The Distance Between Us, a Winter’s Holly story

by Jefcat

Summary:

The afternoon after Nagoya, everything falls apart. Hiiragi shows up hungover, Ritsuka is furious, and Mafuyu—caught in the crossfire—finally reaches his breaking point. One disastrous lunch later, he makes a quiet, decisive exit.

While his bandmates unravel, Mafuyu slips away—boarding a midnight flight bound for New York and a man he hasn’t spoken to in years: Ugetsu Murata.

He’s not running. Not exactly. But something has to change. And maybe, just maybe, it starts here.

Chapter 1: Prologue

It all unraveled the afternoon after Nagoya.

The show had been a mess—Hiiragi hungover and wild, Ritsuka simmering with frustration the entire set.

Afterward, they’d gone to Momo Paradise, trying to patch things over with a hot pot lunch and plans to spend the day together—just the three of them.

But it didn’t work.

By the time the broth started boiling, Ritsuka and Hiiragi were already snapping at each other. The words came sharper, faster, until their voices rose loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.

“You’re pathetic,” Ritsuka spat, chopsticks clenched tight in his fist. “You show up wasted, you sabotage your own songs, and you expect everyone else to cover for you?”

Hiiragi laughed—bitter and mean—his face flushed from alcohol. “At least I’m not pretending I can keep everything under control. You’re suffocating, Ritsuka. No wonder Mafuyu won’t even look at you anymore.”

The entire table froze. Even the servers stalled nearby.

But Ritsuka didn’t stop. He leaned across the table, gaze locked on Mafuyu now.

“Maybe he’s already planning how to run.”

The words hung in the air—heavy, deliberate, poisonous.

Mafuyu said nothing. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. He could just go.

The rest of lunch was a disaster, a litany of bitter recriminations. Then both Hiiragi and Ritsuka stormed off in opposite directions. Hiiragi looked back at him for a moment, as if silently pleading with him to follow. Ritsuka paused in the doorway and turned back.

“You coming?”

Mafuyu shook his head. “You go on.”

He was so tired. His head was swimming. He was drowning, and he knew it. It couldn’t go on like this. He needed to think.

Mafuyu pulled out his phone and dialed a number from memory. Shizusumi’s. He’d had the same number since high school.

“Can you come get me?” Mafuyu’s voice was quiet, steady.

Shizusumi didn’t ask questions. He just said, “Tell me where.”

By the time Shizusumi pulled up, Hiiragi and Ritsuka were long gone. Mafuyu climbed into the car, silent, staring out at the bright, cold afternoon.

Shizusumi glanced at him but didn’t press.

“You done?” he asked simply.

Mafuyu nodded once.
“Done. At least for now. It’s grinding me down and I can’t seem to stop it. Can we go to your hotel room? I can’t deal with anyone right now.”

Shizu took him back to the hotel. Mafuyu crashed there for the rest of the day. Shizu had been his usual reliable self—solid and calm. He fended off both Mafuyu’s boyfriends and the band managers. Shizusumi Yagi was the perfect gatekeeper.

The next afternoon, they all returned to their apartment in Tokyo, and the four of them retreated to neutral corners almost immediately.

Mafuyu had thought about where to go.

Shogo would have been safe and easy—but the national team was holding a training camp. Ueki had a major work deadline. Hosokai and his wife had just had a baby. His mother was in the middle of a major Go tournament.

The answer was… Ugetsu. A man who, at one time, had been—briefly—the very center of Mafuyu’s world. They had barely spoken in years. Calling him had filled Mafuyu with trepidation.

But Ugetsu had been warm. Inviting.

And so—he was off to New York.

The plan came together quickly after that.

Mafuyu booked the flight that evening, while the others were still sulking or pretending to recover from the trip.

Passport, guitar, cash. A few clothes.

It wasn’t even a difficult decision.

Six hours after they’d stumbled home from Nagoya, still reeling from the fallout, Mafuyu was already packed. There was a string of shows coming up starting the following week. Haruki and Suzuki would just have to postpone them. Another show like Nagoya would be far worse for Given’s reputation than a few canceled and rescheduled dates. Simple enough. Mafuyu needed to rest his voice. Or whatever spin the managers came up with. Suzuki would figure something out.

That night, as Tokyo slept, Mafuyu slipped out the door—quiet as snow falling.

The plane lifted off just after midnight.

Tokyo faded beneath him—cold, distant, disappearing.

Somewhere over the Pacific, Mafuyu sat by the window, the ocean stretching out beneath the plane in endless dark waves.

He wondered if Hiiragi and Ritsuka were still fighting.
Probably.
They’d been too wrapped up in themselves to notice him slipping away.

And he felt no guilt for leaving.
Only a quiet, steady relief.

The airport was a challenge. But he managed to get a taxi. Managed to communicate with the driver in his barely adequate English.

Soon enough, the city skyline came into view. His pulse raced—raced at the thought of seeing Ugetsu again after all this time.

What was Ugetsu going to expect of him?

He was prepared to let Ugetsu set the pace, as he had back then... back when it had all felt so overwhelming.

It had been an extraordinary experience—eye-opening, to say the least.
But he wasn’t a schoolboy anymore.

Chapter 2: Mid Winter Arrival

Summary:

Mafuyu arrives in New York carrying more than just a suitcase—he carries exhaustion, grief, and the quiet hope that something lost might be found again. The apartment is warm. Still. Familiar. And Ugetsu is waiting.

What follows is not a reunion filled with apologies or explanations, but one steeped in touch, in silence, in everything they once were—and everything they might still become.

In the hush of a New York winter, Mafuyu and Ugetsu find each other again. Slowly. Gently. Deliberately.

Home isn’t a place. It’s a person. And Mafuyu has come home.

The front door wasn’t locked.

It never was.

Mafuyu stepped inside, carrying the weight of exhaustion and New York winter with him. The scent of cold air and snow clung to him, a stark contrast to the warmth of the apartment. Inside, everything was quiet. Warm amber light pooled from a single floor lamp near the bookshelves, casting soft shadows across the dark wood floors and tall windows, their edges frosted with icy condensation. Mafuyu stood still, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. The quiet wrapped around him—not heavy, not suffocating. Just stillness. Just peace. Then, soft footsteps. Bare against the floorboards, unhurried. Ugetsu appeared in the doorway—barefoot, shirtless, wearing loose gray pajama pants that hung low on his hips. His hair was tousled from sleep, his face unshaven, his body lean and sharp in the dim light.

He stopped a few feet away, watching. Mafuyu—bundled in a dark wool coat, scarf still wrapped tight, gloves on, hair dusted with snow—stood there, unmoving, looking older than the boy Ugetsu remembered. Twenty-three now. Quieter. Sharper. A man shaped by the weight he’d carried. Still, his eyes were the same. Ugetsu stepped closer, saying nothing. Mafuyu held his breath, waiting. He reached for the scarf first, unwinding it slowly, gently, like a ritual. The fabric slid away, soft against Mafuyu’s skin. Next came the careful unbuttoning of Mafuyu’s coat—each button undone with patient fingers, as if Ugetsu were unwrapping something precious. Gloves peeled away last, his hands bared to the warm air. Still, no words. Ugetsu hung Mafuyu’s coat and scarf on the coatrack in the entryway and set his gloves on the side table. When Mafuyu stood in just a soft black sweater and dark trousers, Ugetsu stepped back slightly to look at him—really look.

“This is you now,” Ugetsu murmured, more to himself than to Mafuyu. “All grown up.”

Mafuyu’s heart raced as Ugetsu’s fingers brushed against his skin, each touch a reminder of their shared history. He simply reached out, resting his palm against Ugetsu’s bare chest—a quiet, steady acknowledgment of everything unspoken between them. Ugetsu’s faint smile returned, soft and knowing.

“Come here.” He pulled Mafuyu close. Their bodies fit together naturally, easily—not like strangers reunited, but like something reclaimed. Without speaking, they moved together toward the bedroom—drawn by gravity, not intention. The sheets were rumpled from where Ugetsu had been lying alone.

So this was how it was going to be. Back here again. In Ugetsu’s bedroom, just like before. The same air between them. The same magnetic pull. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even surprising. Somehow, this had always been the place where he ended up—whether by accident, desire, or exhaustion. And now here they were again. Exactly where they’d left off.

Two glasses of red wine waited on the nightstand—one already sipped from, the other untouched. Ugetsu offered Mafuyu the full glass. Mafuyu accepted it without hesitation, drinking deeply. The wine was dark and warm, bitter at the edges, settling low in his chest.

“You didn’t ask why I came,” Mafuyu said at last, his voice quiet but steady. Ugetsu’s eyes didn’t leave him.

“You don’t come without a reason.”

Mafuyu met his gaze without flinching. “I think I didn’t want to stay a memory.” The words landed between them—clear, honest, unflinching.

Ugetsu didn’t smile this time. He simply set both glasses aside and reached out, tracing the line of Mafuyu’s collarbone through the thin fabric of his sweater. “You’re not a memory,” he said softly. “Not like this. You can tell me the real reason in the morning.”

Mafuyu stepped closer. Mafuyu’s mind went blank, all thoughts consumed by the feel of Ugetsu's body against his, the warmth of his breath, the steady beat of his heart. He slid his arms around Ugetsu’s waist, drawing them chest to chest. Their bodies settled against each other—warm and solid, fitting together as though no time had passed at all. Without ceremony, Ugetsu guided Mafuyu down onto the bed. They lay side by side on top of the bedcovers, fingers finding each other’s—twining together naturally. The quiet wasn’t heavy. It was steady. Known. Full. This wasn’t about rushing toward anything. Not about sex. Not yet. It was about sharing this quiet weight. The intimacy of presence. The relief of stillness. And neither of them looked away. The silence between them deepened, thick with everything they didn’t need to say.

Mafuyu turned to face Ugetsu fully. Their legs tangled, bodies drawn together again by shared gravity. Ugetsu’s arm slipped around Mafuyu’s waist, this time not just to hold — but to claim. To pull him closer. Their lips met, slow and steady, as if confirming something they already knew. No hesitation, no fumbling — just quiet, deliberate connection. The kiss deepened. Mafuyu kissed him back with certainty, his hands exploring Ugetsu’s back, fingertips finding the dips and lines of his body, tracing the places where tension lived. Clothes fell away gradually — Ugetsu pulling Mafuyu’s sweater over his head, revealing skin that had grown stronger, steadier with time. Ugetsu’s hand skimmed down his chest, pausing in the center, as if feeling for something only he could recognize. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, reverent.

Mafuyu didn’t flinch or look away. He simply touched Ugetsu’s jaw, brushing his thumb over the stubble there, and said in a low, sure voice, “You are too.” They slid under the covers, skin to skin, slow and deliberate — not just for sex, but for rediscovery. Every brush of lips, every graze of fingertips was deliberate — grounding them in the present. Ugetsu’s touch mapped Mafuyu’s body with care, learning every changed curve and familiar place. Mafuyu responded in kind, tracing Ugetsu’s collarbone with his mouth, teasing soft gasps from him. As their bodies aligned, breath quickened — but neither rushed. Ugetsu’s hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around both of them, stroking in tandem. Mafuyu’s body arched into him, breath catching, hips moving in time. “Ugetsu…” Mafuyu gasped, need curling in his voice.

Ugetsu’s smile was slow, steady. “Anything you want, Mafuyu.” He reached for the lube, preparing Mafuyu with steady, practiced hands. Mafuyu’s body welcomed the touch, remembering, opening to him again. When Ugetsu finally pressed inside, it was slow — careful, watching Mafuyu’s face for any hesitation. There was none. Mafuyu’s gaze met his — steady, burning with need. Their foreheads pressed together as they began to move, breaths mingling, everything else falling away. The rhythm built between them, slow at first, deep and thorough — then gradually quicker, more urgent, their bodies drawn deeper into one another. Mafuyu matched every thrust, meeting Ugetsu’s pace with his own.

The room filled with the sounds of them — the soft slap of skin, the rustle of sheets, low moans shared between breaths. They chased the edge together — Mafuyu’s hand stroking himself in time with Ugetsu’s thrusts, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.

“Mafuyu,” Ugetsu gasped, his voice breaking. Mafuyu’s eyes were dark with certainty. “Come with me.” Their climaxes crashed over them together — Ugetsu spilling deep inside, Mafuyu following, their bodies locked tight in shared release. Afterward, they collapsed into each other — chests heaving, skin flushed, limbs tangled in warmth and sweat. Ugetsu didn’t let him go. He held Mafuyu close, their bodies still joined, hearts slowing together. Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, nothing else mattered — not the years apart, not old wounds, not regret. Only this remained: heat, closeness, breath shared in the hush of night.

Ugetsu whispered against Mafuyu’s temple, voice soft and sure: “Welcome home, Mafuyu.” And Mafuyu, already drifting into sleep, smiled faintly as he whispered back: “Home. Finally, home.”

The snow kept falling outside. Inside, everything else fell away. He slept so soundly. Dreamlessly. Until…

Ugetsu woke him with a soft, insistent touch—his fingers brushing lightly against Mafuyu’s shoulder, his breath warm against his neck. Mafuyu stirred, blinking against the early morning light filtering through the curtains, his body still heavy with sleep. But then, he felt something more. A gentle, deliberate pressure against his hip, a warm, wet heat enveloping him. His eyes flew open, and he looked down to see Ugetsu’s head between his legs, his mouth wrapped around him, his eyes closed in concentration. Mafuyu’s breath caught in his throat, a sharp gasp escaping him. He reached down, his fingers tangling in Ugetsu’s hair, not to guide or push, but to hold on, to ground himself in the sudden, intense sensation. Ugetsu’s mouth was warm and wet, his tongue swirling and teasing, drawing out every ounce of pleasure. He took his time, exploring every inch of Mafuyu with slow, deliberate licks and sucks, his hands gripping Mafuyu’s thighs, holding him steady. Mafuyu’s hips began to move of their own accord, rocking gently against Ugetsu’s mouth, chasing the building pleasure. His other hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, as he bit back moans, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the morning. Ugetsu’s pace quickened, his suction tightening, his free hand wrapping around the base of Mafuyu’s cock, stroking in time with his mouth. The dual sensations sent Mafuyu spiraling, his body tensing, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Ugetsu,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with need. “I’m close.” Ugetsu hummed in response, the vibration sending shivers up Mafuyu’s spine, pushing him closer to the edge. With a final, tight suck, Ugetsu sent Mafuyu tumbling over, his orgasm crashing through him, his body convulsing, his release spilling into Ugetsu’s waiting mouth. Ugetsu took it all, swallowing every drop, his throat working, his eyes never leaving Mafuyu’s face. As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, Ugetsu gentled his touch, his mouth softening, his tongue lapping gently, cleaning him with careful, reverent licks. Mafuyu’s body went lax, boneless, his chest heaving, his heart pounding. Ugetsu crawled up beside him, his body warm and solid, his eyes soft with satisfaction. He pulled Mafuyu close, their bodies fitting together naturally, their breaths syncing.

“Good morning,” Ugetsu murmured, his voice rough with sleep and something more—something deeper, more intimate.

Mafuyu turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to Ugetsu’s jaw. “Good morning,” he replied, his voice still hoarse, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure. They lay there for a moment, just breathing, just feeling, just being. The world outside could wait. This moment was theirs, quiet and perfect, a promise of more to come.

Chapter 3: The Space We Make

Summary:

After years apart, Mafuyu and Ugetsu find themselves tangled in something both familiar and new. In the quiet aftermath of intimacy, they begin to unpack the weight of their shared past—what was left unsaid, what was lost, and what still lingers between them. As the snow falls outside, Mafuyu makes a late-night call to Hiiragi that sets new boundaries in motion. With tenderness, regret, and slow-burning honesty, this chapter explores what it means to come back to someone—and to yourself.

The heat between them lingered long after movement stopped. They lay tangled in the sheets, breath softening, sweat cooling slowly on skin. Mafuyu was half-draped over Ugetsu, his cheek resting just below his collarbone, an arm loosely tucked around his waist. Ugetsu’s fingers traced a slow, meandering path up and down Mafuyu’s spine—not to soothe, not to guide, just to stay.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Outside, the city had quieted completely, the snowfall smoothing every sound into hush except for the periodic scrape of the snowplows clearing the street. The radiator hissed softly in the corner. Somewhere down the block, wind knocked an icicle loose.

Mafuyu shifted just enough to press a faint kiss against Ugetsu’s chest—not with heat, but something more like gratitude. Ugetsu’s hand stilled, then resumed its slow tracing.
“You still don’t talk much,” Ugetsu murmured, voice gravel-soft with sleep.

Mafuyu smiled against his skin. “You used to say that like it was a bad thing.”

Ugetsu gave a small, breathy laugh. “Not today.”

They lay there in that fragile space where time didn’t seem to pass, where words felt too large for what was needed. Mafuyu’s eyes began to close, his breath evening out, his body heavy now—not with tension, but with release, physical and emotional.

Ugetsu shifted slightly, brushing the hair from Mafuyu’s forehead, then murmured against his temple, “Let’s get cleaned up a bit.”
There was no need to explain. Ugetsu eased himself out of bed, taking Mafuyu’s hand and guiding him toward the bathroom. Mafuyu followed without resistance, their fingers loosely intertwined as Ugetsu led him under the soft overhead lights, the steam filling the room as Ugetsu turned on the shower. Under the steady fall of hot water, Ugetsu pressed Mafuyu back against the cool tiles, their bodies slipping together easily, instinctively.

There was no urgency now—only warmth, breath, and the quiet hush of the city beyond the windows. Ugetsu’s hands moved with slow, deliberate purpose, rediscovering every familiar line of Mafuyu’s body. He knew exactly where to touch, how to coax soft, breathless sighs from him, drawing him deeper with each patient, lingering caress.

Mafuyu surrendered fully, allowing himself to be unraveled by Ugetsu’s steady, knowing rhythm, every lingering ache softened under the water’s heat and Ugetsu’s hands. The stress and strain of Tokyo felt a lifetime away. By the time they stepped out, wrapped in towels and flushed from warmth and closeness, neither had said a word. Words weren’t needed yet.

Ugetsu kissed Mafuyu’s damp hair, then left for the kitchen without a glance back. Mafuyu took his time dressing—slipping into one of Ugetsu’s soft shirts and a pair of loose pajama pants—then padded back to the bedroom. When Ugetsu returned, he carried two steaming cups of barley tea. He handed one to Mafuyu without speaking, then slid back beneath the blankets beside him, their legs brushing under the covers.

The tea was warm, rich, and grounding. For a while, they simply sat together, the room quiet except for the faint whistle of the radiator and the soft murmur of the city outside. Then, without a word, Mafuyu picked up his phone from the nightstand and dialed. His voice was calm when Hiiragi answered.

“Ragi,” Mafuyu said softly.

There was an immediate rush of words on the other end—it was after midnight in Tokyo and Mafuyu calling at that hour, when he was — in theory — somewhere else in the apartment was unsettling. Hiiragi’s voice tight with worry—but Mafuyu remained steady, his tone quiet and composed, gently explaining the situation without really giving too much away. “Everything’s fine,” he said, cutting through Hiiragi’s concern gently but firmly. “Well, mostly fine,” he added correcting himself. He let that settle before continuing, fingers wrapped loosely around his tea cup. “I just need some time and space,” Mafuyu added, his voice soft but certain. “Probably just for a few days. Postpone the tour dates if you need to.”

Ugetsu had watched him from the corner of his eye but hadn’t interrupted, sipping his tea with faint amusement. “Tell Suzuki he can handle things,” Mafuyu continued, his gaze steady on the snowfall outside. “Or you and Ritsuka can. It’s not that complicated.”

Hiiragi’s voice spilled through the phone again—but Mafuyu remained calm, unwavering. “No,” he said firmly. “Just tell them I’m visiting a friend.”

There was a quiet pause. Ugetsu gave a soft, amused breath beside him. He repeated the word under his breath, with a dry little smirk: “Friend? Friend,” he echoed, his voice curling with irony. “So that’s what I am to you?”

Mafuyu lowered the phone slightly, leaning close enough to brush his lips just behind Ugetsu’s ear, his voice low and steady. “There’s no simple way to explain what you are to me.” Ugetsu smiled faintly but let the remark pass without pressing further.

Then, in a teasing murmur, Ugetsu added, “Mm. And don’t you just sound confident, giving instructions.” Mafuyu glanced down at him, the corners of his mouth curving just slightly. “I’ve grown up.”

“I noticed,” Ugetsu said, cracking one eye open, his voice warm and amused. “Trust me.”

Mafuyu brought the phone back to his ear, his voice calm again. “Ragi—seriously. I’m okay. I’ll call again soon. I promise.” Then he ended the call, setting the phone aside before Hiiragi could protest further.

The room quieted again, wrapped in soft light and lingering warmth. Ugetsu set down his empty tea cup and stretched beneath the blankets, watching Mafuyu with a half-lidded gaze. “Does he know where you are?”

“No.”

“Does he suspect?”

“Probably. I think we just gave him a pretty good idea.”

Ugetsu’s fingers drifted lazily over Mafuyu’s arm, his touch affectionate now, absent of tension. “Do I ever get to meet him?” Ugetsu asked softly, his eyes searching. “Or is it them? I'm curious about who you've been with.”

Mafuyu watched the snow outside for a moment longer before turning back to him. “Maybe,” he said simply. “But not yet. I need to decide what it is that I need for myself.”

Ugetsu smiled slowly, his hand resting over Mafuyu’s chest, a steady, grounding weight. “I think we got a pretty good idea about that last night. You were wonderfully responsive. I really had no idea how you were going to react, but I decided to give you, well, everything that I had been thinking about you since our last day together seven years ago.”

“I was so hurt when you left me behind Ugetsu. I thought…”

“You thought we had a future. I hoped we did too. But a rising star violinist with an underage boyfriend was a bad image. I made a difficult decision. I deeply regretted it. Even that day I left.”

“You didn’t even talk to me. You just left. I was so lost. You’d opened so much up for me then were gone leaving me wide open and raw.”

“I am sorry. For what it’s worth you were special to me and it was a painful choice.”

“Hiiragi was there. He and mom picked me back up helped make everything whole again or mostly. And Ritsuka filled in the empty spaces.”

“Well I AM glad of that. I wanted to call you or at least write but I thought a clean break was better for both of us.”

“Another decision made without any input from me.”

“Yes, true. When your letter arrived last month I was thrilled. And on surface you sounded happy. But…”

“But?”

“I know you, Fuyu-chan.” He looked at him firmly. No nonsense. “I saw you then. I see you now. I read between the lines. And when you called last week it became clear.”

“I wanted us to all be happy together,” he said with a lump in his throat. Ugetsu drew a thumb across Mafuyu’s cheekbone.

“You can’t just WILL other people to be happy, Mafuyu.”

“I see that more clearly now. What’s the old adage about the best laid plans…”

“Fuyu-chan you are NO mouse. You never were. If anything you’re too ambitious.”

“So I need to work some things out for myself. I needed to be somewhere else…”

“And why not Ugetsu? I’m glad you thought enough of me to come up with that idea.”

Mafuyu smiled. “You still were…well, you changed the way I saw the world.”

“You were so adorably wide eyed and open back then. You shouted that you loved me the first time I fucked you.” Ugetsu caressed his cheekbone again. Mafuyu blushed furiously. “Nothing to be shy about Fuyu-chan. I took you to bed as a quick trick. But YOU won me that night too. You were so sincere.”

“You weren’t my first. But it had never been anything like that with anyone else. Hiiragi has gotten to be pretty good. No, really good at reading me and giving me what I need. Or at least he was until things began unraveling.”

“Why do you thinking that is Fuyu-chan? What went wrong?”

“Pressure. The band. Too many conflicts especially between Hiiragi and Ritsuka and me. I see now that I probably asked too much of them.”

“Did you really?” Ugetsu brushed his lips across Mafuyu’s shoulder. “You asked a lot. But too much? Maybe you just need to rethink your approach.”

 

“Well, that’s why I needed to get away and think about things. Especially about what I need for myself.”

“Good It starts there. And I am glad you are here.”

“You don’t mind if I stay for a few days then?”

