hair and smiled. He dropped his voice into its seductive range. “Besides, it could be fun.”

Eiji’s cheeks went red—enough to be noticeable in the streetlamp’s glow. His eyes narrowed—clearly, he didn’t like the flirtation bit. “Why?” he asked sharply. “What’s in it for you?”

Ash considered. “It’s the perfect excuse to finally get out of Max’s place,” he said lightly. “And it’ll be good to have a date for things. You know, as a decoy.”

“A decoy?”

“To keep women like Zoey away,” Ash explained. “To keep all women away.”

He watched Eiji consider, but after a moment, he shook his head. “You could wear a ring for that.” He shifted in his seat, putting one foot on the ground as if he were leaving. But then he paused, not looking at Ash. “I don’t understand. Why would you risk prison—why risk anything just for me?”

God, what could he say? There was something about Eiji that caught and held Ash’s attention. Something that made him feel like taking risks, like being impulsive. “I know what it’s like when you’re trying to escape something,” he said at last. He gripped the steering wheel and released it, over and over like a stress ball. “When the path ahead is blocked and you need someone’s help to find your way through. I know how that feels, and I want to help you.”

It took a moment of consideration, but Eiji relaxed against the seat with a deep sigh. Ash watched his face soften, tension slipping away into something like sadness. “What do you want me to say to that?” he asked at last, his voice quiet. He still wasn’t looking at Ash—those dark eyes were fixed firmly ahead.

“Just say yes,” Ash suggested.

Eiji peered at him through the darkness, his face serious, and Ash watched him for the space of a few heartbeats. The streetlamp cast deep shadows across Eiji’s face, making his serious expression look grim. “Okay,” he said at last, “Yes.”

Chapter Text

SIX

The baby was crying when Eiji stepped out of the bathroom, scrubbing a towel over his damp hair. The newborn’s cries were powerful, but obviously very, very, young. Eiji had never been around a newborn before, and he was astonished at the amount of work it seemed to take to keep the child alive.

Hana and Wynn had been home for two days, and already Eiji was starting to notice a schedule built into her wailing: food, diaper, repeat for the foreseeable future. He didn’t really mind the noise. Her cry was more adorable than annoying, and he had headphones for sleeping.

Hana and Wynn had been home for two days, and not once in all that time had Eiji heard from Ash Lynx.

He didn’t have Ash’s phone number and was too embarrassed to ask Ibe. He hadn’t said a word to anyone yet about Ash’s rash offer, and he guessed that Ash hadn’t told Max yet either, because there was no way Max wouldn’t have said something to Ibe, despite him being busy with a new baby. Still, Eiji didn’t feel like he could talk about it, which was probably counter-intuitive. They had to act engaged, not keep it a secret.

He didn’t know the rules to fake dating, let alone fake marriage, but he thought that five days of complete silence seemed like a lot. Didn’t they have plans to make? Or, at the very least, shouldn’t they be swapping personal information so they could fool immigration? That’s how it worked in the movies.

Eiji closed his bedroom door. With Ibe and Hana on baby duty, he was trying to step up with the housework, so he’d volunteered to cook dinner. He’d searched the internet for a recipe that he could manage and made a list of the ingredients he needed to buy. He glanced out the window. The grey November sky had been threatening precipitation of some sort for days, but hadn’t yet produced a drop. He had to head out soon, and while he didn’t mind snow, the temperature was right on the edge, and he was afraid he’d end up walking through sleet instead.

The landline rang—unusual enough that Eiji noticed it, but ignored it. He had his cell for personal calls—not that he ever got any.

Owen had reached out to him twice since their conversation, but Eiji let them both go to voicemail, then deleted the messages without listening. Just thinking of Owen triggered a mixture of anger and sadness. Eiji didn’t want either.

Determined to stop thinking about it, he draped his towel over the edge of the crib and pulled his favorite hoodie over his head. His few belongings were folded carefully atop the baby's dresser. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, coming to New York. Clearly, he had no plan, no jumping-off point.

“Eiji?” Hana rapped gently on the half-open door before stepping inside. Over her shoulder, Eiji could see Ibe in the living room, looking determined as he gathered up diaper-changing supplies.

Hana held out a cordless telephone. “It’s for you,” she said. She smiled at his astonishment, a dimple forming in one cheek. “It’s a phone, Eiji,” she teased when he didn’t immediately take it. “Provides the same basic function as the one in your pocket.”

Her playful sarcasm startled him. She looked just like the girls in Japan, which was probably why he kept forgetting how thoroughly American she was. “But, no one knows that number,” he said, feeling awkward.

She arched one brow. “Clearly someone does.” She took a furtive look around the room and then leaned close, pressing the phone into his hand. “It’s a boy,” Hana announced in a stage whisper.

Eiji’s face flooded with heat. Was it Ash, then? He took the receiver—reminding himself that he was twenty-five years old, not fourteen—and angled his body away from her in an unconscious attempt at privacy. “Hello?” he asked warily.

“You shouldn’t let Hana tease you like that,” said the voice on the other line. “She’s too much like Max—once she finds a weak spot, she’ll exploit the hell out of it.”

“What?” It was absolutely Ash. Already Eiji recognized his voice, but the teasing lilt was definitely new.

“Tell that boy that he needs to come over for dinner,” Hana directed on her way out. “I never see him anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Eiji shook his head. “Ash?”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Ash spoke again, his voice stern. “Of course it’s me. You don’t even recognize your own fiancé?”

“Now you’re teasing me,” Eiji protested. “How is that any better?”

“I’m the love of your life, right?” Ash joked easily. “I’m allowed.”

Eiji didn’t know what to say to that, so he stood, silent, and waited. Ash had called him, after all. Surely, he had something to say beyond this fake flirting.

On the other end, Ash seemed to listen to him breathe for a long beat. “I’m looking at an apartment the day after tomorrow,” he said after a second. “You should come, too.”

“Me? Why?” Eiji’s heart was suddenly racing.

Ash sighed. “We’re supposed to be a couple. I can’t very well buy a place without your approval.”

Eiji wanted to protest that they weren’t getting married for real. They’d ended that night with a friendly handshake and a plan to meet up for a “study session” before the week was out. Afterward, Eiji had tried his best not to think about him.

And failed miserably.

“That makes sense,” he conceded warily. “But how will I even…” he trailed off, unsure why he was arguing. Ash was going along with this for his sake, after all. But how could he possibly pretend to be Ash’s longtime, long-distance, serious-enough-to-marry boyfriend—even for the benefit of a realtor—when he barely knew the first thing about him?

“Can you meet me this morning? We should work on a battle plan.”

Now? The world was spinning too fast, but Eiji didn’t know how to slow it down. “Meet?” he asked, sounding to his own ears like an absolute simpleton. “Where?”

“You don’t know the city too well yet, do you?” Ash asked. “Why don’t I come get you?”

*

Eiji had never considered before how much information was exchanged in even the most casual of relationships. He got dressed in a rush, not knowing how long it would take Ash to get there. In the thirty minutes after that, he thought about how much he knew about the people in his life.

Owen had a twin sister. She lived across the continent in Vancouver and had three little boys of her own. Eiji had never met any of them, but they were part of the map of Owen that lived inside his head. Ibe liked his coffee black with no sugar and he was quiet and introspective when he had too much sake. Eiji had known Hana for only a few weeks, and he could easily fill a notebook with the things he knew about her—she kept lavender-scented soaps in the bathroom and would be a vegetarian if it weren’t for her weakness for pastrami on rye.

What did Eiji know about Ash Lynx?

He knew about the banana fish scandal and that he’d been raised by Dino Golzine, but Eiji hadn’t finished Max’s book yet, so he had only half the story in his head. He didn’t know how it had ended, how Ash had broken free to start his life over. He figured he should finish reading it, just to get a better feel for this man he had to pretend to love.

By the time Ash got there, Eiji was almost as curious as he was nervous.

“Don’t think I’m letting Eiji go anywhere with you if you don’t come up to meet Wynn,” Hana called into the intercom. She’d been resting on the couch while the baby slept on a blanket on the floor, but she’d jumped up with surprising eagerness when she heard Ash’s buzz and request to be let in.

“I can’t believe you’re only just now meeting her!” she said in her new the-baby-is-sleeping-whisper as soon as she opened the door, ushering Ash in as if he’d neglected Wynn for months, rather than fewer than five days. She gestured at the tiny sleeper. “Ignoring a new baby is a sign of dubious character.”

“Wynn is a pretty name. Does it mean anything?” Ash asked, gazing down at her.

“It’s short for Gershwin,” Hana said proudly. Ash’s green eyes shot up in astonishment, and Eiji just barely stifled a giggle. “Don’t look at me like that,” Hana scolded. “We wanted something unique and very New York.”

“Then you nailed it.” Ash’s voice was dry. He crouched next to Wynn’s blanket, gazing at the swaddled infant.

“Her head is huge,” Ash said at last. “You sure that Shunichi’s the father? I’d put my money on a much bigger dude.”

She smacked the side of his head. “Don’t be such an asshole.”

“It’s good to see you, Hana,” he said, a surprise laugh bubbling behind his words.

Eiji tied his shoes while they talked. He watched from the corner of his eye. They clearly knew each other well. It made sense. Ibe and Ash had been thrown together a lot over the years—it would naturally create a sort of camaraderie. And Hana, Eiji had quickly realized, was friends with everyone she met. Still, Ash’s easy affection toward Hana was different than his companionable antagonism for Max and the polite disregard he seemed to show Ibe. He and Hana seemed to be equals in a way that never came through with the men.

Ash was a puzzle—one he had to sort out soon. Eiji had read online that they needed to register their marriage with immigration within days of the wedding, and though they hadn’t talked about setting a date, Eiji’s narrowing timeline demanded they be married by New Year’s. Apparently, their investigators wasted no time, so he and Ash had to be convincing right away.

“You ready?” Ash looked at Eiji over Hana’s head.

Eiji’s shoes were tied and his camera bag was slung over one shoulder. “Should I bring a notebook?” He wasn’t sure if he was expected to take notes, but thought they might be handy.

Ash shrugged. “Whatever you need.”

The walk down from the third floor was quiet, only the sounds of their shoes shuffling on the stairs. It wasn’t until they were on the street that Eiji found something to say. “I wish the weather would decide what it wanted to do,” he observed, zipping his jacket but leaving his hood down. “Last year in Toronto, we had snow by now.”

Ash chuckled. “Fall is almost over, by New York standards. I’ll bet that this time next week it’ll be in the 30s.” He glanced at Eiji, then smirked. “That’s like, less than two degrees Celsius.”

“I can work that out!” Eiji protested, embarrassed that his brain had been too slow to get there yet. “How did you know that?” he asked without thinking. When Ash raised an eyebrow, he rushed on. “I mean, Americans aren’t supposed to understand things like Celsius and the metric system.”

“I like to work stuff out in my head.” Ash shrugged. “I figured out the temperature conversions when I was 12 or 13. Now it comes pretty easily.”

If it wouldn’t have looked ridiculous, Eiji would have jotted that into his notebook: Ash likes to work math problems for fun.

Ash led him across MacDougal Street and into Washington Square Park. As usual, it was filled with more people than Eiji would expect to see before noon on a weekday.

“We’re headed to the Bobst.” Ash pointed toward a building across the park. Eiji had noticed it before—its architecture was out of place in the old neighborhood. It was tall and imposing, its red stone façade looming over the park.

“What kind of place is it?”

A smile curled the corners of Ash’s lips. “The best kind,” he said. “A library.”

It wasn’t the white marble and lions of the New York Public library, but Eiji imagined that, in a city as big as Manhattan, there would be more than one. As they grew closer, he saw young people with backpacks and laptop satchels going through the doors. “A university library?” he asked. The campus of New York University surrounded the park—Ibe had mentioned that his own building had once been a residence hall—so it wasn’t much of a stretch.

Still, he felt gratified when Ash nodded. “It’s not easy to study at Max’s place, so I spend a lot of time here.”

So close. A tiny thrill coursed beneath Eiji’s skin as he realized that Ash had been so close this whole time. That explained how he’d crossed paths with him during his run. Even before he’d known it was Ash Lynx, the boy in the sports car—that glorious specimen of a man that he thought he’d never see again—was right there.

The library was even more daunting inside than out, an inverted tower of glass. Between golden art-deco screens and the optical-illusion tiles on the floor, Eiji felt dizzy just walking through the lobby. “Easy,” Ash said, wrapping one hand around Eiji’s arm to keep him steady. “Take a second to adjust.”

The room was stunning. All eleven floors were visible from the lobby, encased in glass windows that reflected and refracted light. Perfectly symmetrical staircases accessed each one. Ash led Eiji toward them. “This place is something, isn’t it?” he murmured.

It seemed like it would be too distracting to be a good place for studying, but Eiji itched to photograph it. He paused in the middle of the atrium to pull his camera out of its bag. “Hold up a sec,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing in on just the angle he needed. He dropped to one knee, tilting the lens toward the wide wall of stairwells.

“This building is kind of a big deal for people who love 1970s architecture,” Ash said behind him. “It’s been photographed thousands of times.”

“Of course.” Eiji nodded, snapping a few more pictures. A building this unusual would probably attract photographers by the dozen. “But not by me.”

Taking pictures, Eiji never felt self-conscious, but now, standing up to find Ash looking at him with an inscrutable look on his face, Eiji felt his cheeks get warm. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ash said, smirking. “I like your confidence.”

He led Eiji past the stairs to the elevator and down to a lower level. “I reserved a private study room,” he said as the doors opened to a basement that didn’t look at all like a basement. “They’re soundproof.”

Eiji ducked into the tiny room—it was obviously designed for only one student. There was a small desk and chair, but not much room for a second. Before he could comment, Ash dropped to the floor, leaning his back on the wall and gesturing for Eiji to take the chair.

“I suppose you don’t want any of your school friends to overhear us,” Eiji said. He closed the door and took the chair.

“I don’t have any school friends.”

This time, Eiji did open his notebook. He noted that, not only did Ash have no one he considered a friend at university, but also that he didn’t seem to care at all about it. He wrote in Japanese because Ash couldn’t read it. Maybe an INS agent wouldn’t be able to, either.

“Thank you,” Eiji said before Ash could say anything. He’d been overwhelmed that night in the car, but this had weighed heavily on his thoughts since then. “You’re doing me a huge favor, putting yourself at risk for me. I don’t understand why, but thank you.”

Ash blinked. “I told you why. I need it to look like I’m in a relationship.”

This was something that Eiji had already considered. “You can hire someone to be your date,” he insisted, “and not risk federal charges.”

For the first time since they met, Ash looked truly uncomfortable. “I need something mutually beneficial,” he said after too long a pause. He poked at the carpet between his shoes. “I don’t like,” he said slowly, “uneven power dynamics. There’s no way I could ever pay someone money to be with me.” He caught Eiji’s startled expression. “Even just to pretend.”

Eiji sat with that for a long minute. He understood the complexities of power dynamics, especially when the personal and professional bled together. He’d watched more than one athlete/coach relationship implode because of that imbalance. There was definitely a lot more behind Ash’s discomfort, but that didn’t matter. Eiji could respect it without knowing the details. “Okay,” he said at last. “Then, let’s get to work.”

*

After making sure that Eiji found his way back to Ibe’s safely, Ash spent the afternoon hunched over a spiral notebook at Max’s kitchen table. Used to taking notes on his laptop, he was frustrated to find his hand cramping long before he got his thoughts on the page. He was tempted just to type it up, but knew that saving any of his notes about Eiji Okumura on his computer was a really bad idea. Even if he deleted all the files, there was no way of knowing what ghostly echoes might be there for INS to find, should they subpoena his laptop. At least paper could be burned.

They’d covered a lot of ground that morning. At first it was awkward, the information more like basic trivia than anything that mattered. What are your parents’ names? Siblings? Pets? Ash barely had the answers for even those simple inquiries. He’d finally ended up asking Eiji what he knew, how much Shunichi had told him.

“Not a lot,” the young man had answered, looking a bit sheepish. “I was really involved in my training and ignored almost everything else. Even though I was really inattentive about his life, Ibe was too stubborn to let us drift apart. Most of my other friends were quick to write me off, so I’m really grateful to him.”

Because he needed to know, Ash gave Eiji the most rudimentary version of his past. Ran away from his home in Cape Cod, ended up in New York. He mentioned that Golzine had taken him under his wing, but he left out the gory details about their real relationship. He also didn’t mention Club Cod or the videos or any of the million other things that still haunted his nightmares.

It wasn’t like he’d ever tell a would-be lover about any of that shit anyway, he reasoned. Talk about a mood killer. Besides, Eiji was already a bit too serious and sad. He didn’t need Ash’s baggage on top of his own. “Finding my gang was sort of a natural consequence of living on the streets,” he’d told Eiji. “Those guys kept me alive more than they even know.”

“What about,” Eiji paused, seeming to search for the right words. “What about banana fish? Ibe said it was a terrible adventure, and Max Lobo wrote that book.”

Ash didn’t want to talk about that, either. He’d lost Skipper and Griff and had almost lost Shorter in that shit show. He still had trouble, years later, believing it was really over, that no one was lurking in the alleys to kill him. Or worse. “Later," he said instead.

“Okay,” Eiji was quick to agree.

“Have you read it? Max’s book?”

Eiji shook his head. “Not all of it,” he amended. “I started it last week, but haven’t picked it up again.” It was clear that reading wasn’t a priority for him.

“You’ll probably want to finish it. Then I can fill in some details, so you’ll know more than what Max published.”

Ash was used to being the only bookworm in any given room. Half his gang was barely literate, and he’d bet money that Shorter hadn’t read a book since high school. Still, it was good to know upfront that he and Eiji weren’t going to bond over literature.

To change the subject, Ash asked him about his pole vaulting. A lot of it was public record—Ash had already done his homework. The night of Nadia’s dinner, Ash had been unable to sleep. He knew enough chemistry to know that his blood was on fire with serotonin and dopamine, keeping him high on the excitement of what they were going to do. It felt just like those nights spent in some shitty hidey-hole with Alex, figuring out ways to get the jump on yet another gang who thought they could best Ash Lynx.

Ash had easily found Eiji online, reading article after article about his unexpected performance in Tokyo and what the sports world believed he could accomplish in Paris. He’d found a video, too, from the Tokyo games—Eiji’s determined face as he gripped the pole in one hand, the powerful force of his legs as he ran, then the twisting arc as his body curved over the bar, as graceful as a bird gliding on air currents.

It had stopped Ash’s breath, his blood rushing in his ears as he watched the slow-motion recap. That look of euphoria on Eiji’s face, eyes closed, lips parted. Ash felt a surge of something hot and primal and absolutely new. It had startled him, rushing through his body like hunger and longing and he slapped the laptop shut, sinking himself into darkness.

That feeling was the reason it had taken Ash so long to get back in touch with Eiji, why he’d put on a show of flirtation on the phone, kept his distance while they studied. There was something dangerous about Eiji Okumura, about that feeling he’d inspired, alone in the dark.

That afternoon during their study session, he and Eiji covered more than the meets and the medals. Eiji talked about it like it was a lifetime ago, but Ash already knew that his last regional win had been less than three months before.

“Why quit?” he’d asked. It seemed strange to retire when he was on top of the world.

For a long time, Eiji didn’t answer. Ash was about to push past it, to ask an easier question, when Eiji finally spoke. “When I was in high school, jumping was everything. Schoolwork, family, even boys were nothing compared to flying over that crossbar. And for a while—for a long time, really—that joy stayed with me.”

“Not anymore?”

Eiji shook his head. “I left Japan because something was wrong. Winning the bronze in Tokyo, well, it didn’t hit the way I’d expected it to.” His voice had become wry, almost bitter, which surprised Ash—he certainly didn’t know the man well, but he wouldn’t peg him as a sore loser. “I thought I just needed a change in scenery, so I got a new coach and moved to Toronto.”

And that lasted less than three years.

Ash knew a thing or two about fresh starts—they were never as fresh as expected. You could start something new in a new place, put your past behind you and all that Hakuna Matata bullshit, but it turned out that you were still the same person with all the same baggage. The shiny new life was only a temporary distraction. “You can’t run away from yourself,” Ash mused.

Eiji’s gaze sharpened, but then, as though he understood that Ash was speaking about his own circumstances as much as Eiji’s, he softened. “I guess that’s true.”

They’d also invented a meet-cute plausible enough to convince anyone. “I was in Toronto last year to see a concert,” Ash offered. “In November. We could say we met there.” He hadn’t wanted to go to the damn concert, but Shorter had insisted, calling it “an adventure.” When Ash pointed out they’d both nearly died from too much adventure, he’d called it a “normal-person adventure” and promised he’d do something equally irritating for Ash one day. Maybe corroborating Ash’s story would be that thing.

Eiji protested that he hadn’t been to any concerts the entire time he was training in Canada, “but I guess the immigration officers wouldn’t have to know that.” He blinked at Ash, a smile creeping over his face like he was finally believing in this scheme. “And I could say I came to New York to see you.”

“To marry me.” Ash corrected. “How about you surprised me by coming to propose?”

Eiji’s cheeks flushed pink and Ash realized at once that impetuous proposals weren’t in his nature. He felt warm inside, as though he finally knew something real about him. “Nah,” he said softly, looking down at his own sneakers. “It makes more sense if I ask you.” A vulnerable pause stretched out between them, and suddenly Ash needed to break it. “That way, INS can’t say you orchestrated the whole thing for a green card.”

They’d talked more, enough to fill six or seven handwritten pages in Ash’s notebook. He definitely had a better sense of the guy now. He seemed okay, if a little depressed. They hadn’t talked about relationship-y stuff though. The government goons were sure to ask about that. Ash had his suspicions that something had happened with Eiji’s coach, but it was just as likely that his own feeling about authority figures was coloring his perception. Eiji was twenty-five—that was probably old enough to decide for himself who he wanted to fuck, right?

But then, people would say that, at twenty-three, Ash was also old enough. He wasn’t, though. He was just old enough to know that he didn’t want to think about it.

*

“To what do I owe this honor?” Shorter stood in the doorway of the run-down apartment they used to share, wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee. His hair lay every which way, and he blinked at the hallway lights like they were the sun. It wasn’t even that early, but Shorter had always been a night owl. He probably hadn’t been in bed before three that morning. For a moment, Ash considered feeling bad about waking him before 8AM, but decided he didn’t care.

He pushed past Shorter into the living room. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom, which promised him at least a little bit of time to talk to his friend uninterrupted. “I need to be in class in forty minutes, but you have to do me a huge favor.”

The bemused expression on Shorter’s face turned stubborn. “Do I?” he asked.

“Remember when I let you drag me all the way to Toronto to see a shitty punk band at an even shittier club?”

“Pantychrist is not a shitty punk band.”

“So, you do remember.” Ash patted Shorter’s shoulder. “You still owe me for that.”

He dropped onto the sofa, surprised to find a rainbow throw pillow there. It must be Sunny’s influence. He looked around the familiar room, noticing cheerful yellow curtains in the window and a vase of flowers on the pristine kitchen table. There was even an overstuffed bookcase on the wall across from the television. Ash realized he hadn’t been back since she moved in. Her small changes really transformed the place.

Shorter perched on the arm of the chair opposite. “I’m listening.”

Ash had spent the night before considering what might be the best way to introduce Shorter to his and Eiji’s scheme. He’d decided to be direct. Shorter prided himself on being truthful, but he might go along with Ash’s big lie better if he was given the whole story from the get-go. “I need you to back me up when I say I met Eiji last year, at that concert.”

Shorter’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t remember you talking to anyone the whole time we were in Canada.”

Ash sighed. “I didn’t. That’s why I need you to cover for me.”

“Why?”

“Eiji and I need to make it look like we’ve been together for a while, and—”

It was obvious that his friend didn’t like the sound of that. “Are you doing this just to get Nadia off your back?” he interrupted. His tone was defensive. “Just tell her the truth. I don’t want to lie to my own sister—not about this.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Ash insisted, even though it was a little like that. “He wants to stay in New York, but the immigration process is tricky.”

Shorter raised one eyebrow, his eyes narrowing. “No.”

Ash was reminded of their early friendship, when Shorter told him off for being an asshole. This was different, though. He was helping Eiji out—it was the law that was wrong, not him. “Why not?” he demanded.

Shorter put up his thumb and began to count on his fingers. “One: you complain that Nadia is always trying to set you up. Two: then you suddenly bring a guy to dinner for the first time in your whole damn life. Three: instead of playing nice with Charlie’s niece—”

“Cousin,” Ash corrected.

“Fine. Instead of playing nice with Charlie’s cousin, you tell her off, which you ordinarily wouldn’t do because it’d upset my sister, but this time it’s fine because of the cute boy you just introduced her to. Four: you then show up at my place at some ungodly hour of the morning to ask me to lie so it looks like you and Eiji have been dating for over a year.” He shook his head. “Convince me this isn’t about Nadia.”

“I told you,” Ash insisted. “This is 100% about immigration. I figure we can just get married, he can get a green card, and then in a few years, we’ll get a divorce and go our separate ways.”

“Married?!” Shorter looked really pissed now. “You’re talking about a fucking felony, Ash.”

“Since when did you start walking the straight and narrow?” Ash asked, his own voice tightening. He hadn’t expected this much push back from Shorter, and it was starting to fray his emotions. Shorter was the guy who had his back, no matter how asinine the plan. Ash had anticipated some questions, but not this blatant mistrust.

“I’m not the one poised to go to prison for the rest of my life if I fuck up!” Shorter growled. “You’re taking risks for no good reason! And what? You brought him to Nadia’s as some kind of alibi?”

“I brought him to Nadia’s because he was alone in a strange city!” Ash snapped. “He’s already depressed—I didn’t want him to be lonely, too.”

For a long beat, they were both silent. The anger on Shorter’s face had abruptly transformed into astonishment, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again.

“Spit it out,” Ash growled.

“You’re worried about him?” Shorter asked in a much more careful voice. “You’d met this guy, what? Twice? And you—Ash fucking Lynx—are concerned he might be lonely? Goddamn man, can you even hear yourself?”

Ash understood what his friend was suggesting, and why, and it made him uncomfortable. “I’m not some kind of monster,” he protested. “The guy was sad and I thought I could cheer him up. That’s all.”

Shorter shook his head, but apparently decided not to press. “Do you know anything at all about this person? Do you even know why he left Japan?”

“Yeah,” Ash felt a bit defensive now. Sure, he didn’t have all the answers, but he’d get them. “We’ve talked about that stuff. I haven’t known him long, but I think I’ve got a pretty good read on him.”

“Okay,” Shorter conceded. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Then make it make sense for me. Why would he need you to get a green card? If someone like Eiji Okumura says he wants to jump for Team USA, the government would roll out the red carpet.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Except that Eiji doesn’t want to join our Olympic team. He doesn’t want to jump at all anymore.”

Shorter’s eyes went wide. “Shit!” he said in an exaggerated whisper. “He wants to quit? Sunny’s gonna lose her goddamn mind.”

“We need it to look real. It makes the most sense to say we first met when you and I went to Toronto, and I need you to verify that with INS.” Shorter’s expression turned stony. “You owe me, man.”

One dark eyebrow cocked up in skepticism. “You can’t just marry someone you just met.” His eyes got serious, and Ash had the uncanny feeling that he was about to go all big-brother on him, like he had when they first met in juvie. “Especially not you, Ash. You don’t need another person taking advantage of you like that.”

The implication made Ash’s ears burn. “It won’t be like that,” he protested. “I’m not a kid anymore! It’s a fake marriage. A fake relationship. It’s not like we’ll be—I mean, we’ll sleep in separate beds!”

Shorter frowned. “Seriously, Ash. You trust this guy?”

It hadn’t so much as crossed his mind that Eiji might be some kind of pervert—but no, that was absurd. Eiji wouldn’t. Ash thought about the guy. Ash had expected him to be closed-up. Shy. Maybe careful with his secrets, the way Ash was. But he hadn’t been. He’d made friends with everyone at Nadia’s and when they studied, he hadn’t hedged on a single question Ash had asked, even the hard ones. Plus, there was something about him that felt—Ash was almost too embarrassed to admit it, even in the privacy of his own thoughts—something about him that felt safe. He couldn’t explain how or why, but somehow, he just knew. Eiji was safe.

“I trust him not to try to fuck me.”

Shorter’s narrowed eyes studied his face for a long time, and then he sighed, defeated. “Fine! I’ll back you up when you say you met him in Toronto. But I’m gonna tell Nadia that I had no idea you two had kept in touch.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine? She’d kill me if I knew you were dating someone and didn’t tell her!”

A smile sneaked over Ash’s face as he imagined Nadia blowing up like that. “As long as INS hears it differently. You can tell them you didn’t know it had gotten serious, though.”

“I can do that.” Shorter returned his smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You sure, though? You’re sure about this guy?”

Ash couldn’t tell him that his initial motivation had been to get him and Nadia off his back about finding a girlfriend, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t even so much about that anymore. Eiji was different. Ash wanted to help him out. “Yeah. I am.”

Chapter Text

SEVEN

Ash wished Max would get his own damn car.

The older man leaned forward to tap the access screen, pausing the second movement of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. “Why do you listen to this crap?” he grumbled, switching on the radio instead and finding one of the many ‘90s alternative rock stations. “I thought you kids were all about sex, drugs, and rock and roll.”

Ash rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah,” he said sarcastically, half-heartedly throwing up the horns.

It was seven in the morning on a Saturday, and for some reason, Max was going to work. Ash thought he should take a bus or walk his ass to the subway, but the old man had whined about the cold—they’re calling for snow today—and badgered him for a ride until Ash would do just about anything to shut him up.

The current song transitioned into a grunge guitar riff, which caused Max to grin and crank up the volume. Ash cringed. A man who sounded like he’d been raised on a diet of cigarettes and gravel started singing like he still had rocks in his mouth, and that was all it took to make Ash hit the mute button on his steering wheel.

“Hey!” Max protested. “That was Nirvana!”

“And this is my car.”

Max shook his head. “Goddamn killjoy.”

Ash flicked on his turn signal. “I’m looking at an apartment today,” he announced as if Max hadn’t spoken at all.

“Today?” Max did a good job of hiding his surprise, but Ash hadn’t missed the way his shoulders stiffened. “Do you want me to come with you? I bought that house in LA, so I might be able to help you get a good deal.”

“No thanks.” Max probably would be helpful with the details, but Ash had other plans. “I just wanted you to know that you’re on your own getting home this afternoon.”

Max didn’t ask why he’d finally decided to look for a place, and Ash didn’t volunteer the information, so for a block or so, neither one spoke. Ash felt more about it than he expected to—telling Max he was moving out was weirdly emotional, nothing like how it felt when he left the apartment he’d shared with Shorter. It underscored what he’d been thinking for weeks: he was getting way too comfortable as part of Max’s family.

“Eiji is coming with me,” he said, because it had been a week and he still hadn’t figured out the best way to broach the subject of the fake-engagement. There was something irrationally embarrassing about it.

“Eiji?” Max’s eyebrows shot up. “You two are really getting along, huh?” He knew that Ash had taken him to Nadia’s dinner, but Ash hadn’t really told him anything else about it. “He’s a good kid. Shunichi talks about him like he hung the moon.”

They pulled up to Max’s office building, and Ash realized he’d run out of time. He had to just spit it out. “I figured, since he’s gonna live there, I should find out what he thinks of the place.”

“Live there?” Max looked shocked for a moment before the wheels of his brain started turning. “Wait! Does this mean—?”

“Your dream of walking me down the aisle is finally coming true, Dad.”

Max let out a bark of laughter. He slapped Ash’s shoulder. “I knew you were the man for the job!” he cried. “What made you change your mind?”

There was no way Ash was going to try to articulate something he barely understood himself. He thought of Eiji at Nadia’s, his face open and smiling as he listened to Shorter telling a story, how easily he’d fit in there with the people he’d known the longest. He shrugged. “I thought we could get away with it,” he said, and that was equally true. “Just another way to stick it to the man, right?”

“I like the way you think,” Max said, admiration in his voice. “Let me know how house-hunting goes and we can talk about the rest of the details later. Then we can plan some kind of housewarming or engagement party.”

Ash made a face. “A party, Max? Is that necessary?”

“Absolutely!” Max insisted. “The more you two show off and celebrate ‘your love,’ the less reason INS has to investigate.” He made a mumbling list of the paperwork they’d have to organize and submit, wondering out loud what kind of timeline would be expedient as well as realistic.

“I think we should involve Eiji in this stuff, don’t you?” Ash asked dryly. “And I’m illegally parked, man. I don’t want to get a ticket because you’re busy playing Mother of the Bride.”

“Absolutely right!” Max opened the door and pulled himself out of the car. “We can discuss this tonight. Bring Eiji over. I’ll order takeout.”

“Whatever.” Ash didn’t show it, but the whole conversation flooded him with a rush of excitement. It had been a long time since he and Max did anything that even vaguely resembled scheming. He hadn’t realized he missed it.

*

“Is walking okay?” Ash stood in the doorway in his brown wool coat and a cashmere-looking checked scarf. He had a knit hat pulled down over his head, golden strands peeking out around his face. He looked like a magazine ad selling non-specific, expensive things.

Eiji nodded, putting one finger over his lips and pointing at the bedroom door. “The baby is sleeping.” It’d been a fitful morning, and they’d just gotten her down for an overdue nap. “Walking is fine,” he whispered.

He grabbed his own coat and hat from the rack by the door. “You got gloves?” Ash asked softly. When Eiji shook his head, Ash frowned. “Didn’t you live in Canada?”

“I’m very warm-blooded,” Eiji insisted. He made sure he had his keys and cell phone, then slipped his shoes on. Only after they stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, did Eiji feel his body relax.

“It can’t be easy, living with a newborn,” Ash observed in a more normal voice.

Eiji groaned. “I definitely don’t recommend it.” He didn’t even do the hard work of actually caring for the kid, but it was taking a toll on him. “She’s always asleep, so we have to be careful not to wake her. It’s like tiptoeing through a minefield.” It was clear that both Ibe and Hana had turned their whole lives upside down, and while they were obviously happy, both were starting to look like zombies.

“Has Max called Shunichi yet?” Ash asked as they headed down the stairs. Eiji shook his head. “He’ll do it soon. I told him this morning.”

Eiji exhaled a burst of air. He hadn’t said a word about their agreement to Ibe. He’d used Wynn as an excuse—Ibe was clearly very busy and didn’t need the added stress—but the bigger reason was that he just didn’t know how to say it. He knew his friend didn’t like this particular immigration strategy. Plus, Eiji’s heart did something unsettling whenever Ash’s name was mentioned. Telling Ibe they were planning to get married felt too much like a confession. “That’s good,” he told Ash now. “If Max tells him, I don’t have to.”

They stepped out of the building into shockingly cold air. A cold front had dipped the city into below-freezing temperatures. The sky was white and dense with clouds. “Do you ever see the sky, or does New York always have clouds?” he asked.

“Blue skies are for summer,” Ash said. “Though we do have the occasional sunny day in winter—but those are usually right after a snowstorm so you’re blinded from above and below.”

Eiji didn’t see Ash’s car anywhere. “Did you walk all the way from Max’s?” he asked.

“It wasn’t bad,” Ash said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Max’s place is just ten blocks down 4th Street, and the apartment we’re looking at is pretty close to here.”

Ten blocks on foot was no big deal, and yet he thought pressing an elevator button was the extent of his athleticism? Eiji suppressed a smile.

He liked the idea of living within easy walking distance of Ibe. Ibe’s building was big and old, a combination of dark red bricks and what Eiji thought might be sandstone blocks. His street was narrow, crowded with parked cars and cyclists, but the sidewalks were mostly clear. Eiji had been uncomfortable at first, too much like a tourist and out of place, but he’d come to appreciate the neighborhood in the few weeks he’d been there.

He had known that he was going to have to move into whatever apartment Ash bought, but it still felt strange. Even after days trying to get used to the idea that he might also move into the apartment they were seeing today, Eiji wasn’t sure he believed it. It felt like it was happening to someone else, like he was just a stand-in. He wondered how long he and Ash would have to live together before the USCIS believed it. He’d read that the marriage had to last at least five years, but would he live with Ash that whole time? Would either of them want that?

Eiji had lived with roommates before. He understood that he didn’t have to be close friends with someone to live with them, especially at first. He’d had four roommates before moving to Canada. And then he’d moved halfway around the world to live with Owen after a total of six conversations and a season of watching him coach other jumpers. Like this situation with Ash, it had been a business arrangement, if an intimate one.

Still, Eiji imagined that living with a man like Ash Lynx would be different.

“Have you been looking at apartments for long?” Eiji couldn’t think of a casual way to ask if this whole move was for his benefit. But hadn’t he heard Ash grumble not once, but twice, about staying with Max?

Ash shook his head. “Not seriously, but I can’t live with Max forever, right?”

“And why,” Eiji paused, unsure if the question was appropriate. “Why do you live with Max?”

Ash didn’t answer, and for a moment Eiji worried he’d upset him. For half a block, the only sound was their feet and their breathing and the city round them. Ash seemed to be sorting out what to say. What not to say, more likely.

“Max and I went through a whole lot of shit together,” he said at last. “When I needed a place to crash, he insisted.” The light changed and he strode across the street on his long legs. Eiji had to hurry to keep up. “And it was okay,” Ash continued, “so I stayed a while.”

“But now it’s time to move on.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ash affirmed it with a nod. They cut through Washington Square, and Eiji noticed how much it had already changed in the weeks since he’d arrived. The leaves were almost completely gone from the trees now, leaving a spindly canopy of bare branches above them. It made the place look cold and barren—the pavers underfoot looked greyer and the dry fountain was lifeless.

“I’ve been going to school here for two years,” Ash observed as they passed the Bobst. “It probably sounds pathetic to an Olympic athlete who grew up on the other side of the world, but these days, my entire existence is pretty much within twenty square blocks of this city.”

“It doesn’t sound pathetic at all.” Eiji thought about all the places he’d lived—Izumo, and then in Kanoya for university. From there he’d gone to the Olympic Training Center in Tokyo, and then to live with Owen in Toronto. “I wish I had a place like that,” he confessed. “I spent eighteen years in Izumo, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Toronto wasn’t home, either.” He was almost embarrassed at the admission.

Ash slung an arm around his shoulders, for just a moment yanking him close like they were old friends. “Manhattan will be your home in no time,” he promised. Eiji resisted leaning into the warmth of him and didn’t know if he were relieved or disappointed when his arm dropped a few seconds later.

“Was your home on Cape Cod anything like this?” Eiji knew nothing at all about Ash’s birthplace, but Ash seemed born to city streets and skyscrapers.

“No way. I’m from a pathetic little town on a sandbar in the Atlantic. Most New Yorkers are transplants from wildly different places, but it doesn’t make ‘em any less New Yorkers.”

He smiled as he said it, with almost no echo of the sharp edges Eiji had seen him use with everyone else. He didn’t know what it meant, but a buoyant feeling swelled up inside him, like they were connected. After all, Ash was born by the sea, just like him.

*

The apartment was incredible.

Eiji hadn’t known what to expect—maybe another older place like Ibe’s, a little bit tired, but snug and tidy. There were ancient water stains on the ceiling at Ibe’s place, and traffic patterns worn into the boards of his wood floor. But this apartment looked brand new.

The building itself was old, built in 1900, according to Sandra, Ash’s realtor, but everything inside was of the 21st century. It was surprisingly spacious, with a tidy, efficient layout. A long main room served as the living and dining rooms, with a wall of windows looking out over 12th Street. The kitchen was small, but neatly planned. Even the bathroom looked like something from a magazine.

“The whole room was refinished two years ago,” the realtor said, gesturing at both the hex-tiled floor and the glassed-in shower. “And the fixtures are top-of-the-line.”

“How firm is the seller on the price?” Ash asked. “A shower-tub combo is kind of...” he trailed off, making a face. “Let’s just say that two and a half million seems steep.”

Eiji had to look away to hide his shock. It had been obvious from the first that Ash had money—a lot of it—but paying millions for a one-bedroom apartment seemed unreal.

He’d finished Max’s book the night before, and he had his suspicions about where Ash had gotten his “inheritance.” It was unsettling to know he’d be living in a place bought with mob money, but on the other hand, Eiji supposed it was better spent there than on the depravities Dino Golzine had enjoyed.

Just thinking of Golzine and all the horrific things Max had revealed about him in A Perfect Day for Banana Fish made Eiji’s guts twist. He’d expected the head of an organized crime syndicate to do, well, crimes, but trafficking children was beyond anything Eiji had imagined.

He watched Ash negotiate with the realtor and thought about all the connections that hadn’t been explicitly stated in the book. He thought of how alarmingly young Ash must’ve been when he first came under Golzine’s influence and the disgusting business Golzine had operated under the guise of a dining club. Eiji tried to avoid the obvious connection there, but he looked at Ash and wondered, just the same.

There was something fragile about him, under all that street-kid bravado. It made Eiji feel desolate, and he wanted to protect him, though it was undoubtably far too late for that.

“Would you like to look upstairs?” The realtor suggested.

The staircase was steep and modern, but made with oak that reminded Eiji of the floors of the home he’d grown up in. They twisted around to a small mezzanine level that overlooked the rest of the apartment. There was a little room there, flanked by closets. “The bedroom is small, so this was designed as a dressing and storage area,” Sandra explained. “I’ll just wait here while you check out the bedroom.”

The stairs continued up another level to a cozy bedroom. It was small, but bright, with an entire wall of windows that opened to the roof. “It’s like a little nest, up in a tree,” Eiji observed, glancing back down the stairs.

Ash didn’t answer, and he looked at him, curious. He stood next to the bed, gazing out the windows at the grey sky and seemingly lost in thought. “Ash?” Eiji asked, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, but reconsidering at the last minute. His thoughts from before—about what he thought he’d learned about Ash’s past—made him seem terribly vulnerable in Eiji’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

Ash started, shaking the faraway look from his face. “Can we get the furniture included?” he called down the stairs.

She smiled up at them in a knowing, almost smug way. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” she said, sliding her cell from her pocket. “I’ll make a quick call while you two talk things over.”

Ash surprised Eiji by turning suddenly and wrapping his arms around him. A few short, stumbling steps later, they collapsed onto the bed. The scent of fabric softener mingled with Ash’s aftershave, and Eiji realized, with a jolt through his whole body, that he’d never been that close to Ash before.

Ash was half on top of Eiji, his sweater scratchy against Eiji’s cheek. Eiji scrambled to get free. “Wha—?”

“Shh!” Ash put his lips near Eiji’s ear. “We have to sell this.”

“For the realtor?” Eiji’s answering whisper was incredulous. “She’s not even watching!” From the bed, all he could see of her was her head, turned half away from them, presumedly calling the owner.

“The immigration goons will 100% ask her about us,” Ash hissed back. “We’ve got to get used to this sort of thing.”

By this sort of thing, Eiji assumed he meant touching. In public. Eiji’s insides were a quivering, panicky mess and he was vividly aware of all the places where Ash’s body pressed into his. He almost wished they were in Japan, where no such thing would be expected. Or even appropriate. “Couldn’t we just hold hands?”

“Gotta give her a show she’ll remember,” Ash said. Then, to Eiji’s complete astonishment, he sort of giggled. “I love it,” he cried, this time pitching his voice to carry. “I really think we should snatch it up while we can.”

That caught the lady’s attention and she came the rest of the way up to the bedroom. Her eyes widened when she saw them sprawled on the bed, but she smiled. She said one last thing into the phone and slid it back into her pocket. “So, do you have any more questions, boys?”

They untangled themselves, and Eiji didn’t need to fake the blush that tinged his cheeks. Ash asked a barrage of questions about parking and amenities, and only then did the realtor seem to remember the rooftop deck. “Much of the roof is a shared space, but this section would be exclusively yours.” Her tone seemed loaded, but Eiji wasn’t sure because at that moment, Ash had threaded their fingers together so their wrists pressed, skin to skin. For a long minute, nothing functioned in Eiji’s head beyond the knowledge that he’d never held hands with anyone like that before.

She opened the sliding door to a flagstone-paved space that took up the same footprint as the apartment below it. High walls divided the space from the rest of the roof, and someone had landscaped the edges with dormant trees and shrubs in giant pots. It felt like they were looking into another world. A freezing world.

They’d left their coats and hats downstairs, but Ash really wanted to look around. “I’ll wait in here,” the lady said, grimacing at the cold air coming through the doorway. “Take your time!”

Ash didn’t hesitate, striding out into the wind, not even flinching as it whipped into his hair. Eiji followed, because what else could he do? Their fingers were still woven together like they were meant to stay that way. The terrace faced south, and Eiji could see Washington Square Park like a green-brown square on a chaotic quilt. Nine stories up, the city was quieter.

“This is really nice,” Ash said. He dropped Eiji’s hand to lift the tarp that covered a huge structure. Eiji slipped both hands into his jeans pockets so it didn’t look like he expected Ash to hold hands anymore. The tarp revealed a pergola with a swing the size of a small bed. “In the summer this would be an amazing place for a party, even though I’m not the party type. More likely, it’d become my favorite spot to escape to.”

Escape from what, Eiji wondered. It would only be the two of them in that apartment, so he must mean an escape from him. “I also don’t throw parties,” he hurried to assure. When Ash turned to look at him, he felt ridiculous. Why was he so awkward? “I don’t know anyone.”

“So, what do you think?” Ash asked, his gaze direct. Eiji wanted to look away, but he forced himself to be still. “Do you think this will work? Could this be our little matrimonial love nest?”

Now Eiji did look away. He felt warm to the tips of his ears, despite the icy heaviness in the air. “There’s only one bedroom,” he pointed out.

Ash smirked. “It’s more convincing that way. And the couch in the living room is a pull-out, so you don’t need to worry about compromising your virtue.”

“I wasn’t worried!” Eiji’s tone was indignant, but the images that darted through his mind had a different mood altogether. “I was just concerned about your comfort. Living with a stranger is hard, and we might have to fake this for a long time.”

“Luckily,” Ash said, flinging an arm around his shoulder and steering him back to where the realtor waited in the warm bedroom, “we won’t be strangers for long.”

As they crossed back toward the open door, a snowflake drifted down, lodging itself in the chunky knit of Ash’s sweater. It was immediately followed by another and then another. Eiji laughed despite himself, reaching out to brush a snowflake from Ash’s golden eyebrow.

Ash grasped his hand, weaving their fingers together once more. His face was suddenly serious, his gaze soft. A tiny, hopeful smile crept over his lips. Eiji’s heart thudded. He had no idea what was happening, even as Ash dropped to one knee.

“Eiji,” he said in a voice Eiji had never heard before. “Will you help me make this gorgeous apartment a home? Will you marry me?”

From the open doorway of the bedroom, the realtor let out a squeal. Eiji could see her from the corner of his eye, one hand over her mouth and her cell phone dropped, forgotten, at her side in the other. I get it, Sandra, he thought. Even knowing it was a complete sham, the image of Ash kneeling before him, cheeks flushed and snow in his hair, made his heart flutter.

“Just say yes,” Ash insisted in a whisper, and Eiji wasn’t sure if it was part of the act or a glimpse at the stage directions behind it. Either way, it fit.

“Yes,” he said, a laugh bubbling out of him. It sounded real. Maybe it was. “Yes!”

*

They didn’t finish at the apartment until after four o’clock. Ash’s cash offer was immediately accepted and the paperwork expedited. Accommodating the fact that he wanted to take ownership as soon as possible meant that it was in everyone’s best interest to sign right away. The seller—an older white lady with silver hair cut into an asymmetrical bob and very creative eyeglasses—and her agent arrived to speed things along, and if anyone was surprised to see that their buyer was barely old enough to drink, they were too tactful to say so.

Ash negotiated for the furniture, the area rugs, and basically anything that wasn’t monogrammed or some kind of heirloom. The seller asked for a week to collect personal items—the sheets on the bed, the plates and silverware, and, sadly, all the books. After that, Ash would be free to change the locks and take ownership.

It was a good deal for everyone, and yet Ash noted a certain tension from the seller and her agent. He thought it might be due to his age, but it could have been the fact that he kept one arm around Eiji’s waist throughout most of the negotiations. In his experience, most GenX liberals were loud supporters of marriage equality and LGBTQ rights, but they tended to squirm when faced with the real thing. Ash appreciated the discomfort—it would make the whole day more memorable, and that’s why he and Eiji were orchestrating these low-level PDA scenarios in the first place.

Still, once the wire transfer was processed and that obscene sum of money was securely in the seller’s possession, all the tension melted away. The seller pulled a bottle of five-hundred-dollar champagne from the fridge and called for a toast. “I hear you two are newly engaged,” she said, handing a feather-light flute to Ash and another to Eiji. “I think this apartment will be the perfect place to start your life together.”

Eiji blushed a deep color, which Ash didn’t know to attribute to actual mortification or just really good acting. He decided to lean into it, pulling Eiji a little bit closer and pressing his lips against Eiji’s temple. He then looked at the seller, smiling in that way that middle-aged women had always found charming. “I’m just glad he said yes,” he told her, hoping for a confessional tone.

“Of course he did.” She reached out and cradled their cheeks so she could admire them as a unit. It was a distinctly grandmotherly move, which sent an unexpected pang through Ash’s chest. “The two of you are obviously very much in love.”

They both smiled and played at being besotted lovers as they toasted and drank their champagne, but as soon as they got into the elevator to leave, Ash dropped Eiji’s hand. “Sorry about all that,” Ash murmured as the elevator lurched to life. “Next time, I’ll warn you before we have to crank up the PDA.”

Eiji shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. “You don’t need to apologize,” he mumbled. “You’re doing all of this for me, after all.” He smiled weakly and Ash suddenly realized he’d been a complete shit.

“I do,” he insisted. “You had no idea I was going to do any of that. I should’ve told you we had to play it up for the realtor.”

“It’s okay,” Eiji insisted. “I was surprised at first, but it didn’t really bother me.” He looked down at his shoes until the elevator lurched into place on the ground floor. “I didn’t know you were going to do the proposal there, though,” he said quietly just before the elevator doors opened.

Ash hadn’t planned it that way. In fact, he hadn’t planned it at all. But when he’d noticed Sandra still in the bedroom and the snow starting to fall, it seemed serendipitous. “It wasn’t planned,” Ash admitted.

Eiji looked startled. “Why, then?”

The truth was, he’d had the realtor pegged as something of a gossip since he first started working with her, and in that instant on the roof, he’d realized two things. First, that the optics would be good—it would look like a private moment, but witnessed by an outsider to add veracity. And two, that particular outsider was sure to blab. Clearly, she’d wasted no time mentioning it to the other realtor, who told his client, so Ash wouldn’t be at all surprised to find a post detailing the whole event on her Facebook page—names tactfully omitted, of course—that very evening.

He didn’t know how to express all of that to Eiji, so he shrugged. “Just an impulse, I guess.”

The Japanese man still looked troubled as they stepped out of the building and onto the street, and Ash ran the afternoon through his head, trying to understand where he’d overstepped. There’d been no kissing, apart from that one brush across Eiji’s temple while they were toasting, and he’d made sure to keep his hands away from probable erogenous zones. He’d been very careful, unless “Are you adverse to touch?” It was a concept his therapist had talked about a lot.

“What?” Eiji glanced up at him, bewildered. The snow was still falling, heavier now, and it was already clinging to his dark hair.

“Do you hate it when I touch you?” Ash clarified. He hadn’t considered it at all, even though he had his own issues whenever someone touched him without warning. Damn, he was a self-centered bastard, wasn’t he?

“No!” Eiji reddened again. “I mean, it’s nice, isn’t it? Holding hands and stuff?” He paused under the awning of a bookstore and glanced into the window. “I didn’t get a lot of physical contact in Toronto. We were all training, all in our own little bubbles. This is,” he paused, then met Ash’s eyes in the reflection. “This is better than that, even if it’s not real.”

“Good.” Ash ran one hand through his hair. It was already getting damp with snow. “This will be easier to sell if we’re affectionate.”

“Are you?” Eiji asked after a long pause.

“Am I what?”

“Adverse to touch,” Eiji clarified. His expression was troubled, his jaw working like he might be gnawing the inside of his cheek. Ash filed that away as something to look for, later.

“Not particularly.” Ash realized immediately that it was less than half true, which made it mostly a lie. “I mean,” he started, not sure how to say it at all without saying too much, “I’m okay as long as I’m initiating it,” he clarified. “I guess I can be jumpy when someone touches me by surprise.”

Eiji mulled that over, still chewing his cheek. “I won’t touch you first, then,” he said at last. “You’re better at knowing when we have to pretend, anyway.”

Ash looked up at the sky—completely white now, with snow in great fluffy flakes spiraling down. He didn’t know how he felt, hearing Eiji say he wouldn’t touch him. A band he hadn’t even noticed around his chest loosened, letting him breathe more naturally than before. Relief?

“Is there anything I should avoid?”

“What do you mean?” Eiji looked genuinely startled, and it made Ash’s throat hitch. He wondered what it was like to have so little emotional baggage. To not have a list of rules, of forbidden words and acts and touches he had to stick to in order to avoid a breakdown.

“Like, I don’t like it when someone tries to hold me from behind,” Ash explained slowly. “It kinda—” His breath staggered, the kind of tremor that would’ve cracked his voice, if he hadn’t caught it in time. He swallowed hard, recovering. “It kind of freaks me out.”

Eiji frowned, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. “Is there anything else I shouldn’t do?” he asked quietly.

A thousand hurts flooded Ash’s mind, memories so horrible that he couldn’t hold them in his head for more than an instant. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he managed. And it was true—most of the things that scarred him weren’t fit for public display. They weren’t things Eiji would ever have to worry about.

The crease only deepened. Eiji sighed, a cloud of frosty white breath puffing before him. “I will always ask before I touch you, Ash,” he said, his voice low and solemn. “But I need you to tell me if—tell me the very moment I cross a line. Even if it’s a line you didn’t know you had.”

Ash’s heart suddenly felt too big for his chest. It hurt.

They walked the next few blocks in silence. They were headed to Max’s place. When he’d mentioned Max’s invitation to come over for a planning session, Eiji had taken him up on it right away, suggesting that Shunichi and Hana would probably enjoy an evening alone with Wynn.

It seemed to him that Eiji felt underfoot at Shunichi’s. It was only natural, since they had a new baby and their apartment was small. It couldn’t have been easy, uprooting himself first from his family and his entire culture back in Japan, and now from the world of pole vaulting and professional sports. Ash didn’t think he could do that, except under extreme duress, like when he first came to New York.

Now that he was here, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“I can’t believe you just paid cash for an entire apartment.” They were waiting for the light to change to cross the street, and Ash, lost in his own thoughts, almost missed the comment entirely.

“Kinda wild, isn’t it?” The walk signal lit up and they hurried across 2nd Avenue. “I’ve been talking about moving out for months, but couldn’t get my ass in gear.” Truthfully, he’d been scared of spending so much of his money all at once. He’d invested a decent chunk of it years ago, and he could live on the interest alone, but spending almost three million dollars on one thing—even if it was a big thing, like a place to live—felt reckless. Even after all these years, Ash still lived like he was on the edge of the next disaster. He didn’t know how to feel safe, and Max’s place was the closest he’d ever come.

He wondered if he’d ever figure it out.

He leaned into Eiji, bumping shoulders gently. “Thanks for being the motivation I needed to do it.”

Eiji looked stricken. “Me?”

“I can’t very well shack up with my boyfriend at Max’s,” he said, then enjoyed the way Eiji’s face cycled through confusion, embarrassment, and then irritation.

“You don’t have to talk like that when we’re alone,” he snipped.

“I think it’s better if we kept in the habit, don’t you?” Ash reached out to brush some snow off Eiji’s shoulder. “Isn’t that why you athletes train all the time—to keep in peak condition for when it really matters?”

“It’s not the same,” Eiji grumbled, but his irritation deflated. After a few long moments of silence, he sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be good at it,” he admitted.

“Just pretend I’m one of your old boyfriends.”

“I don’t have any old boyfriends.”

Astonishment zig-zagged down Ash’s spine. How could that be? Eiji had a good-looking face, a thick head of hair, and the body of a professional athlete. Looks were currency in the dating world, and Eiji had plenty to offer.

“Because you didn’t want any?” It might be a strange question, but Ash felt like he had to know if they were alike in this way. Besides, he could chalk it up to research, if Eiji objected.

Eiji looked up at the sky, pausing dizzily as the flakes swirled down. “That’s not exactly right,” he said after a moment. “In high school it had to be a secret—there was a boy who fascinated me. We kissed and… did other things, but only a few times. There was nowhere for it to go. After graduation, I never saw him again.” Snowflakes practically steamed off Eiji’s hot cheeks, but he went on. “Later, there wasn’t time to meet anyone, and even if I had, there were other things to worry about.”

“What about the other athletes?” Ash thought about how closely they must’ve trained. He thought about Eiji’s coach—Owen—and his earlier suspicion that there may’ve been more to their relationship.

Eiji laughed. “No way. The last thing I need is another muscle-headed jock. One per couple is plenty.”

Ash let this bounce around inside his head for a while. He didn’t see Eiji that way—it was strange to realize that he thought of himself with those terms. They were only a few streets away from Max’s place now. He guided Eiji into Tompkins Square, shaving off half a block’s walking. “So, what kind of guy was he? The one who fascinated you.”

Eiji thought about it before he answered, pausing to watch the dogs playing in the dog run. “Quiet. Smart. He read a lot of books and always did well in school.” He smiled wistfully. “He used to scold me for being too noisy.” Eiji’s eyes looked distant as he remembered. “Looking back, I’m not sure he liked me much at all.”

Ash felt like his chest was being pulled apart, thinking of a younger version of Eiji watching a boy who might not want to watch him back. “But the two of you—” None of his crude language seemed appropriate.

Eiji nodded. “I think he appreciated that I wouldn’t tell.” And he grimaced, as though the memory was half sweet, and half thorny.

“How old were you?” Ash heard the rasp in his voice, hated its vulnerability. But he needed to know. Needed to build an image in his head of who Eiji had been.

“Fifteen. Sixteen.”

Something raw twisted Ash’s gut. Was fifteen old enough? He didn’t know. His frame of reference was warped beyond recognition. Ash thought of who he’d been at fifteen. Too fucking young. Snowflakes stung his eyes, blurring his vision.

“Ash? Are you okay?”

Ash blinked hard, blinking the snow—no, not snow—from his eyes. His hands gripped the iron bars of the fence, white knuckled and shaking. His therapist had warned him it might be like this now, that dealing with trauma meant it lived near the surface. No more shoving it down. No more pretending it didn’t exist.

“Ash?” Eiji reached out, almost touched his arm but reconsidered. His hand dropped to his side. “Did I upset you?” he asked in a low voice.

He had snow in his hair and his eyes were bright. His cheeks and nose were red with cold, but somehow, everything about him radiated soothing warmth. Ash felt it sink into his skin, calming him. He took a deep, cold breath and let it out—a cloud of mist from his mouth—and then another, and another.

“No,” he said at last, and it was true. He slung his arm around Eiji’s shoulders and steered him down the path. “Let’s get out of this fucking snow.”

Chapter Text

EIGHT

Ash shifted his car into park outside Shunichi’s building. He hadn’t seen Eiji since the day they closed on the apartment, and apart from the fake-flirtatious texting that Max had suggested they do, they hadn’t even talked. Ash leaned his head back onto the plush bucket seat. Six days. Was he really keeping track?

Max. Shunichi. Hana. Shorter. They’d agreed that these were the only people allowed in on the secret. Shorter hadn’t liked not being able to tell Sunny, but in the end, he’d agreed that this was Ash’s secret, not his own, and only Ash and Eiji could decide who got to know. Tonight they were officially announcing their engagement to everyone else.

He wondered what Nadia would say. He wasn’t worried about convincing her it was real—she’d been waiting too long for that kind of news to suspect anything but sincerity—but now that it was almost time for it, he realized that he didn’t like lying to her. Even if he avoided saying that he was in love with Eiji and stuck to the fact of their intention to get married, it would still be a lie.

Shorter had already been crystal clear about that. It was obvious that he didn’t like the arrangement, even though he seemed to like Eiji as a person. The night before, he’d tried again to talk Ash out of the entire scheme, pointing out that Eiji’s knowing Shunichi was going to be way too big of a coincidence for INS.

“Maybe Shunichi told me to look him up,” Ash had suggested. “Or maybe that wild coincidence is what we first bonded over.”

“I thought you were going with it being all sexual attraction, that you didn’t realize how much you connected till later,” Shorter pointed out, irritated. “If we’re changing the story, I need to know. I don’t wanna tell the wrong lie.”

Now Ash leaned his head against the head rest, gazing through the windshield to the front window of Shunichi’s apartment. Shorter wasn’t wrong. Shunichi was a pitfall. Maybe it would be better to say that he’d asked Ash to look Eiji up—it was undoubtedly more believable than Eiji liking a band like Pantychrist.

Ash had just picked up his phone to see what was taking him so long when the door swung open. Eiji bounded down the concrete steps—it was funny how a guy so short could move like he was all legs—and opened the passenger-side door. He wasn’t wearing his typical sporty puffer jacket, and instead had a deep brown wool coat that matched his eyes. It was open to reveal an olive-drab cable knit sweater.

Eiji caught him looking. “Am I dressed all right?” he asked. “I didn’t know what to wear to a casual dinner that doubles as an engagement announcement for my fake-boyfriend’s friends.”

“Fake-fiancé,” Ash corrected. “And you look fine.” He looked more than fine. Seeing him in the kind of clothes Ash would pick made him feel warm in a way that obviously needed to be quashed immediately.

Eiji groaned. “I don’t see how they’re going to believe any of this. You introduced me as just a friend before.”

“They all know I’m not very forthcoming.”

“It’s one thing to be quiet, and another to secretly date for a year without saying a word.” He clicked his seatbelt and Ash put the car in gear. “It just doesn’t seem plausible.”

Ash knew that his own private nature would be doing some heavy lifting, but he really didn’t think it would be a problem. “Shorter’s already agreed to verify that we met in Toronto last year,” he said. “No one will be suspicious. They’ll just assume we’ve been meeting on Facetime for a bit of simultaneous auto-eroticism. The only valid question would be whether we put the cameras on our faces or our—”

“Ash!” Eiji interjected, looking stricken.

Damn, he was easy to tease.

“I was thinking about that,” Eiji said.

Ash smirked, deliberately quirking his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not that!” Eiji clarified in a rush. “I was thinking that we don’t have any digital evidence that we’ve been in touch. No emails, no chats. Is that stuff even fakeable?”

Ash had considered that, too. It seemed like it’d be easy enough to doctor up some emails, but Ash wasn’t sure he had access to work that could stand up to the scrutiny of the American government. The FBI probably knew every cyber trick in the book, and it’d be sloppy to assume they didn’t share with INS. He shook his head and turned up 7th Avenue. “I don’t think we should try.”

Eiji’s brow wrinkled and he made a little noise of consternation. “But we’re somehow going to sell this as a long-distance relationship?”

“It’s more romantic to write letters, don’t you think?” Ash kept his eyes on the road, but the rest of his body tensed for Eiji’s reaction. Words like “romantic” weren’t in the comfortable part of his vocabulary.

“Letters?” Eiji sounded incredulous. Ash understood. If Max hadn’t been sending trans-continental love letters to Jessica for the past six months, it would’ve never crossed his mind, either. “Like, stamps and envelopes and the Canada Post?”

“I know a guy who can forge any postmark.” A red light let Ash look at Eiji. He wasn’t surprised to see skepticism on his face. “And who says we have to keep the envelopes, anyway?”

“Okay,” Eiji said cautiously. “But why would we even think to do that?”

That was the trickier part, the part where they had to convince INS that they were old-fashioned, and romantic, rather than a couple of idiots attempting to defraud the US government. “Suppose we met in Toronto, went out after the concert, even spent the night together.” From the corner of his eye, Ash could see Eiji’s cheeks flush a deep color. Seeing it made Ash’s own cheeks heat.

“Go on,” Eiji said.

“Maybe we realized that what we had going was more than a one-night thing. That we’d taken it way too fast and wanted to slow down. To really get to know each other.”

Eiji nodded slowly. “Instead of calling and texting, we write letters? So we can take our time?”

“No dick pics, no cyber-sex—we’d really be committing to putting the brakes on.”

Eiji laughed nervously. “I am glad that my phone won’t be filled with dick pics,” he said. His voice sounded embarrassed, but amused.

“We could even write them together, if you want.” He didn’t know if Eiji could spin the kind of fiction this would require. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could, either, but two heads were better than one, right?

“No,” Eiji sounded thoughtful. “They have to be clearly written by two different people. My side should sound like me, and your side should sound like you. If this were real, we wouldn't have to collaborate on what to write.”

If this were real. For some reason, that phrase stuck hard to Ash’s chest. So little in his life had been real. Getting married for the first, and probably only, time was going to be even more deliberately fake than any of the fucked-up promises Dino made. His life was obviously the butt of some terrible karmic joke.

But none of that was Eiji’s fault. There was no reason to burden him with any of those dark thoughts, so Ash kept his voice light. “That sounds good. So, we should just pretend it’s the real deal and let the letters evolve naturally?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eiji nod. “I will write first,” he said with determination.

