content warnings include an age gap (though Aya is 25 in this fic so shrug), and the fact that the first half of the fic details takakura's struggles with feelings towards another man. also some cigarette smoking and some alcohol drinking.
enjoy, xox
Takakura was a fresh-faced twenty-year old the first time he saw fireworks.
He'd grown up poor. His home village was just about as isolated as Forget-Me-Not Valley but far more rural, with the key difference being there was no one willing to either take the trip into town or shell out the money for a show. The summer festivals of his youth were comprised of elderly farmers slicing their hard-grown watermelons and passing them out to children racing by, playing whatever games they could conjure. There were stories, of course, vivid depictions from some of the deliverymen or the rare visitor of how the skies would light up like a thunderstorm and then burst into flowers of fiery color, but he hadn't imagined he was missing much. He'd stood in his father's fields during a lightning storm, letting the rain pelt against his face. Every night there was a smattering of stars overhead, and he'd been alive for two big meteor showers so far. Man-made beauty, he reasoned, could never outdo nature itself.
That was what he told himself, anyway.
He'd been in the valley just shy of two years by the time Kesaran and Pasaran settled northeast of his own homestead. The sun was setting red and orange hues and the first, brighter stars were peeking through the brilliance. It was the night of the summer festival, but for such a small place that typically meant a gathering of whichever of the townsfolk had strength enough to walk down to the water. Last year, he hadn't been surprised when an old woman—long dead, now—had given out sliced melons, chilled in her yard for days beforehand. Two or three of them would play music on old, traditional instruments straight out of a stage play, many years before Garfan and eventually Gustafa had arrived. The year before Miss Romana had sent her butler into the city, and when he returned it was with enough sweets for the entire valley (and, unbeknownst to his mistress, he'd also brought back some bottles of rather expensive beer).
This year, Takakura's friend—his only friend, and fellow farmer too—had returned from the main strip of the village in a hurry, his skin flushed and his wild hair sticking to his sweating face.
"The twins are gonna light some fireworks," said the farmer through harsh breaths, still winded from the run. "You've never had a chance to see 'em before, right? Come on!"
He'd taken him by the hand, not allowing any room for protest. Takakura, of course, wasn't afraid of saying no, though probably he was too quick to say it in the first place. He'd been running his hands through the soil of one of their newly-tilled fields, trying to get a feel for its fertility, and there was still dirt covering his palms and stuck up under his fingernails. The farmer of course did not mind. They hurried down the foothill marking the property line of their farmlands and it was only then that their hands fluttered apart. Takakura had slowed, watching the other man dart parallel to the forest treeline on his way straight to the beach, where most of the townsfolk were gathered.
Something had tugged at him as he watched his friend, carefree and spirited, kicking up dust and then sand behind his heels. It'd taken him all the way to the shoreline, half a minute, tops, to realize Takakura wasn't there with him. He spun back, just a tiny silhouette framed on that beach, glowing white in the dying light of the sun, waving his arms above his head and calling out as noisily as a bird squawking outside his window at dawn,
"Oi! What're you waiting for?!"
Takakura did not like to rush anything, but he couldn't help breaking into a sprint to catch up. The wind in his face was a mercy against the humid summer night, the sudden burst of movement a shock to his limbs—accustomed to working long, steady hours, but not speed. His lungs burned satisfactorily with the effort as he pushed himself, dashing past the same trees that gave way to the marsh deep within and catching glimpses of tiny, green flashes in the branches, fireflies calling out to their mates. He ended up closing the distance longer than it'd taken the farmer, but eventually the dirt and wildgrass thinned out into sand, his heavy footsteps sinking down into it like it was little more than a plush mattress. By then the lavender sky had melted into indigo and deep, deep blue.
The villagers had been shocked into laughter to see Takakura, usually so stoic and serious even in his young age, acting such a way. Some of them shook their heads with a smile, others teasing him for how wholly a city-slicker had gotten him to come out of his shell over the last few months. The twins joined in goodnaturedly; they wouldn't have started the show without him, they assured. He allowed himself a small grin, a nasally laugh, as his friend threw his arm across his shoulder.
"C'mon," he urged, his body slick with sweat from how much running he'd done that evening. Really, the man ran everywhere and hardly ever seemed to tire. He guided them to the outer edge of the beach, where a jutting rock closed it off from the less inviting parts of the shore. "They said the best spot to watch is on the edge of the beach, but I know you don't like crowds. So I thought we could see what the view is like from up here."
He jumped, grabbing at a protruding stone and bracing his foot near the base, and climbed. Takakura stared up in slight bemusement, worried that doing such a thing in the dark was a bad idea, but then shrugged and followed when the farmer reached the top with no issue.
He was one pull away from cresting the top ledge when the sky lit up as if drenched in momentary sunlight, the rich colors of the moss on the rock briefly clear as day. Then, a loud crack sounded out all around him, rattling him so deeply it felt like his bones shook. It was such a surprise that he lost his balance, and just before panic could grip him fully he saw the flash of a bronzed arm reaching out to take hold of his own. The hand squeezed uncomfortably at his forearm, but it was enough to re-center Takakura. He found his footing once more and let the farmer give a mighty tug, pulling him up onto the ledge just as the second firework whistled across the sky.
It burst in fantastic color, a brilliant red and a shimmering gold exploding outward in wide rivulets before falling down and fizzling out. Just as he was about to turn to face his friend in excitement, the corresponding boom came. It was not so loud as standing beneath a thundering sky, but with no cloud cover and no chill in the air it was markedly different. The skin of his arms broke out in goosebumps, and then the high-pitched whirring of another firework echoed through the valley.
This one burst in small green dots, searing-hot streams of white trailing in their wake. Then another boom, and then two others launched together. He noted now on the way he could see them reflected in the inky ocean tides, illuminating it in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. The valley was alive in a way it had never been, artificial thunderclaps bouncing off the high rocky walls surrounding their little nestled village and the sky lit aflame with beautiful, dancing glimmers. Smoke trails hovered there above the water, mimicking the burnt-out patterns from moments ago before smearing away in the gentle midsummer breeze.
Takakura was hardly aware of anything else, captivated. It was many minutes of staring wide-eyed and wide-grinned that he began to notice the startled—but pleased—gasps and other sounds of amazement coming from the villagers on the beach below them. He wanted to peer over the side and take a look, to see the looks on their faces, but that was when he realized his hand was still locked with the farmer's.
It made him swallow thickly the instant he understood. His focus tunneled in on it, the feeling of his dirt-flecked palm pressed flat against the other man's, gone hot and dry. They were standing so close that they also touched at the elbows and at the shoulder. His breath came harder, nervous. What drove him in that instant, he still couldn't say, but as a new cacophony of fireworks burst overhead he whipped his head to the side, only to find those dark eyes staring back at him through the curtain of his messy hair.
Another flash of firework lit up his face. Takakura would swear he was blushing, his lips slightly parted.
No one could see them all the way up there.
The knot in the farmer's throat tightened once, evidence that he was swallowing down his own nerves. Behind him, fireflies lit up before dimming back into the black of night.
There was the flash of a thought across Takakura's mind, to lean in and kiss him.
It would be easy, wouldn't it? Just another push of his body, to press their mouths together. It wouldn't have been his first, and something told him it wouldn't have been his friend's first, either. He'd come here from the city just a year after Takakura had built his house on the farm at eighteen. If a country boy like him had kissed a girl growing up, surely city folk must get up to the same thing. Would kissing a boy be that much different? There was an ache in him that wanted desperately to find out.
He never did.