“Stay as long as you like,” Ugetsu murmured, his voice threaded with quiet fondness. He glanced toward the window, then back again, the faintest flicker of a grin tugging at his lips. “When you’re ready, we’ll go out for lunch and we can talk some more. There’s a place nearby you’ll like.”
Mafuyu relaxed fully for the first time since his arrival, sinking deeper into the warmth of the bed, the cup still resting in his hands. “Okay,” he said softly. And in that quiet, with snow falling and the city hushed, they let the morning drift on.

Notes:

Covering a lot of ground, reconnecting and refreshing

Chapter 4: The Night He Disappeared

Summary:

When Mafuyu disappears without warning, Hiiragi wakes Ritsuka in the middle of the night with devastating news: Mafuyu has flown to New York—alone—and he's staying with Ugetsu. As the truth unfolds, guilt and disbelief mount. Neither Hiiragi nor Ritsuka noticed he was gone. Now they're left with the wreckage of what they didn’t say, and the sinking realization that they may have driven him away. But neither of them is willing to let him go without a fight.

Hiiragi appeared suddenly at Ritsuka’s bedside, shaking him awake from a deep sleep. He was wearing a jinbei, hair rumpled, still a little bleary—but clearly agitated.

“He’s gone,” Hiiragi blurted.

Ritsuka blinked up at him, not fully awake, barely processing the words.
“Who’s gone where?”

“Mafuyu,” Hiiragi said, voice rough with disbelief. “I think he’s flown to New York.”

Ritsuka stared, still too groggy to keep up.
“What’s in New York?”

Hiiragi arched an eyebrow, sharp and pointed despite his disheveled state.
“He’s in New York.”
Murata Ugetsu.

Hiiragi’s voice was tight, almost bitter.
“I think we’ve managed to drive him away, Uenoyama.”

He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, rubbing both hands hard over his face. He looked wrecked—hair sticking up in all directions, jinbei askew, like he hadn’t even bothered to compose himself before storming in.

Ritsuka blinked blearily at him from the pillows, still half-asleep, confused and annoyed.
“You’re not making any sense,” he muttered. “Mafuyu wouldn’t just—”

Hiiragi let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
“Oh, he would.”

He dragged a shaky hand through his hair and fixed Ritsuka with a hollow stare.
“He called me. In the middle of the night. Woke me up.”

Ritsuka’s eyes opened wider, sleep slipping fast from his face.

Hiiragi’s voice dropped lower, rough around the edges, like he was still hearing it in his ears.
“My phone rang out of nowhere. 1:30 in the morning. I picked up, terrified it was some emergency—and there he was. Calm as anything.”

Hiiragi’s throat worked. He didn’t blink.
“First thing he says? ‘Ragi. Yeah, I got here.’”

Ritsuka sat up slowly, brows furrowed.
“Got where?”

Hiiragi let out a hard breath, his voice tightening.
“That’s what I asked.”

“There was this pause… and then, like it was nothing, he says: ‘Everything’s fine. Well, mostly fine. I’m in New York.’”

Ritsuka’s face went blank, disbelief hitting hard.

Hiiragi’s voice got sharper as he went on, like each word was cutting into him.
“He said he needed space. Time to think. Like it was just some casual trip to the countryside, not halfway across the world.”

Ritsuka’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Hiiragi’s hands clenched into fists.
“I asked him if he was running away. If he was seriously ditching us—mid-tour, mid everything.”

He laughed once, bitterly.
“He didn’t even get mad. He just said, ‘No. I’m not running away. I just need some space for a bit.’”

Ritsuka’s face flushed, a mixture of shock and slow-burning anger rising in his chest.

Hiiragi’s voice turned low, bitter.
“Then he tells me to tell Suzuki. Says Suzuki can handle the band. Or we can. He actually said—‘It’s not that complicated.’”

Ritsuka’s breath came fast now, his fists tightening in the sheets.

“But here’s the part that really did me in,” Hiiragi muttered, eyes dark.

He stared at the floor, like he couldn’t bring himself to look at Ritsuka.

“He told me—explicitly—‘Don’t tell them where I am. Just tell them I’m staying with a friend for a bit.’”

Hiiragi’s gaze lifted then, locking with Ritsuka’s, heavy with meaning.
“He knew we’d freak out. And he didn’t care.”

Ritsuka’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, but Hiiragi kept going.

“And then—” Hiiragi’s breath hitched, face twisting. “I heard it. Ugetsu’s voice. At least I’m pretty sure it was him. In the background. All smug, half-asleep, saying—‘So that’s what I am? A friend?’”

Ritsuka’s face went white, fury and nausea rising in equal measure.

Hiiragi’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, like the words themselves still stung.
“And Mafuyu… he just lowered his voice. Real soft. And said—‘There’s no easy way to explain what you are to me.’”

Silence crushed the room.

Hiiragi let out a long, shaky breath, staring at his hands.
“He sounded calm. Happy, even,” he muttered, voice hollow. “Like he’d finally figured everything out.”

Ritsuka’s voice came out low and tight, trembling with rage.
“He left,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “He left all of us—for him.”

Hiiragi gave a short, bitter nod.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “He chose him.”

Chapter 5: Whatever It Takes

Summary:

When Mafuyu disappears without warning, Ritsuka and Hiiragi scramble to piece together what happened—only to discover he's flown to New York to stay with Ugetsu. Panic turns to purpose as the two confront their own blind spots and missed signs. With help from Haruki and Shizusumi, they confirm what neither of them wanted to admit: Mafuyu has apparently been planning this for weeks. But it’s not too late. Determined not to lose him, Ritsuka and Hiiragi book the next flight out—ready to cross an ocean to bring him home. No matter what it takes.

Ritsuka was already moving, grabbing his phone again with shaking hands. His face was set—tight, pale, furious—but his fingers were steady as they navigated through airline apps, searching flights.
“There has to be something,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hiiragi. His brows furrowed as he scanned departures to New York, jaw clenched.
Hiiragi stood and grabbed his own phone, swiping through contacts until he found Haruki’s number.
“I’m calling Haruki-san,” he muttered, already dialing.
Ritsuka barely nodded, his attention fixed on the screen.
Hiiragi’s call connected quickly.
“Haruki-san? Yeah, it’s Hiiragi. Sorry for the middle of the night, but—listen, this is serious.”
Ritsuka’s fingers scrolled faster, his face darkening with every passing second.
“No, Mafuyu’s not here,” Hiiragi snapped, his tone clipped and urgent. “He left. Flew to New York.”
Ritsuka swore under his breath, sharp and quiet, as he realized just how many flights Mafuyu could’ve taken—dozens, direct and connecting, scattered across the last twenty-four hours.
“He called me from there, Haruki-san,” Hiiragi went on grimly. “I’m not guessing. He’s with Murata Ugetsu.”
At the sound of that name, Ritsuka’s lips pressed into a tight, hard line.
Hiiragi winced slightly at whatever Haruki barked in response, but kept his voice level.
“Yeah. I know. No, I had no idea he was planning this… We thought he was sequestered, working on his new song…”
Ritsuka cut in, low and tense.
“There are too many flights,” he muttered, eyes still locked on the phone. “I can’t tell which one he took. He could’ve flown out last night… or this morning… He might already be there.”
Hiiragi gave him a brief, grim look before returning to the call.
“He’s already there,” he confirmed. Get Suzuki-san on the line too,” Hiiragi added. “We’ll need help covering for him—and we need to know if he said anything to either of you.”
A pause.
“No, we didn’t notice he was gone either,” Hiiragi admitted, flatly. “We both just assumed he was with the other.”
The words landed hard—bitter, heavy with self-loathing.
Ritsuka was still cross-referencing flights and airports, but he looked ready to throw the phone from sheer frustration.
Hiiragi’s voice dropped lower.
“Just call Suzuki-san. We’ll explain everything.”
He hung up without waiting for a reply, shoving his phone into his pocket. Guilt clawed at him. Mafuyu had specifically told him not to tell their managers where he’d gone. And he’d done it anyway. Maybe this—this kind of disregard—was exactly what had pushed Mafuyu away.
Ritsuka let out a sharp breath through his nose.
“Even if we figure out which flight it was, it’s too late,” he said bitterly. “He’s already there.”
Hiiragi’s expression was tight, but his voice was steady.
“Then we get on the next one.”
Ritsuka looked up, startled.
Hiiragi’s jaw was set, his eyes fierce with determination.
“We find the first flight out,” he said firmly. “We go after him.”
Ritsuka stared at him for a moment, the full weight of it sinking in—not just guilt or panic, but the realization that they couldn’t sit still, not after this.
Slowly, he nodded, his throat tight.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low but resolute. “We’re not letting him go that easy.”
Just like that, they moved—from stunned regret into something harder. Sharper.
They would go after him.
Even if it meant following him across an ocean.
Ritsuka was still hunched over his phone, scrolling through flight options, when Hiiragi’s buzzed again.
“Haruki-san,” Hiiragi muttered, answering fast and putting it on speaker. “Did you reach Suzuki-san?”
Haruki’s voice came through, groggy but tense.
“Yeah, I called him. He’s in combat mode—but listen. I… I think I know something.”
Both Ritsuka and Hiiragi froze.
“A couple weeks ago—Mafuyu asked me to mail something for him,” Haruki said slowly. “Didn’t think much of it. Figured it was a fan letter or something.”
Hiiragi’s face tightened.
“A letter?”
Ritsuka’s head shot up, eyes wide.
Haruki exhaled shakily.
“It was addressed to Ugetsu Murata. New York address. Already sealed. He said he wasn’t sure he’d be brave enough to send it later, so he asked me to do it right away.”
Silence fell—heavy and suffocating.
Hiiragi’s face drained of color.
Ritsuka’s hands went limp, the phone nearly slipping from his grasp.
“He planned this,” Hiiragi whispered, horrified. “He’s been planning this for weeks.”
Ritsuka’s voice was low, hollow.
“We didn’t even notice.”
Haruki’s voice softened, laced with regret.
“He seemed calm when he gave it to me. Almost… relieved. I asked him if he was okay, and he just smiled a little and said, ‘I’m doing what I need to do.’”
Hiiragi closed his eyes, hands trembling.
“This wasn’t impulsive,” he murmured. “He knew.”
Ritsuka’s breath caught in his throat.
“He knew exactly what he was doing,” he muttered bitterly. “And we were too wrapped up in ourselves to see it.”
They were both silent for a long moment.
Then Haruki spoke again, quiet but firm.
“If you’re serious about going after him, you’d better hurry.”
Ritsuka’s eyes darkened.
“We’re serious.”
Hiiragi’s gaze lifted, steeled by guilt but burning with resolve.
“We’ll get him back,” he said, fierce despite the weight in his chest.
Ritsuka nodded, jaw tight as he pulled up the first available flight.
“No matter what it takes.”

Hiiragi’s phone was already back in his hand. His face was grim as he scrolled through contacts.
“I’m calling Shizu-chan,” he muttered, half to himself but loud enough for Ritsuka to hear. “He needs a heads-up. He can help with logistics.”
Ritsuka didn’t look up, but he gave a faint nod, eyes still locked on flight info.
Hiiragi hesitated, thumb hovering over Shizusumi’s name.
“Our next tour date is in ten days,” he added under his breath.
He met Ritsuka’s eyes.
“We’d better be prepared to postpone.”
Ritsuka’s chest tightened. But he nodded, short and clipped.
“Do it,” he said quietly. “We’ll deal with everything else later.”
Hiiragi hit the call button.
As the phone rang, he muttered like a vow,
“We’re not letting this explode while we’re halfway across the world.”
Ritsuka’s voice came cold, without looking up.
“It already exploded.”
Shizusumi picked up on the third ring, voice low and groggy.
“…Hiiragi? You do realize it’s the middle of the night, right?”
“Sorry. But this can’t wait,” Hiiragi said briskly. “It’s about Mafuyu.”
That got a pause.
Shizu’s tone shifted, sharper now.
“What about him? Don’t tell me it’s another meltdown about lyrics or scheduling.”
Hiiragi’s grip tightened.
“It’s… worse than that. He’s gone.”
Silence.
“Gone where?” Shizu said flatly.
Hiiragi’s voice came low and tight.
“New York.”
A sharp exhale from the other end.
“Are you kidding me? What the hell is he doing in New York?”
“He flew there on his own. Didn’t tell anyone. I only found out because he called after he landed.”
Shizu let out a long, disbelieving breath.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “And here I thought you three were finally managing to keep the drama off the stage.”
Hiiragi didn’t argue.
“We’re handling it. But we need to be realistic—we might have to postpone the tour.”
Shizu gave a low, humorless laugh.
“No kidding. I’ll start looking into what we’ll need to reschedule.”
Then his tone shifted again.
“You said he called you. Where is he staying?”
Hiiragi’s stomach twisted.
“That’s the problem,” he said quietly. “He’s with Murata Ugetsu.”
There was an audible inhale.
“…You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
Silence stretched again.
“That’s not good,” Shizu said at last. “Not for him. Not for any of you.”
Hiiragi nodded, even though Shizu couldn’t see it.
“We know. That’s why we’re going.”
Shizu’s voice steadied, laced with warning.
“You’d better be careful. This isn’t just personal anymore. You screw this up, it’s the whole band on the line.”
“We won’t,” Hiiragi said, quiet but sure.
Another pause. Then Shizu exhaled.
“Fine. Keep me posted. I’ll start blocking out the tour calendar, just in case.”
“Thank you,” Hiiragi said, the weight in his chest easing slightly.
Before he could hang up, Shizu added, his voice low and pointed:
“And Hiiragi—get him home. Safe. No matter what it takes.”
Hiiragi’s breath caught.
“I will.”
He hung up and turned to find Ritsuka watching him, phone in hand, jaw set.
“Found a flight,” Ritsuka said, voice low but steady. “It leaves in five hours.”
Hiiragi nodded once, already standing.
“Then we’re going.”

Chapter 6: Out In The Open

Summary:

Mafuyu and Ugetsu navigate a quiet morning together, sharing unspoken feelings and memories over a warm meal at Café Luxembourg. Their candid conversation reveals trust, vulnerability, and the complexity of their connection. Later, a stroll through Lincoln Center leads to an unexpected reunion with an old friend.Ugetsu arranges an impromptu soirée with his close friends. As Mafuyu contemplates his place in Ugetsu’s world, the chapter closes on a hopeful note of belonging and new beginnings.

Mafuyu was already up and dressed by the time Ugetsu emerged from the bedroom. He looked… striking. Surprisingly sharp—the soft edges of his usual style replaced by something cleaner, more mature. He wore a pair of slate-gray trousers, tailored just enough to skim his frame, and a deep burgundy sweater—clearly borrowed, judging by the slightly longer sleeves and finer weave.

Ugetsu paused in the doorway, quietly taking him in. The sweater was his. It looked better on Mafuyu.

Mafuyu glanced over, catching the look—but said nothing, just adjusted the cuff of the sleeve with calm precision. Ugetsu let out a soft, almost amused breath.

“You really have grown up,” he remarked, his voice low but warm, lingering somewhere between admiration and something more elusive.

Mafuyu’s lips curved, just faintly—half-acknowledging it without breaking the quiet between them.

Ugetsu wasn’t exactly underdressed himself—black from head to toe, as always, but every detail sharp. A black button-down, sleeves neatly cuffed. Crisp black trousers, pressed clean. Together, they made a striking pair—dark and light, sharp lines and soft edges. For a moment, Ugetsu simply watched him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

But then Mafuyu reached for his coat—a heavy charcoal wool—and that broke the spell. Ugetsu followed, pulling on his own long black coat, a soft cashmere scarf wrapped high around his throat. Without words, they layered up—scarves, gloves, collars flipped against the bitter wind waiting outside.

Mafuyu glanced back once, meeting Ugetsu’s gaze.
“Ready?” he asked, quiet but steady.
Ugetsu’s answering smile was small but genuine.
“As I’ll ever be,” he replied.

And together, they stepped out into the bright, icy morning—shoulders brushing, steps in easy sync as they headed toward Café Luxembourg, one of those enduring New York places that seemed to exist outside of time.

Neither of them said it aloud. But it felt… right.

Inside Café Luxembourg, it was warm—bustling but not loud, filled with the low hum of conversation and the soft clatter of cutlery. Their table was tucked near the back, half-shielded from view. Over grilled fish, steak frites, and cold white wine, their talk drifted toward old habits and personal truths.

“It’s where I go when I need to think,” Ugetsu admitted, swirling his wine glass. “Or when I need to remember who I am.”

“And who are you today?” Mafuyu asked, calm but probing.

Ugetsu let out a soft, rueful laugh.
“Still figuring that out. But it feels… less impossible today.”

Mafuyu’s quiet reply settled between them:
“It’s easier with company.”

Ugetsu tilted his head slightly, studying him across the table.
“And how do you feel about the company today?” he asked, voice casual but curious. “You descended on my apartment last night and—whatever else you may be trying to figure out—you were… well, you certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.”

Mafuyu flushed slightly but didn’t look away.
“You aren’t like anyone else I’ve ever met,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I didn’t know what to expect. But there you were.”

Ugetsu smiled, slow and a little wicked.
“You’re still adorably wide open in bed, Mafuyu. Wide open in everything, actually.”

Mafuyu let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a huff, cheeks pink but eyes unflinching.

“When we first met, I took you places you’d never been before,” Ugetsu said, voice low but intent. “You were pretty intimidated. No one had ever touched you like I did. It was new. Raw. But you put yourself in my hands. That was brave of you.”

Mafuyu’s fingers grazed the edge of his wine glass.
“I was pretty scared, actually. When you… spanked me.”

Ugetsu gave a half-laugh, half-exhale—but stayed quiet, watching him.

“But you said it was a fine line between pleasure and pain,” Mafuyu continued, still not quite meeting his gaze. “And the sheer adrenaline rush was… really intense. I didn’t know what to do with that.”

“You didn’t run,” Ugetsu said, his tone unusually gentle. “You leaned into it. Most people flinch when they’re touched like that for the first time. You didn’t. You let yourself feel everything.”

Mafuyu’s lips parted slightly, his gaze finally lifting.
“I think part of me wanted to know what it would be like… to give someone that kind of trust. Not just physically. Emotionally. To stop keeping parts of myself hidden.”

“That’s what it was for me too,” Ugetsu admitted, his voice quieter now. “Not control. Not spectacle. Just… something honest.”

Mafuyu nodded, a bit more composed now.
“It wasn’t perfect. I didn’t understand everything as it was happening. But it never felt like a game. That’s what made it okay.”

“It was never a game, Mafuyu.” Ugetsu leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “You’re still wide open. It’s terrifyingly beautiful.”

Mafuyu gave a soft breath of laughter.
“Maybe that’s what you like about me.”

“Maybe it is,” Ugetsu murmured, raising his glass in a quiet toast. Mafuyu mirrored the gesture, clinking gently.

Neither of them rushed the meal. They moved through it slowly, letting the wine warm them, letting the room fade into quiet.

Later, as they stepped back outside into the crisp afternoon, Ugetsu found himself smiling—a rare, honest smile. Mafuyu raised a brow, silently questioning. Ugetsu only tugged his scarf tighter.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you something else.”

They wandered through Lincoln Center under soft sunlight, the plaza calm. Ugetsu indicated the buildings as they passed.
“State Theater… Metropolitan Opera House… Geffen Hall…”

“I’ve played there several times with the Philharmonic,” he added, a touch offhand but unmistakably proud. “The Sibelius Violin Concerto—just last month.”

Mafuyu glanced over.
“Didn’t I see a recording of that?”

“Yes. I get asked for that one a lot,” Ugetsu replied with a small smile. “I recorded it with the San Francisco Symphony.”

He pointed toward the northwest corner.
“And back in the far corner is the Vivian Beaumont Theater.”

Near Juilliard, a tall man with a viola case approached, calling out warmly.

“Ugetsu!”

“Kang Ji-hoon,” Ugetsu greeted, his voice fond but amused.

Ji-hoon’s grin widened as he slipped into easy Japanese.
“Still haunting this place?”

“I could say the same about you,” Ugetsu replied dryly, then gestured to Mafuyu without hesitation.

“This is my boyfriend. Mafuyu Sato. Frontman of Given, a rising J-rock band.”

Mafuyu blinked at the word—boyfriend—but bowed politely, nerves fluttering.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ji-hoon said, nodding with genuine interest.

Ugetsu added, voice a touch wry but not without affection,
“Kang is… well, another you, I suppose. We were boyfriends. Twice, actually. In Tokyo, around the time I knew you. Then again when I moved to New York. We play in a string quartet together. And sometimes… keep each other company.”

At that, Mafuyu bowed slightly and clasped Kang’s outstretched hand, his grip firm but respectful. Ji-hoon’s expression was warm—curious, maybe, but not unkind.

“Ji-hoon,” Ugetsu added, a hint of mischief in his voice, “see if Viv and Ken want to have a little impromptu soirée this evening—six o’clock at my place—to welcome Mafuyu to town.”

Ji-hoon grinned.
“We’ll bring our instruments, some wine, and a few nibbles.”

Ugetsu gave a knowing smile.
“You know what to bring, I’m sure.”

They exchanged a few more words before Ji-hoon departed with a wave. Silence settled again as they walked on.

“…You called me your boyfriend,” Mafuyu finally said.

Ugetsu’s lips curled faintly, amused.
“I only said the truth.”

Mafuyu’s cheeks warmed, but he didn’t argue.

Maybe I’m ready to be that, really. To hold the title without hesitation, without fear—to let someone see all the messy parts and still want me. To stop hiding behind half-truths and quiet smiles. It’s scary, but it feels right. Because with Ugetsu, it doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels like home.

Ugetsu chuckled softly, satisfied, and kept walking.
“We’ll go see Carnegie Hall later,” he added easily. “My quartet has performed there.”

And Mafuyu followed—willingly—back in the direction of Ugetsu’s apartment.

Notes:

Kang Ji hoon, Vivian Choi and Ken Tanaka are friends of Ugetsu who first appear in my story The Arashi Quartet.

Chapter 7: The Weight We Carry

Summary:

While packing for New York, Hiiragi and Ritsuka confront the guilt, jealousy, and fear that’s been festering between them. Old wounds resurface. Hard truths are spoken. And both are forced to admit the one thing they never wanted to believe: they might have already lost Mafuyu—and this time, he may not come back.

They packed in silence—but it wasn’t the same panicked scramble from earlier.

It was slower now. Heavier. Every move felt weighed down, deliberate, like neither of them could pretend anymore that they weren’t packing more than just clothes.

Hiiragi kept folding and refolding the same shirts, unable to stop his hands from shaking. He could feel the pressure building behind his ribs—thick and sharp—but he kept swallowing it down.

Because the truth sat there, bitter and burning under his skin:
He had nearly lost Mafuyu once before.

That unbearable, hollow grief after Yuki—when everything between them had shattered, when Mafuyu had gone quiet in a way that made Hiiragi fear he might never come back at all.

Hiiragi had fought—desperately—to pull him back from that edge. He’d begged, pushed, done everything he knew how to do.
And somehow, Mafuyu had come back.

Hiiragi had let himself believe that was the end of it. That they’d survived the worst.
That Mafuyu wouldn’t slip away again.

But now—

Hiiragi’s throat tightened hard, his hands frozen over the half-packed suitcase.
He’d fought so hard to keep Mafuyu back then—only to take him for granted all over again.

And now, here he was, staring down the same terrible truth:
He might lose him all over again.
And this time... he might not be able to bring him back.

He hadn’t moved in minutes, still staring at the suitcase like it held every mistake he’d ever made.

But across the room, Ritsuka’s voice broke the quiet—low, rough, but steady in its honesty.

“...It’s not just you.”

Hiiragi looked up, startled by the sharp, tired sound of it.

Ritsuka didn’t meet his gaze. He was sitting on the edge of his bed now, elbows braced on his knees, hands limp between them, staring at the floor.

“I’ve been... jealous of you,” Ritsuka said, flat but biting, like the words scraped on their way out.

Hiiragi’s breath caught—but Ritsuka just kept going, too tired to stop.

“Every time you looked at him a certain way. Every time you got to say something I didn’t know how to say,” he muttered, his voice rough with resentment—but all of it directed at himself. “I kept telling myself it was fine. That we all agreed on this arrangement. That I was the one who understood him now. The one he chose.”

