Byakuran is watching the sun slide below the the horizon when Irie finds him.
He's been here most of the day - not as early as Irie received his first clue, of course, but within an hour after that, just in case the other worked out the multitude of traps and misleading phrasing Byakuran had built into the puzzle. But he hasn't truly been expecting company for the daylight hours, anticipated the sunset behind him to be turning his hair hazy orange by the time Irie got to the end of the trail, and even then Irie exceeds his expectations by nearly ten minutes. Byakuran can see him coming from across the park, the vivid red of his hair tangled from frustrated fingers and the paper of the last clue clutched in his fingers. He's taller than when Byakuran saw him last, gangly with height he hasn't yet filled into; Byakuran can see the future shape of him from his collected memories, the way his adult self will fit into the teenage framework only just becoming visible. It's exciting, to see at least some parts of that future coming true in front of him.
"You found me," Byakuran calls from the top of the slide, where he's been perched for the last hour. The playground has been nearly abandoned all day, absent its weekend freight of hyperactive children and exhausted parents; it has given him plenty of ledges on which to perch, the slight advantage of height from which to see oncomers a few seconds before they see him. And all he needs is a few seconds, after all, just enough to get that head-snap of surprise from the other before he identifies the source of the voice.
"Oh," Irie says, so faint and shocked Byakuran almost can't hear the word. His feet stall, lock him in place a moment before he collects himself to move forward again. "What are you doing here?"
Byakuran forms his mouth around a pout, tightens his fingers against the frame of the metal slide so he can lean precariously far over the edge as Irie comes closer. "Aren't you glad to see me, Sho-chan?"
Irie's forehead creases in confusion, his hand comes up to rumple his hair across his forehead. "I didn't say I wasn't glad to see you," he amends. Byakuran leans farther, lets his weight balance on the railing of the slide so he can brush his fingers against Irie's shirt collar as the redhead comes within reach. "I thought you were in Italy."
"I was!" Irie is still looking up, still looking utterly baffled by the situation. Byakuran can see the lines of his own handwriting on the crumpled paper in Irie's fingers, the last clue to the scavenger hunt Byakuran laid out before dawn this morning. "And now I'm here. Haven't you heard of planes?"
"You flew here to see me?"
Byakuran steadies his grip on Irie's collar, tugs sharply at the cloth to pull Irie closer. "Sho-chan." It's easy to let his voice drop into condescension, easy to lean in so Irie has to tip his neck back and look straight up to hold Byakuran's gaze. "Did you think I wouldn't be here to see you on Valentine's day?"
The change in Irie's expression is remarkable. The half-pained confusion is still written into his forehead, still turning the corners of his eyes soft with lack of understanding, but for a moment his mouth comes open, his breathing giving way to a tiny gasp of surprise. It makes Byakuran smile, pulls his gaze down to linger at Irie's mouth. He slides his hold on the redhead's collar up, curls his fingers in against the bare skin of Irie's shoulder so the other shudders at the contact.
"Now." Steady, that, warm with pleasure but underlined with steel, enough to pull Irie's gaze back into focus on Byakuran's face. "Aren't you glad to see me, Sho-chan?"
Irie stares blankly for a minute, like he's processing the repeated phrase. Then he blinks, the confusion finally fading from his eyes, and when he smiles he looks like he's glowing with all the lost brightness of the setting sun.
"Yeah," he says. The last note falls from his fingers as the tension drains out of his shoulders, his hand comes up to reach for the edge of Byakuran's jacket. "I'm glad to see you."
When Byakuran leans over the edge to kiss the curve of his lips, Irie's smile tastes better than sugar.