“You sure?” That first letter was going to have to reference their supposed night together. Ash didn’t want to write it, but he had a hard time imagining that Eiji would want to, either.

“If it were real,” Eiji said again, oblivious of the pang it sent through Ash, “I would wonder if the beautiful American really meant what he said, so I would write first to avoid waiting.”

Ash steered the car in silence through two lights before his feelings were settled enough to speak. “I mean what I say,” he said in a low voice. “Well, obviously, we’re lying to the feds, but if this were real,” the words felt alien on his tongue, a concession to something that felt too close, too personal to examine. “If this were real, I would’ve definitely kept my promise.”

Eiji was quiet as Ash turned the last corner and parked in a spot right across from the restaurant they’d chosen. It was only when Ash cut the engine and turned to look at him that Eiji finally spoke.

“Good,” he said, the shadow of a smile on his lips. He turned to look at Ash, his dark eyes glinting in the streetlamp above them. “Put that in your letters. Convince them.”

*

Eiji had to suppress the urge to bolt. Just like Ash had promised, no one seemed at all suspicious, just happy and excited for them. Now dessert was on the table and life was moving forward.

But Eiji couldn’t seem to move with it.

Ash had been convincing. He’d stood up, taken Eiji’s hand, and told all of his friends that he planned to keep him, sort of as if he’d adopted a new pet. While everyone was processing that, he’d pulled Eiji’s hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss like an electric current across his fingertips.

Sunny recovered from the shock much more quickly than Eiji did. She pulled her hands away from where they covered her mouth. “Are you saying you’re getting married?” she squeaked.

Shorter put his hand on her head, his fingers buried in her hair. “I think that’s exactly what he’s saying,” he said. He sounded pleased. He grinned at Ash. “Never thought you’d beat me to it.”

The next moment, the whole table was talking at once. Charlie and Max both boomed their congratulations while Sunny eagerly asked how long they’d been dating. For a moment it was complete chaos, until Nadia burst into tears. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Ash’s shoulders. “I’m so happy for you,” she said into his neck.

After that, everyone regained their composure. They wanted to know how and when they’d met, and Ash sheepishly told the story they’d concocted—meeting in Toronto, a romantic night, the realization that it might be love, even then. Shorter chimed in with his frustration at going back to their hotel alone, wondering if Ash would even show up in time for their flight home the next morning.

“Shunichi suggested you look him up, did he?” Max asked. Eiji noticed Ash’s nearly imperceptible nod—Eiji realized he’d coached Max to say this—before he answered in the affirmative, weaving a new addition to their story. It was clever, stitching up a plot hole that Eiji hadn’t even noticed.

He braced himself for questions that never came, and after a little while he realized that, with this crowd at least, they’d gotten away with it. No one seemed to doubt that Ash would be with someone like him. No one questioned his legal status or appeared to mind that he spoke English with an accent. It was better than he’d hoped for. More than he deserved.

He squeezed Ash’s hand. As if it were scripted—as if Ash were a real fiancé with a real interest in him—Ash leaned closer, his eyes gentle and curious. “You good?” he asked. Something in Eiji’s face must have been off. A tiny crease formed between Ash’s eyebrows.

“Just a bit too warm,” Eiji said weakly. He untangled his fingers and tried to smile.

He suddenly felt sick. These were Ash’s best friends, the people he’d chosen to be his family, and they were welcoming Eiji into their world without hesitation, without question. All on Ash’s say-so.

No one even suspected that Eiji was lying to their faces and that felt—queasy.

Worse, he’d tangled Ash in an actual felony, because despite his tough exterior, Ash was kind. That felt unforgivable.

Eiji pushed his dish of custard away, mostly untouched, and stood. Ash glanced up at him, alarmed. “I’m sorry,” Eiji told him, forcing a tiny smile. “I just need a bit of air. I’ll be right back.”

He tried not to hurry as he wove through the tables to the door. Outside, the cold evening air poured over his face and hands, a balm to his overheated skin. Eiji took a deep breath, tasting the exhaust of the city mingled with the promise of snow. He sunk his hands into his hair and pulled.

What the fuck was he doing?

He suddenly couldn't remember why coming to New York had been so important to him, why it’d eaten at his mind in the weeks he prepared to leave Owen. Eiji would’ve been just as unmoored and depressed basically anyplace in the world. If he’d used his brain, he would’ve realized this, realized that running to any town in Japan would be a million times easier than this. He would’ve seen that New York wasn’t magical—just because Ibe found a life here, it didn’t mean there was one waiting for Eiji.

And yet here he was, pretending that this fiasco would somehow create one. What would he have this time next year? An illegally-gotten green card and a disinterested husband. Fuck.

His whole life was a mess. He’d burned every bridge he’d ever crossed—he had no home, no family. No coach. No career. He had nothing. Without the pole vault, he was nothing.

And even if he hadn’t quit, it would’ve only been a matter of time before he’d be too old to compete. Athletics like that are for young people, and he would be twenty-seven next year. The Paris games would’ve probably been his last, no matter how he placed. And then what?

Then everyone would realize what he already knew. He was nothing. A liar. A fraud.

He hadn’t realized he’d walked all the way to the end of the building until the restaurant door opened and voices poured out. Nadia and Max. Sunny. Dessert must be over. Eiji wiped the few tears that had escaped his eyes gulped the cold air, trying to compose himself before turning toward them.

A heavy warmth covered his shoulders. His coat. “You forgot this.” Ash’s voice was a low hum near his ear as his warm hands set the coat more firmly around him.

Eiji didn’t dare turn around, afraid Ash would read his feelings in his face. He maneuvered his arms into the sleeves, not realizing how cold he’d been until the warmth of the restaurant soaked into him. He reached up, covered one of Ash’s hands with his own. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick.

Ash’s hands tensed on his shoulders. “You okay?”

Eiji nodded, blinking back the swell of new tears that Ash’s concern inspired.

“I gotta pay the check,” Ash told him. “But I’ll be right back.” It was the voice he used for show, gentled and sweet.

Eiji turned to watch him walk back into the restaurant, his chest tight. He wanted that voice to be real. He wanted it so much that it scared him.

“Hey.” Eiji looked up to find Shorter only a few feet away, leaning against the building’s wood facade. He hadn’t heard him walk up, hadn’t sensed him at all.

Shorter watched him over the rim of his sunglasses, his dark eyes sharp. “That look on your face better be a part of the act.” Eiji was startled by the edge in his voice. Since meeting him, Shorter had been friendly and amusing, his smile quick and words light.

There wasn’t a trace of that smile now. The guy’s entire demeanor had changed, and Eiji suddenly remembered that Shorter had been—or still was?—the leader of a gang in Chinatown. Right now, he seemed wary and dangerous.

“I don’t know how I look.” Eiji wondered how much of that stab of longing had projected onto his face. Or maybe Shorter meant that his attempt to hide his obvious sadness had failed miserably. Eiji reminded himself to work harder at schooling his expressions, going forward.

He glanced past Shorter. Everyone seemed to be chatting by the curb—maybe waiting for Ash to come back outside before going their separate ways. They were far enough away that, beneath the constant din of traffic, they wouldn’t hear anything said between Shorter and himself.

Shorter studied him for a long moment, then took a deep breath. “Listen,” he said, his voice less hard, but still edged with warning. “Ash means a hell of a lot to me. He asked me to go along with this, to say we met that night in Toronto, but I don’t like it. It’s not that I give a shit about immigration laws—I just don’t like lying. I especially don’t like lying for people I don’t know.”

“I understand that,” Eiji said, feeling his gut twist painfully. Because Shorter was only saying out loud what Eiji had been too much of a coward to admit. He shouldn’t ask that of him. He shouldn’t be asking it of anyone. “Thank you.”

“No.” His mohawk bobbed as he shook his head, curt. “Don’t thank me yet. I promised Ash I’d go along with this, but I will break that promise in an instant if it looks like you’re going to hurt him.”

“I—I won’t. I can’t.” Eiji insisted. “How could I, even?” Ash Lynx was bigger, stronger, tougher. He’d been through a gang war and God only knew what else. Eiji was nothing—he had no power to hurt anyone. And if such power came to him, he wouldn’t use it on Ash. “I can’t.”

At first, Shorter didn’t answer, only studied him through the dark lenses of his glasses. Then his lips quirked into a sad smile. “Trouble is, I think you can.”

The idea was ridiculous. Eiji searched for something to say, something that didn’t push him further into the dark places he’d already skirted that night. He couldn’t tell Shorter how much Ash had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t tell him that his every instinct was to protect him, though he hadn’t the slightest clue what he needed protection from.

“He didn’t tell you. Of course, he didn’t tell you.” Shorter leaned against the building and took off his sunglasses. Long fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and he sighed.

“Ash doesn’t do relationships. He says he’s not interested, but honestly, there’s more to it. A lot more. It’s not my shit to tell, but he can’t allow himself to be vulnerable like that with anyone. And he looks—well, you’ve seen him. I think he gets hit on unnervingly often.”

“He hasn’t—” Eiji hadn’t been able to ask Ash directly, and it felt even weirder to ask his friend, but he needed to know. “There hasn’t been anyone?”

Shorter barked a laugh that had absolutely no humor in it. “Too fucking many,” he snarled, suddenly angry, but not at Eiji. This was something deeper. Older. “But no,” he confirmed. “He’s never been in a relationship.”

Eiji’s memory flashed to a line in Max’s book—a line he’d read over and over until the image of it was burned into his eyes: …evidence that proves that Dino Golzine made his fortune trafficking children. The connection he’d been skirting around snapped into place with tectonic force, and his dinner became lead in his stomach.

Eiji thought he understood what Shorter was trying to avoid telling him, and why he instinctually wanted to protect Ash. Not from his future, but from his past.

“He wants to be left alone. I know,” Eiji said, and his voice was weak, but he felt a stab or resentment. He wanted to ask about the girl who’d been at Nadia’s—Charlie’s relative who was an obvious set-up—but it seemed dangerous to push Shorter Wong right then. “He told me that he agreed to—” Eiji couldn’t bring himself to say the words marry me. “He agreed to this whole thing to keep people away.”

Shorter nodded shortly, and Eiji found himself pinned down by those dark hazel eyes. “To keep people away. Including you,” Shorter growled.

It felt just like that dream where he found himself at school, naked. Eiji felt his breath quicken, his pulse accelerate. Yes, he was attracted to Ash. How could he not be? Ash was amazing. He’d thought it was a good thing, because it made it easier to pretend. But somehow, Ash’s friend could see straight through the pretending, and clearly, he didn’t like what he saw.

“I want a green card,” Eiji told him slowly. Panic made his voice cool. “Ash agreed to help me. That’s all this is.”

And it was all it would ever be, no matter Eiji’s feelings. Even if Ash hadn’t already hinted as much, Shorter made it perfectly clear now.

For another long moment, Shorter kept his gaze locked on Eiji’s, like he was deciding whether or not to believe him. Finally, he nodded, the corner of his lips quirking up in sync with his metal-studded eyebrow. “Good,” he said, his voice familiar once more. Eiji released his breath, realizing he’d passed the test. “Keep it that way.”

“Hey,” Ash called. He stood by the door to the restaurant, but he looked like he’d been watching them for a while. “You two look like someone died. This is a fucking celebration.”

“I was just telling Eiji that there was still time to cut and run,” Shorter joked, his voice suddenly light and loud enough to carry. And it worked. Everyone’s attention turned toward them, their own conversations falling silent behind smiles. “That he could probably do better marrying just about anyone else.”

“Don’t listen to a word he says, Eiji,” Ash insisted. He strolled over to where Eiji and Shorter stood, his one hand in his coat pocket. Casual. “The man’s a lunatic.”

He reached out and snagged Eiji’s wrist, tugging him close. “You really okay?" he murmured.

Eiji nodded. "I am," and it was only half a lie. He would be. Ash was risking a lot because he needed Eiji 's help too, he reminded himself. They had to stand together; it was no time to wallow in self-recriminations.

"Good. Now, kiss me,” he directed next to Eiji’s ear, too low even for Shorter to hear.

Eiji thought about everyone watching them as he turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Ash’s eyes, nearly colorless in the golden streetlight. For a dizzy second, he wanted those eyes on him—only him—for as long as he could have them. Shoving the idea away, he focused on everyone watching, telling himself that this was only a performance as he leaned up to catch Ash’s lips with his own.

Eiji tried to imagine the picture they made in the spotlight of the lamp post, their faces half obscured by the golden curtain of Ash’s hair. He paradoxically longed to photograph them, to capture the way he rocked up onto his tiptoes, the angle of Ash’s spine as he dipped lazily down to him.

Then Ash hooked one arm around his waist, pulling their bodies together. Ash’s chest crashed into Eiji’s, warm and solid. His mouth pressed Eiji’s lips open and Eiji’s heart stopped beating.

He clawed his fingers through Ash’s hair and forgot to pretend.

*

Ash was in trouble.

He sat alone in his car, looking at the door to Shunichi’s building. Eiji had disappeared into it several minutes ago, but Ash couldn’t bring himself to drive home. Not yet. Not until he got his mind sorted out.

Fuck that. He needed to get his body sorted out.

He’d thought kissing Eiji was going to be like any other of the hundreds of kisses he’d initiated: all technique and showmanship, no feelings at all. And at first, it’d been just that. At first, he’d been aware of his audience, of the lighting, of where his hands should be placed. It was the finale to an exclusive performance—all smoke and mirrors.

He hadn’t expected electricity. It vibrated between them as soon as Eiji’s lips caught his, a gentle buzz that grew and sparked until Ash felt like they’d been fused together by lightning. Eiji’s body pressed against him was all heat and fire, his mouth opening beneath his had been intoxicating. When they’d finally stepped apart, his heart raced and his head spun.

This wasn’t something Ash knew how to handle.

His phone buzzed. Is something wrong?

Ash imagined Eiji glancing out his fourth-floor window, wondered what he was thinking, seeing Ash’s car still parked outside. The next text came before Ash could respond. Should I come back down? He was worried.

Don’t. I’m fine.

But still, Ash let his engine idle. He wasn’t ready to drive back to Max’s, where the old man would undoubtedly rib him about Eiji, about that kiss. And that was not the kind of thing Ash could just take, though he’d never be able to articulate to Max why.

He’d never, in his whole goddamn life, ever wanted a kiss like that. Even with her—he didn’t like to think of her at all, but she was the only context he had when it came to wanting—even with her it had been different. Lighter, colored by curiosity and affection. When he remembered wanting her, it felt like sunshine. Then Marvin killed her, and the sunshine vanished.

Eiji was different.

Unbidden, the slow-motion image from his pole-vaulting video flashed through Ash’s mind. This wanting was something else entirely, a longing in his body and in his blood. While they were kissing, he’d thought that he wanted to taste every inch of Eiji, wanted to devour him and to be consumed by him in return.

It was terrifying.

Another text from Eiji. I know you didn’t drink much, but be careful driving home!

I don’t think we should kiss again. Ash had the message typed before he knew what he was doing, but he stopped himself before hitting send. They’d already realized that they couldn’t send any texts that would betray them to immigration, should their phones be confiscated.

His impulse to put up walls was almost stronger than his common sense. He hadn’t been out of control like that in years. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and backspaced the words away.

It’s late. Go to bed and get some sleep. <3

Eiji’s reply was swift. I can’t wait for the apartment to be ready, so we don’t have to say goodbye like this.

Ash ran a hand through his hair. Eiji was doing exactly what he was supposed to, he reminded himself. It was part of the ruse, something they’d planned.

It didn’t mean anything.

He didn’t know how to respond, and for a long time he simply stared at Eiji’s words on the screen. The clock on the dash tracked one minute. Then two. The curtain on the fourth-story window twitched, and Ash was acutely aware that Eiji was watching, waiting to see if he would answer or drive away.

He typed out the message, just to see how it looked. I’ve never kissed anyone who makes me feel the way kissing you does. He sent it in the next heartbeat.

After all, Eiji didn’t need to know it was the truth.

*

Letter #1
Dear Ash,

You just left. I watched you hop into the Uber and drive away and I immediately missed you, so I started this letter. You’ll probably be shocked to get this so soon, but I can’t stop thinking about you, about the time we spent together. I’ve known you only for a very short time, but I think you’ll understand me when I say that you’ve taken a piece of me back to New York with you.

I know your city only from movies. Since New York is the same in every movie, I’m going to trust that they’re accurate enough for me to imagine you there. I can see you walking through a park—the cliché would have it Central Park, but it doesn’t matter which one—with autumn sunlight in your hair. You’d have a coffee in one hand and a book in the other, and probably a scowl on your face while you search for a quiet place to read. I’d like to meet you there, one day. I’d like to wait somewhere nearby, maybe saving you a seat so you can read and drink in peace.

While you’re reading, I can run. You told me you weren’t very athletic, so you might not understand the joy that can come from just running. No thinking, no problems, just a body doing what it evolved to do. It’s bliss.

Owen doesn’t let me run distances much. He says I need to prime my body for short bursts, not endurance (I suppose you saw some evidence of that last night, haha). He’s not wrong, but I miss long runs. It’s hard to lose yourself in short bursts.

And I do, you know. Want to lose myself. I’m really tired of being me in this life. It’s too selfish to say I want a new one, but I suspect you also have some experience with feelings like that. I used to think I was made for the pole vault. I don’t, anymore. I don’t feel that endorphin rush every time I launch myself into the air. Even the thought of Paris—of getting another chance to achieve everything I’ve dreamed—leaves me numb.

But you don’t. The first time you kissed me, I was alive for the first time in as long as I can remember.

In Japan, there’s a romantic, kind of silly notion that fated lovers are tied together by an invisible red thread (don’t question how it can be both invisible and red—it just can). When fated lovers get close to one another, the thread tugs. I know it’s nonsense, but I felt that tug when I saw you.

It’s probably too soon to be saying these things to you, but after this morning, I almost feel like I have the right to. It was hard to let you go, and I think that you felt the same. Only one night, and I’m not sure how to go on without you.

Please write to me soon. I feel panicked that we didn’t exchange phone numbers, though I do understand (and agree with!) the reasoning. It’s terrifying, though, wondering if the person who suddenly means the most to me (should I have admitted that?) will feel the same. Please tell me you do.

Yours,
Eiji

Chapter Text

NINE

Eiji didn’t have much to pack. His life was so transient that even the half-full suitcase on the bed still had its price tag on it. He yanked it off with a sigh. All his clothes were neatly folded inside—everything he’d brought from Toronto as well as the newer, nicer things he’d bought since arriving. He didn’t have much else—toiletries, a charger for his phone, and his camera, of course. 

Packing his camera gave him a pang of guilt. He’d been neglecting his Instagram. It had been more than a week since he’d updated, and he’d previously posted nearly every day, part of some kind of insight-into-a-life-of-sport project that a couple of athletic gear companies had decided to sponsor. He’d gotten a bit of attention after his Looks into a Locked-Down Olympics series had done so well in Tokyo, so while the money and exposure were nothing even close to what he’d gotten from the deal he’d made with Mizuno, the attention and validation had been welcome. Luckily, he’d already fulfilled his sponsors’ obligations for the year. Eiji suspected that angry corporations would be a nightmare to deal with.

Maybe he’d have more time for photography once he felt more settled.

The way he felt right now, it seemed unlikely he would ever feel settled again.

“Are you all packed?” Ibe popped his head through the door.

“Just about.” Eiji added a small stack of manga to the suitcase and flipped it shut. “Thank you for letting me stay here,” he said. “Especially with the baby and everything. I know that the timing wasn’t great.”

Ibe came in and sat on the bed. “You are always welcome here, Ei-chan,” he said seriously. “While I don’t think I fully understand the reasons why you had to leave your life in Canada, I can see as plain as day that it was necessary. I’m just happy to have had a safe place for you to land. Hana and I are glad you came to us.”

He spoke in Japanese, and Eiji suspected that these were words that Ibe had rehearsed in his head, words he’d really considered. They both knew that Ibe had been his only refuge, the only person who would take him in with no judgements and no questions. It made Eiji’s eyes burn to realize how fortunate he was to have a friend like that. “Thank you,” he said again. This man was his brother—maybe not biologically, but in all the ways that mattered.

“If—” Ibe paused, seeming to search for words. “If this goes badly—if you and Ash can’t make it work, please come back here.” 

Eiji’s heart squeezed. There was something heavy and urgent in Ibe’s invitation, but they both knew that there wouldn’t be room for him there. Not really. It was just a matter of months before Wynn would need her room back, and then what was left? They needed every inch of their tiny place. Besides, if things went badly with Ash, Eiji would probably be deported.

But Ibe meant it. That wasn’t hard to see.  

“Are you upset that we're doing this?” he asked. Since finding out about Eiji’s plan to marry Ash, Ibe had been quiet about it, enough to make Eiji worry. Marrying Ash felt like his only option, so he wouldn’t change his mind, no matter how his friend answered. But Eiji needed to know, just the same.

Ibe sighed. “I think you’re taking a serious risk,” he admitted. “I also believe that you know best what you need. But please, Ei-chan, be careful. Ash is a good man, but he’s lived a very different life than you. I’m worried that he’s seeking out danger, now that it’s no longer chasing him.” 

It was strange, seeing Ash through Ibe’s eyes, and stranger to think that marrying Eiji could be considered dangerous for him. But he realized that, for a guy with Ash’s past, their situation was exactly that. If this blew up in their faces, there was no chance of leniency for him. However, Eiji felt connected to him now, though he didn’t know how to say that out loud, especially to Ibe. “We’ll be okay, Ibe-san,” he said. “Ash is very smart, and we’ve made a good plan.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Ibe conceded. He stood and put one hand on Eiji’s shoulder. It looked like he had more to add, but then he only sighed. “You know you can talk to me, right? About your pole vaulting, about photography, about Ash—whatever’s on your mind.”

“I know,” Eiji said. But what did he have to say, really? He wasn’t even taking pictures. Talking about his sport, about Owen, about losing his drive—it wouldn’t change a thing. And talking about Ash? What would they talk about? The fact that he’d spent entirely too much of the past twenty-four hours thinking about the feel of Ash Lynx’s mouth? It wasn’t possible to even start such a conversation.

Claiming he had a few things left to pack, he stayed in the bedroom for a long moment after Ibe left. In the living room, Hana crooned to Wynn, her voice weary, but heavy with affection. Eiji heard Ibe starting the dishwasher in the kitchen. The whole apartment hummed with a life that wasn’t his, and for the first time in weeks, that was okay. He didn’t have to try to fit there anymore.

He didn’t know what he’d expected to feel, moving out of that would-be nursery, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bittersweet anticipation. 

His phone buzzed. A text from Ash. I’m here already. Come whenever and I’ll let you in.

Eiji closed his eyes. It was time to go.

*

Four boxes sat open on the floor—books waiting to be sorted onto the built-in bookcase along the long wall. It looked like he’d have space for all of them and then quite a bit more, which was good, given the apartment’s proximity to The Strand. 

Most of those books had been tucked into their boxes as soon as he’d finished reading them—he’d never had any room to display a book collection. Max had a wall of Ikea shelves at his place, but he was even more of a reader than Ash, and he already had books jammed on top of the rest—no room at all for more.

The empty space in front of him looked luxurious. Ash took out each volume one-by-one, organizing as he went. It was therapeutic, revisiting them all. He’d forgotten so many of them by now, and was surprised to note that he owned a copy of Franny and Zooey, the next text on his American lit syllabus. 

Ash paused and glanced out the windows. Even on the eighth floor, there was no view to speak of—he could see the top of the building across the street, its water tank painted in the kind of graffiti that people pay good money for—but sunlight streamed in and he was standing in his very own living room. It felt amazing. The place wasn't huge, but it was his, free and clear.

He’d picked up the keys from the realtor’s office that morning. Sandra had given him a housewarming gift basket along with it, full of expensive coffee, a pair of crockery mugs, fresh fruit, and a tin of cookies from a swanky shop in Tribeca. Ash figured she could afford to be generous, seeing that his purchase had landed her a six-digit commission.

Now that basket was on the kitchen counter, next to Eiji’s key.

His fingers tightened around the spine of the book he held. Eiji. That kiss. The memory of it had been an intrusive thought for over thirty-six hours now. There was no way he could let something like that happen again. The confusion of sensations was too much for him to handle. Especially since none of them had been the disgust, panic, and fear he’d always associated with kissing.

The intercom from the lobby buzzed. Eiji already? Ash’s heartbeat skipped in heady anticipation.

The doorman at the other end—damn, it would take some time to get used to that—told him that Max Lobo was downstairs and asked if he should send him up.  

“I’ll come down,” Ash said, already sliding his feet into his shoes. He wasn’t sure he was ready to see Max so soon after saying goodbye to him that morning. It had been more of an ordeal than Ash expected, as though he were moving to another country, not just fifteen blocks away.

“You were supposed to be Eiji,” he growled when he reached the lobby.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Max held up a cardboard box. “I found more of your books in my closet.”

“And here I thought I was done looking at your ugly mug for a while.” Ash grumbled. But more books were always a good thing. Plus, he realized belatedly that he was secretly glad to see Max.  It turned out that he kind of wanted to show off the apartment.

Michael was with him, which was always a plus. “Come to see my new place?” Ash asked him as they got on the elevator. The kid nodded eagerly.

“Are you sure you don’t need help unpacking?” Max asked. Ash had tried to sneak out while everyone was still in bed that morning, but the old man had heard him and tried to insist on helping. 

Now Ash lifted the box out of Max’s arms. “You wanna hang up all my clothes?” he asked dryly. “That’s basically all I have, besides books.” 

Max made a face. “Suit yourself.” 

When Ash unlocked his door, however, Max’s sour expression disappeared. “Not bad!” he said, striding through the foyer into the fully-furnished apartment. “And here I was, imagining you sleeping on a mattress on the floor!”

“My days roughing it are over,” Ash insisted. “Might as well put my hard-earned riches to good use.”

Max raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything. Ash was glad he didn’t. No one deserved to have to listen to the exhaustive list of what Ash had done for Dino, unwilling and uncompensated. The money he’d stolen didn’t come close to making them even.

“This place has a gym downstairs,” Ash said instead. “Free dry cleaning and laundry service, secure off-street parking, and did you see what’s right across Broadway?”

Max grinned. “Yeah, I saw. Your little fortune won’t last long if you’re at The Strand every day.”

Ash shrugged. “Every-other day, then.” Books had been one of the things that Max and Ash had in common to talk about after the banana fish shit had ended. It turned out they liked a lot of the same authors, and casual conversations over favorites had more than once evolved into hours-long discussions.

Ash conducted the required tour, encouraging Michael to poke around wherever he liked. No guns, no drugs, no porn—this place might be the only home he’d ever had that was actually appropriate for kids. Even his book mess was mostly PG. He lived a very boring life now. The realization amused him.

“Only one bedroom?” Max asked when they got upstairs. That eyebrow quirked up again.

Ash didn’t like this line of questioning one bit. “It’s not like we can accidentally get pregnant, Max. Why would we need two?”

Max gave him an unamused, loaded look. “Does Eiji know he’s expected to share?”

“Eiji gave this place his enthusiastic approval,” Ash assured him, too irritated to just tell Max about the pull-out couch. He didn’t want to talk about Eiji with Max, and this line of questioning rankled him. Max was the one who suggested the scheme in the first place. Now he wanted to criticize how they enacted it?

“Have you considered—” Max cleared his throat and glanced around, verifying that Michael had gone back downstairs. He lowered his voice. “Have you considered what that kind of feelings such close quarters might bring up? The two of you in this tiny place—I’m not sure anyone could last five whole years without…” He looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You’re suggesting that,” he asked dryly, “due merely to proximity, Eiji and I will find ourselves compelled to fuck?”

“Jesus Christ, Ash—keep your voice down!” He glanced, panicked, back toward the stairs. “No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that it’s possible that one or both of you might catch feelings.”

“Catch feelings?” Ash snorted. “You sound like a millennial, old man.”

The old man in question huffed. “I am a millennial, thank you very much. But have you seriously considered the consequences of living with each other like this?”

“No.” Ash crossed his arms, a surge of something belligerent pulsing through him. “I haven’t considered the consequences because there won’t be any. This was your goddamn idea, man!”

Max sighed. “Look, Eiji’s a good guy—Shunichi’s vouched for that—but he’s still a young, attractive man. Unlike you, most men don’t live their lives as celibate monks.”

“Do you think he’s gonna rape me, or something?”

Ash knew as soon as he saw the stricken look on Max’s face that he’d pushed too hard, deliberately stomped on buttons that he wasn’t supposed to touch. But Max was being ridiculous. No one had worried that Shorter might creep into his bed at night, and Shorter was an unrepentant horn dog. The double-standard pushed Ash to goad him further. “I don’t think the light’s great for filming up here, but the acoustics are killer.”

“Damn it, Ash!” Max barked, loud enough to make Michael drop a book downstairs.

Ash was momentarily abashed. He knew it wasn’t healthy to deflect concern with humor—especially with what his therapist had called dark humor or anything making light of his traumatic past. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Just,” Max started again much more quietly. He heaved a troubled sigh. “Just, make sure the two of you stay on the same page. I don’t want to see you hurt at the end of this.”

It was ridiculous, wasn’t it, to even consider that Eiji might have the power to somehow hurt him? Ash wasn’t sure which part bothered him more—the suggestion that he would let Eiji under his skin, or the idea that Eiji might be the kind of person who could inflict damage.

He thought of that string of texts they’d started Friday night and continued all through Saturday. The flirtatious banter and subtle innuendo. Not real, he reminded himself now, as he had throughout the weekend. This was temporary. An act. He wouldn’t be doing it otherwise.

Apparently finished exploring, Michael popped up suddenly next to Ash. He grabbed his arm like a little kid. “This place is awesome. Can I come live with you?”

Ash didn’t have to look at Max to read the dismay on his face. Michael had been furious that Max had left him in California the summer they’d gone out there to track down banana fish, and he’d refused to talk to his father for the better part of a year after that. They’d obviously worked it out, but Ash knew that Max was sensitive to anything that even suggested rejection.

“Nope,” Ash said, ruffling Michael’s hair. “I’m getting married, remember? I need some alone time with my new husband.”

Michael’s cheeks turned red. “Husband?” he asked, his golden brows lifting.

“I thought you believed that love is love and all that?” Ash wasn’t going to out the kid to his dad, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind him of what they’d already talked about. Behind him, Ash could feel Max shift uncomfortably—probably worried that his son was about to get a lecture on the finer points of homosexual coupling.

“Yeah,” Michael sounded almost defensive. “Obviously.” Though he’d been clinging to him just a moment before, his expression now looked far more grown up. “I just didn’t know that you were gay.” The kid had Jessica’s coloring, but he blushed like Max. 

“I’m not,” Ash said lightly. When both Max and Michael looked up with near-identical questioning expressions, he shrugged. “Life’s more complicated than just gay and straight, right?” 

The thought of defining his sexuality for Michael—for anyone—made his guts twist. Most of the time, he operated under the assumption that he didn’t have one at all. He’d realized right away that agreeing to help Eiji would be inviting people to scrutinize and define him, and he’d accepted that, but he drew the line at introspection. He didn’t want to know what kind of demons lurked beneath the surface of his psyche.

That part of him was probably broken, or at least it was damaged. Either way, he didn’t need it. If anything, things were easier without intrusive, sexual feelings, thoughts about that damn kiss notwithstanding. There was no risk that the government would catch him being unfaithful to Eiji, for one thing.

Faithful to Eiji. That was a strange notion.

Ash glanced at the clock on the nightstand and swiftly changed course. He smiled at Michael. “Eiji is on his way here now. I think you two will get along.” 

As if it were scripted, the intercom buzzed, making them all jump. They all shuffled downstairs and Ash put his shoes on once more. “I’ll be right back.” 

*

Eiji lay on the sofa bed, trying to get comfortable on the soft mattress and new pillow. Ash had thought to buy all the things Eiji hadn’t—new pillows, sheets, towels for the kitchen and bathroom. They had dishwasher detergent, toilet paper, and a little night light for the kitchen, all normal things that Eiji had never bought before. Never even thought about, really. 

He’d moved away from home he was eighteen, but in the nearly eight years since, he’d never lived a normal life in a normal apartment. He’d lived in dormitories during college and at the Tokyo training center, eaten his meals in a cafeteria where he didn’t have to wash a single dish. Even the bathrooms had been communal. And then, in Toronto, Owen had handled all the details of living, insisting that the only thing his athletes needed to worry about was their sport. So now, Eiji had no idea how to scrub a toilet or even how often one needed to be scrubbed.

He listened to Ash’s footfalls upstairs as he got ready for bed. They hadn’t taken the time to hash out any house rules, like who would be responsible for cleaning what, and who made meals when. Eiji wasn’t even sure he was allowed upstairs, though he guessed he’d have to go through Ash’s room to get to the roof. He couldn't imagine ever being comfortable enough just to stroll through, even if Ash weren’t there at the time.

Eiji rolled over, frustrated at his inability to relax. How was he going to handle up to five years when just the one day had been so much?

He’d been surprised to find Max and his son already visiting when he’d arrived that afternoon. It wasn’t a bad surprise—he liked Max and very quickly bonded with Michael over their shared love for anime and manga—but it kind of underscored the fact that this wasn’t really his apartment. The place was brand-new for both of them, but Eiji felt like just another guest.

The apartment was furnished in mostly the same way it had been when he’d been there before, but the vibe was different now. The seller had taken the art from the walls and shelves. The colored pillows were gone from the sofa, the bright yellow towels were gone from the bathroom, replaced by steel grey towels that were much more Ash’s taste.      

Ash’s taste. How strange it was that he recognized that. Already, they weren’t strangers.

Ash’s books filled about two-thirds of the shelves now, but there was room for much more. Eiji couldn’t imagine putting his own things there. Not that he had much.

“Is that everything?” Ash had asked him after Max and Michael left. Eiji’s suitcase was next to the stairs, his camera bag placed more carefully on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah. I tend to travel light,” Eiji said. He didn’t know how to explain that he hadn’t had a real home since high school, that it was hard to accumulate stuff when he occupied a single room in someone else’s house. 

“I get that,” Ash said. “I’ve done my fair share of couch surfing.”

That was probably true. Max’s book hadn’t gone into a lot of detail about Ash’s situation back then, but Eiji hadn’t gotten the impression it was very stable. “It must feel good, then,” Eiji commented, glancing around the beautiful apartment, “to know that no one can take this place from you.” Eiji had been aghast when Ash had announced to the realtor that he was paying cash, but he supposed buying a home, free and clear, would feel pretty secure for someone who’d never had anything of his own.

“It does.” Ash wandered to the refrigerator and opened it, then made a face at the clean, empty shelves. “Looks like it’s time for a grocery run,” he said. “We should probably go together for a while, so we can learn each other’s tastes.”

“Makes sense,” Eiji agreed. He used to shop with his mother when he was young, and kind of missed it. 

“In the summer, there’s a farmer’s market in Union Square,” Ash told him. “And there are at least a couple of Japanese grocery stores near here. Can you cook?”

Eiji nodded, astonished. “You like Japanese food?” he asked.

Ash shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I like sushi. And there was a good ramen shop in my old neighborhood.”

It was enough to work with. Eiji smiled. “Then let’s go shopping.”

Ash reached across the counter, grabbing something golden and tossing it. 

Eiji caught it mechanically. A keyring. A single key was threaded onto the ring, along with a charm about half the length of his finger. “A fishbone?” he asked. It was heavy and cold, but warming quickly in his hand. Eiji flipped it over, and was startled to see a jeweler's stamp. Tiffany and Co. Was this thing real gold? 

Ash pulled his own from his pocket—a housecat with a fishbone-shaped void in his stomach. “They match.” The look on his face was inscrutable. Maybe even embarrassed? “I thought having matching keyrings might be a nice detail when we go file at immigration,” he explained.

A couple’s token. It was the kind of thing that was popular back in Japan, though the ones Eiji had seen had been more kitsch than glitz. “It looks expensive,” he said, skeptical. 

“You don’t have to use it, if you don’t want to,” Ash said, grabbing his coat.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it.” Eiji slid his own jacket over his arms.

“You didn’t say thank you, either.”

“Thank you.”

“Too late. My feelings are already hurt.”

They’d been back and forth like that the whole way down to the lobby. Eiji liked it. He liked seeing this side of Ash, teasing and a little petulant.

By the time they reached it, the Japanese grocery had closed for the night, so Ash suggested they buy some staples at a nearby Whole Foods, instead. 

Eiji peered into the window of the closed shop, comforted by the familiar snack foods that lined the end caps, the handwritten signs in the language of home. He wasn’t homesick, exactly—he’d been away too long for that—but he felt a thrill that was definitely nostalgia-adjacent. Even more, it had to do with possibility. He was going to live right there, in that amazing city. From the roof, they had a view of the Empire State building, and yet he was two blocks away from food that tasted like home.

“I think I’m going to like New York,” he’d told Ash then, after hurrying to catch up to him.

“It’s a shit town,” Ash replied, but his voice was kind. “But yeah, I think you will.”

But now, tucked into that too-soft bed, listening to Ash move around upstairs, Eiji was uncertain again. When Ash was right next to him, everything was all right. They would get along famously. The plan would work. But as soon as Eiji was left alone again, the card house came tumbling down.

The light upstairs flicked off, leaving him in darkness. Eiji closed his eyes. He needed to calm down. He needed to sleep.

He gripped his right thumb with his left hand and breathed slowly, an old technique he’d learned from his first coach. After a dozen breaths, he moved his hand to his index finger, holding onto it as he took another dozen breaths. By the time he’d reached his ring finger, Eiji felt noticeably calmer. It was the equivalent of Americans counting sheep, and the familiar rhythm of it soothed him.

“Eiji?” 

Ash was padding softly down the stairs. He was wearing sweats and a loose t-shirt, and Eiji had a hard time looking away from his bare feet. They looked. . . vulnerable.  

“Yeah?” He sat up, fumbling for his glasses.

“You wear glasses?” Whatever else Ash had planned to say disappeared as he stared, wide-eyed. 

Self-conscious, Eiji felt his cheeks flush. “I usually wear contacts,” he admitted. “I know the glasses are weird.”

“No way,” Ash said. “They’re cute. Gotta remember that for the interview.” He smiled, lopsided.

Eiji didn’t like the curl of pleasure that twisted in his belly. Or maybe he did. “You couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Ash shrugged. “It’s quiet,” he said. “I guess I somehow got used to Max snoring.”

“Have you ever lived alone?” Eiji asked.

“Not really.” Ash sat on the edge of the mattress and tucked one vulnerable foot beneath him. “I mean, there were nights—sometimes weeks, even—when I was on the street. I was alone then, but I wasn’t really living, you know?”

Eiji didn’t know. Not in any real way. “How did you end up in New York?” he asked. He’d memorized notes about a childhood in Massachusetts, and he knew Ash ran away because his father planned to send him to live with a relative somewhere. Eiji remembered that Ash had been painfully young then. “It’s a long way from Cape Cod.”

“My dad put me on a bus to New Haven. That’s in Connecticut. I was just a little kid, and so he’d pinned my aunt’s name and address to my jacket, and the bus driver promised he’d make sure I got off at the right stop. It was like a five-hour bus ride.” Ash’s eyes lost their focus and his face softened. It felt like he was far away, lost in his memories. “And the whole time I sat there, watching the farmland and towns go by, and I just got angrier and angrier. Why did my dad get to decide that it wasn’t good for me to stay home? He wasn’t the one who had to deal with all the shit at school and in town.” He took a deep breath, and Eiji realized he was trying to steady himself.

Without thinking about it, Eiji reached out, put a hand on Ash’s knee. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Ash blinked at him, already shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. As promised, the driver got me off the bus in New Haven. I saw my aunt in the terminal—I recognized her from pictures my dad had; I’d never met her before—and I realized that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just live with her and pretend every damn day that my life wasn’t a hundred percent fucked up.”

Eiji had forgotten to move his hand from Ash’s knee, and now his fingers curled into the fabric of Ash’s sweat pants. He wanted to tell that little boy that it was going to be okay, that life would get better, but that would’ve been a lie. Eiji didn’t know what had happened in Cape Cod, but he couldn’t imagine that it could’ve been worse than what he was almost sure happened in New York. “Ash,” he said softly, unable to express anything else.

“So, I got back onto the bus. I unpinned the note and went back to my seat, and the new bus driver didn’t know me, so I just stayed put until we got to Washington Heights. I didn’t really decide to come to New York, but it looked like the kind of place where I could disappear, and that’s all I wanted, really.”

Eiji had a million questions. How long had he been in the city on his own? Had anyone taken care of him? Had he seen his father again before Max took him back to Cape Cod? None of them seemed right to ask. “I can’t imagine how hard it was for you,” he said. He slowly uncurled his fingers from Ash’s knee.

Ash looked down at the spot where Eiji had touched him, and for a long moment he didn’t speak at all. Then his eyes met Eiji’s and he looked, not happy, but okay. “It’s better now,” he said. “Just look at this place.”

Eiji had wondered before, since the day they first saw the apartment, maybe even earlier, since the first time he sat in his over-the-top car. “How—” he started, then lost his nerve. Ash cocked his head, his expression open, waiting, and Eiji’s courage surged back. “How did you get the money for all of this?” he asked.

Ash’s sigh was long and heavy. Eiji felt its heat on his face. “You finished Max’s book, right?” he asked. His voice was soft, almost gentle.

Eiji nodded.

“Dino Golzine,” he said, his voice hardening just fraction over the name. “He took—he took a lot from me. He owed me.” Ash closed his eyes, a crease forming between his brows. “This much and more. I needed money, and he owed me, so I capitalized on his weakness.”

“Blackmail?” Eiji asked, deciding even as he said it that blackmailing a monster like Golzine was definitely not the same as blackmailing an ordinary person.

Ash smiled. It was a dark, humorless smile. “Stole it.”

Eiji didn’t understand why he was surprised, but he was. “You stole it?”

He shrugged. “I knew where he hid it, so yeah. I helped myself.”

Golzine was dead now. And Ash had technically been made his heir, so his ill-gotten fortune would have belonged to him anyway, though Eiji suspected that the police had seen to it that there was nothing left for him to inherit. “I guess you are very rich?” he asked.

“I guess I am.”

“And I guess I should sign a prenuptial agreement, then?”

Ash’s bark of laughter was sudden and light. “I think we both should to go to sleep,” he said. He stood up and stretched. “I have an early class tomorrow.”

Eiji watched him pad softly across the floor. Halfway up the first flight of stairs, he stopped, peering back through the dark room. “Eiji?” he asked.

“I’m here.”

Ash nodded. “Yeah. I’m glad I’m not living alone just yet.”

Eiji felt a warm flush wash over him. He was glad, too. Way too glad. “Goodnight, Ash.”

*

Even after Ash went back to bed, he lay awake, his mind churning. Eiji had surprised him by writing the first of their fake love letters right away. He’d slipped it to him as soon as Max left, but with the shopping and everything, Ash hadn’t read it until heading up to bed.

Now it lay open on his pillow, creased from being folded in the envelope, Eiji’s handwriting sharp and small on the grid paper. It looked … sincere.

Ash almost laughed at his own sentimentality. It was fake, of course. Eiji was just good at this.

He sat on the bed with a sheet of lined notebook paper, using his econ book as a lap desk. Leaning back on the pillows, he took a deep breath and started to write.

Dear Eiji,

Imagine my surprise when I found your letter in my mailbox the day after I got back. I hadn’t expected one so soon, not while the memories of you are still so vivid I can taste them. I’m glad you wrote right away—I regretted not getting your number as soon as I got into the car. But here you are, blue ink on white paper, assuring me that I didn’t imagine everything about that night.

Ash paused, wondering if tasting memories was too much. Or maybe he should write actual porn, filthy enough that the government agents would be too horrified to read it?

But no, he’d known too many government types. More likely, they’d photocopy the damn thing to jerk off to later. Besides, Eiji didn’t deserve that kind of ugliness.

I’ve never had a real relationship before. That’s my big secret, my “he’s a ten, but…” moment. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let myself be vulnerable. But when I woke up with you, I was vulnerable. You were curled against me, asleep, your arms around me, nothing at all between us. I waited for it to feel wrong, but it didn’t.

That’s probably the biggest big deal of my life.

I’m sure I’m going to fuck this up a thousand ways over, but be patient with me. My life has been shit so far (more about that later—I can’t get into it now), but you are the opposite of all that. I hope that answers your question.

I have a class starting in ten minutes, so I can’t write more. (Was there time that night for me to tell you I started at NYU last month? I’m the oldest freshman in any of my classes, I think.) I’ll mail this after class so you don’t have to wonder if I’ll write back.

I will always write back.

Ash

It wasn’t a lot, but it was honest. Or at least, it would be if that night in Toronto had happened, if he and Eiji were a real couple. Ash thought about him, probably already back to sleep, all alone in that too-wide sofa bed. His fiancé.

Ash flopped back against the pillows, irritated with himself and his thoughts. He had no business feeling anything protective or possessive or soft about Eiji. That kiss had fucked with his mind, but he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

He folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope, then copied out the Canadian address Eiji had written on his envelope and set everything aside. It was almost two o’clock already, and he had class in the morning.

Ash checked his alarm and switched off the light. He burrowed down under his blankets—fuck, it felt good to sleep in a real bed again—but lay awake for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

TEN

Word got out.

It took a certain subset of Manhattan no time at all to learn that Ash Lynx was getting married. The trajectory wasn’t hard to trace—once Shorter got the go-ahead, he told Sing, his lieutenant in Chinatown’s gang. Sing texted Alex, who made sure to tell the guys who still controlled the Lower East Side, and that led directly to Ash walking out of a meeting with his economics professor to discover Kong and Bones waiting for him outside. 

It had been a few years since Ash had seen either of his old compatriots, and was startled to realize that life had carried on for them, the same as it had for him. Although Bones was still a small, skinny guy, he’d gotten his teeth fixed, and he grinned at Ash with even, white choppers. That smile elicited a pang of something uncanny and nostalgic. He’d known Bones since they were kids, and seeing that row of perfect teeth reminded him of the good parts of years that Ash had already given up as irredeemable.  

Kong looked about the same as always—maybe he’d gotten even bigger? He still had the friendliest face Ash had ever seen. “Hey, Boss,” Kong said, waving like a little kid as soon as he spied Ash. “You look different in those clothes.”

Glancing down at the camel-hair coat and deck shoes, Ash inwardly cringed. He liked the preppy look, liked the way it made him feel as he navigated the NYU campus. He knew it was a bit more formal than most of the other students streaming past them in jeans and hoodies, but Ash felt like he needed a bit extra, like armor against his old life. And here his old life had come straight back to him. In front of these two, his clothes felt like a costume, like he’d been caught trying to be something he wasn’t.

Still, he was happy to see his friends, if a little nervous about being noticed. The DA had been very strict about him not seeing his gang again, concerned he’d “succumb to their bad influence.” As if he hadn't been the one getting them into trouble from almost the first. “Hey,” he said, his tone sharper than he meant. “What are you guys doing here?”

They exchanged a look, but then they both smiled. “Still our old Boss,” Bones said, his face lighting up. “Alex told us the good news! You didn’t think we’d let you get married without some kind of send-off, did ya?”

A send-off? Ash adjusted his bag across his shoulder and started walking. They were already attracting too much attention there. Unfazed, they walked with him. “What did you have in mind?” Ash asked, cautious.

He was genuinely surprised they’d come to see him, and then he felt a twinge of guilt over the feeling. These two had been his friends since before he ran the gang—they’d always been the first people he’d go looking for whenever he slipped Golzine’s leash. Of course they’d be excited, hearing he was getting married.

It had been hard to leave them behind when he started his life over, after everything. They’d said they understood why, that they were glad he was getting the life he’d always wanted, but he felt like he was betraying them, leaving them like that. Bones, ever the pragmatist, pointed out that it was this or a life spent in prison, and they’d both prefer he wasn’t locked up.

Ash preferred it too, but he still felt like a rat. A rat who missed his friends. He’d only been allowed to keep seeing Shorter because of a technicality—he’d never been part of Ash’s gang. The state prosecutors had wanted Ash to cut ties with him as well, but at the last minute, Shorter’s name had been removed from the negotiations. Ash never found out why, but he suspected that Charlie had called in a shitload of favors.

“We’re taking you to Little Italy,” Kong announced. He put his hands on Ash’s shoulders and steered him toward the nearest subway terminal. 

“Why Little Italy?” Ash asked, buttoning his jacket. But a smile crept over his face because he already knew the answer. Manero’s. 

Twenty minutes later, the bell jingled over the door of the Mulberry Street pizza shop. The mouth-watering scent of Ash’s favorite pizza sauce rolled over them, and he paused for an instant, letting the warm, familiar atmosphere sink into him. He hadn’t been there in ages—not since before the banana fish shit had started. He suddenly wanted to bring Eiji there, to show him just how good “greasy New York pizza” could be.

“You punks better not give me any trouble tonight!” The voice was craggy, older than Ash remembered, but achingly familiar, as was the time-worn warning. The man behind the counter was greyer than Ash remembered, maybe a bit rounder beneath his sauce-stained apron, but he flashed them the same welcoming smile.

“Alfonso!” Ash reached out to give the old man a quick fist bump. “How the hell have you been?”

“Clearly, not as good as you,” the man answered, giving Ash’s expensive coat the once-over. “These boys told me Ash Lynx went straight, that you were in college learning to be an upstanding member of society and you know what I told them?”

Ash wasn’t sure he wanted to know. His track record with Alfonso hadn’t always been the greatest. He’d been kicked out more times than he cared to count, even banned from the restaurant for the entire summer when he was fifteen. “What?” he asked, deliberately keeping his tone light even as he braced himself for the man’s honesty. 

“I told them it was about time!” He came around the counter and yanked Ash into a hug that smelled like oregano and Old Spice. Just as quickly, he pushed back on Ash’s shoulders, studying him at arm’s length. “Look at you! You were always too smart to be such a little shit.”

Ash laughed and patted the man’s shoulder. “I’m putting it all to good use, now,” he promised. “Do you still make the best margherita pizza in Little Italy?”

“I still make the best margherita pizza in fucking Manhattan, kid.” 

The patio was still open for the season, draped in clear vinyl and heated with propane heaters, so they ate outside once Alfonso called up their orders. The pizza was just as good as Ash remembered—he shared a pie with Bones while Kong had two giant pepperoni calzones. 

“I just can’t believe you’re getting married!” Bones took a deep swig of his beer. “In all those years, we never saw you with any girls at all. Some of the guys figured you’d never find a chick good enough for you.”

“You never wanted nothing to do with the girls who hang around with the gang,” Kong observed. “Alex always had his pick of ‘em, but we all knew they’d shown up for you. This girl you’re marrying must be something special.”

Ash struggled to swallow, washing the bite down with his beer to buy time before answering. This had suddenly gotten very awkward. “Funny you should say that,” he said. He had no idea how these two were going to react to the news that his bride was, in fact, another groom.

“I’ll bet she’s a real classy lady from his fancy school,” Kong chimed in. 

“So, Alex didn’t tell you anything?” Ash asked. “About my um, fiancé?”

They both shook their heads. “Only that you were gettin’ married,” Kong said. 

“And to an Olympic medalist,” Bones added, his grin huge. “Is she a gymnast?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

Ash really needed to put an end to this. “Pole vaulter, actually,” he said, and before Bones could make an off-color remark about that, he continued, “and his name is Eiji.”

Both faces went blank, like computers rebooting. Ash busied himself with his pizza, taking another bite, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, and then drinking again. Only after he’d put the beer back onto the table did his friends’ expressions start coming back to life. Kong’s eyes shot over to meet Bones’s. The eyebrows in Bones’s narrow face shot up. 

Ash realized he was holding his breath. This was unexpectedly awful. He felt vulnerable, like he was coming out, even though his engagement to Eiji said nothing at all about his actual sexuality. 

Because he didn’t have one. Right? Why did that suddenly feel like a question? 

Unbidden, the memory of the kiss outside the restaurant flashed through his mind. Eiji’s lips had been cold, but the rest of him was so warm. He recalled the way Eiji had curled his fingers into the hair at the back of his head, the way Ash’s every nerve burst into flame when he pulled Eiji’s body close against his.

Shit. This was the worst fucking time to think of that kiss.

“You got a problem with me being with another guy?” Ash growled, suddenly unable to wait for their genuine reactions.

Bones flinched. “No way, Boss,” he insisted. “We’re just surprised, that’s all. You know we don’t care ‘bout that shit.”

“You chose him, so we ain’t got no complaints,” Kong added.

“Good.” Ash was embarrassed. These were his friends, the guys he’d trusted through thick and thin. They weren’t bigots. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Kong’s eyes grew as wide as the sliced tomatoes on Ash’s pizza. “Did Ash Lynx just apologize?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Such a rare occurrence should be commemorated,” Bones chimed in, pulling his phone from his pocket. He and Kong leaned close and, before Ash had a chance to protest, the shutter whirred. “I should post this on WhatsApp,” Bones mused, admiring the selfie. “No one will believe you said sorry, but they’d love to see you in those spiffy clothes.”

“Absolutely not,” Ash insisted. He wasn’t going to prison over a WhatsApp post. “You guys know what kind of trouble I could get into just for talking to you two.”

They both deflated. “Does that mean we can’t come to your wedding?” Bones asked. 

Ash suddenly remembered him as a skinny twelve-year-old, a hungry runaway lingering on edges of the gang, He’d run errands for Arthur, taking no end of bullshit from the guy just so he had a place. Even now, the gang was pretty much all he had. Ash had heard that he did odd jobs for the Italian boss who filled the power vacuum after Golzine died, but Bones didn’t have what it took to climb those ranks. 

And Kong—he was all heart and muscle, but as far as Ash knew, he’d never been able to hold down a job for more than a few months. That gang—his gang—was probably the only stability he’d ever have.

“I wish you could,” Ash told Bones honestly. They both deserved so much better than the shitty hands life had dealt them. He looked at Kong, too. “I wish you both could.”

They talked about old times then, skipping past the long months when so many of their friends had died fighting Arthur. Fighting Golzine. Foxx. Instead, they talked about other afternoons at Manero’s, about getting kicked out of bars for being too young, getting booted from a pool hall for being loud and rude, the manager never figuring out that they’d also been picking pockets. They ordered more beers, and by the time they got up to leave, the afternoon had shifted into evening.

“Hey Ash,” Kong turned back to him after they’d said goodbye, after they’d started walking in opposite directions. “You love this guy, right?”

Ash opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was already deceiving just about every friend he had, but for some reason, this lie stuck in his throat. Kong believed pretty much everything he was told, so Ash had always made it a point never to lie to him—not once in all those years. And lying about this, about being in love, felt really wrong.

“’Course he loves him,” Bones insisted, knocking against Kong with one of his sharp elbows. “Nothing but love could tame Ash Lynx.”

But Kong still watched Ash, waiting. Ash thought about Eiji—his sad smiles and huge, dark eyes. Something about the guy tugged at him, but their arrangement wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about friendship, though he was pretty sure they were friends now. “You’d like him,” he said, and one of the smiles he usually hid broke its way to the surface. “I think you’d both like him a lot.”

“What did I tell ya?” Bones cackled. “The man’s besotted.” 

*

Eiji handed the paper bag to the lady. “Domo arigato,” he said, inclining his head just enough to suggest a bow.

As soon as the customer left, Eiji’s new manager flipped the sign on the front door to closed. “Not bad,” he said, grinning at Eiji. “You’re a natural.” Kenichi Sato was about fifty years old with a round, bald head and a white apron over his flannel shirt and khakis. He’d told Eiji that he came to New York from Japan as a kid, and his English and his mannerisms seemed to Eiji to be thoroughly American.

He’d been enthusiastic when Eiji inquired about the “help wanted” notice in the front window of his grocery store. “You speak Japanese?” he’d asked eagerly. “The only people who ask about the job are white kids who only know phrases from anime, and I’m sorry, you can’t get by only saying shit like ‘ganbatte’ and ‘kawaii desu ne.’” He’d rolled his eyes, but Eiji didn’t get the sense he was being genuinely mean about it. Those same anime fans were probably loyal customers, after all. 

Now, Kenichi popped open the register and pulled out a handful of twenties. “Four hours, twenty bucks an hour,” he murmured as he counted. “And ten more for being more polite than basically any New Yorker, ever.”

Eiji took the cash, but tried to give the extra ten dollars back. “I don’t want to take your money,” he protested.

The man laughed. “Sure you do. That’s why you asked for the job!” He walked around the counter and opened the door, collecting Eiji’s shop apron and handing him the bag of groceries he’d purchased earlier. He ushered Eiji out. “Can you come back tomorrow? 1:00?”

“Yes!” Eiji hadn’t expected to get a job so quickly; he hadn’t expected to be asked to work the same day he inquired about the position, and he certainly hadn’t expected Kenichi to pay him cash at the end of each day. He’d be a fool not to keep the position for as long as he could.

Eiji hadn’t really thought through the legalities of finding a job in New York, only realizing the difficulty when he’d handed Kenichi his Japanese passport and Canadian driver's permit. “Are you legal to work?” the older man had asked him. There was no judgment in his tone, but it embarrassed Eiji just the same, because what kind of idiot doesn’t realize that being undocumented would affect his ability to get a job?

But Kenichi seemed fine with an under-the-table arrangement, and Eiji really needed the money. He had some savings from an endorsement deal he’d done with Mizuno during the summer games in 2021, but there wasn’t enough left to live on for more than a few months, and it wasn’t likely that the shoe company would want to renew their contract when they found out he was quitting. It was too bad, really. Eiji loved their running shoes—owned four pairs—and had been pleased that they’d chosen him to be their spokesperson.

He'd been living with Ash for the better part of a week now, and they hadn’t talked at all about how they would divide their financial responsibilities. Eiji hadn’t brought it up himself, afraid to find out what Ash really thought about their obvious inequalities. But he was too proud to let Ash take care of everything, even if the guy could easily afford it.

He didn’t want Ash to think of him that way, as a freeloader or a loser. Already, Eiji had taken on the lion’s share of the housework, happy to manage the day-to-day cleaning and cooking in exchange for his bed. Now that he had a job, he was determined to let Ash know that he could pay, too.

The sun had already set as Eiji started for home. This city was bustling, alive with frenetic energy, even in their relatively quiet neighborhood. The air had gotten cold again, and it felt like winter, though they were still barely halfway through November. Eiji zipped his jacket and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He had only a few blocks to walk, but the wind was sharp.

The doorman met him with a friendly greeting, bustling him into the lobby and out of the cold. “Temperature’s dropping fast tonight,” he said, looking back at the darkening, overcast sky. “They’re calling for snow.”

In the short time they’d lived there, Eiji had made a point to learn the various door attendant’s names and schedules and so he knew that Ramón would be at his post until close to midnight. “I hope you won’t have trouble getting home,” Eiji said, looking worriedly at the sky.

Ramón laughed. “I’ve survived more than forty New York winters already,” he assured Eiji in his rough, kindly voice. “A little snow won’t slow me down.”

Eiji fingered the bills in his pocket as he climbed the stairs to the eighth floor. Ninety dollars wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing. It might buy a week’s groceries, if he was careful and took advantage of the employee discount that Kenichi had offered him. Ash had a very good palate for an American, and even though Eiji didn’t think he ate nearly enough, he seemed to have enjoyed everything Eiji had cooked so far. That afternoon, Eiji bought some natto for the next morning’s breakfast—it was his favorite and he hadn’t had it in years. 

He fished his key out of his jeans pocket as he neared the door, his fingers bumping along the smooth, warm ridges of the fishbone’s spine. He’d been taken aback at first, but he liked knowing that Ash had the other half of this paired set, even if it was just for show.

Ash had probably gotten home hours ago—he’d mentioned a meeting with a professor this afternoon, but already, Eiji had realized that he tended to be a homebody. He wasn’t sure if it was only the novelty of the new place, or if it was just in his nature, but Eiji liked having a good idea where Ash was when they weren't together.

He’d stopped trying to convince himself that what he felt about Ash was a normal roommate feeling. It wasn’t just fascination, either. His crush hadn’t faded, but had only gotten deeper as he got to know Ash better. Lying to himself about it only distracted him from his much more important responsibility: making sure Ash never found out.

They had a business arrangement. Well, Ash had flat-out refused the ten-thousand dollars Eiji had set aside—almost his entire savings account balance—to pay for this marriage farce, but it was still business. Not pleasure. Good God, never pleasure.

That kiss, though.

Eiji felt heat rise through his entire body and he shoved the memory away. Ash was a pro, that’s all. He knew better than most how to kiss. Where to put his hands. How to— No. No. 

The elevator bell pinged behind him, and Eiji fumbled, trying and failing to put the key into the lock. He didn’t need any of his neighbors catching him lingering outside his own apartment like a love-sick idiot. 

“Eiji! Got anything sweet for me?”

Ash.

He stepped off the elevator, a rare smile on his face. As he approached, Eiji could feel the cold rolling off his coat, see the pink flush of Ash’s cheeks—he’d been outside for a while. He smelled like beer and cigarettes, too. Not such a homebody today, then.

“What?” Eiji squeaked, his heart leaping into his throat. He glanced up and down the hallway. There was no one there but them, so Ash’s flirtatious request was baffling. “Something sweet?” he asked. Americans used that as a euphemism for kissing, right?

Ash bumped Eiji’s grocery bag with his school satchel—apparently, he hadn’t been home since before his meeting. “Did you buy any desserts?”

Eiji blinked. Ash never ate dessert. It was something Nadia had complained about at her dinner, and Ash had insisted that he didn’t like sweet foods and that even her baked goods couldn’t tempt him. “You want dessert?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Ash nudged Eiji aside and unlocked the door. It swung it open and Ash herded Eiji inside. “I need something to get rid of the taste of garlic in my mouth.” 

*

Eiji stood in the foyer, blinking at Ash for an instant before he seemed to shake off his surprise. “I thought you’d be home already,” he said as he shrugged off his overcoat—the peacoat, Ash noted, not the puffy, sporty thing he preferred. Ash took his off and they both hung their coats in the hall closet. “And yeah. I got some mochi.”

Ash picked up the bag and had his nose in it even before he got into the kitchen. The walk home from Manero’s had been long and cold, and even after all that pizza and beer, he was hungry. “What’s mochi?” he asked, pulling out two cartons of something heavy and a bundle of green onions before finding a box of little white buns. “This?” he asked. It was the only thing that looked like dessert. He pulled off the cellophane over-wrap.

“I’m glad I didn’t buy those for myself, or anything,” Eiji said dryly, but Ash could tell he didn’t mind. A smile crinkled his eyes even as his lips frowned.

Ash squeezed an unwrapped bun between his fingers. It felt raw, like uncooked bread dough. “Weird texture,” he observed. “Is it filled with something?”

“Manju,” Eiji told him. “The outside is mochi. It’s a dough made of rice flour.”    

Ash considered asking what the hell manju was, but realized he’d probably be willing to try it, no matter what. Eiji wouldn’t buy anything he didn’t like himself, he reasoned, and it seemed important to at least try to enjoy the things he liked. He shrugged and took a bite, trying not to flinch as his teeth sunk into the chewy confection. The texture was different, but not bad, he realized as he chewed.

He caught Eiji watching for his reaction even as he put the other groceries away in the fridge. Ash considered the taste. It wasn’t immediately obvious whether or not these buns were good, not like ice cream or pizza, which tended to be universally beloved from the first taste. He swallowed his first bite, nodding reflexively as he peered into the little bun at its deep red filling. “This is called manju?” he asked.

“Sweet bean paste,” Eiji confirmed.

Beans, huh? That was definitely different. It explained the filling’s peculiar texture. “It’s not overly sweet, like American desserts,” Ash noted. He took another bite, leaning against the counter. The second bite made up his mind—these were good. “And the mochi reminds me of,” he thought for a long moment, trying to place the sensation. “Marshmallows?”

“It’s much healthier than marshmallows,” Eiji told him, making a face. Evidently, he wasn’t a fan.

“You had dinner out, then?” Eiji asked. He opened the refrigerator and peered inside, as though trying to decide what to eat. With a sigh, he closed it again. 

Ash felt sheepish. While they hadn’t made any plan to eat together, it’d already become a habit in the short time they’d lived together. “Yeah. A couple old friends met me after classes. I guess I should’ve texted you?”

Eiji shook his head. He unwrapped a mochi bun and chewed a bite. “We aren’t really boyfriends,” he reasoned, his cheeks going pink. “I don’t think I have the right to expect you to check in with me.”

Irritation twinged through Ash, but he wasn’t sure why. Of course, Eiji was right. They weren’t dating. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But still, that felt wrong. Rude, maybe? 

“I wasn't able to check my texts, anyway,” Eiji was saying. “I got a job. I’m a part-timer at Dainobu, over on Lexington.”

Ash tried to hide his surprise. It hadn’t occurred to him that Eiji might want a job. Legally, he shouldn’t have been able to find work, but Manhattan wasn’t exactly a stickler for that. “This city’s great for under-the-table jobs.” Ash grabbed a beer from the fridge and crossed into the living room. He sprawled onto the sofa before opening the can. “I didn’t realize you were looking for work, though.”

