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O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
- Juliet, Romeo & Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2
☾
Shinsuke is dancing.
Aran has never seen this side of Shinsuke - cherry blossom dusted cheeks, hand clutching the transparent umbrella’s handle, the rain falling all around them, the lights of the passing barely illuminating the quiet road of the countryside.
Shinsuke dances. It’s not extravagant, but it’s like watching a waterfall; graceful and light in all his steps. Aran is reminded that Shinsuke is a surprisingly good dancer, from the few parties they’ve had in school after their wins at the district final games. Shinsuke dances with the serenity of the wind.
It’s nothing exciting. Just a few twirls and the occasional spin, but Shinsuke is light on his feet. It’s no surprise to Aran that he's used to the rain when Shinsuke works in the rice field during most of their holidays, the rice fields soaked to the knee with muddy water. Shinsuke twirls, his left arm stretched out, his umbrella almost forgotten as he steps into the rain and lets it fall all over his uniform he’ll never wear again.
“Does Kita-san ever smile?” Rintarou’s voice lingers at the back of his mind, and Aran can only laugh to himself. Of course, Aran answers ever so quietly, it’s just that nobody has ever seen the beauty of it. The serene sweet smile, the sweetness of clementines in the winter, the cherry blossom petals that fall to the ground in the midst of the rain. It’s picturesque, a scene in a painting, a blank canvas coming to life.
Shinsuke turns to him when he hears Aran laugh, stopping under the streetlight where the golden light cascades off his umbrella, fuzzy from the rain droplets. “What are you laughing at?” He asks so softly, it’s almost misheard in the rain, pitter patter.
“You. How silly this looks.” Aran responds without waiting, “How none of the second years will believe me if I said that you dance like this and have the sweetest smile.”
“That’s a curse then.” Shinsuke tugs Aran’s hand, pulling him closer to meet him in the middle. “None of them will believe you when you tell stories about me.”
Aran playfully scoffs, an arm around Shinsuke’s hip as they stand there, the cherry blossoms falling onto their umbrellas. “More of you for myself, then.”
“Don’t let them call you selfish, keeping me all for you.” Shinsuke’s lips curl, the ghost of a white fox’s sly grin on his cheeks. It’s all playful, but Shinsuke’s nature of teasing at such moments sends Aran’s stomach doing cartwheels. It’s the good kind, the kind that doesn’t disappear, the kind that Aran knows will sting his poor, aching heart for life as long as he chooses to love Shinsuke endlessly and shower him with the best.
Something blooms. Aran is well aware it’s cherry blossom season, the time of the year where new beginnings are marked and couples favour for their weddings, but yet something else blooms in Aran - it’s the warmth of knowing that Shinsuke is there, and that he feels the same, as if they hadn’t confessed in the lockers weeks ago after they lost at the spring high games, as if they hadn’t kissed in the dimly lit storage room in the gym, a hand on Shinsuke’s soft cheek, a gentle caress of his hip, and the quiet nod of understanding.
There is something so oddly serene in the gold wash of the night, the cloudy, heavy purple night sky hanging low, the chill of the season ridded by the warmth that blooms.
And what if Aran wants to reenact the scene of Gene Kelly, clad in his suit, a forgotten umbrella in his hand, tugging Shinsuke close to dance in this rain that pours?
Shinsuke twirls again. The transparent umbrella is like a ballerina’s skirt, flinging off water droplets, and Shinsuke is smiling.
And what will you do after graduation?
There’s nowhere else for me but here, like I’ve always been.
Aran’s heart thumps. He knows in a matter of days he will leave to play for the Red Falcons, and they will be miles away, even if there’s phone calls and postcards, it won’t feel the same as seeing each other. What’s stopping them from taking this to another step? They’ve already said their promises, the string around their hearts woven tight, but yet what’s stopping them from making things official?
Shinsuke is adored by his own parents. And Shinsuke’s grandmother defends him in front of Shinsuke as if he’s not there.
“Shinsuke, can I ask you something?”
Aran waits for the other to slow down, stepping closer and stopping in front of him, their hands held in the middle. Aran traces the veins on the back of his hand, fine and tinged green, nails kept short and his fingers slender like a hand model’s. There’s more to be jealous of, with Shinsuke’s beautiful self, but this is another topic for another time.
