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The exhaustion didn’t leave all at once. Even after the ceremonies were finished, after the useless elders stopped hovering and the paperwork finally slowed to something merciful, Naoya still carried the weight of it deep in his bones. It clung to him stubbornly, a dull ache beneath his skin that no amount of rest seemed able to shake.
Becoming clan head wasn’t as easy or as cool as he once thought it would be. Back then, when he was younger and sharper in his arrogance, he thought strength was enough. Intimidation. Authority. A sharp tongue and sharper cursed technique. He thought if people feared him, they would obey, and that would be it. But the reality was far messier—death by a thousand small cuts. Those weren’t enough to lead the clan. Sideways glances. Expectations pressing in from every direction, constant reminders that he was still “too young”, still being weighed despite being the “gifted”, spoiled heir. Not that he paid much attention to their words.
…Well. Maybe a little.
What bothered him the most was how little time he had for the one thing he actually wanted. The one person. Somewhere along the way, buried under rituals and obligations, he started questioning whether stepping into the role so early had been the right decision. He wanted it—he had always wanted it—but now, standing at the centre of it all, he wasn’t so sure anymore. So, when his ever-strong, handsome lover suggested they leave for a while, to take a little break, Naoya didn’t hesitate. Tokyo was his choice. Shinjuku, specifically. He didn’t say the specifics of why but there was something there. Something he had been wanting to see. Or more accurately, somewhere he wanted to go.
Tokyo felt different when it wasn’t looming with responsibilities. The air felt lighter somehow, less suffocating. The sky seemed wider. Even the noises—something that normally nettled his nerves—didn’t dig into him the way it usually did. The weight that had been pressing on his shoulders since the day he inherited the title loosened, just a little, like someone had finally unfastened a tight collar. Shinjuku was loud, alive and unapologetic. And for once, none of it was demanding anything from him.
They walked side by side through the busy streets, summer heat clung to their skin, the scent of food stalls, booze and asphalt thick in the air. Neon signs buzzed overhead in clashing colours, laughter rang out too loudly, music spilled from open doors without warning. He didn’t want to admit how strangely freeing it felt to exist here without eyes tracking his every move, without people bowing to him.
Along the way, Toji loosely hooked a finger around Naoya’s wrist as if it was the most natural thing between them. And of course it was. He stayed close—close enough that their shoulders brushed, close enough that Naoya could feel his body heat through the thin fabric of their clothes. Toji didn’t crowd him, didn’t pull him forward either. He simply walked with him, steps unhurried, presence solid and steady. Occasionally, when the crowd pressed in too tightly, Toji would bump into him lightly, guiding him without a word.
They strolled past storefronts, more neon signs, crowds weaving effortlessly around them. Naoya was halfway through complaining, slightly, about the noises when his steps slowed. Then stopped entirely.
Across the street, tucked between louder, flashier shops screaming for attention, was a boutique unlike the others. Quiet. Elegant. Its window displays curated with intention rather than excess. Contemporary kimonos hung like artwork behind the glass; colours restrained but expressive—deep blacks and blues softened by subtle patterns; muted jewel tones layered over pale inner fabrics.
The garments in displays weren’t bound by the rigid rules Naoya had grown up memorising. Soft drapes replaced stiff lines. Bold cuts reimagined silhouettes. Tradition wasn’t abandoned, but it wasn’t bowed to blindly either. It was played with, teased, and reshaped. The modern touch on the traditional attire truly caught Naoya’s eyes. He stared. Not openly. Not obviously. But his eyes lingered, bright and focused, breath slowing as something warm and curious stirred in his chest. His fingers tightened faintly around Toji’s sleeve before he even realised that he had reached for it.
Toji noticed immediately, the meaning behind Naoya’s expression. “You wanna take a look?”, he asked, glancing at the shop, then back at Naoya’s face lovingly. Naoya jolted, “W-what? No!”, he looked away too quickly, arms crossing over his torso. “Why would I? That stuff…it’s kind of…”.
“Feminine?”, Toji prompted mildly. Naoya flushed. “I didn’t say that! Besides, that kind of fashion won’t suit me anyway!”, Naoya tried to rationalise himself. It was all futile effort. Toji hummed, eyes flicking back to the shop window, then to Naoya again. “Hm…that’s weird”, he said in a low voice, “It actually looks exactly like something you’d love”.