Hiiragi’s chest tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

Ritsuka let out a rueful breath, gaze dark and distant.

“But it never stopped eating at me,” he admitted, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. “How easy it seemed for you. How long you’ve known him. How he lets you get close without even trying.”

His throat worked hard.

“I hated it,” Ritsuka muttered. “And I hated myself for hating it.”

Hiiragi’s hands curled into fists—but not from anger. Just that same awful recognition. That gut-wrenching guilt, mirrored back at him.

---

Ritsuka’s voice dropped lower—stripped down to something raw.

“I kept thinking I was being patient,” he said tightly. “That I was respecting his pace. That I wasn’t pressuring him.”

His mouth twisted in something like shame.

“But really, I was just afraid to commit. Afraid to stake a real claim. Afraid of ruining what we had by asking for more.”

Hiiragi swallowed hard.

Ritsuka gave a hollow, humorless laugh.

“And the whole time, I kept leaning on him anyway,” he said, voice breaking at the edges. “Expecting him to wait while I figured myself out. While I figured us out.”

He hesitated. Then, almost whispering:

“I wanted to keep him... without fully choosing him.”

Silence burned between them—thick with guilt.

Hiiragi’s voice came out low, grim.
“...And we both thought he’d just stay anyway.”

Ritsuka gave a small, broken nod.
“Yeah. We took him for granted in different ways.”

They sat in the stillness for a long time.

Then, Ritsuka exhaled—slow and ragged.
“You know what’s worse?” he asked.

Hiiragi glanced over but stayed quiet.

“I kept telling myself we had all the time in the world,” Ritsuka muttered. “That Mafuyu wasn’t going anywhere.”

His voice cracked.

“I forgot... he’s the only one between us who actually knows how to leave.”

It landed like a punch.

Because it was true.

Hiiragi’s chest ached. But something had shifted between them—ugly, raw, but clearer now.

Hiiragi spoke again, steady and low.
“When we get there... we don’t just owe him an apology.”

Ritsuka looked up, eyes wary.

“We owe him a choice,” Hiiragi said. “A real one. No more pulling. No more middle ground.”

Ritsuka’s breath hitched. Then:
“Yeah. We stop making him choose for us.”

And when they resumed packing, there was no more hesitation—only grim, quiet resolve.

---

They were going to New York.

Not to fight over Mafuyu. But to finally face the damage they’d done—and accept whatever answer he gave. Even if it wasn’t the one they wanted.

They packed in silence after that—grim, focused.

But no matter how fast Hiiragi’s hands moved, the words wouldn’t leave him:

I swore I’d never lose him again.

It looped in his mind as he zipped his bag too hard, as they checked passports and flight times.

And here I am. Losing him all over again.

The city outside was waking up—taxis, trucks, delivery bikes—but it felt distant. Everything did.

Only that weight in his chest felt real.

He remembered how fierce he’d been back then. How certain. But what had it gotten him?

Maybe in trying so hard not to break Mafuyu, he’d held him too gently—let him drift right out of reach.

Hiiragi couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in:

This time, I might not get another chance.

Notes:

This section wound up and so again I have split it into two sections. I’ll post the other half after giving it another edit.

Chapter 8: What We Left Unsaid

Summary:

As tensions boil over, Hiiragi and Ritsuka confront the truth they’ve both been avoiding—Mafuyu wanted all three of them. Shizusumi forces them to face the damage caused by their silence and jealousy, offering tough love and an unexpected lifeline. With time running out, they begin a desperate journey to make things right before it’s too late.

Only hours had passed since their raw, ugly confessions—but it already felt like a lifetime. Hiiragi and Ritsuka moved in grim silence through the glowing halls of Narita Airport, concealed under ball caps and sunglasses, the world around them a blur of crowds of people and broadcast announcements. Haruki had handled everything, of course. First-class seats.

Hiiragi muttered as they reached their gate, voice low and sharp. “Haruki really went all out. First class.” His lip curled as he adjusted his bag. “Guess he figured we’d need something to numb the crash landing.”

Ritsuka’s answering glance was cold, flat. “Or maybe he just didn’t trust either of us to survive economy without killing each other.”

There had been no fans waiting at the gate. No camera flashes or autograph-seekers. Just two broken boys walking toward the wreckage they’d helped cause.

Hiiragi kept one AirPod in and one out, letting the music flood just half of his skull. He’d been doing that a lot lately—leaving one ear open, like maybe Mafuyu’s voice would break through the static if he just stayed ready.

They boarded without another word, settling into their impossibly soft seats, surrounded by too much space, too much quiet—nothing to distract from the suffocating weight between them.

Hiiragi wasted no time flagging down the attendant. “Double Hibiki. Neat.”

Ritsuka’s glare was immediate. “Seriously? You’re starting with that?”

Hiiragi didn’t even look at him. “I don’t plan on being sober for this flight.”

Ritsuka let out a sharp breath. “You think drinking’s going to fix anything?”

“No,” Hiiragi muttered, low and biting. “I think it’ll make me stop picturing his face every time I close my eyes.”

The words landed hard, sharp and brutal.

Ritsuka’s jaw clenched tight, but he didn’t back down. “Right. Great plan. Drown yourself and hope it erases the fact that we drove him halfway across the world.”

Hiiragi’s laugh was bitter, humorless. “Don’t act like you’re above it. You’re just pissed you can’t blame me for this one cleanly.”

“Oh, believe me,” Ritsuka shot back, his voice like a knife, “there’s plenty of blame to go around.”

The whiskey arrived. Hiiragi downed half in one swallow, slamming the glass a little too hard onto the tray.

He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on nothing.

“You’ve been glaring at me since we packed,” Hiiragi muttered darkly. “Go on. Say it.”

Ritsuka’s voice was sharp, controlled—barely. “Fine. You were too selfish to see it coming.”

Hiiragi turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Selfish?” He let out a breathless, incredulous sound. “You think I didn’t see it coming? I’ve been living with that fear since we were kids.”

“Then you should’ve done something about it,” Ritsuka snapped.

“Don’t you dare lecture me,” Hiiragi spit out, leaning closer, his voice razor-sharp. “You stood by and watched it happen too. You kept playing the good boyfriend, pretending everything was fine while you froze him out every time you got scared.”

Ritsuka’s cheeks flushed, fists clenched hard on the armrests. “At least I wasn’t the one constantly pulling him back just to feel better about myself.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hiiragi muttered, rolling his eyes, reaching for his drink again. “We both used him. Don’t act like you’re cleaner just because you didn’t admit it out loud.”

Ritsuka’s voice dropped, rough with restrained fury. “I didn’t ask him to come back just to shove him aside again.”

Hiiragi let out a sharp breath, tilting his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass.

“No,” Hiiragi said softly, almost mockingly. “You just kept him dangling on a leash, hoping he wouldn’t notice you were too afraid to really claim him.”

That landed hard—Ritsuka flinched, but didn’t look away.

“I know exactly what I did,” Ritsuka said, voice tight and low. “I wasn’t ready. I hurt him. I’m not proud of it.”

Hiiragi’s voice went cold—stripped of heat but no less cutting. “None of us are proud of it. Doesn’t change where we are.”

Silence settled—thick, bitter, heavy—as the plane lifted into the night, Japan falling away beneath them.

Hiiragi stared out the window, eyes distant, voice flat. “You know what I hate the most?” he muttered.

Ritsuka’s voice was rough. “What?”

Hiiragi let out a faint, hollow breath. “We both thought we had time.”He finished his whiskey in one slow swallow, not looking at Ritsuka again. Neither spoke for a long while. Eventually, with a quiet, deliberate motion, Hiiragi flagged down the attendant again.

“Another,” he said smoothly, detached. “Neat.”

Ritsuka let out a quiet, disgusted breath—but didn’t stop him this time. He just stared straight ahead, tense as a wire.

Hiiragi’s voice broke the quiet again, low and sharp as the fresh glass landed on his tray.

“So, Uenoyama,” he said, swirling the whiskey slowly, his words soft but weighted, every syllable deliberate.

Ritsuka didn’t look at him—but his shoulders stiffened instantly.

“You knew,” Hiiragi said, tilting his head slightly, his gaze heavy and cold. “You knew Mafuyu wanted us all to be together.”

Ritsuka’s jaw locked—but still, he said nothing.

Hiiragi gave a low, humorless laugh, curling with quiet scorn.

“But every time I got near you,” Hiiragi went on, his voice curling sharper, “you acted like my touch burned you. Like it physically repulsed you to even be in the same room if it wasn’t about him.”

Ritsuka’s breath hitched—but Hiiragi didn’t stop.

“So which was it?” Hiiragi asked, soft but cutting, leaning in just slightly. “Were you pretending? Or were you just too much of a coward to say it out loud?”

Ritsuka finally turned, eyes flashing, voice sharp enough to bite. “Don’t put this all on me.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Hiiragi said, with a faint, mocking smile, lifting his glass in a cold little toast. “I’ve admitted my part. I clung too tightly. I wanted Mafuyu too much to let go.”

He took a long, slow sip, never looking away.

“But like Shizu said,” Hiiragi added, quieter but deadly sharp, “if you weren’t committed to all of us, you should’ve spoken up.”

Ritsuka’s fists clenched hard in his lap.

“I wasn’t ready,” Ritsuka ground out, voice scraped raw. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Hiiragi’s gaze stayed steady—unyielding.

“No,” he said, voice like ice. “You just didn’t want to lose him—but you didn’t want to share him either.”

That hit like a fist—Ritsuka’s face twisted, his chest tight—but he couldn’t argue.

Hiiragi sat back, finishing his drink in one slow swallow, his eyes heavy but sharp.

“You let him carry all of it,” Hiiragi said, soft but cutting, almost tired now. “You let him hold the weight of wanting something none of us had the guts to fight for.”

Ritsuka didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t.

And in the quiet hum of the cabin, somewhere over the Pacific, Hiiragi’s next words landed like a curse neither of them could outrun.

“That’s why he left.”

Silence swallowed everything else.

Hiiragi didn’t speak again. He just closed his eyes, sinking back into the seat like the words had emptied even him out.

Ritsuka sat stiff beside him, jaw clenched, staring at his fists in his lap—breathing shallow, harsh, and rattled.

And somewhere in the dark hush of first class, above the clouds, both of them sat trapped in the same quiet, brutal truth:

There was no going back .

Notes:

Chapters 7 and 8 were originally one gigantic chapter, I have ultimately cut them into two shorter chapters for convenience.

Chapter 9: Interlude 1

Summary:

Ugetsu reads a handwritten letter from Mafuyu that quietly unravels him—stirring buried emotions, painful gratitude, and a longing he thought he’d left behind.

His fingers tightened around the card before he even finished the first line. Mafuyu’s handwriting was delicate, elegant in a way that startled him—like a whisper on fine paper. It didn’t look like the boy he remembered, the boy who sang like a wound unhealed.

And yet… every word hit like a blade dipped in honey.

“You once told me that pain and pleasure aren’t opposites.”

A shiver crawled down Ugetsu’s spine.

God. He barely remembered saying that. It was probably late. Probably after sex. Probably when he thought Mafuyu was too young, too fragile, too quiet to really understand him. And yet here it was, returned to him—distilled and reborn through Mafuyu’s voice.

He understood it now. Of course he did.

And somehow, impossibly, Mafuyu had made it beautiful.

The words didn’t just touch him—they inhabited him. Took up space in his lungs and ribcage like music. Mafuyu had always had that effect. Even in silence. Especially in silence. But this—this was worse. Or better. He couldn’t tell.

It was like watching a flame you thought you’d extinguished suddenly burn brighter than ever.

Every sentence stoked that old, terrible compulsion—the ache to pull Mafuyu close and drown in him. Not just the body (though Kamisama, that too)—but the mind, the way he turned over emotions like polished stones, holding each one to the light. That letter saw him. Laid him bare. And forgave him, somehow, without saying the word.

“You carried so much inside you, and somehow you made space for me in all of it.”

He had to close his eyes.

It was unbearable. The intimacy. The generosity. Mafuyu wasn’t just thanking him. He was offering something. A part of himself. A piece of that wild, messy heart that Ugetsu once touched and tried not to ruin.

Too late for that, he thought bitterly.

But Mafuyu had the audacity to write this letter like the damage wasn’t the whole story. Like Ugetsu had been something more than a beautiful mistake.

That kind of grace—it was more dangerous than any kiss.

“You really taught me that. Just by being exactly who you are.”

Fuck.

How dare he? How dare Mafuyu write that like it was simple. Like Ugetsu hadn’t been breaking himself open just to feel alive. Like he hadn’t been scared, even then, that Mafuyu would see all of him and run.

But Mafuyu hadn’t run.

And now he was writing like he still wasn’t running. Like he never had. Like there was still a place for Ugetsu in all this wild, terrifying love he carried now—for Ritsuka, for Hiiragi, this boy who used to make him bleed music just with that aching longing in his beautiful voice.

Ugetsu stared at the card.

Part of him wanted to set it on fire. Another part wanted to press it to his chest and sleep with it under his pillow like a child.

What kind of man writes like that? What kind of man loves like that?

Mafuyu.

Always Mafuyu.

And god help him—Ugetsu wanted him still. Wanted him more than he could admit. Not just the body. Not just the voice. But the mind. The will. The impossible softness that somehow hadn’t hardened, not even now.

The letter slipped from his hands and fluttered to the floor.

Ugetsu stared at it, trembling.

He’ll be the death of me.

And some part of him—dark and aching and unrepentantly alive—welcomed it.

Notes:

Ugetsu is reading the letter Mafuyu wrote to him in my story “Silence and Space”. This occurs in Silence and Space chapter 9 Interlude 3. This occurs a week or so before before Mafuyu calls him unexpectedly asking to come stay with him. Two souls with a deep, almost primal connection suddenly being pulled back together after a seven year separation.

Chapter 10: Unraveling Emotions

Summary:

In a fierce, passionate reunion, Ugetsu and Mafuyu's intense encounter unlocks buried emotions and past traumas. Ugetsu's rough, possessive touch triggers Mafuyu's memories of abuse, but also offers a path to healing and empowerment. As they navigate through pain and pleasure, they find solace and understanding, ultimately reconnecting on a profound level.

As soon as they stepped back into the apartment, the door barely clicked shut behind them before Ugetsu’s hands were on Mafuyu—pulling him close with a ferocious intensity, as if touch might quiet the storm inside him. Mafuyu’s back hit the wall with a thud, and Ugetsu’s mouth crashed down on his, hungry and demanding.

What am I doing?

He should have left it alone. Should have let Mafuyu go on being a memory. A ghost he’d already grieved, over and over, across concerts and countries and countless anonymous lovers. He’d told himself it was over. That he’d moved on.

But Mafuyu—this beautiful, haunted boy-turned-man—was here again, flesh and breath and unbearable gravity. And Ugetsu felt like he was drowning in something ancient and primal and absolutely beyond his control.

Mafuyu melted into the kiss, his arms winding around Ugetsu’s neck, pulling him closer like he, too, was afraid of what might be left if they broke apart. Ugetsu’s hands roamed over him, rough and insistent, sliding beneath his clothes with a desperate kind of reverence. The sweater was yanked over Mafuyu’s head, followed by his shirt, baring the pale curve of his chest, the soft planes of his ribs.

I thought I could forget. I thought time would dull it. But I look at him, and it’s like no time has passed at all. That quiet ache in his eyes… it undoes me.

Ugetsu’s mouth found Mafuyu’s neck, biting and sucking, marking him with fierce possession—not because he owned him, but because some frantic, buried part of him needed to be remembered.

Mafuyu shivered under him. Not from fear. Not hesitation. Just intensity. Just grief. Just want.

He carries so much inside him—grief, guilt, beauty—and I’m sick with how much that compels me. Not just to touch him. To devour him. To crawl into the hollow places he hides and live there.

He moved too fast, too rough—almost violent in the way his hands fumbled at Mafuyu’s waistband, his breath ragged. But Mafuyu didn’t flinch. He held on tighter.

This isn’t just lust. It’s more than love, is it? It’s everything I swore I’d buried—come rushing back like it never left.

You’re going to hurt him again.

But Mafuyu was already pressed against him like he wanted to be hurt. Like he was offering something broken and sacred and saying, take it, if you still can.

“You still like it a little rough, don’t you, Mafuyu?” Ugetsu growled against his skin, his voice low and dangerous. “Do your boyfriends know how to give you what you want?”

Mafuyu’s response was a deep, guttural moan, his body arching into Ugetsu’s touch. “Only you,” he gasped, his voice hoarse with need. “Only you know how to make me feel this way.”

Ugetsu’s hands moved to Mafuyu’s trousers, unbuckling his belt and pushing them down roughly, along with his underwear. Mafuyu stepped out of them, kicking them aside, his body already flushed and aching with readiness. Ugetsu spun him around, pressing him face-first against the wall, his hands gripping Mafuyu’s hips with bruising force.

Ugetsu’s fingers dug into Mafuyu’s hips, holding him firmly against the wall. The physical dominance was a stark contrast to the tenderness in his touch, a chaotic mix of need and control. It was as if Ugetsu was trying to anchor himself to reality, to Mafuyu, through this raw, unyielding hold. Mafuyu, in response, arched into him, his breath hitching, a silent plea for more, for everything Ugetsu could give.

“Bend over,” Ugetsu commanded, his voice harsh and unyielding. Mafuyu complied without hesitation, bracing himself against the wall, his ass exposed and vulnerable. Ugetsu’s hand came down hard on Mafuyu’s cheek, the smack echoing through the room.

Mafuyu cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure, his body trembling with anticipation. Ugetsu spanked him again, harder this time, his hand leaving a red imprint on Mafuyu’s pale skin. Mafuyu moaned deeply, pushing back against Ugetsu, begging for more. Ugetsu obliged, his hand falling in a relentless rhythm, each smack punctuated by a low, feral growl.

“You like that, don’t you?” Ugetsu taunted, his voice rough with lust. “You like it when I take control. When I make you mine.”

As Ugetsu’s hand came down on his ass, Mafuyu’s mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. The sharp, stinging pain mixed with a deep, primal pleasure, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. Seven years had passed since they were last together, and yet, in this moment, it was as if no time had passed at all. Ugetsu’s dominance, his unyielding control, was both terrifying and exhilarating. Mafuyu’s body remembered every touch, every command, every intense moment they had shared in the past.

Each smack sent waves of pleasure and pain through his body, and Mafuyu found himself yearning for more, pushing back against Ugetsu with a desperate need. The intensity of the experience was overwhelming, but it was a release he hadn’t allowed himself in a long time. With each strike, Mafuyu felt a part of himself unraveling, a part he had kept locked away, hidden from the world.

The trust he felt with Ugetsu was profound, a trust that went beyond words. It was a trust born from shared experiences, from knowing that Ugetsu would never truly harm him, that this pain was a pathway to something deeper, something more profound. Mafuyu’s body trembled with anticipation and need, his cock aching with a hunger that only Ugetsu could satisfy.

As Ugetsu’s fingers probed him, teasing his entrance, Mafuyu’s mind flooded with memories of their past encounters. The way Ugetsu had always known exactly what he wanted, how he had pushed Mafuyu to his limits and beyond. It was a dance they had perfected, a rhythm that only the two of them understood.

But as the intensity of the moment built, Mafuyu’s mind was suddenly flooded with darker memories. He remembered the pain and shame of being a battered child, beaten by his father for speaking. The fear, the humiliation, the helplessness—it all came rushing back, a torrent of emotions he had long suppressed. Each smack from Ugetsu’s hand now echoed with the ghostly echoes of his father’s brutal punishments.

Mafuyu’s body tensed, and for a moment, he felt a surge of panic. But then, something shifted. He realized that this was different. This was Ugetsu, the one person he trusted completely. This pain was consensual, a choice, a release. And in that moment, Mafuyu felt a surge of anger and frustration, years of pent-up emotion boiling to the surface.

He pushed back harder against Ugetsu, meeting each smack with a fierce determination. The pain morphed into something else, something powerful and liberating. It was as if every strike was purging him of the past, allowing him to reclaim his body, his mind, his very essence.

“Harder,” Mafuyu growled, his voice raw with emotion. “Give me more.”

Ugetsu, sensing the shift, complied without hesitation, his hand falling in a relentless rhythm, each smack punctuated by a low, feral growl. Mafuyu’s body writhed under the onslaught, his mind a whirlwind of release and rejuvenation. The pain and pleasure intertwined, creating a perfect storm of sensation that left him breathless and alive.

Mafuyu could only nod, his body writhing under Ugetsu’s touch, his cock hard and leaking, aching for release. Ugetsu produced a tube of lube from his pocket and his hand moved between Mafuyu’s legs, fingers teasing his entrance, coating it with wetness. Then, without warning, Ugetsu thrust two fingers inside, curving them to hit Mafuyu’s prostate. Mafuyu cried out, his body clenching around the invasion, his hips bucking back against Ugetsu’s hand.

“Please,” Mafuyu begged, his voice broken and desperate. “Please, Ugetsu. I need you. I need you to fuck me.”

Ugetsu withdrew his fingers, and unbuckled his pants to release his erection, pressing the head of his cock against Mafuyu’s entrance. He pushed in slowly at first, letting Mafuyu adjust to the intrusion, but then he began to move, his hips snapping forward in a fierce, relentless rhythm. Each thrust was deep and powerful, filling Mafuyu completely, stretching him wide. Mafuyu pushed back against each thrust, meeting Ugetsu’s force with his own, their bodies slapping together in a primal, almost brutal dance. Ugetsu’s hand came down on Mafuyu’s ass again, the smack loud and sharp, sending waves of pleasure and pain through Mafuyu’s body.

As Ugetsu’s cock filled him, Mafuyu recalled the tension and frustration with Hiiragi and Ritsuka. The constant need to please them, the anxiety of never being enough, the weight of their expectations—it all rushed back to him in a sudden, overwhelming wave. But as Ugetsu continued to fuck him, the frustration and anxiety began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of clarity and release. This was what he needed, what he had always needed. The raw, unapologetic intensity of Ugetsu’s touch was a balm to his soul, healing wounds he hadn’t even known existed.

“You’re mine,” Ugetsu grunted, his voice strained with effort. “All mine. No one else’s.”

Mafuyu could only moan in response, his body trembling on the edge of release, his cock leaking pre-cum onto the floor. Ugetsu reached around, wrapping his hand around Mafuyu’s shaft, stroking in time with his thrusts, his grip tight and unyielding. “Come for me,” Ugetsu commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Come for me, Mafuyu. Show me how much you need this.” Mafuyu’s body tensed, his muscles clenching as he hesitated, then cried out, his orgasm crashing over him in waves. His release spilled onto the floor, his body convulsing with the force of it. Ugetsu followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside Mafuyu, marking him from the inside out, his body shuddering with the intensity of his own climax. They stayed like that for a moment, Ugetsu’s body covering Mafuyu’s, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, their hearts pounding in sync. Then, slowly, Ugetsu pulled out, helping Mafuyu to his feet. Mafuyu turned to face him, his body flushed and sated, his eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something more profound.

As they held each other, Mafuyu felt an incredible sense of release, as if years of pent-up tension and emotion had finally been purged from his system. He looked at Ugetsu with deep affection, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and love. In that moment, he realized that this was more than just physical satisfaction; it was an emotional healing, a reconnection of their souls. Mafuyu held Ugetsu tightly, his arms wrapping around him with a fierce, protective embrace. He rested his head on Ugetsu’s shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and knew that he was exactly where he belonged.

“I’ve missed you,” Ugetsu murmured against Mafuyu’s hair, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “I’ve missed this.”

Mafuyu nodded, his arms tightening around Ugetsu, holding on tight. “I’ve missed you too,” he whispered. “More than you know.” And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet of the apartment and the lingering scent of their passion, they held each other, two souls reunited, two hearts beating as one, ready to face whatever came next—together. And neither of them had run.

Chapter 11: The Door Was Never Locked

Summary:

An early knock, a hallway mess, and one very amused violist. As the Arashi Quartet gathers for a casual evening of music, wine, and chaos, Mafuyu finds himself caught in the middle of flirtation, tension, and unexpected warmth. The soirée begins—with a blush.