Eiji sat down, too, at the far end of the couch. “I want to pay my own way,” he said. His tone was serious. “We haven’t talked about my rent, or my share of the expenses, but—”

“You don’t have to pay rent,” Ash interjected. He knew better than most how unyielding this city could be about money. He’d seen friends sleep in their cars or on the street because they’d been evicted by shitty landlords. There was no way he would ever charge anyone for a place in his home. “I told you, I don’t need your money, Eiji.”

Eiji huffed, visibly frustrated. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to give Ash money. Originally, he’d offered ten thousand dollars as payment for the whole ruse. Ash had refused it flatly. Eiji insisted it was supposed to offset the risk, that this whole arrangement was supposed to be a business deal, but Ash didn’t see the point. Eiji wasn’t the sort of person who would think to hire a stranger for this kind of thing—that had Max’s grubby fingerprints all over it—so Ash had thought he might be relieved to know that he was fine doing it for free.

But now Eiji was at it again. “I won’t be a freeloader,” he insisted. “I’m an adult and can earn a living just like anyone else. I have a job.” He looked agitated, and Ash realized that this must’ve been on his mind for a while, now.

“I can’t live in your home,” Eiji continued, “and eat your food, paying nothing at all while you risk literal imprisonment for me!” He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it onto the coffee table. “So, take my damn money!”

For a long beat, the cash lay on the empty table, looking obscene, like an illicit payment. The thought flickered through his brain like a spark, and without meaning to, Ash laughed. It burst out of him before he could stop it. The idea of Eiji Okumura of all people throwing a handful of crumpled bills at him was the most absurd, unexpected thing.

“What?” Eiji demanded, his expression outraged. “I worked hard for that!”

Ash tried to stifle his laugh. He swept up the money with one hand and shoved them into the pocket of his cardigan. “Fine, fine,” he conceded, holding up his other hand in surrender. “You can pay for our food.”

“And utilities!”

“How about you pay the gas bill,” Ash suggested, trying not to laugh anew at the scandalized earnestness in Eiji’s expression, “and I’ll handle the electricity?”

It was obvious that Eiji didn’t like the compromise, but he nodded. “That works. But I still think I should pay something for rent.”

Ash leaned back against the back of the sofa, tucking his hands behind his head. There was still the one thing he’d been keeping from Eiji—he’d been planning to keep the secret longer, but he figured it was probably time to come clean. It would come up in the interview, after all. “I’m not going to charge you rent,” he told him. “How would it look for me to make you pay for a place that’s half yours already?”

“Half mine?” Eiji’s whole body went rigid beside him.

“This place,” Ash clarified. “It’s half yours. I put you on the deed.”

Eiji shook his head, uncomprehending. “You paid almost three million dollars for this apartment, Ash. Three million. The only thing I did was nod and agree that it was very nice.” He shook his head again, this time in refusal. “No,” he said. “No, you absolutely can’t do that.”

“It turns out that INS really likes something called ‘merged assets,’” Ash explained. “They look for them specifically—for shared deeds and leases, as well as shared bank accounts—we should open one soon. Even bullshit things like family zoo memberships are good. Apparently, the government considers keeping separate finances to be a red flag.”

“Red flag?” Eiji echoed. 

“It makes them think a couple isn’t really committed.” Ash reached over and put his hand on Eiji’s knee. Eiji’s leg bucked under the contact. “Luckily, we can prove we’re in it for the long haul.” He squeezed Eiji’s knee. A playful imitation of affection, he thought. 

Eiji nudged Ash’s hand away, obviously irritated. “We were going to sign a prenup,” he countered.

 “Not if we want this to work,” Ash said, shaking his head. He’d spent hours online, reading basically everything he could find about green card marriages. “Prenuptial agreements are hard to get around.”

“Without a prenup, I’m legally entitled to half of your money when we divorce,” Eiji protested, his voice rising hysterically. “Half of everything! How can you know for sure that I won’t take advantage of that?”

The idea of Eiji taking advantage was absurd. Ash knew Eiji didn’t want his money. He didn’t want his over-priced apartment or his car. In the short time Ash had known him, that much had been obvious. Eiji was a good guy. “I can’t know for sure,” he admitted, shrugging. “I’ll just have to trust you.”

Trust. It was a small word for such a huge thing. Ash could count the people he trusted—really trusted with the important stuff—on one hand. Max. Shorter. Nadia, though he’d always protected her from the worst of it.

Eiji.

Without knowing, he’d somehow added Eiji to that list. The realization felt like the floor falling away beneath him, like cresting the first hill on the Cyclone—equal parts fear and exhilaration.

Ash watched Eiji work through it, this idea of trust between them, watched the agitation in his face slowly dissipate. “I promise not to screw you over and you promise to believe me, and that’s that?” Eiji asked at last.

“And that’s that.”

Chapter Text

ELEVEN

“Don’t you think Christmas is too soon? We don’t want to look like we’re rushing.”

“Your ESTA expires in mid-January, Ei-chan. It can’t be much later.”

“Besides, isn’t Christmas Eve a romantic night in Japan? Say, Shunichi—do you remember those Kogals we met in Tokyo that year? Begging us to spend Christmas Eve with them?”

“Those girls just wanted us to buy them jewelry. And no one says ‘Kogal’ anymore, Max.”

“Christmas Eve falls on a Sunday this year, old man. Sunday weddings suck.”

“And exactly how many weddings have you attended, Ash?”

“I plan to attend mine, and it won’t be on a Sunday.”

“Then how about New Year’s Eve, if you’re so picky? The whole city will celebrate with you.”

“That’s also Sunday, Max. Is seven fucking days too much for your math skills?” 

They’d been at this for over an hour now, and Eiji was pretty sure they’d decided on absolutely nothing. He scrubbed one hand through his hair as Ash and Max started squabbling—again. 

Ibe stood up and walked into the kitchen for some more tea. Eiji followed, grateful for the excuse to leave the table. He watched as Ibe refilled their mugs, enjoying the way the steam curled up over the brims. It was bitterly cold outside, and listening to Ash pick at Max just seemed to bring that chill inside.

“Are they always like that?” Eiji spoke in Japanese. Their apartment was far too small for a private conversation, otherwise.

Ibe took a cautious sip of his tea and sighed. “Usually.” He smiled, though. “I think that Max may’ve been the first person to stand up to Ash. Well, the first who didn’t also try to dominate him.”

Dominate. It was an ugly word, even softened by translation. Eiji wondered again how much Ash had actually suffered under Dino’s control. Had it been merely stifling, or cataclysmic? And if it had been the latter, how had he endured it? How was he right there, grinning wolfishly as he challenged Max to another round of word games and insults? 

“You think Max was the first person to meet him as an equal, then?”

After taking a moment to consider that, Ibe nodded. “The first adult, anyway. I suppose he and Shorter have always had their own dynamic, but when Max met Ash, he’d been subjugated for a long time, but then he’d also been a gang leader for several years. He was either being controlled or obeyed—there wasn’t much of a middle ground.”

Eiji had already realized that a lot of Ash’s take-no-shit attitude was about respect. As a gang leader, he’d controlled the respect of his entire gang. Eiji didn’t know if that respect was based in affection, fear, or a combination of the two, but even a guy as removed from gang life as Eiji was aware that he couldn’t have stayed in charge long without it. But before that, when he’d been under Dino’s control, things must have been very different. Ash probably hadn’t known many adult men who treated him with anything close to respect, let alone as an equal. 

But that still didn’t explain why Ash was so hard on Max. “So, he fights with Max because they respect each other?”

Ibe laughed. “That’s one way to put it. Ash can let his guard down and be himself with Max, and I’m sure you’ve noticed that his personality can be prickly.”

It was true. Around strangers, like when they did their shopping, Ash was ice cold. Not mean, but very controlled. Around friends, he was thorny and sarcastic, but Eiji had seen past the barbs and the quips, too. He’d been soft with Nadia. He was even soft with Eiji, sometimes. Under all that verbal armor, Ash was a quiet, sensitive guy. 

“They are like siblings,” he observed, remembering the way he and his sister would go at it when they were kids. At that moment, Ash stood up, nearly knocking his chair over, his fist clenched in a threat, but Max only burst into laughter, completely unfazed, until Ash gave up his anger and sat back down.

“Or an unlikely father and son,” Ibe mused. “I know Max thinks of him as another son.”

Eiji thought of his own father, his sullen silences and bitter disappointments. He couldn’t imagine having a father like Max Lobo, couldn’t imagine growing up surrounded by that much light. It occurred to him that Ash probably couldn’t imagine it, either, which was probably why Max was so precious to him. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“What are you two old ladies gossiping about?” Ash leaned over the counter, his shaggy hair flopping over one eye as he squinted at them. “I think they were talking about us, Max,” he announced. Eiji felt himself blush.

“We were considering December 23rd,” Ibe lied, his tone as smooth and easy as Eiji’s flushed cheeks were awkward. “It’s a Saturday, so it gives you a week to get settled before the new year starts, and then two weeks to get your paperwork approved before Eiji’s ESTA expires.”

Eiji was impressed. He still felt like it was way too soon, but he could see that Ibe was right—his deadline was coming fast. “Ash finishes his final exams on the 21st, so if he’s okay with it, I’m fine with that,” he agreed.

Ash met his eye in some silent communication that Eiji only half understood, despite his own participation. “If Eiji’s good, I’m good,” Ash declared. Eiji appreciated the solidarity.

Max slapped both hands onto his knees. “Looks like it’s settled, then.” He pulled up the calendar on his phone. “That means we have only twenty-six days to plan this thing.”

*

“Of course you can get married at the bakery!” Nadia’s eyes were shining over the dinner table. “I think that’s a wonderful idea!”

A week had passed since they’d set a date, and still, almost nothing had been planned. Ash had asked Shorter to be his best man and Max had, unsurprisingly, known some guy who’d be happy to officiate, but that was as far as it had gone. He and Eiji had talked about venues—Eiji had suggested they get their license and have the ceremony at the courthouse, but Ash knew better. Sure, real couples eloped all the time, but he and Eiji had the pressure of making it look extra-legit.

Now they were at Nadia’s for dinner. The spread was amazing, as usual, and this time she’d kept the guest list small—only the three couples. It was weird to think of himself as part of a couple, but Ash guessed that for all intents and purposes, that’s what he and Eiji were now.

“Thank you!” Eiji beamed at her. “We will be a very small party, so it seemed silly to rent a large space.”

“This close to Christmas, I’d doubt you’d find anything available anyway,” Charlie added. Ash had already considered that. Christmas in New York was a whole thing, after all. Restaurants were impossible to book, even the bad ones.  

“Can I help you decorate?” Sunny asked, glancing between Eiji and Ash. “I’ve had a wedding board on Pinterest since I was eleven. I feel like I’ve been in training for this job my whole life.” She practically bounced in her seat, eager like a puppy.

Eiji laughed. “Better you than me,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you mind, Ash?”

Ash shook his head. “As long as it’s not over the top,” he said, looking sternly at Sunny. “I don’t want shit like doves and flower petals.”

Sunny made a face at him. “You’re no fun,” she grumbled good naturedly.

Charlie looked up at Sunny, his expression curious. “You were interested in stuff like that, even so far back?” he asked. Nadia kicked him under the table, hard enough to make the silverware jump. Charlie’s face went red. “I’m sorry if that was rude,” he said in a rush. “I just—”

“It’s okay,” Sunny said, her smile undimmed. “I’ve always liked pretty things, Charlie. I’ve always dreamed of the perfect wedding, always knew I wanted to be a bride. Even before.”

The fact that Sunny was transgender wasn’t a secret, but no one really talked about it much, either. Because seriously, what was there to say? When Ash had first met her, she’d gone by the name Simon and the same features that made her so cute as a girl had looked jarringly delicate—but yes, still cute—in a boy. 

Shorter had fallen in love hard and fast, and had supported her decision to transition nine months later. “It’s not like my boyfriend is disappearing,” he’d explained to Ash at the time, “but more like I was dating a Chamander and she’s evolving into a really happy Charmeleon.”

“I hadn’t realized that being pansexual extended to Pokémon,” Ash had commented dryly. “What are you going to do if she evolves into a Charizard?”

Shorter had laughed. “I’d be proud as fuck to have such a badass girlfriend,” he’d quipped. But Sunny hadn’t yet evolved into a fire breathing dragon, and it was becoming very clear she never would. She’d become stronger and more confident as a woman, obviously blooming into the person she’d been meant to be all along. When she switched from oversized cardigans and skinny jeans to colorful dresses, Ash thought it suited her. Hormones had sculpted a round-cheeked girl out of that delicate boy’s face, and strangers rarely seemed to even consider that she hadn’t been this way the whole time.

But now, Ash glanced quickly at Eiji, realizing he had no idea how transgender issues were dealt with in Japan. Probably not well?

Eiji was smiling, polite, but confused, at Sunny. “Before?” he asked.

The whole table seemed to be holding their breath.

“I’m transgender,” Sunny explained. “I transitioned two years ago.”

“I didn’t realize,” Eiji said, and Ash noticed the barest touch of breathlessness in his voice—he was surprised, Ash realized, and was himself surprised that he was able to recognize that subtle change in tone. To Eiji’s credit, he didn’t look awkward at all about it. He smiled a crooked, almost flirtatious smile that made Ash’s heart do strange things. “I only noticed that you’re very pretty.”

Sunny’s smile transformed, and only then did Ash realize that she’d been nervous, too. “I knew I liked this one,” she said, turning that double-dimpled, beaming grin on Ash. “I’m glad you’re keeping him around.”

Ash snaked an arm around Eiji, the closest they’d had to an embrace since that kiss. His heart thudded with something he chose to identify as alarm. “I am rather fond of the guy,” he said, pressing a kiss into his hair above his ear. Eiji startled almost imperceptibly, and the friction of his movement made Ash’s breath catch. His shampoo smelled like eucalyptus and mint, and Ash had to quell the impulse to bury his nose in his hair. 

Sunny jumped quickly back into wedding planning. “What’s your favorite color, Eiji? I want to incorporate it into the wedding decor.”

When Eiji didn’t answer right away, Ash realized it was because he was watching him. Eiji peered at Ash through his dark lashes, his lips parted just enough that Ash could see the sheen of dampness on the inside curve of his bottom lip. A tingle of something electric coursed through Ash’s blood.

Ash blinked hard and pulled away. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“My favorite color is green,” Eiji said, shaking himself free of his own end of whatever the hell that had been.

“Forest green?” Sunny quizzed, pointing to the pine-tree print of her dress. “Kelly green?” This, she found in Charlie’s tie, which looked about as Irish as his heritage.

“Jade,” Eiji said, running a hand through his hair self-consciously. “Jade green is my favorite.”

Shorter shot Ash a look across the table, letting him know that he hadn’t missed a single beat of their performance. “And what’s your favorite color, Ash?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow. Daring him to continue, maybe to try to decipher the brown of Eiji’s eyes.

“Whatever goes best with jade green, obviously.” He smiled what he hoped was an indulgent smile, then stood. “Anyone else want another beer?” he asked, heading into the kitchen. He needed a breather.

He was surprised when, a moment later, Nadia, not Shorter, walked through the doorway. “Are you okay, Ash?” she asked. Her voice was naturally low, a quiet, textured sound that brought to mind cigarettes and gin, though Ash had never known her to indulge in either. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I’m just tired,” he admitted.

“Is your coursework too much?” she asked. “Moving into the new place and now planning a wedding—I imagine it’s a lot to handle.”

It was. He’d been hard-pressed to keep up that month, and finals were right around the corner. But none of that bothered him. Not really. His problem had coffee-dark eyes and a voice that his ears seemed to strain for, even from the other room. “I’m overwhelmed,” he said, the words almost too honest, but still somehow a lie of omission. 

“Sunny and I can help Eiji with all the wedding details,” Nadia insisted. “That way you can concentrate on school.” For as long as he’d known her, Nadia’s impulse had always been to help, to try to take care of him. Even back when all the she ever got for it was thorns. Slowly, he’d learned to let her mother him in the same clumsy way she’d mothered Shorter.  He loved her for it.

And so, he rectified the omission. “It’s not school. It’s Eiji,” he admitted, giving voice to what he’d never allowed himself to acknowledge before. “He’s overwhelming me.”

A tiny frown pinched her lips. “Are you two having trouble?” 

She waited, patient, while Ash formulated his answer. It was nothing like Nadia assumed. No disagreements, no rocky adjustment to living together. If anything, Ash was overwhelmed by the opposite: by how easily their apartment had become home. How easily Eiji had become home.

For a long time, his life had been unmoored, purposeless. School and then what? Work? To what end? He didn’t need money. Ash didn’t know what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be. But then he’d agreed to help Eiji, and suddenly five whole years were accounted for—an unfinished map roughly sketched on paper. He’d never had even that much before. Rather than being an open-ended question, the future felt finite and somehow precious.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” he said at last. He’d become tangled in Eiji, pressed uncomfortably between the boy and the terms of their agreement. Every time they touched, they wove a fiction that somehow obliterated things he’d always believed about himself. 

The fact that it was a fiction was unsettling, but the fact that it was unsettling was downright terrifying. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be with him.”

Nadia’s smile grew soft and indulgent. “Just be yourself. I know that’s hard for you, that you overthink and put on emotional armor, but you don’t need it anymore. That boy loves you, Ash. It’s written all over his face. He’s not going anywhere, and that’s because he found you.”

Her words were like a punch to his solar plexus. It wasn’t true. It would never be true, and yet he wanted it. Just then, he felt like he’d die from wanting it.

Ash almost told her everything—their arrangement, their lies. The fact that Eiji’s touch wreaked erotic havoc on every part of his body and Ash wasn’t allowed to do a damn thing about it. Fuck that—he didn’t want to do a damn thing about it. 

Or at least he wanted not to want to.

“Yeah,” he said instead, reminding himself to be glad that Eiji’s acting was so believable. Nadia would be hurt and disappointed in him if she learned the truth, and he’d promised himself years ago to stop doing things that hurt Nadia. “Okay. Thanks.” 

“Feeling better?” she asked him. The wrinkle of concern hadn’t left her forehead, though. She knew there was more, but was probably still too afraid of his thorns to push.

Ash nodded, ignoring the twist of pain in his gut. They had a plan. All he had to do was stick with it.

Eiji was in the shower when his phone rang, so Ash picked it up. They’d been home less than ten minutes when Eiji realized he’d left his hat at Nadia’s. Undoubtedly, this was her calling to say she’d found it. Ash pressed the accept button without looking at the number.

“Eiji’s phone, but this is Ash,” he answered. “Did you find his hat?”

“What? No.” It was a man’s voice. “Who is this? Where’s Eiji?”

Ash pulled the phone away to look at the number. He didn’t recognize the area code, and he definitely didn’t like the guy’s demanding tone. “I’m Eiji’s fiancé. Who’s this?” Distantly, he recognized that the gang leader had come back into his voice, felt the Ash that was capable of really fucked up shit clawing his way to the surface.

The man laughed, utterly disbelieving. “Eiji Okumura does not have a fiancé.”

The arrogance made Ash prickle. “He does now,” he growled. “You didn’t answer my question, so I’ll ask just one more time. Who the fuck is this?”

The guy on the other end was quiet a second, maybe realizing that he couldn’t push through Ash the way he’d obviously expected. When he spoke again, his attitude had shifted into something less demanding. “Look, this is Eiji’s coach, Owen Andersson.”

Of course. The infamous Owen. “What do you want?”

“Can you put Eiji on the phone?”

“I actually can’t.” Ash glanced up at the closed bathroom door. The water was still on, so Eiji would be in there a while longer. “How about you tell me what you want and I’ll let him know?”

“I need to talk to him,” Owen said. “He’s been ignoring my calls—”

“Didn’t he fire you?” 

Owen sputtered. “He’s confused. It’s not unusual for emotionally-weak, high-strung athletes to have doubts and do stupid things that end their careers. The stress of competition gets under their skin, especially this close to the Olympics. But there’s still time for Eiji. If he comes home right now.”

“He is home,” Ash insisted. “With me.”

The man on the other end laughed. It wasn’t pleasant. “Listen here,” he said in a tight, frustrated voice that reminded Ash of Marvin when Ash was finally big and strong enough to ignore him. “Eiji Okumura is a goddamned mess, but by God, he’s my mess. He’s good at exactly one thing, and he owes it to me to go to Paris and win that goddamned medal. I did not invest years of my life on a dud, and I won’t let some kind of emotional breakdown stand between—”

“Did you say that to him?” Ash remembered the look on Eiji’s face when he talked about Owen, about jumping. He’d told him a lot, but there was something he’d held back, something he didn’t want to share with Ash. Now, it didn’t take much to fill in the gaps. “Eiji finally made a decision that he’d been struggling with, and you told him he was having an ‘emotional breakdown’? With that kind of coaching, you deserved to get your ass fired.”

“I don’t know who the hell you are, or what gives you the right to—”

“I told you,” Ash said, his voice low and threatening. “I’m his fiancé. If Eiji wants to talk to you, he’ll call you. In the meantime, I recommend you forget this number.”

“Who the fuck—” Owen roared.

“My name’s Ash Lynx,” Ash snarled, feeling feral. “Google it. Find out what I’m capable of, and maybe think about that the next time you consider trying to badger Eiji.”

Ash hung up and tossed the phone back onto the couch. He scooped up a stress ball from the coffee table and paced the living room, restless. That bastard was Eiji’s coach? The guy he’d put all his trust into? The guy he’d lived with for years? The possessive way Owen had talked about Eiji, Ash was more certain than ever that he was a creep. 

Had he coerced Eiji into fucking him?

The ball in his hand split, disgorging pink gel all over his hand. The shock of sensation stopped Ash in his tracks—it had been years since he’d destroyed one of those. He threw the remains onto the kitchen counter, then rinsed the goo on his hands into the sink.

Ash stood there, breathing hard and staring at the destroyed ball. It wasn’t good for him to get this upset. For the first time in ages, he felt violent—felt like punching a wall or even a face. He was glad that Owen lived hundreds of miles away. No chance for a felony assault charge.

“Ash? Are you okay?”

He hadn’t noticed the shower turning off, hadn’t heard Eiji’s footsteps, but somehow Eiji was there. He stood in the kitchen wearing striped pajamas like an old man, his wet hair dripping onto his neck. His golden skin was flushed pink from the heat and the scent of his shampoo made Ash’s already-unstable insides tremor.

Eiji cocked his head, concerned. “I heard you talking to someone. You sounded upset.”

“It was no one. A wrong number.” 

Eiji’s expression was skeptical. He looked at the remains of the stress ball oozing on the counter. “You sounded pretty mad for a wrong number.”

The anger that had been on pause surged up inside Ash again. He’d been defending Eiji, and how he was getting the third degree? He almost let it out, almost snarled at Eiji, asking him what the hell he’d been thinking, getting tangled up with a guy like Owen, but then he remembered what his therapist had taught him about directing his anger. Problems, not people. Eiji was not the problem.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said instead. “You done in the bathroom?”

Eiji nodded, obviously bewildered, as Ash brushed past him. He needed to be out of the room, away from Eiji’s wet hair and dark eyes and that goddamn phone that still linked him to his bastard coach.

*

Eiji crept upstairs about ten minutes after Ash turned off the light. He’d cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and then bundled up the garbage to take it to the trash chute in the morning. He was too worn out to mess with it tonight.

He got up to the landing, surprised that Ash hadn’t said anything yet. He had to realize Eiji was there—even going slowly, he was hardly stealthy. But the room was still. Eiji climbed the last three steps to a dark, unmistakably empty room. Eiji hadn’t been up there since they’d moved in, and it felt like trespassing.

The bed was still neatly made. A clock on the bedside table glowed the time in pale blue numbers, illuminating the cover of a book. A receipt marked a spot about halfway through. More books were stacked up on the floor, the pile almost reaching the tabletop. This was what he did up there, Eiji realized, reevaluating the quiet hours Ash spent up there on weekends or early in the evening. He’d figured Ash just liked naps.

The sliding door to the roof was open just a crack. Eiji wouldn’t have noticed except for the cold air that rolled across the floor to his ankles.

He’d found his phone on the couch—across the room from where he’d left it on the table—and immediately realized that the phone call that made Ash so angry had been meant for him. The call had a Toronto area code and lasted two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Definitely not a wrong number.

Eiji wondered what Owen had said to Ash.

He reached for the dark quilt that was folded across the foot of Ash’s bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. Glad he was wearing slippers over his socks, Eiji slid the door open and stepped out.

It was brighter outside than in, thanks to the constant glow of the city. The lights of New York spilled down over the rooftop, illuminating midnight as though it were twilight. The walls that secluded their space from the rest of the roof buffered the wind. It was cold, but not bitter.

Ash leaned against one wall, his lit cigarette an orange beacon. He wore a heavy knitted cardigan over his sweats and a beanie pulled low over his head. “I wondered if you would ever find your way out here,” he said, then breathed out a long stream of pale smoke.

Eiji considered telling him that he hadn’t wanted to invade his privacy, but it felt like the wrong thing to say while wrapped up in the blanket from his bed.  “I don’t know what Owen said to you,” he said instead, “but I’m sorry you had to deal with him.”

Ash frowned. “You don’t need to apologize for him.”

Eiji flinched. He still sounded angry. “I’m apologizing for me,” he clarified. “Because I haven’t told you everything.” The cold air made his chest ache, or maybe that was just the conversation.

“Like you said last week, we’re not boyfriends.” Ash’s voice was tight. He took another long drag from his cigarette; Eiji waited while he slowly exhaled. “You don’t need to apologize for holding back.”

They weren’t boyfriends. Eiji swallowed hard. But that didn’t mean he didn’t owe Ash the truth. He closed his eyes for a long moment, wondering where to start before deciding on the beginning. “I had to claw my way onto that winners’ podium in Tokyo,” he said at last, hating the waver in his voice. “A bronze was more than anyone ever expected of me, back then. But I wanted to show my father that he’d raised a winner. I needed to win that medal so he’d finally see that I wasn’t too short, too nearsighted, too lazy to put in the work.”

Ash shifted, and Eiji wondered if he was uncomfortable with this side of him. Owen always had been, always sent him to sweat his feelings away at the gym. But they never disappeared. “At the time, my dad was in hospice, dying of cancer. When I went to see him, he just shook his head and looked away.” Eiji gulped the cold air, feeling stupid for getting so upset after all those years. “That man wanted nothing to do with my bronze medal. He wanted nothing to do with me. That’s why I moved to Canada to train.”

“Eiji.” There was something in Ash’s voice that made it impossible for Eiji to look at him.

“He died a few months later,” he continued instead. “I didn’t go back.” With anyone else, Eiji expected judgement for that, but he thought Ash would understand.

“I counted on Owen to put me back together, and for a while, it seemed to work. I tried so hard to please him, Ash. We used to celebrate everything—the wins, obviously, but also the effort. Even when I didn’t hit the numbers we expected, he told me that my effort was more important than my score.” Eiji looked out over the city, where the Empire State building shone like a beacon in the darkness. It gave him the strength to continue. “I felt so close to him back, then, like maybe he was the father I was supposed to have, rather than the one I ended up with.”

Ash stomped out his cigarette and stepped forward. “You don’t have to continue,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think I already understand.” He pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, agitated.

But Eiji was already at a full sprint, his pole planted. He had no choice but to finish what he started, to fling himself into the air, regardless of the landing. “A month before I came here,” he said, tears welling and then overflowing onto his cheeks, “he said that I could bring back a gold or get a new coach.”

“He said that to you?” Ash’s voice was dangerously soft.

Eiji shook his head. “I overheard a phone call.” He was full-on crying now—there was no point in trying to hold back. “For the past year, I’d fantasized about falling, about breaking a bone, about forced retirement. Every time I jumped, a little voice assured me that maybe this time would be the last.” He turned away shaking with grief or cold and ashamed, even now, to admit the rest. “After what Owen said, I heard that voice more often. Every time I walked down a staircase. Every time I stood on the curb of a busy street. Maybe this time I’d slip, or step out in front of a bus.”

Ash crossed the patio in two long strides, grabbing Eiji’s shoulder to pivot him back toward him. Eiji saw a flash of his face—a fierce expression he’d never seen before—just before Ash slid one hand behind Eiji’s head and pulled it down against his chest. “No,” he said roughly. Eiji felt the word against his hair. “Eiji—”

He didn’t say anything else, but Eiji felt every ragged breath, heard the violent rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a lifeline. He slid his arms up around Ash’s shoulders, wrapping the quilt around them both. They stood like that for a long time. Slowly, the cold of Ash’s clothes dissipated between them, and Eiji’s trembling stilled.

“I haven’t thought it since meeting you,” he confessed quietly into the front of Ash’s shirt.

Ash’s arms tightened around him. “Good.”

*

Letters #22 and #23:

Dear Eiji,

I just finished your letter, and I blew off class to write you back. Thank you for telling me about what happened with your dad. It means a lot to me that you would trust me with that. I know a thing or two about shitty parents, so I get it.

I wish his bullshit reaction didn’t matter to you. I mean, of course it does. We somehow love our dads, no matter how fucking little they’ve done to deserve it, but it makes me furious to think that, even after years, he’s still ruining this for you. Your pole-vaulting career is yours, 100% your own. You did the work—that unfathomable amount of work—to get where you are now. And why did you do it? I don’t think it was an attempt to impress your dad. Not really. You did it because you loved it

Remember when you told me about jumping? We were eating breakfast, just a few minutes before I had to leave. I still remember the look on your face. You told me about the weightless seconds when time stood still and you were flying. The way you looked made me jealous, a bit. Partly because I can’t imagine I’ll ever feel that free, and partly because I was sure that, no matter how close we got, I’d always play second fiddle to that feeling.

But now you’re thinking of quitting. I don’t know what to think about that. I’ve never been good at anything. Not anything worth doing, anyway. (My skill set is highly specialized and not at all suited to the real world, sadly.) I won’t say don’t quit—I respect your choices and will support whatever you decide—but I’m worried about your headspace, about where you are emotionally, as you make these decisions. 

It scares me to know that you’ve been fantasizing about falling. I’m worried you’ll do something stupid because of intrusive thoughts or some kind of suicidal ideation. You’re not thinking of killing yourself, are you? God, I hate writing that question, like my saying anything will put the thought into your head, even though I know that’s not how it works. So please, tell me honestly, and if it’s yes, please, please, PLEASE call a hotline or check yourself into a hospital. Fuck, I’ll put my phone number on the bottom of this letter, so you can call me and I’ll talk you off the ledge. I need you, Eiji. Don’t leave me.

Ash

Dear Ash,

You don’t have to worry. I don’t want to die, not even a little. I have been fantasizing about injuries, but only as a means to an end. I feel like I owe it to Owen, even more than to myself, to see this through, but an injury would be a blame-free exit. It’s just intrusive thoughts. Nothing to worry about.

The All-Japan Games are in two months. If I do well, I could qualify for the Olympics there, and so I’m trying to find the right headspace. 

It’s hard though. I don’t have an endgame. I’ll go to All-Japan, then the Asian Athletics Championship in Bangkok, and then the Worlds in Budapest, and next year I’ll probably end up in Paris at the Olympics again, but then what? Eventually, I’ll be too old for this sport. My body will get weaker and I’ll have to reinvent myself. That’s terrifying. I have no idea who that Eiji might be.

The only thing that really makes me happy these days (other than getting letters from you) is photography. I’m not even that good at it, though I think I’m improving. But that’s a less likely career than the pole vault, sadly. I sold some photos back in Japan, but I think that was only due to Ibe’s influence with the magazine and the fact that the press got a lot less access to the athletes because of Covid. Maybe I should come to New York. Isn’t that where artists come to watch their dreams die?

Plus, you’re there. That certainly adds to the appeal.

Objectively, I know I’m pretty useless. Even my goals are undefined: I barely know what I want, right now. I know I don’t want to disappoint Owen, but I want to be good at something that isn’t so closely tied to how I feel about my dad.

I put your number into my phone. I almost called you, just to see if your voice is really as wonderful as I remember. But we promised to test this, so I resisted.  I’m not too embarrassed to admit that I’ve looked at it enough that I’ve already memorized your number. There’s something comforting in knowing that I can talk to you anytime, just by pressing a button. 

I want you to feel that, so I’ll write mine, too. We’ve been dating what, almost six months? It feels like it’s time, lol. Just don’t call. Unless you need to. If you need me, you know I’m here.

Yours,

Eiji

Chapter Text

TWELVE

Michael turned fourteen in December. Max called Ash to ask him and Eiji to spend the day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art with them. “He’s really upset that his mom can’t come up from LA,” Max confided to Ash over the phone. “I thought seeing you might distract him?”

Eiji couldn’t come—he had already promised Kenichi he’d work a shift at the store—but Ash never objected to showing up for Michael. Because parking was a pain in the ass, he took the subway up to the Met, feeling conspicuous with a gift bag in his hands. He’d bought Michael a Nintendo Switch, and even under all that tissue paper, he felt like a mark, sitting there with something so expensive. He really should’ve just driven the car and sprung for valet.

As it was too late for that, Ash put on his best don’t-fuck-with-me glower. Two punks who’d been eyeing him got off at the next stop. It was good to know that he still had some Ash Lynx left in him.

He hadn’t been to the Met in ages. Not since his early teens, when Golzine still controlled him enough that it wasn’t too much of a risk to show him off to his cronies. They’d come to see an exhibit of medieval art that had been taken from ransacked monasteries and abbeys and then sold off to rich British families when King Henry VIII broke with the Church. Dino had been fascinated—powerful bastards appreciated powerful bastards, it seemed.

Ash had been more interested in the musicians playing on the lawn—three violins and a cello playing music he eventually discovered was Debussy’s String Quartet, Op 10. He’d also learned that one of the instruments he’d thought was a violin was actually a viola, but at the time he’d only been aware of being mesmerized by the sound they produced.

It wasn’t until he walked into the Great Hall to meet Max and Michael that Ash had any real memory of being inside at all. The sweeping arches and white marble sent a shiver of recognition through him, the faintest memory of Golzine’s hand on his arm, tugging him through the door and away from the music.

“Ash!” Michael waved at him from the far side of the octagonal counter. “We’re over here!”

It turned out that Ash had been invited more for Max’s benefit than Michael’s. Michael had brought both Kaylee and Xavier, and on the surface at least, he didn’t seem too broken up about Jessica. Ash watched them as they hurried ahead, eager to get to the Greek and Roman Art room. Kaylee was the tallest of the three, pretty, but in an ordinary sort of way. Xavier was only a bit shorter than Michael—he was a studious-looking boy with his hair twisted into short locs.

Next to them, Michael looked radiant. Ash had never seen him around friends, and he was glad to see how easily he laughed with them.  It was hard to imagine he’d just started at their school just over three months before. The three of them looked like they’d been friends forever. “I guess he’s doing okay in his new school,” Ash observed.

Max smiled. “He’s always been good at school. Both the learning and the social stuff.” Max watched as Michael stopped to look at a painting, motioning for his friends to stop as well. They were too far away for Ash to hear what they were saying, but Michael’s enthusiasm was obvious. “He got the best of both of us,” Max said fondly. “Book smarts from his old man and the ability to make people feel at ease from Jessica.”

Ash’s memory of Jessica was very specific and clear. It had nothing at all to do with feeling at ease. “Didn’t she threaten you with a shotgun as soon as we got to her place in LA?”

Max looked sheepish. “That was partly my fault,” he said, and Ash didn’t doubt it. Max had been a walking disaster when they’d first met; he could only imagine how shitty that must’ve been for Jessica and Michael. “But she’s a natural journalist—when she’s interviewing, she knows how win someone over with just a smile.”

“And then turn around and scare the shit out of them a second later,” Ash added dryly.

Instead of getting defensive, Max looked downright twitterpated.

“Based on that moony look on your face, I assume that things are better between the two of you now?”

The tension between them had been really awful when they’d all been in Los Angeles. Not only had she threatened to blow his head off, it was clear that Max believed she’d do it. Ash had never seen the guy so meek before. Ash hadn’t liked her much at all. It wasn’t until later, when she’d arrived in New York during the worst of the shit with Golzine, that he finally understood what Max saw in her. She was fierce; she definitely wasn’t afraid to throw a punch—metaphorically or physically. But more than that, she was loyal and kind—she’d come all that way to protect Max, but ended up being the Wendy to Ash’s Lost Boys for a couple of months. They’d all been better under her mothering, even if it came with a healthy dose of four-letter words.

Not that Ash would ever tell her that. Jessica didn’t need anyone’s approval, least of all Ash’s.

Now he watched Max try to decide how much to tell. “Don’t say anything to Michael,” he said at last. “It’s not certain, and I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

Ash didn’t comment on the fact that Max had obviously gotten his own hopes up. “He’s seen the mail,” Ash told him instead. At first, Michael would speculate about the nature of the letters from his mother, but as the months went by, he’d either decided on an explanation or lost interest.

“I told him she was sending child support checks.”

“Every week?” Ash raised his eyebrows. “Michael’s not some dumb kid you can just lie to.”

For a second, it looked like Max might get defensive, but then his shoulders slumped. “I know,” he admitted. “We need to sort this out soon, but I’m afraid of rushing things. Not everyone is slick enough to orchestrate a happily-ever-after in just a few weeks.”

It took a moment for Ash to register that Max was talking about him and Eiji. “Shut up,” he protested. “You know that shit’s fake.”

“If you say so,” Max said, but his tone was deeply skeptical.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

Before Max could answer, they caught up with the kids. They were in a room that looked like a Greek courtyard, flanked with columns and open to several stories up. Statues filled the space like a replica of Medusa’s garden. Many of them were damaged—missing arms or legs or even faces—but the craftsmanship was undeniable.

Ash forgot what they’d been talking about, struck instead by the realization of how very old everything was. The dates on some of the plaques were hundreds of years BCE. Ash gazed at a figure of a girl—young, maybe twelve or thirteen—astonished at how the fabric of her dress bunched and draped over the curve of her hip, looking like actual cloth, not stone.

“How did they do that?” Michael’s awed voice asked beside him. “How do you make marble look like that?”

“No idea,” Ash admitted. “But I’m glad we get to see it.” They stood for a long time in silence, and Ash realized that the others had already moved on. He was about to follow, but something in Michael’s posture made him pause. “You okay?” he asked.

Michael glanced furtively over his shoulder, seeming to gauge the distance between them and his friends. Kaylee and Xavier were holding hands, looking at a huge statue of the goddess Athena. Their heads were close together, apparently whispering. It seemed that was what Michael had been waiting for, because he stepped closer to Ash, angling his body so that he faced away from his friends. “Xavier said something strange to me,” he confided in a low voice.

Ash glanced at the kid over Michael’s head. “What kind of strange?” he asked, doing his best to keep his brain from diving into dark places. Xavier appeared to be a typical kid, looking especially harmless in too-dark jeans and an ugly Christmas sweater with Godzilla in a Santa hat embroidered onto the front.

Michael’s lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “We were looking at the statue of Achilles over there,” he said, gesturing at a larger-than-life depiction of the hero. “And Xavier said that I looked like him. Like the statue. Of freaking Achilles.”

“Does he like Achilles?” Ash asked, glancing at the statue. He supposed it could look a bit like Michael, in a really superficial, pretty blond boy way.

“Last month, when we studied the Iliad, he told me he felt like he was Patroclus, reincarnated.” Michael explained in a low voice. “So yeah, I think he likes Achilles.”

“Is that bad?” Ash asked, once more feeling like he had to be very careful where he stepped. He didn’t want to frustrate Michael on his birthday.

“I don’t know!” Michael didn’t wail, but it sounded like he wanted to. He ran a hand through his hair like Max always did when he was overthinking something. “Why would he say that to me when we’re only friends and it’s obvious that I’d remember how thirsty he’d been for Achilles when we read the Iliad, and even if he wanted to be more than friends, how could we while he’s with Kaylee, who happens to be my best friend in the whole world?”

Ash put his hands on Michael’s shoulders. “Breathe, buddy,” he encouraged. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. Your hair is blond and curly. Achilles’ hair is also blond and curly. Maybe you don’t need to read anything into it?”

He looked up at Ash like he was desperate to believe him. “You really think so?” he asked.

“Pretend he never said a word,” Ash advised. “It can’t be awkward if you act like it never happened.” The kid was so naturally honest that it hadn’t occurred to him to just pretend he hadn’t understood any possible double-meaning. Ash had to admire it, and wondered if it were possible that Michael could grow up without learning to wield basic duplicity as a weapon or shield. Learning when not to express his true feelings had been one of Ash’s earliest tools to stay alive. He hoped Michael could grow up without it.

Apparently less freaked out, Michael ran back to his friends. Ash walked over to get a better look at Achilles.

It depicted Achilles disguised as a woman while at the court of King Lycomedes. He was young and lean, shrouded in scarves and skirts carved to look fluid and thin against his skin. His expression was coy, but calculating. Ash recognized it at once—it was the wary look of a boy who’d use whatever trick necessary to get what he needed. Even as his pouty-lipped mouth seemed to welcome a lover, his eyes were sharp beneath tumbling curls. Ash had spent too many years doing exactly that—seeing it now on a statue was both familiar and horrifying, as though his secrets were being exposed to the public.

He didn’t like it at all, feeling such a dark connection with a piece of art that also managed to evoke Michael to one of his closest friends. He wanted even the thought of Michael to be a thousand miles away from that history.

Apparently, Max noticed him lingering, because he appeared at Ash’s elbow. “Are you okay?” he asked, unconsciously echoing the words Ash had just asked his son.

“Fine.”

“Fine, huh?” Max tilted his head up to take in the full breadth of the Achilles statue. He made a surprised noise in the back of his throat as he took in the flirtatious, almost provocative bend of the figure’s spine and hips. He chuckled and shook his head.

“What?” Ash barked. It was obvious that Max was laughing at him and he suddenly wasn’t in the mood for his shit.

“When I first suggested you help Eiji, you asked me what gave you the idea that you weren’t straight,” he explained, glee biting at the edges of his words. “And now here you are, a week away from being married to the guy, gazing moon-eyed at a this.” He clapped a hand on Ash’s shoulder and shook his head, already heading toward where the kids waited at the far end of the gallery.

Ash watched Max go, wondering if the guy was always that dense about art. Sure, the statue was effeminate—he was disguised as a woman, for fucks sake—and deliberately erotic, but Max had clearly missed the entire point of the piece.

Ash looked back up into the beautiful marble face, but this time he was beyond being triggered. Ash was already on the far side of that particular struggle, after all. This version of Achilles was still in the thick of it, sick of the shit the gods dealt him, sick of taking it lying down, but not sure yet how to proceed. He was still looking for his escape so he could take his rightful place on the battlefield, just like Ash had. “Break free,” he encouraged the marble boy in the delicate dress. “Live by your own terms, even if it kills you.”

*

After a few hours at the Met, including watching Michael open his presents on a bench in the Arms and Armor Court, the kids wanted pizza. Ash wasn’t hungry, and so he said his goodbyes, and headed back toward home. Instead of going in, however, his feet carried him straight past their building and all the way to Dainobu, the shop where Eiji worked. 

Ash leaned against a low wall in the alley next to the store and watched Eiji through the front window. He looked really friendly and efficient. Ash smirked as he scurried around the counter to lift a huge bag of rice for an old woman, managing to make it look completely effortless. Later, he came around again to crouch in front of a tiny little boy, offering him candy from their treat jar. The sweetness of his expression as he spoke to the boy made him smile.

No wonder his boss kept him working so many hours. The customers probably loved him.

By the time Eiji finished up, more than an hour had gone by and the sun had set. Ash was cold enough almost to regret having waited. He’d smoked three cigarettes and considered going home twice, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He watched as Eiji flipped the window sign to closed and then slipped out the door, locking it up behind him.

Even in the dark, Ash saw Eiji’s eyes widen, noticing him. He took another drag on cigarette number four, savoring its smoky bitterness before moving to stamp it out.

“Don’t!” Eiji cried, fumbling in his pocket. “I mean, keep smoking. The light here is…” He trailed off as he found his phone, and he stripped off one glove with his teeth. “Just ignore me, and keep waiting like you were,” he instructed through his teeth, were still clamped around the finger of his glove.

It felt awkward, but Ash obeyed, though he realized that it was time to explain to Eiji why he didn’t like having his photo taken. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and took a long drag. Eiji snapped a few pictures, and after Ash let out a long, smoky exhale, he smiled. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“Usually, I don’t like having my picture taken.” Ash dropped his cigarette and squashed it under his shoe.

Eiji slid the phone back into his pocket and pulled his glove back on. “I kind of guessed that,” he confessed, his voice a bit guilty. “I’ve seen the way you duck out whenever anyone starts snapping pictures.”

Ash didn’t know how to feel about that, about Eiji pushing a boundary he was aware of, even if it hadn’t been explicitly drawn. “I really hoped you wouldn’t mind,” Eiji continued before Ash could make up his mind, “but I’ll delete them if you tell me to.”

Ash thought about that. He wasn’t sure he’d considered what it might mean to live with a photographer. Was it even reasonable to expect to never end up in a photo? “Will you show me?”

“Absolutely!” Eiji promised, nodding sharply and reaching back into his pocket. His face had gone suddenly serious, as though he’d only just realized why Ash might be camera-shy. “Every time. And I swear, I’ll delete anything you tell me to.”

That sounded safe enough. Eiji hadn’t broken his promise about touch, after all. Ash nodded. “Okay.”

As they started home, Eiji showed Ash the pictures. The affect startled him. The photos were nearly identical—only the placement of his hands changed in each one. He was almost completely in shadow, the lights outside the alley catching on some of the graffiti on the wall beside him, but little else. The orange glow of the cigarette was enough to illuminate only the sharpness of his jaw and the golden ends of his hair, shaggy beneath his knitted hat; the rest of his face was lost to the deep shadows.

It was a striking series of photos. Ash was impressed. “Wow,” he said, handing the phone back to Eiji. “You’re good at this.”

“I wasn’t sure how the camera on the phone would pick up the light,” he said. “But I honestly think these might be better than what I would’ve captured with my Nikon.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The street was lit up for Christmas, lights twinkling on fire escapes and shop windows frosted with sprayed-on snow. Ash wondered if Eiji was going to keep those pictures, if those were the sort of thing he hoped to feature on gallery walls one day. He was surprised that he didn’t mind.

A gust of frigid wind cut up the street, and they both huddled deeper into their coats. Eiji adjusted his scarf and then immediately burrowed his hands deep into his pockets. So much for that hardy Canadian constitution. Ash’s weather app had predicted near-zero temperatures, which was unusual for mid-December, even in New York.

“Thanks for waiting for me. For walking me home,” Eiji said. “You must be freezing.”

He was. But he didn’t mind that, either. They were almost home, and something about walking with Eiji made the bitter cold less of a chore. “So how did you know it was me, out there in the dark?” he asked.

Eiji pulled his hat lower over his ears, turning away just enough that Ash couldn’t see his face. “I don’t know,” he hedged softly. “I guess I just know you.”

Ash’s cheeks flamed, but he wasn’t sure why.

*

“Mister Okumura, Mister Ibe,” the woman at the front desk greeted them in a smooth voice. “I’m Vanessa and I’ll be helping you find what you need today. You are right on time. Please follow me.” She was tall, made taller by a pair of sharp black stilettos that clicked against the tile floor.

Eiji glanced at Ibe, who looked as bewildered as Eiji felt. The sign outside read only Van Doren in sleek black letters, and now the lobby, too, gave no indication of what kind of establishment this was. The room was formal, in a minimalist-chic sort of way: marble tile on the floors and walls and a sleek mahogany counter. Even the counter had almost nothing on it—just an iPad in a case that looked like blood-red enamel.

They followed Vanessa around a corner into what seemed to be a dressing room. There was a pair of padded velvet benches in the same blood red, and the floor was carpeted in a plush gold. Curtained alcoves stood in three of the room’s four corners. The fourth was lined with angled mirrors. “Please have a seat. Dimitri?” A young man in a crisp black tuxedo hurried over. “Would you get our guests something to drink? Do you prefer red or white wine?”

She seemed to be waiting for Eiji to answer. “Um. Water is fine,” he assured her. Her gaze shifted to Ibe, who nodded.

“Two waters, then, Dimitri,” she said.

Eiji had no idea why they were there. Ash had been gone when he woke up that morning, on his way to take the first of five final exams that week. He’d left a Post It note stuck to his tea mug, an address and a time scrawled in Ash’s messy writing. A wedding/Christmas present from me. They’ll be expecting you this afternoon. Bring Ibe for company. A little heart stood in place of a signature, and Eiji made a point to fold the note carefully into his wallet—more evidence for INS, he told himself.

Now he and Ibe were there, and Eiji was starting to get nervous. Whatever this was, it was obviously very expensive.

“Mister Callenreese gave us your measurements, but he indicated that they were merely estimates. Dimitri will verify those and then we’ll get started.”

Just then, Dimitri returned with two glass bottles of water. He handed one to Ibe, unscrewing the cap for him, and set the other on a marble end table. “May I?” he asked Eiji, pulling a tape measure from his pocket. 

Moments later, Eiji had been measured. Vanessa glanced at Dimitri’s notations and smiled. “It seems your fiancé’s estimates were accurate. Please relax here while we gather some samples for you to try.”

“I guess this isn’t a ring shop,” Ibe commented as soon as they were alone. “I figured it had to be, but that is absolutely not the way you get sized for a ring.” He laughed and sipped his water. It was clear that he was as uncomfortable there as Eiji was, but he took it in stride.

Eiji, on the other hand, was freaking out inside. He’d felt awkward as soon as the tall, quiet man called Dimitri started measuring his shoulders and arms, but when he crouched to measure his inseam, Eiji was horrified. The unsettling procedure had lasted just a moment, but Eiji, who’d never owned tailored clothes in his life, was mortified.  It was obvious what this meant.

“I suppose I won’t need to borrow your tux after all,” he said ruefully. He’d already wondered what he was going to do about the pants, since Ibe was a good two inches taller. Sunny insisted she was good with a needle and thread, but Eiji had been dreading putting pin holes into Ibe’s nicest suit.

“Just as well,” Ibe noted. “If this is the kind of place where Ash buys clothes, my tux would’ve looked pretty shabby up there, next to him.”

Eiji tried to imagine Ash in this shop, lounging on the same velvet benches, patiently standing still while Dimitri’s hands ran up his legs. It was impossible. And yet, when he thought of Ash in a tuxedo—something he’d found himself doing on the regular, as their wedding date grew closer—he couldn’t imagine him in anything but the best.

“Ah, thank you for being patient!” Vanessa hurried into the room. She carried only a clipboard, and for an instant, Eiji wondered if he’d been wrong. A moment later, Dimitri followed, leading a wheeled clothing rack that held at least six garment bags. 

Vanessa ushered Eiji into a changing room. “Put on the trousers and shirt,” she directed crisply, handing him two hangers. “We will help you with the rest.”

He slid out of his jeans and stepped into the tuxedo pants; they felt amazing, smooth and sleek and unlike any article of clothing he’d ever worn. His white sport socks were ridiculous, but there wasn’t anything to do about them now. The shirt was crisp, with sharp creases and tiny black buttons. “This is the most traditional of your options,” Vanessa was calling through the curtain. “Classic white-tie.”

Eiji stepped out to be physically assaulted by Vanessa and her man. They yanked his sleeves and tugged at his waistband, even re-tucking his shirt in the back, which was its own private hell. A small bow tie was knotted under his collar as a white satin vest was slid up his arms. Finally, Dimitri tugged a coat over the whole ensemble. A ridiculous coat with tails that brushed the backs of his knees.

“Stunning,” Dimitri murmured.

Eiji glanced up at the mirrors. Apart from the white socks and shaggy hair, he did look good. But this kind of get up was for a much more formal wedding. “I’m getting married in a bakery on the Lower East Side,” he mumbled, half apologetic and half confused.

“The Lower East is very chic,” Vanessa told him. Eiji had no idea if she meant it, or if this was a case of the customer being right. “But I see your point. Let’s move on.”

Each suit was stunning, in its own way. There was a grey, the color of storm clouds low over the Nihon kai off Izumo, and a cream with gold threadwork, as well as tuxedos in every shade of black, unobtrusive apart from their exquisite tailoring and flashes of luxury. One was lined in silk of startling indigo, and another sported ivory buttons lovingly carved into miniature tiger faces. “Antique, of course,” Vanessa had assured him.

But Eiji preferred the plainest of them all, a simple tuxedo that looked like something James Bond might wear. Before sliding the classically-tailored coat over his arms, Dimitri had buttoned him into a quilted vest made of ivory satin. “Mister Callenreese explained that you like jade green,” Vanessa explained, “so we put together this look just for you. The vest was created using vintage textiles from India.” 

Looking closer, Eiji could see that the vest’s quilting was done in ornate thread, swirling and spiraling through the satin like a living creature. The thread was the exact color of Ash’s eyes.

“I think that’s the one,” Ibe said. “It suits you, Ei-chan.”

Eiji agreed. Though it was undoubtedly just as special and luxurious as the rest of them, this one felt simple. Uncomplicated. “I love it,” he said, still studying himself in the mirrors. This time, he didn’t see his unkempt hair or his athletic socks. 

He saw a man who was about to get married.

*

Even though the tuxedo seemed to Eiji to fit just fine, Vanessa insisted on keeping it back for alterations. “It will be ready on Friday morning, Mister Okumura,” she promised. “This tuxedo will fit as though you’d been born wearing it.” 

Dimitri had taken the jacket and vest, then carefully undid the tie at his throat and slipped the cuff links back into their velvet-lined box. He’d then ushered Eiji back into the changing room, and Eiji put on his blue jeans and sneakers and went back to being just Eiji.

Now, he and Ibe walked back toward Washington Square, both still overwhelmed and a bit dazed by the whole experience. “I need to get something special for Ash,” Eiji decided. 

Ibe shook his head. “I don’t think that’s why he set this up,” he said. “Ash isn’t the sort to expect that.”

Maybe not in the way Ibe meant, but Eiji knew Ash better. Ash liked things to be equitable. There’s no way I could ever pay someone money to be with me, he’d said. Even just to pretend. Ash would understand why Eiji needed to do this. “Still, I want to,” he insisted. “Do you know of any jewelry stores around here? You gave me the perfect idea, earlier.”

Ash had everything he needed. Everything he wanted, even. Anything Eiji could buy, Ash could easily get himself a better version. But he couldn’t buy his own wedding ring, could he? Eiji supposed he technically could—especially since this wasn’t even a real wedding—but thought that maybe, in this one thing, he could give Ash something meaningful. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Eiji assured Ibe outside the store. “Hana and Wynn are waiting for you.” Ibe was in his last few weeks of paternity leave—come January, he’d have to go back into work—and Eiji felt bad, keeping him away from his wife and daughter for even for a few hours.

Ibe looked uncertain. “Are you sure? I told her I’d be out for a while.”

“It’s fine. I’m really glad you came with me to the tux place, because that was terrifying. But I’m okay here, and your family needs you,” Eiji insisted.

His friend’s face softened. “Okay,” he agreed. “But,” he suddenly looked uncertain. “Are you sure this is appropriate?” Ibe gestured toward the jewelry store. “Ash throws his money around sometimes. I don’t want you to confuse that with…anything else.”

The implication was obvious. Eiji huffed out a long breath. He’d worried about the same thing, at first. But standing in front of those mirrors, trying on suits that probably cost more than a semester of college, he’d decided to trust his instincts. 

Ash cared about him.

It would be hard to explain how he knew: the quirk of his lips, a shift in his tone. Sarcasm tempered with something that looked a lot like tenderness. He softened, sometimes, when Eiji came close to him. It wasn’t much—the difference of a breath released or shoulders losing their tension—but Eiji saw it. Loved it.

He wasn’t naïve enough to think that it changed anything; Ash would be his husband in name-only, and it wouldn't be forever. He knew that. But he could do this one thing to show Ash at least a fraction of what he was feeling.

The shop was cramped and narrow, with long, glass cases on either side and scarred hardwood floors that felt original to the old building. The cases were lined with black fabric and built-in lights made every gemstone and polished metal band gleam. Immediately, Eiji understood why Ibe had brought him there. The shop had as much in common with the cold, platinum-and-diamond jewelers as a farmer’s market did with Costco.

The jewelry looked handmade. Not like the rough-hewn, Ren-Faire stuff he’d seen at art festivals, but unique just the same. There were gems in every color and cut, set in rings and pendants where the metal was more than just a backdrop. Every piece was a unique, bohemian statement to be dangled from ears and necks or banded around digits. This was exactly the place where he’d find something for Ash that couldn’t be outdone simply by supplying more money. 

“Are you shopping for someone special?” The man behind the counter looked like he was a million years old. 

“Did you make all of this?” Eiji asked, too incredulous to check his enthusiasm. 

The old man laughed ruefully. “I’m too old to make jewelry anymore. My hands are unsteady and my eyesight is failing.”

“I’m sorry,” Eiji said automatically. “That must be hard.”

He waved away Eiji’s concern. “My grandchildren are my hands and eyes now. They bring my designs to life, so don’t you worry a thing about me. Tell me instead about the beautiful woman who inspired your visit.”

Eiji shook his head. “A man,” he said, trying not to feel awkward.

“Ahh, forgive me,” the jeweler said. “Is this for a special occasion?”

“A wedding. We’re getting married on Saturday.”

The old man clapped his hands, his whole face alight with joy. “That’s marvelous!” he cried. “Let me show you our men’s wedding bands.” He waved Eiji toward the back of the store where the jewelry was less delicate and colorful. 

“Your love deserves something unique,” he said as he hobbled along the far side of the counter. “And with men’s rings, it’s harder to find something special.”

He pulled a velvet lined tray from the case. It contained three rings, each one propped up on a finger-width post. His hand trembled slightly as he placed one—dark almost to black—in Eiji’s palm. “This one is made of ebony grown in sub-tropical Africa. We use only the heartwood, which is strong and more resilient. It’s still a fairly fragile ring—it won’t suit a laborer.”

“He’s a student,” Eiji blurted. “And then he’ll probably become something like an economist. No physical labor.” 

“Good. A delicate ring suits a delicate hand.”

Delicate was not the world Eiji would’ve used for Ash’s hands, though. They were beautiful—narrow and nimble—but he’d done some truly horrific things with those hands. They were survivor’s hands. “I don’t think that would suit him,” he murmured. 

The old man nodded, placing the ring back into its spot. The next was far more rustic. The metal was a dark grey, with a narrow band of sleek black inlaid around the middle. “Titanium,” the shopkeeper said, before Eiji could ask. “It’s stronger than steel. The inlay is obsidian.”

Eiji traced his finger tip along the smooth inlay. “Volcanic glass,” he said, wonderingly. Obsidian was gorgeous and shiny, but when broken, its edges could be sharper than razor blades. “It’s like him.”

“This one also has obsidian,” the old man said, holding up the third ring. The inlay was wider on this one, taking up more than half the ring’s width. It was polished to look almost wet against the black metal band.

This third ring was surprisingly heavy in Eiji’s palm. “What is this metal?” he asked. 

“Tungsten. The name is Swedish for ‘heavy stone,’ which is very appropriate. This particular tungsten came from a meteorite.”

“A meteorite?” Eiji was astonished. It had never occurred to him that anything could be made with meteorites, let alone jewelry.

The shopkeeper peered at Eiji over his wire-framed glasses. “Your voice tells me that you came here from far away.” He plucked the ring from Eiji’s hand and held it up so that the light shone off the obsidian inlay. “Look at how that tungsten holds the obsidian. Just like a lover.” 

He put the ring back into Eiji’s hand and curled his fingers around it. “It traveled a long, long way to do that.”

Eiji’s chest ached. Ash wouldn’t see that symbolism. To him it would just be a ring. Just a ring Eiji gave him on the day they got married to spite the government. Eiji squeezed it in his hand, feeling its weight, its presence. 

But, even if Ash never understood all of it, Eiji wanted this ring. He wanted Ash to have something, maybe when he’s as old as this ancient jeweler, to remember the boy who’d crash-landed into his life.

“I’ll take it.”

Chapter Text

THIRTEEN

Ash tucked a bookmark between the pages and put his book on the nightstand. The clock there said it was past one o’clock. He’d finished his last exam yesterday afternoon and had wasted no time about getting started on the stack of to-be-read books that had accumulated on the floor next to his bed. It felt good to read mindlessly, instead of studying. 

But now he really needed to sleep. He was getting married tomorrow, after all.

His tuxedo hung in its garment bag—Ash could see the dark shadow of it hanging on the hook by the wardrobe on the landing. Eiji’s hung next to it. They’d both been surprised when the blond guy from the shop delivered it just after noon that day. Sergei had shooed Ash out of his own room so Eiji could try it on “to see if it needs any last-minute adjustments.” 

It hadn’t. Ash wasn’t surprised. Van Doren never rushed the details, even for a last-minute alteration. By the time Ash had trudged back upstairs, Sergei was zipping the garment bag, and Eiji was pulling his sweatshirt back on over his head, a strip of bare stomach distracting Ash from his chance to glimpse the tux before it was sealed away.

Eiji had made him sea bream and rice for dinner, something called tai-meshi that he said was traditionally eaten at Japanese weddings. He’d served it in a bowl of rice, and they’d picked the tender fish apart with chopsticks. It was incredible. Ash had meant to ask Eji how he’d learned to cook so well, but had gotten too tongue tied over the idea of wedding traditions to actually say anything much at all.

Their preparations, from the cake Nadia was baking to the tuxedos, had been aimed at giving their wedding a sense of legitimacy, just in case it came into question. They were even taking a honeymoon trip, because Ash figured, with his money and free time, it would look really suspicious if they didn’t. But traditional food for just the two of them? Unless Eiji was concerned that his boss at the grocery store would rat them out—possible, but unlikely—it did nothing to add to the ruse. 

Maybe it was just that he was far away from home and missed their traditions, but Ash was almost sure there was more to it.

They were getting married. No matter the reasons behind it, after tomorrow, he and Eiji would be linked. He would always be Eiji’s first husband. His first marriage. His first divorce. In twenty years, Ash would still be a story in Eiji’s history, even if it wasn’t one worth telling.

And they’d gotten close. At first, that had seemed like a good thing—Ash thought this would be easier if they were friends—but now? He didn’t know. It was clear that Eiji cared about him. 

Fuck it. It was time to be honest with himself.

He cared about Eiji, too.

And that dangerously complicated something that should’ve been simple. Because this wasn’t going to be permanent. They were going to live there, entwined in each other's lives for only five years.

Ash didn’t like not knowing the endgame. He was already used to Eiji being there, used to tripping over his running shoes in the entry and being overwhelmed by the scent of his shampoo in the shower. He liked it. After five whole years, how will it feel to watch him leave? 

Catching feelings, Max had called it. Like chickenpox. He’d thought his whole damn life had been an inoculation, but now he wasn’t sure it took.

Shorter would tell him he still had time to call it off, but Ash knew he wouldn’t. He was marrying Eiji tomorrow afternoon. He could barely imagine a scenario where that didn’t happen. Eiji needed this. He was counting on him, and Ash wasn’t going to let him down.

He switched off the tiny reading light he kept clipped to his nightstand and took off his glasses. He fumbled in the dark for his glasses case, but his fingers brushed velvet instead. Ash’s fingers closed over the tiny box as his other hand re-situated the glasses on his face. The light flicked back on.

It was a ring box, though not like the black, spring-loaded one that held the Cartier band he’d chosen for Eiji. This one was old-fashioned, with a tiny swivel clasp encircling a brass peg. The velvet was green like moss and just as soft as the real thing. Ash opened it carefully.

The ring lay in a nest of ivory satin. The band was made of heavy, dark grey metal, inlaid with some kind of black stone that gleamed in the dim light. It was beautiful. Eiji’s note was folded into the lid:

The metal is tungsten from a meteorite. Just like me, it traveled a long way to end up here. The black inlay is a stone called obsidian, which is made in volcanoes. It endured the worst kind of violence and still, it became strong and beautiful. Like you.

Even if it’s just for a little while, I’m glad I get to marry you, Ash. 

A tremor quaked through Ash’s hands as he slid the ring over his fourth finger. It fit perfectly, though he had no idea how Eiji had managed that. He was halfway down the stairs before he questioned the impulse. The wood floors were cold beneath his bare feet as he crossed the living room; his breath came hard as he came to a stop beside the folded-out couch.

Eiji was asleep, his hair wild across the pale pillowcase. Despite the chilly night, he’d kicked the blankets half off, exposing his old-man pajamas. His shirt was partially unbuttoned and askew, revealing sharp, golden collarbones.

Ash curled his fingers into his palms, resisting the urge to touch him. He traced his fingertip along the curve of the band instead, trying to imagine Eiji in a jewelry shop, Eiji looking at rings and thinking of him the whole time.

“Ash?” The boy in front of him stirred groggily, opening his eyes. Ash held his breath, wondering how Eiji had known he was there. “Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?”

It should’ve been ludicrous, asking a grown man if he’d had a bad dream, except that Ash did get nightmares. He hadn’t realized that Eiji knew. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Not tonight.”

Eiji sat up in bed, rubbing one hand over his eyes like a little kid. “What’s wrong?”