Naoya sputtered, “T-toji-kun! Stop being ridiculous”. Toji leaned in slightly, purring, “And I think…you’d look really cute in them, Nao-chan”. Naoya’s face went scarlet. “B-bakaa, Toji-kun! What are you even saying?! And don’t call me that in public!”. How cute, Toji thought. Just the other day he was begging Toji to call him a cute nickname—something more intimate, something reserved only for the two of them. And now, he was acting shy all of a sudden. Toji could roughly guess why.
The younger turned sharply and stomped away, muttering under his breath, only to be pulled back a second later. Toji’s firm hand caught his wrist easily, hauling him back into a solid chest. A brawny arm slid easily around Naoya’s waist, as if it belonged there, locking him in place while staring so deeply into his eyes. Naoya gasped, hands gesticulating on Toji’s chest as he tried, and of course failed to push him away. “W-what are you doing?!”, he hissed. “People are watching!”.
Toji tilted his head, feigning thought, “Hmm? Are they?”. He looked around lazily. A group of gyarus had already slowed, whispering excitedly. A pair of men in bold makeup and platform boots openly giggled, clearly entertained. Toji continued, “Then just let them watch”.
Naoya struggled weakly, mortified, “You’re so unbelievable!”. Naoya’s protests died in his throat as Toji leaned closer, eyes sharp and teasing, voice close enough to Naoya’s ears, “Didn’t you say the other day that you wanted the whole world to know that we belong to each other?”.
Naoya froze. Heat rushed to his face as memories flashed—his voice raised, unwavering as he declared Toji’s place beside him in front of the whole clan without shame.
“T-that was different”, he muttered weakly. Toji gazed at Naoya softly. “Was it?”. His hand steadily rested at the side of Nao's neck as he brushed the thumb along the edge of Naoya’s earlobe, smirking when he felt him shiver. He whispered into the younger's ear, pulling him closer into his broad frame, “It's okay Nao-chan. Nobody cares about this kind of thing. It's Shinjuku. I thought it's the reason you wanted to come here?”. His grip tightened just a little more, “And if they want, they can just stare at us for as long as they need. I'd be happier if they know that you're mine”. Upon hearing that, Naoya instantly buried his face into Toji’s chest, ears burning pink.
Toji chuckled, “So cute~”.
“Shut up…Toji-kun…”.
Toji continued laughing quietly. Naoya’s fingers clenched in Toji’s loose kimono tighter, heart pounding. “Let’s go and have a look inside”, Toji said after a beat, “Or you’ll regret it later and whine to me.” Naoya peeked up. “I do not whine”. Toji grinned, “You absolutely do. And I do love hearing you whine but since we've come so far, why don’t we just go inside? We can leave as soon as you’re feeling uncomfortable, though I highly doubt that”. Toji grinned even wider, voice considerate. Naoya huffed, then after a moment, he looked at the older with wide, pleading eyes. Toji softened immediately. Even though Naoya was one of the strongest clan’s leader now, he still acted like the little kid who followed Toji around. He needed assurance all the time. He acted so tough with other people but totally melted with Toji.
Finally, they walked towards the boutique.
Inside, the boutique felt like another world compared to the busy bustling street. The warm lighting softened every edge, the air calm, faintly scented with clean linen and something floral; fabrics arranged with care, soft music hummed beneath the low murmurs, and the chaos of Shinjuku muted the moment its door closed behind them.
As soon as Naoya stepped in, his posture changed—shoulders easing, eyes gleaming as he took everything in—each bolt of fabric, every silhouette, every thoughtful detail; wonders shining through him unrestrained now. He drifted forward instinctively, fingers hovering just shy of the textiles, breath quickened, excitement blooming openly now that he was surrounded by something he loved. Toji lingered a step behind, watching. A faint smile tugged at his lips—amused, fond, quietly indulgent.
When an attendant approached, smiling politely, Toji spoke before Naoya could stiffen or retreat into himself. “It’s okay”, he said casually, “My boyfriend can look around on his own. I’m sure he already knows what he’s here for”. Naoya’s head snapped around, caught off guard with the sudden confession, “T-Toji-kun!”.