The entire party sequence grew and grew and now stretches across 4 chapters, picking up an hour or so after “Unraveling Emotions”

The knock came early. Too early.

Mafuyu had just stepped out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips, hair still dripping. Steam trailed behind him down the hallway.

The front door was never locked…

He froze as the front door clicked open.

“Yo,” came Ji-hoon Kang’s voice, casual and bright. “I brought the sake—”

Then silence.

Mafuyu blinked toward the entryway in dawning horror.

His black trousers and underwear were still in a heap near the door. A pair of socks had landed nearby. Ugetsu’s burgundy sweater—rumpled and inside out—was draped beneath the shoe rack. And perched squarely on top of the shoe rack sat Ugetsu’s tube of lube.

Just sitting there. Like punctuation.

“Oh,” Ji-hoon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He took in the mess with an expression more amused than surprised. “Wrong time?”

“I—didn’t know you were coming up,” Mafuyu stammered.

“Ugetsu doesn’t lock his front door,” Ji-hoon said, casually setting down the sake bottle. “Didn’t realize this was going to be a… visually informative visit.”

From the bedroom: “Who’s killing the mystery?” Ugetsu called, amused but lazy.

“Your violist,” Ji-hoon replied. “Also, your hallway is currently indecent.” He set his viola case down near the couch.

Mafuyu scrambled to gather the heap of clothes—sweater, trousers, underwear, socks—and, with visible dread, the tube of lube. Then he vanished down the hall without another word.

When Ugetsu emerged—barefoot and shirtless, tugging on a pair of dark slate-gray trousers—Ji-hoon was already lounging on the couch with sake in hand.

“You’re early,” Ugetsu said dryly.

“I like to set the tone,” Ji-hoon replied, sipping. “You guys seemed busy setting one of your own.” In slim jeans and a lavender button-up, half untucked, he greeted Ugetsu with a kiss. “I definitely see the appeal.”

Ugetsu didn’t answer—just buttoned his shirt with deliberate slowness. By the time Mafuyu returned—fully clothed, damp hair combed back, burgundy sweater clinging lightly to his shoulders—Ji-hoon looked him over and gave a slow smile.

“Seriously, don’t be embarrassed,” Ji-hoon said. “I’ve walked in on worse. This just confirms my earlier speculation.” He handed Mafuyu a glass of red wine.

Mafuyu narrowed his eyes. “What speculation?”

“That you look better naked,” Ji-hoon said without hesitation.

Mafuyu stared, stunned. Then Ugetsu stepped up behind Mafuyu, glass of wine in hand, and laid a deliberate hand on Mafuyu’s shoulder.

“You’ve had your look,” Ugetsu said, voice velvet and steel. “Now keep your fantasies to yourself.”

Ji-hoon raised an eyebrow. “Relax. I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend.”

“No,” Ugetsu replied evenly. “Because you wouldn’t get the chance.”

Ji-hoon gave a low whistle. “Dramatic as ever.”

“Possessive,” Ugetsu corrected, brushing his fingers briefly along Mafuyu’s back before turning toward the kitchen. “And particular.”

He was already setting out plates and some pâté, sliced baguette, sesame crackers, and a dip of smoked eggplant. Music drifted faintly from the speakers—something moody and modern.

Mafuyu stayed still, unsure if the heat in his chest was anxiety or something warmer.

Ji-hoon poured himself another drink. “This is going to be fun. Vivian’ll be late on purpose,” he added, spreading some pâté on a slice of bread. “Ken will pretend to care. Someone will argue about tempo. Probably me.”

And then—the buzzer rang.

Ken Tanaka swept in, all tan skin and white teeth, half a head taller than the others, cello case slung across his back like a soldier’s gear, a bottle of Amarone tucked under one arm and a paper bag of wasabi peas under the other.

“I come bearing offerings,” he said dryly, setting everything down with careful hands. “You must be Mafuyu,” he added, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Ken Tanaka. Cellist and token straight guy.”

Within minutes, Mafuyu found himself seated on the couch, wine glass in hand, between Ken—tuning his cello—and Ji-hoon, sipping sake and making small talk to no one in particular. The apartment smelled faintly of resin, red wine, and just a little too much cologne. Mafuyu watched the room slowly come to life around him.

The coffee table had been cleared and transformed into an informal spread: sushi from the good place down the block, several slabs of pâté, sliced baguette, a very ripe Brie, a half-empty bottle of sake and another full one, open bottles of red and white wine, beside another Cabernet and the Amarone already breathing. Someone had brought dark chocolate and green tea mochi. Chopsticks and mismatched cocktail napkins were scattered like confetti.

Ugetsu moved through it all in his element, barefoot in a loose black sweater and slate trousers, refilling Mafuyu’s wine glass with graceful distraction. “Help yourselves,” he murmured, more to the room than anyone in particular. “It’s not formal.”

Vivian arrived last—curls piled high, violin case strapped to her back, balancing a tray of stuffed grape leaves in one hand and a tote bag of sparkling water in the other. She set everything down with practiced care and hugged Ugetsu briefly before spotting Mafuyu.

“So you’re Mafuyu,” she said, stepping forward. “I hear you’re in a band? Kang said you were handsome.”

Mafuyu flushed deeper by the second, offering her a shy, slight bow of his head.

“I’m Vivian Choi—second violin. I’m the queen of this quartet…”

“I beg to differ…” Ugetsu called from across the room.

“Ji-hoon and I basically argue our way through quartets while Ken pretends not to hate us,” Vivian continued.

“I heard that,” Ji-hoon said with a roll of his eyes.

“You were supposed to,” she replied sweetly, already fixing herself a plate. She reached over the table and fed a befuddled Mafuyu a stuffed grape leaf. “Welcome to the chaos,” she said cheerfully. “We’re slightly drunk and very opinionated—but we mostly play in tune.”

Notes:

Ugetsu and his life in New York was always something that fascinated me. So we getting something slightly akin to La Boheme, or Rent if you prefer. And I lived in New York myself for several years. It remains one of my favorite places.

Chapter 12: Amarone and Adagio

Summary:

Mafuyu finds himself in the warm, slightly chaotic orbit of the Mafuyu finds himself in the warm, slightly chaotic orbit of the Arashi Quartet—wine flowing, Dvořák on strings, music on vinyl, and laughter tangled with glances that mean more than they say. As music and food are passed around with ease, old tensions surface and new connections quietly bloom. Ji-hoon offers a quiet steadiness. Ken and Ugetsu share a moment that says everything without words. And Mafuyu, watching it all, begins to wonder if maybe—just maybe—he belongs here.

While Vivian flipped through the vinyl sleeves and Ji-hoon disappeared into the kitchen with glassware, Ken approached Ugetsu, who was crouched near the shelf, thumbing lazily through albums like old love letters.

“No sake yet,” Ken said quietly. “Try this first.”

He held out a wide-bowled glass of deep red wine. Ugetsu took it without looking, still reading labels, and raised it to his lips.

“Mmm,” Ugetsu said finally, tilting his head back to glance at Ken. “Rich. Robust. Dangerous.”

“It’s Amarone. From Verona.”

Their eyes met briefly—just a flicker of something unreadable. Old familiarity. The edge of a smile. Not quite flirtation. Not quite not.

Ugetsu swirled the wine gently in his glass. “You always bring the good stuff.”

Ken shrugged. “Only when it’s worth it.”

Neither of them spoke again. But Ji-hoon, returning with a tray of tiny plates, caught the moment and clocked it instantly. He didn’t say a word—just moved past them, quiet and precise.

Mafuyu, watching from his perch on the couch, wasn’t sure what had happened. Only that something had. It made the air feel briefly strange.

And then Ugetsu dropped the needle on the record, and the conversation was gone.

“If we’re doing Dvořák again, I’m not rehearsing from the top. I don’t care what Ugetsu says.”

“We are,” Ugetsu said sweetly, handing him a glass of wine. “Opus 106. Because I say so. And because I want to see you suffer. But we’ll start with the Adagio.”

Ken groaned, taking a sip of wine. He dropped down on the couch beside Mafuyu, setting his cello case on the floor in front of him. “Fine. But I’m not playing sotto voce for Vivian ever again. She stares like she’s judging my soul.”

“She is,” Ji-hoon quipped.

Vivian bowed. “Accurate.”

The quartet scattered to tune, argue, eat, and snack between passages. Mafuyu sat on the couch, plate balanced on his lap, watching the four of them fall into something that wasn’t just rehearsal—it was ritual.

Ugetsu, with that unbothered grace, leaned beside Mafuyu and refilled his glass. “This is us. Loud. Competitive. Slightly drunk.”

“It’s kind of beautiful,” Mafuyu said softly.

“You haven’t heard us play yet.”

Mafuyu took in the scene slowly—the ease between them, the overlapping rhythms of long familiarity. They weren’t like Given. Not louder, necessarily, but… looser. More chaotic. More adult. It felt like walking into a rehearsal dinner he hadn’t quite known he was invited to.

Vivian had started a playlist on her phone—Schubert fading into Radiohead, with some jazz in between. Conversation flowed, bouncing between arguments about tempo markings and where to find the best sushi in the city. Ugetsu opened another bottle. Someone found a candle. Ji-hoon handed Mafuyu a truffle cracker topped with pâté.

“You’re either going to love this or want to die,” he warned.

Mafuyu tasted it, blinked, and surprised himself by going back for another.

Ken had settled on the floor near his cello case, making room for Ugetsu on the couch next to Mafuyu.

“You okay?” Ugetsu asked, passing the couch and refilling Ken’s wine glass again.

Mafuyu nodded, eyes still on the others. “They really know you.”

Ugetsu’s smile was unreadable, but warm. “They do. And now they’ll know you too.”

“I guess they know we’re…”

“I told Ji-hoon. And he seems to have told the others,” he said lightly, nudging Mafuyu gently with his elbow. “Stay close if it gets overwhelming.”

“So you sing, Mafuyu, right?” Ken asked, leaning forward with casual interest.

“I do.”

“He’s a good guitarist, too,” Ugetsu announced from across the room as he emerged from the kitchen, balancing a rustic wooden board piled with cheeses, figs, and crisp crackers. “And he plays keyboards. His band is good. Growing pains right now, which is why he’s here.”

Ken tilted his head. “What kind of growing pains?”

Mafuyu hesitated, fingers curling slightly in his lap. “Um… personalities,” he said, but the word came out tentative, barely formed. “Just… we’re not all on the same page, maybe. Or we are, but—differently.”

Ugetsu set the cheese plate down, brushing his hands together as he added with a knowing smile, “Mafuyu has a lot of love to give. And things with his bandmates are… complicated. I may just keep him here with me.”

Mafuyu glanced at him then—quiet, searching. Not quite startled, but not unaffected either. His gaze lingered just a moment longer than it needed to, as if trying to read beneath Ugetsu’s teasing tone.

Beside him, Ji-hoon shifted slightly, but said nothing.

Ken chuckled, breaking the moment. “Makes sense. Music gets messy when it’s personal.”

Ji-hoon, seated right next to Mafuyu on the couch, reached out and slung an arm casually around his shoulders, pulling him into a warm, easy half-hug.

“Tell me about it,” he said with a grin. “Try working with three perfectionists—and one of them is Ugetsu. I love him. But balancing love and music is tough.”

Ugetsu let out a small, quiet laugh, but his eyes flicked to Ji-hoon for a heartbeat—cool and unreadable—then softened.

And Mafuyu, maybe without thinking, leaned into Ji-hoon just a little more. His shoulder pressed into Ji-hoon’s chest, his body turning slightly toward the warmth at his side like it was instinct. Like it was allowed.

Ji-hoon smiled and squeezed him a little tighter, his touch gentle but steady, like a quiet reassurance.

Vivian poured a bit more wine into everyone’s glasses. “So true. It’s never just about notes or tempo.”

“You should join us sometime,” Ken added, switching the tone back to light and inviting. “Just for fun. We’ve never had a singer.”

Ugetsu raised a brow, clearly intrigued. “A voice with the quartet…”

“Not traditional,” Vivian mused, “but not impossible.”

“I don’t know if I’d fit,” Mafuyu said softly—but there was something in his voice, a curious flicker, like a door cracking open just slightly.

“You already do,” Ugetsu murmured beside him.

And Mafuyu believed him.

Notes:

Amarone is a rich red wine from Verona, a favorite of mine since a waiter insisted I try it at a restaurant in that marvelous Italian city.

Please see the Winter’s Holly character list, which I highly posted to the site elsewhere.

Chapter 13: The Space Between The Notes

Summary:

A second bottle is opened, the quartet plays Dvořák, and Mafuyu is quietly swept into the gravity of the group—each note, glance, and touch pulling him deeper. Ji-hoon teases gently, Vivian commands the room like a queen with a bow, and Ugetsu watches with eyes that miss nothing. Music flows, wine lingers, and when Mafuyu sings, the world briefly stills. In the soft, wine-drenched quiet that follows, connections deepen. And some things—fragile, unspoken—begin to take root.

The conversation drifted into laughter and small bites of cheese and fruit. Sake flowed freely, smooth and cold, into small ceramic cups. Vivian had opened a third bottle of wine—something crisp and mineral—and refilled glasses without asking. The air turned looser, warmer. Softer.

Mafuyu’s cheeks were flushed—not just from the drink. The closeness, the conversation, and the ease with which everyone moved around each other—it disoriented him. Not unpleasantly.

Ji-hoon, sitting close beside him, kept finding little ways to catch Mafuyu’s eye: a quick, playful glance; a teasing smirk when Mafuyu stumbled over a word; a light brush of his fingers against Mafuyu’s arm when reaching for the sake bottle. Each touch was casual, but it sent a small thrill through Mafuyu’s nerves.

Ugetsu, seated across the room was tuning his violin, a magnificent vintage Vuillaume that cost him nearly every cent he had a one point earlier in his career. It was his prized possession and he treated it with meticulous care. He watched all of it with a quiet, almost unreadable expression. His eyes lingered on Ji-hoon’s subtle advances and Mafuyu’s shy reactions, and then flicked to Mafuyu’s face again, as if cataloging every shift.

Then Vivian rose and set her glass down with a gentle clink. “Shall we play something?”

Ken was already standing, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s not scare our guest with something too thorny.”

“Too late,” Ji-hoon said, grinning as he rose from the couch, his gaze briefly meeting Mafuyu’s before he stood. “We’re already playing Dvořák.”

Ugetsu’s smile was faint, his fingers already fussing with rosin. “Opus 106.”

“G major,” Vivian echoed. We’ll start with the second movement.

There was no fanfare. Just movement. Graceful, instinctual.

Vivian retrieved her violin and tucked it under her chin. Ken adjusted the endpin of his cello, head tilted in thought. Ji-hoon gently opened the velvet-lined case of his viola, cradling the instrument with casual reverence as he tuned with the kind of ear that didn’t need a tuner—just memory, muscle, and mood. Ugetsu stood apart for a moment, bow in hand, eyes closed.

Then they began.

The opening notes of the Adagio to Dvořák’s String Quartet in G Major, Op. 106 unfolded like a slow breath after a long silence. Gentle. Questioning.

Mafuyu froze, wine glass still in his hand. He didn’t even realize he’d stopped drinking.

The quartet played like one living organism—four people, one voice. The texture of the music was thick with longing. Restless. Melancholy that shimmered with light.

Ji-hoon’s viola tone was warm and sonorous, threading through the piece like a pulse. Vivian’s second violin sang above him, light and piercing. Ken anchored everything with his cello, resonant and earthy. Ugetsu, as 1st violin, was harder to describe. His phrasing felt like a secret told too late.

Throughout the piece, Ji-hoon’s eyes kept flickering toward Mafuyu. Once, when Mafuyu’s fingers twitched nervously, Ji-hoon’s hand lightly brushed his wrist, a brief grounding contact. Mafuyu’s heart fluttered, and he swallowed hard.

He didn’t just hear the music—he felt it in his chest, behind his eyes. The way the harmonies curled around one another, leaned in, pulled away again—it was a kind of ache. A kind of truth.

Vivian sat like a monarch on the armrest of the couch, swinging just slightly above the floor—short legs, yes, but she never seemed small. Her long black hair was pinned up in a high, glossy bun, a few rebellious strands falling in elegant wisps around her cheekbones. Her violin was perched across her lap like a scepter. She looked every bit the queen of the room, and she knew it.

Mafuyu was now curled on the couch beside her, quiet, knees drawn up, a half-empty glass of plum wine warm in his hand. He’d lost the thread of the conversation—debate? duel?—but the energy had him spellbound.

“You rushed the entrance in bar thirty-two,” Vivian said, staring daggers at Ugetsu, who lounged in an armchair like it was the chaise of a Roman emperor.

Ugetsu gave an infuriatingly slow smile. “It was rubato, darling. Try keeping up.”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “Rubato. Right. The eternal excuse of reckless soloists.” She reached behind her head, tugging out a loose pin with her teeth, twisting her bun tighter with deft fingers. “Maybe I should let Dvořák himself rise from the grave and slap you.”

Mafuyu couldn’t look away. The gleam of the pin. The fluid way she moved, effortlessly elegant. The sharp intelligence in her eyes that cut cleaner than any bowstroke. He watched the way her short legs braced as she reached up, the strength in her small frame, the fire behind every gesture. He was completely taken.

Vivian caught him staring. Her eyes narrowed, but the corner of her mouth curled up.

She tapped his shin with the scroll of her bow. “Careful, Mafuyu-kun. I might start thinking you’re in love with me.”

His ears went pink. “You’re… kind of amazing.”

“Kind of?” she echoed, feigning offense.

She leaned down and reached for his bangs, brushing them gently from his eyes with surprising tenderness. Her hand lingered a beat too long.

“Well,” she said, softening, “you’ve got good taste at least.”

“I was expressing emotion,” Ugetsu cut in dramatically, “something Vivian only does when she's skewering someone’s soul.”

“I express emotion with accuracy,” she snapped back, without even looking at him. “You express it like a golden retriever hurling himself through a stained glass window.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Ugetsu said, preening.

“She didn’t mean it as one,” Ji-hoon murmured from across the room, barely glancing up as he checked his tuning.

Vivian pointed her bow at him in approval. “See? Validation. The one man here I don’t want to throttle agrees.”

Ken raised his hand with a bite of apple. “You threatened to throttle me yesterday.”

“That was affectionate throttling,” she replied. “You were being a himbo about fingering again.”

Ken grinned. “Still am.”

Mafuyu let out a small laugh—quiet, but real. Vivian glanced at him again.

“You good?” she asked, quieter this time.

He nodded. “I like watching you all.”

“Well,” she said, shifting her violin and stretching her legs just barely to reach the floor, “stick around long enough and you’ll witness an actual homicide.”

“Hope it’s not you,” he said under his breath, then startled at himself.

Vivian’s face lit up. “You’re bolder when you’re tipsy.”

Mafuyu smiled. “Maybe I like watching you roast him.”

She slid her bow into place under her chin with the grace of a dancer and murmured, “Don’t blink, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

And then, sweet as poison in tea, she added—loud enough for everyone in the room:

“Besides, he’s a real sweetheart… another penis attached to a cute boy…”

Ken choked on his drink.

Ugetsu looked delighted.

Mafuyu buried his face in the throw pillow.

Ji-hoon just said, “Viv.”

“What?” she said innocently. “I’m making conversation.”

He didn’t know if he was supposed to understand it. He only knew he did.

When the final chord faded, the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It rang.

Ji-hoon lowered his bow and turned toward Mafuyu, his voice softer than usual, almost a murmur just for him. “Too much?”

Mafuyu shook his head. “No. It was… a lot. But not too much.”

Ugetsu looked at him—not saying anything. Just seeing him.

Vivian, still holding her violin, glanced toward the guitar resting near the wall. “Would you like to play something, Mafuyu?”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

He took his guitar, gently sat back down, and let his fingers find the chords without thinking. Slightly out of tune, he made a quick adjustment.

Ji-hoon leaned closer as Mafuyu strummed, letting his presence warm the space beside him. When Mafuyu’s voice rose softly, Ji-hoon’s smile deepened, as if silently cheering him on.

He began to play Yoru ga Akeru.

His voice was quiet. Plain. Intimate, almost like he was whispering something meant for only one person to hear. The room, so recently filled with sweeping strings, shrank around him.

He sang of night, and waiting, and the unbearable silence between what was said and what couldn’t be. The song wasn’t about hope, exactly—but it wasn’t hopeless, either. It was about enduring. About surviving until morning came.

Ugetsu leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded, his gaze never leaving Mafuyu’s.He had helped Mafuyu work on that song so many years ago!

Vivian’s eyes stayed locked on him.

Ji-hoon didn’t move. His viola still rested in his lap, forgotten.

And when Mafuyu sang the last line, voice low and fragile, he almost didn’t notice how his fingers trembled on the final chord.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Ken murmured, almost reverently, “That was… something else.”

Ji-hoon exhaled and refilled Mafuyu’s wine glass with the last of the Amarone, the soft clink of glass punctuating the quiet.

“To morning,” Ji-hoon said softly, lifting his cup.

Mafuyu raised his own, barely smiling. “To whatever comes next.”

Ugetsu stayed seated, his bow resting loosely on his knee. His eyes didn’t move from Mafuyu’s face—they were calm, gentle, almost like an unspoken promise.

It was the kind of look that could hold weight without words, a quiet softness that made Mafuyu’s chest tighten.

The empty sake bottle tipped sideways on the table, next to the corked remains of the fourth bottle of wine. Someone had turned the lights down without asking, so now the apartment was bathed in the warm, low gold of a single standing lamp near the bookshelf. Shadows stretched softly across the wood floor.

Ken was slumped back in his chair, arms folded over his cello case like a pillow. Vivian had curled up sideways on the couch, her cheeks flushed and one shoe discarded. Her eyes were half-lidded, but she still sipped her wine slowly, methodically, like she was savoring the tail end of a symphony.

Ji-hoon and Mafuyu had moved to the floor, sitting side by side near the edge of the coffee table. At some point, Ji-hoon had pulled a floor cushion over for himself sharing it with Mafuyu. Their shoulders pressed together lazily now, the contact easy, unremarkable, but definitely not accidental.

Mafuyu was buzzed. He could tell because everything felt slightly too bright and too slow at once—his limbs were warm, his thoughts a little slippery, but his emotions felt clear. Or maybe too clear. Like he could cry or laugh at nothing.

“You’re flushed,” Ji-hoon said, smiling as he tipped his head toward him. “Cute.”

Mafuyu gave a small, breathy laugh and looked away. “You’re drunk.”

“Sure am,” Ji-hoon replied cheerfully, then nudged him gently. “But so are you.”

Mafuyu made a soft sound in agreement and rested his chin briefly against his knees. “I don’t usually drink this much.”

“Welcome to New York,” Ji-hoon said, lifting his empty cup and pretending to toast the air before setting it back down with a thud.

Across the room, Ugetsu sat on the floor against the couch, violin case closed beside him. His long legs were stretched out, ankles crossed. He hadn’t moved much since Mafuyu’s song ended. He just watched, occasionally swirling what was left of his wine in the glass, though he hadn't taken a sip in a while.

He was watching now, eyes soft and unreadable, as Ji-hoon leaned closer to Mafuyu.

“Careful,” Ugetsu said, his voice a quiet lilt. “He’s more dangerous than he looks.”

Ji-hoon gave him a mischievous smile without looking away from Mafuyu. “Takes one to know one.”

Mafuyu blinked slowly, his gaze flicking between them. The air felt heavier than it had a moment ago. Not tense, exactly—just full.

“You okay?” Ji-hoon asked, voice gentler now, his hand brushing lightly against Mafuyu’s back.

“Mm,” Mafuyu hummed. “Just warm. Floaty.”

Ji-hoon chuckled, and without hesitation, reached over and tugged lightly at Mafuyu’s sleeve, guiding him until Mafuyu tipped sideways and leaned against him.

It felt… right. Like it was allowed.

Ji-hoon squeezed him a little tighter, letting the contact linger, and when Mafuyu glanced toward Ugetsu—just briefly—he caught the way Ugetsu’s mouth curved, faintly, around something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Something more careful. More contained.