“What are we?” Aran’s voice flutters like the clipped wing of a blue butterfly, a worry piercing the warmth that once settled in his gut. “We haven’t really had this talk, have we?”
The rain splatters onto their umbrellas, pitter patter. The hum of the wind and the wave of trees fill the silence, so gentle it’s barely heard in the rain. Water pools at their feet, shadows cast on uneven pavement. They’re one taller than the other, like how every romance movies go, and Shinsuke is the perfect height for kisses.
“Why should we have to put a label on what we are when we’ve been just fine all this time?” Shinsuke’s voice floats through the rain, “Labels aren’t going to define everything. We’re perfect the way we are.”
And it’s true. Nobody needs to know if it doesn’t change anything. They’re together because they feel the same tug of gravity, a single thread that ties each other, red string tied to their pinkies that both of them know will lead each other home.
How is it that Shinsuke is always right? Won’t there ever be moments where Shinsuke realizes he’s wrong, a second off a routine? What happens then? Will he falter? Will his love waiver like the ever changing faces of the moon?
Shinsuke’s hand presses around his arm, and it lulls him closer like the ocean’s high tide on the sandy shores. “All I need to be sure is that you want the same as me.”
Absolutely. He’s waited two years to be sure this wasn’t just a fluke in his heart, a moment in time where Aran forgets his goal to get to the top, a stop in his path that he will regret. He wants, and wants, and craves.
An everlasting hunger that yearns, nourished by Shinsuke.
“I’ll always want you.”
“Then that’s all we need.”
It’s like life fast forwarded all at once in that bubble, a moment that Aran doesn’t know if it’s real, but Shinsuke steps under Aran’s umbrella, his own forgotten as his right hand lowers away while still holding its handle. His hand traces a line around Aran’s hip, a slow trace that should make Aran feel like putty in his hands. Shinsuke tiptoes, and their faces are so much closer than it was just seconds ago.
He has to remember it’s not their first time kissing. They’ve kissed once in the locker room, twice in the gym storage, three times while walking home, and countless times hidden in bushes when they were harvesting the berries on the farm. But everytime Shinsuke’s soft lips meets his own, any worry washes away, the frown lines a distant worry and the ache in his muscles gone.
And what can Aran do? Kissing Shinsuke is a sweet summer night’s dream, and he wonders again if this is what being drunk feels like - the seeping intoxication, the sweet dreams, the concentrated taste of sugar sweet syrup of a too-sugary concoction that will leave him with a hangover. Except there’s no real alcohol, they’re still not allowed to drink anyway; the real hangover is the adoration he has for Shinsuke.
The rain comes down around them. But between Shinsuke’s cold palm on his cheek and the scarf he wears tickling his own face, and the second button of his own uniform jacket in Shinsuke’s pocket (and, likewise with Shinsuke’s second button in his), he could really care less about the rain.
It’s funny that Aran had been so worried about putting a label on things just mere days before he has to move away. Why was he so worried anyway? That Shinsuke would leave him? Because between every second of their kiss, the loving tug, their bodies pressed as Shinsuke tiptoes to meet him halfway, isn’t this the proof of Shinsuke’s promise?
When both of them pull away, they giggle under their breaths - it’s like the first time they kissed, so much haste and too much teeth because inexperience; Aran could care less. He lifts his arm, offering to twirl Shinsuke under his arm, and the white-haired boy accepts it, umbrella held out like he’s in a movie. Both of them giggle again, the sweet honey kiss on his lips lingering, the last of winter’s cold and the beginning of spring promising to bring them new beginnings together.
So what if Aran will move away and leave Shinsuke’s side? Shinsuke will always be home. A call away if he needs, a two hour drive at most if he really wanted to see the other. Distance is a number on a signage, and so are the number of days left in Hyogo that they have. He’ll learn to make use of their time. Shinsuke will watch him on television just like his parents will. And he’ll have family waiting for him to come home.
Most importantly, he has Shinsuke, who will keep dancing for as long as they love, their fears drowned out by each other's comfort.
That’s all that matters.