The attendant blinked once, then smiled wider, cheeks faintly pink. “Ah, I see! That’s wonderful! Please just let me know if you need anything. I’d be more than happy to help!”, she said warmly. She looked genuinely delighted, as if she’d just stumbled upon something rare and endearing in an ocean of fleeting affections and borrowed warmth, before excusing herself and drifting away.
Naoya tugged at Toji’s sleeve and hissed under his breath, “Why did you say that?”. Toji shrugged, unbothered. “Because it’s the truth”. Toji leaned closer, voice dropping just for Naoya,“Besides Nao-chan…you wanted me to say that, right? If I didn’t say that immediately, you’d probably throw some attitudes later. I don’t mind”, he added with a grin, “but I’d rather please you now”. Naoya opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away. Flushed at how real that statement was, “…Tch”. Toji grinned wider. He always knew. Somehow, no matter how long they’d been apart, he still understood Naoya perfectly. Understood him in ways no one else ever had. And only Toji did. So, he didn’t even bother arguing and proceeded to saunter inside the perimeter after shaking Toji’s sleeves off. As Naoya wandered deeper into the store, confidence returned in waves. Familiar and comforting.
Toji followed at a distance, watching silently as Naoya browsed a lot of elegant and contemporary kimonos there. He watched the way Naoya’s fingers brushed hems, how his gaze dallied on certain cuts longer than others. Toji wondered which one he’d pick—though, truthfully, he already had a pretty good guess. Naoya reached for one with an open shoulders.
Then hesitated, probably still thinking it was too feminine for him. He frowned, lips tightening, and after a moment, placed it back on the rack. Instead, he picked another—more conservative, fully covered top—holding it up as if trying to convince himself that it was the right choice. Toji watched him for a moment, before walking closer. Without a word, he took the kimono from Naoya’s hands and gently returned it to its place. He reached for the first one instead and held it out to him. Naoya stared, “What are you doing Toji-kun?”.
“You don’t want that one”, Toji said calmly. “What do you mean Toji-kun? I do want it!”, he started whining and pouting. Toji sighed, “Haii haii, I’m sure you want the main design. But not the inner top style isn’t it?”. Something about the way Toji phrased it made his lungs seized for some reasons. Upon staring more at the kimono set, Naoya flushed furiously. He spluttered, “There’s no way! That one’s too feminine! It’s definitely made for women!”. Toji just stared at him pokerfaced.
When will Nao stop saying that? Toji would love him no matter what choices he made in life—what he wore, how he expressed himself, who he allowed himself to be. Nobody could take the liberty away from Naoya now that he's the most powerful in the clan. Toji really wished this boy would be much more comfortable in expressing himself now, see himself the way Toji did. He meant yes, Naoya was expressive with his love towards Toji, he never hid it even as a child, he was always confident in claiming everything that he felt belonged to him, but when it came to self-expression from his within, he was always afraid to get out of the comfort zone. The Zenin household was to blame. Sexist. Suffocating. But truly soon, Toji believed that Naoya would be completely free of it because he now had him as his full support. He wasn’t going anywhere else anymore. Naoya was now his life purpose.
As if on cue, the attendant appeared from behind with a bright smile, “Okyaku-sama, if I may”, she said gently, “our clothes are not meant to be catered to a certain gender. Of course, there’s a difference between female and male anatomy that we need to consider but every piece is meant to be worn freely!”. She gestured to the kimono in Toji’s hands. “We also offer customisation based on your preferences! And…”, she smiled at Naoya, sincere and warm, “I do think your boyfriend is right. This one would suit you beautifully”.
Naoya froze. Toji glanced at him, lips curling slightly, “See? Even she agrees”. After a long moment, Naoya nodded, shoulders sagging just a little. “…H-hai”, he muttered, defeated, but not unhappy.
While in the fitting room, Naoya stared at his reflection for a long time. The mirror showed someone he barely recognised—not because he looked different, but because he looked right.
The dark blue kimono draped over him effortlessly, its fabric falling in clean, deliberate lines that hugged his body without constricting it. The neckline dipped lower than anything he’d ever worn before, and beneath it, a crisp white piece cut into a sharp triangular shape—structured to cover his chest neatly while exposing the slope of his shoulders, smooth and pale skin against the stark white fabric and the darker layers resting loosely around them. Shoulders laid bare, impenitent, the cut elegant rather than obscene—soft where it should be, sharp where it mattered. The neckline framed him rather than hid him, drawing the gaze upward instead of inward.