Vivian murmured something incoherent from the couch and waved her hand vaguely in the air. “If I die from cheese and music and alcohol, tell my family I went out doing what I loved.”

Ken made a sleepy noise that might have been agreement.

Ugetsu finally stood, slow and deliberate, and walked over to retrieve the empty wine glasses. “We should call it soon.”

“Nooo,” Ji-hoon groaned softly, letting his cheek rest on the top of Mafuyu’s head. “Let him stay like this a bit longer.”

Mafuyu didn’t protest. His eyes were half-closed, and his weight sagged comfortably against Ji-hoon, soft and pliant.

Ugetsu watched them for a long moment before collecting the rest of the glasses, his expression unreadable again.

He didn’t say anything more.

Notes:

The piece the quartet is practicing is this one, a favorite of mine

 

Dvorak G Major Quartet Adagio

Chapter 14: Goodnight, Baby Angel

Summary:

The music is over, but the echoes linger. As wine bottles empty and the quartet drifts apart for the night, small gestures speak louder than words. Mafuyu sleeps tucked against Ji-hoon’s side, Ugetsu quietly collects the glasses, and Ken lingers just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them. Vivian, ever perceptive, says her goodbyes with a kiss and a wink. Outside, the night waits. Inside, the air hums with everything left unsaid.

Ken stirred first, dragging himself upright with a groan and rubbing his eyes. “Okay,” he mumbled, glancing around blearily. “I think I’m done. Like, existentially.”

Vivian gave a low laugh as she sat up, stretching her legs out before folding them beneath her. She blinked at the table like it had personally offended her. “How did we go through that much wine?”

“Talent,” Ji-hoon murmured, still nestled comfortably with Mafuyu against him.

Ken reached for his cello case and slowly hauled it upright. “I’ll call the car.”

Vivian pulled her shoe back on and swayed slightly as she stood. “Leave the dishes. We can help tomorrow.”

Ugetsu was already stacking the empty wine glasses into a neat row on the counter. “Don’t worry about it,” he said lightly, not turning around. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That was insane,” Vivian whispered. “We’re all playing like we’re in love or something.”

Ugetsu let out a soft, breathless laugh. He stroked Mafuyu’s hair.

“Maybe we are,” he said.

Ji-hoon cleaned up, not letting Ugetsu help. Ken brought the glasses into the kitchen and returned a moment later for his coat.

He paused by the sofa, his eyes on Mafuyu, then lifted them to Ugetsu’s.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Ugetsu’s smile was lopsided. “Mm. You?”

Ken held his gaze a beat too long. “Yeah. Think so.”

He reached into his coat pocket and drew out the cork from the Amarone. “In case you want to remember the bottle,” he murmured, setting it on the table.

Their fingers brushed again—barely—but the air shifted. Ugetsu didn’t pull away.

Ji-hoon saw it from across the room. Said nothing.

Mafuyu stirred slightly in his sleep.

“Goodnight,” Ken said at last, voice low.

Ugetsu nodded. “Goodnight.”

Vivian gave him a long look—soft, but knowing. Then she leaned down to kiss the top of Mafuyu’s head. “Night, baby angel. Dream of beautiful music.”

Mafuyu made a soft, pleased sound but didn’t open his eyes.

Ji-hoon offered her a lazy two-finger salute. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No need,” Ken called over his shoulder. “Car’s pulling up. You’re babysitting.”

Vivian gave a little snort and looped her arm through Ken’s as they made their way to the door, jackets half-on, shoes clumsily shoved back on. The door clicked shut behind them, and the apartment was quiet again.

Notes:

The slow end of a long night…

Chapter 15: The Space We Share

Summary:

A quiet, emotionally charged night deepens into something unexpected. Mafuyu falls asleep in Ji-hoon’s arms, and Ugetsu, with familiar care, carries him to bed. What follows is not sex, but something more intimate—shared stillness, trust, and long-held truths slipping free in the dark. Ji-hoon stays. Ugetsu lets him. And for the first time, the space between them holds more than memory.

In the hush of the early morning, confessions come softly: Ji-hoon admits he’s still in love with Ugetsu. Ugetsu, vulnerable and open, confesses he never stopped loving Mafuyu. And Mafuyu, groggy but clear, tells them both he loves them too—disarming them with affection and a touch of irreverence.

Three hearts, three tangled histories, one quiet moment of honesty in a shared bed. Nothing is resolved—but for once, it doesn’t have to be. Not yet.

Ugetsu’s movements behind the counter slowed, then stopped.

Mafuyu had gone nearly limp now, tucked under Ji-hoon’s arm, breath soft and steady.

Ji-hoon adjusted his position slightly to better support him. His voice was low when he finally asked, “Should I wake him?”

Ugetsu crossed the room silently and crouched beside them, graceful even now. His gaze flicked over Mafuyu, assessing—gentle, quiet.

“No,” he said. Then, a pause—subtle, measured. “Are you staying?”

Ji-hoon looked at him, long and unblinking. There was no challenge in his expression, only calm certainty. Like the question had already been answered in the weight of Mafuyu’s body against him.

“If that’s okay,” he said simply.

Ugetsu’s eyes lingered on him. Not cold. Not quite warm either. But something open, or at least less guarded than usual.

“Spare toothbrush is under the sink.”

Ji-hoon nodded. “Thanks.”

Ugetsu didn’t respond right away. He glanced back at them once more—the curve of Mafuyu’s body against Ji-hoon’s, the soft way his hand rested on Ji-hoon’s knee, as if by instinct.

Then Ugetsu turned and padded toward the kitchen, disappearing into the hush of the apartment with only the faint sound of running water and clinking glass behind him.

By the time Ugetsu returned to the living room, Ji-hoon hadn’t moved. Mafuyu was curled more heavily against him now, his breath soft and slow, hair falling into his eyes. His wine-flushed cheeks had faded to something paler—peaceful, almost childlike in sleep.

Ji-hoon glanced up as Ugetsu approached, his voice low. “Dead to the world.”

Ugetsu knelt, brushing Mafuyu’s bangs back with the back of his fingers. “I’ll take him.”

“Sure?” Ji-hoon asked, already shifting so Ugetsu could ease Mafuyu into his arms.

Mafuyu barely stirred as Ugetsu gathered him, limp and pliant, cheek resting briefly against Ugetsu’s shoulder. Carrying him felt familiar—like something out of another life—but the weight now was different. Older. Earned.

The hallway light cast everything in that low, forgiving gold. In the bedroom, Ugetsu set him down carefully on the edge of the bed, sitting beside him as he coaxed off his sweater, then his shirt. Mafuyu mumbled something incoherent, one eye blinking open before sliding shut again.

“You’re home,” Ugetsu murmured, smoothing a hand over his hair. “It’s okay.”

Mafuyu gave a breathy little sigh and let himself fall backward into the pillows, boneless.

Ugetsu undressed him slowly—belt, trousers, socks—leaving him in only a soft pair of briefs. He pulled the blankets back and guided Mafuyu underneath them, adjusting the sheets so they wouldn’t twist around him.

Then he undressed himself. His sweater slipped to the floor. His jeans followed. He folded them neatly anyway, a reflex, then climbed into bed and lay beside Mafuyu, the heat of his skin already sinking into Ugetsu’s side.

He reached out, not touching—just resting his hand close enough to feel the pull of Mafuyu’s warmth, like gravity.

The door creaked slightly.

Ji-hoon padded in barefoot, one hand unbuttoning his shirt as he moved. His hair was slightly mussed, cheeks still pink from the wine.

“You didn’t have to be so gentle,” he said softly, eyes flicking from Ugetsu to Mafuyu’s sleeping form. “I think he would’ve slept through a fire alarm.”

Ugetsu watched in silence as Ji-hoon stripped with the same unselfconscious grace he brought to performance—belt undone with a soft clink, jeans kicked off with ease. His body was all long lines and quiet energy, movements loose with alcohol and late-hour calm.

The sheets rustled softly as Ji-hoon settled in behind him.

Ugetsu exhaled and let himself sink back into the mattress. Mafuyu’s breath was warm at his collarbone, his body curled slightly inward, one arm draped loosely across Ugetsu’s chest. On the other side, Ji-hoon’s leg brushed his beneath the covers, and then—almost cautiously—his hand came to rest on Ugetsu’s ribs, featherlight.

He stilled.

Not because he wanted to pull away. But because it had been a long time since anyone had touched him like this—without expectation. Without tension beneath it. Just steady warmth. Just presence.

For a moment, Ugetsu stared at the ceiling, unsure if he should speak. But then Mafuyu shifted against him with a sleepy hum, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder like it was instinct. Ji-hoon sighed behind him, fingers splaying lightly over his side.

And just like that, Ugetsu let the breath go. Let the quiet in.

Mafuyu was already asleep again, his heartbeat a slow, constant pulse where their bodies touched. He always slept like this when he felt safe—unguarded, without armor. Ugetsu remembered that from the early days. He remembered the ache of it.

But now that safety was something shared, not owned. Not pulled tightly between two hands in tension.

Ji-hoon didn’t crowd him. His weight was light and curved away just enough to avoid pressure, his hand still at Ugetsu’s side like he’d placed it there without thinking. Ugetsu had expected arrogance, maybe. The teasing flirtation, the musician’s ego. But what he found instead—what he kept finding—was care.

And that was the thing that disarmed him the most.

Mafuyu mumbled something, a half-formed syllable against his skin. His leg hooked loosely over Ugetsu’s, anchoring him.

Ugetsu reached up and ran a hand through Mafuyu’s hair slowly, fingertips ghosting over his scalp. A gesture learned long ago. Remembered now without effort.

From behind, Ji-hoon’s voice came low and close, almost a whisper.

“You always take care of him like that?”

Ugetsu didn’t turn. He just kept his hand in Mafuyu’s hair, slow and measured. “Yeah.”

A beat.

Then: “You’re good at it.”

Ugetsu huffed a faint breath—half laugh, half tired disbelief. “No. I just… try not to mess it up.”

Ji-hoon didn’t press. His hand gave one brief squeeze at Ugetsu’s side, then stilled again. Nothing more.

It should’ve felt strange—being here like this, held on both sides. But it didn’t. It felt... quiet. Honest. Like the kind of silence after a performance where no one claps right away. Where everyone just knows something true was said.

And in that silence, Ugetsu let himself stay still. Let himself be in the center. Not alone. Not pulled apart. Just… held.

For once, he didn’t try to fill the space between things. He let it hold him back.

“He’s a real sweetheart, Ugetsu.”

Ugetsu didn’t answer right away. His hand drifted forward until his fingers brushed Mafuyu’s between them. Mafuyu stirred, pressing subtly into the touch, even in sleep.

“I know,” Ugetsu murmured, voice barely audible.

The quiet stretched on. Not tense—just full.

Mafuyu had gone completely still, his breaths slow and even. The weight of him was soft and grounding against Ugetsu’s chest. His fingers had curled loosely against Ugetsu’s ribs, just beneath the fabric of the blanket, like they belonged there.

Behind him, Ji-hoon hadn’t moved much either. But the heat of him was steady along Ugetsu’s back—his thigh, his stomach, the bare skin of his chest pressed against Ugetsu’s spine.

They’d shared beds before. Even after their breakup—if you could call it that. There had never been a dramatic ending. Just time, distance, careers. Other people. But even now, there were moments when the gravity still pulled them close. Nights like this. Silences like this.

Ugetsu felt Ji-hoon’s breath behind his ear, warm and slow.

“You okay?” Ji-hoon whispered.

Ugetsu gave the barest nod.

“Too much?” Ji-hoon asked, quieter still, the words almost lost in the rustle of sheets.

“No,” Ugetsu breathed. Then, after a moment: “Not with you.”

A pause. Ji-hoon’s hand moved—slid gently across Ugetsu’s side, palm flattening low over his stomach, then curling inward, just enough to hold.

There was nothing demanding in it. Just a closeness that felt familiar. Reassuring.

Ugetsu closed his eyes.

For years, he’d thought intimacy meant tension—hunger or pain, wanting or being wanted too much. But this... this was something quieter. Mafuyu’s fingers at his chest. Ji-hoon’s breath at his neck. The silence holding them all like a thread that didn’t need tying.

“He’s good for you,” Ji-hoon whispered.

Ugetsu’s gaze softened. “So are you.”

Ji-hoon’s smile was small but real. His hand settled again at Ugetsu’s waist. “Then maybe we’re all lucky.”

They lay there in silence for a while, the room dim around them, the city humming faintly outside.

Then Ji-hoon whispered, “You still love him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Ugetsu didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He kept staring at the ceiling.

“I do,” he admitted. “More than ever, honestly. The last twenty-four hours just… reminded me of everything I’d tried to put away.”

Ji-hoon was quiet for a beat, then asked, “What about his complicated thing with the band?”

Ugetsu exhaled through his nose. “Not sure.”

Mafuyu shifted in his sleep, nose scrunching, but settled again with a contented sigh.

Ugetsu turned toward Ji-hoon slightly. “He’s torn up about it. Guilt, love, fear. I can feel all of it on him.”

“You think he’ll go back to them?”

“I think he’ll try.”

“And you’ll let him.”

“I have to.”

Ji-hoon studied him for a moment, then said, “You’re a good person, Ugetsu.”

Ugetsu’s mouth twitched. “Not always.”

“You are to him.” A pause. Then Ji-hoon leaned in, pressed a brief, warm kiss to Ugetsu’s mouth.

It wasn’t longing. Just love. “You’ve still got it bad,” Ji-hoon murmured. Not a tease. Just truth.

Ugetsu let out a quiet, uneven breath. “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I thought I’d moved past it. That what we had was… time-stamped. Memory.” His voice dropped even lower. “But today—last night, even—being near him again like this... it just came back. All of it. Like it never left.”

The room had gone still, steeped in the afterglow of wine, music, and too many unspoken truths. Mafuyu lay curled against Ugetsu’s chest, asleep, his breath slow and even. His damp hair clung lightly to his forehead, and one arm draped possessively across Ugetsu’s ribcage. The last bottle of wine stood forgotten on the nightstand, corked but half-empty. Ji-hoon lay on Ugetsu’s other side, one arm tucked under his head, eyes on the ceiling.

For a long while, there was only the faint hiss of the radiator and the occasional creak of floorboards.

Then Ji-hoon spoke, voice soft and tired. “He’s still in love with them.”

Ugetsu didn’t ask who. He didn’t need to.

“I know,” he said quietly, brushing his thumb against Mafuyu’s knuckles.

“But you’re in love with him.”

That earned a pause. Ugetsu didn’t answer right away. Not with words. Just the faintest tightening of his embrace around Mafuyu’s sleeping form.

Ji-hoon gave a low breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “And hey… I’m in love with you. How crazy is that?”

Ugetsu turned his head slowly, surprised into silence. Ji-hoon didn’t look away. “It’s not a bomb,” he said, voice gentler than the words. “You don’t have to defuse it.”

“I—” Ugetsu began, then stopped. The instinct to dodge, to make light of it, to retreat—he didn’t. Ji-hoon’s eyes held him too firmly in place. There was no fear in them. Just steady warmth and the quiet ache of someone who had already made peace with the silence that followed love unspoken.

“I didn’t know,” Ugetsu admitted.

“You didn’t want to.” Ji-hoon gave a tired shrug. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect anything. I just wanted to say it. While we’re still here. While it’s still quiet.”

Ugetsu turned toward him fully now, careful not to jostle Mafuyu. Ji-hoon looked soft in the dark—sleep-tousled and flushed, his bare shoulder half-lit by the glow of the streetlight filtering in from the window. And Ugetsu felt it: the unfamiliar tightness in his chest, not guilt, but something quieter, more dangerous. Recognition.

He brushed his fingers against Ji-hoon’s.

“You picked a hell of a night to be honest,” he said.

Ji-hoon smiled faintly. “You picked a hell of a life.”

That pulled a dry laugh out of Ugetsu, too soft to wake Mafuyu. “Touché.” They fell into silence again—but this one felt lighter, chosen.

“Thank you,” Ugetsu said finally. “For saying it. For not asking me to be anything but what I am.”

Ji-hoon’s hand closed gently around his. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Mafuyu stirred behind them, shifting closer to Ugetsu’s chest, sighing as if even in sleep he was reacting to the emotional undercurrent in the room. His brow creased faintly.

Ugetsu reached up, brushed the sweat-damp hair from Mafuyu’s forehead, whispering more to himself than anyone else, “I don’t know what we are. I don’t know what comes next.”

Ji-hoon nodded. “Me neither.”

And then—from behind him—a soft, raspy voice cut through the quiet. “Neither do I. Pretty sure I told you how I feel the first time you fucked me though, Ugetsu,” Mafuyu mumbled, followed by a sleepy chuckle. “I love you.”

Ugetsu stiffened. Ji-hoon’s eyes widened.

Mafuyu didn’t move much, just snuggled deeper against Ugetsu’s chest with a half-lidded smirk. “You’re not as quiet as you think,” he murmured.

Ji-hoon groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “God, I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” Mafuyu muttered. “But you two are loud. And emotionally constipated.”

Ugetsu gave a choked laugh. “Oh, now we’re getting medical diagnoses?”

Mafuyu just grinned into Ugetsu’s chest. “You’re cute when you’re scared.”

Ji-hoon made a strangled noise. “I’m officially the third wheel in my own confession.”

“Don’t be,” Mafuyu said, finally cracking one eye open to look at him. His gaze was soft. “I think you’re brave. And I am so happy that you’re here too.”

He reached over Ugetsu, fingers brushing Ji-hoon’s cheek. It was a short touch, but it held meaning. “And I think he needed to hear it.”

Ji-hoon blinked, stunned.

Ugetsu just stared at the ceiling again, heart thudding loud enough to feel.

“What is this,” he murmured.

“A disaster,” Mafuyu offered. “But a soft one.” Then, quieter—like a line from one of his songs: “But it doesn’t feel wrong. Can’t be too wrong if I’m laying in bed with two handsome men,” said Mafuyu with a sly little smile.

Ji-hoon rolled back onto his side, blushing still, but smiling now.

Ugetsu reached down, interlaced his fingers with Mafuyu’s. On the other side, Ji-hoon’s hand found his again beneath the sheets. “Good night. Both of you. I’m happy to be here with you both.”

“Good night,” whispered Mafuyu, snuggling closer to Ugetsu.

Ji-hoon draped an arm across Ugetsu and Mafuyu. “Good night.”

They all slowly drifted off to a deep sleep.

Notes:

There are times I MISS drunken irreverent nights. But I don’t miss the hangover…

All characters are property of the author except Ji-Hoon, Vivian and Ken who are mine

This is as always AU set in my Winter’s Holly timeline. Mafuyu is 23, Ugetsu and Vic are 29, Ji-Hoon and Ken are 30

Chapter 16: The Distance Closes

Summary:

Coffee, kisses, and the quiet intimacy of a winter morning shared.

The apartment was hushed. Three days before Christmas, and the quiet was thick with warmth—the scent of lingering wine and Ugetsu’s leftover cologne still clinging faintly to the air like memory. The aftermath of the previous evening’s festivities.

Ugetsu was the first to stir, draped sideways across Ji-hoon like a particularly spoiled cat. The room was warm and dim, shades drawn, a tangle of limbs and cotton sheets. Somewhere under the press of bodies, Mafuyu made a small sound and shifted, burrowing deeper into Ji-hoon’s side.

“Mm. Morning, lovers,” Ugetsu croaked, voice like sandpaper.

Ji-hoon opened one eye. “We’re not your lovers.”

“You are,” Ugetsu said, stretching like a smug devil. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Mafuyu blinked slowly and turned his face toward them. “Did we...?”

“Nope,” Ji-hoon said quickly.

“Tragically, no,” Ugetsu sighed, propping himself on one elbow. His hair was a magnificent disaster. “Unless you count cuddling like sea otters in a tide pool.”

They lay like that for a while—quiet, slow breaths, the distant hum of the city behind the thick glass. It was the kind of morning that didn’t ask for urgency.

Then Ugetsu sat up, rubbed his eyes, and announced brightly, “I’m giving you both haircuts.”

Ji-hoon groaned. “That again?”

“That?” Mafuyu echoed, wary.

Ugetsu’s grin turned wolfish. “Oh, darling. It’s just a little thing I have. Aesthetic preference. Clean lines, smooth curves...” He twirled a lazy finger in the air. “Shaved pubes.”

Mafuyu turned a shade of pink that would’ve made a rose blush. “Oh.”

He groaned as he stretched, wincing a little as he sat back against the wall. “I still ache.”

Ugetsu glanced sideways, brows arched, amused. “From what, Fuyu-chan?”

Mafuyu gave him a slow, accusing look. “The workout you gave me before the party.”

Ji-hoon chuckled.

“Yes,” Ugetsu said cheerfully. “It was very rigorous. Full-body engagement. Flexibility. Stamina. Vocal projection.”

“Shut up,” Mafuyu said, blushing.

Ji-hoon didn’t react much—just tipped his head and looked at Mafuyu with a new kind of curiosity. “Sounds like my kind of workout…”

Mafuyu didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at the floor, blushing even more furiously.

Ugetsu leaned his head against Mafuyu’s shoulder, nudging him gently. “He was beautiful,” he said, quieter now. “It was a reminder, as if I needed one, why the two of us share a special connection.”

Mafuyu nodded slightly. “You make me feel everything.”

Ji-hoon brushed against Mafuyu’s arm. “He’s good at that. For better and for worse.”

“When was the last time we had sex?” Ugetsu asked, glancing over at Ji-hoon.

“Last year,” Ji-hoon confirmed. “Los Angeles. We did that show at Disney Hall. Stayed at the that hotel in Little Tokyo.”

Ugetsu laughed, sudden and fond. “The one with the impossibly small bathtub and the bidet with the water pressure like a power washer...”

“It nearly knocked you over,” Ji-hoon said.

“It did knock me over,” Ugetsu replied. “And you tried to hit me with the iron.”

“I should’ve,” Ji-hoon murmured, but he was smiling.

Mafuyu shifted a little. He looked between them—carefully, like watching the movement of weather. “Do you miss it?”

Ji-hoon shrugged. “Not really. Not in a painful way. But sometimes, yeah. It was good. We were good.”

“We were trouble,” Ugetsu said softly. “But it worked. In its way.”

He reached out, brushing a lock of damp hair off Ji-hoon’s forehead, and then did the same to Mafuyu. “But this,” he said, voice gentle now. “This is something else. Something better, maybe.”

Ji-hoon rolled out of bed, tousled and resigned. “He did this to the entire quartet on tour once. Said we’d perform better if we were ‘liberated.’”

“Didn’t I end up being right?”

“We did not perform better.”

“You were freer.”

Ugetsu stood, gloriously nude, and padded to the bathroom. “Come on. Group shower. Let’s be European about this.”

Mafuyu hesitated, caught between disbelief and amusement, until Ji-hoon passed him a towel with a shrug. “He’s annoying, but he’s good with a blade.”

In the steamed-up bathroom, things were quiet again—shoulders brushing under the spray, arms reaching past one another for shampoo, easy laughter echoing off tile. Mafuyu washed his hair while Ugetsu lathered Ji-hoon’s back with a kind of reverence that made the taller man sigh softly and lean into it. At some point, Ugetsu tilted Mafuyu’s chin up and kissed him—lightly, curiously, just the once.

“Is this okay?” he murmured.

Mafuyu blinked water from his lashes. “Yes.”

Ji-hoon rolled his eyes but didn’t move away when Ugetsu pulled him in too, pressing a lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And yet here we are.”

After, wrapped in towels and half-drying on the edge of the counter, Ugetsu worked with focused precision. He knelt, shaving foam and warm cloth in hand, humming under his breath as he attended to Mafuyu first—gentle, thorough, almost reverent. Mafuyu tried not to squirm. Ji-hoon sat on the closed toilet lid sipping black coffee, watching the whole thing like it was a mildly bizarre art installation.

“You’re absurd,” Ji-hoon said as Ugetsu moved on to him.

“But I’m very good at this,” Ugetsu replied, glancing up through his lashes. “And I love you both smooth and soft and perfect.”