Ash’s finger caressed the ring again, and something behind his eyes burned. “Nothing,” he said after too long a pause. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Eiji blinked at him through the darkness, then seemed to accept the answer. “Okay.” He was already curling back into his blankets. “Go back t’bed, Ash,” he mumbled, sleep tripping his words. “You don’ get ’nough sleep.”

It was true. He didn’t. Ash gazed down at him for another long moment, then turned and crept up the stairs.

Tomorrow he’d marry Eiji. He’d hold Eiji’s hands and promise his life to him, and listen to Eiji promise the same, knowing that they both held the truth silent in their heads. It was only a show. A farce.

Eiji would not belong to him, any more than he would belong to Eiji. He had to make sure it stayed that way. There was no point in indulging the feelings the bubbled up between them—as Max had warned, they’d only suffer for them later.

*

Everything was going wrong and Ash was pissed.

“What do you mean, the minister isn’t coming?” he snarled at Max’s reflection in the mirror.

“I’ve already got a couple of feelers out—”

“Feelers?” Ash turned around and slammed his hand down on the white marble counter. “Max! The wedding starts in thirty fucking minutes!”

He was in the bakery kitchen, getting dressed in front of a mirror that had been propped against the door of the walk-in refrigerator. His tuxedo jacket was draped over one of the oversized mixers on the far counter, a champagne rose with a sprig of eucalyptus and other greenery pinned to the lapel. Ash couldn’t remember when Sunny had pinned it on—maybe before he realized that he’d left the legal paperwork at home on the kitchen counter and sent Shorter to get it? Or maybe it was after Michael had informed him that Eiji had lost a contact lens in the bathroom upstairs? It was definitely before Nadia’s assistant dropped the top tier of the wedding cake when he tripped over one of the chairs that had been moved for the ceremony, because Sunny had spent the past twenty minutes consoling him while Nadia hastily decorated a substitute layer.

On top of all that, he’d received a card from Blanca that morning. It was disguised as a congratulatory note, but Ash could clearly recognize the what the fuck do you think you’re doing subtext. He wasn’t sure who had told Blanca, though it was probably Sing. That little shit had become weirdly friendly with the assassin during all the stuff that had happened before. Ash planned to have words with him after the ceremony—he didn’t give two fucks that he’d grown into some kind of giant with biceps the size of Ash’s thighs—assuming there was a ceremony, given Max’s news.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Max?” Ash demanded now, resisting the urge to yank at his styled hair. “Eiji’s whole fucking future hinges on this happening. He’s up there, counting on me—”

“Actually, he’s up there putting his contacts in,” Shorter’s wry voice cut in from the doorway. “Though I’m sure he’ll get back to counting on you as soon as that’s done.” He stepped through the bead-and-ribbon curtain and set his motorcycle helmet on the counter. “You might want to keep your voice down—some of your guests have already arrived.”

“Then you need to get dressed,” Max insisted, shoving a garment bag into Shorter’s arms. “We’re just sorting out a little hitch.”

Ash snorted. A little hitch. He wanted to punch the old man in the mouth, but busied himself with the tying of his bow tie, instead.

“Our officiant broke his leg scaling a fire escape last night,” Max explained to Shorter.

“Was he running from the law or something?” Shorter asked, stripping off his hoodie and stooping to untie his boots.

Max shook his head. “He’s a private eye. He was probably trying to take some dirty photos to prove infidelity. That’s his usual schtick.”

Ash rolled his eyes. Max sure knew a lot of weirdos. “So now his failed parkour is my problem,” he grumbled. “We need someone to marry us.”

Shorter’s eyes went wide. “Shit,” he cursed softly. “Want me to go ask if anyone out there can do it?” He was busy shimmying into his dress pants, though, so Ash stepped out into the bakery’s front room to do it himself.

Nadia had finished the cake tier; it perched on the top of the small wedding cake, looking like something out of a magazine. The rest of the place looked pretty good too; Sunny had managed to work the color scheme—jade and champagne—into everything.

Shorter had been generous, suggesting they had guests. Sing and Michael sat at a table by the window, playing some game on Michael’s Nintendo Switch. They made an odd couple: short, skinny Michael across from Sing, who looked like he could be a body double in a superhero movie—it was fucking unsettling. Hana and Nadia were chatting by the counter while Sunny cooed at Wynn. And that was it. Those were the guests that Shorter had been fussing about, none of whom could conduct a wedding.

The bell over the door jangled and a tall, blond woman stepped in. She looked like an advertisement for a Scandinavian vacation in a lavender puffer jacket and a knit cap that sported a fluffy white pom-pom. Ash felt a shock of recognition when she took off her sunglasses to survey the room. 

“Max said you were getting married, but I didn’t really believe it,” Jessica said in place of a greeting. She shook her head at the sight of Ash in a tuxedo. “And to a friend of Shunichi’s from Japan? Ash Lynx’s mail-order groom was not on my bingo card for this year.”

“Mom!” Michael dropped his controller onto the table and careened across the shop into his mother’s arms. “Dad didn’t tell me you were coming!”

Jessica hugged him, her face softening into an expression that even Ash recognized as pretty. “He doesn’t know,” she said, her cheek pressed against his hair. “I wanted to surprise you both.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ash said, surprised to realize that he meant it. “Mikey has really missed you.”

She smirked at him over her kid’s head. “I couldn’t miss watching you walk down the aisle,” she said, sounding more sincere than sarcastic, for a change.

“You wouldn’t happen to be authorized to legally perform weddings in New York, would you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “’Fraid not,” she said slowly. “Sounds like a serious problem.”

“Jessica?” Ash hadn’t even noticed the rustle of the beaded curtain, but Max’s raw voice made everyone turn to look. Even Michael stepped out of his mother’s embrace, his eyes going wide as he took in the stark emotion on his father’s face. 

Max looked jubilant and terrified in equal measure, and somehow even older than he’d looked only five minutes before. “Jessica,” he said again. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed my kid.” She smiled then, a tender, lopsided thing that made Ash feel like he was seeing something private. “And I missed you, Max.” 

Max reacted like the action hero Ash could grudgingly admit he always looked like, crossing the room in a few great strides and pulling Jessica into his arms. 

Sunny squealed and clapped her hands as they kissed, and even Michael looked more ecstatic than embarrassed by the whole thing. Ash thought it was sweet, though he crossed his arms and frowned just the same. When Max finally came up for air, Ash wanted his disapproval to be the first thing the man registered.

They were still kissing when Ibe came downstairs, his jacket missing and his tie askew. “Oh,” he said, taken aback by the scene. “I guess they’re back together.” He turned to Ash. “When did Jessica get here?”

“Just now,” Ash explained. “And you’ll probably agree that they should GET A FUCKING ROOM.” 

Max disengaged, looking sheepish and really, really happy. Jessica only glowered at Ash.

“Shorter just told us,” Ibe said, back on track. “We don’t have an officiant?”

Ash shook his head. “Max said he was on it, but—” He waved a hand toward where Max was introducing Jessica to Nadia and Sunny. “I think we’re on our own.”

Ibe’s brows knit together and he pulled something up on his cell phone. “According to this, the state of New York would let any one of us get certified for the day,” he said, “but the paperwork has to be done in person at the courthouse. That would take about an hour and half at least, with travel time, and that’s assuming there’s no wait once we got there.”

Ash didn’t like it. Nadia and Sunny had worked their asses off to get this wedding ready for them. Postponing it—or worse, moving the whole shebang uptown to the court house—would suck. But what other choice did they have?

“Ash Lynx!” a booming voice called from the doorway. Ash hadn’t even heard the bell jangle. “What’s this I hear about you getting yo’ ass married?”

If Ash had been surprised to see Jessica, it was nothing compared to his astonishment when Cain Blood strolled into the bakery. “It’s true,” Ash said, masking his surprise behind a fist bump. “But I’m surprised you heard about it all the way up in Harlem.”

Cain laughed, peering at Ash from behind his signature shades. “Ain’t no way news like that wasn’t gonna travel.”

He looked older. He’d always been older than Ash, but now he looked like a real adult, almost as old as Shunichi. And Ash had never seen him dressed so well—he wore dress pants and a black button-down shirt under his leather jacket. “You look good,” Ash said. “What are you up to these days?”

“Apparently I’m still running interference for you,” Cain said. “Did I just hear you say you ain’t got no one to officiate?”

“Yeah.” Ash glanced toward the back stairs. Eiji was probably freaking out by now. “Our guy is incapacitated.” 

“That’s some bad luck,” Cain said. “Lucky for you, I’ve had a change in circumstances in the past few years, and I’m in a position to help you out again.”

“You know someone?” It was more than Ash could’ve hoped for.

“I am someone,” Cain boasted. “After all that shit with Dino Golzine and that bastard Foxx, I figured I was in the wrong profession.” He laughed again at Ash’s dumbfounded expression. “You ain’t the only one who saw the light, Lynx. I took my ass to school, too, and now I run a youth ministry, looking after the kids in the neighborhood. Same work, basically, but this time, I’m making my Nana proud.”

Ash blinked, stunned. It made sense—people grew up and left the gangs they ran with—but for some reason, Ash had never considered for a second that Cain Blood wasn’t still doing the same things he’d always done. “You’re a minister?”

“Sure am!” Cain clapped a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “And I’m happy to officiate for you today.”

Relief had barely crashed over him before a nervous feeling stirred in the pit of Ash’s stomach. “I’m marrying a guy,” he said, maybe a bit too blunt. “Will that be a problem?”

The larger man frowned, lowering his sunglasses to peer at Ash. “I’m open minded enough to put my life on the line to fight next to a skinny white boy. I ain’t ‘bout to start judging who you love, Lynx.” 

Ash grinned. “Thanks, man.” He reached out a hand to shake, and Cain grasped him by the forearm instead, the way they’d agreed to their partnership years ago. “It’s good to be working with you again.”

*

Eiji took a deep breath and looked into the mirror. The tuxedo had been tailored to his exact measurements, and just as Vanessa had promised, it was perfect. Ibe had tamed his hair with gel and a blow dryer so that the man in his reflection was a version of himself he’d never seen, never even imagined. 

“Ten minutes,” Shorter said, poking his head through the doorway before rushing back downstairs. Ibe was already down there, leaving Eiji alone to get his thoughts together, but Eiji felt more scattered than ever.

He wondered what Ash was doing. Sunny had arranged for Eiji and Ash to get ready in separate rooms, bemoaning the fact that they’d seen each other at all that morning. “It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony,” she’d insisted, nudging Eiji up the stairs into Nadia’s apartment while Nadia ushered Ash into the bakery kitchen.

Eiji didn’t know much about luck, but he knew he had to see Ash now, before they went through with this. He wasn’t sure of the layout of Nadia’s apartment, but he was able to find the stairs that led down to the shop. They opened into a back room—kind of a hallway between the kitchen, a storage room, and what looked like a tiny staff bathroom. Ash was supposed to be getting ready in the kitchen.

He peeked into the room, immediately in awe of the professional efficiency of the place. In addition to a wall of giant ovens, the room had stainless steel counters and large stand mixers. About half a dozen wheeled cooling racks were lined up next to what Eiji guessed was a walk-in refrigerator.

There was no sign of Ash.

The counter in the middle of the room had a marble top, instead of steel. Ash’s things were strewn across it—a hairbrush and some kind of gel, a bottle of cologne, and a tiny black ring box. The jeans and sweater he’d worn in were draped over one corner, and his shoes—red Chuck Taylors that matched less than half of his wardrobe, but he wore just the same—were abandoned on the floor.

Eiji’s new shoes squeaked as he crossed the tile floor. He reached immediately for the ring box, his curiosity getting the better of him. It popped open in his hand. The ring was beautiful—brushed platinum, he guessed, with straight edges and a tiny, off-center groove etched into it.

“Do you like it?”

Startled, Eiji jumped and half-turned. Ash was standing near the beaded doorway to the shop. He looked incredible, somehow even more gorgeous in his black tuxedo than Eiji had imagined he would. There seemed to be nothing fancy or special about the tux, but it somehow still announced its luxurious origins with a cut that emphasized Ash’s narrow silhouette.

“I do,” he stammered, remembering he’d been asked a question. He looked back down at the ring, “I think it might be exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself.”

Ash looked unsure. “It’s nothing like what you chose for me,” he noted.

Eiji worried his thumb against the quilted satin of his vest, feeling the hard round outline of the ring through the material. That morning, Ash had casually left the ring Eiji had bought him in its box on the counter. “I found what you left me last night,” he’d said, turning away from him to prepare coffee. “Don’t forget to put it with your stuff to take to Nadia’s.”

“Do you like it?” Eiji had asked him.

Ash hadn’t looked up, hadn’t answered while the coffee machine dispensed a fragrant stream into his mug. He took a sip before turning toward Eiji. His face was a study in neutrality, only the slightest quirk of his lips indicating a smile. “I love it,” he said at last, before grabbing an apple and taking his mug upstairs to drink while he got dressed.

There was an echo now, of the disappointment he’d felt at Ash’s lukewarm response. “I suppose you would have preferred something like this,” Eiji said, handing him the little black box.

Ash plucked out the ring and tucked it into his pocket. “No,” he said quickly, his voice sounding unprepared. “Eiji, that ring—” He looked down and huffed a deep breath. “I’ve gotten expensive gifts before, right?” His hands instinctively reached to run through his hair, but at the last minute he stopped himself from ruining the perfect styling. “Men have given me all kinds of shit over the years—when I was twelve, a senator gave me a pair of diamond cufflinks. Jesus Christ! Who gives a kid something like that?”

“What did you do with them?” Eiji asked, startled by the turn in the conversation.

Ash shook his head. “Golzine took ‘em. Probably threw them into a vault somewhere, who the fuck knows?”

“I guess I hadn’t considered that,” Eiji said, feeling a sick twist in his stomach. “I hadn’t thought about how it would feel to get jewelry as a gift from me. We probably should’ve just picked it out together.”

“No!” Ash cried. “You got it wrong, Eiji. Your ring—you’re the first person who’s ever given me anything that was about me, not them. I’ve been given cars and fancy clothes, and once Dino Golzine held me down while someone stabbed a hole in my ear so I could wear some flashy-ass chunk of jade that was worth more than twice what my childhood house would go for. That shit was meant to mark me. To show the world that I was his personal property.

“But you,” he continued, looking almost distraught, “you got me a wedding band—something that was literally designed to convey ownership—and yet you thought about me, about what I might like and about what might be meaningful to me, the whole damn time. You have no idea how huge that is.”

“I wanted you to remember me,” Eiji confessed. He hadn’t planned to tell him this. It was embarrassing to think that Ash might see through to all of his insecurities. “After this is all over, I wanted you to look at that ring and remember me.”

“Fuck, Eiji.” His hand really did comb through his hair this time, tousling it into something suggestive and rakish. “It worked. I already wasn’t gonna forget you, but now you’ve given me something no one else ever has.”

He seemed upset, but also not, and Eiji wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him until this agitation passed. But he couldn’t do that. A curl of sadness coiled around Eiji’s heart. He was marrying this man, but Ash would never be Eiji’s. Not really.

“I’m your friend, Ash,” he said instead. He lifted his hand up, but paused, not touching him. Ash gave him the barest nod and leaned the fraction of inch it took so his temple rested in Eiji’s palm, his mussed hair like feathers over his fingers. “Even when our deal is finished,” Eiji continued, “I’ll always be your friend.”

They looked at each other in silence—Ash apparently trying to sort his thoughts and Eiji, breathless, wondering what he would say. An intensity built up between them, demanding a release, and Eiji’s eyes flicked down to Ash’s lips.

But no.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked instead. “This is your last chance to change your mind.” Each word was physically painful, a stabbing behind Eiji’s eyes because why, why, why would he ask that right now?

Ash didn’t break his gaze. “I’m not changing my mind,” he said, and his voice felt like hot gravel under bare feet. “We’re going to do this, and we’re not gonna get caught, and you’re gonna have the life you want.”

Eiji couldn’t tell him that the goalposts had shifted, that the life he wanted was already out of reach. Sleeping on Ash’s couch would never satisfy him anymore, now that he longed to sleep in his bed.

“There you are!” Sunny’s breathless voice came from the doorway to the back hall. “Shunichi and I went upstairs to get you and you were gone. I was afraid we had a runaway bride!”

Eiji turned to look at them—Sunny grinning while Ibe hovered, concerned, behind her. Eiji saw them as if they were underwater. No, he was underwater, his hand still in Ash’s hair, his heart straining painfully in his body, and for a confusing moment he couldn’t understand why they’d been interrupted.

Then Ash stepped back, breaking their connection and running a hand through his rumpled hair, magically sliding it back into place. “Is it time?” he asked, his voice normal once more.

“Yes!” Sunny insisted. “And you two shouldn’t be in here canoodling before the ceremony. It’s bad luck!” She herded Ash through the beaded curtain. “Two minutes!” she called over her shoulder.

Eiji turned to Ibe and was surprised to see a disapproving frown on his face. He wondered what he and Ash had looked like, just then. It was certainly intimate—they’d been only centimeters apart—and hadn’t Eiji been cupping his head like he was going to kiss him?

Had he been about to kiss him?

“Is something going on between you and Ash?” Ibe asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, like a parent of a wayward teen.

“Honestly?” Eiji wasn’t about to tell him about his unrequited love life. Not while it felt so raw. “Not a thing. We are getting married in a couple minutes, though, so I guess there’s that.”

Ibe’s eyes narrowed, and immediately Eiji’s irritation drained away. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so defensive. “I’m sorry, Ibe-san,” he said, chagrined. “I’m just really nervous.”

Ibe frowned again, but this time it was softer, more concern than disapproval. “Don’t fall in love with him, Ei-chan,” he warned. It was the same warning he’d been voicing this whole time, but this time it was direct and unavoidable. “Ash is a deeply troubled young man. He’s worked hard to get his life in order, but I’m afraid…” He trailed off, adjusting Eiji’s tie and glancing away.

“Of what, Ibe-san?”

The older man shook his head. “I’m afraid he won’t have room for you in that damaged heart of his,” he said at last.

Eiji shook his head. That couldn’t be true. Ash had the capacity for love. Maybe not physical love. Maybe not even romantic love, but he’d seen proof that Ash felt things deeply.

But, could Ash love him?

Eiji had to assume no. Not the way Eiji wanted to be loved.

“Fortunately, this isn’t about that,” he told Ibe, hiding the real truth behind the technical. “Ash and I are simply trying to defraud the United States government. No more, no less.”

Ibe didn’t look convinced, but he put a smile on his face nonetheless. “Then let’s go do that,” he said, brushing a speck of lint off Eiji’s shoulder.

Eiji took a deep breath. “Let’s.”

*

“Aslan Callenreese, you have chosen Eiji Okumura to be your life partner. Will you love and respect him? Will you always be honest, and stand by him through whatever life has in store?” Cain’s voice boomed in the small shop, and it took Ash a moment to realize he was expected to answer. 

“I will,” he said, unable to shake the surreal gravity of it all.

He hadn’t really considered what getting married meant to him. His parents hadn’t been married, so his first real example of married life was Max and Jessica, and that hadn’t been inspiring. He glanced out at their small audience and saw Hana and Shunichi, their baby asleep against Shunichi’s shoulder. They’d been married for a few years now, and they seemed to have their shit together. In fact, they looked really happy. Nadia and Charlie weren’t married, but they seemed the same—like just being together was enough to fulfill them.

If this were real—would he and Eiji be like that, too?

“...and stand by him through whatever life has in store?” Cain had turned to Eiji, who’d been watching Ash’s gaze wander everywhere but to him. Ash felt a twinge of shame and focused in on the man in front of him.

Eiji looked incredible in the tuxedo he’d chosen, and with his hair slicked back and his face so serious, he actually looked his age for a change. It felt strange, and Ash had a hard time holding his gaze. He looked down at their joined hands once his eyes began to sting.

“I will,” Eiji said huskily, giving Ash’s hands a squeeze. 

Cain smiled then, glancing down at them like they were children entrusted to his care. “And do you each promise to always make space for the other in your life, not just physical space, but also emotional space, so that your relationship can grow?”

This was the bullshit part, right? Ash looked at Eiji, whose face was turned up to his in a radiant facsimile of love and hopefulness, and reminded himself that everything about that day was fake. Ash knew that this thing between them wasn’t nothing—he reacted to Eiji in ways he hadn’t thought possible—but promising to grow together was like trying to hold smoke in his hands: a failure before it even started.

“I do,” Eiji said, and the words were a bittersweet ache in the pit of Ash’s stomach.

“I do,” Ash echoed.

Eiji slipped the ring clumsily past the knuckle on Ash’s fourth finger. Ash remembered Eiji’s note, meteorite and obsidian, and he felt like he’d inhaled too deeply while smoking, the air in his lungs sharp and too warm.

He lifted Eiji’s hand and slid the platinum ring into place. He held Eiji’s hand for a long moment, looking at the way that simple metal band changed it. Claimed it. Ash's mind flashed to the jade earring that he’d just told him about—this wasn’t at all like that, and yet it still felt like he’d just marked Eiji as his territory.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Ash waited for the shame of such an act, but none came. Instead, a fierce protectiveness grew inside him. He threaded his fingers deliberately through Eiji’s, determined to do everything he could to make sure this scheme worked. Eiji might not be his to grow old with, but he could make damn sure he got everything he needed out of this marriage, sham though it was.

“Go ahead and kiss.” Cain sounded amused. Or maybe joyful? This was supposed to be that kind of moment, right?

Eiji leaned up on his tiptoes, bracing his hands on Ash’s shoulders as he brushed a soft, chaste kiss across his lips.

It was nothing like their other kiss—though it sent a delicious shiver down Ash’s spine—and nothing like how a wedding kiss ought to be. Ash’s heartbeat ticked toward panic, remembering how that first kiss had fucked with him for weeks. But it wasn’t like this was a surprise. He’d known he’d have to kiss Eiji again, just this one last time—he’d just stubbornly refused to think about it.

He willed himself to be strong this time. It was just a farce, and one that had to be more convincing than the middle-school-dance bullshit that Eiji had just performed. An eager anticipation surged through him, only to be violently quashed the instant Ash recognized it. This wasn’t about fun—holy fuck, was kissing Eiji fun?—it was about the video Sing was recording. The one that the immigration agent would undoubtedly want to see.

“Surely, we can do better,” Ash murmured, still close to Eiji’s face. He snaked one arm around Eiji, cupping his ass to pull him flush against his body. His other hand reached for Eiji’s face, holding his head just behind one ear, his fingers plunging into his soft, silky hair. “Let’s give ‘em a show.”

He’d thought he’d be safe if he was over the top, just an actor giving an elaborate performance. Ash started soft but aggressive, capturing Eiji’s lips in a kiss that wasn’t meant to say wedding as much as I’ve been in prison for three months and I’ve been thinking of this the whole time. Eiji read his cues perfectly, sliding one hand around to his lower back under his jacket. It was hot through Ash’s shirt. The other curled into Ash’s lapel, one demanding fist pulling them even closer together.

Eiji’s lips coaxed Ash’s open, a honey trap that Ash was powerless to resist. One flick of Eiji’s tongue and the whole performance fell apart. Just like last time, Ash forgot everything—their audience, the wedding, and the fact that this wasn’t supposed to be something he wanted.

Because no matter what else might be true about their situation, he could no longer deny that he wanted. A cascade of shivery sparks scorched through Ash’s nervous system and his whole body burst into flames.

Chapter Text

FOURTEEN

Besides sex—which was so far out of the question that it might as well not exist—Eiji didn’t know what couples were supposed to do on their honeymoon. He lay on the plush wool sofa, staring up at the exposed beams across the ceiling of their cabin, wondering if it was too early to go to bed.

And even then…where would he sleep?

Eiji had tried to talk Ash out of the honeymoon trip. It was too expensive, too inconvenient, he’d argued, thinking too intimate, too embarrassing, but lacking the nerve to say so out loud. Ash’s rebuttal had been about optics and expectations and wouldn’t he look like a shitty husband if he was too cheap to take his new partner on a honeymoon?

Ash won, of course, with the dubious compromise of a shortened trip. A week was reduced to just two full days bookended by travel. Eiji realized immediately that it still included three nights, but accepted it just the same.

And so, the morning after their wedding, they’d flown out to a hot springs resort in Colorado. Eiji, not even a little bit educated in American geography, had been surprised to learn that there were hot springs in the United States. He’d been even more surprised by the craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, which looked nothing like the mountains in Japan. Leaning across Ash’s lap, he’d gawked out the window as their flight approached Denver.

After they landed, they’d had a three-hour drive from the city to their resort. Eiji was relieved to note that Ash drove better on the mountain highways than he did in New York. The number on the speedometer was still higher than Eiji preferred, but at least they avoided the starts and stops and cussing that accompanied city traffic. He was astonished by how easily Ash navigated the road’s steep inclines and hairpin curves in their rental car. “We crossed the Rockies when we drove to California chasing banana fish,” Ash explained, one hand on the wheel and the other casually resting on the gear shift like they weren’t just mere feet from plummeting to their deaths off the side of the road. “Max let me drive because the switchbacks made him car sick. Didn’t Shunichi tell you about it? It was the best part of the trip.”

Eiji wondered if it might’ve felt safer in the summer, without the snow to worry about. By the time they reached the resort, snow had begun to fall thick and fast, blotting out the last of the afternoon sunlight.

As they walked up from the parking lot, Eiji couldn’t see the hot spring, but the air was heavy with the familiar, mineral smell that he remembered from onsen visits in his childhood. The lodge, however, was nothing like a traditional Japanese onsen. The place was huge, with vaulted ceilings and exposed beams, a rustic veneer that did nothing to disguise the opulence and luxury of the place. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the winter scenery, and fire crackled in a hearth that seemed big enough to drive through. It had been overwhelming, standing in such a room, and by the time they had checked in and hiked the quarter-mile to the secluded cabin Ash had reserved for them, Eiji was hungry and exhausted. 

Now, Eiji watched it pile heavy on the branches of the evergreen trees that surrounded their pool. The triangular back wall of their A-frame cabin was made of glass, windows cut into modern-art angles with a custom-shaped door hidden among them, the hinges and latch invisible unless you knew where to look.

When they'd first opened the cabin door, Eiji was shocked by how romantic it was. The tiny A-frame was lit by firelight—a crackling flame danced in a pot-bellied stove and a small table, lit by slow-burning tapers, had been set with their piping hot dinner. The king sized-bed was a shadow in the far end of the room, backlit by the windows overlooking the steaming pool outside.

Ash whistled low under his breath. “Looks like they’re serious about the honeymoon treatment,” he said, slipping out of his coat and hanging it on the coat tree by the door. The porter had magically vanished, leaving them alone in the room. 

Eiji was reluctant to interact with the bed, even so far as putting the suitcases on it, so he ended up leaving them by the door as he shrugged off his own coat and shoes. Two pairs of plushy slippers waited near the stove, and Eiji gratefully slid his cold feet into the toasty wool. “This place is beautiful,” he said, standing on tiptoe to get a better view of their private pool. He wanted to go to the window, or even figure out how to open it to go out, but that would mean skirting past the bed, and no—he wasn’t ready for that yet.

He’d thought they’d be eager to have a soak when they first arrived, but Eiji was instantly shy about mentioning it. Even with swimsuits—their private pool was clothing-optional, but there was just no way—it was impossible to get up the nerve to suggest that Ash reveal that much of his body.

Instead, they ate.

Ash had ordered baked salmon with couscous and vegetables, prepared with far more finesse than anything Eiji was accustomed to. They drank wine with their meal, which only added to the heady, sleepy feeling that had enveloped Eiji’s whole body as soon as he’d warmed up after their hike up. 

By the time they were done, Eiji was ready to crash. Due to a change in time zones, however, it was still early. He and Ash had somehow avoided all discussion of sleeping arrangements, so Eiji had no choice but to find some way to stay awake, which meant avoiding the hot spring completely. He tried reading manga on his phone, but after only half an hour or so, he was bored.

“What are you working on?” Eiji asked Ash, who’d set up his laptop at the desk almost as soon as dinner was done.

“I’m planning my class schedule,” Ash said. “The new term starts in January, and my scheduling window opens at seven o’clock Tuesday morning—which is five o’clock here. I won’t be in any shape to make decisions, so I’m figuring it out now.”

Eiji hauled himself off the couch and crossed the room to get a look at the computer screen. “What are you taking next semester?”

Ash shifted so Eiji could see over his shoulder. The class descriptions that Ash scrolled through looked complex, full of phrases like economic forecasts and supply chain output that Eiji didn’t understand at all. It looked like Ash had selected two economics classes and a handful of others—business writing, literary criticism, and another five credit hours of Mandarin. “Is this a lot for one semester?” Eiji asked. It looked like much more than he would’ve liked to take on all at once. 

“Maybe,” Ash answered, undisturbed. “I wanted to graduate this spring, but it looks like I won’t have quite enough credits by then. I’m shooting for September, instead.”

“Why hurry through? What do you want to do after?”

“Don’t really know,” he said. “I’ve been focused on getting the degree—not so much on what to do with it.”

Eiji was surprised that Ash didn’t have it all figured out. Ibe had called him a brilliant strategist, and so Eiji had assumed he’d planned his whole career already, leaving nothing to chance. Still, the fact that Ash’s future was practically as formless and undecided as his was kind of comforting. “I also have no idea what to do next,” he admitted.

“I thought you were going to take pictures?” 

Eiji flopped back onto the couch and gazed into the rafters. “I am. I mean, I want to. But how do I even do that?” He closed his eyes and draped one arm over his face. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything.

He half expected Ash to offer solutions—to suggest he use some of Ibe’s connections, or see if Max happened to know a guy with a gallery—but instead, he heaved a huge sigh. “Do you think—” he started, then closed his mouth and reconsidered. Eiji was about to prompt him to continue when he spoke again. “Are you really through with pole vaulting?” he asked.

The question startled Eiji. “I told you already,” he said, the words sounding stiff. “There’s too much baggage there.” He didn’t want to talk about Owen or his father again. He didn’t want look too close, only to discover that he’d left that particular door ajar, when he’d meant to slam it shut.

“Okay,” Ash conceded, though it sounded skeptical. “It’s just.. In the letters you wrote, you were really passionate about it. I feel like you’re walking away from a huge part of your life.”

Eiji felt queasy just thinking about it. “I was done with that before I even met you,” he said quietly. “I just expected to have more sorted out by now.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Ash said, and Eiji felt a rush of relief that he hadn’t pushed. “Starting over takes way more energy than anyone expects. I guess you just have to believe that it’ll all fall into place, eventually.”

Eiji wasn’t sure he was capable of believing that. His whole life had felt more like a series of tests, and right now he felt like he had to do everything just right and at just the right moment, or else their whole marriage scheme—the only plan Eiji currently had for his life—would crumble. “Everything feels really uncertain,” he explained slowly. “I don’t know if I’ll even be here after next month, let alone a year from now.” His voice was muffled in the sleeve of his sweater, but he didn’t bother moving. It was easier, not looking at Ash while they talked. “Until I know I can stay, I don’t want to put down roots.”

Even as he said it, he felt the lie of it, felt the tendril of emotion that already tethered him to Ash. 

“I get it,” Ash said, and Eiji heard the swish of his slippered feet as he swiveled the desk chair to face him. “My whole life, I couldn’t afford to look too far ahead. I had to worry about getting through the next week, the next day, sometimes the next hour. Then, once I was free of Golzine, I had to handle the cops and the justice system—until I was sure I wasn’t headed to prison, there wasn’t much point in planning the rest of my life.”

And now? Eiji wanted to ask him. What was preventing him from making plans now? An instant later, he realized that he was probably the reason Ash couldn’t make plans. Ash was stuck with him for five years—half a decade before his real life could start.

A knock at the door prevented him from saying anything else.

Eiji sat up, curious, as Ash answered it. A porter with pink cheeks and snow in his hair stood holding a champagne bucket and a domed tray. “Your nightcap, sir,” he said, and Ash, apparently unsurprised, took them from him.

A moment later, the man was gone and Ash revealed the basket of strawberries that had been under the dome. Eiji picked up the bottle in the bucket. He knew very little about champagne, but “This looks expensive.”

Ash shrugged. “Part of the honeymoon package,” he said. He took a bite out of a strawberry, his tongue darting out to catch the juice that dribbled across his lip.

Eiji inhaled sharply and glanced away.

“How much did you spend on this place?” he asked. It made him uncomfortable, to think of Ash squandering his hard-won money on him. But that cabin, tucked up in the mountain forest and completely private, was probably two or three times the cost of a room in that luxurious lodge. He didn’t want to think of how much more the honeymoon package added. “It’s not even a real honeymoon,” he protested softly, picking up a strawberry.

“We gotta make it look authentic,” Ash said. It sounded reflexive, which made sense—he’d been making the same argument since they’d started their ruse. To Eiji, it felt like an excuse, a barrier that Ash was throwing up between them for reasons he didn’t understand.

“I doubt they’ll check the receipts,” Eiji snipped, and Ash looked startled.

Remorse welled up instantly. “I’m sorry,” he said, before Ash could comment. “I just can’t imagine that INS will care about champagne and strawberries.”

Ash didn’t answer. He peeled the gold foil from the bottle and expertly worked the cork out without even a hint of the fuss Eiji was accustomed to for celebratory toasts. He poured a generous amount into one of the pair of crystal flutes that had been delivered with the champagne, then nestled the bottle back into its ice bath.

He took a sip, closing his eyes in what seemed to be bliss. “Even if INS won’t be tracking our champagne and strawberries,” he said, not opening his eyes, “I happen to like them.” His tone was tired, like he was sick of explaining things to Eiji.

Of course he was. Eiji was sick of himself, too. He bit into the strawberry. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes at its intense sweetness.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” he asked miserably. There was no point in being embarrassed now. 

Ash glanced at the bed, acknowledging it for the first time. “It’s big enough for two,” he said, his voice just a bit too even, and Eiji wondered if he’d been worried about it, too.

Eiji couldn’t decide if he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to take the couch or miserable because he knew he’d never be able to fall sleep that close to Ash. “Which side do you want?” he asked, pretending that this was perfectly normal.

Ash shrugged. “You can have the window, if you want,” he offered. “You ready to sleep now?”

Almost. There was an embarrassing bit of formality as they took turns in the bathroom. Eiji had new pajamas—a honeymoon present from Hana that seemed really sweet at the time, but now felt silly because why would Ash even notice? And why did Eiji even want that?

But Ash smirked as Eiji came out of the bathroom. “Nice to see you can carry off plaids, as well as stripes,” he noted. He had changed, too, into his customary sweatpants and white t-shirt. “I figure we can let the fire die,” he said, nodding toward the embers still glowing through the stove door. 

“The duvet looks very warm,” Eiji observed. It was down-filled and appeared to add inches to the height of the bed. 

Ash switched out the light. “If we get cold, we can always snuggle,” he joked.

Eiji didn’t respond—there wasn’t a thing in the world he was capable of saying to that. 

*

Ash slid beneath the deliciously warm water of their private pool and exhaled a stream of bubbles that tickled his face. He hadn’t been sure about the hot springs, when they arrived. They smelled strange—not quite unpleasant, but pungent enough to make him wonder if it’d been a mistake. Then he’d noticed the look on Eiji’s face. Eiji had taken a deep breath as soon as they were out of the car, his face alight with a wistful, homesick, beautiful expression that made Ash feel things. It made him want to give him stuff. He didn’t even know what—he just felt the urge to ply him with gifts and experiences. Not to erase the bittersweetness from Eiji’s face, but to maybe, eventually, be the cause of a similar look.

And that was way too much.

When Ash woke up that morning, he’d blinked in the unfamiliar darkness, his muddled head frantically connecting the dots that led to his waking in a strange bed. It was Eiji’s soft breathing that finally reminded him.

Eiji had been far away, balanced on the very edge of his side of the king-sized bed, still fast asleep. A current of protective affection surged through Ash at the sight of him sleeping with his mouth half open, his hair mussed against the pristine pillowcase. Ash had never woken up with someone in a positive way—even the few times he had shared a bed with Shorter, he’d been too irritated with his friend’s elbows and knees to appreciate the quiet comfort of having a friend instead of… someone else. 

Was it accurate to call Eiji his friend?

They were married now, so he guessed technically, they were husbands, but Ash had never been one for saddling himself with legal definitions. What Eiji meant to him had nothing to do with the paperwork they’d left for Shunichi to file at the courthouse.

What Eiji meant to him. It felt like deeply loaded phrasing, even in his own head, and Ash’s sleepy mind had shied quickly away. He’d slid out of bed to start a pot of coffee. He wasn’t usually the first one awake, but he liked the mood of the early morning—it seemed like a great opportunity to read, uninterrupted.

He and Eiji had finished off the strawberries and champagne for breakfast—no more grumbling about overspending that time, thank goodness—and then Ash had hung around the cabin, reading while Eiji explored the resort's more athletic amenities, like the indoor tennis courts, the lap pools, and the weight room. Ugh. No thank you.

He hadn’t realized that Eiji would be out all day, taking full advantage of being a jock at a spa for athletes. Not that Ash minded, really—it was kind of unprecedented to have that much secluded leisure. Max used to call him a lazy house cat, and Ash realized quickly that the label fit.

Now, fully awake and with hours of daylight banked behind him, Ash finally allowed himself to think about the night they’d passed together. For a long, long time, he hadn’t been able to relax enough to sleep—it was like he was aware of Eiji’s presence on a molecular level, his mind calculating the distance between them down to a fraction of an inch. He couldn’t tell what kind of anxiety plagued him. His adrenaline response was thick with something that felt almost like panic, but then his body ached to reach for Eiji, to pull him close and—

And do what, exactly?

Ash had never really thought about sex, recreationally. He honestly never could fathom getting pleasure from imagining hands or mouths or bodies pressed to his—the idea brought up nauseating memories, rather than erotic fantasies. But somehow, despite that, he’d wanted to touch Eiji.

Ash didn’t trust this feeling, but, somehow, he couldn’t get rid of it. In fact, he was having trouble quelling the impulse to do something about it, and that scared the shit out of him.

At their wedding, he and Eiji had what could only be described as an intense moment in the kitchen before Sunny and Shunichi interrupted them. Ash hadn’t missed the way Eiji’s gaze had dropped to Ash’s mouth, the way his fingers curled, just a fraction, into Ash’s hair at the same moment.

Eiji had definitely wanted to kiss him.

As soon as Ash recognized that, his whole body had burst into flame, his mind very eagerly supplying the tactile details of how it had felt to kiss him before. Ash had stared down at Eiji, wanting to touch him, to crawl into his skin until there was no way to tell which parts were Eiji’s and which parts were his. But then Sunny was there, and Shunichi was glaring, which made Ash want to hit something.

Now, with a second kiss rattling around in his brain—like their first kiss, the one at the wedding had gotten completely out of hand—and time to sort out his feelings, Ash was finally able to admit that he wasn’t as immune to sexual attraction as he’d believed. The idea was both thrilling and gut-wrenching, even more complicated because it was just added to the tangled-up things he’d already started feeling about Eiji.

Ash grabbed his phone from the nest he’d made for it in his robe. He’d thought to text Shorter, but somehow, it was almost five o’clock. He’d done basically nothing with his day.

Now Ash pulled himself out of the pool through the heavy, misty air. Immediately, the cold snatched at his flushed skin, and even the radiant heat of the flagstone pavers felt insufficient after the hot water. He slid into the waiting robe and slippers, rubbing a towel through his hair and wondering if he’d need another shower to rinse out the mineral smell.

Right about then, Eiji would be starting the massage he'd scheduled at the spa. He hadn’t invited Ash along, which was more than fine. Hands on bare skin and all that. They’d agreed to meet in the lounge afterward. They had evening plans to try the restaurant’s holiday dinner, but first, Ash wanted to try out the pool tables. Eiji had agreed to let himself be taught how to play.

Ash got dressed and used the blow dryer on his hair, and by the time he was finished, it was just about time to head out. The boardwalk path down the mountainside was dry despite the blowing snow, and Ash wondered if that was due to salt or geothermal heat. The whole place was fascinating, honestly. He wondered if there were any books about the local geology on offer at the gift shop.

The lounge was busier than Ash expected so early in the evening. He looked around, uneasy, but unable to pinpoint exactly why. No one seemed out of place, and no one paid him any mind at all, which was exactly what he wanted. He’d gotten used to school and the ins and outs of his normal-guy life in Manhattan, but the instincts he’d honed on the streets hadn’t really faded. He liked to have a read on the people surrounding him, to avoid surprises.

Ash claimed an empty pool table. A waiter brought him a beer and Ash glanced at his watch. He’d expected Eiji to be there already. Maybe his massage had gone long?

Before his mind wandered down dark corridors considering what exactly might happen that would extend a massage, Ash grabbed a cue stick and took a swig of his beer. The balls were neatly racked on the table, just waiting for a break, and a bit of precision might be just what he needed to get out of his own head. He lined up the cue ball and thwack. 

Ash hadn’t always been good at pool—Shorter used to beat him easily, putting dents into Ash’s cash as well as his pride. It wasn’t until Ash realized it was a game of mathematics, about controlling angles and acceleration and force, that he managed to hold his own.

He was halfway through his solo game when he noticed a woman watching him. She was almost as tall as he was, with a wavy cascade of probably-not-natural red hair. Despite the season, she wore a sleeveless, low-cut top in holiday crimson over skinny jeans and knee-high boots. When she caught his eye, she lifted her drink in a silent toast.

Ash ignored her, turning back to his game. Where the hell was Eiji? There was a certain type of person who assumed that, if a person was alone, then they were available. The way she kept watching, he was pretty sure she was that type. He cringed as she crossed the lounge toward him.

“Alone on Christmas?” she asked in what he thought might be a Texas drawl.

“Not interested,” he ground through his teeth, not looking at her.

“Now, that’s not nice,” she protested. She leaned one hip against the edge of the pool table. “I’ve been watching you play. You obviously know how to fill a pocket.”

He took another shot, but it banked off the wall right next to his target. Fuck. He didn’t need her getting under his skin, but that kind of double-entendre made his skin crawl. 

“I’m Sarah,” she persisted.

“And I’m married.” Eiji’s ring glinted under the lamp, perfectly obvious to anyone who cared to look.

She only smiled, leaning forward to pinch a pretend bit of lint from the middle of the table. He got an eyeful of pushed-up cleavage, the lacy edges of a black bra peeking out around the plunging neckline of her silk blouse. “And where on earth has that wife of yours gotten to?” she asked, glancing around with feigned innocence. “If you were mine, I’d keep close. I know better than to let a man like you out of my sight.”

Ash sighed. Why were the women who approached him never the type to respect a simple no? “Well,” he said shortly, stepping around her to the other side of the table. “I’m not, so you can go find someone else to keep an eye on.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, reminding Ash of nothing so much as a horse agitated by a bee. “Never met anyone so set on playing hard-to-get,” she said, smirking. “But I always get what I want, wife or no wife.” She sidled up next to him, putting her hand on his arm just before he took the next shot. “And you are exactly the kind of man I want.”

Ash’s breath accelerated, his vision starting to narrow. This wasn’t the venue for the real Ash Lynx to come out, he reminded himself over the dozen rude comebacks that were queuing up in his head. He shrugged her hand away, ending up missing his shot entirely. 

The woman only laughed. “See?” she cried, delighted. “You’re not immune.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are. I said I wasn’t interested.” He tried his best to come off as casual and controlled, when in reality, his body longed to lash out. Maybe not to hurt her, but definitely to say or do something that would scare her off for good. Girls used to sniff around him all the time, trying to hook up because he was good looking or powerful. Some were in trouble, looking for protection, but most of them had been looking to get with someone who could boost their own reputation in the neighborhood. Ash always refused to be that guy.

He’d thought that would’ve ended when he walked away from that life, but here he was at one of the most expensive resorts in the country, and even here, there were women who seemed completely unwilling to get the message. He knew some surefire ways to get her off his back, but this wasn’t exactly the Lower East Side, and the last thing he and Eiji needed was the scrutiny that would come from getting kicked out.

She laughed. Ash tried not to flinch. His eyes frantically scanned the room. Where the fuck was Eiji?

Ash focused, instead, on the white ball at the end of his stick. He could see the smudge of blue chalk where he’d hit it before, see the scuffs and scratches from hundreds of games before his. Beyond it, the solid red seven-ball sat about a foot and a half from the pocket. Ash would have to glance the cue ball off it at what, a twenty-degree angle?—no, closer to eighteen—to get it to move the direction he needed. The only uncertainty was force. How much would be too much for a shot like that? 

He leaned down and readied his stick.

Suddenly, her hand was on him, sliding around one hip, her fingers already brushing against the zippered closure of his fly. She pressed hard against his back and he felt the squish of her breasts, hot and soft and nauseating, through his sweater.

Memories of other hands, other bodies surged though him, all bad lighting and slapping skin like a porno on crack and he couldn’t just turn the channel or even close his eyes.

There was no time to think, no time to plan. His body simply reacted, clamping one hand around her forearm and spinning, twisting her arm and pinning it against her back. The cue stick clattered and her drink tumbled onto the floor, shattering into a glassy red puddle. “I’m on my fucking honeymoon,” Ash snarled into her ear.

She squealed. It was shrill and terrified and ensured that every eye was trained on them in less than a second.

*

Eiji’s hair was still wet, but there hadn’t been time to dry it. He was late enough as it was. It was starting to collect ice crystals as he hurried from the clubhouse to the lodge. He was supposed to have met Ash fifteen minutes before, opting for a shower and change of clothes rather than meeting him in a sweaty disarray.

The lodge windows glowed ahead of him, and even after dark, Eiji could hear the splash and murmur of guests enjoying the big pool. He’d spent most of the day in the gym, partly to make up for the last couple of days’ lack of workouts and partly because it had been hard to look at Ash that morning. Eiji’s dreams--inspired by Ash’s close proximity, no doubt--had been mortifyingly sexy. Plagued by their echoes, Eiji had hurried away as soon as breakfast was eaten.

The lodge was decorated for Christmas, its windows and doorways lined with thick garlands of evergreen dotted with tiny white lights. Eiji hadn’t really noticed when they’d arrived the night before, too exhausted for details and already dazzled by the sheer luxury of the place. Eiji hurried through the oversized doors, running a hand through his half-frozen hair as he strode straight into the lounge.

He saw Ash immediately. He was playing pool, his hair falling into his eyes as he studied the configuration of colored balls on the table. A red-haired woman leaned against the table next to him, and for a moment, Eiji wondered if Ash had found someone to play against while he waited.

But no—that wasn’t right. Their body language didn’t match at all.

Eiji was halfway across the room when it happened. It looked to him like Ash had turned away from her to take a shot on the pool table, when she stepped behind him. Quick as lightning, Ash spun away, twisting her into some kind of arm lock while her drink shattered on the tile floor. Eiji was running even before she cried out.

“Ash!” he called, fear bubbling up inside him. The look on Ash’s face was cold, his eyes narrow and icy. It was a version of Ash that Eiji had seen only in old news articles and true crime websites, and he wondered what the woman had said or done to bring out that expression.

Ash’s eyes found him and he immediately released her, stepping toward Eiji. His expression changed, growing not softer, but more real, somehow. “Ash?” Eiji asked. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The woman, now released from the hold, recovered quickly, lunging toward Ash with a furious snarl.

Eiji jumped between them, holding out one hand to block her. It deflected her elbow, knocking her backward one staggering step. “How dare you touch me?” she hissed.

“How dare you touch him?” Eiji countered.

“Excuse me?” A man suddenly appeared behind Eiji, his badge indicating he was the security manager. A woman in a black apron followed close behind, immediately crouching to clean the shattered drink from the floor. “Is there a problem here?” 

“I should say so,” the woman smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse. “That man,” she pointed at Ash, “grabbed me, and then that man,” this time she gestured toward Eiji this time, “pushed me.”

Shit. Eiji didn’t have to be an American to understand how fraught this situation could get. Accusations of assault—especially coming from white women—weren’t taken lightly. He looked between the woman and the manager. She looked triumphant, but to the man’s credit, he kept his face neutral.

The security offer turned his serious gaze toward Ash and Eiji.

“I was just trying to play pool,” Ash explained in a voice that was trying desperately to keep its cool. “She came over, wanting to chat. I wasn’t interested.” He picked up the pool cue and set it back on the table. “She was too persistent.”

The woman barked out a laugh. “That’s rich,” she muttered.

Eiji felt Ash stiffen behind him, reminding Eiji that he was angry. Probably angrier than Eiji had ever seen him before. He wanted to reach back, to try to soothe him, but he’d promised not to touch without notice.

“And you, sir?” the officer asked Eiji. “How are you involved?”

Eiji ran his hand through his hair. Still wet—he must look ridiculous. “This man is my husband,” he explained. “She appeared to be…harassing him.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Is this true, ma’am?”

The woman’s eyes blazed. She looked past Eiji at Ash, her lip curling in disgust. “These goddamned faggots shoved me!” she insisted, suddenly cradling her wrist like it was injured. “I demand you throw them out or I’ll press charges.”

The sick feeling that roiled in Eiji gut at the slur was nothing compared to the twist of panic at the thought of the police getting involved. Ash couldn’t be involved in anything like that, not without risking serious trouble in New York. Eiji was sure he hadn’t hurt her, but he didn’t know how to prove it. He wished he’d had his camera and time to document it.

“Cameras!” he cried, almost before the idea solidified in his head. He turned to Ash. “They have cameras everywhere, right?”

Ash stepped forward. “If we’re getting the authorities involved,” he said smoothly, suddenly the millionaire socialite he’d been when they checked in, all traces of the gang leader once more tucked away, “then we’ll need to see the security footage of my pool game. It will demonstrate that I’m the one with a reason to press charges.” He looked down at the woman who was already sputtering her outrage. “Sexual assault charges.” 

The blood drained from the woman’s face, only to be replaced in a rush as her cheeks flushed furiously. “I have never been so insulted in my life,” she huffed, but she turned on her heel and stormed out of the lounge.

“Would you like to file a complaint, sir?” 

Ash waved his hand. “No need. Thank you.”

The security manager nodded and walked away. Only then did Ash relax, sagging against the edge of the pool table. He took a deep breath and released it in a staggered sigh, his cool veneer cracking open just enough for Eiji to glimpse the strain that hid beneath.

“Is it okay if I teach you to play some other time?” Ash asked, his voice haggard.

“Wanna go back to the cabin?” Eiji offered. They’d been planning on Christmas dinner, but it was clear that Ash needed to get out of there. “We can order room service.”

“Sounds expensive,” Ash joked unsteadily as they left the lounge.

Eiji shrugged. “I married a guy with millions of dollars,” he reasoned, glad enough that Ash was cracking jokes that he didn’t mind being the butt of one.

Ash snorted. “Hundreds of millions,” he corrected.

The retort made Eiji choke on his breath. “Hundreds?” he squeaked.

Ash grinned, almost himself again. “Two hundred still counts as hundreds,” he reasoned.

Eiji wondered if that was how much he’d initially stolen, or if that was how much he had left after five years of spending. Italian sports cars and apartments weren't cheap, after all. He decided not to ask.

Snow had started falling again as they walked up the boardwalk toward their cabin. It was so remote and isolated, and Eiji suddenly realized what a coward he’d been, leaving Ash alone out there all day. His feelings were his own problem—he had to find a way to handle them that didn’t involve running away from and abandoning Ash.

“I’m sorry,” he said now, though he knew he’d never begin to express all the things he was really apologizing for. 

Ash looked at him curiously. “For what?”

 “Aren’t I supposed to prevent women like that from approaching you?” Eiji asked. “That’s why you married me, right?”

“You’re not my bodyguard,” Ash said, shaking his head.

It was true, but somehow not good enough. He remembered Ash’s confession over a month before: I don’t like it when someone tries to hold me from behind. It took nothing to puzzle out why that particular act might trigger him, and Eiji wondered how much of what this woman did to him might add to all the things he already carried.

He should’ve gotten there sooner.

Still, it was clear that Ash didn’t want to talk about it, so Eiji let the subject drop. He wasn’t sure he was equipped to help Ash with this, anyway, though something deep inside him longed to try.

*

Much later, after they’d eaten their room service dinner and Eiji had slipped out for a soak in their private pool, the incident in the lounge was still eating at Ash. He hadn’t expected her to touch him. He’d been caught completely off guard this time, and that pissed him off. 

The more distance he put between himself and his childhood, the less likely it seemed that anyone would try something like that with him. He’d grown to be almost six feet tall, after all, and while he’d never become the muscle-bound beefcake that Blanca had tried to turn him into, Ash didn’t think he looked particularly vulnerable. So why? How did the monsters know?

He changed into swimming shorts and slipped into the pool beside Eiji, hoping that a bit of company would pull him out of the dark headspace that had swallowed him up. He sunk down past his shoulders, closing his eyes. He’d pretty much decided he was a fan of these hot springs. The shock of cold when he’d removed his robe had been painful, but it faded quickly as his body absorbed the soothing heat of the water, and in moments his physical body, at least, was relaxed and content.

“Are you really okay?” Eiji asked, his voice tentative.

Ash didn’t know how to answer. On the surface, yes, he was fine. He’d dealt with worse than that more times than he could count, and he was already sick of letting it ruin his day. 

More deeply, though, he was less sure. Ash knew there were a million badly-healed cuts inside him, a million places where scar tissue warped the shape of him, and until someone poked one, he didn’t know how to tell which scars had gone smooth and which still had painful, raw edges. It would be impossible to explain them all, so Ash had long ago decided not to try. Not with Max, or his therapist, or even Shorter. He kept secrets from all of them, even when he wanted to be honest. 

But Eiji’s eyes were full of something soft. Something that made Ash long to press Eiji’s fingers against the torn, clumsily-knit places in his soul. He wanted Eiji to understand everything he couldn’t express. 

“It’s not usually women,” Ash said after a long time, half surprised to hear the words out loud. “I mean, what she did was barely even anything—I’ve dealt with worse on the goddamned subway, you know? But I didn’t expect that here. Tonight. On motherfucking Christmas.” 

Ash slumped down, letting the water cover his chin, then his mouth, close enough to his nose that his breath rippled the surface. He’d thought that the wealthy families that came to Colorado for the holidays would be fundamentally different from the rich assholes that seemed to populate the entire east coast. He’d thought that all he would have to do was look and act the part, and no one would know what he was really street trash from a depraved city.

Ash was fairly sure that Eiji had never been forcibly groped in public. Most people weren’t. It wasn’t normal for people to want to do that. And yet somehow, he’d racked up an unbelievable number of instances of exactly that.

He tilted his head back, soaking the back of his head and gazing up through the snow that fell from the cloudy night sky. “I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with me,” he said softly. “It’s like these people can see exactly where I’m weak, exactly where to apply pressure so I can’t fight back.” A long, deep sigh pushed up from his chest, weary and sorrowful. “I’ve always wondered how they could tell.”

“No,” Eiji said at once. Ash didn’t move to look at him, but his voice was fierce, angry in a way Ash hadn’t heard before. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Ash,” he insisted. “That woman—she’s the one who was wrong. She has a problem, not you. Never you.”

Ash thought that maybe this was Eiji’s superpower, this uncanny ability to make Ash feel protected. He couldn’t change the world or guarantee that bad things wouldn’t happen, but the way he shielded him, deflecting the worst of it—Ash had thought that had died with Griffin.

“You have no idea how much I wish I believed you.”

Eiji didn’t speak right away, and the light splash of the water was the only sound for a long time. “How old were you?” he asked at last. His voice was low and serious. “How old were you when you first met Dino Golzine?”

That name in Eiji’s soft accent was like a physical blow, and Ash winced away from it.

But why? Why was it such a shock to hear Eiji mention him? It was all in Max’s book, after all. More subtext than plainly stated, maybe, but anyone reading carefully would find it there, especially when combined with all the shit he’d alluded to in those letters they’d been writing to each other. Of course Eiji knew. They’d been talking about it this whole time.

But never out loud.

Ash closed his eyes and tried to feel the snow falling onto his face. “Eleven.” It was a confession, an acknowledgement of a time he didn’t talk about. A time he tried never to think about. He’d been living on the streets for a couple of years, and even as a kid who too often found himself trading blow jobs and worse for a meal or a warm bed, he’d known better than to let Golzine’s men near him—all the boys knew better. But his empty stomach had made him reckless, and one day he’d taken candy from the wrong stranger. “I was so stupid. They offered me a couple of hotdogs—”

Eiji reacted so violently that the water sloshed, a warm wave slapping against Ash’s face. Ash sat up, sputtering, and was shocked when Eiji’s palm cupped his jaw, tilting it up. “Look at me,” Eiji demanded in a rough voice. He leaned close enough that their foreheads bumped, and his dark eyes looked hard into Ash’s. “It wasn’t your fault,” Eiji insisted. "Never say that. Never think it.”

The breath knocked out of Ash’s lungs as though he’d fallen, condensing in the cold air into a cloud that broke across Eiji’s face. A part of his mind registered that Eiji had touched him without asking, but the rest of him didn’t care because it was Eiji and Eiji was safe and Ash felt crazed, starved for safe touches because his whole life had been a wasteland, and didn’t desert animals crave water, water, all the damn time? 

“It feels like it was my fault.” He’d never said it out loud, even in therapy, never wanted to disappoint the nice lady the state had assigned him in their effort to cover the bare minimum of their responsibility to a troubled teen. But here, with Eiji’s hand on his face, Eiji’s dark eyes only inches away, here for the first time, it could finally come out.

Eiji’s lips parted helplessly, a choked sound mingling with a huff of warm, damp breath that washed over Ash’s cheeks like a wave. He dropped his hand and shook his head like he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “Dino Golzine is to blame for what he did to you. What he let others do to you,” he said, his voice low enough to sound ominous. “You were a kid,” Eiji swallowed the pieces of those last words like they'd shattered in his throat, like he was swallowing shards of glass. “Even if you begged for it on your hands and knees, none of it was your fault.”

Ash counted a dozen heartbeats as they sat there, half naked and silent, staring into each other’s faces in that pool of warm, dark water. He had never felt this intoxicating combination of vulnerability and absolute safety. Of course, Eiji wasn’t the first to say that to him—Max, Shorter, and a half a dozen social workers had told him the same damn thing—but for the first time in his godforsaken life, Ash thought he might believe it. He pressed his lips together, afraid for a second that he might cry. “Okay.”

Their ragged breath mingled between them, until Eiji backed slowly away. “Good,” he said softly, sinking down into the water. He leaned his head back onto the rocks and closed his eyes. Snow tumbled from the sky, melting the instant it touched his skin. Ash was transfixed by the fierce redness that blossomed across Eiji’s cheeks, by the sweat that beaded on the skin above his lip. Ash resisted the urge to wipe it off, resisted the impulse to touch Eiji’s lips with his fingers. 

A wildness built up in Ash’s torso and his body demanded something he didn’t understand. His focus kept dropping to Eiji’s mouth, as if the answer to whatever was raging through Ash’s body was right there. 

“Is it wrong that I always want to kiss you?” he asked at last, each word part of an alien language that was finally making sense.

Eiji’s eyes flew open. “What?” he cried. His serene expression vanished into confusion, triggering shame and regret that burned like fire through Ash’s veins. 

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I must be overheated.” He got out of the pool, almost forgetting his robe in his hurry to get inside. He scooped it up at the last minute and rushed through the door. Some mortifying combination of embarrassment and anger surged through him, so he didn’t even notice the cold.

Chapter Text

FIFTEEN

After the door closed, Eiji stared at Ash’s wet footprints, watching them slowly dry and disappear until no trace of them remained on the heated flagstones. What had just happened?

Is it wrong that I always want to kiss you?

If it hadn’t been for Ash’s hurried exit, Eiji might’ve believed he’d simply imagined the question. His heart was racing in his chest, his pulse on fire. The look on his face suggested that Ash hadn’t been teasing, or flirting, or simply trying to get a rise out of him. That question had been uttered with the same earnest solemnity as the entire previous conversation—Ash had meant it.

Or at least, Eiji had to find out if he had.

Ash hadn’t turned on any lights inside; the windows were dark and reflective. Eiji slipped out of the pool and yanked the thick robe around his body before the water could start to freeze on his skin.

He was almost surprised when the door’s latch turned easily, almost surprised that Ash hadn't locked him out, but then, that was ridiculous, wasn't it? There was no reason in the world for Ash to lock him out. The cabin was gloriously warm—the stove crackled with the fire Ash had built up just after dinner. He'd gotten good at fires over those few days--he knew how to build them so they burned for hours and hours. Eiji closed the door behind him, pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim room.

The shower was running, a slim band of light visible beneath the bathroom door. Eiji released his breath, relieved. He didn’t know what he’d been planning to say to Ash when he hurried after him, and now he had a moment to think about it, to gather his thoughts and consider what he should do.

He shimmied out of his wet swimsuit and used his robe to dry off before sliding into flannel pajama pants. He realized his hands were shaking as he buttoned the matching shirt over his chest. Cold? No. Or rather, he was cold, but that jumpy, nervous shiver had nothing to do with temperature.

He was tucked under the covers, trying to read manga on his phone when the bathroom door opened, for an instant silhouetting Ash in a golden glow before he switched off the light. A moment later, Eiji’s phone screen also blinked off, leaving Eiji temporarily blinded as he peered through the darkness. 

Eiji wasn’t sure what he’d expected Ash to do—sit down in front of his laptop or open the mini fridge for a drink?—but he was startled when he slid into the bed across from him. He smelled like shampoo and the handmade sandalwood soap he liked. Intoxicating. Eiji squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to get lost in his head. 

“Eiji?” Ash shifted on his side of the bed, rolling over so that they faced each other. 

They peered at each other through the darkness, both close to their own edges so that the vast majority of the bed stretched between them. There was still so much space between them and so much they clearly had to say. None of their rules or study sessions or fake-relationship scenarios could have helped Eiji in that moment. 

Is it wrong that I always want to kiss you?

He needed Ash to tell him what that question meant, what always meant in the middle of it. They needed to re-establish boundaries and rules so that Eiji wouldn’t fall even more in love with this man he was married to, but who would never really be his husband.

Instead, his words betrayed him. “It’s not wrong,” he said, hoarsely. “I want that, too.”

Ash’s expression didn’t change, he only went still as whatever he’d been planning to say fell away. His eyes glinted in the dim light. His lips parted as he soundlessly exhaled. Eiji was reminded of a wild animal, frozen while it calculated its best chance of survival.

Eiji’s chest ached with the strain of not knowing if he’d said the right thing. He’d already realized that too much honesty could break his own heart, but it was only now that he considered he might be able to inflict damage, too. His memory flashed to Shorter’s sad expression when Eiji had insisted that he wasn’t capable of hurting Ash. Trouble is, I think you can.

Ash swallowed hard, apparently coming to a decision. He reached one hand out slowly, letting his fingers card through the damp hair at Eiji’s temple, his fingertips hot as they skimmed the sensitive outer shell of his ear. “Is it okay, then?” his voice walked the edge between a rasp and a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Eiji was afraid of what he’d say if he tried to form his answer into words. “Mm-mmm,” he assented, nodding once. 

There was a rustle of fabric, the scent of sandalwood mingling with the winter smells of woodsmoke and goose feathers in the duvet. Ash pushed up on one elbow, leaning over Eiji. 

He hesitated, looking down at Eiji with parted lips, working out some conflict in his head, it seemed. Eiji waited, his own mind a tangle of joy and worry and so much anticipation that he thought he’d die of it. At last, something shifted in Ash’s expression. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned close. 

Eiji met him halfway.

They’d kissed before. Twice. Those were supposed to have been performances, but Eiji had meant it, even then.

Those kisses, intense as they’d been, weren’t this kiss. 

Ash’s hand slid to cup the back of Eiji’s head, a pillow between Eiji’s head and his actual pillow. His palm was hot and solid and so very masculine that Eiji felt his whole body respond. His lips parted beneath Ash’s, opening to tongues and nipping, teasing teeth.

Eiji had never kissed like that before, as if his whole life depended on it. He’d never kissed on his back on a bed. Never kissed without some chance of interruption. His hand found Ash’s shoulder, hesitated only a moment before twisting fingers into the loose fabric of Ash’s sleeve. Eiji held on like a man drowning.

When Ash finally lifted his head, he was panting, breathless. He caressed the nape of Eiji’s neck with his thumb and Eiji tried not to dissolve into dust.

“What does this mean,” Ash asked, his voice hoarse, but gentle, “for us?”

Eiji guessed that Ash needed a life preserver, a way out. A way to keep afloat despite the current that threatened to submerge them. Eiji preferred to drown together—he wanted to drown together—but for Ash, he said, “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” trying to make it true. Eiji would somehow survive if— “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.” His heart thudded the lie of it from deep inside his chest: everything, everything. Everything.

Ash studied him for a long moment, then dipped his head low, capturing Eiji’s mouth again. This time, Eiji could tell that Ash was just as starved as he was, and he leaned into the grip of Ash’s hand as it tangled in his hair, his fingers scrabbling against Ash’s shoulder to pull him closer.