Naoya lifted a hand, fingers levitating near his shoulder before brushing over the exposed skin where fabric should have been. The air felt cooler there. Different. He wasn’t used to garments that acknowledged this part of him without shame. He felt seen. Vulnerable, in a way that didn’t weaken him but unveiled his authentic self.
He looked…beautiful. Confident. Himself. And that terrified him. The Zenin had taught him that beauty like this was dangerous—that softness invited ridicule, that elegance belonged only to women. Men must be strong, masculine, with no room for such foolishness. His chest tightened as doubt crept in, unwelcome but familiar.
What if Toji didn’t like it? What if it was too much? Too soft? Too girly to fit him? What if it didn’t actually accentuate his features at all and he was just indulging his own vanity? He exhaled shakily, eyes flicking back to the mirror, searching for flaws only he could see.
A gentle knock pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. “Everything alright, Nao-chan?” Toji’s voice came from the other side of the door—low, warm, threaded with quiet concern, “You’ve been inside for too long, no? Are you having trouble putting it on? Do you need help?”. Toji was as gentle as ever, for times like this. Another time however, was a whole different case.
Naoya stiffened, “D-don’t be silly!”, he called back, trying to sound indignant instead of nervous. “I’m a full grown adult I can dress myself”. There was a pause. Then Toji chuckled softly. “Mm. I can still help, you know”. Naoya flushed, heat rushing to his face, “I’m fine! I know what you’re thinking about so don’t even try coming in!”. Toji replied, amusement obvious, “Maa maa. Guess we’ll save that for next time~”. Naoya whispered, barely audible, “…Baka Toji-kun”. Silence followed. Then quieter and gentler, “Come out now Nao. Let me see”.
Naoya stood there for a full minute after that, heart pounding. He swallowed, squared his shoulders, and finally reached for the door. When he stepped out, his gaze stayed fixed on the floor. Embarrassment clung to him like a second skin—shoulders bare, posture uncertain, fingers curling into the fabric as if ready to flee at any second.
As for Toji, he kind of stopped breathing. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to nothing but Naoya standing there. The teasing edge vanished from his expression completely. He simply stared—eyes wide, pupils dilated, something raw and unguarded flickered across his face. The kimono framed Naoya perfectly—the exposed shoulder drawing his eye, the fabric flowing like it had been tailored around him specifically. He looked powerful and delicate all at once, confidence and vulnerability woven together in a way that hit Toji square in the chest. This is him, Toji thought distantly. This is who he’s always been.
“…You’re…”, his voice caught before he could stop it. He swallowed, then said it again, lower, softer, reverent, “…You’re really pretty, Nao-chan”.
Naoya startled at the words, blinking as if he hadn’t expected them to land so gently. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Toji’s at last, “…Y-you really think so Toji-kun?”, his voice wavered, “It’s not…weird?”. Toji closed the distance in two steps, hands came up without hesitation, warm and secure as they cupped Naoya’s face, squishing his cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “I don’t know anything about weird”, he said quietly, smiling the way he only ever did with him—soft, full of devotion, “But I do know that this kimono was definitely made for you”. His gaze traced him slowly, unabashed. “It fits you so perfectly. This…”, he leaned closer, foreheads nearly touching, “…is the most Naoya I’ve ever seen”.
Tears welled in Naoya’s eyes before he could stop them, blurring the reflection he’d just begun to accept. He hated crying in front of others. Hated how easily emotion betrayed him. Tears meant to be a weakness but right now, it felt impossible to hold back. Toji didn’t tease him for it. He was still smiling softly, that same expression he wore only for Naoya, before brushing his thumb gently along Naoya’s cheek, wiping away the tear before it could fall. The touch was careful, vehement, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. “It suits you”, he murmured again, quieter this time, just for him.
A voice chimed in before Naoya could respond. “Oh my! As expected, it looks really beautiful on you!”. The attendant had approached without them noticing, eyes wide with genuine delight, hands clasped in front of her chest as she took him in properly now—the cut, the drape, the way Naoya stood straighter than before. Toji didn’t even turn around, “Of course it does”, he said easily, arm slipping around Naoya’s waist as if it had always been there. “He’s my gorgeous boyfriend after all”.