“You’re a menace,” Mafuyu said, still pink-cheeked, now swaddled in one of Ugetsu’s oversized bathrobes.

“Aesthetic excellence is my calling.”

When Ji-hoon was finished being shaved, he offered, “Want me to do you?”

Ugetsu arched a brow. “Not necessary.”

“Tragic,” Ji-hoon said, deadpan.

They all drifted to the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast,” Ugetsu declared, moving with quiet efficiency, pulling out a pan and whisking eggs with a flick of his wrist. He made Japanese rolled omelette, set out the leftover sliced baguette and pâté. The coffee was strong and dark.

Ji-hoon stepped close to Mafuyu, wrapping an arm around his waist. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Mafuyu’s temple, then the corner of his mouth. Mafuyu's eyes fluttered closed.

“I could get used to this,” Mafuyu murmured.

Ji-hoon smiled, hand resting lightly on Mafuyu’s side. “Same.”

From the stove, Ugetsu called, “Don’t get too cozy. I’m not cooking again until New Year’s.”

“We’ll order sushi,” Ji-hoon said.

“Expensive sushi,” Ugetsu replied. “You’re welcome.”

They cleaned up the remains of previous night’s soirée. They laughed, and the morning settled around them—unhurried, full of light, and wrapped in the kind of comfort that came from being completely, absolutely known.

Notes:

A bit of morning after fluff…

Chapter 17: Between Us, A Quiet Home

Summary:

After a night of chaos, Mafuyu finds comfort and strength in the arms of Ugetsu and Ji-hoon. Their shared intimacy offers more than pleasure—it gives Mafuyu the clarity and courage he needs to return to Tokyo and face the people he left behind. He is not alone anymore.

After tidying the house, the three of them found themselves back in Ugetsu's bedroom, sprawled across the oversized chaise in the corner, the air thick with anticipation and the lingering scent of their earlier activities. Ugetsu, ever the charismatic one, took the lead—his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and affection as he pulled Mafuyu into a gentle embrace.

"Mafuyu," he murmured, his voice a soft purr, "you're like a dream, aren’t you? So soft and inviting. You show up on my doorstep with so much joy and energy, even when you're supposedly under all that stress."

Mafuyu blushed, his heart pounding in his chest as Ugetsu's hands roamed over his body. Ji-hoon, lying on his side behind him, watched with a mixture of curiosity and desire, his eyes tracing the lines of Mafuyu’s form as if committing them to memory.

"Fuyu," Ji-hoon said, his voice low and inviting.

He pulled Mafuyu into a kiss, lips soft and exploratory, while Ugetsu's hands continued to move—igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch.

Mafuyu found himself sandwiched between them, their bodies pressing against his, leaving him breathless. Ugetsu's hands traced the curves of his back, while Ji-hoon's lips traveled from his mouth to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made him shiver.

"Let's take this slow," Ugetsu whispered, his breath hot against Mafuyu’s ear. "We want you to feel every moment."

They moved to the bed, a tangle of limbs and soft moans. Ugetsu took the lead—his touch gentle, teasing—drawing out Mafuyu’s pleasure with a slow, deliberate pace. He explored every inch of Mafuyu’s body, his fingers and lips leaving trails of fire in their wake. Mafuyu arched against him, his body responding instinctively, a deep moan escaping his lips.

Ji-hoon, watching from the side, felt a surge of desire. He moved closer, gently caressing Mafuyu’s entrance with the tips of his fingers, spreading a liberal amount of lube around the opening. Mafuyu’s senses heightened—every touch, every kiss, every whisper sending him spiraling into a world of pure sensation.

Ugetsu, sensing Mafuyu’s growing need, shifted, positioning himself between Mafuyu’s legs. He entered him with a single gentle thrust, eyes locked on Mafuyu’s face, watching pleasure and surprise play across his features. Mafuyu gasped, his body adjusting to the sensation—a mix of discomfort and pleasure that left him breathless.

Ji-hoon, unable to wait any longer, pressed against Mafuyu from behind. He whispered into his ear, voice a low rumble: “Let us take care of you, Fuyu. Let us show you how much you mean to us.”

Caught between them, Mafuyu felt a wave of emotion wash over him. Overwhelmed, his heart swelled with affection and desire. He reached out, hands finding Ugetsu and Ji-hoon, pulling them closer, needing to feel them—needing to be part of them in every way.

They moved together, bodies in sync, a dance of pleasure and passion. Ugetsu and Ji-hoon took turns, their touches alternating between gentle and fierce, drawing Mafuyu deeper until he was a trembling mess, his body shaking from the intensity.

As the passion subsided, Mafuyu lay nestled between them, their hands still roaming over him with gentle affection. The room glowed softly, the air thick with the scent of their shared desire. Mafuyu's heart was full, his mind at peace, his body sated.

Ugetsu held him close, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion Mafuyu had never seen in him before. He looked directly into Mafuyu’s eyes, gaze steady and sure.

"Whatever you decide to do, Mafuyu, I’ll support you," he said, voice soft but firm. "Go back to Tokyo. Talk to Hiiragi and Ritsuka. Find whatever common ground you can, and move forward. But know this: I made a huge mistake letting you go the first time. I’m not going to make the same mistake again. Whatever you choose, I intend to be part of your life going forward. You’ll always have a home here."

Warmth and love swelled in Mafuyu’s chest. Ugetsu’s words were a balm—a promise that he wasn’t alone, that he was cherished and valued. He leaned into Ugetsu’s embrace, feeling the security of his arms around him.

Ji-hoon, sensing the moment, added his own gentle touch, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on Mafuyu’s skin. “We’re here for you, Fuyu,” he murmured. “No matter what, you’re not alone.”

Mafuyu had always felt a deep connection to Ugetsu—a bond beyond words. But with Ji-hoon, too, he felt at ease, as though they’d known each other for a lifetime. With these two incredible men by his side, he felt he could face anything. He was loved. Cherished. Supported. That knowledge filled him with strength and courage he’d never known before.

He would go back to Tokyo. He would talk to his boyfriends. He would find a way forward.

As they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Mafuyu knew that whatever the future held, he wouldn’t face it alone. Home wasn’t a place—it was people. It was Ugetsu. And his quartet. And it was his own band too: Hiiragi, Ritsuka, and Shizusumi. It was his mother, who had given so much of herself to provide a good life for him.

And knowing that, he would always be able to find his way back home.

The room was quiet now, the only sounds the soft breaths of the three men and the distant hum of the city—the faint scrape of snowplows on the road.

Mafuyu listened to the steady beat of Ugetsu’s heart beneath his ear, feeling a deep sense of contentment. This moment, he realized, was just the beginning—a promise of a future filled with love, understanding, and support.

Ugetsu's fingers combed gently through Mafuyu’s hair, his touch soothing and reassuring. “You’re so strong, Fuyu,” he whispered. “Stronger than you know. I’ve told you that before. Believe me. And we’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

Ji-hoon nodded, his hand resting on Mafuyu’s hip. “We’ve got your back. Always. Whatever challenges come, we’ll face them together.”

Mafuyu took a deep breath, letting the weight of their words settle into his heart. His connection to both of them felt unbreakable. He knew now: they would stand by him, no matter what decisions he made or which path he followed.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence. Their bodies entwined, their hearts in sync. Mafuyu felt peace wash over him—an abiding sense that everything would be okay. That he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Eventually, Ugetsu broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. “You know, Fuyu, life is full of choices. And sometimes those choices are hard. But remember—no matter what you decide, you have people who love you. That’s what matters most.”

Ji-hoon added, “And don’t forget, you have a strength within you. Trust yourself. We’ll be right here, cheering you on.”

Mafuyu opened his eyes, looking from Ugetsu to Ji-hoon. Gratitude and love welled up inside him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything. I don’t know what the future holds, but knowing that I have you both… it makes all the difference.”

They lay together, arms wrapped around each other, hearts calm and full. Mafuyu knew now—he was loved. Cherished. Supported.

He was ready.

Whatever came next, he wouldn’t face it alone.

Chapter 18: Postlude, with Mimosas

Summary:

After a night of tenderness and tangled limbs, morning brings croissants, mimosas, and the unexpected arrival of friends. Mafuyu, Ugetsu, and Ji-hoon navigate breakfast banter, surprise visits, and the quiet warmth of being seen—and accepted—as they are.

The apartment was warm with the hush of winter sunlight, streaming through the tall windows in thin golden bands. Somewhere in the distance, a snowplow scraped along the road. Inside the bedroom, it was still—soft breathing, tangled limbs, skin against skin in a quiet, sacred tangle of affection and aftermath.

Mafuyu stirred first. Not fully awake, just drifting upward in that half-place where sensation speaks louder than thought. Ugetsu’s arm was heavy across his chest. Ji-hoon’s forehead pressed lightly against his back. Their shared warmth blanketed him, wrapped in the rhythm of sleep and breath.

No words. Just this—bare bodies, limbs draped together, hearts slow and open. Mafuyu let his eyes drift shut again, a contented sigh escaping him. He felt safe. Held. Cherished.

And then—

“I see the party stretched from last night into today.”

The voice was cool and melodic, not quite mocking. Mafuyu’s eyes snapped open.

Vivian Choi stood at the foot of the bed, coat unbuttoned, violin case still slung over her shoulder. Her dark eyes sparkled with clear amusement.

“I see you’re entertaining Mafuyu a bit more than he might have expected.”

Mafuyu, caught between two very naked men, blinked hard. “Vivian?” he croaked.

Ugetsu groaned without opening his eyes. “Vivian, it’s barely eleven—”

“And you’re all naked. Time to rise and shine.”

From the kitchen came a cheerful call: “Get up, boys! I’m making mimosas!”

That was Ken. His voice floated through the hallway with the unmistakable clatter of glasses and the pop of a champagne cork. Mafuyu heard Vivian’s case click against the wall as she set it down, not bothering to leave.

Ji-hoon let out a quiet laugh against Mafuyu’s back.

“They really just walk in here now?” said Mafuyu incredulously.

“They always did,” Ugetsu murmured. “You get used to it.”

Vivian called from the hallway, “The front door is never locked. You get used to it.”

Mafuyu wasn’t sure whether to sit up or cover himself or die quietly under the covers. In the end, he pulled the blanket a little higher, hiding his face along with everything else. “This is… a lot for a Saturday morning.”

“Relax,” Vivian said, pulling the curtains wider with a practiced flick. “You all look radiant. Thoroughly wrecked, but radiant.”

She turned to go, pausing just long enough to flash a wicked grin over her shoulder. “Come have brunch. I promise not to tell Ji-hoon’s adoring fans he’s gone domestic.”

“Vivian,” Ji-hoon muttered, “I’m literally the least scandalous one here.”

“Not this morning,” she said sweetly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Renowned violist caught in love triangle with Japanese rockstar.”

“Vivian,” Ken said from the kitchen, “seriously?”

“Not this morning,” she repeated with a grin, disappearing behind the kitchen door.

The door clicked shut behind her. Mafuyu exhaled slowly, glancing sideways at Ugetsu, who wore a faint smirk, still not bothering to move. Ji-hoon shifted behind him, warm and close, but clearly no longer asleep.

“We should get up,” Mafuyu whispered.

Ugetsu nodded solemnly. “Eventually.”

Ji-hoon pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “But not just yet.”

The three of them lay there for another long moment, suspended in the warmth of aftermath and interruption, in love and laughter and something startlingly close to peace.

Then, somewhere out in the kitchen: “Ugetsu, where the hell is the orange juice?”

He sighed. “Now we have to get up.”

Mafuyu sat up at last, tousled and flushed, the sheet clutched around his waist. “Next time,” he said softly, glancing at both of them, “maybe we lock the door.”

Ugetsu grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Mafuyu sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, still loosely wrapped in a soft white bedsheet that slipped occasionally to reveal one bare shoulder. His hair was tousled, eyes bleary from sleep, and a half-eaten croissant dangled between his lips as he tried to look inconspicuous.

Vivian’s gaze locked onto him instantly. She arched an eyebrow, smirking knowingly.

“Hold on. Did someone give you a haircut?” she asked, stepping closer with mock seriousness, eyes flicking down as the sheet slipped low for a moment, revealing a little more than Mafuyu intended.

Mafuyu blinked, mid-bite, croissant crumbs caught on his lips. He quickly tugged the sheet back up, cheeks flushing a deep red.

“Uhh… I guess?” he mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at Vivian.

“And…” Vivian’s eyes narrowed playfully, “someone’s been very thorough.”

Mafuyu’s face turned crimson. He clutched the sheet tighter, attempting to reclaim some modesty.

Ugetsu, leaning casually against the fridge, raised a hand in mock defense. “I was just helping. You looked like you needed it.”

Vivian laughed softly. “Of course he did. Ugetsu and his razor—he’s got a habit of turning his lovers into fine art.”

“Fine art?” Mafuyu whispered, nearly mortified.

“It’s a ritual in this crazy world we live in,” Vivian said, her tone suddenly warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, darling. He’s given me a haircut too. And trust me, you look neat and tidy. Very... well-loved.”

Mafuyu gave a small, embarrassed smile, still clutching the croissant and the sheet alike.

Ken, from across the room, piped up with a sly grin: “He’s given me one on more than one occasion. It was not exactly easy explaining it to my girlfriend.”

Ji-hoon, stirring his coffee, barely looked up. “Sounds like you need a better girlfriend.”

Vivian chuckled, shaking her head. “Honestly, it’s like a secret initiation. If you survive the razor, you’re in the club.”

Mafuyu half-laughed, half-groaned. “I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed or if this is some kind of badge of honor.”

“Both,” Ugetsu said softly, a faint smile curling at his lips. “Definitely both.”

Vivian leaned in, lowering her voice. “Welcome to the family, darling.”

Despite himself, Mafuyu’s cheeks softened. Ken had settled onto couch and and started playing a Bach solo cello suite. The warmth in the room wasn’t just from the sunlight or the wine or the music—it was something deeper, something like home.

Notes:

Ken is playing the Cello Suite #1 by J S Bach

 

Bach Cello Suite #1 in G

Chapter 19: Something Honest

Summary:

Vivian and Ken are gone, and Mafuyu is finally free to be selfish. In the hush that follows, he draws Ugetsu and Ji-hoon closer—physically, emotionally, and without apology. Desire gives way to tenderness, and in that intimacy, Mafuyu begins to understand what he truly wants. As they play music for him and hold him through the quiet, he finds the courage to speak with clarity, to name what he feels, and to face what comes next. But when voicemails from Japan shatter the stillness, Mafuyu must decide how to carry this new version of himself forward—toward Ritsuka, Hiiragi, and whatever future awaits.

Vivian and Ken had stayed late into the afternoon, finally leaving with promises to call tomorrow to discuss plans for Christmas. As soon as the door closed behind them, Mafuyu turned the lock with deliberate slowness. Then, without a word, he turned to face Ugetsu and Ji-hoon, lips quirking into a sly smile.

“That’s enough hospitality,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I want to be selfish now.”

Ugetsu raised an eyebrow. Ji-hoon chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. Mafuyu padded closer on bare feet, eyes glittering with something playful, almost wicked.

“I want both of you,” he said plainly. “No interruptions. No more guests. Just… indulgence.”

“You sound like you’ve been holding back,” Ugetsu murmured, intrigued, stepping into Mafuyu’s space.

“I have,” Mafuyu whispered, voice velvet-smooth. “Being good. Being polite. Done with that. At least for today.”

Ji-hoon leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes dark with amusement. “So now you’re indulging your baser instincts?”

“Exactly,” Mafuyu said, turning toward him. “And you like it.”

“I do,” Ji-hoon admitted with a low hum. “It’s charming. Bold. Dangerous, even.”

“Dangerous?” Mafuyu echoed with a mock pout. “Guess you’d better stay and supervise.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” Ji-hoon said. “Unless Ugetsu wants me gone.”

“Mafuyu wants you here,” Ugetsu said flatly, voice quieter but certain.

Ji-hoon’s smile faded a little. “And what do you want, Ugetsu?”

Ugetsu tilted his head, eyes locked on Mafuyu. “Right now, I want what he wants.”

“Should we talk about this? Expectations? Boundaries?” Ji-hoon asked, tone gentle but serious.

“Not yet,” Ugetsu said. “But yes… you seem to be getting attached.”

Ji-hoon gave a small nod. “I suppose I am. But not just to him.”

There was a pause. The radiator hissed softly. Outside, the city murmured beneath a steel-gray sky.

“Well,” Ugetsu said, half-smiling, “is this about sex? Or something more?”

Before Ji-hoon could answer, Mafuyu laughed softly and stretched his arms overhead with a small yawn. “I’m going to shower. Try not to solve the mysteries of the universe without me.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, the soft sound of running water following soon after.

Ugetsu and Ji-hoon remained in the living room, quiet for a moment, then settled onto the couch.

“He’s… different,” Ji-hoon said finally. “Even since yesterday.”

Ugetsu nodded. “He’s still himself… maybe just finding a new version.”

Ji-hoon glanced at him. “And you? What are you finding?”

Ugetsu exhaled, leaning his head back. “A way to not destroy this. For once.”

The shower stopped. A moment later, Mafuyu emerged in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp and softly curled around his cheeks. His reddish brown hair glinted like copper under the lamplight. He looked flushed, fresh, and devastatingly at ease.

“You two are still clothed?” he asked with feigned disappointment.

“We were being respectful,” Ji-hoon said, standing.

“Tsk. That’s boring.” Mafuyu dropped the towel and walked past them into the bedroom.

They followed him, like they were drawn by gravity. Within minutes, the three of them were tangled together beneath soft, rumpled sheets. Naked. Warm. Resting in a hush that felt suspended from time itself.

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hiss of the radiator and the occasional creak of the building settling. Outside, the city exhaled in low, distant murmurs—tires on wet pavement, a gust of wind against the window. Inside, everything stilled.

Mafuyu lay between them, his bare skin pressed against theirs. He had never felt so… seen. The sex was, frankly, amazing. It made him feel so… satisfied? But it was more than that. Over the past few days—really just three nights and two days—he felt open and uninhibited in a way he’d never felt before. Free to make his own choices.

He gave a little snort. Deep down what he wanted was to be selfish. To keep as much of this around him as he could. But how?

He snuggled into Ugetsu’s embrace. Their warmth wrapped around him like a second skin. Ugetsu’s breath stirred his hair. Ji-hoon’s hand lay across his chest. He basked in the afterglow.

Then Mafuyu spoke—softly, but with clarity.

“I love having sex with you,” he said, looking at Ugetsu first, then turning his head to meet Ji-hoon’s eyes. “I’ve never said anything like that out loud before. But I love it.”

Neither of them responded right away. But their arms around him tightened, slow and sure.

“We love it too,” Ji-hoon said, voice warm with certainty.

Ugetsu gave a breath of laughter, nuzzling the back of Mafuyu’s neck. “You’re unbelievably sexy when you’re honest like that.”

“Then I’ll keep saying it,” Mafuyu murmured. He paused, voice lowering. “I should tell Hiiragi and Ritsuka too. All this confusion and miscommunication… but maybe something simple like that is a good place to start.”

Ji-hoon nodded. “It’s honest. And real. That’s more than most people manage.”

“They deserve that much,” Mafuyu said, eyes soft. “Even if I don’t have all the answers yet.”

He let out a breath and looked up at the two of them, suddenly shy. “Will you play something for me? Both of you?”

Ugetsu looked at Ji-hoon. “The Mozart Duo in G Major?” Ji-hoon nodded. They both retrieved their instruments, returning to the bedside—bare, unhurried, at ease in their bodies. Mafuyu curled up on his side, one hand resting over his heart, eyes following every motion as they prepared.

The room filled with sound. Bright, intricate, gleaming. Notes dancing and weaving between violin and viola—cheerful, elegant, and alive. Mafuyu watched them play, beaming, swept in awe and affection. For a moment, he wished time would stop. Just like this.

They returned their instruments to their cases and then crawled back into bed with Mafuyu, pulling the blankets up and cuddling together, limbs comfortably tangled, the music still echoing in the warmth between them.

Open honesty. Could it really that simple? He needed to talk to Hiiragi and Ritsuka. He turned his phone on for the first time since the morning he had arrived. He’d rest. Then call them when he was fresh in the morning. Ugetsu wrapped his arms around him and he drifted off to sleep in that warmth.

Then—

A buzz.

He stilled. His phone, untouched for two days, lit up on the bedside table. Dozens of message notifications bloomed across the screen.

Hiiragi. Hiiragi. Ritsuka. Hiiragi. Ritsuka. Shizusumi. Haruki. Hiiragi again.

He didn’t reach for it at first. He didn’t want to break this calm.

But curiosity bloomed. And fear. And something else. Readiness.

With a steadying breath, he picked up the phone and pressed play.

Hiiragi’s voice filled the room, hoarse and cracking. “Mafuyu… I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I’m coming. Ritsuka and I—we’re on a flight to New York. We’re going to find you. We need to talk. Please… call me back.”

The message ended. The ache lingered like smoke.

Another buzz. Ritsuka this time—his voice low, urgent.

“We’re leaving this evening. I know I haven’t been easy, but I want to fix this. For all of us. I’m sorry, Mafuyu. Please answer.”

Ugetsu’s hand slid to his hip, grounding him. Ji-hoon drew slow, soft circles over his back.

“You’re not alone,” Ugetsu murmured, voice rough with sleep but unwavering.

Mafuyu closed his eyes.

They were flying. Crossing oceans. Searching for him.

He pictured them side by side on the plane, staring into the dark, unsure what they’d find when they arrived. Not knowing who he’d become.

He was still here. Still raw. But not the same.

Not the boy who had run without telling anyone. Not the one waiting to be rescued.

The phone buzzed again. Then again. Still, he didn’t answer.

The messages kept coming. Filling the silence with fear, apology, longing.

His chest ached. But beneath it, something stirred. Something alive. Still fragile. But growing stronger.

Courage. Or the beginnings of it.

He wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But soon—he would get up. He would meet them. He would speak.

Not as a frightened boy, cornered by silence—

—but as himself.

The Mafuyu who had not just endured, but changed.

Who had loved in the quiet.

Who had let himself be seen—tender and trembling and whole—in these hours with Ugetsu and Ji-hoon.

The Mafuyu who was finally ready to talk.

Would they be ready to listen?

Notes:

Mozart Duo for Violin and Viola in G

 

This is the piece Ugetsu and Ji-hoon perform for Mafuyu in this chapter

Chapter 20: Bracing for Impact

Summary:

The morning after draws long and heavy. With the curtains still drawn and the city blanketed in snow, Mafuyu, Ugetsu, and Ji-hoon wake into quiet warmth—and rising apprehension. Mafuyu knows it’s only a matter of time before Hiiragi and Ritsuka arrive. Where are they staying? Will they call first? He doesn’t know. But he’s no longer alone. In the hush of a shared bed and soft confessions, the three hold onto what’s real, even as the outside world threatens to break in.

Mafuyu woke first, though he didn’t move. The apartment was quiet—New York quiet, which meant muffled traffic, distant voices, the faint hum of heating through the vents. The light was soft, winter-muted, leaking through the curtains.

Ugetsu lay curled behind him, one arm draped over his waist. Ji-hoon was sprawled on Mafuyu’s other side, hair disheveled, breathing deep and steady.

Mafuyu stared at the ceiling, heart heavy with a low, creeping dread. Any hour now, they’d arrive.

Hiiragi. Ritsuka.

He hadn’t heard anything—not a text, not a call—and that unsettled him more than if they’d been shouting. Were they already in the city? Would they come straight here? Would they call first? Where were they staying?

Would they still be angry? Hurt?

Did they even want to see him?

He swallowed the thoughts, but they sat in his throat like stones. Eventually, he rose, retrieved clean underwear and socks from his bag, and pulled on his jeans. There was a now-familiar ache in his hips and thighs.

“We should get up, too,” said Ugetsu, pulling himself out of bed. He crossed over to Mafuyu and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his bare chest against Mafuyu’s back. He kissed him on the back of his neck, slow and warm.

Mafuyu leaned into him with a soft sigh, eyes closing for a moment. “I’m not ready,” he murmured.