It was much, much later when Ash’s fingers plucked loose the first two buttons on Eiji’s pajamas and the fog around Eiji’s mind thinned. Ash had climbed atop him, was straddling his hips and leaning forward so he could kiss Eiji’s throat, the tip of his tongue teasing the dip between his clavicles. His fingers deftly undid one button after another, until Eiji reached out to still his hands.

Ash seemed like an enthusiastic participant, but what if he… wasn’t? What if he’d been conditioned to push forward to the next step, and the next, and the next, all the way to an unforgivable too much? What if Eiji wanted this too badly to recognize his own coercion?

What if, for Ash, this was the same as all those other times?

“Wait,” he said softly. The word was hard to say, hard to think, because everything in his body screamed yes, more, NOW. He licked the taste of Ash’s mouth from his lips. He could barely talk, hardly breathe, but he had to stop. He had to be sure. “We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to take this step, or do anything you don’t want.”

“Want?” Ash blinked down at him. He pushed his fingers through the damp tangle of Eiji’s hair, then leaned down to brush a kiss across Eiji’s tender lips. “For the first time in my whole, fucked-up life, I know what wanting feels like,” he said, his voice solemn, almost reverent. “I want you so much it’s eating me alive.”

“Oh,” Eiji said, wonder and realization bursting from his overfilled lungs. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

Ash cocked his head, his pale hair cascading over one eye. He brushed the pad of his thumb across Eiji’s lower lashes, catching the moisture on his skin. “Do you want this?”

Even if it didn’t mean a thing, even if Ash never touched him again, Eiji wanted this. He wanted something to hold on to, a precious memory to cherish for the rest of his life. “Yes,” he insisted, and it sounded like pleading.

Ash leaned down, pressed his mouth to Eiji’s lips. “Thank God,” he breathed against his skin, the brush of his lips against Eiji's a supernova. "Because I don't know how to stop."

*

Ash’s phone was buzzing, and from some hazy distance, he remembered that he’d set his alarm. Why the fuck had he set his alarm? Classes. Yes. He had to schedule his classes.

When he opened his eyes, the sky outside was still dark, but a band of lighter color near the horizon suggested that dawn was near. Eiji lay curled up against him, the bare skin of his arms and shins skimming Ash’s equally bare chest and thighs. His hair, pressed against the sticky side of Ash’s cheek, was fluffy and wild. 

Ash felt warm. Languid. He watched Eiji sleeping for a long minute. The starved, desperate wanting from the night before had abated. Now the feeling was fuzzy and distant, a slated hunger that his protective brain refused to perceive clearly. He reached out to smooth Eiji’s hair, smiling as Eiji nuzzled against his hand, still asleep.

The night before, Eiji had been considerate. Gentle. Careful. So, so, careful. It was like he’d instinctually understood how fragile and new the feeling of wanting was for Ash, knew that it needed to be coaxed and nurtured. The whole night, Ash had been on the cusp of being overwhelmed, of being swept over the edge and into the abyss. With soft words and deliberate touches, Eiji had created a tether to connect them, so they both survived the swells that threatened to swamp them. 

Can I touch you here? Do you want me to…? Is this still okay? The entire night had been peppered with Eiji’s cautious queries. 

Ash had known a john, way back even before Club Cod, who used to do the same, asking for permission before every action. As a child, Ash wondered if that was what it meant to be respected—it was only years later that Ash recognized it as some sort of pedophilic humiliation kink. 

Eiji’s questions felt vastly different. Eiji sought Ash’s genuine, enthusiastic participation in every touch, not the sloppy illusion of consent coerced from a starving nine-year-old boy. And Ash had participated. Enthusiastically.

They’d spent hours simply kissing and exploring. Hands and mouths and skin pressed together in an urgent cartography as they mapped each other’s bodies. Ash documented every angle and curve, memorizing the way Eiji's tight abdomen rippled when he laughed, the way his voice dipped and soared from one sensation to the next. He especially wanted to remember the way Eiji’s toes curled, gripping the sheets at the moment of his release.

They’d lay together in a tangle afterward, both breathless and hearts pounding not from the aerobic exertion of fucking, but from the intimate exuberance of having coaxed each other to that brink with only hands and mouths and words between them. Eiji lay on his side, his eyes dark and full of unfamiliar softness, his swollen lips parted and wet as he struggled to catch his breath.

Ash had never seen anyone look so beautiful.

He’d never felt like that before—satiated. He’d spent his whole life satisfying others’ appetites; it had been disconcerting to realize he could also be hungry. Laying there next to Eiji, that hunger completely sated, it was already difficult for him to grasp what it was to want so desperately. All that was left was the effervescent glow of—of some soft, tender emotion that Ash didn’t have a name for. 

“Still okay?” Eiji had asked him then, reaching out to comb his fingers through Ash’s hair. He leaned forward, his expression intense with concern. “You don’t—you don’t regret it?”

Ash’s heart stuttered. “I don’t regret it,” he confirmed softly. 

Eiji’s whole body sighed in relief. 

“Thank you,” Ash continued, his emotions too raw to be anything but honest. “Thank you for not… pushing for more.” He felt suddenly self-conscious. “I guess you went farther with that guy from school.”

Eiji’s eyes had widened. “Kimura-sempai?” he asked, confused. Then his expression changed. Softened. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Even if you’d wanted to stop at that first kiss, this would still be the best night of my life.” He took Ash’s hand, wove their fingers together and pressed them against the skin over his heart.

Ash raised his eyebrows. “A kiss with me beats everything with him?” he asked, disbelieving.

“I liked Kimura-sempai,” Eiji explained softly. “He and I wanted the same thing. But Ash—he could’ve been anyone.”

He paused, seeming to need a moment to regroup, maybe to reconsider his words. Ash’s heart hammered in his chest, waiting. This younger version of Eiji seemed less innocent, somehow. More calculated. Ash had questions, but then Eiji continued. “This,” he said, haltingly, “this, tonight? I’m here because it’s you, Ash. Because of who you are and how I feel about you.”

Ash’s questions vanished. He barely knew how to hold himself together, hearing that. There was no possible answer, no possible response. 

He wordlessly tugged Eiji close to him, pressed a kiss onto the spot where forehead met tousled hair. It was too much for one night, too much to process and way too much to talk about. “Let’s sleep,” he murmured against Eiji’s hair. Because, despite his brain feeling like it might never rest again, Ash’s body was exhausted, his limbs heavy with the need for sleep.

Now, hours later, they were still close, still enshrouded in the cocoon of the duvet. The sun was going to come up and it would be their last day in Colorado before going back to their lives in New York. Ash was, paradoxically, both eager to get home and reluctant to leave this private interlude behind. He twisted Eiji’s ring on his finger. They still had a long way to go before this was over. 

They had an appointment at the USCIS field office waiting for them at home, a re-immersion into the fake world of their fake relationship. But right now he lay close enough to feel the heat of Eiji’s bare skin and nothing was fake. Whatever else this had been—an epiphany, an awakening, a mistake—it was the most real experience Ash had ever had. He couldn’t let that sense of authenticity bleed into their New York life, couldn't let it become a part of his day-to-day world. Because if he let himself get used it, there was no way he’d be able to let it go.

“Ash?” Eiji stirred rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Morning,” Ash said.

Eiji leaned up, sliding one hand behind Ash’s head to tug him down. He kissed him and then blinked sleepily and smiled. “Good morning.”

Then suddenly, his cheeks flushed. Ash almost laughed—it was clear he’d just realized that they were both naked under the covers.

“I should take a shower,” Eiji said hastily, his eyes dropping nervously as he reached for his robe. As he sat up and slipped the fabric over his skin, Ash saw the marks—half a dozen nips and love bites across Eiji’s neck and shoulders. He knew there were likely some lower, too, on the golden skin of his abdomen and thighs. Seeing those bruises, Ash wasn’t sure how to interpret the cacophony of emotions that bounced around in his chest.

Tenderness. That was probably the most prominent feeling, at least out of those he could identify. It swelled inside him, growing into something much sharper than he’d thought such a sweet emotion could be. The prospect of hurting Eiji—the inevitable conclusion to this ill-considered night, he realized—made something deep in his body ache. 

Before, whenever something hurt, Ash would find a way to cut it out, to throw it away and never think of it again. But this—Ash knew he’d obsess over these sore spots in his soul, press his fingers into them again and again, keep them painful so he could cherish the aching tenderness even after this whole situation faded into memory.

He listened to the shower turning on in the bathroom, then reached for his phone to order breakfast. One day left, and there were so many things they still hadn’t done or seen. Ash had spent almost the entire trip in their cabin, reading. He grabbed the list of resort activities and events from the bedside table. He was going to give Eiji a day to remember.

And when they got home, well, it would be back to pretending.

*

Eiji woke up as the plane was preparing to land. He opened his eyes to a dim cabin, his face pressed against Ash’s shoulder. A thin airline blanket was draped over him and Ash had closed the window shade to block the setting sun. Embarrassed to be the subject of such consideration, Eiji sat up, stifling a yawn.

“Good timing,” Ash said. “I think they just put down the landing gear.”

“I’m sorry.” Eiji started folding up the blanket. “I didn’t mean to sleep on you.”

Ash’s smile was soft—it wasn’t one Eiji had seen before this trip, but it was becoming familiar. “I don’t mind. I got a lot of reading done. I’m almost through the first book for next semester.”

The pilot spoke over the intercom, announcing clear skies and 42-degree day in New York. “It will feel so warm,” Eiji whispered.

“Yeah, but loud as hell,” Ash murmured back. “I got used to the quiet.”

Eiji had been sorry to leave their little cabin that morning, but he’d already realized that what they’d shared there was just an interlude—not real life at all. Ash had made no move to repeat their intimacy that night—just a soft kiss before bed that Eiji suspected was a goodbye as much as a goodnight. 

Ash didn’t have to say anything about it; Eiji already understood. He’d believed Ash when he said he didn’t regret their night together, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t too much to handle. Ash had a lot of baggage when it came to sex. Even without talking about it outright, Eiji could see that. One night wasn’t going to change that.

Eiji was deeply grateful that Ash trusted him enough to explore his sexuality with him, even briefly. But he knew that physical affection was a complication they didn’t need. It made sense that they might not even kiss again. He didn’t think that INS would require such a thing, and there was no one else to convince.

Their appointment with the immigration officials was two days away. Eiji’s understanding of the process was limited, but he thought they’d mostly be filing paperwork. The website he’d read told him to expect a brief interview, but indicated they relied primarily on documentation at this point—if it all looked legitimate enough, they might not need a more in-depth interview.

Ash had warned him to expect hiccups just the same. “Our digital trail for the past year is obviously weak,” he’d said, when they’d discussed it before the wedding. “Hopefully, our joint accounts and the shared deed will do the heavy lifting, but I’m guessing we’ll probably raise enough red flags to warrant a deeper look.”

Eiji had been alarmed, but Ash only chuckled. “We want them to request a second interview,” he reminded him. “We can submit the letters and Shorter’s testimony. We’ll show them that we’re serious.” 

The letters weren’t even finished yet—they had written dozens already, but not an entire year’s worth.  They’d already decided that Eiji would stop writing about two weeks before he came to New York—enough time so that Ash could know something was up, but maybe not enough to warrant a panicked phone call. By Eiji’s estimation, they each needed to write maybe six or seven more letters to reach that point. He’d hoped to write a few over the honeymoon, but it hadn’t happened. 

His mind replayed a bit of what had happened, but he shut it down quickly, trying to stay normal. He’d have to get that under control right away. The last thing he needed was to look like he was pining—Ash might interpret that as emotional blackmail.

Eiji watched him now, casually tucking his novel into his carry-on bag and then sliding that under his seat as the seatbelt light flashed on, and it seemed obvious that Ash had no intention to let what happened in Colorado affect their lives in New York. Eiji envied his control. 

The plane landed without incident, and by the time their cab pulled up outside their building, the sun had set. They didn’t talk in the elevator up to their apartment, and Eiji appreciated the silence. There was something deeply satisfying about returning home after a long trip.

Home. How long had it been since any place felt like home? He’d lived with Ash barely more than a month, and yet this place was unequivocally home. He watched Ash unlock the door, saw the golden cat charm dangling from his key and felt a tug, like something physically connected them.

It wasn’t just the apartment that felt like home.

“I’m starved,” Ash announced as he shrugged out of his coat. “Do you want me to order some pad thai?” He pulled out his phone.

“I could eat,” Eiji agreed, taking Ash’s coat and hauling their suitcases into the apartment. Besides the entry, the lights were still off, and the glow of Manhattan was already shining through the living room windows. Eiji crossed to the window, admiring the familiar view of the water tank across the street, its graffiti art looking almost fluorescent in the city lights.

He didn’t hear Ash’s footsteps, didn’t realize he was there at all until his hand pressed against the window frame in front of Eiji. Eiji turned his head, discovering he was half boxed-in by Ash, who stood behind him. “Ash?” he asked.

Ash didn’t look at him, kept his eyes trained on the floor. “I’m sorry, Eiji,” he said in a low voice that was a thousand miles away from the cheerful way he’d just ordered their dinner.

It wasn’t what Eiji had been expecting. “W-why?” he stammered, both confused and distracted by Ash’s nearness. 

“Things got… intense. It wasn’t what we agreed to, and I’m sorry.”

Eiji couldn’t tell if this was an apology or a regret. Either way, it felt like rejection. “I’m not,” he whispered, a sick feeling building in his stomach. “It was honest, Ash. At least for me, it was.”

Ash’s breath was loud in his ear and enough time passed that the room seemed visibly darker when he finally spoke. “I know,” he said. “But we can’t let it happen again.” The words were the texture of splintered wood, all sharp points and jagged edges. 

“I know,” Eiji echoed faintly. Of course he knew. Hadn't he come to that conclusion already on his own? So why did it hurt so much to hear Ash say it out loud? His heart was in his throat and he didn’t know how he’d manage to swallow his dinner when it arrived.

“But Ash?” Eiji turned around completely, leaning back on the window so he could face this man who’d gone from stranger to husband, but now felt like part of his actual soul. “I don’t want you to apologize to me. Not for that.” He could feel tears in the corners of his eyes. “Never for that.”

Ash looked up then, and the glow from the city outside lit up his eyes. “Okay,” he said softly. He dropped his hand to his side again and stepped back into the darkness. He swallowed hard, his expression gentle, but unreadable. “Okay. I won’t.” 

*

Letter #29

Dear Ash,

I just won a gold medal at the Japan Championship. It’s my first gold at this level, though I have a silver from last year. It’s weird, being called a champion. Everyone keeps telling me how happy they are for me, telling me that I worked hard for this. That I deserve it. 

But all I feel is numb.

The jumps were okay. No, they were good. Ash. I didn’t have any fouls—that’s what I’m known for in Japan, not messing up and failing jumps due to fouls—because my technique has always been consistent, even from high school. I didn’t break Duplantis’s record, which I knew would bother Owen. But as that bar went higher and higher, that mattered less. I actually let myself wonder if I could win the event. 

My final jump felt extraordinary. I knew on the run-up that I was doing well. I could feel when I planted my pole, that it landed in the box just right, that I was going to succeed. There’s this moment, Ash, when you feel the pole flex under you, when you realize just how high you’re going to go. That’s when you position your body, when you prep your arms for that final push off and over.

The flying feels euphoric, up that high. You have to go higher and higher to catch that feeling. Or, at least I do. My high school jumps used to be so incredible, but now those heights are only steps toward the real deal.

It wasn’t until I landed that it fell apart. I knew I’d nailed it, but Owen was waiting for me, his arms crossed with a huge scowl on his face. He’d wanted me to raise the bar another few centimeters, to push myself to beat the record. But Ash, I already had enough to win. I’d only vaulted at record-levels in practice, and my success rate wasn’t solid. Why risk it all like that? I thought winning gold would be enough. 

I wonder, if I hadn’t let myself savor the euphoria, if I’d held back some of that feeling, maybe the disappointment wouldn’t sting so deep? Is it possible to throw yourself too much into something, to lose yourself entirely in the feeling, so that the reckoning at the end—something you knew was coming—stings more than it really should?

Maybe it’s my own fault. Maybe I got my hopes up. 

But Ash, I love the jump. 

I’m just more afraid than ever of the fall.

I want to see you. In November, as soon as our year is up, I’m going to get on a bus and ride all night to Manhattan. I’ll find you. And when I do, I won’t let you go.

Love,

Eiji

Chapter Text

SIXTEEN 

Eiji woke breathless and was immediately disappointed to discover he was in his own bed. He’d been dreaming of flying.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d been dreaming of jumping.

It still seemed real—the scent of hot asphalt, the subtle give of the track beneath his feet as he ran. Even now he was panting from the exertion of sprinting, his arms burning with the sensation of having pushed his body up, up, and over the bar. And then, the weightless exhilaration of flight, of entire seconds when the world slowed, his whole body freed of the earth’s pull.

Eiji sat up, swinging trembling legs over the edge of the mattress, not daring to stand right away for fear they wouldn't hold him. His whole body felt heavy with rediscovered gravity. He gazed around the dark apartment, feeling like he didn’t belong there, like he should be somewhere else, like he was wasting time—so much precious time.

An ache climbed its way up from the pit of his stomach, clawing through his lungs and up into his throat, where it sat like a lump he couldn’t swallow down. Tears welled up and then streamed, unchecked down his face.  

What was wrong with him? It’d been three months since his last jump, and sure, he’d thought about it. From time to time, he even missed it. Or rather, he missed the joy of it—but that joy had died a long time ago. So what was this now? What was this feeling like his entire body had been turned inside out? Why was his heart breaking now?

He finally stood on wobbly legs and opened the curtains. It was still mostly dark outside. The city was awake, however—only the sun could afford to be a lay-abed in winter—and Eiji realized it was probably almost seven o’clock. Their meeting downtown wasn’t until ten, but going back to bed wasn’t an option.

He started the coffee first, switching on the dim under-cabinet lights to see. The machine brewed quickly, and before he’d finished preparing a bowl of natto—only one bowl, since Ash claimed it was completely inedible—it was ready to be poured.

He heard Ash on the steps a moment later; as usual, he was roused by the scent of fresh coffee. This morning, he wore a long-sleeved MOMA t-shirt over dark blue sweats and his feet were bare despite the cold floors. His hair stood up every which way—a now-familiar sort of bed head that made Eiji’s mind flit to forbidden places—and he rubbed barely-open eyes.

Eiji knew better than to try to talk to him yet. He watched from his perch on the barstool as Ash fumbled a mug from the cabinet and filled it with the steaming coffee. He took a sip, flinched, and, as always, shuffled two steps to the refrigerator for milk. Ash preferred his coffee the soft color of caramel, but he thought he liked it black. It usually took only a few sips before he reached for the creamer or milk or whatever else was handy. It was one of the charming details Eiji was glad to know.

Ash leaned against the counter across from Eiji, eyeing the bowl of fruit as he sipped his drink. Eiji wondered which he would choose that morning. Ash was a creature of habit, and while he always ate some kind of fruit after his coffee, Eiji hadn’t figured out a pattern to his choices.

“Why’re your eyes red?” Ash asked suddenly.

Eiji’s breath hitched, startled by the question. “What do you mean?” he asked, pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes as if he were merely sleepy.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” He leaned down to peer into Eiji’s face. “Fuck, Eiji. Have you been crying?”

A week ago, he would’ve told the truth. A week ago, they could’ve talked about what the dream had meant, about whether or not Eiji should reconsider his decision to quit jumping. Today, Eiji was too aware of what Ash’s concern would do to him, what it was already threatening to do. “Of course not,” he protested, swiping once more at his eyes to banish the fresh round of tears that Ash’s question inspired. “I just haven’t dusted this place in a while.”

For a long moment, it looked like Ash would push, but then he stood straighter and took another drink of his coffee. The tiniest downturn of his mouth, enough to send a sharp stab of agony through Eiji’s heart, was the only indication of his feelings. He scooped up an orange from the bowl—Eiji had been betting on it being a banana—and disappeared back up the stairs.

Eiji didn’t have time to think about Ash. He didn’t have time to think about the pole vault, either. He needed to prepare for their appointment with USCIS. He and Ash had been home for two days, and they were barely able to make eye contact, let alone act like they were newlyweds in love. Before the wedding, they’d worked out an entire strategy, ironing out every detail in their story. Ash had even gone so far as to give him a map of the major scars on his body, so Eiji could pretend he’d seen them.

But now he had seen them. He’d traced his fingers across the raised scar on his bicep—a gift from the leader of a rival gang, Ash had told him—and pressed a kiss to the jagged starburst near his left shoulder that looked like the echo of a bullet wound. He knew that, on the inside of one thigh, Ash had a cluster of freckles in the shape of a lopsided heart, a tiny, beautiful thing that might’ve been a secret even from its owner.

Eiji shoved his bowl away and dropped his head down onto the counter. Face flaming, he tried to banish the memories. Ash didn’t want that kind of relationship with him, and why should he? Even without love, sex was complicated and messy. And with it—well, Eiji wasn’t quite able to convince himself that Ash loved him. He’d thought so, maybe, that night in Colorado. He’d hoped. But hope was slippery and the feelings between them were too hard to keep hold of.

It was no good.

He got up and washed his bowl, leaving it upside down in the dish rack to dry. He had to get out of there. He needed the solace of flinging his body up into the sky, of giving himself over to the force of gravity, of feeling the air slide by as he fell, fell, fell back to earth. But that was impossible now. 

He dressed quickly and yanked on his shoes instead. He couldn’t fly, but at least he could run.

*

“Do you think they’re gonna believe us?”

It was the first thing Eiji had said to him since they’d gotten home from the immigration office. Ash glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Eiji was curled up in one corner of the sofa, scrolling listlessly through his phone. He’d looked up when he asked the question, but Ash had glanced at him just in time to see him return to the screen in his hand. “Sure,” Ash said slowly. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

Eiji only sighed, which made something tighten in Ash’s chest. They’d been uptown for nearly three hours—most of it spent in lines or in waiting rooms—and they’d barely spoken to each other the whole time. Once they were finally face to face with an agent, the interview had taken only forty minutes.

It definitely hadn’t been their best performance. Ash had really fucked things up in Colorado, and whatever natural chemistry they’d had working for them before was nowhere to be found. He’d held Eiji’s hand almost the whole time—in line, in the waiting room, during the interview—long enough that he’d started to wonder if that was actually normal, or if that made it more obvious that they were desperately trying to sell a fake relationship.

“This first interview is just a formality,” the agent had said, barely glancing up at them as they walked into his office. The two chairs on their side of the desk had faded upholstery, and Ash chose the one with the most stains in an attempt to be chivalrous. “Over the next few weeks, your application will be reviewed and the decision about Mister Okumura’s change of status will be made.”

Eiji looked stricken. “It will take that long?” he asked. His leave date was just over two weeks away; there wasn’t time for bureaucracy. 

The agent—Harry Winegarten was the name on his desk plaque—looked up then, his eyebrows twitching over the tortoiseshell rims of his glasses. “We need to establish…” he paused, seeming to search for the right word, “a sense of authenticity for your request,” he explained in a voice that made Ash’s skin prickle. “That can take some time.”

“Can we expect an answer before his ESTA expires?” Ash asked. It was better to be direct, right?

Harry Winegarten shook his head, his lips tightening into what was likely intended to be an apologetic smile. “That’s really not something I can control. The timing depends on what turns up in the initial investigation.”

Investigation? Ash didn’t like the sound of that. He glanced at Eiji, who looked like he was swallowing sea water and about to go under. Ash put his hand on his knee and squeezed. It was meant to be supportive, but Eiji’s face went pale.

“As long as you aren’t misrepresenting your relationship, and this isn’t just a scheme to keep Mister Okumura in the country, it should be straightforward.” He tented his fingers and looked Ash directly in the eye. “That’s not what you’re doing, is it, Mister Callenreese?” 

Well, that was a strange question to lead with. But maybe he also believed in being direct?

“No, sir,” Ash said, falling back on the kissing-up shtick that worked so well with New York’s stuffed-shirt prosecutors. He clasped Eiji’s hand, threading their fingers together—shit, Eiji’s hand was freezing—and smiled at his husband, trying for coffee-commercial-level warmth. “Eiji and I have been serious for a long time. Now that we’re finally in the same city again, I don’t want to be away from him.”

The agent sighed and scribbled into his notebook. Ash remembered this sort of thing from the department of justice. He knew it was best to quell his irritation and play nice for as long as it took. It would be more convincing, however, if Eiji didn’t look like he was going to throw up.

“And you, Mister Okumura?” Winegarten said, pronouncing Eiji’s name in a clumsy way that emphasized the wrong syllable. “Can you tell me what brought you to New York?

“I wanted to see Ash.” Eiji leaned forward, his hand disentangling from Ash’s so it could rest, earnestly, on the desk. “I was lonely, and in a rut, and I thought that seeing Ash would help.”

The agent barely glanced up from his notebook. Ash hated the scratch of the guy’s pen against the paper, writing God-knew-what about Eiji’s answer. He didn't really understand the point of all of this. Was this Winegarten guy an expert in body language or something? Was there anything at all that could be gleaned from this interview that hadn’t already been submitted in their application?

The rest of the interview was more of the same, and by the end, Ash was irritated and exhausted. Almost everything they’d said had already been submitted in writing—where Eiji had come from, how they’d met, and when, as well as details about his sports career, which they’d decided to pretend was still ongoing. At the end, the agent handed them each a business card. “We will need to see that correspondence,” he said, referring to the love letters Ash and Eiji were almost finished writing. “And testimony from friends and family to corroborate your story. Please deliver them to me directly. I’ll review them and then forward them to whomever is assigned to your case.”

Ash slipped the card into his pocket. He wondered if Shorter would let him read his testimony before sending it out, or if he was still too pissed about the whole situation to let him. “Will scans of the letters be enough?” he asked. “Or would you rather I drop off the originals?”

Winegarten raised his eyebrows. “The originals are always best,” he agreed, “but are you certain you want to part with them?”

Ash felt a prickle of unease. He recognized a trap when he saw one. If he said no, he had no doubt that they would get dinged for sending duplicates. But if he said yes, it could be framed as a lack of concern.

“Would we be able to get them all back?” Eiji’s voice was uncertain, almost hesitant, but he squeezed Ash’s hand in firm communication. “Ash’s letters are all I have from our first year together. If I can’t be sure I can have them back, then—” he bit his lip. “How much would it hurt my chances to send copies?”

The agent blinked, apparently disarmed by Eiji’s sweet sincerity. Ash looked over at Eiji and was surprised to be met with a flash of playful glee before his eyes went wide and concerned once more. Ash glanced away to quell his impulse to smile. Eiji had clearly hit on exactly the right answer. 

“Go ahead and bring the originals, young man,” Harry said, sounding like a human being for the first time, instead of just a bureaucrat. “We can get them back to you.”

Now, as he chopped vegetables for a late lunch, Ash realized that it was only in that moment—only when Eiji was acting in order to manipulate the agent—had it felt like Eiji had been present with him. Otherwise, even though they’d been in all the same rooms, answering all the same questions, Eiji had seemed a million miles away. 

He thought about the redness that rimmed Eiji’s eyes that morning, the way he’d dodged Ash’s question. He wondered, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, if Eiji had been crying because of him. 

I’m here because it’s you, Ash, Eiji had told him that night. Because of who you are and how I feel about you.

Ash had studied the greatest novels in the English language. He understood the quirk of a simile and the sidestep of a metaphor. He knew that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of ways to express that singular emotion that lived at the center of every great work of literature, and he’d recognized this one as soon as it had been uttered.

Somehow, impossibly, Eiji loved him.

That night in the cabin, Ash had lay awake for a long time after Eiji’s breathing had become soft and regular. He’d let Eiji’s words rattle in his head until they were tattooed onto the inside of his skull. He barely had names for some of the feelings that flowed through his bloodstream—wonder and self-loathing waged a war through his nervous system. 

He tried to understand what kind of cataclysm could have damaged Eiji so completely as to let him fall in love with the likes of Ash Lynx.

There was no question in Ash’s mind that, whatever emotional fairytale he and Eiji had stumbled into, it had to stop. It was bad enough that he’d selfishly given in to the temptation to explore his desire, that he’d somehow convinced himself that their honeymoon cabin represented a separate reality—a reality where Ash was allowed things—because he couldn’t be with Eiji in the real world where everything he touched died, either in a hail of blood and bullets, or sometimes, more quietly, like a candle sputtering out when no one was looking. He couldn’t let it go even one step further. Now that he knew how Eiji felt, continuing down that path would be unforgivable.

He’d been determined as soon as they woke up together the next morning: one last day of fun, pretending—really pretending, in his own heart, rather than for the rest of the world—that they could be desperately in love and starting their life together. And then it would be over. Back to New York and back to real life.

He hadn’t anticipated how terrible real life would feel.

He hadn’t anticipated the uncomfortable silences, the awkward conversations. He hadn’t realized that everything he wanted to say to Eiji would now be loaded, heavy with what they’d briefly been to each other and what they couldn’t have.

“Do you want avocado in your salad?” he asked now, astonished that his voice could sound casual. 

Eiji didn’t glance up from whatever video he was watching on his phone. “Yes, please.” Unlike Ash, he didn’t even try to sound normal. He sounded listless. Depressed. 

“Wanna go for a walk after lunch?” Ash asked, hoping for a spark of the man he’d come to… care about. “You can bring your camera, though I don’t know how photogenic the park will be during a January thaw.”

Eiji looked up then, the faintest echo of a light in his face. “I’d like that,” he said. 

Ash nearly flinched at the cautious tone. Had he really hurt him so much?

He needed to be careful. Needed to keep the walls up. Not for his own sake—his whole life had taught him how to deal with never getting what he craved—but for Eiji’s. 

*

“Hold the cards and ask your question,” Sunny told Eiji, wrapping his fingers around the deck of oversized cards. “It doesn’t have to be out loud. Just imagine you’re pushing your question into them.”

They were alone in the apartment. Ash had taken Michael to a movie, and though he’d invited Eiji to come along, Eiji was afraid that his presence might make things weird. It hadn’t been easy to hang out together lately. So, when Sunny called to offer a tarot reading for the new year, he’d eagerly invited her over.  

She’d draped some kind of tie-dyed scarf across the table. It matched the tie-dyed hoodie she wore under her overalls, which made Eiji smile. Sunny was always boldly herself. He envied that.

“What kind of question should it be?” he asked, overwhelmed by even this simple task.

“Anything,” she assured him. “I mean, most people end up wanting relationship advice, but I’m sure you and Ash don’t need that!”

He tried to match her smile. “Definitely not,” he agreed.

“New Year’s Eve is a great time to ask about the coming year,” she suggested brightly. “It can be general, like what kind of year 2024 will be, or something specific, like how you’ll do at the Olympics this summer.”

Eiji thought about the dream he’d had a few days ago, the weightless joy of it before reality had come crashing back over him. What would she say if he told her he’d given it all up, that he wasn’t planning on going to Paris at all? Would she try to talk him into going back to it?

Did he want her to?

“Are you and Shorter going to a party tonight?” he asked instead. 

She waved a hand. “No way! The Chinese New Year isn’t for another month, right? Nadia usually gets everyone together then.” Her eyes went round and wide. “Hey! Maybe you can come this time!”

Eiji couldn’t promise he’d still be in New York by then. And if he was, would Ash still want him hanging around? Once he got the status change, it could be years before the permanent residence visa came through—surely Ash wouldn’t want to keep their charade going the whole time? Could Eiji even play at love that long? Something in Eiji’s middle twisted painfully. He was such a liar, even in his own head. 

“I’d like that,” he said, trying to fake cheerfulness as well as Ash faked—honestly, everything.

“Let’s just go with something general,” he decided in a rush. “For the reading. I’ll just ask what to expect in the next year.” He closed his eyes and tried to channel something, anything, into the cards. Unbidden, a memory came to life behind his eyelids: the quirk of Ash’s smile, playfully taunting while his soft eyes reflected the dim glow of firelight. 

Is everything ruined? He felt the question with his whole body, pushed it into the cards like she’d told him.

When he offered them back, Sunny laid out five cards in a cross. Just like he had when she’d first read his cards on the night they met, he noticed how confidently her hands moved. She did this the way he pole-vaulted, he realized, like second-nature. This mattered to her. Eiji was determined to take it seriously.

“The first card is your present state,” she explained, touching the card at the center. “It reveals the nature of your situation right at this moment.” She flipped it over. “The Four of Swords.” Sunny picked up the card and handed it to Eiji.

He studied the picture—a woman lay in a coffin and three swords hung suspended over her face and chest, while the fourth seemed to be part of the coffin itself. It looked pretty grim.

But Sunny grinned, her cheeks dimpling. “I love this for you,” she said. “This card is kind of like the deep breath you take before starting to run. It can mean taking a step back from conflict or taking a minute to look back at the progress you’ve already made. Basically, it’s suggesting that right now, you’ve hit the pause button so you can work something out.” 

Eiji was overwhelmed by all the things this could apply to. It felt like his whole life was frozen, but he didn’t know which parts of his life were finished and which were merely paused. He had believed he was through with the pole vault, but now he wasn’t sure. He’d thought that he and Ash were moving toward… something, but that was clearly wrong, too. Wasn’t it?

It made him uneasy to see that uncertainty reflected in the card, like he was the woman in the coffin, waiting for the swords to drop.

“This makes so much sense for you,” Sunny continued, oblivious. “Not only are you on a break from training, you’ve just come back from your honeymoon and you don’t know yet how marriage will change things for you.”

“It looks… bad,” Eiji confessed, setting the card back into its place on the table.

She shook her head. “Think of it as self-care. You’re just taking a moment to review, to make sure that everything is where it needs to be in your life.”

He nodded. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with taking a minute to sort things out,” he conceded.

“Exactly!”

She traced her finger across the horizontal line of cards. “These three work together to show a progression, or a trajectory,” she said. The left represents external factors. This isn’t something you can control—it already happened, or is in the process of happening, but it’s still something you have to deal with.”

She flipped the leftmost card, and Eiji heard her breath exhale in a soft huff.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The Seven of Swords,” she said, her voice going low. “It’s a sneaky sort of card—lies, trickery, deceit. But also, resourcefulness and strategy.”

The card itself was blue, like the previous card. This one featured a man in a cloak, his arms full of swords. It looked like he was stealing them.

Sunny bit her lip. “Sometimes this card is about an attempt at secrecy or a plan that may fail. It’s definitely not a great card to have in this position. It could mean that someone is influencing your situation from the outside, and their intentions aren’t good.”

A plan that may fail. Trickery. Deceit. That was pretty clear to Eiji. “I understand it,” he told her. Because it was painfully obvious. The problem was his scheme with Ash. Literally the only thing that held them together. “It’s actually pretty accurate.” Eiji flinched at the honesty in his voice. It sounded like despair.

Sunny’s troubled expression only deepened. “We don’t know the full trajectory yet,” she reminded him, tapping her finger against the pink back of the card on the right. “This next card is about what’s coming—it’s something that you can influence and control.”

She turned that card, revealing a boy that made Eiji think of Peter Pan. He wore pajamas and held a candle in one hand while waving a star-tipped wand in the other. He was flying, with what appeared to be fairy wings on his back. “The Page of Wands.” She smiled. “I’m not surprised.”

“It’s a good card?”

She nodded. “Pages are positive cards. They suggest a change, or a transformation. This Page is about limitless potential and starting a new journey. It wants you to see yourself authentically and to jump into your passions wholeheartedly.”

Eiji frowned. Authenticity was kind of a problem right then. He and Ash were in a fake marriage, after all. And jumping into passion was exactly what had ruined things.

“The Page is kind of indicative of a creative spark, or the call to start something. In relationship terms, it can suggest soulmates.” She giggled. “And look at him—he’s flying, just like you do! So yeah, I’d say it’s a good card.”

Eiji studied the three cards as a unit. “You said these are a progression?” he asked.

She nodded. “You’ve been influenced by deception and trickery,” she explained, tracing one sparkling fingernail across the cards. “And so right now you’re pausing, taking stock, trying to figure out the best way to bring authenticity into your life.”

The way she put it together made sense. Eiji wanted it to make sense. He tried to ignore the fact that the trickery, the deceit, the plan that may fail was his own doing. “I think I know what it’s saying,” he told her. It looked like the answer he wanted to his question; it looked like it was saying that his life might not be ruined, after all.

If only he believed it.

Sunny nodded. “Okay. Good.” Her breath exhaled in a minty gust. “Tarot tends to make more sense to the querent than the reader.” She reached out and put a hand over Eiji’s. He hadn’t noticed it was shaking until she stilled it. “Are you ready to go on?”

Eiji felt far more vulnerable than he’d expected to when Sunny suggested a reading. Maybe it was because he had too many secrets. Or maybe it was just that thinking about Ash was hard.

He’d promised himself that he’d be all right with however things turned out. He’d really believed that it was fine if it was only one time, that he was happy to have whatever Ash was able to share with him. And he was. They’d had an entire night—one impossible night—to explore feelings they weren’t supposed to have.  Ash had put on the brakes for a reason, and Eiji was trying to honor that. 

Yet he’d been unable to talk to Ash without sulking. His feelings were hurt, but it wasn’t really Ash’s fault, was it? He hadn’t been anything but open and honest with Eiji. He’d never promised anything beyond a fake relationship and five years of his time. Eiji twisted the ring on his finger. Wasn’t it his own fault he’d fallen in love?

“Eiji?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s continue.”

“Next we look at the vertical axis,” Sunny continued, tapping both the card above the Four of Swords and the the one below it. “These are the internal factors—stuff going on inside your brain—that are affecting your situation. The top card represents your consciousness. You can control the elements here. The bottom card is your unconscious. This is working on you behind the scenes, influencing you in ways you aren’t necessarily aware of.

“They aren’t a progression,” she told him. “They’re both acting on you simultaneously. That means we can reveal them in any order. Which looks good to you?”

Eiji already knew what was on his mind, so he chose the bottom card. “Unconscious,” he declared.

The first thing Eiji noticed was the lightning. It shot down from a red sky, igniting a tall, gray tower. It looked ominous. “What’s it mean?” he asked.

Sunny leaned back in her chair, gazing down at the card. “It’s The Tower,” she told him, and her voice was serious. “It signifies massive change, or upheaval. Maybe a false understanding?”  She placed one perfect fingernail between her teeth and bit down, gentle enough that it didn’t seem to damage her manicure. “If this was a love reading, I’d say that you may have built your relationship on an unstable foundation, but I’ve seen you and Ash together—you two are clearly good for each other.”

She caught the corner of her lip in her teeth and tugged on one of the curls that framed her face, pulling it down all the way to her shoulder before letting it bounce back into place. Eiji waited while she studied the whole spread of cards, clearly getting meaning from them that Eiji did not. “Maybe it signifies a need for surrender? Like, something you’re subconsciously clinging to, but need to let go of?”

She was clearly uncertain, but honestly, every word out of her mouth made perfect sense. Writing those letters to Ash, he’d started to think he hadn’t surrendered his drive to pole vault after all. Or it could refer to that night in Colorado—letting go of those intimate feelings might be the only way forward. But Eiji didn’t want to talk about those things with Sunny, not while he still couldn’t speak honestly with Ash.  

He picked out something benign. “It’s been a huge change,” he said carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Coming to New York, living with Ash—it’s very different from the life I had before.”

She nodded slowly but Eiji could tell she didn’t really accept his answer. Fair. Neither did he.

When she reached for the only card left unturned, Eiji already had a good idea of what it was going to show. It was supposed to represent his thoughts, right? And he’d been preoccupied with mostly just the one thing.

Eiji watched Sunny’s face instead of the card. Her dimples came back hard and she made a tiny squeaking noise, scooping up the card and shoving it into his hands. Eiji’s insides flipped and he glanced at the image. He tried not to blush. Why was he always so painfully obvious?

The card featured two figures painted in blue—naked, but androgynous. They appeared to be in the midst of a whirlwind, their hair whipping over their heads, but their eyes were closed, peaceful. In the center, they both reached toward an oversaturated red heart.

“The Lovers,” Sunny said, even though it wasn’t really necessary. “You just got married. Of course your internal consciousness is The Lovers.” She beamed at him. “This signifies deliberate connections and meaningful relationships. It’s about choosing love over fear or guilt, about honesty.”

“That’s good, then?” He hadn’t meant for it to be a question.

“Usually.” Sunny plucked the card from Eiji’s fingers and set it back into place on the table. “We gotta look at the whole picture. Your situation,” she pointed back to the Four of Swords, “needs to be considered.”

He looked at the column, with The Lovers at the top, the Four of Swords in the center, and The Tower looking ominous at the bottom. “I don’t understand what it’s saying.”

She took a long moment to study the cross, then traced on finger along the lightning that sliced the sky around the tower. “I think you’re kind of a mess inside,” she finally said. “That you haven’t really made peace with your reasons for coming to New York. She touched the tip of one of the dangling swords on the center card. “And right now, you’re frozen—doing nothing at all because that’s easier than moving forward.”

Eiji’s cheeks grew warm. Sunny was too kind to mean it critically, but he felt like he’d been called out. He watched as her finger slid back up to the heart between the lovers.

“You want to choose love,” she continued. “You want honesty and unity.” She looked up at him, her eyes serious and bright. “You want to live happily ever after with Ash, but something’s blocking that.” She moved her finger back to the girl in the coffin in that center card. “You’ve paused. You’re assessing.”

He nodded without meaning to.

She moved to the Seven of Swords, the crescent of her nail tapping against shiny surface of the card. “Some outside force is at play, and not in a good way,” she interpreted. “There’s been an attempt at secrecy. At trickery.”

A plan that may fail. Eiji disagreed that it was an outside force, but it was definitely a problem. The threat of failure was too much. He couldn’t be the one to send Ash to prison; he’d rather give up everything—give up Ash—than allow that.

“But this.” She pressed her fingertip against the star-tipped wand carried by the Page of Wands. “This is a happy ending. This is you embracing your passion and living authentically. Even with everything else that’s going on, this is possible.”

“How?” Eiji’s voice was hoarse.

“There is still a choice—a conscious effort that needs to be made. The Lovers says you can find a compromise as long as you choose honesty. The page wants authenticity. The path is there, but you need to find it.”

Honesty. A lump formed in Eiji’s throat and he tried to swallow it down. His relationship with Ash was made up of a lot of things—collaboration, companionship, trust. Even desire had played its dubious role. But honesty? What would happen if Eiji were truly honest, if he simply told Ash how he felt? That seemed to Eiji to be the worst possible option. 

No one wanted a love confession from their situationship.

Eiji must’ve been quiet for too long again, because Sunny touched his hand. “Eiji?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

He glanced up at her, trying to figure out how to answer. He was caught by her big, round eyes. They were soft with concern. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Ash, but—”

“It’s just—” He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted someone to confide in, someone who wouldn’t be disappointed in him, like Ibe would. He could already imagine the tight line of Ibe’s mouth as he tried to figure out a way to say I warned you without saying I told you so. Eiji thought that Sunny might just listen. 

But it wasn’t just his secret, was it? 

But maybe there was something else he could say, something to confide that was only his. Eiji swallowed and started again. “Things with Ash are fine,” he lied, waving away her concern as breezily as he could manage. “It’s really my jumping that has me upset these days.” As he said it, he realized it was bothering him more than he’d thought. He hadn’t gotten over that dream.

She leaned forward, concerned. “Are you injured? Is that why you’ve been here so long?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like that.” 

And then it all came out. She listened with wide eyes as he told her about the passion he’d had for his sport slowly sapping away over years, about Owen’s shift in attitude. It was like telling Ash all over again—each word felt like self-loathing, like all the weak, miserable parts of him were on display for Sunny to reject, if she wanted, though shockingly, Ash hadn’t.

And neither did Sunny. “No one expects you to break records every single day,” she insisted. “It’s ridiculous to expect you to push your limits every time.” She reached across the table and took both his hands. “Eiji, the people who love you are proud of you. Even when your best barely makes it over that bar.”

Her absolute conviction brought tears to his eyes. “Not everyone,” he said, shaking his head. “Not my father.” He told her then, the truth that only Ibe and Ash knew.

Sunny frowned as he told the story, her hands around his tightening with each word. “I try to cut people slack,” she said quietly when he was finished. “Like, people who are in a lot of pain maybe can’t regulate their feelings well, and people who are dying might be dealing with a ton of bitterness about it, right? But Eiji, what he did to you, how he hurt you—his freaking son—it’s complete bullshit.”

Eiji looked up at her, startled and moved by the anger in her voice. “I hate parents like that,” she continued. “Parents who have no compassion, no sympathy at all for the kids they brought into the world. Parents who make you feel like your best isn’t enough, even when you go above and beyond what anyone else ever expected.” 

She closed her eyes and squeezed Eiji’s hands hard before leveling her gaze back into his. “Look, I had years of experience living as a guy before I transitioned, right? So, while I might not seem qualified, I fully mean it when I say that I will happily be your dad from now on.”

A short, startled laugh burst out of him, along with a fresh round of tears. It was impossible to imagine this tiny, youthful creature as his father. 

She smiled too, and he was surprised to notice that her eyes were also wet with tears. “I’m serious,” she insisted. “From this day forward, I’m your fucking dad. And you know what, Eiji?” She leaned forward, tugging his hands to draw him closer until they both leaned over the table, forehead to forehead. “I’m so stinking proud of you, son. No matter what you do from here on out, I’ll always be proud.”

*

“Wanna watch the fireworks with me?”

The hopeful spark that zapped in Eiji’s brain fizzled immediately. It clearly wasn’t a romantic thing—Ash hadn't even bothered to come down the stairs to ask, instead calling from the landing.

Eiji glanced at his watch. 11:55. He hadn’t realized it was so close to midnight already. A stubborn, sulky part of him wanted to stay on the couch, but the rest of him disregarded that, hopping to his feet right away. 

He switched off the television and tossed the remote onto the couch. When Ash came home, he’d said that he and Michael had watched the new Godzilla movie, which made Eiji almost wish he’d gone along, after all. To feel better, he’d cobbled together his own kaiju movie marathon using various streaming services and had been watching them for hours. Ash had watched with him for a while, but he’d wandered upstairs sometime after eight.

Crying it out with Sunny had been cathartic, and even though they hadn’t talked about him at all, Eiji was already feeling more at ease with Ash. He almost wished he’d told her about what happened in Colorado, but that would’ve meant admitting that he’d been lying all this time. He was grateful she’d become his friend, and it seemed risky to test that so soon.

Eiji trudged upstairs. He grabbed a hoodie from the wardrobe on the mezzanine and pulled it over his head as he climbed the last short flight to Ash’s room. The curtains were pushed open, and Ash was outside, leaning against the closed sliding door.

He shifted as Eiji opened it. “It’s not as cold as last time,” Eiji observed. The weather had been mild all week, and even after dark, it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been in the mountains. 

“Give it a minute,” Ash said. He wore the sweater and beanie that Eiji was coming to think of as his smoking outfit. His hands were shoved into the pockets. “The cold kinda settles into your bones.”

Eiji looked north over the rooftops. The Empire State building loomed high over the skyline, by far the tallest and most prominent landmark. “Can we see the Times Square fireworks from here?” he asked. 

“Nah,” Ash said, shaking his head. “But someone in the neighborhood is sure to have something. Maybe a club or a private party.”

Eiji rubbed his arms—Ash wasn’t kidding about the cold sinking in. It seemed foolish to be out there with only the hope that somebody somewhere close would shoot off some decent fireworks.

“When I was in high school, I used to meet up with friends to go to the shrine late on New Year’s Eve,” he said, feeling like he should say something, in case the fireworks never materialized. “The tradition is called hatsumode. The idea is to be among the first to greet the gods in the new year. It’s lucky.” His parents had never participated in the tradition, usually saying that Eiji’s sister was too small to be out in the cold all night. Eiji thought they were just too boring.

“Seems smarter than getting drunk and shooting off fireworks,” Ash said dryly.

“My sister and I would always get up early to watch the first sunrise on New Year’s Day,” Eiji told him. He remembered one morning in particular, when he’d ridden her on the back of his bike to a high ridge where they’d watched the sun come up over the mountains.

“Do you miss her?”

Eiji shrugged. That didn’t seem the right word for it. He didn’t long to see her, but he did feel tethered, somehow, as though a thread stretched the length of the world, connecting them. He didn’t need to feel a tug to know it was there, so he barely touched it at all. “Not really,” he told Ash. “My life is here, now.”

He hadn’t realized the words would sound so loaded until Ash turned his face away, his eyes troubled.

Shame burned through Eiji. He couldn't stand it. “Ash,” he began.

At that moment, a fizzle of colored fire erupted overhead. They both looked up, startled.

Another burst followed a half-second later, a rain of sparks and whistles that seemed almost to cascade around them. Ash's face was lit pink by a chrysanthemum of firelight and his eyes were bright with more than just reflected sparks “I guess it’s midnight,” he said, an expression of startled wonder replacing the concern on his face.

Eiji realized that Ash hadn’t really been expecting fireworks—at least not that close—and the joy of it transformed him, making Eiji wonder if this might be what Ash would have always looked like, if he’d lived a different life. “Happy New Year,” he murmured. Eiji wanted to remember that expression forever.

“Happy New Year,” Ash returned. He glanced at Eiji, catching him watching his face instead of the fireworks. His smile slipped away, and Eiji suddenly remembered the American tradition of kissing to start a new year.

For a long time, they stood like that, staring into each other’s eyes in what might’ve been silent communication, except for the buzzing in Eiji’s head that prevented actual thoughts. The light on Ash’s face shifted into green, then gold, and then brilliant blue as sparks blossomed and faded in the sky, and Eiji’s heart pounded in his ears, his entire body alert and waiting.

Ash’s lips parted, whether to speak, or kiss, or in an unconscious effort to get more oxygen, Eiji never knew, because Eiji tilted his head upward instead, blurry eyes trying to focus on the bursts of shimmering light. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice maybe a bit too bright. 

“Beautiful,” Ash echoed hoarsely, but Eiji didn’t dare look away from the sky.

A moment later, the door was open, the curtains fluttering in his wake as Ash disappeared into the bedroom and down the stairs. Eiji exhaled hard, the mist of his breath clouding his vision as he willed his body to calm down, to be normal.

This time, he didn’t follow.

Chapter Text

SEVENTEEN

“Good morning.” Eiji stood as a slim woman in a business suit stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tidy knot, but despite her conservative appearance, Eiji thought she must be his age, or perhaps only a few years older.

“I’m Clarice Fisher. I’ve been assigned to your application.” She shook his hand and took a seat behind the desk. “Thank you for meeting me today.”

He and Ash had filed their application nearly a week before and had been hoping for a letter approving Eiji’s adjustment of status, which would let him stay in New York beyond his January 14th deadline. Instead, he’d gotten a summons, and that was terrifying.

Ash had offered to come with him, but Eiji figured that they both would’ve been called in if they’d wanted Ash to be there. Plus, he didn’t want Ash to miss his first day of classes, so Eiji dressed in his most respectable outfit and took the subway downtown by himself.

After the pleasantries were dispensed with and Eiji was brought some steaming tea in a paper cup, the agent got down to business. “Mister Okumura, do you know what the 90-day rule is, concerning immigration to the United States?”

“Is it like the 60-day rule?” he asked. He knew that one—an unwritten rule suggesting that people with ESTAs or other temporary visas shouldn’t marry, enroll in school, or even apply for a status adjustment within their first 60 days in the US, because it made the agents suspicious that the traveler had misrepresented their intentions and had planned to stay all along.

Eiji really hadn’t misrepresented his intentions when he applied for the ESTA—he’d gotten it earlier that year so he could fly out to a showcase tournament in California. Of course, when he’d crossed the border in October to get to New York, however, he’d been lying his ass off. But Clarice Fisher didn’t need to know that. 

Plus, he and Ash hadn’t gotten married until 67 days after his arrival, so they were fine. Right?

“Ah,” she looked a bit troubled, causing a pang in the pit of Eiji’s stomach. “I’m afraid that’s outdated. We now expect a 90-day wait for any activity that would imply a change in intent.”

What? A hot flush of panic crashed over Eiji, making his sweater instantly too warm. “I—uh,” he stammered, “I didn’t realize. My ESTA lets me stay only three months, so we thought—we thought we had to hurry.” His voice was pitched too high. Did he sound guilty? Shit. He took a deep gulp of his tea, then flinched as it burned going down.

Her concern turned into a frown. “Generally, when someone breaks the 90-day rule, it’s an automatic red flag for us. We immediately have to treat the application as though it may be fraudulent.”

Eiji barely managed not to jump out of his seat. “Please,” he said, feeling sweat beading on his forehead. “When I came to New York, I thought I was only visiting. I came to see my—” the word caught in his throat and he prayed she wouldn’t notice, “boyfriend. We had been apart for a long time, and I just wanted to see him.”

She leaned onto her elbows, tenting her fingers in a way that looked thoughtful. Or villainous. Eiji wasn’t processing information very rationally right then. “Mister Okumura—may I call you Eiji?” 

Eiji nodded. She had power over his whole life; she could call him anything she wanted. 

“Eiji, I know who you are. I’ve done my research.” She looked him straight in the eyes and if she’d told him that she knew he was a serial killer, he’d probably believe her. “Born in Izumo, Japan in 1998, attended the National Institute of Fitness and Sports in Kanoya, graduated at the middle of your class with a degree in,” she checked the notes on her desk, “physical education.”

Eiji nodded. “Yes. That’s me.”

She smiled, and didn’t look nearly as scary as he’d thought. “But you studied the pole vault as well, going on to become Japan’s top vaulter and one of the best in Asia, and then you caused quite an upset by earning the bronze medal in the Tokyo Olympics, even though you were anticipated to rank fifth or lower. I believe they call you The Grasshopper?”

He nodded again. “This is all true.” He didn’t know if this tangent was a bad sign, but it made him nervous in a new way.

“More recently, you’ve been training with Owen Andersson in Toronto, Canada, correct? And rumor has it you’re expected to do very well in Paris this summer.”

“Mm-mm,” he didn’t trust himself to speak. She was building up to something, obviously, and he didn’t want to accidentally nudge her in the wrong direction.

She stood suddenly, crossing the room to a counter with a mini-fridge. She opened it up and took out a bottle of Snapple, popping the cap and taking a deep drink. Eiji sipped his tea, feeling like it would be rude not to drink while she did. 

“What I don’t understand,” she said, coming back to her desk, “is why you’d abandon your training right before the Olympics to marry some guy here in New York.”

Eiji swallowed hard. Ash had warned him that this would come up. Owen even had that letter saying that Eiji wasn’t planning on coming back to him—which, in hindsight had been a huge mistake—so he had to play it carefully. He was supposed to talk about Owen’s hard attitude, suggest that he’d been planning to go back to Japan after this visit, to search for a new coach. Ash had even insisted that he buy a plane ticket to Tokyo for January 14^th—the day his ESTA would expire—to make it look more authentic, to make it look like the wedding was spontaneous, not calculated.

But Eiji didn’t tell her any of that. “Have you seen my husband?” he blurted instead, and was immediately mortified. 

To his relief Clarice Fisher burst out laughing. She shuffled some of the papers on her desk to find a page with a photograph of Ash. It was an old picture—he was several years younger and his hair was even shaggier. In the photo, he gazed at the camera with a cold, almost feral expression. 

Eiji desperately wanted a copy.

“He’s a very attractive young man,” she conceded, gazing maybe too fondly at the picture. “But surely he would wait for you? Did you have to leave your athletic career to marry him right away?”

“We were dating long-distance for months,” Eiji explained. “Nearly a year. And I wasn’t happy in Toronto,” he continued, though he was afraid of bringing this back to Owen, because he absolutely didn’t want her to contact him. “I was depressed and thinking that I should quit. And I missed Ash so much I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I thought seeing him might help. I expected to stay only about a month, to get my head on straight.”

She was quiet, but nodded once, encouraging him to continue. “Once we were together again, we didn’t want to separate. I couldn’t bear to go back and leave him here.” It sounded truthful because, honestly, it was. The prospect of being deported used to bother him because it was a roadblock between him and his dreams. Then it worried him because Ash would get into a lot of trouble over it. But now, in addition to all of that, the idea of leaving, of flying to the other side of the world—or even just back to Canada—away from Ash? It was impossible.

“Did your coach approve of this trip?” Clarice asked. 

Eiji shook his head. “I didn’t tell him. Our relationship has been… strained. I’d actually decided to go back to Japan after this visit. I figured I’d find a new coach there.”

“And your family in Japan? Did they know you were planning this?”

Again, Eiji shook his head. “I haven’t been in touch with my family for a few years,” he confessed. This was sounding worse and worse with every word, he realized.

She scribbled something into her notes. “Does that mean that your husband is your only real social connection? Do you have any other close friends or family here or abroad?”

Eiji didn’t understand why she was asking. “It’s not just Ash,” he said slowly. “I have a close friend from Japan who lives here now. I was staying with him and his wife before Ash found his—our apartment. Shunichi and Hana Ibe. They just had a baby in November.”

“And how did you meet Mister Ibe?” 

Eiji told her the story of Ibe showing up at his high school to take pictures, how very strange Eiji had thought he was at first, but how he’d quickly become someone Eiji could really rely on. “He’s more like a brother to me, now,” he admitted. 

They talked like that for about twenty minutes more, Eiji telling her about how graciously Ash’s friends accepted him, and how he was quickly starting to consider them his own friends. He didn’t mention Kenichi or the job he’d been working—not only did it seem unwise to mention he’d gotten an illegal job, but he was pretty sure that it broke the 90-day rule as well. 

“And have you met any of your husband’s other friends?” she asked him. 

Eiji was confused. Other than the guy who did their ceremony, there hadn’t really been anyone, and he and Ash had been living in close quarters for a while now. “I don’t think he really talks to anyone else,” he said.

“Hm. What about,” she glanced at the page with Ash’s photo, “Alexander Trommler? He was a known associate. Has Mister Callenreese mentioned him?”

Alex? Wasn’t that the name of Ash’s lieutenant, back in his gang days? Ash had told Eiji that he wasn’t allowed to associate with them anymore. Eiji suddenly remembered that night that Ash came home after having pizza and beer with some friends. Had he been with Alex? “Ash doesn’t talk much about those days,” he explained honestly. “He’s really determined to move on and do something good with his life.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Clarice said, but her expression didn’t look quite satisfied. “We know quite a lot about your husband. His past is definitely concerning, but I’m doing my best not to assume that his part in this is another red flag for us.”

Indignation surged through Eiji’s body. His part in this? It sounded smug, like she’d already decided that this was some kind of scheme, rather than an actual relationship between two men who loved each other very much. Eiji didn’t care that it was a scheme, he was outraged just the same. “You don’t believe us?” he asked, upset enough for it to sound clipped. Hard.

She glanced at her papers, shuffling them together before tapping them into a neat stack. “Eiji, my job isn’t to believe or not believe. My job is to know things. So far, the things I know are mostly inconclusive.” She flipped to the very last page and scanned some notes scrawled in blue ink. “I understand that you’ve submitted some handwritten correspondence between you and Mister Callenreese over the past year—I have yet to review that. And we’ve also received affidavits from several witnesses, most notably from the political columnist, Max Lobo.”

“And once you’ve read through all that?” Eiji asked. “What happens then?”

“Once I’ve seen enough evidence to make a decision, then I will notify you. Please be aware that you or Mister Callenreese may be asked to give additional interviews, as new concerns arise.” She stood, and Eiji realized that this was the end of the meeting. “At present, we’re simply processing your change of status request—only if that’s decided in your favor will we be able to move on to your green card application.” And the green card process, Eiji knew, could take years.

Eiji nodded. “Thank you for being careful and thorough, Ms Fisher,” he said, resorting to some innate formality to hide his quaking nerves. “I trust that you will discover that we’re just a couple of idiots in love who made a rash decision.” He shook her hand and then bowed slightly, figuring it couldn’t hurt. 

She inclined her head in response, the tiniest smile tugging at her lips. Eiji didn’t know what it meant, but he clung to the hope that it was a good sign.

*

Ash had been home from school less than twenty minutes when the buzzer from the lobby sounded. Eiji was still at his interview downtown—Ash was trying really hard not to obsess over how that might be going—so he figured it must be a delivery of some sort. 

To his surprise, it was Shunichi waiting in the lobby. He was unbuttoning his coat, revealing a bright blue sling with a lump inside that Ash could only assume was Wynn. He had a diaper bag slung across one shoulder—pale green and covered with a Sanrio dog that Ash didn’t know the name of.

“You walked all this way with her?” Ash asked as soon as he stepped off the elevator. “It’s winter, man.”

The older man smiled. “It’s over 50 degrees out there,” he said, gesturing to the sunlight streaming through the doors. “She’s fine.”

“Eiji was called down to the immigration field office for an interview,” Ash told him. “He’ll be back soon, I think, if you wanna wait upstairs.”

Shunichi shook his head. “I came to talk to you,” he said. “I can’t stay long—Hana’s taking a nap, but we should get home soon.” He opened the diaper bag and pulled out a shoebox. “Eiji’s mother sent this, but I’m not sure he’s going to want it. I thought it’d be best if you decided how to handle it.”

That grabbed Ash’s attention. He hadn’t gotten the impression that Shunichi was very enthusiastic about their situation, so being trusted to make decisions about how to handle things with Eiji was unexpected. “No problem,” he said, pressing the elevator button to go back up. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“That sounds great.”

Ash hadn’t spent a lot of time alone with Shunichi. Sure, they’d been in some tight places together, and Ash knew he was a decent man, but he didn’t know how to have a real conversation with him. At least, not without Max. “How’s parenthood treating you?” he asked as he unlocked the door and ushered Ibe into the apartment. “Still madly in love with your baby?”

Shunichi laughed softly. “You have no idea.” He set the box on the table and shrugged out of his coat. “She’s consumed our whole world.”

As if on cue, the lump in the sling began to move. Shunichi shifted the fabric, revealing her scrunched, sleepy face. Wide dark eyes blinked at Ash for a moment before Wynn opened her mouth to wail. “She protests the minute I stop moving.”

Shunichi unzipped the diaper bag and pulled out a bottle. Within seconds, he’d popped her out of the sling and repositioned her. The bottle’s tip went into her searching mouth. Ash watched, fascinated. He’d never been around a baby before. It was strange to think that the tiny creature in Shunichi’s arms was a whole, complete person. Ash supposed he’d been that small once. He figured it must’ve been Griff who gave him bottles like that—he couldn’t imagine Jim Callenreese bothering with it.

It was hard to picture what Griffin must’ve been like at thirteen or fourteen—barely older than Michael. He’d probably wanted to do normal kid stuff, but instead, he had Ash to take care of. No wonder he’d taken off for the Army as soon as he got the chance.  Ash remembered Griff’s distress when he’d told him that he had to go—but it could also be true that he’d been desperate to get out of that house, to get out from under the responsibility of raising a kid when he was just a kid himself.

The coffee maker gurgled, filling the whole kitchen with its delicious scent. Ash poured two mugs full and sat down at the table. “So, what’d Eiji’s mom send him?” he asked. “And why do you think Eiji might not like it?”

Shunichi nodded at the box, “Open it.”

The box was filled with packing peanuts, and among them, five smaller boxes wrapped into separate tissue-paper packages. Ash opened one, revealing a gleaming gold medal. It was the size of Ash’s palm, affixed to an orange ribbon. The medal had the figure of an athlete pressed into it, and 2023 World Athletics Championship imprinted in the metal.

He unwrapped another. The box itself was impressive, made of real wood with a metal inlay of the Olympic rings. The bronze medal that was nestled inside was beautifully stylized, with Tokyo 2020 emblazoned on the front. An image of a Greek goddess—Nike, he guessed—graced the back. “Holy shit,” Ash murmured. He’d known that Eiji had won this medal, of course, but holding it in his hands brought it home in a way Ash hadn’t been prepared for.

Eiji—the same guy who puttered around the apartment and grumbled when Ash didn’t rinse his dinner dishes—was an international hero. He’d worked and sacrificed and honed his skill until he was one of the best in the world at what he did. And he was giving it up, letting all that work go to waste.

Why? Because he didn’t want to do it anymore?

No, Ash realized. Eiji was depressed. Being depressed wasn’t the same as not wanting to do a thing—depression was something that lied to him, convinced him that he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t care. How many weeks had Eiji wasted in New York with him?

“He really loved it, didn’t he?” Ash asked Shunichi now.

Shunichi nodded. “You should’ve seen him, Ash. Even in high school, he ran faster than anyone else on his team, planted his pole with more surety. I knew the first time I saw him jump that he was special. I traveled all the way across Japan to photograph him, though neither of us quite understood then what it was about him that moved me.” He adjusted his daughter in his arms, checked the milk level in the bottle, then continued. “It wasn’t until the photos were printed that it started to be clear to me. I’d gotten lazy—lazy about work, about art, even in my relationships. But Ei-chan was the opposite of that. His energy and determination crackled the air around him.”

“He’s still like that,” Ash mused. When Eiji set his mind to something, whether he was getting his green card or vacuuming under the couch, nothing was getting in his way.

“I wanted to be like him.” Shunichi laughed. “I never quite managed that, but those photos were the start to my career. I wouldn’t be here in New York if I hadn’t met Eiji.” He looked fondly at the tiny baby he held. “I suppose I wouldn’t have met Hana, and Wynn wouldn’t even exist,” he realized. “I owe him everything.”

