[Far away, some other temple or lively place has been sending off fireworks. Starting around the time of the bells, there have been thin whistles, breathless pauses, and then the sound a shimmer makes. Akira hasn't bothered to look up and around for any of the lights. They carry on, a yearly backdrop, overcome by his own bell, by Shindou's, by the unwrapping of what's special and affectionate. He's blind to flower bursts, to colorful scatters, because all he can look at is Shindou.] It is important. [It doesn't occur to him that he's too weighty, too strong, like tea left steeping for hours, when he says,] It was my grandfather's. [Akira has spent so much time offering parts of himself only to see them rejected. He started out heavy, way back when. Now he exists as the full force of deep sea pressure. Feeling denied has left him with even more zealotry...] I'm giving it to you because it's so important, and I want us to be inside of it together. [He's able to say this unabashed, his face as dauntless in its luster as volcanic glass. He feels, too, that he's come from the same heat, only just emerging from the heart of Earth. Shindou's closeness allays a worry so present in Akira that he never notices it until it diminishes for a time. Shindou, choosing to be close. Akira, the eye of a choice Shindou's made. Just having Shindou lean in toward him causes flutters beyond even a kiss on the cheek.
The watch, unwrapped at last, beckons those flutters into a new course. They're bubbling up his throat, to his ears, alighting at his eyelashes. He meets Shindou's defense with no prickling of his own; he sets down arms in favor of a docile exhale. He means it when he says,] It's beautiful. [And when he says that, he thinks back to what Shindou told him earlier—You look beautiful. And just now, right now, Shindou also told him—and I thought of you. Tonight, Akira set rabbit fur upon himself, and he hoped it made him look wonderful. That's ridiculous. It's ridiculous that he saved a kimono to wear until he could wear it all through the night for Shindou. But Akira is beautiful, and Shindou saw a beautiful thing and thought of him, and so if Akira can be even more beautiful than that...
He's pressing the box back into Shindou's hands, but not in an act of rejection. His wide sleeve slides against his forearm; he bares his wrist, offers it to Shindou, his tendons taut as if designed for music.] It will look good on me. [He's confident in that, and it only matters because that's how Shindou's eyes will see it: good, on him. He waits for Shindou to buckle the watch around his wrist, and some other festivities, even further away, give off the resounding crackles of their fireworks finale. Akira's voice carries the same distant glimmer when he says,] Thank you for giving me something so fine. Happy New Year, Shindou. [He smiles.] It's time to go home. I'm cold.
[He wants to walk with his shoulder pressed to Shindou's; he wants to take Shindou's sleeve with the hand just below his new watch. He'll guide Shindou back down the road, and he'll let Shindou back into his home, and he'll set Shindou down before the space heater. He'll bring out more tea, mild but steaming, and then he'll bring out the beautiful tray always reserved for this sort of thing, its lacquer dark and rich, its gold leaves thin and twining across sleek surfaces. He'll pour sake like he's an adult, even though he hasn't asked his father if he can do that. Just a cup will be fine, just a few sips between the two of them, for the year to come, for their time together. He rolls his wrist. A watchband snug against him shouldn't feel so inspiring. He feels enclosed by it; Shindou thought of him and gave that feeling to him. A mouthful of spices to usher in the year doesn't seem like enough of an offer in return, but it's all he can imagine, walking home, wanting warmth.]
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The watch, unwrapped at last, beckons those flutters into a new course. They're bubbling up his throat, to his ears, alighting at his eyelashes. He meets Shindou's defense with no prickling of his own; he sets down arms in favor of a docile exhale. He means it when he says,] It's beautiful. [And when he says that, he thinks back to what Shindou told him earlier—You look beautiful. And just now, right now, Shindou also told him—and I thought of you. Tonight, Akira set rabbit fur upon himself, and he hoped it made him look wonderful. That's ridiculous. It's ridiculous that he saved a kimono to wear until he could wear it all through the night for Shindou. But Akira is beautiful, and Shindou saw a beautiful thing and thought of him, and so if Akira can be even more beautiful than that...
He's pressing the box back into Shindou's hands, but not in an act of rejection. His wide sleeve slides against his forearm; he bares his wrist, offers it to Shindou, his tendons taut as if designed for music.] It will look good on me. [He's confident in that, and it only matters because that's how Shindou's eyes will see it: good, on him. He waits for Shindou to buckle the watch around his wrist, and some other festivities, even further away, give off the resounding crackles of their fireworks finale. Akira's voice carries the same distant glimmer when he says,] Thank you for giving me something so fine. Happy New Year, Shindou. [He smiles.] It's time to go home. I'm cold.
[He wants to walk with his shoulder pressed to Shindou's; he wants to take Shindou's sleeve with the hand just below his new watch. He'll guide Shindou back down the road, and he'll let Shindou back into his home, and he'll set Shindou down before the space heater. He'll bring out more tea, mild but steaming, and then he'll bring out the beautiful tray always reserved for this sort of thing, its lacquer dark and rich, its gold leaves thin and twining across sleek surfaces. He'll pour sake like he's an adult, even though he hasn't asked his father if he can do that. Just a cup will be fine, just a few sips between the two of them, for the year to come, for their time together. He rolls his wrist. A watchband snug against him shouldn't feel so inspiring. He feels enclosed by it; Shindou thought of him and gave that feeling to him. A mouthful of spices to usher in the year doesn't seem like enough of an offer in return, but it's all he can imagine, walking home, wanting warmth.]