“I know,” Ugetsu said. He nuzzled just under Mafuyu’s ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we can be not-ready together.”

Ji-hoon sat up slowly, stretching with a quiet grunt. He blinked at them sleepily, then reached for his underwear on the floor. “I’ll put on coffee.”

As Ji-hoon padded barefoot into the kitchen, Ugetsu tightened his hold just slightly. “Mafuyu, I love you,” he whispered into his ear. “We’ll face this. You want this.”

Mafuyu didn’t speak. But he nodded. Had Ugetsu ever actually confessed to him like that before?

Ji-hoon made lunch for them and they ate. And waited. They napped together. And waited.

Hours dragged on.

Hiiragi slept—if it could be called that—slumped against the window, face pale, breathing uneven. It wasn’t peaceful. He shifted constantly, brow furrowed, sometimes muttering under his breath, his hands twitching like he was trapped somewhere he couldn’t escape.

Ritsuka sat beside him, arms crossed, glaring at nothing.

He wasn’t even pretending to sleep.

His foot tapped restlessly under his seat, and every time Hiiragi shifted or murmured in his sleep, Ritsuka’s glare deepened.

“Tch,” he muttered, watching Hiiragi toss again, his face twisted in some private nightmare. “Idiot.”

Hiiragi flinched suddenly, his whole body tensing as he let out a sharp, low breath through clenched teeth—eyes still closed, trapped in whatever memory had him.

Ritsuka scowled but looked away, jaw tight. “Serves you right,” he muttered, though it came out quieter this time, almost reluctant. “You don’t get to sleep easy.”

Still, as the flight dragged on, even Ritsuka’s anger dulled under the weight of exhaustion and the steady hum of the engines.

By the time the cabin lights brightened for landing, neither of them looked human anymore.

Hiiragi’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale and drawn, jaw clenched from too much whiskey and too little rest.

Ritsuka wasn’t much better—stiff, hollow-eyed, his mouth tight, his whole body strung like a wire.

They said nothing as they gathered their things.

There was nothing left to say.

They moved through JFK like ghosts—silent, numb, dragging their bags through the endless shuffle of customs and arrivals.

Haruki’s text was waiting by the time they cleared baggage claim:

Ugetsu’s address—he used it for the envelope Mafuyu asked me to mail last month.
Don’t screw this up.

Hiiragi stared at the message, thumb hovering over it, rereading the address like it might disappear.

120 West 72nd Street.

Ritsuka leaned over just enough to see it too, voice a dry rasp as Hiiragi pulled a map up on his phone. “Near Central Park?”

Hiiragi gave the faintest nod, but didn’t look away from the glowing screen.

Outside, the city air hit them like a punch—thick, humid, loud. Even early in the morning, the streets were alive with movement.

Taxis honked. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. People rushed past without a glance.

Still, neither of them looked around.

Hiiragi flagged a cab with a mechanical wave, his voice flat as he gave the address to the driver.

They climbed in, dragging their suitcases inside, too exhausted to even fight for the window seat.

The cab pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and steel.

Hiiragi sat silent, phone clutched tight in his hand, his gaze locked on the address.

Ritsuka watched the city roll past—but his jaw stayed clenched, like he was bracing for impact.

Block by block, they crawled toward the inevitable.

The car slowed as they turned onto West 72nd.

Here, the city softened—older, quieter, lined with brownstones and elegant buildings guarded by wrought-iron gates and leafy trees swaying in the breeze.

The cab stopped in front of a narrow stone building with wide marble steps and a row of brass mailboxes at the door.

120 W 72nd Street.

Neither of them moved at first—just stared up at the building, hearts lodged in their throats.

Ritsuka was the first to break, shoving some cash at the driver without looking. “Keep it.”

They stepped out together, the door slamming behind them.

The morning air pressed heavy around them, thick with heat and nerves.

They stared up at the building, then at each other.

“…This is it,” Hiiragi said, his voice dry, barely more than a breath.

Ritsuka’s lips tightened, but he nodded once, sharp and tense.

They climbed the marble steps in silence, each step heavier than the last, dragging their suitcases behind them.

At the door, Hiiragi found the panel of buzzers—old, worn, the names barely legible.

But there it was, clear enough:
Murata – Apt 4B.
Ugetsu.

Hiiragi’s throat closed tight.

Ritsuka stood just behind him, radiating impatience. “Well?” he muttered.

Hiiragi didn’t answer.

He just pressed the buzzer.

The harsh buzz echoed somewhere deep inside, loud and grating.

They waited.

Seconds stretched unbearably long.

No answer.

Ritsuka scowled. “Again.”

Hiiragi hesitated, then pressed it again—longer this time.

Another sharp buzz, vibrating in the quiet morning air.

Still nothing.

Hiiragi’s chest tightened, dread clawing up his throat. “They might not be—”

Before he could finish, the speaker crackled.

“…Who is it?”

The voice was unmistakable.

Calm. Flat. Slightly amused.

Ugetsu.

Hiiragi’s heart stopped.

Ritsuka leaned in, his voice steady but clipped. “It’s us,” he said, sharp and to the point. “Hiiragi and Uenoyama.”

Silence.

Then—an audible sigh. Low. Almost amused. “…Took you long enough.”

Click.

The lock buzzed.

Neither of them moved right away, still frozen under the weight of it.

Then slowly, Hiiragi pushed the door open.

They stepped inside together.

The door swung shut behind them with a solid, final thud.

Ahead, a narrow staircase wound upward under dim lights, lined with old wooden banisters and worn carpeting.

Hiiragi’s voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Fourth floor.”

Ritsuka didn’t wait.

He grabbed his suitcase and started climbing without a word, his face set, his pace relentless.

Hiiragi followed, dragging his suitcase behind him, every step heavier than the last.

Their breaths grew shallow as they reached the top.

Finally, they reached the landing—4B.

The door was already cracked open.

Light spilled out from inside—soft, warm, inviting.

Waiting.

Hiiragi stared at it, frozen. No going back.

Ritsuka reached the threshold first, his hand hovering near the frame.

Neither of them spoke.

They just stood there, hearts pounding, staring into the open doorway, knowing that everything they’d been dreading lay just beyond it.

Chapter 21: Love in all its messy ways

Summary:

Mafuyu answers the door to find Hiiragi and Ritsuka standing in the hallway—and Ugetsu welcomes them inside with a sharp smile and sharper truths. Tensions flare as long-buried feelings come to the surface, and Mafuyu, at last, finds the strength to speak without apology. Ugetsu offers tea, insight, and a sudden invitation to dinner. Ji-hoon watches. Everything changes.

The door swung open, revealing Mafuyu—barefoot, in jeans and an oversized I ❤️ New York hoodie. He looked anxious, but standing directly behind him was Ugetsu Murata: loose-limbed, wrapped in an oversized shirt, his dark hair tousled and his smile sharp and amused. He kept a hand on Mafuyu’s shoulder.

“Well,” Ugetsu said, sweeping his gaze over the two figures at his doorstep, “this is a surprise.”

His eyes moved from Hiiragi—nervous and pale—to Ritsuka, simmering just below the surface.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be having company,” Ugetsu added, his voice light but dripping with intrigue.

Mafuyu shifted, his words fumbling out.
“I… I wasn’t sure what they were planning. I thought they might call first—”

Ugetsu let out a soft, delighted laugh, swinging the door open wider with a dramatic flourish.
“Nonsense! Come in, come in. I’ve heard so much about both of you.”

Hiiragi hesitated, glancing anxiously at Mafuyu, but Ritsuka was the first to step inside—cautious but direct, his sharp eyes scanning the apartment. The space was wide but cluttered—walls lined with vinyl records, abstract paintings, and scattered instruments, among them Mafuyu’s red Gibson ES-330 resting in the corner next to a small portable amplifier. A faint, sharp mix of incense and tea lingered in the air.

Another man sat on the couch, watching everything intently.

“Shoes off, please,” Ugetsu said lightly, waving a hand toward the entryway. “I may be chaotic, but even I have some rules.”

Hiiragi obediently toed off his shoes, stiff and wary. Ritsuka took his off as well. Mafuyu followed them back into the room, avoiding everyone’s gaze, and closed the door behind them.

With the ease of someone perfectly at home in the tension, Ugetsu moved through the room, pulling a pair of chairs out and setting them in front of the low table opposite the couch.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” he said breezily, every movement graceful. “That’s our dear friend Ji-hoon Kang,” he added, gesturing toward the man on the couch.

“Tea? Wine? Something stronger?” His glance toward Ritsuka and Hiiragi carried just enough teasing to sting.

“We’re fine,” Ritsuka said, his voice flat, arms crossed tightly.

Ugetsu chuckled softly, clearly amused by their resistance.
“Suit yourselves,” he hummed, padding toward the kitchen. “To think, I’m finally meeting the Ritsuka and Hiiragi. I must admit, I imagined something a bit taller.”

Hiiragi flushed but said nothing.
Mafuyu hovered near the door, visibly uncomfortable.

Ugetsu’s voice floated back from the kitchen, light as a feather but cutting all the same.
“Honestly, Fuyu-chan, you’ve been holding out on me. You never told me how pretty they both are.”

Mafuyu’s face burned.
“Ugetsu…”

But Ugetsu only laughed again, utterly at ease.

Hiiragi’s patience snapped, his voice thin and tight.
“We didn’t come here to drink.”

Ugetsu’s sharp eyes flicked over his shoulder, amused but cool.
“No? Then to what do we owe the pleasure?” He turned, leaning lazily against the counter, eyes glinting. “Band drama? Lovers’ quarrel? Or did you just come to drag your poor, lost friend away from the Big Bad Ugetsu?”

Hiiragi stiffened, his mouth pressing into a line—but Ritsuka’s voice cut through, blunt and unwavering.
“We’re here for Mafuyu.”

The air shifted instantly.

Mafuyu’s breath caught.

Ugetsu let the words hang, studying them all, then smiled slowly—sharp, knowing.
“Ah,” he said softly, a faint glimmer of mischief behind his eyes. “I see.”

His gaze flicked toward Mafuyu, something unreadable passing between them.
“Funny,” Ugetsu mused, calm as ever, “you say you’re here for him—but it looks to me like he’s already exactly where he wants to be.”

Mafuyu flinched.

Ritsuka’s voice sharpened, low but seething.
“That’s not your decision.”

Ugetsu’s smile deepened, but there was no malice in it—just quiet, unsettling certainty.
“Then maybe,” he said, letting the words fall gently, “you should ask him.”

The room went still.

Hiiragi’s voice cracked through the thick air, small and pleading.
“Mafuyu…?”

Mafuyu’s hands were curled tightly into his sleeves, but he didn’t look away this time. His voice, when it came, was soft but clear.
“I didn’t ask anyone to come.”

The words hit hard—clean and quiet, but heavy as a blow.

Hiiragi’s face drained of color, stunned.
Even Ritsuka wavered.

Ugetsu and Ji-hoon didn’t move, merely watched, calm as ever.

Hiiragi’s voice shook, thick with hurt.
“But… we were worried about you.”

Mafuyu’s reply wasn’t cruel, but there was a sharpness to it—an edge they weren’t used to hearing.
“I didn’t ask you to worry.”

Hiiragi paled further, stricken.
Ritsuka’s frustration surged again, his voice rough with heat.
“You left without a word. What did you think we’d do?”

“I called when I landed. I explained what I needed and promised I would call again.” Mafuyu’s chest rose and fell, but he didn’t falter.

Ugetsu’s voice slid through the tension like a knife through silk, cool and cutting.
“If you’re just here to scold him,” he said softly, “I suggest you leave. This isn’t the place for it.”

Hiiragi glared, but Ugetsu was already on his feet, moving to the kettle, utterly composed.

Ritsuka’s voice sharpened further, bitter with frustration.
“And you think you understand him better?”

Ugetsu let out a soft, almost indulgent laugh as he poured the water.
“Oh, I don’t claim to understand anything,” he said, voice light and almost amused. “I just don’t ask him to perform for me.”

Hiiragi’s breath caught in his throat. Even Ritsuka looked briefly thrown.

Mafuyu’s voice suddenly broke through—quiet but with a strength that stunned them both.
“You’re right,” he said, looking Ritsuka straight in the eye. “I should’ve trusted you.”

For a second, hope flickered in Ritsuka’s face—but Mafuyu’s next words cut it down.

“But you didn’t exactly make it easy.”

Silence crashed down again.

Mafuyu’s gaze turned to Hiiragi then, steady and unflinching.
“You dragged me into your fight,” he said, soft but sharp. “I tried to stop it. I begged you to stop. But neither of you listened.”

Hiiragi’s eyes were wide, horror creeping in.

Mafuyu pressed on, his voice clear and resolute.
“You weren’t fighting about me,” he said. “You were fighting around me. Like I wasn’t even there.”

His breath trembled—but the words kept coming.
“You left me sitting in the wreckage,” Mafuyu finished, his voice quiet but fierce, “while you both walked away.”

Hiiragi looked shattered, trembling and pale. Ritsuka stood rigid, his face drawn, unable to argue.

Mafuyu took a slow breath, his voice softening but not losing its strength.
“I’ve spent most of my life being quiet,” he said. “Swallowing everything. Doing what people wanted me to do.” He looked at them both—steady, unwavering. “But I’m not doing that anymore.”

The words landed like a final chord, full of quiet gravity.

Mafuyu’s eyes softened, but there was no surrender in them.
“I’m not your prize to fight over.”

Hiiragi’s face crumpled. Ritsuka stared at the floor, fists clenched, defeated.

Mafuyu’s voice gentled once more, calm and certain.
“I didn’t leave to hurt anyone,” he said. “But I’m not sorry I walked away.”

Silence thickened around them, but it wasn’t the same heavy, suffocating quiet from before.

Ugetsu’s voice broke through, soft but carrying a quiet thread of humor.
“Well,” he said, setting the teacups down with a soft clink, “it seems our Fuyu-chan’s grown up more than anyone realized.”

He brought in a tea tray and handed Mafuyu a cup first—calm, deliberate, steady. Then a second to Ji-hoon.

Mafuyu accepted it without hesitation, his hands no longer trembling. He dropped casually onto the floor in front of the couch, in front of Ji-hoon.

Then Ugetsu held out two cups for Hiiragi and Ritsuka. Neither Hiiragi nor Ritsuka touched theirs.

Ugetsu settled back in his chair, swirling his tea cup slowly between his fingers, as if the storm had already passed.
“I’ll say this much,” Ugetsu mused, his voice easy but deliberate, “you’ve certainly collected quite the audience, Fuyu-chan.”

Mafuyu exhaled quietly but didn’t reply.

Ugetsu’s eyes drifted toward Hiiragi, his tone shifting—lighter, but pointed.
“You know,” Ugetsu said, his words smooth but with quiet weight, “he genuinely loves you, Hiiragi.”

Hiiragi’s breath caught, stunned.

Ugetsu’s gaze didn’t waver, his words calm and certain.
“He’s been telling me that, clear back to when we first met,” Ugetsu went on, smiling faintly. “High school. He never stopped.”

Hiiragi looked ready to shatter.

Ugetsu’s gaze shifted to Ritsuka next, voice still soft but steady.
“And you too, Ritsuka. He’s never been shy about that with me.”

Ritsuka’s face tightened, but he said nothing.

Ugetsu’s smile curled a little deeper, his voice lowering with a faint glimmer of something more personal—but still kind.
“But,” he added, his eyes lingering on Mafuyu, “I think it’s safe to say his feelings for me run pretty deep too. And for Ji-hoon, here, too.”

Ji-hoon flashed a shadow of a smile.

Mafuyu flushed, but didn’t look away.

There was no gloating in Ugetsu’s words—only quiet truth, laid bare without shame.

“I’m not saying that to stir the pot,” Ugetsu continued, leaning back lazily, his tone light but with steel underneath. “Though I do enjoy the occasional stir.”

He set his cup down gently, his gaze steady. “I’m saying it because you need to understand something.”

Hiiragi and Ritsuka both watched him, silent but tense.

“Mafuyu’s heart isn’t some tidy thing you can box up or claim,” Ugetsu said, voice soft but unwavering. “It’s complicated. It always has been.”

Neither Hiiragi nor Ritsuka spoke.

Ugetsu’s gaze softened again, resting gently on Mafuyu. “And you,” Ugetsu said, voice warming, “you don’t have to apologize for that.”

Mafuyu’s breath caught.

“You’re allowed to love in all your messy, tangled ways,” Ugetsu added, a faint, fond smile tugging at his lips. “I told you that back when we first met.”

Mafuyu’s eyes widened faintly, that memory flickering in the space between them.

Ugetsu’s smile deepened—quiet and steady. “It’s still true,” he finished softly. “No matter who’s standing in front of you.”

Mafuyu’s chest loosened, and he gave the smallest of nods—but his eyes stayed steady.

Ugetsu’s gaze flicked back to Hiiragi and Ritsuka, calm and final. “So the question isn’t whether he loves you,” Ugetsu said, tilting his head just slightly, “it’s whether you’re ready to love him exactly as he is.”

Silence settled again—but this time it was different.

Mafuyu didn’t speak. He simply sat there, calm and quiet, his cup warming his hands, the storm outside softening to a gentle patter against the windows. Ji-hoon had laid a hand gently on Mafuyu’s shoulder.

Ugetsu’s voice returned at last, light and playful again as he leaned back, utterly at ease. “Well,” he sighed, smiling faintly, “I think that’s enough wisdom for one night.”

Ugetsu leaned back, finishing the last sip of his tea, unfazed by the lingering heaviness in the room. He set the cup down with a quiet, decisive click, then stretched—his movements fluid, his smile sly.

Ugetsu turned to them with a curious tilt of the head. “By the way, where are you staying?”

Hiiragi hesitated. “We booked a hotel near the park. Just for a few nights.”

Ugetsu waved that off with a flick of his fingers, already dismissing the idea. “Nonsense,” he said breezily. “You can stay here. It’ll be a bit snug. But we’ll manage.”

Ji-hoon raised a hand calmly from the couch. “I’ll sleep at my place tonight,” he said, voice soft but certain.

“See?” Ugetsu said, flashing him a smile. “That frees up space.”

He turned back to Hiiragi and Ritsuka, more serious now—but still warm. “Call your hotel and cancel your reservation. It’s a late cancellation, but I’ll cover the fee.”

Hiiragi opened his mouth to protest, but Ugetsu went on smoothly, not giving him the chance. “And anyway—you all have a lot to discuss. That’ll be easier if you’re under one roof.”

His tone was light, but there was something quietly resolute beneath it—an offer disguised as a command, wrapped in velvet.

“Now,” he declared, with sudden brightness, his voice slicing through the thick air like sunlight through storm clouds, “I think a celebration is in order.”

Hiiragi blinked, disoriented by the sudden shift. Ritsuka frowned warily.

Ugetsu’s grin widened, delighted by their confusion. “In honor of our little meeting,” he continued, his voice rich with playful mischief, “and your charming visit.”

He swept to his feet, graceful and commanding. “I’ve decided,” Ugetsu said grandly, flashing a glance at Mafuyu—whose lips had just barely quirked, amused despite himself—“I’m taking you all out to dinner.”

Hiiragi and Ritsuka both stiffened, caught off guard.

“Someplace very special,” Ugetsu added, his eyes glimmering with something unreadable—half dare, half invitation.

He let the words linger, savoring the stunned silence that followed. “It’ll be unforgettable,” Ugetsu promised, turning toward Mafuyu with a warm, knowing look that held no pressure—only calm reassurance. “My Christmas gift to all of you. And don’t worry,” he added, his gaze sliding smoothly back to the others, teasing again, “I’ll behave.”

He paused, then added with a faint, amused lilt: “Probably.”

“Probably?” echoed Ji-hoon, quirking an eyebrow.

Ugetsu’s grin only widened as he caught the slight flicker of amusement tugging at Mafuyu’s and Ji-hoon’s mouths.

Without missing a beat, he added smoothly, “Mafuyu, you and I need to get dressed. Ji-hoon, do you want to wear one of my shirts?”

Ji-hoon nodded. “That would be great.”

Hiiragi’s head jerked up, blinking in alarm. Ritsuka’s scowl deepened instantly, sharp and wary. But Ugetsu didn’t give them time to object.

“If you’ll be so kind as to give us a few minutes,” Ugetsu said breezily, already moving toward the hallway, his hand resting lightly on Mafuyu’s arm, guiding him along with casual intimacy, “we’ll be right back.”

Mafuyu went without protest, his steps quiet but steady as he followed Ugetsu out of the room. Ji-hoon got up from the couch and followed Ugetsu and Mafuyu into the bedroom.

The three of them disappeared down the hallway, the soft click of a door closing behind them.

Silence settled thickly in their absence.

Hiiragi stared at the doorway, stunned and blinking.

Ritsuka remained rigid, his arms crossed tightly, scowling toward the hall with deep, uneasy suspicion.

After a moment, Hiiragi slowly reached for his untouched tea, his hands still shaking faintly. He took a small, awkward sip—more for something to do than for comfort—then gave a dazed little nod, as if to himself. “Well,” Hiiragi said softly, his voice dry and dazed, “I guess we’re staying for dinner.”

Ritsuka’s glare didn’t waver. “And who’s this other guy?”

It wasn’t long before the quiet sound of footsteps returned from the hallway.

The door opened and Ji-hoon emerged first—wearing jeans and a blue and white striped button-down. Ugetsu followed, dressed head to toe in sleek, tailored black, the fabric soft but immaculate, catching the light with every graceful movement. He carried a polished pair of black dress shoes in one hand, dangling them casually by the laces as if it were nothing at all.

Behind him, Mafuyu followed—startlingly handsome in sharp, pressed khaki trousers and a crisp white button-down shirt. His usual unruly mop of hair had been neatly parted and carefully combed, framing his face in soft, deliberate lines. There was something quietly striking about him: composed, but entirely himself.

Hiiragi’s breath visibly caught at the sight—his teacup pausing halfway to his lips.

Ritsuka’s scowl deepened, though a flicker of something unspoken crossed his eyes—unease, perhaps, or something sharper.

Ugetsu, unbothered by their stares, set his shoes down by the door with a satisfied little hum. “Well then,” he said lightly, smoothing his sleeves with practiced elegance. “Shall we?”

Mafuyu didn’t look at either Hiiragi or Ritsuka—but he didn’t seem nervous, either. He simply waited, calm and quiet, ready to follow.

Hiiragi lowered his cup slowly, still staring.

Ritsuka’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Ugetsu’s smile curled at the edges, faintly amused as he watched their reactions. “I do hope you’re both dressed well enough,” he added, his voice playful but pointed as he slipped into his shoes, “because where we’re going does have… standards.”

Ugetsu’s sharp gaze flicked toward Hiiragi and Ritsuka, appraising them with a faint glimmer of mischief.

Hiiragi, to his credit, was dressed neatly—still in a pale button-down and dark slacks—but after nearly fifteen hours in the air and everything since, he looked understandably rumpled. His collar was slightly askew, his cuffs faintly wrinkled, and there was an exhausted droop to his posture despite his best efforts to sit upright.

Ritsuka, by contrast, was altogether more casual—wearing a soft blue sweater and well-worn jeans, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked entirely unfazed by the setting, though his narrowed eyes and stiff posture betrayed how tightly wound he was beneath the surface.

Ugetsu’s smile grew faintly sharper as he took them both in. “Well,” he remarked, the faintest edge of amusement in his voice, “I suppose we’ll just have to rely on your natural charm.”

Hiiragi flushed faintly, looking down at his tea in embarrassment.

Ritsuka’s glare sharpened, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

Ugetsu’s eyes glinted with private delight as he stepped toward the door, slipping into his coat with practiced ease.

He glanced back at Mafuyu, who was already moving to follow—calm and composed in his clean-cut clothes. “Shall we?” Ugetsu prompted again, tilting his head just slightly.

Hiiragi stood slowly, smoothing his sleeves as best he could, still visibly rattled but too polite to refuse.

Ritsuka rose too, wary but silent, the tension radiating from him like heat.

Without waiting for them, Ugetsu opened the door, holding it wide with a flourish. “After all,” he said, his voice rich with playful charm as they stepped out into the cool night air, “the night is young.”