“Do you still have those pictures?” Ash’s chest felt tight and he remembered the video he’d seen of Eiji making his best jump in Tokyo. That expression of ecstatic joy on his face as he arched over the bar—Ash had seen some adjacent expression that night in their cabin, that same mix of exhilaration and pleasure, but arranged into a different euphoria. In his mind, he saw each knuckle of Eiji’s toes as they curled into the sheet, heard the rasping cry that ripped from Eiji’s throat.

But no. It was wrong for Ash to linger on that moment. Precious as it was, he didn’t really have the right to that memory.

He twisted Eiji’s ring on his finger. Maybe, if he had a photo of Eiji jumping, maybe he could let that other moment fade from his mind. 

Shunichi was nodding. “I do. Would you like one to frame for the walls here? The gallery had some copies blown up quite large. I’m sure I still have one.”

It was too much to handle, too much to consider—Eiji on his living room walls. “Smaller,” Ash said, swallowing an emotion that wasn’t for Shunichi’s eyes. “Maybe like a snapshot.” After all this with Eiji was finished, he could put it in a frame on his nightstand.

“Done.” Shunichi smiled like he understood something. “What will you do with the medals?” he asked as Wynn slurped the last of her milk. Shunichi tipped her forward and began to rub her back. 

“I think they should be on display.”

“Do you think Ei-chan will let you do that?” 

Ash frowned. He could easily imagine Eiji refusing, insisting that they had to stay wrapped up in their boxes and hidden away. “I’ll convince him,” he said, though he wasn’t really sure. Eiji had a stubborn streak, and Ash hadn’t exactly been his favorite person for the last week. “I mean, they’re something to be proud of, right? He worked his ass off for these. If I’d earned something like that, I’d never get over it.”

Wynn made a gurgling sort of burp, and Ash was distracted, afraid she’d spit up her milk, but Shunichi kept rubbing her back and she didn’t. When he looked back up at the man’s face, Ash was surprised by the unguarded expression he saw there. “What?” he asked, wary.

“I’ve had my concerns about this whole affair, but—” He shrugged. “Eiji’s been better since he moved in with you,” Shunichi said. He took the final swig from his coffee and started returning his daughter to the empty sling across his chest. “I wonder if you two aren’t helping each other.”

Two weeks ago, Ash might’ve agreed with him. Now he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how badly he’d fucked things up in Colorado, but he and Eiji hadn’t spent much time together since then. “He’s been keeping busy,” he said instead, as though he believed that a full calendar of tasks was all that was needed to stave off depression.

Once again, Shunichi’s look sharpened uncannily, and Ash got the feeling that the man was seeing more in his words that he let on. Fortunately, he didn’t voice his thoughts. Instead, he gathered his things to go.

“Thanks for coming by,” Ash said at the door. It felt a little strange, but not in a bad way. It was like they’d finally crossed some invisible barrier. “I’ll talk to Eiji about the medals.”

“They’d look convincing, if an agent did a home visit,” Shunichi said. “Oh! I almost forgot!” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pale blue envelope. There was some Japanese writing on the front, and a row of tiny cartoon foxes danced along the sealed edge. “Ei-chan’s sister sent this along as well. Will you make sure he gets it?”

“Sure.” Ash took the letter. It was thick, and he wondered if she’d written a lot. He hadn’t gotten the impression that Eiji really stayed in touch with her. “He’ll get it as soon as he gets home.”

*

Eiji watched Ash retreat to his room after dinner. This was the new routine—Ash behaving exactly like a roommate, abandoning their shared spaces almost at the first possible chance. It was obviously because of what had happened in Colorado, and Eiji had no idea what to do to fix things. He didn't even know if it was possible. 

So now it was too early to go to bed, but Eiji showered and put on his pajamas anyway. He didn’t pull out the couch, though, and he didn’t feel like turning on the television to scroll through Netflix, so he ended up studying the way the city lights illuminated the dim walls of the living room.

The letter his sister had written lay on the coffee table next to the omamori she’d tucked into the envelope. There were two of them—one red and one blue, still wrapped in cellophane. Love of Two, the packaging read. Even if troubles should visit you, these matching omamori will grant you the strength to overcome them as a couple. They were pretty, in gold-accented satin and embellished with flowers. Pretty standard stuff, but somehow just enough to make Eiji ache a bit for home.

In her letter, his sister told him that she’d opted to skip college and was now a hair stylist at a shop only about five minutes from Eiji’s old high school. She claimed to like it, but Eiji couldn't help but remember how she’d been, growing up. In middle school, she’d been determined to go to university to earn a teaching certificate so she could work in a kindergarten.

He felt critical of the change, then realized he didn’t have room to judge her choices. He barely had the right to wonder about them. When he lived in Japan, she was a high school student with two living parents. She was a young girl who enjoyed the social notoriety of having a local hero for a brother. But then, in his hurry to run away from their father, he’d abandoned her, too. Who was this adult woman she’d become, now that all of that was over? They were practically strangers.

He picked up the shrine charms, hearing their tiny bells jingle as he jostled them. She’d cared enough to get these though. Eiji wondered how much Ibe had told his mother about his marriage, and then how much she’d shared with his sister. Did they even know that Ash was a man? 

They’d probably guessed that Eiji preferred boys back then, despite Eiji’s desperation to keep it a secret. He’d never been great at secrets, and his mother had the frustrating knack of reading his emotions in his face, even when he thought he was being impassive. But even if they were aware of his preferences, he didn’t think they’d automatically assume that he’d married another man. It was far more likely that they’d think he’d outgrown whatever youthful rebellion had led to his strange tastes in the first place.

Eiji sighed, leaning his head back onto the sofa and closing his eyes. It was probably best if he didn’t write back. He guessed he didn’t have to decide right away, at least. He had enough to worry about as it was.

He had told Ash very little about the interview with INS, explaining it away as a routine introduction to his case agent. Ash didn’t need to know that they’d screwed up, getting married when they did. And he definitely didn’t need to know his past could potentially make things more difficult for Eiji. Eiji didn’t want to tell him that they’d asked about Alex, either, as though they expected Ash to have broken the rules of his deal.

In fact, Eiji had decided that Ash didn’t need to know about any of the red flags they’d identified in his status-change application. It wasn’t as though either of them could do anything to change Clarice Fisher’s mind, once she decided. There were no aces in the hole in this situation. Only jokers.

The ceiling creaked as Ash walked across his bedroom floor. Eiji glanced up, wondering what he was doing up there. Reading? Studying? Eiji would've thought he’d rather use the table to spread out his work. That was how he’d studied for his finals, before the wedding. For days, they’d eaten their meals at the kitchen counter rather than disturb the arrangement of notes and textbooks he had there.

He wished he knew what Ash was thinking. Was it just awkwardness about what they’d done together that made him so skittish, or was there more to it? Had Eiji done something wrong? Already, the memory of that night was becoming dream-like and uncertain. Eiji thought that Ash had initiated each new level of intimacy, but now he couldn’t be sure. Had he pushed, unable—or unwilling—to see Ash’s discomfort?

The idea that he might’ve added to Ash’s trauma about sex made Eiji feel physically ill.

He got up for a glass of water, hoping to calm the churning in his stomach. His phone pinged from the coffee table, but Eiji ignored it. It was probably just Kenichi, asking him to come in the next day. When he was at the refrigerator, filling his glass, the phone pinged another text notification. And another.  

When he checked it, the sick feeling intensified.

All three had come from Owen’s number, saved under the name “Coach” in his phone. Owen hadn’t used that number to contact Eiji since autumn, switching to other, more random numbers when it became clear that Eiji wasn’t going to take any more of his calls. And then, after Ash had talked to him last month, Owen hadn’t reached out at all. Eiji had started to let himself believe that he’d given up.

Clearly not. Warily, he clicked open the conversation.

The first one read like a threat in a spy novel: I know where you are and what you’re doing. 

Eiji was already walking toward the stairs as he read the second message, and then the third. 

You can thank your criminal boyfriend for that. He’s obviously not as smart as reported.

I don’t know why you think you’ll get away with it. 

“Ash?” Eiji’s panic surged through him as he scrambled up the last stairs, stumbling at the top. “We have a problem!”

Ash was already in bed, reading. He looked up from the book, his golden-framed glasses catching the lamplight. He frowned. “Eiji. What happened?”

Eiji clambered across the bed, his hands and knees sinking deep into the duvet as he crawled. He pushed the phone toward Ash with shaking hands. The screen went black, and Eiji scrambled to bring it back up. “These are from Owen,” he said, sitting back on his knees as Ash’s eyes scanned the texts.

“Fuck.” The word was a soft reflex, barely a whisper. Ash shook his head. “This is my fault.”

Ash didn’t know. He didn’t know just how easily Owen could ruin this for them. Eiji shook his head. It was that note he’d left for his coach when he left Toronto. The note saying he was leaving Canada and never coming back. He’d hoped Owen would assume he went back to Japan. “No,” he insisted. “It’s mine. I left—”

“I’m the reason he knows you’re in New York,” Ash interrupted. “I was pissed. I told him my name.”

Eiji took a moment to process that. Ash Lynx was an infamous name. Maybe not globally, but he’d repeatedly made the local news there in New York, and Max’s best-selling book guaranteed national attention. One Google search was all Owen would’ve needed to guess his location, and from there it would be easy to figure out how he planned to stay.

“Do you think he really knows what we’re doing? Do you think he’ll call INS?” Eiji’s mind was overrun with anxiety as each new possibility tumbled over the previous one. The tangle made it hard to think.

“It’s his word against ours, Eiji. Against all the evidence we already submitted.”

Eiji slumped forward, low enough that his hair brushed the top of Ash’s duvet. “There are things I haven’t told you yet,” he confessed. It all came out in a rush: the note he’d left Owen, the maddening 90-day rule, the red flags, everything except Clarice’s questions about Ash. “I’m sorry,” he said at the end, barely daring to look at him. “We’re already in so much trouble. If he calls INS, we’re ruined.”

Ash took off his glasses and pinched the spot between his eyebrows. “Maybe,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “But why would he do that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Eiji’s panicked brain couldn’t process how this wasn’t automatically an emergency.

“If you get deported, you’ll go back to Japan. That’s not what he wants, right?”

“I’m pretty sure wants me to come back to Toronto,” Eiji said.

“Exactly,” Ash said. “Getting you sent to the other side of the world wouldn’t be a good strategy.”

Eiji felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. That made sense, if you thought like Ash Lynx. Owen didn’t think like Ash Lynx.

“He’ll probably threaten to call INS as leverage,” Ash continued. “But if he follows through, he’d lose you just the same.” He shrugged. “Maybe this isn’t so bad?”

He didn’t see the real consequence. Eiji felt sick again. “We can’t risk that,” he protested. “If Owen follows through, I’ll only get deported,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word, “but you’ll go to prison, Ash.” He shook his head. His eyes were stinging and he felt like everything he’d ever done was wrong, especially when it came to Ash. He was in love with this man, and yet he was actively ruining his life. “There’s no way we can take that chance.”

“I’m not his target,” Ash insisted, waving a dismissive hand.

He looked so cool, so unconcerned, that Eiji wanted to shake him. “That doesn’t fucking matter!” he cried. He jumped up and paced the small bedroom. “I’m sick of you pretending that you aren’t in just as much trouble as I am, when really it’s so much worse for you!”

“Eiji.” Ash blinked, frowning. “Listen—”

“No!” Eiji insisted. “You listen! From the start, you’ve been treating this whole thing like a game, but we’re not just sticking it to the man or stealing me a green card. This is serious. My coach knows where I am. He knows what we’re doing. He can ruin everything, and in the process, put you in prison for the rest of your life! I can’t let that happen. I won’t!”

Ash tossed his glasses onto the nightstand and threw back the covers. “It’s not gonna come to that,” he said. He crossed the room and put his hands on Eiji’s shoulders, holding him still. “Owen Andersson doesn’t know jack shit about what we’re doing here. Don’t answer that text. He’s just trying to get under your skin, Eiji.”

Of course he was. It was working. Eiji would do anything—anything in the world—to keep Ash safe and free. “What else can I do?” he asked weakly, dropping his head against Ash’s chest and looking at the carpet by their feet. “If I don’t answer, he’ll probably contact INS just for spite.”

“You told the agent about the letter, right? Told her that you were planning to go to Japan after visiting me?”

Eiji nodded, the hair at his crown rubbing against Ash’s t-shirt.

“Then it’ll be fine.” One of Ash’s hands moved up from Eiji’s shoulder to cup the back of his head. His fingertips caressed his scalp softly. “It makes sense for your angry coach to lose his shit a bit—that doesn’t have to change our story at all.”

“So I shouldn’t answer at all?” The phone was still on Ash’s bed, a dark stain against his pale grey bedding.

Ash stepped back, and Eiji lifted his head to look at him. His lips were quirked up in a half-smile. “I’d rather you never speak to him again for the rest of your life,” he said ruefully. “But who am I to say?”

“You’re my husband,” Eiji answered, unafraid of saying it out loud for the first time in a week.

One golden eyebrow shot up. “Then I forbid it,” he joked softly. “Now let’s get some sleep. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

Eiji wasn’t sure how he was going to sleep while his whole world was spinning off its axis, but yeah, at least he could leave Ash in peace. He grabbed his phone and turned toward the stairs. “Goodnight.”

A tug on his shirt stopped him. Eiji twisted to see Ash holding onto the flannel. “You might as well stay,” Ash said quietly.

Surprise sparked up Eiji’s spine like a fuse, and when it reached the top, his face burst into fiery heat. “You want me to sleep here?”

Ash’s cheeks went pink, but his steady expression didn’t change. “I mean,” he said softly, “we already decided that…” he trailed off and he tried again. “You don’t need to worry about me trying anything,” he said gruffly.

“I wasn’t worried about that!” Eiji protested, maybe too emphatically.

Ash ran a hand through his hair. “But yeah. I can tell you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I—” But what could he say, really? That sleeping next to Ash would probably send him into an emotional spiral and drive his body insane? Seriously, would that even be enough to make Eiji refuse the offer? 

Absolutely not.

“I don’t mind staying, if you want me to,” was all Eiji could manage.

The corners of Ash’s lips twitched up, not a smile, but quietly happy in a way Eiji didn’t see often. Eiji crawled cautiously under the ridiculously soft duvet as Ash switched off the light. He watched Ash settle into his pillow, facing away from Eiji. “Sleep well, Ash,” he said softly to the back of Ash’s head.

Ash didn’t roll over to look at him, but his shoulders relaxed and he tugged the blankets up around to his chin. “We’ll figure this out together. Try to get some sleep, Eiji.”

Eiji lay awake for a long time after that. He listened as Ash’s breathing slowed and evened out, then listened to the far-away sounds of the city outside. Ash’s bed was soft, and warmth from Ash’s body seeped into Eiji’s chilled skin, easing the tension out of his nervous muscles.

He studied the back of Ash’s head, his pale hair reflecting the blue light from his clock. This quiet closeness was more than he’d ever expected. More than he’d hoped for. He longed to wrap his arms around Ash's shoulders and press his body against his back. Not for sex, but for comfort.

He didn't.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He didn’t share Ash’s optimism about their situation, but right then, cocooned beneath the same duvet, he decided to worry about it tomorrow.

Chapter Text

EIGHTEEN

Ash woke slowly, his attention going immediately to the empty space on the bed next to him. He slid a hand over the sheet. Cold. Eiji had already been up for a while, then. He grabbed the pillow and buried his face into the indention made by Eiji’s head. Ah. There it was.

He breathed deeply, the faint echo of Eiji’s scent stirring something deep within his body. He was playing a dangerous game. Eiji had slept there the last four nights, even though they’d never talked about this new situation. The night after that first time, Ash had called down for Eiji to come up to bed, then held his breath. His heart fluttered when he’d heard the tread of Eiji’s footsteps on the stairs, flip-flopped when Eiji stepped into the room in his pajamas, a shy, cautiously-happy expression on his face.

It quickly became a routine that neither of them seemed in any hurry to change.

Ash pretended that this physically-chaste, emotionally-fraught sleeping arrangement was safer than sex. He told himself that it was platonic, that any kind of intimacy created from listening to each other’s breathing as they fell asleep was surely less dangerous than actually touching. He pretended it wasn’t habit forming—Eiji’s scent hadn’t become an addiction he craved, a high he chased all day until Eiji collapsed onto the pillow next to him and Ash could surreptitiously inhale the bouquet of his hair.

He was so fucked.

He heard Eiji puttering in the kitchen downstairs, running the water for the coffee machine and preparing whatever he planned to eat for breakfast. It was Sunday, so there was a good chance that Eiji might cook for both of them.

But it was Sunday, which also meant that Eiji had just one week left before his ESTA expired. So far, they hadn’t heard a word from his agent about his change of status since his interview, and Eiji was a bundle of nerves. 

Ash tried to be steady and cool about it, not mentioning to Eiji that he had formulated at least a half-dozen plan B schemes, most of them involving chartering a private jet to take them both someplace far, far away. There was even a crumpled-up letter hidden in his messenger bag asking Blanca if he had a spare bedroom in whatever hedonistic villa he inhabited in the Caribbean. 

But that was crazy, right?

The only bright side to hearing nothing from immigration was that it meant that Owen hadn’t followed through on his threat. Ash was more and more certain that his assessment had been right; the bastard coach had realized that ratting on Eiji would only send him farther away. He just wished he had a way—a legal way—to make sure Owen kept his fucking mouth shut.

The heady scent of coffee wafted its way upstairs—Ash’s cue to head down. He needed to get moving anyway. He hoped to find Shorter at one of his jobs that morning. He needed advice, the kind only Shorter could give.

For as long as Ash had known him, Shorter had earned his living doing part time work and mooching off his sister. After he’d burned his bridges with the Lee family, working one part time gig became two or three. Even when they lived together, Ash had never been sure of where Shorter was working on any given day. 

He was glad, then, when he found Shorter’s motorbike behind the warehouse where he must still pick up weekend shifts for the double-time pay. One of the delivery doors had been left open, and the morning sun spilled onto the cracked concrete floor. Ash slipped inside and saw Shorter across the huge space, stacking boxes onto a metal rack twelve feet up. Despite the cold air, he’d stripped down to just a black tank top over his cargo pants. His hair had been shoved beneath a rainbow beanie and his trademark shades were tucked into a back pocket.

“Ash!” Shorter cried as soon as he saw him. “Gimme a sec.” 

“No hurry.” Ash was prepared to wait—Shorter hadn’t been expecting him, after all. He’d been trying to get up the nerve to have this talk with Shorter for over a week now—waiting a bit longer wasn’t going to change his mind.

Shorter finished loading the pallet he was working on and shimmed down to the ground. “Yo! Zhang!” he called into the cavernous space. “I’m taking my lunch break!” 

An older man poked his head around the far end of the aisle. “It’s nine-fifteen! You just got here!” he protested.

Shorter shrugged. “Sorry man. I’m entitled to thirty minutes, and I’m taking ‘em now.”

The guy was still huffing as Shorter guided Ash back out the loading door, grabbing his hoodie from a hook on the way out. 

“You gonna be in trouble for this?” Ash asked.

“Nah,” Shorter pulled a tin of breath mints out of his pocket and dropped his sunglasses over his eyes. “I’m good. He owes me.”

It was too cold to just stand there, and even though he’d just eaten with Eiji, Ash felt like he should somehow compensate Shorter for this one. “Can I buy you breakfast?” he asked.

“No place close enough. Wanna just walk?” Shorter pulled a joint out of the tin and started walking along the waterfront without waiting for Ash’s answer. He glanced around to make sure they were alone before lighting it. He closed his eyes and took a long drag, looking exhausted. Ash figured he must’ve just rolled out of bed before coming to work.

That early in the morning, the East River was almost pretty, even near the docks. Seagulls screamed as they swooped and turned, and Ash wondered idly why they didn’t just fly south for the winter, like sensible birds. He zipped his jacket and debated between smoking a bit of Shorter’s weed or putting his hands in his pockets. Shorter held out the joint, so it won.

“I figured you’d need to talk, sooner or later,” Shorter said. Ash filled his lungs with the smoke. Right away, it was obvious that this was good stuff. Not surprising. Shorter never skimped. 

“Whaddya mean?” Ash asked. 

“Eiji said something to Sunny. I got no clue what, though. All I know is that she was overflowing with Mama Bear energy when she came home after they hung out last week, pissed at the whole world on Eiji’s behalf.”

Ash knew that Eiji had invited Sunny over when he and Michael went to the movies, but it hadn’t occurred to him to ask about what they did or what they talked about. “Does that include me?” Ash asked.

Ash caught a glimpse of Shorter’s eyes narrowing at him from behind his sunglasses. “Does she have a reason to be pissed at you?” Shorter asked. “What’d you do to Eiji?”

“And to think that just last month, you were concerned that he was gonna do something to me.”

Shorter didn’t answer, so Ash sighed and took another drag. He couldn’t really banter this away, and anyway, he’d been hoping to get some advice. He just didn’t know how to ask for it. Ash paused to lean against a concrete pylon. The wind chapped his cheeks and he inhaled hard on the joint, offering it back to Shorter as he exhaled in another long, smoky sigh.

“Hey,” Shorter said, bumping his shoulder against Ash’s and plucking the weed from his fingers. “That’s the second sigh in like thirty seconds.” 

In all the years they’d been friends, Ash had never come to Shorter for emotional advice. He’d listened whenever Shorter needed someone to talk to, even offered his own viewpoint a few times, but Ash had never reversed the situation. He’d never had to—Shorter always knew when he needed a pep talk, just like he knew when it was better to pretend like nothing was going on. But now—now Ash had real questions, but they all sounded wrong in his head.

Ash could feel Shorter looking over at him and thought about how he hadn’t even hesitated when Ash showed up at his work. It was time to start talking. “How did you know?” he asked at last. “When you decided you liked guys. How did you know?”

Shorter took off his sunglasses. “Seriously, what the fuck happened in Colorado?”

Ash shook his head. Kept his eyes on the river. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m trying to sort something out, here.”

It was Shorter’s turn to sigh. “You already know my story,” he protested. “I went to see Fury Road with Nadia and came back with a crush on Tom Hardy.”

That wasn’t quite what Ash meant. “No, I mean for real,” he insisted. “That’s just some celebrity fantasy.”

“I assure you,” Shorter said, leaning on the other side of the pylon. “That night, between pics of Tom Hardy on the internet and my right hand, it got really fucking real.”

A shiver of revulsion danced up Ash’s spine. “You jack off more than any other guy I ever met,” he grumbled, holding out his hand for his turn for the weed.

His friend laughed and passed it over. “You have unrealistic standards,” he said. “Most guys would do it ten times a day, if they could.”

Ash had never masturbated. Well, never on his own, for his own gratification. He’d never wanted to. All his life, his body had been a vessel for other people’s pleasure, rather than his own. He’d managed to get hard when they wanted him to, and he’d even come sometimes, but even then, it never had anything to do with what he wanted. Usually, he’d end up coming because certain types of john wouldn’t leave him alone until it happened. Getting him to that point made it possible for them to pretend that he liked it, Ash guessed. He could admit it felt good in a purely physical way, but the situation was always really gross, so the last thing Ash wanted to do in his free time was to recreate the experience by himself.

Even with Eiji, that disconnect had lingered. He’d liked Eiji’s hands on him, liked the way Eiji’s excitement thrummed in the air around them. Ash had been enthusiastically, even desperately fixated on Eiji’s pleasure; watching him come not once, but three times that night had been astonishingly good. But when it was his turn, it felt off, maybe even wrong to come into Eiji’s welcoming mouth. 

Eiji’s reaction, though—his beautiful, satisfied smile turning playfully smug as he licked the last droplets from his lips—that had been a jolt of pure pleasure. And then he’d gathered Ash into his arms like he was cherished. Only then did Ash think maybe it was okay to enjoy something like that.

“But that’s just you and an idea,” Ash protested now. “How did you know that you wanted to have sex with a guy for real?”

Shorter had taken the joint and smoked it down to a nub while Ash had been gathering his thoughts—God, how long had Ash been staring out at the water? Now he took one last hit before passing the last bit to Ash. He exhaled slowly, releasing a cloud of smoke that was whipped away by the breeze. “It got in my head,” he admitted. “After realizing that I found one man attractive, I kind of looked around at others and was able to admit that some of them were hot, too. I wanted to try kissing a guy so bad, but I was the boss, right? Who would I even try it with?”

“Me,” Ash remembered. He made a face at the idea of Shorter being so desperate to try it out before bringing it up with him. It suddenly didn’t feel like it’d been such a casual ask.

“See?” Shorter was laughing again. “You’re repulsed by everyone.”

“I wasn’t exactly repulsed by you,” Ash said. 

Shorter whipped his head around to look at Ash. “What?!”

Ash swallowed a laugh, trying not to show how much Shorter’s over-the-top reaction amused him. “I’m not saying I liked it,” he insisted. “But you were the first person I ever kissed that didn’t make me think of murder.”

“Murder?” Shorter was aghast. “Man, kissing always makes me think about fucking.”

“Ew! Did you think about that when you kissed me?” Ash demanded. It was too long ago to feel any real disgust, but the echo of the sentiment was clear in his voice.

It didn’t seem to bother Shorter. “Sure I did. I jacked off, thinking about it that night.”

Now Ash stepped back, indignant. He flicked the last nub of pot into the river. “You thought about fucking me?” he demanded.

“Take it easy,” Shorter said, holding up his hands. His expression was open, laughing and so fucking honest. Even Ash didn’t see that very often, and it made him want to laugh along with him, despite his irritation.

“Yes, kissing you inspired me,” Shorter insisted, “but no, I’ve never fantasized about doing anything with you. I just thought about how it felt to kiss you while I imagined being railed by Tom Hardy. Give me some credit!”

Ash wasn’t really sure that Shorter deserved much credit at all, but the revelation that he’d imagined being on the receiving end of the act was somehow startling. Ash hadn’t considered that Shorter might be interested in that. He’d always considered being fucked something that happened to a person, not something anyone actively wanted. He wondered if, in all those years, Shorter had ever actually been in that position.

Horrified, Ash promptly put that thought away. It was too much to think about, too much to know.

He flopped back against the pylon, his head spinning. The disintegrating blacktop crumbled at his feet and his brain was somehow even more confused than it’d been before they started talking. “So, is that what it means to be gay?” he asked, feeling like a little kid and absolutely mortified about it. “Or bi or pan, or whatever? It’s that you fantasize about kissing guys and sleeping with them?”

“Naw, it’s more than that.” Shorter crouched, reaching down to pick up something from the ground. It looked like some kind of marble. Shorter rolled it across one palm. “It’s not just sex. It’s the whole thing: the connection, the attraction, the love. Sex, too, of course, but I really think anyone could have sex with anyone, if they were horny enough.” He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw like some kind of deep thinker. “Like, the label doesn’t matter, really. The feelings do.”

“What if,” Ash started and then stopped. The weed caused his brain to go soft at the edges, making it easier to feel than speak. And his feelings weren’t welcome, damn it. “What if I just opt out?” he asked at last. “Say ‘fuck it’ to the whole thing and live on my own, never feeling any particular way for anyone?”

Shorter’s expression sharpened, and Ash recognized the wheels turning behind his eyes. He’d clearly gone into big-brother mode, like Ash’s words triggered some opportunity for him to impart enlightenment. Ash wanted to be annoyed, but he’d learned the hard way that Shorter’s insights were mostly right. 

“That’s aro/ace, and it’s completely valid. That’s been you for years now, right?” Shorter studied Ash, considering. “But you know,” he said slowly, cautiously, “I get the feeling that you don’t feel like that anymore.”

Was that an accusation? No. Ash recognized Shorter’s careful tone—he was peeling the layers off, bit by bit, giving Ash the opportunity to show him the truth. But what truth? 

Ash cared about Eiji. Like, really cared. Somehow, in the last couple of months, Eiji had become the crux of his world. But hadn’t Griffin been the center of his life, once? Hadn’t Shorter? Why should he assume this connection with Eiji was anything different?

As soon as he thought it, Ash hated the comparison. It wasn’t the same at all. Pretending that it was even remotely similar, emotionally, was just another lie. And hadn’t that night with Eiji proven he’d been lying to himself this whole time?

“What happened with Eiji in Colorado?” Shorter asked again. His voice was low and direct, and this time Ash didn’t know how to side-step.

He let himself think about the kissing, the touching, the intense connection they’d had in that cabin. He felt his body growing warmer, thinking of Eiji’s face in the darkness, his gentle voice asking—he’d shattered Ash into a billion pieces, just by asking—if he was still okay. 

“We slept together.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected from Shorter. Anger? Celebration? He could imagine either reaction. He hadn't, however, anticipated his frown, his long, troubled sigh. Shorter swore softly, then clamped one strong hand around Ash’s shoulder. “You okay with that?”

The concern in his voice made tears sting in Ash’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, because he understood what Shorter was really asking. “I think I am.”

“He didn’t pressure you? Didn’t try to force anything?”

It was far enough from the truth to be ridiculous, but Shorter’s intense, serious expression diffused Ash’s impulse to laugh it off. “No way. It wasn’t like that,” he protested instead.

“So what was it like?” Shorter asked, his voice gentled. 

There were infinite answers to that question, and Ash didn’t know the words to express even one. “It was my idea. I asked him to,” he ended up mumbling toward the river. “And it was good. More than good. We were—” But how could he continue? Could he really tell Shorter that it had been the best night of his life? That he had always wondered how anyone could do that with someone they claimed to love, but now he understood it on a molecular level?

“I didn’t know,” he finally tried. Ash hadn’t known he’d want to be present for every moment. He hadn’t known it could be about giving, rather than just taking. He hadn’t known that every word, every sound Eiji made was gonna go straight into him like it was altering his DNA. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Shorter was quiet for a long moment, and Ash’s mind raced, wondering what he was thinking. Still, he wasn’t expecting his friend’s question. “You in love with him?”

It wasn’t the kind of question Ash could stand still for. Agitated, he started walking, fast enough that the wind off the river stung his eyes. He heard the scuff of Shorter’s boots on the pavement, heard the huff of his breath as he rushed to catch up. Shorter caught Ash’s shoulder and yanked him around to face him.

“You are!” His voice was soft with wonder. “Holy shit, Ash!”

Ash grimaced. He’d thought the word more than a dozen times—at least ten of them while Eiji’s mouth was on his skin—but he wasn’t ready to think about what that meant. Definitely wasn’t ready for Shorter to laughingly announce it, like a playful accusation.

“So what now?” Shorter asked him.

“Nothing,” Ash barked. He looked up at the sun, half-hoping to be blinded. “This doesn’t change the plan. It won’t happen again.”

Shorter shoved an elbow into his side and frowned. “That’s not how any of this works,” he insisted. “It’s not the kind of thing you can just fit back in the box.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Ash growled. He wasn’t sure if their current sleeping arrangement was a step down the path toward doing it again or proof that he could resist. He decided it was best if he didn’t mention it to Shorter.

“It’s not just you, though, is it?” Shorter shot back, shaking his head. He looked disappointed, which sent a ribbon of shame coiling around Ash’s heart. “How does Eiji feel about all of this?”

Eiji had signed on for a green card, not a fucking lifetime. 

And what if he didn’t get it? What if they both decided they were all in and he was deported anyway? Ash couldn’t risk that. Eiji didn’t deserve that kind of heartbreak. Ash knew how to be stubborn, even when it hurt. He’d already given up so much in his life. He could learn to give up this, too. He guessed it wouldn't actually kill him to never touch Eiji again, right? 

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Bullshit.” Shorter snorted his disapproval and slid his sunglasses back on. 

“It’s not bullshit!” Ash insisted. “Eiji deserves better than this. I’m just a fucking complication!” He deserved to figure out on his own what he really wanted without feeling obligated to consider Ash’s feelings.

Shorter shoved one hand against Ash’s shoulder, knocking him into a signpost.  “How long are you gonna be so stupid?” he snarled. “I fucking love you. Sunny loves you. And Nadia. And Max. You. Deserve. Love.” Each word was emphasized by another shove. “Any idiot can see that Eiji’s crazy about you, but you’re too goddamned determined to see yourself as toxic to acknowledge it!”

“Shorter.” Ash didn’t know what to say.

Shorter shook his head, refusing whatever Ash might’ve come up with. “I gotta get back to work.” He turned on his heel and headed back toward the warehouse. Less than twenty yards away, he spun around and walked backward, calling to Ash. “Don’t fuck this up, Lynx!”

Ash stared miserably after him, then continued up the river, shoving his cold hands into his pockets. He wasn’t in any hurry to get back to his car, and then home to Eiji. He needed to walk off his buzz anyway. 

Shorter was probably right, of course. That asshole was always right.

*

The temperatures were falling again. It wasn’t quite cold enough for snow, but Eiji could feel the promise of it in the air as he ran that morning. The circuit he liked to run between Union Square and Madison Square Park was roughly a mile and half, and he’d done three laps that morning. 

It was short, as far as his runs went, but he found himself wanting to focus on speed again, so he’d been cutting his distances. He’d joined a fitness center with a fantastic indoor track up in Chelsea, but it was a bit of a slog to get there, so he usually only went three or four times per week. When he couldn’t go, he’d run outside instead, which wasn’t ideal, but still far better than nothing.

Now he paused in front of the George Washinton statue in Union Square, grabbing his left ankle to start stretching his quads. It was too cold to sit on the ground for a full post-run stretching session, but he knew a few standing work-arounds he could do right away. He was thinking of stopping at KazuNori for some sushi on the way home. It was a bit indulgent for lunch, but Eiji needed a treat—until he heard something, anything, from Clarice Fisher, he felt like he was living on borrowed time.

He propped his foot on the back of a bench to do a modified hamstring stretch.

“Didn’t I teach you better than to skimp on stretching?”

The voice sent a frisson of alarm though Eiji’s body. No way. There was no way, in a city the size of Manhattan, that Owen Andersson could be at this park right now. He looked up warily.

Owen leaned casually against a fence post, arms crossed and a huge smile on his face. “Though I gotta say, the way you’ve modified it doesn’t look so bad. Do you get the same results?”

Eiji was too startled by the cheerful conversation to do anything but nod. “Not 100%, but it’s close,” he told his old coach like this was totally normal, as if his whole world hadn’t been remade since the last time they spoke face-to-face. “As long as I do the full routine before bed, I’m good.”

Owen nodded, his sandy curls bobbing over his forehead. “That’s good! Don’t let me disturb you, then. Let’s see the entire cooldown.”

Eiji didn’t know what else to do, so he stretched. It was too familiar for him to be self-conscious. Owen always supervised new routines to make sure his athletes weren’t doing anything that could cause damage over time. This time, he tried to pretend that Owen wasn’t there, tried not to spiral into a panic over what that could mean for him. Worse, what it could mean for Ash.

“Not bad, not bad!” Owen strolled over when the stretches were done, seemingly unfazed by the cold. Or the weird situation. “Now, how about we go someplace warmer? To talk.”

Eiji didn’t like the direct, authoritarian way he suggested it, like he was still the coach and Eiji was the student. He’d somehow taken away the possibility that Eiji would say no. But, given that his last communication had been a threatening text message, Eiji guessed that was to be expected. “There’s a coffee shop a couple blocks from here,” he said, pointing east toward Everyman Espresso.

He’d never been there—he and Ash went to Outro when they had coffee out—but Eiji didn’t want to run the risk of seeing anyone who knew him, Ash especially.

“You haven’t been overdoing the caffeine, have you?” Owen asked as they walked.

In truth, Eiji had drunk more coffee in the past three months than he’d had in the entire year before. But that wasn’t Owen’s business anymore. “I’m not competing,” he said instead, shrugging casually as though his heart weren’t trying to break through his sternum.

“So you keep telling me.” Owen’s voice was heavy with disbelief.

“How long have you been in the city?” he asked when Owen had nothing more to say.  How long had it taken for him to find him? How had he even managed? Manhattan was huge.

“Flew in yesterday,” Owen said. “Flying out Saturday morning.”

Eiji nodded as though this made any sense, as though it weren’t perfectly obvious that Owen expected Eiji to fly back with him. “You’re training the twins, right? I guess you can’t be gone long.” A few months before Eiji left, Owen had taken on a pair of teenage girls from Vancouver. They were both incredible jumpers with a ton of potential, and Owen hoped to turn them into the Serena and Venus of pole vaulting. 

“The girls are home with their parents,” Owen said. “They won’t be back until April.”

Of course. It was the off season—with none of his other students heading to the Olympics, he’d probably planned to work exclusively with Eiji until spring.

By the time they reached the coffee shop, Eiji was sick of small talk. He didn’t understand why Owen was being civil to him, why he hadn’t just said whatever he’d come all that way to say. They ordered their drinks and made their way to a tiny table in the back. There were two chairs, but the round table wasn’t much more than a serving platter between them. 

“How did you find me?” Eiji asked as soon as they sat down. He was determined not to let Owen continue to direct this encounter. 

His old coach looked taken aback, probably startled by Eiji’s tone. It made sense—he’d commented more than once that Eiji’s Japanese respect looked meek to his Canadian eyes. “Your boyfriend let it slip that you were in New York,” Owen said after a moment. “And all those photos you shared on Instagram told me the rest—it’s not hard to find someone who knows the city well enough to direct me to you.”

Eiji hadn’t even considered that his photos would give him away. He hadn’t really even thought he was hiding—not really—because he hadn’t expected Owen to come all this way. “Why are you even here?” he asked.

Owen leaned on the tiny table between them, his expression suddenly serious. “You can tell me if you’re in trouble.” Owen’s voice was low, careful. “I don’t know how you got mixed up with this guy, but—”

“I’m not mixed up with him,” Eiji interrupted. “I’m married to him.”

Over the span of a second, Eiji watched Owen’s reaction go from surprise to bewilderment before shifting into anger. His brow furrowed and the left corner of his mouth twisted down—disdain as much as anger, Eiji realized. It reminded him of his father, though Owen was otherwise nothing like him, with his thick, fair hair and broad, athletic shoulders. “So you’re really doing it?” Owen asked in a low voice, but he plowed forward before Eiji could answer. “You’ve really married this—” he sputtered, clearly searching for a word bad enough, “this murderer so you can run away from your obligations?”

The word was horrifying. Vile. It wasn’t part of Eiji’s vocabulary for Ash. Wasn’t a word he’d ever thought in connection to the man he loved, a man made gentle not despite the violence he’d grown up with, but because of it. 

“You don’t know the first thing about Ash,” Eiji said, the half-whispered snarl in his voice a warning.

Owen laughed, humorlessly. “I’ve done my research,” he assured Eiji. “I looked him up, just like he told me to. I read the articles and listened to the podcasts. I even read that journalist’s book, though it was mostly sympathetic trash. I know what that man is capable of, and—”

A green-haired barista set two steaming mugs on the table, and Owen fell silent. Eiji nodded his thanks, tossing her the only smile he could muster. As she walked away, he took his chance to speak.

“Ash isn’t what you think,” he said softly. “He’s kind. He’s been kinder to me than almost anyone I’ve ever met. And he’s smart. And capable. He’s the kind of guy who makes you feel protected, like nothing bad can happen while he’s on watch.” Eiji paused to sip his latte and burned his tongue. He hissed in pain, but continued. “No matter what story you’ve made up in your head, no matter what reason you think I have for being here, for being with Ash, you’re wrong. I love him. I’m staying with him.”

Crossing his arms, Owen leaned back in his chair. He looked deeply skeptical. “Is that the story you two are selling to the United States government?” He shook his head. “There’s no way they won’t send you straight back to Canada if all you have backing you up is a violent street whore and that fairytale romance bullshit.”

He’d never heard Owen talk like that. Never imagined it was possible. Eiji tried to swallow the lump that seemed about to choke him, but his mouth was too dry. He picked up his latte, hating the way the shaking of his hand caused tremors in the coffee’s milky surface. He wanted to throw it into Owen’s smirking face, wanted to do something violent, to do damage. Instead, he gulped the hot drink, relishing the burn of it in his mouth and throat. 

It melted away whatever had been blocking his voice. “I’m not going back to Toronto with you,” he said, his voice a scorched rasp. “Even if I do get deported, they’ll send me back to Japan, not Canada.” Ash’s reasoning had seemed unconvincing before, but now Eiji embraced it, almost relishing the idea of going back to Izumo, if it meant not being this man’s prize animal.

The blood drained from Owen’s face, and Eiji realized he hadn’t considered that before, hadn’t imagined a world where his interference wouldn’t get him what he wanted. 

Eiji shook his head and stood up, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and tucking it under his barely-touched coffee mug. “You might as well move up your flight. There’s no point in hanging around till Saturday.”

*

After clearing his head of Shorter’s potent weed, Ash had driven up FDR Drive almost into Lennox Hill before cutting back through Midtown East and down to 42nd Street. He was a mess. He needed someplace quiet and familiar to sort out his thoughts, and too many of his favorite haunts had become overwritten with memories of Eiji. But he hadn’t yet taken Eiji to the New York Public Library.

Shorter was right—doing nothing about his feelings wasn’t an option. There were things he needed to say to Eiji. Questions he wanted to ask. But not yet. He had to know for sure that they would get enough time, that they could just say yes, without saying goodbye. 

It wasn’t like he could simply follow Eiji back to Japan, if that’s what it came to. Even without the plethora of crimes the DA had generously not charged him with, he’d ended up with a long rap sheet of misdemeanors and more than a few felonies. A lot of countries—Japan included—did not look kindly on convicted felons applying for visas.

It was one more reason why he shouldn’t have gotten Eiji tangled up with him at all.

He spent close to three hours in the Rose Main Reading Room, pretending to study while his mind calculated the various probabilities of a thousand different variables, hoping to find one that could lead to a happily ever after. Most outcomes were grim, but there were a few—a few unlikely fringe scenarios—where he could see his life with Eiji stretching far beyond this final week, even beyond the five years they’d agreed to.

Once he had calmed down, found a way to be—as Sunny would say—normal about things again, he headed home. Maybe he and Eiji could walk over to Kyuramen for dinner and then come home to finish the kaiju marathon they’d abandoned last week.

But when he got home, Eiji wasn’t in the living room, or the kitchen. Ash finally found him out on the roof, pacing like a caged animal. He’d put on the alpaca wool cardigan that Ash kept on a hook next to the door, but he’d left the hat inside and his ears and nose were bright red.

Ash stepped outside and Eiji looked up, startled. His face was pale and pinched with worry.

“What happened?” Ash asked, alarm streaking through him.

“I—” Eiji’s voice was rough and a shudder made his teeth chatter. 

“Shit, Eiji,” Ash scolded gently. He put his hands over Eiji’s ice-cold ears. “How long have you been out here?”

The dark eyes that looked up at Ash were lit with something manic. “Owen is here,” he said through chattering teeth. “In New York.”

A ribbon of panic coiled like smoke through Ash’s middle. Owen Andersson was one of the variables that led to bad outcomes. “Are you sure?”

Eiji nodded. “He found me at Union Square. We went for coffee.”

Granted, Ash’s experience with the man was limited, but the idea sounded absurd. “You went for coffee?” he asked, aghast.

“I didn’t take him to Outro,” Eiji said, like that made it make sense. “I didn’t want him to show up in any of our places. I don’t think he knows where we live, though I guess he might’ve followed me home.” He spoke quickly, almost rambling. “Do you suppose he’d do that? Follow me home?”

Ash tucked an arm around Eiji’s shoulders and led him into the bedroom, sliding the door shut behind them. “Slow down,” he said. “Breathe.” He sat Eiji on the bed and nudged the freezing sweater from his shoulders. He pulled the duvet around his shoulders, wrapping him up like a swaddled baby. Crouching on the floor in front of him, Ash took Eiji’s hands between his own and rubbed them gently. He was so fucking cold.

“Eiji,” Ash asked once Eiji was breathing normally again. “Do you and Owen have a contract?” It was something he’d considered for the first time that day—if Eiji had some kind of binding contract, it could be a serious complication. 

Eiji shook his head. “It ran out in October,” he said. “We always renegotiated around Halloween.”

“And you’re all paid up?” Ash was willing to pay the man off, if that’s what it took, but he had the feeling that offering money might simply piss him off.

“Yeah.” His eyes looked less glazed, and his shoulders had stopped trembling, but he wasn’t looking at Ash. He seemed to be doing everything he could to avoid his gaze. “This isn’t about money, Ash.”

Ash nodded. He didn’t know much about the world of elite athletics, but it was obvious that having trained the best in the world would be a coveted entry on any coach’s resume. And some men didn’t care whose lives they shattered in the quest for personal ambition. He’d seen that first-hand, more times than he cared to count. Owen Andersson was probably convinced that Eiji was the same, screwing him over to give some other coach the glory of his win.

“Do you think he believes you?” Ash asked. “When you say you’re quitting?”

Eiji barked out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Of course he doesn’t! And why should he? I haven’t announced my retirement. I haven’t even told the Japanese team that I’m not going to compete in Paris.”

Eiji’s hands were warm now, but Ash didn’t let them go. He stayed there, on his knees, gazing up into Eiji’s troubled face. “Do you believe it?” Ash asked carefully. “Do you believe you’re quitting?”

Eiji shook his head. “I miss it so much,” he said, and it sounded like the kind of confession that had been ripped out of someone. He pulled one hand from Ash’s grasp and pushed the heel of his palm into one eye, like he was pushing back a headache. “Do you know how pathetic that feels? To realize that I can’t even quit properly?”

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to learn that he wasn’t absolutely sure about quitting the pole vault, but something about Eiji’s outburst ached, just the same. Ash wondered how long he’d been struggling with it on his own. He thought he understood why Eiji hadn’t talked to him about it, and that made it worse, not better. 

Ash wanted to be someone Eiji confided in. No. He wanted to be the someone Eiji confided in.

“There isn’t a single thing about you that’s pathetic,” he said in a low voice, squeezing the hand that Eiji still let him hold. “You don’t need to know everything all at once—even things about yourself. And assholes like Andersson don’t get to push you around, trying to ruin your future. Not on my watch.”

Eiji finally looked at him, his eyes feverishly bright. He shook his head. “My future doesn’t matter.”

Ash disagreed. Emphatically. He opened his mouth to argue, but Eiji put one finger on his lips, stilling him. The thread of the conversation, every thought in Ash’s head, drained away for an instant.

“I don’t care what he does to me,” Eiji whispered. “I just can’t let him get to you.”

*

Letter #36

Dear Eiji,

I’ve just finished my final paper for my summer LitCrit session, and I’m free for the next six weeks or so. I finally see the appeal of a summer vacation, and I plan to spend a lot of time doing absolutely nothing. Due to my unconventional childhood, I didn’t go to school past third grade, and the tutoring I got instead was basically year-round. The idea of all that glorious time stretching out ahead of me, as of yet unclaimed… it feels amazing.

I saw online that you got the gold at the Asian Games yesterday! I almost didn’t check, figuring you’d want to tell me yourself, but then I realized you’d be in Thailand for another few days at least, and I didn’t want to wait for you to get home to write to me. I wish I’d been there to see it, to celebrate with you. Has this helped you find your motivation? 

Max will be in California for the next few weeks, so I’m living on my own again, too. I feel strange about it, because this place is very much Max’s, and the idea of being here without him feels intrusive. I wish you’d let me fly up to see you. I know why I can’t—you have to keep training for the Worlds, and besides, we promised we’d give it a year—but November feels like ages away. I miss you, Eiji. So fucking much that I can’t even tell you.

It’s so weird because most people would argue that you were never IN my life. Not in the day-to-day way where your absence would be missed, and yet that night with you changed everything. Whenever anything happens to me, good or bad, it’s you I want to tell. When I’m lying awake, listening to Max snoring in the next room, I’m tempted to call you. When I wake up hard as fuck with morning wood, I want you then, too, and that’s not like me. 

When Shorter figured out he was pansexual, I was bewildered. I mean, I knew that sex was supposed to be this really amazing, natural thing that people liked to do, right? But it was hard for me to think of Shorter as someone who liked it. Or rather, as someone who liked it with guys (for some reason, his sleeping with girls never bothered me a bit). It’s not that I’m homophobic, though, because, as our night together probably indicated, I’m not opposed to same-sex relations.

I just couldn’t differentiate the idea of healthy sex from whatever the fuck you’d call my experience. There should be a separate word for it. My therapist called it rape, and obviously, she’s right. But it was sustained, you know? It wasn’t a one-and-done, and sometimes I was complicit in it. I initiated so goddamn much of it that it doesn’t seem right to call it rape anymore. But it wasn’t sex, either. Not the way Shorter thinks of sex. 

Not at all the way you and I had sex.

I didn’t know that was possible. I didn’t know I could feel like that, that I could want like that. But then I did, and we did, and it turned me completely inside out. Now, I find myself wondering how you could be real. Every time I get a letter back from you, it’s proof that there’s someone out there who cares about me. Someone who makes me feel safe. 

Holy shit, Eiji! Safe! You have no idea how huge that is.

And just think, Eiji, if getting a letter from you—fucking ink on paper!—makes me feel like this, then how will it feel when you’re in the same goddamned room? I need that. We’re only halfway through this experiment, but I’m ready to call it: I want you to stay by my side. I know better than to ask for forever, but I swear, I’ll take whatever time I can with you.

I’m going to end this here because it’s gotten heavy and I don’t want to scare you away. Please write back soon. And congratulations again on your win—you’re the most incredible person I know, and I love you. 

Seriously Eiji. With all my heart.

Ash

*

Letter #37

Dear Ash,

I can’t really write because I have to be at a press conference and I have about a minute and half to get this into a mailbox, but I got your letter. 

You were NEVER complicit. You were a child. 

About everything else, I feel exactly the same as you. I’m on your side, and I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me.

Forever,

Eiji

Chapter Text

NINETEEN

About half a block into his walk home from school, Ash’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. The temperature had dropped to single-digits and he really didn’t feel like taking off his gloves to check it. It buzzed more. He sighed. A phone call then, not just a text. 

It was probably spam. 

But what if it wasn’t? 

Eiji was at the sports complex that morning—he’d planned to find out what their athletics program looked like, particularly the pole vault. Ash imagined the staff would be shocked to be approached by an Olympic medalist, even more to realize that he just wasn’t even really there to train, just to throw himself over a bar again and again until his world felt normal again.

Ash knew he was part of it—part of the reason that Eiji was in crisis. But what could he do? Until he could promise Eiji a happy ending, it would be irresponsible, even cruel to tell him about his own feelings. 

Realizing that he couldn’t ignore a phone call from Eiji—especially with his old coach possibly still in town—Ash yanked off one glove and fished the phone from his coat pocket. It wasn’t Eiji, but Ash was glad he’d checked. It was Michael. Who was definitely still in school.

“Hey Mikey,” he said at once, his brain already cycling through the horrific things that might trigger such a call. “You okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” the boy said, dismissively. “But I don’t wanna take the bus home today. Can you pick me up?”

Ash started walking more quickly. By the time he got home, he’d have to get the car and leave immediately. “No problem,” he agreed. “Did something happen? Is there someone on the bus who’s been bothering you?” That familiar unease prickled the back of his neck.

The background noise exploded into a cacophony of voices and the sound of slamming lockers, and Ash realized that Michael must be switching classes. “Nothing happened,” he insisted. “I just want to talk to you about something. Without Mom or Dad around.” 

“Sure,” Ash told him. “I’ll be there.”

Forty-five minutes later, Ash was the youngest guy in the parent pick-up line that wrapped around the block of Michael’s school. He caught himself becoming irritated by the attention that his car was getting—even at a richie-rich school like that, his Maserati was special—and reminded himself that he’d bought the car because he liked the flash. He’d just never expected to be in a line of Lexus SUVs and luxury minivans, picking up a middle-schooler. 

Michael lunged into the passenger seat as soon as Ash reached the front of the line, fumbling with his seat belt as the door slowly closed. “I forgot your car was so embarrassing,” he complained.

Embarrassing? Ash immediately forgot his own discomfort with the extra attention and sat up straighter. “This car is a fucking wet dream,” he said indignantly, echoing something Shorter had once said.

“Exactly,” Michael groaned. “Completely embarrassing.”

The drive to Max’s was about twenty minutes. “You have my full attention,” Ash told Michael as they pulled away from the school. “What’s bugging you?”

Michael unzipped the front pouch of his backpack and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. “Kaylee gave me this note after math class,” he said. “I’ve read it like twenty times, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

Ash glanced over at Michael. He had his hoodie pulled up, mostly blocking his face, but Ash could see that his cheeks were tinged pink. “Is it a love letter?” he teased.

“No!” Michael yelped, outraged, swatting at Ash’s arm. Then he made a face. “It’s about Xavier.”

He sounded miserable, and Ash felt a pang of sympathy. “Are they fighting?” he asked. “Are you stuck in the middle?”

“Worse.” Michael unfolded the letter and started silently reading it again. Apparently, it said the same thing as it had the previous twenty times—when he was done, he sighed with his whole body, looking defeated.

Ash grimaced. He didn’t really know what friend trouble felt like, not the normal shit that Michael was dealing with, but he viscerally understood the misery of things being uncomfortable with the person—people, in Michael’s case—he loved most. “What’d she say?” he asked gently.

“She says that Xavier likes me,” Michael said, his voice going soft and uncertain. “Like, he likes-me likes me. She says that they’ve talked about it a lot.”

Ash’s insides flipped nervously. Of course. Relationship stuff. Once again, he was fairly sure he was the world’s worst person to give advice on the subject. He tried to imagine what Shorter would say. Maybe he could channel him for some advice.  “You already knew he was bisexual, right? Because of all the Patroclus stuff?”

“Yeah, but—” Michael pulled his knees up and rested his head on them. Ash ignored the dirty shoes on his leather seat. “But, he has Kaylee. They’ve been together for more than a year!”

“And what does Kaylee have to say about it?” Ash asked.

“I think she’s okay with it?” Ash could hear Michael’s frown. The page rustled. “We’ve talked about it a lot, and I get it. You’re pretty special.” When he read, his voice went flat, like the actor in him didn’t know which emotions to assign to the lines. “I like you too. My God, Ash! What does that even mean?”

Ash tried not to smile. This would not be a good moment to look amused. “It sounds like she likes you, too?” he suggested, careful with his tone.

“Yeah, but.” They stopped at a light and Ash glanced over at the boy. He was curled up in the seat, looking like he hoped to shrink small enough to disappear. “Like, how? What am I supposed to do with that information?”

“Does she give any suggestions in the letter?”

“Kinda? She says: I think you might like us, too? Or at least, I hope you do. Please consider it and let us know how you feel.” 

For a long time, Michael sat quietly, those words hanging in the car between them, and Ash got it. It was a lot to take in, even for Ash, as a casual bystander. Was Kaylee actually suggesting polyamory? In middle school? 

Ash felt so drastically out of his element that he considered calling up Shorter or Sunny, except that this was Michael, and Michael trusted Ash, not Shorter. “And do you?” he asked at last. “Do you still like them?”

Matthew wrapped his arms around his knees and head, and so his answer came out muffled. “I already told you.” He clawed at his hood, stretching it to hide every centimeter of his face. “You know I do.”

“And,” Ash flinched at the sound of his own casual tone. God, he sounded like a douche, asking these embarrassing questions. “And, do you think you can tell them that? Knowing that it’s reciprocated?”

Michael finally looked up, his eyes bright and his cheeks flaming red. “What good will it do?” he asked. “They’re a couple. It’s not like they’re going to break up so I can date Xavier. Or Kaylee!”

Ash hated the words queuing up in his mouth, hated having this conversation. He was absolutely the worst person in the world for this. But he’d do just about anything for this kid. “Have you ever heard of polyamory?”

Michael squeaked, suggesting to Ash that he had, in fact, heard of it. 

“That could be what she means,” Ash continued. “That she and Xavier want you to be a third in their relationship.” Fuck. His own cheeks were burning now. Thank God he and Eiji couldn’t have kids. Ash wouldn’t survive another talk like this.

“Oh,” Michael said. “Oh. Holy shit.”

This time, Ash didn’t hold back his reaction. A short laugh burst out of him. “Better not let your dad hear you talking like that,” he scolded lightly.

But Michael clearly wasn’t concerned about his dad. “What should I say?” he asked. “I mean, if that’s what they want?”

Ash shrugged, turning down Avenue C about five blocks from Max’s place. “Be honest with them. If it’s what you want, then say so. And if not, then tell ‘em that.”

“I don’t wanna ruin anything, though,” Michael said, his uncertainty obvious.

“If honesty can ruin a relationship, it’s probably best that it get ruined.” Even as he said it, the irony hit him like a punch to the face. He’d invented half a dozen reasons to keep his own feelings from Eiji. Shit. He really needed to sort himself out.

“But Mikey?” They’d driven two blocks in total silence, but Ash had to continue, to see this topic to its inevitable end. “You’re only fourteen, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So, don’t rush with… stuff. If you and Xavier and Kaylee end up being something, I just want you to realize that you don’t have to—” Fuck, this was hard. He suddenly understood why so many parents let their kids get their education from television. He decided just to spit it out. “Even if they’ve already had sex,” he said, and he could feel the nervous sweat under his arms, “that doesn’t mean you have to. Like, unless you want to.”

“Ash!” Michael’s face was buried in his arms again. “Please don’t.”

“Just one more thing,” Ash said, almost ready to allow Michel to let him off the hook, but feeling like he owed it to Max—and Michael, obviously—to be responsible. “Even if you want to, I think you should consider waiting until you’re older. Sex makes things… complicated.”

“Oh my God,” Michael mumbled, his voice muffled by his hoodie. “Okay.”

The car was quiet the rest of the way home. Michael stared out the window, apparently thinking things over. When Ash parked in front of Max’s building, the boy looked up at him, his blue eyes bright. “Ash?” he asked, his voice timid again. “Don’t tell my dad, okay? I’m not ready for him to…” he trailed off uncomfortably. “I mean, he’d like it if I dated Kaylee. And I think he’d understand Xavier, after a bit, but both?” 

“No worries,” Ash assured him. There was no hurry for Max to know anything, definitely not while Michael was still sorting things out. “But you know, your dad is a bit cooler than you think. If you wanted to tell him—not right away, maybe, but someday—I think he’d take it all right.”

Michael made a noise that might’ve been a halfhearted laugh. “I guess,” he almost agreed. “But for right now, I think I’d rather talk to you.”

Something warm swelled deep inside Ash. He liked that. He liked being someone that Michael wanted to confide in, even if it meant having to say the most mortifying shit in the world. He reached over and dropped his hand onto Michael’s head, ruffling his curls though the cotton hood. For the first time in a long while, Michael didn’t flinch away, almost leaning into the touch instead.

“Anytime,” Ash promised.

*

Eiji’s hair was still wet, but Sunny was waiting for him, so he didn’t take the time to use the blow dryers available in the locker room. He stepped into the lobby, immediately searching the room for her red curls. She was at the front counter, talking with an older woman in the sports center uniform. The lady spoke animatedly, and Sunny nodded often, matching her enthusiasm. Eiji smiled. It was good to see Sunny having fun.

He hadn’t originally planned to bring her along. He hadn’t been sure if he was going to get to do any vaulting at all that afternoon, and even then, he wasn’t sure that she’d enjoy watching him doing the same jump over and over. But she’d called while he was on his way, and basically begged to be allowed to come along.

In the end, Eiji enjoyed the company.

She’d gotten there after he’d talked with the head of the facility’s track and field program, after he’d secured access to the vaulting equipment for two hours. Sunny had helped him get set up, excitedly asking for the technical names of each thing she handled. Then she’d simply sat back in the stands and watched, patient and wide-eyed, as he did his thing. 

Eiji hadn’t set the bar at his practice standard, opting instead to start at high-school levels and work up slowly. At first, the low bars had thrown him off—he’d flung himself far too high and then a bit too low, finding it difficult to find the right grip, the right speed, the right thrust to make it work just right. Gradually, his body started making the measurements for him, naturally adjusting as the height increased with every second jump.

Halfway through, near the one-hour mark, he was jumping as high as competitive college athletes. Sunny brought him water and a towel, urging him to take a break. He hadn’t wanted to stop, but he obeyed, gulping the water and trying not to laugh at how astonishingly good it tasted. 

He had been hoping that the joy of it would return, that he could reset to how he’d felt as a kid. While that hadn’t happened, exactly, Eiji could tell that he was in the middle of something, that each jump was taking him closer to where he needed to be. He imagined an invisible threshold someplace up high, far nearer the ceiling than the floor. He didn’t know exactly where it was, but he knew he’d recognize it when he got there.

Once he reached that elusive height, he would let himself stop thinking about Owen. He’d stop thinking about Ash. He’d stop worrying about Clarice Fisher’s inevitable decision and just exist. A breath before freefall, that weightless moment could stretch infinitely. Eiji wanted to live in that moment, wanted to spend as much time as it took to find it again.

He accepted a second bottle of Sunny’s water and answered all of her questions about the sport, the heights, the choices he’d made that day. For ten minutes, he soaked up her bright eyes and dimpled smiles, accepting the enthusiasm she shared so eagerly. Then he reset the bar and tried again.

By the end of that second hour, his arms hurt. His abdomen protested and his legs felt like jelly. He hadn’t found that euphoric high, but he’d come close. He’d felt the anticipation rise in him, the giddy tumble after a perfectly-executed vault. He’d even noted the thrum of the crowd—the audience that gathered around Sunny’s spot in the bleachers as his vaults went higher and higher. It all felt so right.

Eiji couldn’t keep pretending that he wanted to give that up.

Now, post-shower, he was ready to go home to Ash. He wanted to see him. He was ready to tell him that he would’ve liked to get a dog or a cat, some substitute-family that they could raise together, but that he'd be using his just-for-show plane ticket back to Japan instead.

By now, they both had to know that Clarice wasn’t going to change his status. Wasn’t it time to accept it? He wasn’t even sure the realization hurt. Right then, it felt a whole lot like relief.

Sunny hurried over as soon as she noticed he was in the lobby. She looped an arm around his, tugging him close to her side. “No offense to Shorter’s extensive skills in bed,” she said, smirking, “but these might’ve been the two most incredible hours of my life.”

A laugh bubbled out of Eiji’s chest. “I’m glad you had fun.” He steered her toward the juice bar. “Want a smoothie?”

She chose strawberry-banana and he asked the guy at the counter to blend every berry they had for his. They sat at a table that overlooked the Chelsea piers and the Hudson River. The sky was grey and it was just starting to snow.

“Can I ask you something?” Sunny tapped her straw against the bottom of her cup and looked at him, her expression slightly troubled. 

“Sure.”

“Why aren’t you looking for a new coach?”

Sunny was sharp, and she knew how the sport worked. No one took a 3-month hiatus from training in the season before the Olympic games. Of course she’d figured out that he wasn’t planning on going back. And, deep down, hadn’t he been wanting her to? Hadn’t he wanted to have this conversation with someone who might push the subject, just a bit? But not now—not when he felt so calm and resigned to his fate.

“I just got married,” he reminded her, hoping to derail the inquiry before it took off. “Don’t you think Ash and I are entitled to a honeymoon phase?”

“He started back at school,” she pointed out. “And yet you’re still paused, like that Four of Swords you drew.” She took a long drink of her smoothie. “It seems like a waste. I mean, you have a place on Japan’s team! You’ve been invited to compete in another Olympics, but you’re just walking away? I get that Owen Andersson was a shitty coach, but why let him ruin it for you?” 

Eiji looked back out at the pier, where even seagulls felt the cold snap. A cluster of them were huddled together on the walkway, their heads tucked low. “I don’t want to go away and live with strangers again,” he told her, thinking of his whole life spent under someone else’s roof, obeying someone else’s rules.  “I’d rather stay here and spend my time with Ash.” It was both the truth and a lie, and Eiji’s peaceful resignation started to bubble and evaporate.

“This is New York! I’ll bet you could find at least two or three great candidates right here.”

She wasn’t wrong. The sports facility had connections with coaches, and he knew that at least three with solid reputations lived in the city or nearby. If he thought he could stay, he might reach out to one or two, to set up meetings, but “I probably won’t be in New York much longer.” 

He hadn’t meant to tell her, but as the confused look on her face morphed into nervous concern, he was glad he did. He wanted her concern. He wanted a friend—the kind of confidant he hadn’t had since school—and he thought Sunny could be that to him.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You just got married, Eiji. Of course you’re staying here.”

 He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting deported,” he confessed in a low voice.

She looked aghast. “Why the fuck would anyone deport you?” 

It didn’t take long to explain it all, from Max’s impulsive matchmaking and Ash’s initial refusal, to his sudden change of heart and the surprise proposal on the rooftop. He kept his voice low, keeping aware of their surroundings as he explained that they’d roped Shorter into going along with their story.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her face wide-open with shock. “No wonder he was so weird about you—acting like he didn’t know you and then, like a week later, insisting that you’d met in Toronto. He told me that he hadn’t realized you were the same person.” She shook her head.

Eiji thought about Shorter the night of the engagement dinner, the way his eyes had turned sharp as knives and his mouth twitched, feral with the promise of violence. “I don’t get the feeling he likes me very much,” he confessed. “And why should he? Ash is lying to everyone because of me.”

