The trees are grown. The arborist pays his annual visit.
It is a secret, but Matoba Seiji thinks of Natori Shuuichi as a miracle. Maybe one day he'll tell him.
'Fresh fruit,' he'd said to Shuuichi when the other, seemingly on a whim, had asked.
And like it was a matter of course, he'd brought Seiji some.
past.
The property has the means and it is just another miracle. Seiji wonders at fortune.
An open yard that wraps around the corner of the building. Seiji can see what it can become and he thinks that Shuuichi can too. A space like this in the city is unheard of.
And yet, it is theirs.
.
Loquats and lemons and the arborist Yorishima-san.
Shuuichi greeted him familiarly and Seiji wondered if he had the right to ask. His arm was held to his chest in a sling. Trees and the risks of falling was all he said, a touch rueful.
Shuuichi looked away.
Transplants like these are finicky. Soil. Sun. Water. Curated nematode inoculation. Seiji blanches and Shuuichi never hesitates. He brings the back of Seiji's hand to his lips like he is a golden prince.
'You won't need to do a thing.' He holds his gaze in a way that Seiji is still not used to. A flush steals across his face.
'Stop that.' Hushed.
But he can't bring himself to disentangle their hands.
Yorishima-san shakes his head, but his mouth quirks.
It's still a young love.
.
Of course, it would be foolish to hope and Shuuichi has already done so much.
But his Shuuichi is remarkably optimistic and later that night Seiji can't help the laughter that bubbles up as he follows Shuuichi's lead—a moonlit waltz across the garden of their new home. The susurration of trees is music enough.
Standard practice dissolves. Hands interlaced at the small of his back and Shuuichi's face buried in his hair.
a phone conversation.
"Seiji!"
"Yeah?"
"Are you listening to me?"
No, not really. He pulls the cord taut with the need to be doing something with his hands, observing Shuuichi with the remainder of their ice cream. He often gets charmingly distracted. The spoon, forgotten, sticks out the side of his mouth as he mulls over their menu for tomorrow.
She makes an impatient noise. "This Sunday, I said. You guys are free, right? That's the only day everyone's available. Tell me you're free!" His sister's voice rises with a mild hysteria.
"Hm, should be."
"Seiji!"
"Are you okay? You sound stressed, nee-san."
"You are the one stressing me out!"
"Okay, okay, this Sunday—" he attempts to quickly confirm, but the only sound is the receiver violently slamming down on its cradle.
He gives his head a shake to stop the ringing in his ears and shoots her a text. That predictably sends his phone into a paroxysm of frantic buzzing to the edge of the table. Seiji scoops it up and tosses it to the couch.
"That wasn't very nice," Shuuichi chides.
"When am I nice?"
"You're always nice to me."
He scoffs. "Always is generous."
"What can I say, I always think the best of you."
"Was that a line?"
"Guilty."
It's a chaste kiss that tastes of yuzu.
.
"So this Sunday?"
"I think it's too soon," he speaks candidly.
Happily, Seiji finds outdoor work is as rewarding as baking. But there are only so many hours in a day and just the two of them.
The trees look nice though. They seem to be standing taller every day, searching for the sun, no doubt.
They've come home covered from head to toe with mud and dirt every night. He spies some now—shading Shuuichi's collarbone. Seiji doesn't miss the intake of breath when his hand brushes Shuuichi's skin.
"I'm just worried it won't be enough." It's just the truth of it. He lets his eyes close as Shuuichi runs his fingers through his hair.
"Don't worry, Seiji. Sparkles are a form of misdirection. We'll be fine."
He can't help an amused huff. "My savior."
present.
"Yorishima-san must be unlucky." Shuuichi is out on an errand when he stops by, so Seiji presses the inquiry.
Every year, the same arm in the same sling.
Nyanko-sensei is here today too. He's eavesdropping from his favorite pillow on the sunny window-seat. One eye opens, gleaming.
Now that he knows something about some things, Seiji wonders at the nature of the arborist.
It's just curiosity and he tells himself he won't pry. That usually works out.
Yorishima-san sits back, considering him, the fingers of his right hand drumming on the table.
"Not even Shuuichi." Is all he says.
"Is that right?"
Nyanko-sensei makes a move too, marching into his lap. "You smell all wrong, kid." With his typical Cheshire flair.
Yorishima-san takes it in stride. Dryly, "Can't say l'm sorry to offend your nose, cat."
Seiji tugs at Sensei's tail and the lucky cat takes up a perch on his shoulders, nose twitching in earnest. Seiji settles back in his seat, absently gives Nyanko-sensei some chin-scritches.
"It's no problem, Yorishima-san. Would you care for some more tea?"
"Yes, actually. That would be lovely."
.
Shuuichi returns just in time to see Yorishima-san gathering up his things.
"Leaving so soon? I just got back with these. For Seiji, right?"
It's a parcel of brown paper wrapped in twine. Seiji takes it warily.
"Old family recipes, some desserts in there, I think—I forgot to bring them with me, so l just sent Shuuichi." The arborist is staring directly at Seiji. Nyanko-sensei tenses, ever so slightly.
Shuuichi glances back and forth between them. "Um, something wrong?"
Seiji delicately peels back the layer of paper, stares down at the first recipe—a galette with frangipane. "Nothing at all, Shuuichi, dear."
Shuuichi winces. Seiji's pet names only come out with claws. But it's not his fault, so he mollifies his words with a kiss to the cheek.
"Take care, Yorishima-san."
He offers Shuuichi half a smile and Seiji something more lopsided before he heads out.
.
"What do you know about chess, Nyanko-sensei?" Seiji fills a small plate with extra macaron shells for him.
Sensei gives a full-body shake and tucks into his cookies a touch viciously.
Shuuichi wonders what flew over his head today.
.
The galette is delicious and Seiji is not ashamed to admit that he would feel better if it was not.
Anyways, it'll go on the menu come springtime.