Naoya let out a breathy, shaky laugh, cheeks burning as he quickly wiped his eyes. “S-stop saying that in front of people!”, he protested, though the words lacked any real bite. Toji raised a brow, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Well, you always claimed me in front of other people before. I'm just doing the same now”. His grip tightened, jerking Naoya body into him further, “You're not the only one who's possessive you know?”. Naoya could only blush harder, fingers curling instinctively into Toji’s sleeve. The attendant gasped softly, hand flying to her mouth, “KYAA! I’m so sorry, that was rude of me. But you two are just too cute!”.
Naoya opened his mouth to deny it—then closed it again, flustered but smiling despite himself. The warmth in the room lingered, unjudging and sincere, and for once, he didn’t feel the urge to hide behind Toji's back or in his chest. It didn’t feel rude. It felt like being seen. And for the first time in a long while, Naoya didn’t mind the unwanted attention at all.
Finally, Naoya bought the kimono and a few other sets after browsing the store once more. This time, Naoya moved comfortably with Toji. He no longer hovered at the edges of the racks or second-guessed his hands when they reached for fabrics. Instead, he drifted from display to display with growing confidence, sleeves brushing textiles as he went, voice lively as he spoke. He talked enthusiastically about the designs—how certain cuts played with shape, how asymmetry could guide the eye, how layering fabric could soften or sharpen a silhouette depending on intention. He pointed out stitching details most people would overlook, fingers tracing the air as if sketching the ideas himself.
Toji listened. Always listened even if he didn’t fully understand the technicalities. He didn’t need to. What mattered was the way Naoya’s eyes lit up when he spoke, the way his posture straightened when he explained something he loved. Toji stayed close, occasionally humming in response, sometimes asking simple questions just to hear him talk more.
Naoya had always loved fashion even as a child. Contemporary ones especially. Things that bent rules instead of obeying. But his father never supported his interest. As expected from the Zenin. Occasionally though, Toji would sneak home some magazines he picked up from convenience stores or stalls along the way back from his jobs. He never made a big deal out of it. Just left them somewhere Naoya would find them. And little Nao would indulge himself quietly, sprawled across tatami mats, devouring every page like it was a secret treasure. Though unfortunately enough, they were eventually found by Naobito and burnt, calling Toji a bad influence. Now, years later, that same spark was alive again, openly in his eyes.
They spent a good few hours in the store. Laughing. Browsing. Learning. Time passed without either of them noticing. Before leaving, the attendant approached again, smiling as she thanked them for visiting. She mentioned they would be releasing a new collection in the upcoming autumn and said she’d be delighted if they paid another visit. After all, she added with a gentle laugh, the kimonos suited Naoya perfectly. It almost felt as if Misamaru-san had designed them with him in mind.
Then she joked, light heartedly, about making Naoya the store’s front model someday. It was only then that she revealed she wasn’t just an attendant, but the manager herself. Toji raised a brow, unimpressed. He said flatly that it didn’t sound like a good idea. He wouldn’t want to put his boyfriend on display for other people to ogle. Naoya loved the claim. He was no longer shy at the possessive remarks Toji made. Instead, warmth bloomed in his chest. The manager laughed brightly, clearly entertained, and wished them well as they left.
They stepped back out into the street with arms full of shopping bags. Toji carried everything easily, the weight was nothing to him. One hand remained free solely to keep Naoya close at his side, fingers interlacing naturally with his, as if there had never been another way to walk. They stayed glued together, so much closer than before, arm in arm, bodies nearly merging as though neither wanted to let go.
As they walked, Naoya spoke to Toji without looking, “So...can we take a trip here again in autumn?”. Toji smiled, squeezing Naoya's hand more firmly, thumb brushing slow, reassuring circles over his knuckles, “Of course we can. We should actually”. Toji looked down at Naoya, and Naoya finally glanced up, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the crowd, the lights, the noise, all faded into the background. They smiled at each other, soft and unguarded, steps falling into the same easy rhythm as they continued walking back towards the hotel.
The summer air didn’t feel so hot anymore. At least, not compared to the warmth of their simmering love hanging quietly between them—demure, constant, rising higher than the city lights above. And Toji found himself already longing for the day he’d see Naoya step out in that new kimono again, wearing it with the radiant confidence that he had finally allowed himself.