“Nah. Shorter likes you plenty,” she said, dismissing that particular concern. “He’s just really stupid when it comes to Nadia. I guess he lied to her so much as a kid that he promised himself he wouldn’t do it anymore.”

That didn’t sound stupid to Eiji. It sounded noble, and knowing it only made him feel worse. “I should never have asked Ash to do this for me,” he said miserably, dropping his forehead into one hand. “Because now it turns out that we screwed some things up, and the agent assigned to my case is definitely suspicious. I’m pretty sure they’re going to send me back to Japan.”

She didn’t answer that, instead staring out the window and aggressively sucking down her smoothie until the straw crackled the air in the cup. “So you and Ash aren’t really together?” she asked after a while. Eiji couldn’t read her tone, but it definitely wasn’t the buoyant exuberance of someone who’d just had the best time ever. Instead, she peered at him like someone who’d just lit a firework, but wasn’t sure it would explode.

Eiji shook his head. “No.”

He didn’t say that he’d fallen so in love with Ash that just thinking about him felt like cresting the first hill of a rollercoaster. He didn’t say that he was almost certain that Ash felt something for him, too. And he definitely didn’t tell her anything about that night in Colorado, or how they’d been sharing a bed for almost a week now, whatever that was supposed to mean.

“The marriage is legal,” he assured her, trying to keep his voice even, trying to hide everything without actually lying. “But—”

“You’re telling me that you aren’t in love with him?” Sunny leaned over the table, her dark eyes glittering. “That you weren’t about to kiss him when the two of you were all alone in the bakery?”

Eiji opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t know what to say. 

She shook her head, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “Do you really expect me to believe that absolutely nothing happened while the two of you spent three nights isolated in a honeymoon cottage in the snow?”

“I just told you that it was all fake,” he protested weakly, but his cheeks flamed just the same and he knew she could see right through him. “And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter now. I’m flying back to Japan Sunday night.”

Sunny’s smile vanished. “Wait. What?” She set her empty cup down and pressed her hands flat on the table. “That’s in five days, Eiji! And no one’s actually said you’re being deported, have they?”

Eiji glanced around, suddenly nervous. No one seemed to be paying any attention, but he felt watched. He thought of Owen, stalking the park where he ran. “Let’s go,” he said, standing up. He took Sunny’s cup and dumped it, along with his own half-full cup, into the garbage can. “I don’t think we should talk about this here.”

She didn’t protest, only jumping to her feet with a tiny squeak. She rushed to catch up to him as he strode for the door, wrapping her hands around his arm to slow him down. “Does Ash know you’re leaving?” she asked in a desperate, hushed voice.

Eiji didn’t look at her. He shook his head, something tightening in his chest. “Not yet.”

She tugged his arm, yanking him to a stop. “Eiji, he’s in love with you,” she insisted, each word stumbling over the next in a rush.

Hearing it out loud, not just as a voice in his own head, was deafening. The air in his lungs burst out of him, a cloud of crystalized hope that he couldn't afford to hold onto anymore.

“No. He’s not.” He shrugged out of her grip and slid his coat on, then pushed the door open. He’d spoken too loudly, too harshly, overcompensating for the crack that threatened to shatter his words. “He's just a really good actor.” And for the first time, Eiji really hoped it was true. Because it was better if Ash didn’t feel like this. It was better if only Eiji’s heart was breaking.

It had started snowing in earnest and fat flakes swirled around them. The frigid air smelled like snow and car exhaust and the Hudson River—a combination that was very quickly starting to mean something that felt like home. Snow in New York smelled different from snow in Japan, and vastly different from the snow in Colorado, with its sharp mineral tang and echo of wood smoke.

Was that how things were going to be from now on? Would he spend the rest of his life comparing every experience to these months in New York? To the fever dream of Colorado?

Beside him, Sunny hastily zipped her purple puffer coat, rocking on her feet as the wind hit her. She looked small against the white sky, caught in a swirl of equally white snowflakes, and Eiji felt bad for shutting down and boxing her out. He wasn’t ready to talk about Ash—now that he had resigned himself to leaving, all of his uncertainty about Ash’s feelings scraped his heart raw.

He was sorry he’d ruined her buoyant mood. He was sorry he’d ruined his own.

But Sunny wasn’t finished. “Eiji!” She darted in front of him and flung out her arms, stopping him. “You can’t give up before it’s over,” she insisted. “If they’re going to deport you, let ‘em take you kicking and screaming. But you have five days. Five days to find a loophole, to figure out a plan B. You have five days to convince that agent that you and Ash were made for each other!”

Eiji stared at her, unable to comprehend her unflagging enthusiasm. He shook his head, ready to tell her that she was wrong, that Owen had come to make sure that a happy ending, unlikely as it already was, would be impossible.

But before he could speak, she reached out and grabbed both of his hands. “I want you to stay, Eiji Okumura. I know I’m selfish and silly, but I like you and I want to stay friends with you for a long, long time. I want to cheer for you from the sidelines, whether you keep jumping or not.” She squeezed Eiji’s hands hard so the cold of her silver rings pushed into his skin. “But most of all, I wanna see you and Ash sort out whatever the fuck is standing between you. You deserve to be happy, you know?”

*

Ash had never had boba before. He studied the bright pink drink suspiciously. The translucent blobs on the bottom looked like tapioca pearls—or maybe frogs’ eggs? Except they were pink and apparently strawberry-flavored. He didn’t understand how they were supposed to make the drink better, but he supposed he was going to find out.

The café was busier than Ash expected. It was after five o’clock, and they didn’t serve actual food—just coffee and desserts and, of course, boba drinks. He’d expected everyone to bustle off to dinner as the sun went down, but the place was still full. He supposed it was better that way—it was easier to have a private conversation in a crowd than in a half-empty room.

He’d texted Eiji to say he’d be home late. The response had been short, Okay! Have a nice time! and Ash had to remind himself not to be disappointed that he hadn’t asked questions. He didn’t want questions, after all. Not yet.

He cautiously sipped his drink. It was sweet and fruity, but not terrible. A boba pearl slipped up his straw and popped—a startling burst of strawberry—in his mouth. Weird. He tried it again, this time managing to roll the little pod against the roof of his mouth before breaking it open. Very weird. But… good?

Clarice Fisher arrived at exactly 5:30, shaking off the snow that gathered on her coat and hair as she stepped into the shop. In her wide-legged slacks and Burberry trench, she didn’t look like the Chinatown type. But she’d chosen the venue, probably because it was only a few short blocks from the immigration field office. Ash assumed she knew it.

She recognized him immediately and headed straight to his table. “Aslan Callenreese?” she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear. “I’m Clarice Fisher. It’s good to meet you.” Her handshake was surprisingly firm. “I’m glad you called me.”

Ash had contacted her after dropping off Michael. He’d felt pretty shitty for advocating honesty to the kid while he was actively avoiding talking to Eiji, and figured that, at the very least, there was probably more he could do to help him stay in the country. Eiji would almost certainly tell him to leave it alone—but that's why Ash hadn’t told him.

Clarice left her briefcase next to the table and went to the counter to place her order. Ash was vaguely impressed to note she’d pronounced the Mandarin name for her pastry with no hesitation. Maybe she was the Chinatown type, after all? She returned with a small cake and a bubble tea that was even pinker than his.

“Thank you for meeting with me right away,” he said as she sat down.

“Of course. Mister Okumura is running short on time,” she told him. “And I’d really like to help him, if I can.”

“You would?” Ash was surprised. He’d come prepared to fight, or at least negotiate like his life depended on it. And didn’t it, really? “That’s great!”

She shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand, me, Mister Callenreese,” she said. “The United States government doesn’t care about my feelings—they’re looking for facts. My sympathy for your situation won’t matter if we can’t provide evidence.”

“I understand that,” Ash said. “But as you said, we’re running out of time. We submitted all the evidence we have. I just need to know what else we have to do to get his status change approved before Sunday.”

Clarice sighed. “Let me be completely honest with you. Right now, it doesn’t look good.” She took a bite of her cake, closing her eyes in appreciation as the creme settled on her tongue. “Mister Okumura’s application is riddled with red flags,” she said. “And some of them, Mister Lynx,” she paused, meeting his eyes over the rims of her glasses, “are impossible to ignore.”

He couldn’t miss her use of his street name, the weighted way she looked at him.

Fuck. Why hadn’t he considered this? Why hadn’t he realized that his own dark reputation would stain Eiji, too? 

“Please.” He didn’t care if the tone of his voice made him look soft. “Eiji had nothing to do with any of that stuff before. I didn’t even meet him until years later.”

“That isn’t the issue,” she said. “The concern here is your motives. My supervisor believes that you may have offered your services… professionally, to help him obtain a green card.”

Ash scowled. Of course they’d think that. Never mind that he’d never taken a dime from Eiji. It seemed he would always be a whore in the eyes of some people. “And what evidence does he have? We submitted bank statements—you can see that Eiji didn’t pay me anything. We live in the apartment that I bought and went on the honeymoon I paid for—it’s that kind of the opposite of what you’d expect if I was providing a service.”

Her expression didn’t change and Ash mentally recoiled at how obvious it was that she’d hit a nerve. He usually played it much cooler than that. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “This is just my whole life we’re talking about.”

“It’s a matter of probabilities,” she said, pressing her lips together. “It’s been determined to be highly unlikely that someone with your background and someone with Mister Okumura’s background would meet and fall in love.”

“It’s been determined?” Ash echoed. “What does that even mean? Who determined it, and how do you even do that?” What was this asinine bullshit? Were they plugging variables into some junk AI that had zero understanding of how human interaction actually worked? “We have people in common, for fu—for God’s sake! We met because a friend suggested it. Isn’t that exactly how basically everyone meets the person they end up marrying?”

“Shunichi Ibe,” Clarice Fisher confirmed, nodding. “His testimony was compelling.”

“So what’s the problem?” he asked. He took a deep breath, trying to find the cool, courteous version of himself that had managed to charm his way out of so much legal trouble in the past, but every time he reached for that persona, he came up with nothing but more agitation. 

“There’s also the issue of your digital footprint,” she said. She slid a file from her briefcase and scanned the front page. “The first time your phone was used to contact Mister Okumura’s phone was on November 10th. That’s twenty-five days after he arrived in the city.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

“I called him at Shunichi’s before that,” he hedged.

She nodded. “Your first call to Shunichi Ibe’s landline was November 6th, which isn’t much better. My supervisors aren’t happy about the lack of digital contact for that entire year previous, either.”

“We explained that,” Ash insisted, glad to be back on a track he’d at least considered. “We needed to slow things down. It was meant to be romantic. It doesn't seem fair for Eiji to be in trouble because I’m practically a luddite.”

At first Ash thought he imagined the pink tinge that colored Clarice’s cheeks, but when she spoke again, her tone was softer. More personal. “I think I understand your reasons behind those letters,” she said. “They are romantic, and I don’t think you should be penalized for them. However, it’s hard to work around the fact that Mister Okumura was in the country for nearly a month before there’s any evidence that the two of you communicated.”

“I saw him the first day he was in New York!” Ash insisted. “He wasn’t in the city more than an hour before he found me—other than a cabbie, I was the first person he talked to.” He remembered Eiji that day, so cute and helpful, and he wished he could go back in time. If he’d thought to ask for his number then, Ash wouldn’t be having this conversation. 

Plus, he would’ve had 25 more days with Eiji. 

“Hook me up to a lie detector or something!”

She smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, that’s not how we do things at USCIS. And truthfully, if it were just one issue or the other, I might be able to push it through. But your criminal background and this lack of a digital record?” She shook her head. “It’s too much for me to ask my supervisors to ignore.”

“Look,” Ash said, realizing that he was probably facing a lifetime of similar conversations. “I know my record isn’t great. And I’m not making excuses, but I was just a dumb kid who’d had a shit life. That’s all over now. I’ve turned over a new leaf.” He swallowed hard. He’d rehearsed the words, but now that he was saying them, they were weighted down with mortifying honesty. “I want to be a good person, have a good life. And I want to live that life with Eiji.”

Clarice shook her head. “I’m not the one you have to convince,” she said. “It was obvious when I spoke with your husband that you two are sincere. But my boss can’t see past your history.”

“So what will it take?” Ash asked. “I can’t change who I am, or what I did when I was a teenager, so what’ll it take to get past that? What can we do to get the attention back onto Eiji, where it belongs?”

Clarice studied him for a long moment. “There’s plenty of attention already on Mister Okumura,” she said after a long minute. “His athletic career, for example has not gone unnoticed.”

Ash nodded, thinking of those medals Shunichi had brought over. Ash still hadn’t mentioned them to Eiji, but he’d had them framed in a shadow box just the same. When the time was right, he’d display it. “He’s one of the best.”

“His letters indicated that he’s thinking of quitting?” It was a question, but she didn’t give Ash the chance to answer. “That would be a real shame.” She took a bite of her cake, giving Ash a moment to absorb her words. “After all, Olympic gold medals make us look good, internationally. The United States hasn’t won gold in the men’s pole vault for twenty years.”

Butterflies swirled in Ash’s stomach, and he realized after a breath that he was feeling hope. “I’m not convinced he really wants to quit,” he told her, silently apologizing to Eiji. Ash was almost certainly putting him on the spot, and he knew Eiji hadn’t wanted to use his sport like this. “He did some vaulting today,” he added. “In Chelsea.”

She raised on sculpted eyebrow. “Now that,” Clarice said, taking another bite of cake, “is something I might be able to work with.”

Chapter Text

TWENTY 

Three days later, Ash still hadn’t told Eiji about his meeting with Clarice Fisher. He hadn’t given him the shadow box of medals. He hadn’t even hinted that pole vaulting might be Eiji’s key to staying in New York. He hadn’t said any of it, and he was starting to feel like shit about it.

When he’d gotten home after meeting with Clarice, Eiji had Chinese takeout spread across the coffee table. “We are watching Godzilla vs Kong,” he’d announced cheerfully, handing Ash a cold beer and a pair of chopsticks, still in the restaurant’s paper sleeve. “Only disposable utensils tonight, because I refuse to wash any dishes!”

Ash guessed that Eiji’s pole vaulting at the athletic club had gone well. In fact, Eiji’s mood was so good that Ash hadn’t wanted to ruin it with any serious conversation. So he flopped onto the sofa and cracked open his beer, figuring he could wait a few hours until morning.

But Ash overslept the next morning. Even with Eiji’s poking and insisting, he hadn’t gotten in up in time for more than a cup of coffee and a banana before having to rush off to classes.

And then that same night, Eiji worked late. He’d seemed tired when he got home, telling Ash he wanted to take a quick shower and then go to bed. Ash watched him climb the stairs to their bedroom and waited a few minutes before following him up.

He’d been considering all day how to start the conversation. Ash hadn’t noticed at first, but Eiji had stopped talking about getting a green card, even changing the subject or becoming very busy whenever Ash mentioned the pending status change. Since talking with the agent himself, Ash had realized that Eiji’s earlier conversation with Clarice Fisher had probably touched on a lot of the same topics as his own. He guessed that Eiji was trying to spare him the knowledge that it was Ash’s own history working against them, as much as any other technicality.

His heart had ached, imagining Eiji hiding that information away, opting to bear the disappointment himself so that Ash wouldn’t feel bad. It ached even more, knowing that he was about to wreck Eiji’s peace by suggesting they use pole vaulting—the very same thing that Eiji was running away from—as a way to buy him a place in this country. Even if Eiji had decided he wasn’t ready to give up the sport completely, that wasn’t the same as wanting to compete. It definitely wasn’t the same as selling your body to the American team for as long as they demanded—would they be satisfied with the Paris games? Or would Eiji have to commit to competing in Los Angeles in four more years? Or even four more beyond that?

When he came to the top of the stairs, his first lines sat perfectly-rehearsed behind his lips, but he stopped in his tracks, completely disarmed. 

Eiji was already asleep.

He was collapsed on the bed, glasses askew across his nose. The light was still on, and he hadn’t even bothered to pull the blankets over himself. Ash crept closer, careful not to make any noise, and slid the glasses from Eiji’s face. If his fingers ended up caressing the damp ends of Eiji’s freshly-washed hair, that was his own secret. He pulled the sheet and duvet up around his husband’s shoulders. Eiji squirmed beneath the weight of it, momentarily clutching the blanket closer before settling back into sleep.

Ash had been holding his breath; he released it slowly then, reaching out to comb through Eiji’s hair once more. His heart felt full, like he could cry, just standing there. Crying for no reason at all except love—he hadn’t realized such a thing was possible. “Sleep,” he whispered, bending to brush a kiss across Eiji’s forehead. 

He’d turned off the light and went back down to his studying.

So now it was the morning of day three, and he’d missed another chance. Eiji had left early for a morning shift at the store, mumbling something about working a “clopen” as he poured a cup of coffee for breakfast. Ash loved to hear ridiculous American slang in his soft accent. It made him feel even more like Eiji belonged in New York. With him.

The night before, while he was supposed to be analyzing the economic strategies of the booming 1980s, he’d come up with a plan. Sort of. He needed help, though. Luckily, he knew exactly who to ask.

He arrived at Shorter’s apartment before seven o’clock—it was the only way to catch Sunny before she left for work. She opened the door as soon as he knocked, ushering him in, but encouraging him to keep quiet. “Shorter’s working overnights this week,” she said in a low voice. “He’s only been asleep like an hour.”

“I came to see you.”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and Ash realized he’d never done that before—come to see her specifically. She glanced at her watch. “I have time if I don’t have to catch the bus,” she said. “You bring that flashy car?”

“I did,” Ash confirmed. “Thanks. I really need your help.”

Her eyebrows shot up again. “Unexpected.” She wordlessly invited him to sit on the sofa, then sat on the far side, tucking one leg under herself. “You’ve intrigued me, Ash Lynx.”

“Shorter’s working nights now?” Ash asked, suddenly unable to jump straight into talking about Eiji. “I hope he’s not overdoing it. All this gainful employment might take him away from the Chinatown crew.”

She laughed softly. “That’s kinda the point?”

Now it was Ash’s turn to be surprised. “I thought you were into that tough guy thing.” When Sunny first started hanging around, it was obvious that her fascination with Shorter had a lot to do with his being a gang leader. It was before she’d transitioned, and Ash remembered thinking that Shorter was being hero-worshiped by some soft little emo kid. Ash had teased Shorter about it—the girls who’d hung around hoping for a shot with Ash back in the day were usually the cussing, brawling, terrifying type. It had cracked him up, watching his friend try to scare off this short, chubby-cheeked person who had no business hanging around a street gang.

It had taken him completely off guard when Shorter started dating the kid instead.

“I was,” she said. “I am. But—” She took a deep breath. “It’s time to grow up, you know? Shorter wants to get married, but I told him not until we could afford a better place than this shit hole.” She laughed self-consciously. “So, we’re working on it.”

Wow. Ash exhaled sharply. He tried to imagine Shorter getting married. He guessed it wasn’t any stranger than him being married to Eiji. And they’d all known for a while now that Sunny was there for the duration. “That’s really cool,” he told her, and he meant it. It was past time for his best friend to get his act together. 

“So what’s up?” she asked then. “What’s so critical that you drive your ass all this way before classes?”

He told her then, about the entire scheme he and Eiji had concocted to get him past the USCIS watchdogs. She listened quietly, and it was immediately obvious that she wasn’t surprised.

“When did Shorter tell you?” Ash asked at last, disappointed that his friend hadn’t kept the secret, but not terribly shocked, either. He was too honest for secrets, especially with Sunny.

“He didn’t.” She shook her head. Her curls bounced and her earrings jangled. “It was Eiji, actually. Just a couple days ago.” She blew out a short breath. “It was kind of a high-octane discussion. He got pretty worked up.”

Ash didn’t like the sound of that, and he remembered how happy Eiji had seemed that night. It seemed Eiji’s cheerfulness while eating his sesame pork and watching Godzilla and King Kong destroy LA had been fake. Or at least forced?

He should’ve realized. They were so close to the deadline—of course Eiji was stressed. Again, he felt a spike of longing to be the one Eiji turned to when he was upset. “Did he also tell you why he quit the pole vault?” he asked.

She frowned. “He didn’t come out and say he had quit,” she remembered. “Not in so many words. But I guess it’s because of his shitty coach and his even shittier father making him feel small.” There was an edge to her tone that Ash had never heard, a fierceness that he wouldn’t have guessed she possessed, back when she was that emo kid who was fascinated by his best friend.

But then, Ash hadn’t really known her back then. He figured it probably took a lot of steel to come out as trans and adamantly advocate for her true self. How had Shorter described her anger? Overflowing with Mama Bear energy? Ash could see it. He was glad to see that she had some of that fire for Eiji, as well. 

Even if he was a bit jealous that he’d confided in her. 

“Yeah, I think that’s the gist of it.” And then he told Sunny all the things he should’ve already told Eiji. That his own reputation had bled onto Eiji’s, that they didn’t have a realistic digital footprint, that he was getting desperate. “Because I need him to stay,” he confessed. Talking to Sunny was a lot like talking to Shorter—not easy exactly, but somehow necessary. Something in her open expression compelled his honesty.

“Could he offer to jump for Team America?” Sunny’s question was quiet, like she was afraid to speak it into the world. Ash felt that viscerally. She got it. If the answer was no, that meant it was all over. 

But it couldn’t be over. Not yet. “His agent thinks she could get him the status change he needs to stay,” Ash explained. “But yeah, only if he agrees to pole vault for us.”

Sunny went pale. “Did he refuse?”

Ash felt a lot of things right then—hope and longing and so, so much shame. “I’ve been too chickenshit to ask him,” he confessed. “I mean, what if he says no?” 

Because that would mean that, no matter how Eiji felt about him, it wasn’t enough. That would mean that, if everything—New York, photography, his new life, Ash—were piled on one side of the scale, it still wouldn't be enough to counterbalance Eiji’s need to be free of that world. And as much as it felt like his whole life depended on it, who was Ash to ask for that?

Fuck. Who was Ash to ask for anything? This whole scheme was supposed to be about getting Eiji what he wanted. Ash was only along for the ride.

His emotions must’ve shown in his expression, because Sunny leaned closer, putting one hand, not on Ash, but on the back of the couch next to his shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll say no,” she whispered. She was wearing some kind of perfume, a subtle floral that triggered an ancient memory of his stepmother. “I think he’ll do anything—anything at all—to stay with you.”

Ash’s heart surged painfully into his throat. “Did he say that?”

She shook her head. “He told me he was leaving on Sunday,” she admitted reluctantly. “I don’t think he has any hope left.”

It was exactly what Ash was afraid of. Eiji hadn’t told him that he was planning on using that plane ticket they’d bought, but its existence had been looming in his mind as the calendar advanced. When he suggested that Eiji buy it, way back in November, he’d never thought for a second that they’d need to use it. Back then, he’d been so sure this would be easy. And it hadn’t mattered as much, not to him.

He realized now that it’d always been deadly serious for Eiji, even then. Ash swallowed hard. He barely remembered then. He felt like the threads of his life had always been knotted into Eiji’s.

“I want to find him a coach. Someone who can work with him here in New York,” Ash told Sunny now. “I don’t know where to start.”

It took Sunny a moment to realize that Ash wasn’t giving up, and a slow smile grew until both dimples showed. “You came to exactly the right girl,” she said. She hopped up and grabbed a notebook from the table. “I’ve been working on it since Tuesday. I found three that might work.”

Three. Relief flooded Ash’s brain like pure serotonin.

The first and least-likely of the three was a man named Roger Smyth. “He won three consecutive world championships in athletics back in the ‘90s,” Sunny explained. “His specialty was hurdles, but he’s been coaching pole vaulters since 2006. Every athlete he coaches does well on the international stage. I sent him an email yesterday, but it’s a longshot.”

“Why?” Why would any coach not want to work with an athlete like Eiji?

“Rumor has it, he’s working toward retirement. He hasn’t taken on a new student in two years.”

“Okay.” Ash nodded shortly. “What else have you got?”

Sunny told him about another coach, a younger man this time. “Drew Atriano,” she read from her notebook. “He’s never coached an Olympian, but his reputation is good, and he’s looking for students. I talked to him on the phone last night. He’s already said he’d be interested in meeting Eiji.”

Ash wouldn’t count him out, but “Eiji deserves the best, you know?”

She nodded. “Agreed. That’s why I kept looking. I’ve saved my favorite for last.” She dimpled again, and Ash could feel her enthusiasm. “I’ve sent an email to a woman named Jill Lindemann. She won a silver medal for the pole vault in London, back in 2012 and she’s currently coaching two female vaulters who are headed to Paris this year. Both are expected to finish in the top eight.”

“Is it okay for his coach to be a woman?” Ash asked.

Sunny rolled her eyes. “Women can do a lot of things these days,” she said in an overly-patient tone. “I hear one is even Vice President of the United States.”

“I was literally just asking if it was allowed,” he protested. “Is she willing to take him on?”

She sighed. “No answer yet.”

They were out of time, both with Eiji’s immigration and Sunny’s pre-work conversation time. Ash stood up, finding his keys in his pocket. “Can you try to set up a meeting with Atriano, then? Not today, but tomorrow? Or Sunday morning?”

Sunny popped a pair of white earmuffs over her ears and reached for her coat. As she turned, Ash noticed that the earmuffs were embroidered with rainbow-maned unicorns. He felt a pang of fondness for this girl. “Thank you, Sunny,” he said. “So much.”

 “Eiji has no idea?” she asked. Her lips pressed together, concerned.

“I’ll tell him. He’ll say yes, I’m sure.” He wasn’t at all sure, but he hoped.

*

Kenichi was still tying his apron strings as he hurried from the back room. He looked tired, which probably meant that his twice-weekly appointment with the couple’s therapist didn’t go so well. Because his boss was the kind of guy who had no secrets from anyone, Eiji knew that he and his wife had struggled with redefining their marriage as empty-nesters since their youngest dropped out of college and moved to Arizona. 

Eiji worked mornings when Kenichi had therapy, and while he was sorry to see his boss looking worn out, that afternoon, he was more than ready to hand the reins over and get home. Ash was coming straight home from classes that afternoon, and Eiji wanted to get there early to wash a load of laundry so that Ash’s favorite shirt would be clean when he got there.

They were going to see Michael’s play. It was opening night and this was Michael’s first starring role, so Ash was taking them all out to dinner to celebrate. Eiji was looking forward to it. He was glad that he was getting to see the show before he had to leave New York. This would be a good memory to offset the disappointment of having to say goodbye to Max and Michael. 

Clarice Fisher hadn’t said otherwise, so he was still planning to leave Sunday evening. The day after tomorrow, he realized sadly. She’d actually called him a little before noon, but he had been too busy in the store to answer. Her message was only to call her back, so he’d stolen a moment to do that, an hour later. He’d gotten her voicemail, so now it was her turn. 

He wasn’t getting his hopes up. 

He hadn’t heard a peep from Owen since that day in the park, so Eiji let himself consider that he might’ve actually gone back to Toronto. That didn’t feel terribly likely, though.

A day or two after their confrontation, Eiji had realized that it might’ve been a mistake for him to point out that he’d be deported back to Japan, not Canada. With nothing to lose, what would prevent Owen from turning them in out of spite? Eiji was confident that his old coach was more than capable of ruining this for him, even without any chance of gain for himself. 

He wondered if that was what Clarice wanted to tell him. Maybe Owen had been to see her after all. Maybe she was finally letting him know that his application had been rejected, that he needed to leave the country by Sunday night or face the consequences. He wasn’t even sure how those consequences would play out. If he stayed in New York, would they send him to jail, or would they ship him back to Japan right away? Would they go after Ash?

It wasn’t worth finding out.

Now, Kenichi came behind the counter and popped the register’s till. “Looks like you had a busy morning!” he said appreciatively. He pulled out the twenties and started the daily process of counting out Eiji’s pay. Eiji took off his own apron and hung it, a bit regretfully, on the hook behind the counter. This was his last day at Dainobu.

They’d actually said their goodbyes the night before. Kenichi and his wife had surprised Eiji with a cake. Together with the store’s only other employee, a quiet man named David who mostly stocked shelves, they’d worked their way through a couple of bottles of sake in the back room. He’d gotten home late, so exhausted and sake-muddled that he’d gone straight to sleep.

“I’m sorry to see you go,” Kenichi said now as he handed Eiji a stack of bills that felt significantly thicker than usual. Eiji didn’t count them—by now, he knew his boss well enough to know he prefer that any bonus amount not be acknowledged. Instead, he only smiled and shoved the cash into his pocket. He’d need it—he’d dipped into his savings to buy Ash’s ring, and he didn’t know yet how expensive it might be to get a place in Tokyo. 

“I really liked working here,” he said. And it was true. Working at the store was like being back in Japan, but in a good way. He’d been snapping photos all day, trying to capture the feeling of nostalgia he got from the racks of snacks and magazines that lined the front counter or the hand-written katakana proclaiming the daily specials in the front window. He knew that, soon enough, those shots wouldn’t make him nostalgic for Japan so much as for New York.

He reached out to shake Kenichi’s hand.

The man pulled him into a hug instead. “When you end up back in Manhattan, kid, I got a job for you,” he said, patting Eiji’s shoulder. Eiji liked the sound of that—a when rather than an if.

Minutes later, he stepped out into freezing rain. He considered going back inside to buy an umbrella, but thought it would be too awkward, now that he’d said goodbye. His walk home was only two blocks—nothing he couldn't handle. He hunched into the collar of his jacket and hurried down the road.

“Eiji!” 

Eiji didn’t consciously recognize the voice, but even as he turned around, he felt his body starting to tense up, adrenaline already spiking through his core. He wasn’t especially surprised to see Owen. Even bundled into an oversized coat, a soggy stocking cap on his head, his former coach was unmistakable. He was in the same spot where Ash had waited all those weeks ago, leaning against the same graffitied wall that had made such a perfect backdrop for Eiji’s photos. 

Now that he’d seen Eiji, Owen pushed off the wall, striding toward him.

Eiji kept walking, his mind reeling. How had Owen figured out where he worked? Did that mean he also knew where he lived? And what was he planning, showing up like that today? 

Every impulse in Eiji’s body urged him to break into a sprint, to outrun this man and retreat to the safety of the space he shared with Ash. 

But Owen would follow. He couldn’t run as fast as Eiji, but he was a former track star who’d kept himself in shape. He’d be close enough behind to see which building Eiji went into. And their names were right there in the lobby, Callenreese & Okumura engraved into the brass nameplate on their mailbox.

So Eiji didn’t turn down 12th Street when he got to the corner, crossing it instead and continuing down 6th Avenue. He could hear Owen’s footsteps behind him, splashing through the puddles in the intersection. He wasn’t running—probably trying to avoid a scene—but he was coming fast. Gaining.

“Stop running away from me!” Owen demanded, closer than expected. Eiji walked faster.

Then four things happened at once: 

One—thinking that he might have time to call Ash or Ibe, Eiji reached into his pocket for his phone. 

Two—Owen lunged from behind, grabbing Eiji’s arm hard. Eiji’s body twisted, his teeth gnashing painfully. His feet slid across the icy sidewalk, sliding in impossible slow-motion out from under him.

Three—the phone flew from Eiji’s grip, skidding across the concrete and tumbling end-over-end at least twice before it landed in the street.

Four—a white Maserati swerved into the parking spot by the curb, its front tire pulverizing Eiji’s phone even as it slammed to a stop.

Eiji landed hard on the jutting corner of a brick, half-popped out of its place on the sidewalk. A jolt of pain shot into his body through his hip and icy water soaked through his jeans into his skin.

And then Ash was out of the car faster than Eiji thought humanly possible, his fancy door open to the sleet as he leaped, half-skidding over the hood of his car. His closed fist seemed to connect with Owen’s face even before his sneakers settled onto the concrete.

Eiji scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain and the damp, focused only on Ash and Owen. Ash’s hands were twisted into the front of Owen’s coat, and he shoved him hard against the brick facade of the nearest building.

Owen gasped out something between a cry and a whump, grimacing in obvious pain as his back hit the wall. Blood poured from what might’ve been a broken nose, and his hands scrabbled at Ash, both grabbing and pushing in an attempt to grapple for a better position.

Ash threw one arm over Owen’s throat, pressing him back against the bricks. Even though Owen was bigger and stronger than Ash, the maneuver held him. Eiji watched his face go red, and he wondered if Ash had cut off his airway. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ash demanded.

Eiji had never heard Ash’s voice like that, so low and cold, a growl that matched the boy Eiji had seen between the lines of Max’s book, the boy from the podcasts and the news articles. Not the Ash he knew.

Owen’s eyes widened, frantically rolling until they found Eiji’s over Ash’s shoulder. “Ei—ji!” The word broke into coughs. His fingers tore at Ash’s arm.

Ash’s face contorted into a snarl. “You know him?” he demanded, swiveling his head to look at Eiji.

“That’s Owen,” Eiji said quietly. He wasn’t sure if the information would help or hurt his former coach’s chances against Ash, so he stepped closer, put one hand on Ash’s arm. “Let him go, Ash.”

The look on Ash’s face shifted, moving from rage into something softer, but equally dark. It was a look Eiji liked even less. “Get in the car, Eiji,” he said in a low voice.

That seemed like a terrible idea. “Ash, no,” he countered. Owen’s face flushed deep red, his mouth open, gasping for air. “Let him go.”

Ash glanced at Eiji over his shoulder. “I’ll let him go once you’re in the fucking car,” he barked.

Eiji opened the door, but hesitated at its threshold. “I’m in the car,” he called, putting one foot inside. 

It was enough. Ash took a step back from Owen and dropped his arm. “Explain,” he snarled. “Explain to me why fuck you think you have the right to harass my husband. Why you thought it was appropriate to put your hands on him.”

Owen only wheezed, his face flushed deep red. He pressed the long end of his scarf against his nose, staunching the blood. 

Ash leaned close, his eyes glinting steel. “Stay the fuck away from Eiji,” he said, low enough that Eiji could barely hear. “Unless you wanna learn the hard way just how much power I still have on these goddamned streets.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning on his heel and striding toward the car. “Get in,” he told Eiji in a tone that brooked no argument. 

Eiji flinched at the swell of pain in his hip as he slid into the passenger seat. As the door glided shut, he glanced out at Owen, still slumped against the wall, still bleeding. “You didn’t have to hit him,” he said quietly as Ash screeched away from the curb.

“Didn’t I?” Ash didn’t look away from the road. His voice felt like the crunch of Eiji’s cellphone under the Maserati’s tires, splintered and sharp, and Eiji looked out the window. He didn’t answer.

*

They still weren’t speaking three hours later, when they climbed back into the car to head to Michael’s school. Eiji felt sick. He didn’t know what to say. Ash’s anger came off him in waves, and even though Eiji knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, he felt snared in it just the same. It felt like Ash was furious with him, not just Owen.

Even though Ash had retreated upstairs immediately, the apartment felt too small for that much emotion. Eiji had taken a shower, desperate to warm up after all that time in the freezing rain. One garment at a time, his clothes ended in a damp pile on the tile floor. When he peeled his jeans from his body, however, he discovered a bruise half-bloomed across his hip. It was big—its circumference larger than his splayed hand—and already the rich magenta of a deep-tissue contusion.

Eiji sighed. He didn’t have the energy to deal with it properly. He’d found a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet and downed three capsules with water from the sink. He could almost hear Owen’s voice recommending RICE: rest, ice, compression, and elevation. 

But seriously, fuck that. It wasn’t like Eiji was going to be vaulting, or even running, for the next few days. He didn’t even know where the hell he was going to live when he landed in Tokyo, let alone what his training regime was going to look like. Did it really matter how long his hip was sore?

Now he glanced over at Ash, whose entire attention was on the traffic. Any other night, Eiji would have thought it was funny that he’d suddenly become a conscientious driver. The windshield wipers swished away the slushy rain, and the heater blew uncomfortably warm air into Eiji’s face. He reached out to turn down the blower.

“I need that for the windshield.” Ash dialed it back up even higher than it had been.

Eiji glanced over at him, taking in the deliberate calm of Ash’s expression. Scowling, he opened his window, leaning his overheated face into the icy rain.

Ash sighed dramatically. He leaned forward and tapped the console. Immediately the blast of hot air ceased and Eiji rolled the window back up. The win was satisfying, but it didn’t soothe Eiji’s ruffled feelings.

Ash’s eyes flicked over to him, then back to the road. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, earlier,” he said at last. “You didn’t deserve to be talked to like that.”

Whatever gratification Eiji registered at the apology was wiped away by his own irritation. “You’re right,” he said, his voice clipped. “I didn’t. And you didn’t need to hit Owen, either.”

The breath that escaped Ash’s lungs sounded like an angry huff. He changed gears roughly, throwing the gear shift into third and then fourth gear. “So you’ve said.” The softness of his apology was gone, replaced by the same edge he’d had all afternoon. “I’m sorry you don’t like the way I handle creeps.”

“You didn’t need to handle him at all,” Eiji protested, his voice rising. “I had it under control.”

Ash’s laugh was unkind, making something deep in Eiji’s chest ache. He didn’t understand why Ash was so angry. Why he was so angry. What were they even fighting about?

“I’m not some kid you have to protect,” Eiji insisted, twisting in his seat to glare at Ash. “If you hadn’t interrupted, I would’ve managed him just fine. I don’t need you to solve my problems!”

“Don’t you?” Ash shook his head, disbelieving. He almost missed a light turning red and had to brake hard on the icy street, lurching them both against their seat belts. He turned to look at Eiji, half of his face awash in the red glow. “We have two fucking days left, Eiji. Have you done anything at all to try to negotiate with your immigration agent? Have you even called her?”

“I was going to call her,” Eiji snipped. “But someone ran over my phone.”

Ash ran a hand through his hair. “And before today?” His voice was hard. “You haven’t exactly been fighting to stay here.”

Eiji’s mouth went dry. He didn’t have an answer for that. Not one he could tell Ash, anyway. How could he even say it? How could he say that it was Ash’s own history that put their plan at risk? He couldn’t tell him that Clarice Fisher and her whole department were apparently just waiting for Ash to fuck this up. Worse, that Eiji had tumbled them both into a trap that would undoubtedly spring the day after his ESTA expired. 

Ash’s future was more important than his. Eiji didn’t know what the fuck he wanted out of life, but Ash was brilliant; he was overflowing with potential. Eiji didn’t dare push Clarice—he was sure it would backfire and land Ash in prison.

The light changed and Ash accelerated again. For a long moment he didn’t say anything more—maybe he was waiting for Eiji to answer, or maybe he was cataloging all the ways Eiji had disappointed him. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, cracked. “When were you planning on telling me you’d given up on us?”

“It’s not giving up!” Eiji was going mad, trying to argue while his body was strapped into the car’s deep, plush seat. He needed to pace, needed to move. He needed to fling himself into the air because that was the only place where he found equilibrium. “I only accepted what’s right in front of my face!”

“What? What’s right in front of your face?”

Eiji inhaled hard to steady himself, but the overheated air burned hot and dry in his throat. “If I don’t leave on Sunday,” he said around the scratchy pain of it, “we both will have committed a felony. I will be deported and won’t be allowed back, and you will go to jail.”

“Goddamn it, Eiji!” Ash’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. “That’s not gonna happen!”

“How can you know that?” Tears pricked Eiji’s lower eyelids. He’d never been the sort to yell and he’d definitely never wanted to yell at Ash, but here he was, hollering across a tiny car. “Before I got here, you were staying out of trouble and building a good life. Then I came along and because of me, you’re committing immigration fraud! You’re punching creeps in the street! You’re being careless and stupid and it’s my fault!” Eiji bit the inside of his cheek to make himself shut up, but the words wouldn’t stop. “You were doing just fine before I got here, and I’m ruining it!”

“Eiji.” Ash’s voice was strained. “You’re not—”

“You can’t talk me out of this,” Eiji continued, talking over Ash because he didn’t want to hear his rationalization. Ash would promise Eiji a chance to have everything he ever wanted, but it would be dangerous and self-sacrificing and Eiji would probably fall for it anyway. To the disaster of them both. “Sunday night I’m flying to Dallas and before midnight I’ll be on my way to Tokyo.”

He looked out at the darkening evening, at the sleet that splatted against the windshield before being wiped clean by soundless wipers. They were stopped at another light, the whole car bathed in that specific shade of stoplight-red. Eiji wondered if every stoplight he ever saw for the rest of his life would haunt him, reminding him of this moment and the choice he was making. 

He sucked in his breath, still furious at Ash and his reckless devotion. Because Eiji recognized finally, that devotion was what it was and it pissed him off. Because if Ash felt even a fraction of what Eiji did, why had he risked throwing away everything for the chance to bloody Owen’s nose?

“Damn it, Ash. I love you too fucking much to let you ruin your life for me!”

As soon as the light changed, Ash yanked the car into a hard left turn from the wrong lane. His hand flicked the blinker on, an absurd detail as he tore through the confused intersection. Car horns blared furiously, and Eiji looked up at him, startled. His face remained impassive, as though he hadn’t heard the honking at all. As though he hadn’t heard Eiji’s confession, either.

To Eiji’s utter astonishment, Ash swerved into the lot of a 24-hour drive-through car wash. Its blue sign blinked open through the sleet. Without a word, he rolled the window down as casually as if it were a summer’s day and tapped his phone against the kiosk in payment. A moment later, the car wash door rolled up, and Ash drove onto the metal track. 

What was he doing? Who washed their car during a winter storm?

The mechanism closed around the front tire, yanking them into the cavernous car wash as Ash shoved the gear stick into neutral. 

In the same fluid motion, he unbuckled his seat belt and reached for Eiji.

Eiji gasped at the unexpected contact, barely able to register the heat of Ash’s hands as his fingers plunged into the hair at the back of his head. Ash turned Eiji’s face toward him, tugged him close.

Eiji’s eyes closed just as Ash’s mouth crashed down over his own. 

It was a flash flood after a drought, devastation from overabundance. Eiji strained against the seat belt, frantic to keep up while drowning, drowning, drowning beneath the onslaught of Ash’s lips and tongue and teeth. He tasted Ash’s intense need. He matched it.

Eiji didn’t understand how they’d gone from fighting to this. He didn’t care. All that mattered was Ash, the taste and the warmth of him. He was frustrated, frenzied, unable to get close enough. His seat belt, the console, their winter coats were all barriers keeping him away from the only thing he wanted.

He wrapped one hand around the back of Ash’s neck, used the other to cup Ash’s jaw, thrilling at the flex of the muscles there as Ash’s mouth devoured him. He barely heard the hiss of water spraying the car, barely registered the mechanized clunks and tremors as they were pulled through the wash. All he knew was darkness, warmth, and Ash.

“I wasn’t doing just fine,” Ash murmured fiercely against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet Eiji’s eyes in the weak, purple glow of the car wash’s neon interior. His breath pulsed against Eiji’s face in hard, desperate pants. “I wasn’t building any sort of life before you.”

Ash kissed Eiji again, softer this time, and more deliberate. Eiji’s fingers clawed for his seat belt release and, liberated, he arched into him.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed again as they paused between kisses. He was determined to say it a million times, to overwrite every one of Ash’s core memories before Sunday. “For a long time now.”

“Fuck, Eiji,” Ash whispered, his eyes making a frantic study of Eiji’s face. “I didn’t think I could—” He dipped forward, his teeth catching Eiji’s earlobe as though it were more important than finishing his thought. He tugged, just hard enough to elicit a moan. “Until you,” he murmured next to Eiji’s ear, “I thought I was broken.”

They stopped talking then. 

Too soon, the car wash’s exit door squealed on its ungreased hinges. Ash reluctantly pulled away from Eiji, looking glazed and sheepish, then leaning in for one more—two more—quick, soft kisses. He settled back into his seat and Eiji ran shaking fingers through his own hair. They refastened their seat belts and Ash’s hand slid to the gearshift.

Eiji was almost too undone to speak, overwhelmed by his own honesty and Ash’s enthusiastic response. He reached over and put a hand on Ash’s knee, needing the contact to keep himself grounded, to keep this moment from slipping into unreality. Ash’s elbow bumped him when he changed gears, but Eiji didn’t move. Ash glanced over at him.

“Okay?” Eiji asked in a voice that he feared was too soft to carry.

Ash swallowed hard, glancing back at the road before meeting Eiji’s eyes again. “Always,” he promised, a shy smile of his own tugging the corners of his lips.

Chapter Text

TWENTY-ONE

Ash wasn’t sure how he was going to get through dinner.

Eiji sat across the table at the dimly-lit pizzeria, laughing at something Michael was saying. His hair hadn’t completely recovered from their kiss in the car wash—it had been finger-combed into something perfectly presentable, but Ash could still see the effects of his own hands—its natural volume was no longer restrained, no longer combed into submission. It was maddening.

His mind echoed with Eiji’s frustrated, furious declaration. I love you too fucking much to let you ruin your life for me.

How did he not know how much everything had changed? Sure, this whole thing had started out that way, with Ash helping Eiji for no other reason than because he liked the guy and thought it might be fun to make a bit more mischief before settling into a life of legal-obedience. But that hadn’t lasted long. The more their lives entwined, the clearer the conclusion: Ash wasn’t taking these risks for Eiji anymore.

He was taking them for himself. Because he didn’t want to contemplate a life without Eiji.

They’d arrived at Michael’s school about five minutes before the show started—late enough that Ash wasn’t sure they’d be able to find Max in the crowd. After a quick search, though, he easily spotted Jessica’s long, sun-kissed, California-blond hair. In a room filled with east-coast highlights, the real deal stood out. 

“Did you get lost on the way?” she’d asked as he and Eiji slid past toward their saved seats. She threw Eiji a sweet, welcoming smile and then zeroed in on Ash again, her eyes narrowing. “We weren’t sure you’d get here in time.”

The question made Eiji squeeze Ash’s fingers, which triggered a tactile recollection of their five-minute detour through the car wash. He managed to keep his face impassive, which felt like an accomplishment. “I stopped at a car wash,” he told her. “My car was filthy.” He knew the answer was ridiculous, given the weather, but it amused him to use the truth and let her think he was lying. He refused to break eye contact, daring her to question it.

She raised her eyebrows. “Heaven forbid.” Her tone was sarcastic, but her gaze was canny. Somehow, Jessica always saw right through him, even if she couldn’t know exactly what she was looking at. Ordinarily, that would piss him off, but right then, even Jessica Randy couldn't faze him. “Michael will be happy that you’re here. For some reason, he thinks the world of you.”

Deciding that didn’t warrant a response, Ash shrugged off his coat and threw himself into the seat next to Max. The old man looked… sweaty. “Jesus Christ, Max. You look like you’re about to faint. You do realize that you’re not the one who has to perform, right?”

Max scowled. “You won’t understand until you have your own kids,” he grumbled.

“I definitely won’t need smelling salts to get through a school play.”

Ash had never been to a school play. He’d never been to any kind of play, really. Dino had dragged him to the ballet and the opera often enough, but Ash knew this would be different. They’d speak and sing in English, for one thing. And he wanted to be there, which was another. 

It turned out that the show held Ash’s attention in ways that La Traviata never had. It was fun, but not at all silly—if you looked beyond the man-eating plant and comedic wordplay, there was a lot of real-life darkness in the story. Ash found himself remembering Max’s surprise that it’d been chosen for kids so young. But the kids did a great job. Apart from a couple stiff performances, they all were really talented, tapping into the characters’ pain and despair in a way that would’ve left Ash feeling way too vulnerable, had he been the one onstage.

For a while, Ash was able to compartmentalize, setting aside the tangle of his feelings about Eiji long enough to enjoy the show. But it all simmered just below the surface, occasionally bubbling up—Eiji’s arm brushing his on the seat rest, the press of his shoulder against Ash’s as he shifted to put his program into his coat pocket. Every time Eiji laughed at a joke or gasped at one of the story’s dark twists, Ash noticed.

He couldn't remember the last time he’d been so vividly aware of someone. It was almost like fighting guys like Arthur—guys Ash had to take seriously—where he had to notice and consider every breath and intention because his life depended on it.

And it did now, he realized, across the table in that crowded restaurant, but in a whole different way. Ash’s happiness was hanging in the balance with this man. It wasn’t something he’d ever considered necessary, or even plausible, but now that he knew how it felt, he knew he’d be chasing that high the rest of his goddamned life. And he’d somehow pinned it all on Eiji, whose position in his life was at its most precarious.

Because that argument—about Owen, about immigration, about doing everything possible so that Eiji could stay—wasn’t something that could be resolved with a kiss. Even if that kiss resolved basically everything else between them.

Ash was desperate to get home, to be alone with Eiji. To talk. Or not. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was the need for them to be the only two people in the room. The only two in the whole world.

Ash tried to be normal as they sipped their drinks and waited for the server to bring their pizza. Max motioned toward the bouquet of red roses that were currently resting in a pitcher of water. “Were those something the school set up?” he asked. “Because you guys are playing the main characters?”

Michael blushed to the tips of his ears. “No,” he said. “Just a present from a friend.”

That friend had been Xavier. At the end of the show, Ash watched the kid make his way from his place in the orchestra to the edge of the stage with two huge bouquets of roses in his arms. He’d handed one to Kaylee, who’d thanked him with a tearful smile. The second bouquet was obviously Michael’s. 

Xavier held it up, but Michael had only stared down at him, his cheeks turning red as a panicked expression spread over his face. Xavier gently hit Michael in the foot and shook the flowers at him. The angle blocked Xavier’s face from Ash’s view, but Michael had clearly seen something there that coaxed a shy smile. Finally, Kaylee nudged Michael’s shoulder, saying something that Ash was sure no one could hear over the applause. Laughing, Michael knelt to accept the flowers, and Xavier stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. Michael grinned. 

Now, Max’s eyebrows shot up. “Guys are giving each other flowers now?”

Michael froze like a deer in headlights, his drink still lifted up, his lips around the straw. 

Ash elbowed Max, maybe harder than necessary. “Guys have always given each other flowers, Max.” To demonstrate, he snagged one of the clusters of baby’s breath from Michael’s bouquet. He stood to reach across the table and tucked them behind Eiji’s ear, making him look just the tiniest bit puckish. He then took Eiji’s hand, running his fingertip across the edge of his wedding ring. “Sometimes they even get married and have sex and shit,” he added in a confidential tone.

Suddenly, Eiji’s ears were as red as Michael’s. “You did a wonderful job tonight,” Eiji told him brightly, clearly determined to change the subject. “I’ve never seen this show before. It’s very funny.”

Michael looked relieved, and the conversation turned to the far less awkward topic of the show and Michael’s performance.

Eiji glanced at Ash, looking half embarrassed and half besotted. He didn’t pull his hand away, and Ash felt warm, glad that Eiji was there, his fingers entwined with his—not to sell a fake relationship, but just because they both liked them that way.

*

For some reason the mood during the car ride home was less certain, and by the time Ash turned into the underground parking beneath their building, he and Eiji had neither touched nor spoken in twenty minutes. It hadn’t been an uncomfortable silence, but Ash had let himself get too much in his head, contemplating all the things they still had to figure out. 

He stole a glance at Eiji. They were probably going to sleep together that night, and not in the stubbornly-platonic way they’d been doing it all week. Ash wasn’t starved for it, like last time, but he wasn’t simply resigned, either. He wanted… something. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t at all sure how to go about getting it. 

He tried to imagine how it would play out. Would they be shy and awkward once they were alone in the apartment? That place was their home, intimate, warm, and safe, but they’d also worked hard to keep it neutral. Platonic.

Ash was starting to hate that word. It was somehow both truth and lie. Between him and Eiji, it described behavior, not feeling. On the one hand, they’d studiously avoided crossing the lines they’d drawn into their agreement—the lines they’d disregarded so completely in Colorado—to keep their relationship friendly, but nothing more. But on the other hand, if two people had to tread water constantly so they didn’t sink into a romantic entanglement, was it accurate to describe themselves as simply friends?

Eiji had spent the trip gazing out the window. While they were celebrating Mikey’s show, the sleet had changed into thick, fat snowflakes. By the time they headed home, it was already starting to stick to the road and the sidewalks, hiding the ice and slush under a layer of white that made the night bright and quiet.

The black metal door rolled up and the garage’s sickly green fluorescent light overpowered the glow of the snowy night. Moments later, the scuff of their footsteps echoed off the garage’s concrete walls as they walked to the elevator. Eiji’s hands were unavailable for holding, burrowed deep in his coat pockets. The wool coat was big on him, making him look smaller than when he wore his warm-up jackets. Ash thought it was endearing, and his mind once more dashed ahead to speculate how the night would play out.

In the elevator, Ash punched the button for the eighth floor. He wanted to talk, but didn’t know what to say to reignite their intensity in the car. How did people shift gears like that?

As the door eased shut, Eiji was the one who broke their silence. “Before,” he started, his voice hesitant, “I asked if it was okay for me to touch your knee.” He was turned half away, his face turned up to the old-fashioned half-moon dial above the door where the indicator slowly crept toward the ground floor. “You said, always. Does that mean I’m allowed to just reach for you?” 

He didn’t turn. Didn’t make a move to touch Ash at all.

That stillness made Ash feel edgy. He barely knew how to catalog the feeling, a pang of nervous expectation, but without the usual trepidation that came when someone was obviously into him. Instead, he was intensely curious. He wanted to see what Eiji would do, and how he’d do it. 

Before Ash could answer, Eiji turned, his eyes full of the question. The unguarded need in his expression made something lurch deep inside Ash. “You don’t need to ask anymore,” he said, his voice the rasp of a match striking. “You’re just… allowed,”

Eiji took one step toward him, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “Eiji,” Ash whispered. He was a meteor trapped in the well of Eiji’s gravity. He was destined to burn.

One of those hands moved to cup Ash’s jaw, the cold platinum of his wedding band sharp on Ash’s skin. His breath caught, and he leaned into Eiji’s palm reflexively, his body reacting without his input. For probably the first time in his life, his innate reaction hadn’t been violent, but something soft and good. 

Everything about Eiji was soft and good.

Eiji stepped forward, guiding Ash backward until his shoulder blades bumped against the elevator wall. He didn’t feel trapped, or threatened. The expanding feeling in Ash’s chest was pure exhilaration.

Eiji tipped his face up, drawing near until his mouth was barely a single centimeter away. “Ash?” Ash felt his name across his own lips, like the charged electrons of Eiji’s atoms were mingling with his own. “Can I kiss you?”

Yes. Ash couldn’t speak. Please, yes. He nodded. 

Eiji leaned even closer. Ash’s hand found his waist, holding him there. He was heady with the warmth and the scent and the anticipation of him. “I meant what I said before,” Eiji murmured. Again, his lips were fantastically, disquietingly close. “I’m completely in love with you.” This time Eiji’s words did touch Ash’s lips, Eiji’s skin skimming his in a shivery explosion of sparks and nerves. 

Some hot emotion kindled inside Ash, immolating him. “Say it again,” he begged, his own lips skimming Eiji’s this time, the electric sensation coursing like heroin beneath his skin.

“Ash,” Eiji whispered into his mouth. His hands were on either side of Ash’s head now and his hips leaned full against Ash’s, pinning him against the wall of the elevator. “I love you. You are my whole heart.”

Ash kissed him. Until the elevator lurched to a stop on the eighth floor, it was impossible to do anything at all except kiss him.

There was no one in the hallway, but Ash wouldn’t have cared either way. They staggered toward their door, pausing every few steps to kiss some more—playful kisses, deep kisses, kisses that altered the fabric of Ash’s entire soul. Any disapproving witness could die mad about it, broken inside because they’d never have anything quite so this in their own sad lives. 

Someone unlocked the door and they were in their apartment, unbuttoning coats and stumbling out of shoes and then Ash was on his back on the sofa, Eiji’s full weight across his body, his thigh working its way between Ash’s legs. Ash’s head was tilted back across a cushion, Eiji’s mouth on his throat and Ash’s hand was fumbling at the belt buckle that pressed into his stomach.

Everything felt new. Eiji was a riptide, carrying Ash away until he couldn’t tell which way was up. He didn’t care. The only orientation Ash needed was the press of Eiji’s body and the damp heat of his mouth.

It wasn’t until some time later, when sweaters had been discarded and buttons released, when Eiji’s hair stood at perpendicular angles and Ash had two delicate love nips over his left collarbone, that something like a serious thought grappled for purchase in his mind. Eiji’s hands were on Ash’s hips, two fingers tugging against the waistband of his jeans, while his lips kissed a trail around Ash’s navel and lower. Lower. Eiji popped the button of his jeans with just a finger and thumb, and Ash viscerally recalled the sweet havoc his mouth had wreaked the last time they’d been in this position. Fuck, he wanted this.

He wanted this forever.

*

According to the clock, they’d been at it for almost forty minutes already, and Ash was feeling good. Colorado had been all acceleration and speed, careening inches from the abyss in their desperation to connect. This time, Ash wasn’t feeling quite so reckless. He wanted to savor this, and it turned out that Eiji was built for it. If the world ever made an Olympic sport out of kissing—deep, slow, marathon-level kissing—Eiji would be a medalist for sure. 

Eiji’s body was beneath him now, his hands were in Ash’s hair, and his mouth was forging a path along his throat, giving Ash a close-up view of the exquisite, mathematical perfection in the curve that made up the shell of Eiji’s ear. Ash braced himself on one hand and one bare knee—his pants had come off early, but he still wore an open dress shirt and boxers—tucked against the solid warmth between Eiji’s legs. 

Eiji’s own jeans, somehow, were still on. Every time Ash’s overheated brain thought to rectify that situation, he’d gotten distracted by some other marvel of Eiji’s anatomy.

Right now, his attention was focused on the muscles of Eiji’s shoulders, powerful things that tightened and moved like serpents beneath the sea of his skin. None of the men in Ash’s past had muscles like that. Not even close. He put his mouth against the divot where two of them joined, dragging his teeth along the length of one muscle, leaving red trails across Eiji’s skin until the boy moaned beneath him.

Eiji pulled him down against his body, catching his lips in a deep kiss. Ash gasped at the heat of Eiji’s bare chest against his. It was dizzying, how many different things there were to feel: Eiji’s fingertips digging in a bit too hard on his shoulder, the hot exhalation of his breath against his chin. And the press of his length against Ash’s leg—worrisome and thrilling—was an exhilarating promise of more to come.

“I think it’s high time these came off, don’t you?” Ash panted, his fingers reaching for the button of Eiji’s jeans.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Eiji joked, arching up so Ash could slide the denim down over his hips. He yelped in surprise when the cold air hit his thighs, but any startled dismay turned into laughter as Ash helped him shimmy out of the legs. One foot got hung up in its cuff, and Ash yanked the sock from his foot as he freed it. His mind flashed to the way Eiji’s toes had curled—the most honest reaction Ash had ever seen—the last time he’d made him come. 

Ash wanted to see that again.

He tossed the jeans onto the floor and— “Damn.” Ash’s mouth went dry and hungry.

Eiji gazed up at Ash, lying unselfconsciously across the sofa. He looked perfectly patient except for his lips, parted and damp with the night’s kissing. He could’ve been a fucking underwear model in nothing but a pair of tiny black shorts, exposing miles of glorious, golden skin. Ash swallowed hard, searching for his voice. “You look amazing.”

Eiji smiled, reaching up to push Ash’s hair from his forehead. “You look amazing,” he countered, smiling, and Ash wanted nothing more than to make him feel good. He wanted to make him feel so damn good that he’d forget how precarious their happiness was right then. Ash ached to lose himself, too, in Eiji’s pleasure.

He dipped his head low, sliding his lips over Eiji’s shallow, perfect navel. Eiji gasped, his diaphragm jerking and his stomach flexing tight and hard. Ash swirled his tongue across that taut skin, felt muscles tense and shiver as he inched lower. What was smooth and lean on his own body rippled here, a hard-earned topography that Ash wanted to explore until he’d learned by heart the taste and feel of every muscle.

Ash’s need, that feeling that had gotten so out of hand in Colorado, was starting to wake up inside him. He wanted to worship this man with his lips and his tongue, wanted to make him writhe and moan and cry out for more. “Eiji,” he whispered against the waistband of Eiji’s shorts. He traced the edge with the tip of his tongue and Eiji shuddered beneath him. “I need you.” 

He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of Eiji’s waistband, skimming his lips over new skin centimeter by centimeter until Eiji gasped. His cock, still tucked inside the fabric, twitched violently. Ash grinned and traced a small star with his tongue, just at the point where smooth skin gave way to a sprinkling of dark hair. 

“A-Ash.” Eiji’s voice was unsteady. Ash liked that. He liked being Eiji’s undoing.

Ash slid his hands to either side of Eiji’s hips, ready to reveal the rest of him in one quick movement. But then Eiji cried out, his body curling reflexively in obvious pain. That’s when Ash saw it.

The bruise was huge and dark, discoloring Eiji’s entire left hip. It was fresh, black and red in the dim light, though starting to purple across its feathered edges. “Holy shit,” Ash said, scrambling off of Eiji, terrified he’d hurt him more. He scooted down the couch, putting several inches between them. “Did that happen when you fell? Why didn’t you say something?”

But Ash already knew the answer. He hadn’t asked. He’d been raging about Owen, obsessed with the idea that Eiji’s coach could ruin everything for them. And then he’d been pissed that Eiji seemed to be defending the guy. In truth, Ash had almost forgotten that Eiji had slipped, hadn’t given the first thought to whether or not he’d been hurt.

Ash pictured Eiji squeezed into those narrow auditorium seats. Next to Michael at the pizza place, not saying a word as the boy bumped and jostled, unable to sit still. All that time, he must’ve been in so much pain, and Ash had been willfully oblivious.

What a selfish bastard.

“It’s okay,” Eiji insisted. “It only hurt for a second, when you grabbed it. It’s fine now.”

Ash didn’t believe it. He knew bruises like that. Dino used to kick him sometimes, whenever he’d thought just knocking Ash down wasn't enough for him to learn some lesson. “Do you need to see a doctor?” he asked Eiji now, remembering how he used to beg Golzine to take him to the hospital, only to get another kick for whining.

“No!” Eiji waved his hands, forcing a laugh. “Seriously, it looks worse than it is.” 

It looked obscene, an algae bloom just beneath Eiji’s perfect skin.

Ash shouldn’t have ignored that coach’s presence in New York. Shouldn’t have assumed that he’d give up like a rational person once Eiji told him to get lost. Ash had experience with men like that. His whole goddamn life had been men like that. Eiji probably hadn’t realized that Owen would find him again, that Owen would hurt him. But Ash? Ash knew better.

Ash should’ve been proactive.

“You’re hurt because I didn’t deal with Owen myself.”

Eiji sighed and shook his head. “It was an accident,” he countered softly. 

Ash paused, really trying to listen to what Eiji was saying. He tried to accept it, struggled to match Eiji’s energy and salvage their night, but something dark inside him was starting to stir. It was the part of his brain that had thrived as Golzine’s enforcer, the part of his brain that Blanca had trained to be cold and lethal. 

How hard could it really be to find where Owen was staying? Ash didn’t have a gun anymore, but he’d already proven he could still do damage with just his fists. And his butterfly knife was upstairs, in his nightstand’s drawer.

Eiji’s hand on his shoulder made him blink. 

Eiji slid onto Ash’s legs, settling into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Ash’s neck and his legs around his waist. “Hey,” he said softly, bumping their foreheads gently, bumping Ash out of his own darkness and back into this room with Eiji. 

“I’m fine, Ash. It really looks worse than it is. I swear.” His eyes were dark and earnest and Ash wanted to believe him. 

Ash tilted his head to see the bruise again. He flinched. 

With one hand, Eiji turned Ash’s head back to his face. “I don’t care if it hurts a little,” he insisted. “I care about this.” He pressed a brief kiss onto Ash’s lips. “I care about you.”

He dipped his head so that its crown leaned hot against Ash’s sternum. His silky hair tickled. “Dammit, Ash,” Eiji said, almost too quiet to hear. “We deserve this.”

Ash leaned down, pressing his face into Eiji’s hair. He inhaled deeply, trying to convince himself that Eiji’s scent had the power to drive out bad feelings. It worked. The last tendrils of rage curled away from him like smoke. 

“You’ll tell me if it hurts?” It was almost more of a concession than he wanted to make, but Eiji was right—they deserved this night.

Eiji glanced up at Ash with a tiny smile. “I promise,” he murmured. “Now, remind me why you’re still wearing a shirt?” 

Ash was startled to notice it. Eiji’s slender fingers slid beneath the collar, slowly easing the fabric from Ash’s shoulders. He tilted his head and the lamplight shone across his face. Eiji’s lips were swollen from kissing and his cheeks were streaked with the evidence of Ash’s stubble. 

Ash reached out to cup Eiji’s jaw, sliding his thumb across Eiji’s skin in an attempt to soothe the scratch. It hadn’t occurred to him to be careful how he kissed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning up to press lips to the reddest scratch.

Eiji’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a frown. “It doesn’t hurt,” he insisted, touching the spot Ash had kissed. “It’s just proof of love. Like a hickey.” He traced one finger along Ash’s cheekbone. “You have the same, here.”

Ash remembered studying his much-younger face in so many bathroom mirrors, seeing his own cheeks rubbed raw with the rasp of stubble. It hadn’t felt like proof of love then. He remembered hickeys, too—Dino used to mark him deliberately, the bruises on his throat declaring him off-limits at the kind parties where boys served hors d'oeuvres before dinner and other things afterward.

He’d left the same marks on Eiji, in Colorado. Hadn’t thought twice about it, too starved for good touches to realize that they were nearly identical to the bad ones. Suddenly, that juxtaposition was too obvious. It sucked the air out of the room. 

His heart throbbed painfully and blood rushed in his ears. “Eiji,” he said, but didn’t know how to continue. Did he want to apologize again? Did he want to stop? An ache built up slowly in his chest. What was wrong with him? Why was he getting lost in his head, when everything he ever wanted was right there in front of him, begging for his attention?

Eiji’s hands went still. “Is this still okay? Do you need to slow down?” he asked, catching his lower lip between his teeth uncertainly. “Do you need to stop?” A crease of worry pinched his eyebrows.

Ash was immediately chagrined. Why was he like this? Hadn’t gone to therapy every week for months until he was sick to death of hearing his own voice? Wasn’t that how someone like him became someone not like him? It wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore. 

He and Eiji had already done this before, he reminded himself. It had been extraordinary and no one had been hurt. There was no reason to get twisted up about it now.

Ash took a steadying breath and reached out to trace the sharp edge of Eiji’s jaw. “I think I just needed a second to get my head straight,” he said, but his voice sounded weak. “It’s fine now.” He leaned over to press a kiss to Eiji’s bee stung lips. 

Eiji kissed him hard, then pulled back and studied his face for a beat too long. “You’re really okay?” 

“Yeah,” Ash insisted. “I want to do this. I want to do this with you.”

Eiji tilted his intense gaze toward him, and Ash knew that, somehow, he understood the rest of it: But I don’t know how to be gentle. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I’m scared that I’m too damaged for this.

“I’ve got you, Ash,” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do.”

The words might’ve seemed empty if they’d come from anyone else, but Ash believed Eiji. He trusted him. And it was suddenly obvious that he needed Eiji to take the lead, or he’d second guess every action and they’d never move forward. 

For a long moment, Eiji seemed afraid to continue, and Ash worried he’d already made things too weird. Then Eiji reached out one hand to trace a line from the dip between Ash’s clavicles, down his sternum, and over his abdomen to the waistband of his boxers. Ash’s skin shivered under the featherlight touch, but he forced his eyes to stay open, to watch each minute change in Eiji’s face as he moved. “What do you want?” Eiji asked, his eyelids low as he watched his own fingers skim across Ash’s skin.

“I just need your hands on me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eiji promised, but he didn’t make a move. He waited for Ash, because, Ash realized, he had insisted on it before—no unexpected touches, verify everything.

He didn’t want that anymore. He couldn’t bear to have Eiji treat him like he was damaged. Not this time. “Whatever you want to do,” Ash insisted, “let’s do it.”

“Ash, you’re what matters to me,” Eiji said. “Not what we do. If you need to stop, we’ll stop.”

“I don’t wanna stop.” Ash was getting agitated, frustrated. He needed this to be normal. “I promise, Eiji, I will never, ever regret anything I do with you. So tell me what you want.” 

For a long time, Eiji sat there, half on Ash’s lap and less than half-dressed, studying his face like he was trying to discover something there. Ash knew that this request of his seemed half-baked—it was the opposite of every rule he’d ever put in place between them—but he hoped Eiji would understand. 

Ash was paralyzed, caught between safety and desire, but he trusted Eiji completely. He didn’t want to be safe anymore. 

He just wanted to be wherever Eiji was.

“I love you,” Ash said, his voice cracking. “I trust you, and I need you to trust me. Just tell me what you want.” 

“Okay,” Eiji whispered, burying his face in Ash’s neck. “I can do that.” Ash felt his breath staggering against his ear as Eiji gathered his courage and chose to believe him. His fingers traced the elastic edge of Ash’s boxers, this time, boldly diving beneath.

Eiji cupped Ash in his warm hand, rubbed his thumb up his shaft. Ash’s whole body trembled in pleasure. “I want to make you come.” Eiji’s lips were on Ash’s earlobe. “I want to make you forget everyone else who’s ever touched you.” His fingers wrapped around him. 

Ash leaned backward against the sofa, arching into Eiji's hand. He would give this man anything, absolutely anything he wanted. Ash kissed him—God, it was so fucking easy to kiss him—and let the pleasure wash over him. Soon the last scraps of their clothes were discarded on the floor, and the sound of Eiji’s panting breath in Ash’s ears wiped away any thoughts of his previous life.

*

Ash’s shirt was buttoned up wrong. Eiji leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Ash used a corkscrew to open a bottle of white wine, and the asymmetrical configuration of the front of Ash’s shirt was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen. When had Ash Lynx ever been sloppy?

And yet here he was, sloppy because of him. Because he trusted him, cared about him. Loved him. Emotion swelled in Eiji’s chest, almost too huge to contain.

The wine poured smoothly into two matched goblets, and Ash slid one over to him. “This is the last of the bottles we bought for the wedding,” he said casually, as though this were any other night or any other conversation.

Eiji didn’t know how to be casual with Ash right then.

He took a deep drink from the glass Ash handed him. It was tart, dry, and expensive. Just how Ash liked it. He remembered drinking the same wine at their wedding, toasting and laughing because, back then, they’d been sure they could pull this off. Now there were less than 48 hours left, and Eiji wasn’t sure he could survive with the whole mass of the earth between them. Not now, after everything.

“I still have to go back to Japan.” It was easier just to say it than to wait for Ash to start.

Ash closed his eyes for a long moment, and his pale face grimaced like he was in physical pain. He set down his glass. “I can’t follow you there,” he said softly.

The words were bruising, even more than the dull ache that had started to throb in his hip after all that… activity. Everything had seemed impossible, so Eiji had been trying not to hope, but the hope had been there just the same—Ash with him in Tokyo, eating tonkatsu soba and learning to speak the language, Ash taking the train to meet his mother. “Oh. I see.”

It came out harder than he meant, like he blamed Ash for any of this. He didn’t—not really—but he didn’t actually understand, either. Ash was one of the few people he knew who had the resources to drop everything and travel wherever he wanted.  “I guess your life is here.” 

“No,” Ash shook his head sharply. “That’s not it.” He inhaled deeply, his brow furrowing. “I’ve been convicted of felonies,” he explained slowly. The word seemed almost to stick in his throat, and Eiji realized that this was far more complicated than Ash simply wanting or not wanting a life with him. “And there are lots of places that won’t even let me visit, let alone come to live.”

Eiji swallowed hard. “Are you sure Japan is one of those places?” he asked. 

Ash nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reaching out to hook his pinkie finger around Eiji’s. “I checked. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Eiji insisted, but tears were threatening behind his eyes. This wasn’t something he’d considered. He’d been trying for weeks to convince himself that going to Japan would be okay. It’d give Ash the chance to follow him or not. And if he did follow, then maybe, one day, Eiji’s green card application would be accepted and they could come back. Together.

“But I still have to leave.” Eiji felt almost frantic, desperate to make this work. “It’s the only way I’ll be allowed to come back,” he told Ash now, shaking his head. “I have to show them I can do it the right way, even if it takes--”

“Years,” Ash finished, frowning. 

“I need to be allowed to come back,” Eiji whispered. He reached up to touch the hair that flopped over Ash’s eyes. It was so pale, almost glowing in the dimness of the under-cabinet lighting. “More than anything.”

“So you haven’t given up?” Ash asked, catching Eiji’s gaze and holding it. He looked fierce, like a man with nothing else to lose. “You would stay if there was another way?”

“Of course I would! But there’s no time for a new scheme.” And there weren’t any schemes left. Not that Eiji could see. He let his hand slide to the back of Ash’s head and he stood on tiptoe, leaning up so that his lips brushed across Ash’s. He wanted more of that. He wanted to cram a whole lifetime of loving into the next two nights. “Ash, I would do anything in the world to stay with you. Anything that wouldn’t land you in prison, anyway. But what’s left to try?”

“Would you pole vault?” Ash looked up at him with intense eyes. His jaw clenched, like he was afraid of Eiji’s answer. “Would you pole vault to stay with me?”

The question felt like a slap. How was he even supposed to interpret such a suggestion? Eiji would love to pole vault again, was probably going to find a coach and pick up his training as soon as he could, but it would have to be in Japan. “I can’t go back to Owen.” he said in a low voice. “I know Toronto is closer, and I can use my ESTA to visit again, but—”

Ash scowled. “Fuck that guy,” he swore. He set down his wine glass violently enough to slosh some out onto the counter. “I’m absolutely not talking about you going back to Toronto. I’m not talking about you going anywhere. I mean staying here. Finding a coach who’ll train you here in New York.”

“I can’t stay in New York!”

“Would you pole vault for the United States?” Ash asked. “If it meant you could stay, would you be willing to do that?” 

“Like on the US team?” Eiji’s head spun. It wasn’t possible, was it? “There are rules. Qualifiers. I can’t just—”

Ash touched Eiji’s lips with the tip of one finger, stopping Eiji’s words and breath in one soft move. The sensation made him gasp, cutting short his stream of protests. He nearly forgot what he’d been saying at all. Pausing for an instant, he was able to focus on Ash, still just inches away from him. He looked so hopeful, his eyes wide and bright, his lips hiding a smile.

“Clarice Fisher told me she might be able to get your status changed, if you agreed to defect to our team.”

Eiji hadn’t thought it was possible. Sure, he knew of some athletes, usually from North Korea or, decades ago, the Soviet Union, who had made deals with the US government to defect. But they’d been brilliant, once-in-a-generation talents who were fleeing dictatorships. Eiji was just Eiji. And Japan wasn’t any kind of threat to anyone, especially its own citizens.

And yet they wanted him? They wanted him to vault for the US Olympic team? The idea was dizzying. Way too easy. It was a solution made for fiction. 

Like marrying for a green card. 

“Really?” Eiji whispered as if they weren’t alone in the room. “That’s all I’d have to do?”

Ash grinned. Had Eiji ever seen Ash grin? It was breathtaking. “I think so.”

He didn’t believe it. Not quite. He needed to talk to Clarice. “She called me this morning!” Eiji suddenly remembered, his hand sliding eagerly into his pocket for his phone. It came up empty, and he remembered, with a pang, that it had been destroyed.

“Shit. Eiji. I’m sorry about your phone,” Ash said. “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.” 

“This can’t wait until tomorrow!” Eiji’s heart was pounding beneath his sternum. His mouth was dry. He gulped down the wine in his glass and reached for his wallet to dig out Clarice’s card. “Give me your phone!”

Ash plucked the wallet out of Eiji’s fingers. He set it on the counter. “Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “It’s the middle of the night. Let’s go to bed.” 

Eiji wasn’t sure how he’d get any sleep with this hanging over him. He opened his mouth to protest again, looking up into Ash’s face.

What he saw there made him forget about Clarice Fisher, about pole vaulting, about immigration. 

Eiji had never seen Ash looking quite so open. His eyes were wide and green, even in the dim light, and an uncertain smile curled, lopsided, on his lips. He looked almost shy. 

He picked up the bottle of wine in one hand and reached for Eiji’s fingers with the other. “I want to drink this with you,” he said in a low voice. “Upstairs.”

The suggestion sent a ribbon of heat sliding from his heart to his stomach and then lower. “That’s,” Eiji squeaked, his voice failing him. “That’s a good idea.”

Ash’s shy smile turned wicked. “I’m nothing but good ideas, Eiji. You should listen to me more often. Now, let’s go to bed.”

*

On the nightstand, next to the empty wine bottle, the clock read seven past two. Ash was sound asleep, but Eiji’s mind was racing.

In the last twelve hours, his whole life had changed. 

He curled around Ash’s body, burying his face in his hair. He couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to do that, that Ash was his for real, rather than just a very confusing hoax. Eiji had given up on pretending a long time ago, but that had led to too many secrets and suppressed feelings. This—holding Ash in his arms while he slept—was what he’d wanted for so long. And staying there beyond tomorrow? That was more than he’d allowed himself to hope for in weeks. 

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Tomorrow would be there soon enough, and all he wanted was the oblivion of sleep, wrapped up in Ash’s scent and warmth.

After long minutes, Eiji realized that his whole body ached, his left hip especially. Ash had been gentle with him—almost too careful, really—but all the movement had taken its toll. He slid free of Ash’s body and onto the cold side of the bed before rolling over to get up.

The medicine cabinet was curated more for headaches than sports medicine, but Eiji found a tiny pot of Tiger Balm behind Ash’s aftershave. He applied it gingerly, in places wincing at the pressure of his own fingers. It started working quickly, the rush of cold numbing the damaged nerves. Then he took some ibuprofen and some aspirin, doubling up against each brand’s advice, but needing to dull the pain enough to sleep.

That would take time, though, and he was still wide awake. Tea would be nice, as long as he didn’t let the kettle whistle. While that heated, Eiji found himself longing for his phone, wanting to scroll the time away. It was frustrating, and he wondered how people managed to wait for anything, before smartphones.

Eiji wandered into the dark living room. The couch was still rumpled, pillows on the floor. He was loathe to tidy it, though. There would be time enough tomorrow to erase the evidence—for now he wanted to savor the memory of Ash’s hands all over his body.

His laptop lay closed on the coffee table. He’d left it there that morning, thinking he would spend the evening going through his camera’s SD card. It felt like a plan made in a previous life.

He booted it up, figuring he could schedule some Instagram posts while he drank his tea. The browser was already open to Insta, and he scrolled through a few new posts before noticing that he had a message. He’d been chatting with a photographer whose work he followed, and so expected it to be her.

It wasn’t.

The avatar was Owen’s grinning face. Eiji hadn’t realized that Owen knew how to find him on social media. Online, his coach had always acted years older than he was, using Facebook only to keep up with his sister’s family and ignoring all other social media. But here he was, on Eiji’s Instagram.

Eiji clicked warily on the message.

Meet me at LaGuardia Airport at 6AM, and pack a bag. Unless you’re eager to get your thug “husband” arrested for assault, we’re going home. 

It turns out that plea deals are a matter of public record in New York. It’s amazing what you can learn with just a little bit of digging. Do you want to find out how much it’ll take to get him locked up for good?

The tea kettle started its low whistle, and Eiji darted across the room to take it off the heat, terrified of waking Ash. He moved the it off the burner and turned off the fire, but he couldn't bring himself to make tea now.

He leaned against the counter, his head in his hands. His heart and his hip throbbed painfully to the same rhythm and he half wished he hadn’t gotten out of bed. The world would’ve still fallen apart, come morning, but at least then, Eiji would’ve had one last night of sleeping peacefully in Ash’s arms.

Chapter Text

TWENTY-TWO

Eiji pressed his face against Ash’s chest, listening to the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heartbeat for a few more precious minutes. Ash’s arms, which had come around him as soon as he came near, gathered him closer. Eiji blinked back miserable tears—the fact that he just discovered Ash’s cuddly side nearly broke Eiji’s resolve.

“Eiji?” Ash’s voice was groggy, barely conscious.

“I love you,” Eiji said, a hitch in his throat. “For the rest of my life, I’ll love you.”

He felt Ash’s smile against his hair. “Good,” he murmured, smug even in sleep.

For a long time, Eiji lay still against Ash’s chest as his husband’s breaths deepened and his body grew heavy and still. Tears slipped down Eiji’s cheeks, and he turned his head so they would fall on the pillow, rather than risk Ash feeling them on his skin. He didn’t know what he’d do if Ash woke up for real. He didn’t know how to explain the decision he’d made, didn’t want to try to convince Ash to accept that he’d rather have Ash hate him from the safety of his home than love him from a prison cell.

It was four in the morning, and Eiji hadn’t slept at all. He’d gone back to bed after reading Owen’s message, but only because he wanted to spend his last hours in New York as close to Ash as possible. He’d lain awake as the minutes ticked by, agonized by Ash’s nearness and yet unable to give up even a moment of it.

But he was out of time. Carefully untangling his limbs from Ash’s, Eiji slid out of bed.

He made as little sound as possible as he pulled his suitcase out of the wardrobe. He didn’t dare switch on the light, so he filled it in the dark. It was fuller now than it had been when he’d left Ibe’s place, because he’d finally let himself settle into a home.

But Eiji didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to consider what it was—who it was—that made this home.

Instead, he focused on Ibe. Eiji would have to call him, once he bought a new phone. He imagined his friend’s disappointment when he realized that everything Ibe and Hana had done for him had been for nothing. Eiji had relied on a lot of people during his three short months there, and what did he have to show for it? He would be lucky to stay in touch with any of them, after this. Sunny might forgive him, but Shorter wouldn’t, and who could blame him?

Eiji’s fingers brushed plastic, and he realized it was the garment bag that held his tuxedo. It hung in the back of the wardrobe, next to Ash’s. Eiji took a moment to unzip it, to look at the incredible gift Ash had given him. In the darkness, he couldn't see the threads that matched Ash’s eyes, but he could feel them—fine, even stitches under sensitive fingertips. There wouldn’t be any occasion to wear it in Toronto, and he couldn’t bear to have it with him anyway. Even if somehow managed to win the gold medal, no celebrational soirée would be good enough for that tux. Not without Ash.

Eiji zipped up the bag and pushed it back into its place. It was better not to linger on things that could only bring him pain.

He stooped to find his extra running shoes, groping in the dark corners of the wardrobe until his fingers brushed something firm. Something that definitely wasn’t a pair of running shoes.

Eiji removed the package carefully. Ash must have hidden it there, but why? It was wrapped in heavy paper, and it wasn’t his business. Not at all.

His curiosity spiked.

The paper rustled as he carefully unfolded it, loud enough that, more than once, Eiji paused to make sure Ash hadn’t woken.

When he finally peered through the darkness at the unwrapped item, it took a moment to understand what he was seeing. It was a shadow box, about two inches deep and framed in dark wood. Three medals were pinned to the black velvet backing, his Olympic bronze in the center.

Celebrated.

Eiji had no idea how Ash had gotten ahold of them, or how long he’d kept them hidden away, but seeing them like that, ready for display, made his throat grow thick with emotion. Ash had been proud of these. Of Eiji’s winning them.

For a mad second, Eiji considered going back up the short flight of stairs. He considered waking Ash to thank him, to tell him that he was glad that he saw value in Eiji’s accomplishments, because that helped him see value in himself. He wanted to stay and kiss that man until the cops broke down the door and dragged them both to jail.

But no.

Eiji swallowed the lump in his throat and clumsily re-wrapped the shadow box. Ash would know that Eiji had seen them, but there was no helping that. He’d leave the medals—Ash would probably give them back to Ibe, though it was possible he’d just throw them out. Because after today, he probably wouldn't want to look at them.

In the kitchen, Eiji turned on the under-cabinet lights. He found a pen in the junk drawer next to a pad of shopping list paper. He’d gotten used to writing letters to Ash. It had been so surprising, at first, to realize how easy it was to be honest on paper, how effortlessly the truth poured itself out, even while describing made-up scenarios. Even when he tried not to, he’d ended up exposing his soul in those letters, and now he mustered the strength to do it one last time.

A while later, he wiped his cheeks dry with his sleeve. He’d said everything he could. It was up to Ash now, to accept Eiji’s feelings or not.

After piling his coat on top of his suitcase and camera bag by the front door, Eiji crept back up the stairs one more time. He’d meant to leave the note on the table, but he realized he couldn't do it—couldn’t leave without seeing Ash’s face one more time.

The room was as dark as midnight. With the curtains pulled tight and most of the lights off downstairs, the only illumination in the room was the blue glow of Ash’s alarm clock. Ash was burrowed deep beneath the duvet, still in the middle of the bed, where they’d been lying together.

He breathed softly, his lips parted, and Eiji was sure he’d never seen him so vulnerable. His hair looked white against the dark pillow. Eiji ached to touch it.

Instead, he crept around to Ash’s side of the bed. His pile of books—to be read, Ash had explained, though Eiji hadn’t understood how someone could be interested in that many books at one time—had grown. His precarious stacking sent a pang of tenderness through Eiji’s heart. He wanted to watch that pile change and grow. He wanted to lie next to Ash, watching anime on his tablet while Ash read.

He wanted to stay. God, he wanted to stay.

He tucked the note beneath Ash’s glasses, and in a rush—because there was no way he’d be able to do it if he gave it any thought at all—he slipped the platinum wedding band off his finger. He set it down, a tiny paperweight to keep the letter in place. Even with the note explaining everything, he didn’t dare hope that Ash would understand. Ash’s feelings for Eiji were new and fragile. Surely they'd crumble under this kind of betrayal.

Eiji was halfway down the stairs when his phone pulsed in his pocket. His cab had arrived to take him to the airport. It was time to go.

*

Ash was naturally sluggish in the morning. It’d been a problem before—on the street he always had to wake sharp, not knowing what kind of situation he’d find when he opened his eyes. With Dino, the threats were less varied, but just as dangerous; he’d learned right away not to let his guard down for a moment in that man’s house.

Things were different in the apartment. He woke slowly, lingering in the pleasant haze of half-consciousness. He let himself be lazy. After all, he was safe here. He had a normal life, his own place, and Eiji.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that Eiji was not in the bed with him. This was disappointing, but not surprising. Eiji almost always got up first. Ash wrapped his arms around Eiji’s pillow and closed his eyes, happy to drift while he waited for the sound of the coffee machine.

The night before had been… well, Ash was pretty sure it had altered his brain chemistry. Even after everything they’d shared in Colorado, he hadn’t been prepared for the naked intimacy of being with Eiji like that, with no more secrets between them. Knowing it was real—the promise that it would be forever—had altered every sensation. Ash tried to remember it all, to give his brain a play-by-play recap of every word Eiji had said to him, but something about the night had muddled his senses and the timeline was all fucked up.

But it didn’t really matter how jumbled his memory was. It had all happened. Every kiss, every touch. Every whispered promise and reassurance. And they could do it all again whenever they wanted. Once they cleared things with Clarice Fisher, it would be just him and Eiji and all the time in the world.

He listened for Eiji’s footsteps downstairs, for the sound of the faucet or microwave. He breathed deeply, searching for the scent of coffee, of cooking food.

Nothing.

Maybe Eiji had gone for a run? He did that sometimes, running before breakfast. Not usually on weekends, though. It was still dark out. He hoped Eiji had taken his reflective jacket. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, thinking he’d check the weather.

Then he saw the blue paper, folded up and tucked beneath… Eiji’s ring?

Ash’s stomach felt like he’d fallen thirty feet and he suddenly wasn’t sleepy at all.

His hands shook as he slid his glasses on and reached for the note. Eiji’s ring slid to the edge of the nightstand. Ash saved it from falling onto the floor, curling his fingers around it protectively. Then he switched on the lamp and read.

Dear Ash,

I’m sorry. Let me start with that. A million times, I’m sorry. Knowing that this letter is going to hurt you makes me sick, and yet I’m still writing, still planning to leave it for you to find once I’m gone. Because you deserve to know where I’m going and why.

Owen sent me a message last night. He said I had to go back to Toronto with him, or he would go to the police and press charges against you for assault. He knows how much trouble you’d be in, because plea deals are public information.

What else can I do, Ash? He’ll really do it. And I can’t allow that.

You mean everything to me. Everything. And so I have to do everything I can to keep you safe, even if it means leaving. I told you last night that I would pole vault to stay with you, but now I have to pole vault to keep you free.

You’ve been hurt so much in your life. The fact that I’m adding to that hurt is killing me. You have no idea how much I long to crawl back into bed beside you and stay, consequences be damned.

But that’s selfish. It will be so much worse if you get arrested, if they end up charging you with all the things from before. And I have the power to keep that from happening.

Owen will be satisfied with Paris. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll come back after the Olympics, I promise. I’ll come back and ask you to marry me all over again, for real this time. I only hope you’ll forgive me and say yes.

I know you loved me last night. Please keep loving me, Ash. Even while I’m far away from you, my soul is always with you. I love you. For the rest of my life, I’ll love only you.

Yours forever,

Eiji

Ash read the letter twice before the static in his brain began to resolve itself into thoughts and images: Owen grabbing Eiji’s arm on the street, the feathering darkness of the bruise on Eiji’s hip. He could still feel Eiji’s trembling that night Ash had found him on the roof, almost catatonic because his coach had found him in New York.

Right that moment, Eiji was with Owen.

Ash’s clock read a quarter after seven. How long had he been gone? Was he already on a plane, on his way back to a life he didn’t want? A life so unbearable that he’d run away with only the hope that things would be better somewhere else?

Ash still remembered the smell of the Greyhound bus that brought him to New York. He remembered tearing up the note his father had pinned to his shirt and eating the pieces, the mush of it between his teeth and the bitter sharpness of the ink on his tongue. He remembered thinking that he couldn’t risk someone finding it, using it to force him back to Cape Cod. Because he would’ve died there. Even at eight years old, he knew he was running for his very life.

Was that how Eiji had felt, leaving Toronto last fall? And what torment was he dealing with right now? For Ash’s sake?

Ash jumped out of bed. He had to get to LaGuardia. If they hadn’t left yet, he would convince Eiji to stay—he didn’t care what it took. If Eiji was gone, he’d follow. He’d written Owen’s address on dozens of envelopes over the past two months and knew exactly where to find him.

The clothes he and Eiji had discarded the night before were still on the living room floor. Ash found his jeans and grabbed a sweater, already shoving his wallet and phone into his pocket. He was buttoning his coat when the buzzer sounded.

His breath stopped in his lungs as hope pushed painfully against the inside of his sternum. His fingers shook as he pressed the intercom. “Eiji?” he croaked.

“It’s us,” Shorter’s voice called. He didn’t sound thrilled to be there, and frustration spiked like a headache behind Ash's eyes. He didn’t have time for distractions.

“We need to see Eiji right away!” Sunny insisted, her tone echoing the urgency in Ash’s body.

“I’m on my way down.”

In the hallway, he punched the elevator button, but he didn’t hear anything. It was probably all the way in the lobby, goddammit. After thirty seconds, he yanked open the door to the stairwell instead. He took the steps two at a time, fast enough that he had to hold the railing to keep from tumbling. With each floor, his brain shifted more firmly into panic as his mind cycled through all the things that could go wrong. All the ways he could lose Eiji over this.

He burst into the lobby, breathless.

Shorter was leaning against the wall while Sunny paced nervously. Shorter’s shredded jeans and Sunny’s candy-apple red hair stood in marked contrast to the beige Carrara marble wainscoting, and the doorman—Eiji would’ve known his name, but Ash had no fucking clue—eyed them both warily.

“Friends of mine,” Ash said brusquely, trying to look like someone trustworthy who wasn’t on the verge of doing something rash.

“I told her to just call you,” Shorter started, rolling his eyes. Even with the shades, Ash could tell they were bloodshot and exhausted. “But no, she had to come all the way over before the fucking sun was up.”

“I told you,” Sunny protested hotly, “both numbers went straight to voicemail!” She tilted her head to glance around Ash. “Where’s Eiji? I’ve been trying to call him since last night.”

Ash remembered the phone crunching beneath his tires. “His phone broke, and I gotta go.” He fished his keys out of his pocket. “Shorter, trade me. Your bike will get me to the airport quicker.”

Shorter stood up straight, catching the keys Ash tossed. “Airport?” he asked.

“Is Eiji upstairs? He needs to get to LaGuardia by eight-thirty,” Sunny insisted, ignoring their exchange. “That coach we talked about? Jill Lindemann? She’ll be in Bolivia for the next three weeks, but she’s willing to meet with Eiji before she goes. Her flight leaves a bit after nine.”

Shit. This meeting might be critical for Eiji’s future. He had no idea if the US government would require Eiji to already have a coach as part of their agreement. Ash’s head spun. “I think he’s already there,” he said. “At LaGuardia.” He reached into his coat pocket but didn’t pull out the note. It was too private, even for Shorter and Sunny.

“Why the fuck would he be there?” Shorter looked more irritated than ever.

At the same time, Sunny’s face shifted from urgency to concern. “What happened? He said he wasn’t leaving until tomorrow!”

A sudden gust of cold air rushed around them as the lobby door opened. A woman in a houndstooth coat strode in amid a swirl of snowflakes. “Mister Callenreese!” Clarice Fisher’s eyes widened in surprise, but she shook it off like the snow on her shoulders. “I’m so glad I caught you. I need to speak with your husband.” She stopped in front of Ash and took off her gloves, “I called several times yesterday, but my calls went to voicemail. I’m astonished he didn’t call back—time is getting very short!”

Ash closed his eyes and tried to ignore the band of tension that was tightening around his temples. He tried to remember how to be civilized. “His phone broke,” he explained again—his voice was hard and short, but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. “But he’s not here. And I really need to go.”

He held out a hand for Shorter’s keys, but his friend only cocked his head. “I don’t know, Ash,” he said. “It’s nasty out there and you haven’t ridden a bike in a couple of years.”

“Can you tell me where Mister Okumura is?” Clarice asked at nearly the same time. “I have paperwork for him to sign that needs to be filed today, or else he won’t be granted his extension.”

“Are you handling Eiji’s immigration application?” Sunny asked Clarice eagerly. “Is he going to be allowed to stay?”

The agent looked taken aback by Sunny’s enthusiasm. Or maybe she just didn’t think it was any of her business. Either way, she spoke to Ash instead. “We really don’t have much time.”

“Eiji’s at the airport!” Ash snapped. He felt caged there, with so many people demanding things of him. “I can’t stop him from leaving if I’m standing here talking to all of you!”

Shorter pulled out his keys and Ash snatched them before he could say a word. He took Shorter’s helmet from where he’d rested it on a side table. “Follow me, if you want. You can talk to him there, if I get to him in time.”

Clarice was clearly not happy with this turn of events, but she pressed her lips together and nodded sharply. “My car’s right outside. Can I give you two a lift?”

Ash didn’t stick around to hear more.

The snow from the night before was still falling, thick and wet, and though the sun was officially up, not much light cut through the dense clouds. Before he got even as far as 1st Avenue, Ash slid twice, barely righting the bike and keeping control of it both times. It took all his patience to stay at a reasonable pace—he’d ridden this bike a thousand times before—but after about ten minutes, he started to tap into muscle memory. By the time he reached the Midtown Tunnel, it was like he’d been born on a bike.

It was going to take forever to get to LaGuardia in that snowy mess, but he had no time for weather and traffic. He gritted his teeth and twisted up the throttle.

*

The airport was busy when Eiji arrived, never mind that it wasn’t yet six o’clock on a snowy Saturday morning. He paid the driver and hauled his suitcase out of the trunk. Snow was falling thick and fast—maybe they wouldn’t be able to take off. Maybe he’d be stuck in a cramped airplane cabin for hours. With Owen.

It didn’t take long for him to find his former coach. Owen was waiting outside the Dunkin Donuts, sitting at a cafe table with his bag at his feet. Eiji approached warily, reminding himself that he’d lived in this man’s house for two years, that he’d thought of him as a friend and mentor for most of that time. Owen wasn’t a monster.

He was just getting between Eiji and everything he wanted.

“I’m glad you decided to be sensible,” Owen said as soon as Eiji was in earshot. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

Eiji studied his coach as he walked the last few yards toward him. He wore a Blue Jays ball cap low over his forehead, probably hoping to draw attention from his face. It was a mess. He’d clearly seen a doctor—his nose was tidily bandaged—but Ash’s hit had left dark bruises beneath both eyes. He had a small cut across his bottom lip as well, and minor swelling basically everywhere. Remembering how alarmed he’d been being chased down on the street, Eiji was a tiny bit gratified to see him like that.

But that tingle of satisfaction was short-lived. What kind of a shit human being had he turned into that he was glad to see someone in pain?

“I’m gonna get a cup of coffee,” he mumbled, leaving his suitcase next to Owen and queuing up in the line before he got any kind of response.

Waiting for his turn to order, Eiji slid one hand into his pocket and found his house key. He ran his fingers idly over the arc of the fishbone’s spine, his fingers tracing the rise and fall of the line as they dipped between each golden bone. Even now, it soothed him to know that Ash had its match, that unless he was angry enough to throw it out, they’d be connected by this, at least, no matter what happened.

The whole situation had gotten complicated, tangled in ways that Eiji had never anticipated. He’d known from the first that he was in danger of falling in love with Ash, but he could see now that he’d vastly underestimated what that meant. People supposedly fell in and out of love every day, and yet Eiji couldn't help but wonder how that could be true. His connection to Ash went deep—the red string of fate wasn’t connected to their pinky fingers at all, but was instead embedded someplace deep and vital for life. He didn’t understand how he’d lived before Ash, how he’d not realized that so much of himself was missing.

And yet he’d chosen to leave. It was grotesque, as though he’d chosen to cut out his own organs and leave them behind. Even knowing that it was the only way to save Ash from a lifetime in a prison cell, it felt wrong.

He stole a glance at Owen, who didn’t hide the fact that he was watching him, probably waiting for him to run. But Eiji was through with running away. He’d left a mess behind in Toronto, and it was probably time for him to face it honestly.

He ordered his coffee and a frosted chocolate donut, the only minor rebellion he had left. He licked the icing as he strolled back to his coach, enjoying the narrowing of the man’s eyes. Processed sugar was the enemy in Owen’s eyes. Given the choice between giving one of his athletes crack cocaine or a donut, he’d probably choose the coke.

“What time does our flight leave?” he asked around a bite of sweet, flaky pastry.

Owen seemed taken aback. “Seven-fifty,” he said. Almost an hour then, to get through security.

Eiji nodded and sat down. They had time then, to talk. Since reading the Insta message, he’d considered his situation from all angles. Once he’d accepted that there didn’t seem to be a way to avoid doing what Owen demanded, Eiji had shifted gears. Staying angry would only make himself miserable, and as much as he felt he deserved to be miserable, he knew he couldn’t live like that for long. Going back to that dark place, fantasizing about injury or worse, wasn’t an option.

“Before I go anywhere with you,” Eiji said, “we need to talk some things out.”

Owen looked surprised. “Okay,” he agreed. “Talk, then.”

It was clear he had no idea what Eiji would say, which made sense. Eiji had stopped talking to Owen almost entirely months before he’d run away and they were practically strangers. He wondered if the coach even remembered how he’d been before, when they were still a team.

“I know things can’t go back to the way they were, in the beginning,” he explained. He took a bite of the donut, fortifying himself with chocolate and high-fructose corn syrup. “But they can’t stay like they were when I left, either. I’m not the same man I was then. I won’t take your shit lying down.”

It was like he could see the cells beneath Owen’s skin shifting, drawing him straighter, taller, indignant. His mouth curled down into a frown, his eyebrows lowered. With his banged-up face, he looked like an enforcer in a mobster movie, all muscles and fury.

For some reason, Eiji wasn’t afraid.

“I pushed you hard,” Owen growled. “I pushed you hard because you were never willing to push yourself.”

“That’s not true!” Eiji protested. “You watched me practice, day in and day out for years. I worked my ass off! How do you think I won gold medals all last year?”

Owen’s lips pressed together, dissatisfied. “You only ever did enough to secure the win. You refused to take any chances. You could have broken Duplantis’s record on two separate occasions in 2023, but you refused to try.”

He was talking about the Japan Championships in June and then the World’s in August. Eiji remembered both occasions well—his joy at winning gold had been spoiled by Owen’s quiet judgment. Disdain like what he’d seen in his father, years before. “It didn’t make sense,” he protested now. “Why risk everything on a jump that I’ve only managed maybe half a dozen times in practice?”

“You’re too damn pragmatic!” Owen grumbled. “Competing at this level is about risk. As long as you refuse to push yourself, refuse to take that risk, you’ll never be anything but second-best. Even if you win gold in Paris—which is highly unlikely, now that you’ve lost three months of training—as long as he holds that record, Mondo Duplantis will still be known as the best of all time.”

“Because he is the best!” Eiji was trying to keep his voice low, trying not to attract undue attention. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize him, but Owen was wearing his Team Japan jacket from World’s. The last thing they needed was to end up with a mention in the gossip section of next month’s Sports Illustrated. “Duplantis is the best because he wants it the most. When are you going to accept that I’m just not driven like that?”

Owen sighed. “You used to be, kid. You were the best I ever saw.” His tone shifted, the anger draining out and leaving only resignation. Sadness. “I watched you fight your way up in Tokyo. You were so young and green—you had no business on that winner’s podium. But you did it. Those last three jumps were made with nothing but bull-headed determination. Everyone in that stadium knew you weren’t gonna make it over that bar.”

“Everyone but me,” Eiji agreed. It was true. Even though, by the end, he was vaulting higher than he’d ever managed in practice, Eiji had known on the run-up for every one that he was going to have to figure out a way to get over the bar. And he had.

“Exactly,” Owen said. The shadow of a smile crossed his lips. “You were hungry for it. That’s why I agreed to coach you. That day, you showed the whole world what you were made of, and I wanted nothing more than to help you use that grit to hone your game into something extraordinary.”

Eiji remembered those treasured, early days. He’d been so devastated by his father’s rejection, and Owen’s kindness felt like a balm. He’d worked so hard for him, aching for the approval his father had withheld. And he’d found it, in the beginning.

But then, in late 2022, some reporter with Track and Field News started stirring the waters. They’d presented Eiji as the only possible competition for Duplantis at the World’s Athletics Championship to be held in Budapest the next year. Eiji wasn’t interested in the speculation, but Owen had eaten it up, determined that Eiji would win gold in Budapest and then again in Paris in 2024.

“But you changed the way you coached me after that Track and Field article,” Eiji remembered bitterly. “I was trying to experiment with speed and form, but all you cared about was height. When I discovered that half-twist that kept my legs up higher—”

“You only managed it on lower jumps!” Owen interrupted. “That twist can’t handle the velocity of a truly high vault.”

“You never let me try it enough to figure it out!” Eiji slammed both hands onto the table, sloshing his coffee. “The next competition was months away, and I had time experiment, but you kept raising the bar, kept insisting that I had enough spring to make it over, even without the twist.”

“And didn’t you?” Owen was starting to get agitated again. “Didn’t you mop the floor with the competition in the Japan Championship?”

He’d been the big fish in Japan’s small pond by then. Eiji could have won easily, even with his more experimental jumps. “It’s my jump!” Eiji was agitated now, bouncing his leg and wishing that he’d suggested they walk and talk at the same time. “I could’ve had a signature move after that meet! I could’ve perfected it before Worlds and still won the gold!”

“That twist of yours is more style than substance,” Owen insisted. “Why risk the whole shebang for some flashy move?”

“It works,” Eiji insisted flatly. “When I do it right, my heels can’t catch the bar. Why would you want to risk everything to break a meaningless record?” he countered. His voice cracked down the middle and he could barely catch his breath, like he’d been running in circles. “Raising the bar to Duplantis’s record was more than I needed to win! Doesn’t it make more sense just to take the win without the grandstanding?”

Owen just shook his head. “You have no drive to be a winner.” His tone was dismissive, like he’d given up any hope that Eiji would do well.

“And yet you’d go this far to get me back?” Eiji retorted, his face hot. When Owen didn’t answer, he continued, for the first time not afraid of saying the words out loud. “You said that if I didn’t win gold in Paris, I could find a new coach. Can I hold you to that?”

Owen froze, and even under the bruising, Eiji could see his face go pale. It was obvious that he hadn’t meant for Eiji to hear that conversation. “I never said that to you.” Owen’s voice was quiet. Stricken.

“And yet, I heard you say it,” Eiji told him simply. When he thought of this inevitable confrontation before, he’d been afraid that he might cry, afraid of giving Owen that satisfaction. But this feeling wasn’t the betrayal and sorrow that had hounded him for months. Confronting his coach with the words that had shattered him somehow broke the spell. They had no more power over him.

Owen’s opinion didn’t matter now. He wasn’t the center of Eiji’s world anymore.

“So you ran away?” Owen leaned across the table, looking hard into Eiji’s eyes. “You didn’t like what you heard so you just quit? What the hell kind of sportsmanship is that?”

And suddenly, every cell in Eiji’s body was exhausted. He was tired of fighting, tired of having to feel all of these emotions all over again as he rehashed them. “I was isolated and depressed, Owen,” he said at last. Hadn’t he tried to tell him, months ago? Why hadn’t Owen said or done anything at all to make Eiji feel less alone? “I was depressed and you ignored it. Even when I asked for help, you said that therapy would dull my edge.”

“It’s been well documented that antidepressants—”

Eiji felt angry tears prick the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t listen to that kind of reasoning. “I had to get out of there,” he interrupted. “I had to get out of there or I was going to die.” Shame puddled inside him, and he longed for Ash’s warm arms around him to help contain it. He didn't have the courage to see what reaction his words triggered in Owen, so he looked at the remains of his donut on the plate, crumbs and sprinkles the only evidence that anything had been there at all. “You have no idea how often I thought about throwing myself off the Leaside Bridge.”

“No.” Owen shook his head, disbelieving. “No—that’s just something you and your boyfriend came up with for your immigration scam. You were just moody and stubborn. Not suicidal.” He looked absolutely furious now. “I’m sure he was able to convince you of all kinds of ridiculous things—a man like that can only manipulate and coerce. God only knows what his motive was to target you. It’s a good thing I came to get you before—”

Owen fell silent as Eiji’s chair squawked against the floor. He stood suddenly, and the movement sent the flimsy seat clattering to the tiled floor behind him. It was one thing for Owen to criticize him, to reduce him to nothing but stats and numbers, but he didn’t get to placate himself with lies about Ash. “We aren’t talking about him,” Eiji warned in a low voice. “We are never going to talk about him.”

For a long beat, Owen simply stared at him. Eiji hoped he was rewriting all of his assumptions about Eiji and how to control him. Because it wasn’t going to work anymore.

“Fine.” Owen stood and picked up his suitcase. “We don’t need to talk about him for this to work. We just need you to jump like you mean it.”

They walked to the gate in stony silence. Eiji was glad he’d gotten to say all the things he’d needed to, but that victory was far too small to fill the empty space inside him. That space was vast and hollow, and shaped like Ash Lynx.

He wondered if Ash had woken up yet. If he’d realized that Eiji was gone. It made Eiji queasy to think of how Ash might feel—total abandonment in the wake of such intimacy. He’d hoped, writing the letter, that Ash might forgive him.

But that was impossible, right?

He glanced at Owen’s misshapen nose. “How can you even prove that Ash is the one who did this to you?” Eiji asked, pausing just before getting into the line for security.

Owen sighed. “For someone who claims to be one, you definitely don’t think like a photographer,” he said. His tone was impatient, like he was as sick of talking with Eiji as Eiji was with him. “Security cameras, Eiji. There were at least two of them pointed our way, and no one’s gonna mistake your husband’s ridiculous car.”

Eiji remembered the moment viscerally—the sound of Ash’s feet landing hard on the concrete, the wetter, meatier sound of Owen’s nose breaking under Ash’s fist. The bruise on his hip ached, and Eiji could almost feel Owen’s hand on his arm, grabbing him.

He set down his suitcase. “Cameras?”

*

Ash had been hoping that the snow would work in his favor, but apparently the airport had prepared for it. He scanned the screen that listed the arrivals and departures, disappointed that it wasn’t full of delays and cancellations. The board showed two flights headed to Toronto—American Airlines at eight-thirty and Delta at nine-fifteen. But what was it that Eiji had said about flying with Owen? Back when they’d bought him the decoy ticket, he’d joked that he’d never been in an American airplane—because Owen only flew Air Canada.

Ash’s eyes skimmed over the screen once more. Nothing. Apparently Air Canada wasn’t flying to Toronto from LaGuardia that morning. A sick despair surged through Ash’s body. Was he at the wrong airport? Would Owen have taken Eiji all the way to JFK?

It would take at least thirty minutes to get all the way across Queens, longer in the snow. And what if he got there to find out that there weren’t any flights from there, either? Ash looked back at the flight board—did it even show flights that had already left?

Before their trip to Colorado, Ash had never been on a fucking airplane. He’d only been to the airport once, before, when Dino dragged him along to meet some bigwig from Corsica. He didn’t know shit about air travel. He looked around, panicked. It was early, but the place was already bustling. Everyone—even little kids with dinosaur-themed wheelie bags—seemed to know exactly where they were going, and yet Ash didn’t know how to navigate.

Was there an Air Canada counter someplace? Surely, they’d be able to tell him if any flights had already left. They might even be able to tell him about JFK’s schedule, too. Ash found a map kiosk and located the Air Canada counter in Terminal B.

His Chucks squeaked on the tile as he ran.

Ash was out of breath when he reached Terminal B, but out of patience by the time he’d gotten through the short line to the Air Canada counter. “How can I help you?” The woman behind the counter wore a charcoal suit jacket with a red ascot and she looked entirely too perky for the early hour.

“Do you have any flights to Toronto this morning?” he asked. He tried not to sound demanding, but ended up with something unnatural and stilted.

Her keyboard clacked aggressively as she checked. “Ooh, I’m sorry, sir,” she said. Her smile was simultaneously apologetic and helpful. “It looks like our last morning flight departed at seven-fifty. We do have another leaving at ten past noon. Would you like me to book that for you?”

Ash’s heart sunk down to the floor. He was suddenly absolutely sure that Eiji had been on that early plane. “Is it possible to find out—” he started awkwardly. “A friend of mine—my husband, actually—might’ve been on that flight. Is there any way you could find out for me?”

Her smile fell away. “I’m sorry. I’m not able to share that information.”

Ash ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Of course they couldn’t tell him. He could be some psycho. But still. He tried to smile. “I gotta know,” he told the woman softly. “I get why you can’t tell me, and I totally respect that, but can I at least find out if he had a ticket? You don’t have to say whether or not he got on the plane.”

She bit her lip, uncertain. “I really can’t.”

Ash was rusty and five years older, but he guessed he still knew how to use his looks to charm women. He shoved his hair out of his eyes, making sure she got a good look at both his face and his wedding ring. He pretended to catch her looking. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he asked, twisting the ring around his finger. “We got married three weeks ago, just before Christmas.”

She gasped softly. “Only three weeks ago?”

He nodded, deliberately softening his mouth into a miserable frown. “We had our first argument last night.” Ash thought about their exchange in the car, about how furious he’d been at Owen, and how he’d taken it out on Eiji. “It was my fault. An old friend of his showed up in town, and I—” Ash tilted his head down and touched his lip with the tip of his tongue. “I got insecure. Jealous.”

Through his lashes, he saw her dark eyes widen in surprise. He could predict her response. “And he just… left?” she asked, aghast. “But you’re newlyweds!”

Ash nodded. “He left,” he confirmed. He didn’t have to pretend to make his voice raw. “His sister lives in Toronto,” he lied. “He said he needed to think, that he’d be back in a week, but—” Ash broke off, allowing a flush to stain his cheeks. “I can’t just wait around!”

“Oh, you poor thing,” she crooned. Of course she did. She had ideas about guys who looked like him—everyone did.

“I wanna make the grand gesture, you know?” He put both hands on the counter and looked as eager as possible. “I wanna show up at his sister’s house and sweep him off his feet again.” He let his breath huff, defeated. “But I can’t catch up with him if I’m not sure that’s where he went, right?”

“What’s his name?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper and her fingers were poised on her keyboard. “I can’t tell you if he boarded, but I can at least let you know if he bought the ticket.”

“My God, thank you,” Ash breathed. “Eiji Okumura.” He spelled the name out for her and watched as her brow furrowed.

She clicked through a few different pages, but then smiled sadly. “He bought a ticket,” she announced. “For the flight that left a half an hour ago.”

Ash’s guts twisted. He didn’t know how to feel about the information. On the one hand, he knew for sure that Owen had taken him back and he could follow. On the other, he still couldn’t quite imagine Eiji getting on a plane. Leaving him.

“I guess I’ll need a ticket for that next flight.”

She beamed, obviously happy to be part of someone’s grand romance, even if it wasn’t hers. She asked for his ID and quickly entered his information into her computer. “No luggage?” She asked, glancing down at the empty space around him. He didn’t have so much as a carry on.

He shook his head. “I thought I could catch him before he boarded,” he told her, feeling genuine sheepishness. “Guess I’ll have to buy some things in Toronto.”

“But you did bring your passport?” she asked.

Ash didn’t have a passport. When he and Shorter had driven to Toronto before, he’d used his driver’s license—one of those enhanced ID cards that let you over the border between Canada and New York. He shook his head. “Won’t my license work?”

She looked stricken. “Not when you’re flying,” she explained. “The enhanced ID cards are good for land and water crossings only.” For a long moment she looked like she wanted to reach over the counter to hug him.

Shit. Something tight squeezed hard around Ash’s heart. It would take weeks to get a passport, if he was even allowed to have one. Ash remembered there had been travel restrictions as part of his deal, but he didn’t remember any of the details. “N-no problem,” he insisted, stepping back from the counter. “I’ll just—” What? Drive to Toronto?

“I’m so sorry,” the agent said, her eyes bright. His face must’ve betrayed his feelings, because she looked almost as desolate for him as he felt.

He turned away, already calculating the mileage. It had taken him and Shorter about ten hours to make the trip, including all the unnecessary stops for food or bathrooms or just whenever Shorter insisted on looking out over some random scenic view. But the roads had been clear and dry, and the storm that was currently dumping snow and ice all over Manhattan had done even more damage upstate.

Still, Ash was determined. If he could get his car keys back from Shorter right away, he figured he could be there before midnight, ice or no ice. He wondered if he’d made it to the airport yet. He pulled his phone from his pocket to text—dead. He’d left it on the kitchen counter all night, way too distracted to bother charging it. Ash sighed, remembering what Sunny had said about calls going straight to voicemail.

There wasn’t a thing he could do but wait until Shorter found him.

“Goddammit,” Ash cursed, dropping onto the end of a nearby bench. He rubbed a tear from his cheek, mortified that it was just as quickly replaced by another, and then another. Ash couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried in public. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so defeated. So sad.

It wasn’t the first time Ash had been sure that God had stacked the deck against him—most of his life seemed to have been the butt of some vast, karmic joke. But this was the first time he’d ever let himself hope for anything more.

He’d been so happy. Last night, the last few months. Every day since he met Eiji had been better than anything that had ever come before. Even when they argued, or those first days back from Colorado when it was too hard to have even a basic conversation. Even when that awful woman had gotten handsy at the pool tables, Ash had been okay because Eiji was there to make him feel human again. His breath released in a damp, ragged sigh.

It wasn’t over—Ash would fucking walk to Toronto before giving up on Eiji—but he had the desperate, desolate feeling that every minute they were apart was doing irreparable damage. He pulled the note from his pocket, scanned Eiji’s tight, familiar writing. A tear fell on the paper, blurring the words, and Ash hastily wiped it away.

My soul is always with you.

“Ash?”

His voice was a hit of pure oxytocin. It rushed through his veins, joy like fire that lit up his whole body. Ash looked up, startled and half afraid he was dreaming. Because Eiji was there, his hat in his hands and his suitcase on the floor next to him. “Eiji?” he asked, disbelieving.

For a long beat, Eiji didn’t speak, just stared at Ash as though he too, thought he might be looking at a figment of his own desperate imagination.

“I couldn’t go,” Eiji said at last, shrugging his shoulders in that ridiculous blue puffer coat. “It turns out that, even if it ends up being only one more day, I need to spend it with you.”

*

When Ash lifted his head, his pale cheeks were streaked with the shiny trails of tears, and the skin around his fever-bright eyes burned red. Everything in Eiji screeched to a halt and his heart stuttered as though it might stop, too. Ash was crying.

Ash Lynx was there, at the airport, and he was crying.

They seemed frozen like that for a long time, Ash looking stricken and startled on the bench and Eiji standing in the middle of the walkway, people streaming past. Eiji wanted desperately to go to him, to scrub those tears from his face and hold him for the rest of his life. But learned instinct held him still, waiting for Ash to make that first move.

“I couldn’t go,” Eiji told him, and suddenly he was crying, too.

Ash launched himself from the bench, half-running and half-tripping the few short yards to where Eiji stood. His body slammed against Eiji’s, breathless and hard—safe in the same way Eiji’s body was safe as it hit the landing pit after a vault. Eiji folded him into his arms, somehow astonished that it would be like this, that he would be the one who would comfort Ash right now.

He’d been preparing to have his heart broken.

Ash wasn’t cold—the airport air was overheated and dry—but he shivered in Eiji’s arms nonetheless, giving Eiji the sense that he was keeping him warm. Warm and safe like a heavy blanket. Eiji cupped Ash’s jaw, feeling the bristle of his unshaved face, the movement of his muscles as he said something that was muffled against Eiji’s coat and lost in the noise of the airport.

“I can’t hear you,” Eiji murmured against his ear.

Ash pulled back enough to look at him then, his green eyes surrounded by damp, clumped lashes. “I was going to find you,” he said in a ruined voice. “If I had to fucking walk to Toronto, I was going to bring you back home.”

Eiji swallowed hard, his chest ached with a bittersweet, straining-at-the-seams feeling. He thought his heart might burst with tender devotion for this man. “And I’d walk back with you,” he promised. “Every mile.”

He saw the instant that Ash’s watery smile changed, the tiniest quirk of one corner, the microscopic narrowing of his eyes, and he understood that he was about to be kissed. It should’ve been embarrassing, doing any of this in a busy airport, but Eiji couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Ash!” a powerful voice bellowed from behind him.

“Eiji!” another echoed.

Ash glanced over Eiji’s shoulder and sighed heavily, obviously irritated by the interruption. Eiji reluctantly stepped away from Ash and turned around.

It was Sunny’s bright hair that caught Eiji’s attention first, curls bouncing as she darted through the crowded terminal. Her eager smile confused him—how did she know he was there? Shorter followed a few steps behind. “I see you found him,” Shorter said, raising his fist to bump Ash’s. “Nice job.”

Ash nodded, and if he minded the eyebrows-up, incredulous look on Shorter’s face as he noticed Ash’s red eyes, Eiji couldn’t tell.

“Eiji, we don’t have a lot of time,” Sunny said. She glanced at her watch and reached out to catch his hands. “It’s already eight-thirty, and Jill Lindeman is leaving at nine.”

“Jill Lindeman?” She was a celebrity in the pole-vaulting world, a champion herself who’d gone on to coach some of the best female vaulters in the sport. “I don’t understand.”

“She wants to talk with you! About being your coach!” Sunny insisted, tugging his hands. “But she’s going to La Paz, Bolivia for the better part of a month and she’s leaving like right now!”

Before Eiji could respond, before he could even process what Sunny was trying to tell him, a tall woman in an expensive coat and high-heeled boots approached. Clarice Fisher looked vaguely out of breath, but not upset. Eiji watched as she reached out to Shorter, collecting a small plastic disk from him and sliding it into her coat pocket. “Air tag,” she explained. “My job was to park the car and Shorter’s was to find you. This way, I could find him.”

Eiji blinked. It was a good system. But why was Clarice Fisher there? And how did she know Shorter? “What’s going on?” he asked, bewildered.

“They all showed up at the apartment this morning,” Ash explained. He wasn’t pressed against Eiji anymore, but he hadn’t gone far. Now he slid an arm around his shoulders. “You caused kind of a ruckus, disappearing like that.”

Eiji’s face got hot. He’d known he’d caused trouble for Ash, but it was mortifying to realize that these three had all pursued him there, too. “I’m sorry.”

“We had a good talk on the way out here,” Clarice said, seemingly unconcerned with Eiji’s discomfort. “Your friends tell me you haven’t given up the pole vault, after all.”

Eiji darted a glance at Sunny, who only shrugged, her lopsided smile apologetic. “No one who watched you jump the other day would ever say you were giving it up,” she said.

“I’m not,” Eiji agreed, straightening his spine and trying to look like the kind of person who knew what the heck was going on. “I considered it for a while, but…” He didn’t know how to continue. His reasons for quitting or continuing were personal, even private. It felt strange to be talking so openly about it. He sighed. “Well, I realized that I wasn’t done yet.”

Clarice nodded approvingly. “That’s good to hear. Do you know how long it’s been since the US men’s team won a gold medal in the pole vault?”

Eiji filed through his memory. He was better with Japanese statistics, of course, but he knew he had the Olympic gold medalists memorized for at least the last twenty years. “Mack,” he said after a moment. “Timothy Mack won the gold in Athens.”

“The Athens games were twenty years ago!” Sunny cried.

“Exactly.” Clarice nodded. “It’s been two decades since we won that event, one that the United States dominated from the birth of the modern Olympic Games in 1896 until 1968. My supervisors think it’s high time we start taking the gold again.”

Eiji’s insides twisted. It was one thing if they wanted him to vault for the US, but another entirely if they demanded a win. “It’s impossible to predict—” he began.

“Of course it is,” Clarice said, an unexpected laugh in her voice. She waved her hand dismissively. “But Mister Okumura, it’s pretty clear that you’re more likely than almost anyone else in the world to manage it.”

It was true. Eiji knew it was true, and yet it felt strange and giddy almost to the point of sickness. How had he become the best? How was he someone that governments were willing to negotiate with?

Ash caught his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Eiji met his eyes and saw only encouragement there. Ash had faith in him, so maybe he could have some faith in himself?

“And if you’re willing to give it a shot under our flag instead of Japan’s, the US government is prepared to offer you permanent residence.” She smiled at Eiji, her eyes flicking to meet Ash’s as well. She seemed genuinely happy to be helping them.

“I think I can do that,” Eiji said. Beside him, Sunny let out a muffled squeak.

Clarice fished some papers out of her bag and went over the main points. It looked like she’d be able to adjust Eiji’s legal status, giving him a visa for the next four years. In 2028, if he qualified for the US team going to the Los Angeles games, that visa would become a green card—permanent residency.

“What happens to the application we submitted?” Ash asked.

“The marriage-based application will be voided completely,” Clarice explained. “If, for some reason, Eiji doesn’t make it onto the Olympic team in 2028, then you’ll be free to apply again.” She looked at Ash, her lips quirking into some kind of commiseration. “Hopefully, by then, you two can submit a more believable history.”

She shook hands with both Eiji and Ash, then nodded at Shorter and Sunny. “Stop by my office before one o’clock,” she told Eiji. “We have about forty minutes worth of paperwork to sign.”

“Oh my God!” Sunny squealed as Clarice walked away, grabbing Eiji by the arms and hopping up and down. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen!” She flung her arms around his shoulders and squeezed hard.

“Hey Sun?” Shorter put his hand on her head. “It’s ten till nine. Doesn’t Eiji have a coach he needs to talk to?”

*

Ninety minutes later, Ash flagged down a taxi. Eiji put his suitcase in the trunk and then slid into the backseat next to him as Ash gave the driver the address of Clarice’s office in Manhattan.

“That on the far side of Chinatown?” The cabbie asked. “These roads aren’t getting any better,” he warned after Ash nodded. “It might take us an hour or more to get there.”

“No rush,” Ash assured him.

The same piling snow had postponed Jill Lindeman’s flight, and so she and Eiji had more time to talk than expected. Apparently, she’d heard the swirl of rumors surrounding Eiji’s sudden departure from Toronto, but until Sunny reached out to her, she hadn’t considered it an opportunity to take Eiji on herself.

Ash liked the way she’d talked to Eiji—frank, but not overly critical, even when he tried to explain why he’d run away in the first place. She seemed to be genuinely interested in him, not only as an athlete but as a person. “Pole vaulting can’t be who you are, Eiji Okumura,” she’d told him. “It’s just a thing—one thing among many—that you do.”

They ended up with an agreement to work together. “I’ll draw up a contract when I get back into town,” she’d told him as they shook on it. “And in the meantime, I expect you to get to a doctor about that bruise! Once they give you the go-ahead, you’ll need to jump every day. You’ll have to work your ass off to get back into shape before Paris,” she’d warned him. “And I won’t go easy on you.”

It was obvious that Eiji didn’t want her to. He shook her hand with grinning enthusiasm and was still grinning, later, as they said goodbye to Shorter and Sunny. “You saved my life,” he’d insisted, pulling Sunny into a tight hug.

She only hugged him tighter. “That’s what dads are for, kiddo.”

Ash and Shorter exchanged bemused glances—who the hell knew with those two?

“Be careful out there,” Ash warned as Shorter climbed onto his bike. “The roads are shit.”

“I got this,” his friend insisted. But his cocky smile faltered. “You okay?” he asked Ash seriously.

Ash nodded. “Better than okay,” he assured him softly. They’d have to have another heart-to-heart talk, he figured, but he didn’t mind.

Now, in the cab Eiji was still thrumming with his newfound energy. Ash wondered if photography was going to take a backseat to this re-discovery of his old passion, or if Eiji, in his stubbornly determined fashion, would somehow make them both work at once. Ash was fine either way.

He was staying. That was the most important thing to Ash.

“So,” Ash began, sliding close to Eiji and bumping their shoulders together. “Should I be expecting the cops when we get home?”

Eiji’s brow wrinkled. “Cops?” he asked.

“Am I being arrested for assault?” Ash asked. “I got places we can hide out, if you don’t mind a bit of a decline in our living situation.” He was joking, but also not, and he could tell by the half-frown on Eiji’s lips that his husband wasn’t amused.

“Owen won’t be bothering us again,” Eiji promised.

“What’d you say to get him to give it up?” Ash was genuinely baffled. Owen Andersson was as tenacious as a Jack Russell Terrier with a squirrel.

Eiji smiled. “I thought like a photographer,” he explained. “He told me he had video proof of you hitting him, and I pointed out that those same videos would show him grabbing me hard enough to knock me down.” He looked downright smug. “I also let him know that your best friend’s brother-in-law is a detective and that Max has a lot of friends on the force, too.”

Ash was incredulous. “That worked?” He would never not be shocked at how fucking terrified supposedly law-abiding people were about getting in trouble with the cops.

Eiji nodded and dropped his head on Ash’s shoulder. “Once I realized that there was a way to stay here and keep you out of trouble, there was no stopping me,” he confided. He took Ash’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I only hoped that it wasn’t all for nothing. If you hadn’t forgiven me—”

“What’s to forgive?” Ash asked. “You were trying to save my ass.”

Eiji fell quiet for a few long blocks, looking out the window at the storm. It was impossible to know where the sun was in the solid gray sky, but Ash liked the way the city still glimmered and flashed around them—from traffic lights to digital billboards. New York was never dark. It was never quiet, even with three inches of snow on the street and more coming down every minute. That was probably why Eiji had come there in the first place.

“I guess,” Eiji said softly as they came up on the East River. “I guess we don’t have to stay married for five years, after all.” He kept his gaze carefully trained out the window.

Ash could tell he was scared. Eiji thought that this morning had changed something between them. He thought that Ash might be smarting from his abandonment, that he might even be glad to have this way out.

But Ash didn’t see it that way. What he saw now was a choice. He and Eiji could stay married or not, based solely on what they wanted, not what was necessary. “I guess we wouldn’t have moved so fast, if your green card weren’t riding on it,” he acknowledged in a low voice.

“Definitely not.” Eiji’s voice had a laugh in it, but it was the self-depreciating kind. Ash recognized it from his own version. “Your first answer was a very clear no.”

It seemed like years ago. That first dinner with Eiji and Ibe, with Max very un-subtly suggesting that they strike a deal. Ash knew that he’d been opposed, but he couldn’t remember what that felt like.

“Ask me now.” Ash barely recognized his voice. It thrummed like a string pulled way too tight.

Eiji finally looked at him. His eyes were dark and cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he could trust what his ears told him. “Now?” he rasped.

Ash nodded. He reached out and smoothed a wayward lock of Eiji’s hair. “In your letter, you told me you would,” The backseat of a taxi cab wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of romance for a marriage proposal, but Ash was sure there’d been worse spots.

Eiji turned pink, his eyes darting away in what seemed to be embarrassment. Ash guessed that he hadn’t expected to have to back up his words—his love letter—so soon. But Ash wasn’t about to let him off the hook now. “Didn’t you say you’d love me forever?”

Eiji’s pink cheeks turned red, but he didn’t look away. “It’s true,” he promised. “For the rest of my life and maybe beyond.” He shifted in his seat and stole a quick glance at the cabbie, who didn’t seem to be paying them any mind at all.

Ash leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Eiji’s. He heard Eiji’s faint gasp at the sudden contact, felt the soft brush of his hair. “I think I was born to love you,” Ash whispered.

“Be my husband,” Eiji said softly. “Not because Max asked you to and not because you feel sorry for me.”

Ash almost protested that he’d never once felt sorry for Eiji, but Eiji put a finger on his lips. “Be my husband because, like me, you can’t imagine living without me anymore. Because you want me to be the first person you see when you wake up and you want me to be the one to kiss you goodnight every evening. Be my husband because I hold your entire heart.”

He did. He held Ash’s whole soul.

“Stay married to me, or marry me again.” Eiji shook his head, smiling because it didn’t matter which Ash chose, as long as they went home together that night. “Just say yes,” Eiji whispered. Ash recognized the phrase, loved it in Eiji’s soft accent.

He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the ring that sat heavy on his left hand. He realized he had Eiji’s in his pocket. “Goddamn it, Eiji,” he murmured, and it sounded like he was in pain because there was something sharp and exquisite squeezing his heart. He slid the ring back where it belonged on Eiji's finger. “Yes.”

The last thing Ash noticed before Eiji’s lips touched his was the flash of the cab driver’s smile in the rearview mirror.

Then, the whole world fell away.

THE END