Chapter 22: The Russian Samovar

Summary:

An opulent Russian restaurant becomes the setting for a night of vodka, velvet, and unspoken truths. Ugetsu takes control, Ji-hoon stirs tension with quiet precision, and Mafuyu surprises everyone with a toast that cuts deeper than expected. Beneath the laughter and glances, old wounds reopen, new rivalries form, and the fragile bond between five musicians stretches thinner with every glass. Not everyone will sleep soundly tonight.

The Russian Samovar glowed like a lantern against the rain-darkened streets near the theater district. Inside, it was warm and dim, steeped in gold light from chandeliers, with velvet curtains and old murals of dancers curling across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of wood smoke, dill, and melted butter, undercut by sharp notes of infused vodka.

Ugetsu led them in without hesitation, his steps unhurried, his expression faintly amused. “You’ve never eaten like this before,” he remarked, casting a sly glance over his shoulder at the younger men trailing him, Ji-hoon bringing up the rear.

The maître d’, a wiry man with graying temples and an air of theatrical discretion, looked up from his podium and immediately lit up at the sight of him. “Maestro Murata,” he said, stepping forward with a gracious half-bow. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Good evening, Andrei,” Ugetsu replied with warm familiarity. “Five of us tonight. Something quiet, if you can manage it.”

Andrei nodded, already reaching for menus. “Of course. The back corner, by the piano—your usual?”

“Perfect.”

The party followed him past rows of red velvet chairs and wood-paneled walls adorned with old concert posters and amber-lit vodka bottles. A pianist in a dark suit was already playing a soft, meandering waltz—nothing ostentatious, just enough to tint the air with memory.

Ugetsu didn’t ask what they wanted. He simply ordered in fluent, low-toned phrases without glancing at the menu. Soon the table was laden with dishes: smoked sturgeon and herring, glossy and rich; small pelmeni dumplings in broth; caviar with fixings and blini; dishes of marinated mushrooms, beet salad.

“And vodka,” Ugetsu added, his voice curling like silk.

When the vodka arrived—frosted shot glasses, glistening with pale gold and crimson-tinted infusions—Ritsuka eyed his glass warily. “…We’re seriously doing this?” he muttered.

“Tradition,” Ugetsu replied simply, lifting his glass with a graceful tilt of his wrist.

Hiiragi hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Mafuyu. Mafuyu’s fingers hovered near his glass—uncertain, but drawn in.

“You don’t have to,” Hiiragi said softly, steady but quiet.

But Mafuyu shook his head faintly—a small, firm gesture—and took a careful sip. His breath caught immediately, the burn sharp, clean, and fiery.

“It’s… strong,” Mafuyu rasped, his voice roughened by the heat.

Ugetsu gave a soft, knowing laugh, watching them with the air of a man observing something inevitable unfold.

Hiiragi reached for a dumpling, lips parted, but Ritsuka spoke before he could. “So… I thought Arashi was just the two of you.”

“No,” said Ugetsu mildly. “There are four of us. We’re a string quartet. Ji-hoon and I, plus our colleagues Vivian Choi and Ken Tanaka. Though we all have solo careers too.”

Ji-hoon made no comment—only shrugged slightly, then reached for a pelmeni and nudged the butter boat toward Mafuyu.

“Vivian plays second violin,” Ugetsu continued, “and Ken is our cellist. We rarely all travel together unless it’s for a performance run, but we’ve been doing more international dates recently.”

There was a silence as the table adjusted to this revelation.

Mafuyu looked down into his plate, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He passed a dish of mushrooms to Hiiragi. “Try these. I think you’ll like them.” Mafuyu let his fingers drift lightly across the back of Hiiragi’s hand.

Hiiragi looked up at him. “I’m glad you’re here, Ragi.”

Hiiragi’s breath hitched, and his usual composure cracked just enough to show the ache beneath. His voice was rough, almost breaking. “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that... thank you, Fuyu.”

Mafuyu gave a small, soft smile, his eyes steady and warm. “I mean it, Ragi. You’ve always been there—even when I couldn’t say it.”

Ritsuka noticed the little exchange between Mafuyu and Hiiragi and felt his tension rising. He turned away and engaged Ugetsu instead. “So… how do you two know each other again?” Ritsuka asked, eyeing the easy way Mafuyu leaned toward Hiiragi.

Ugetsu didn’t flinch. “Ji-hoon and I were boyfriends, just around the time I met Fuyu-chan in Tokyo.”

Hiiragi’s eyes widened slightly. Ritsuka froze, fork suspended.

“And then,” Ugetsu went on with a faint smile, “we shared an apartment when I first moved to New York.”

Ji-hoon gave a small nod of confirmation, utterly unbothered.

Mafuyu blinked, recovering his composure. “You never mentioned that.”

“You never asked,” Ugetsu replied smoothly, then popped a sliver of herring into his mouth. “Actually, I was supposed to have dinner with Ji-hoon the day I met you. I decided to spend the evening with you instead.”

Ji-hoon teased, “I hope you enjoyed yourself, Fuyu.”

Ugetsu winked at Mafuyu and replied, “Oh, he definitely enjoyed himself. I seem to recall a confession…”

“Ugetsu!” Mafuyu was blushing furiously.

“You won my heart that night, Fuyu-chan.”

Hiiragi and Ritsuka eyed him suspiciously.

Another round of vodka arrived—cranberry, horseradish, lemon, and honey—and Ji-hoon reached first, his movements graceful and deliberate.

“To old friends,” Ji-hoon said, raising his glass. His gaze lingered on Ugetsu with quiet weight.

Ji-hoon offered Mafuyu a piece of his blini, and they shared a quiet laugh over it, Ji-hoon whispering something in his ear. Ritsuka caught it and looked away sharply, his jaw tight.

Ugetsu seemed to enjoy the tension without actively stoking it. He refilled everyone’s glasses, offered a toast “to weathering the storm,” and locked eyes with Ritsuka as he said it—his smile all teeth and velvet threat.

It wasn’t war. But it wasn’t peace either.

By the time the main dishes arrived—beef stroganoff, crispy and towering plates of Chicken Kiev—the crust shattering under the knife to reveal a flood of garlic butter pooling across white china plates, a platter of baked pirozhki, thin-sliced beef tongue with horseradish—the sharpest edges had dulled. Hiiragi was recounting something absurd that happened at rehearsal the week before, and Ritsuka finally cracked a reluctant smile.

Ugetsu raised his own glass, the edge of his smile sharp. They drank together—slow, purposeful. “To my dear Fuyu-chan and his loves.”

Hiiragi’s wary gaze remained locked on them, silent and guarded. But he drank to the toast.

Ritsuka didn’t touch his glass right away. Ji-hoon’s glance slid toward him, amused. “Cautious,” Ji-hoon murmured, his voice pitched just for him. “I like that.”

Ritsuka finally grabbed the glass out of pure defiance and muttered, “I don’t care what you like.”

Ji-hoon’s faint smile deepened, clearly unbothered by the bite.

Mafuyu stayed quiet, though his eyes watched everything—still, sharp, as if memorizing the weight of every word.

Ji-hoon’s attention drifted back to Mafuyu again, his gaze lingering longer this time. “You’re quieter than the rest,” Ji-hoon observed, voice smooth but probing.

Mafuyu’s voice was soft but steady. “I don’t have anything to say.”

Ji-hoon’s lips curled faintly, eyes glinting with something subtle and sharp. “Oh, I know that’s not true, Fuyu. We’ve already established that. Stand your ground,” Ji-hoon said, his tone quiet but sure, as if he could already hear the words Mafuyu wasn’t saying. He gave Mafuyu’s knee a gentle squeeze under the table.

Mafuyu held his gaze, smiling.

Ugetsu’s eyes flickered with something faintly pleased. “He listens before he speaks,” he said, his voice languid but affectionate. “A rare trait.”

The conversation looped into strange, meandering circles after that—half in jokes, half in silences—every line of it shaded with something darker beneath. Ji-hoon didn’t ask questions, but his presence seemed to pull things loose regardless, his every glance quietly peeling back layers.

Mafuyu looked around the table, then stood and lifted his glass, fingers curled lightly around the stem. For a moment, he didn’t speak. The others quieted.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, voice low but clear. “But—tonight feels like something worth holding onto.”

He glanced at Ugetsu, then Ji-hoon, then finally at Hiiragi and Ritsuka. His eyes lingered, soft and unreadable.

“To old friends. To strange new cities. To people who stay, even when you don’t ask them to.”

A pause. His mouth quirked in the smallest smile.

“And to music, I guess. Because it’s the only language I never forget how to speak.”

He raised his glass slightly higher. “Cheers.”

Ugetsu let out a soft, delighted laugh—low and musical, like a chord resolving. “God, Fuyu,” he said, eyes gleaming. “You really do know how to ruin a man.”

He lifted his own glass, still smiling. “To the boy who speaks in melodies and silence both. That was beautiful.”

Then, with a flourish only half-ironic, he clinked his glass gently against Mafuyu’s. “You’ve outdone us all.”

At one point, Ji-hoon leaned subtly toward Ritsuka again, close enough that no one else could clearly hear. “You’ve got sharp instincts,” Ji-hoon murmured, his breath warm, words quiet and deliberate. “Don’t lose them around people like him.”

Ritsuka’s gaze flicked to Ugetsu, his eyes narrowing.

Ji-hoon’s faint smile curved again, cool and knowing. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

Ritsuka’s voice was low, steady, but cold. “You don’t know me.”

“Perhaps,” Ji-hoon said softly, unfazed. “But I know what it’s like to think you’re the only one holding everything together.”

Before Ritsuka could snap back, Ugetsu’s voice cut in—sharp enough to pierce the mood. “Careful, Ji-hoon,” Ugetsu drawled, his gaze glimmering with quiet warning. “He bites.”

Ji-hoon let out a low, soft laugh, leaning back in his chair with the ease of someone who’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

The table fell quiet again, the tension thick but unspoken—woven in glances, heavy silences, and the sharp burn of vodka on the tongue.

Outside, the rain kept falling. They spilled out into the wet, empty street after closing, the hour late enough that even Midtown had gone still.

Ritsuka walked stiffly ahead, his fists jammed into his coat pockets, the rain hitting his face like needles of cold clarity. He couldn’t shake Ji-hoon’s words, or the sharp, knowing look that had cut through him. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t clear who he meant.

Hiiragi followed, his heart pounding for reasons he didn’t want to name, the city lights spinning slightly from vodka and something deeper. He kept glancing sideways at Mafuyu and Ritsuka—unsettled by everything, by Ugetsu, by himself. “We should go,” Hiiragi muttered, his voice rough.

Mafuyu trailed behind them, walking slow, the rain soaking into his hair and sleeves. His body was heavy with exhaustion, but his mind stayed clear. Ji-hoon’s words still echoed inside him.

Oh, I doubt that.

Ugetsu remained by the restaurant’s door, watching Ji-hoon disappear down the street—his silhouette dark, elegant, unhurried.

“You’re playing with fire,” Ji-hoon had said before leaving.

“I usually am,” Ugetsu had replied.

When Ji-hoon was gone, Ugetsu finally turned back to the boys, calm and smooth. “Enough wandering,” he said, raising his hand to flag a cab. “Come on. I’m not letting you three drown in Midtown.”

They obeyed—wordless, too drunk and too tired to argue.

Ugetsu loaded them into the cab with effortless authority and gave the driver his address. “120 West 72nd Street.”

As they pulled away from the curb, Ugetsu smiled faintly, satisfied, leaning back in his seat as the city blurred by.

The apartment was quiet when they arrived, the door clicking shut behind them. Shoes came off and were lined up along the wall in the entry.

Ugetsu stripped off his coat, then glanced back with a faint, knowing look. Mafuyu hung his coat and scarf on the rack, then took Hiiragi’s and Ritsuka’s and hung them there as well.

“Bedtime, then,” Ugetsu said easily, already unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes slid toward Mafuyu. “Mafuyu? You’re still sleeping in my room?”

Mafuyu nodded softly. “…Yeah.”

Ugetsu’s gaze shifted to the others, amused. “And you two?”

Ritsuka scowled faintly. “I’m fine on the couch.”

Ugetsu’s mouth curved into something sharper as he looked to Hiiragi, voice soft and teasing. “Hiiragi,” he asked smoothly, “join us?”

Hiiragi hesitated—but after a breathless moment, he answered, low but steady. “…Yeah.”

Notes:

The Russian Samovar is a real place. I had a spectacular evening there many years ago after a long day of music. My friend and I met a couple of guys at the concert and went there afterwards, eating and drinking into the late hours of the night. I write this relying on memory, s ok if I haven’t recalled details, I apologize.

Chapter 23: Interlude 2

Summary:

While Mafuyu, Hiiragi, and Ugetsu retreat behind a closed door, Ritsuka lies alone on the couch—jealous, angry, and drowning in everything he doesn’t say. In the quiet, he confronts his own silence, the stories he’s told himself, and the fear that he’s already been left behind. A raw, introspective interlude exploring longing, pride, and the slow unraveling of restraint.

The vodka was still burning behind his eyes. Or maybe that was just the beginning of a hangover—or rage. Hard to tell the difference anymore.

Ritsuka lay back on Ugetsu’s damn designer couch, shirtless, jeans half-unbuttoned, one arm slung over his eyes to block out the room’s dim ambient light. The silence buzzed like static. A muffled laugh slipped under the door to Ugetsu’s bedroom. He didn’t know whose voice it was—Mafuyu’s or Ugetsu’s or Hiiragi’s—but it was too warm, too easy.

He clenched his jaw and tried not to imagine it. Didn’t work.

He hated this. Hated feeling like he was on the outside of something that was supposed to belong to all of them.

He knew what they would say. That it wasn’t like that. That it was just sleep. Just comfort. That it didn’t mean anything.

But it did mean something.

Because they hadn’t asked him to come. Because Hiiragi had said yes. Because Mafuyu hadn’t looked back.

And because Ritsuka had just stood there, arms crossed and wounded pride burning in his throat, and said he was fine on the couch like some noble fucking martyr.

He could’ve said no. Could’ve said “not like this,” or “I’m coming too,” or even “I’m not okay.”

But he didn’t.

Because part of him still believed that keeping quiet was safer. That if he pretended not to care, the sting might dull.

It didn’t.

Ritsuka wondered what would happen if he just got up and wandered in and climbed into bed with them. No announcement. No asking. Just pressed himself into whatever space was left and dared anyone not to make room for him. What would they do? Would Hiiragi flinch? Would Ugetsu smirk?

Would Mafuyu reach for him?

Of course he would.

He always reached out to him. Even when Ritsuka didn’t deserve it. Even when he’d been distant, withdrawn, short-tempered and confusing. Especially then. Mafuyu had this terrifying capacity for grace, for patience, for love that didn’t come with conditions. And lately, all Ritsuka had done was push him away—step back every time Mafuyu leaned in. Turn aside when Mafuyu offered something open and unguarded.

It was no wonder Mafuyu had run to Ugetsu.

And Ugetsu—that fucker—he was so damn kind to Mafuyu. Not cold, not detached. Not careless. He saw Mafuyu. Touched him gently. Spoke to him like he was made of something precious.

Nothing like Ritsuka had imagined him to be back then, when he’d first heard the name and seen the damage—when Mafuyu had come undone in pieces, and all Ritsuka could picture was some cruel, toxic older man who’d torn him apart and then walked away. But that wasn’t Ugetsu. Not really.

That was just the story Ritsuka had told himself to feel like the better choice.

Now he wasn’t sure he was.

The thought made his stomach twist.

He shifted restlessly, muscles aching, heart louder than the hissing of the ancient radiator. Everything in him was tight and restless—jealous and ashamed of it. He wasn’t supposed to be this guy. The petty, bitter one. But here he was.

And he was pissed.

At Ugetsu, obviously. That smug, theatrical bastard with his perfect violin hands—those fucking long, slender fingers—and knowing little smirks. Not blunt, callused like Ritsuka’s. No, these were hands meant to touch someone delicately and make it look like an art form. He could picture them now, even worse—the way they might brush Mafuyu’s wrist, his shoulder, his throat.

At Hiiragi, who’d just… walked right in like he belonged there. No hesitation. No second-guessing. And why wouldn’t he? Hiiragi was golden. He’d always been. Messed up, sure—but charismatic, beautiful, impossible to ignore. He’d said yes like it was the easiest thing in the world.

At Mafuyu, for not stopping him.

But mostly—kamisama, mostly—he was pissed at himself. For standing still. For trying to be “the reasonable one.” For swallowing the words he should’ve said. For letting things keep slipping through his fingers while pretending it didn’t hurt.

And all he could hear was that bastard Ji-hoon, needling him in that calm, knowing voice—“I know what it’s like to think you’re the only one holding everything together.”

Like he’d peeled Ritsuka open without even trying. Like he’d seen it—that quiet desperation Ritsuka never said aloud, the pressure to be steady, sane, the anchor while everyone else unraveled.

And he hated how true it was. How he’d nodded and let the words slide past without admitting how much they stung.

His hand curled into a fist against the cushions.

He didn’t want to lose them. But he was starting to wonder if he already had.

And worse—if he’d helped it happen by staying silent.

He breathed out through his nose, slow and shaking. His throat hurt. His chest hurt. Everything did.

“…Fucking coward,” he muttered aloud. The word tasted bitter, like iron and regret.

No one answered. The bedroom door stayed shut.

And the couch stayed cold.

Notes:

A short internal monologue for Ritsuka in honor of Ritsuka’s birthday and dedicated to all the legions of Ritsuka fans, of which I am certainly one of. And to givenlover, my friend, beta, and constant supporter.

Chapter 24: Something Like Shelter

Summary:

After a night of tension, Hiiragi finally lets go—finding comfort in Mafuyu's kiss and Ugetsu's steady presence. The three share a rare moment of closeness, warmth, and wordless understanding. As morning comes, they wake tangled together, quieter but not unburdened. In the next room, Ritsuka nurses a hangover and faces the unexpected reality of Ugetsu’s hospitality. Intimacy lingers, but so do questions

The bedroom was dim and warm, quiet except for the faint hum of rain outside.

Ugetsu was already shedding his clothes without hesitation, slipping beneath the covers with languid ease. Mafuyu followed—calm, undisturbed—settling in the middle as if it were familiar. Hiiragi moved more stiffly, reluctant but drawn in, until he was under the covers too—bare-skinned and tense, every nerve tight.

Ugetsu chuckled faintly. “Don’t look so tense. It’s just sleep.”

Hiiragi wasn’t sure if it was. Even now, with their bodies so close, something coiled tight inside him refused to unclench.

Then, under the dim light, Mafuyu shifted.

He rolled toward Hiiragi without hesitation, pressing close—warm and steady. Before Hiiragi could pull away, Mafuyu kissed him—soft and sure. Hiiragi froze, breath stolen, heart hammering. His first impulse was flight—but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Mafuyu’s voice was a quiet murmur against his lips. “Relax,” he whispered. “We have a lot to figure out—but we can’t solve any of it tonight.”

Hiiragi’s throat tightened. He couldn’t speak.

“I’m glad to see you,” Mafuyu added, the words gentle, tender. “I’ve missed you.”

Then he kissed him again—slow, steady, certain. Hiiragi’s resistance crumbled, his body slowly softening under Mafuyu’s touch. The kiss didn’t frighten him. That surprised him most of all.

Outside, the city kept on raining—but inside, everything else fell away. Mafuyu’s persistence was persuasive, and Hiiragi found himself surrendering to the kiss, his initial hesitation melting under the warmth of Mafuyu’s lips. The room, dimly lit and filled with the hush of rain, seemed to close in around them, forming a quiet, intimate cocoon.

Ugetsu, watching from his side of the bed, let out a soft, amused chuckle. “You really need to work through your shit, boys,” he said, voice laced with affection and dry amusement. His hands, though, were gentle as they began to rub Mafuyu’s back, a slow rhythm that encouraged the unfolding scene.

Hiiragi, fully engaged now, let out a soft moan, his hands finding Mafuyu’s shoulders and pulling him closer. The tension that had been building all night finally broke, and he let himself be lost in the moment. Still, a part of him watched from the inside—uncertain, braced. If he let himself want this, what would happen when it ended?

Mafuyu, sensing Hiiragi’s surrender, deepened the kiss, his hands exploring with new confidence. The bed creaked softly as they shifted, bodies pressing close, seeking comfort and connection in shared warmth.

Ugetsu’s touch stayed steady, rubbing slow circles along Mafuyu’s back. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and sure. “Let it all go. You’re safe here.”

The room filled with the quiet cadence of their breathing, the rustle of sheets, the gentle patter of rain against glass. The world beyond faded, as if the three of them were the only ones left.

As the night wore on, their intensity softened, replaced by a deep, contented exhaustion. Mafuyu and Hiiragi lay entwined, still close, their minds finally quiet—if only for now.

Ugetsu, watching over them, smiled softly. “Sleep well, my boys,” he whispered. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

And with that, the room fell silent, the rain continuing its gentle lullaby, guiding them all into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Hiiragi opened his eyes.

For the first time in—days? Weeks? Months?—he had slept. Really slept.

His head still spun, the vodka lingering like a dull tide, but everything else was...quiet.

Mafuyu was wrapped around him like a vine, head nestled against his collarbone, their bare bodies tangled beneath the blankets. Mafuyu’s breath was slow and steady against his chest, fingers digging lightly into his side, clinging like a lifeline—as if afraid to let go.

Behind Mafuyu, Ugetsu lay curled close, a calm, grounding weight. One arm draped lazily across both of them—not possessive, just sure, like an anchor.

Ugetsu’s voice broke the silence, soft as the rain. “Our sleeping beauty isn’t likely to stir for a while,” he murmured, breath warm against Mafuyu’s hair, fingertips tracing circles along Hiiragi’s bare shoulder. “He’s been going nonstop since he got here.”

He shifted, voice dipping lower—gentle, indulgent. “Can I get you anything, my dear? Water? Tea? Or...just this?”

Hiiragi barely stirred, too warm, too safe to fully wake. His defenses had melted somewhere between sleep and the soft weight of the bodies around him. Even so, the old instinct lingered: hold yourself tight. Don’t ask for too much.

His voice slipped out, no more than a breath—unguarded, drowsy, honest. “...Just stay,” he murmured, pressing instinctively closer to Mafuyu’s warmth, to Ugetsu’s steady hand.

Ugetsu hummed faintly in approval, his touch never stopping. “Of course,” he whispered, fingers warm and sure. “I’m right here.”

The room settled again, the hush wrapping around them like a second blanket.

Mafuyu stirred in his sleep—a small, instinctive movement. His body stretched slightly, bare skin sliding against Hiiragi’s, warm and smooth. He let out a soft, contented sigh and nuzzled deeper into Hiiragi’s chest, breath slow and even.

His fingers curled against Hiiragi’s side—seeking, holding—without waking.

Hiiragi’s heart fluttered at the contact, but this time, there was no panic. No shame. Only the quiet, steady heat of being wanted—of belonging. He didn’t know how to name this. He only knew he hadn’t had it before—not even close. A fragile hope stirred: maybe things with Mafuyu could still be fixed. He let himself sink into it, body soft, heart calm for the first time in what felt like forever. A part of him whispered, careful. Another part whispered, finally.

Ugetsu’s hand slowed, palm resting warm and steady between their shoulders. “Sleep,” he murmured—low, certain, as if the word itself had weight.

Outside, the rain kept falling—soft and relentless—as the three of them drifted deeper, wrapped in warmth, skin to skin, breath to breath.

Together.

---

Hiiragi drifted up slowly later, pulled from heavy sleep by a distant sound—furniture shifting, a muffled groan.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was—everything was too soft, too warm, the air thick with the scent of skin and rain.

Then Mafuyu curled against him, breath steady, fingers lightly digging into his side. And Ugetsu lay with his arm still slung over them both, a steady anchor.

But then—movement. Ugetsu’s arm slipped away, the sheets rustling, a faint coolness replacing his warmth.

“Stay,” Ugetsu whispered, brushing Hiiragi’s ear—a quiet promise.

Hiiragi tensed for a moment, instinctively reaching for the warmth, but Mafuyu’s grip tightened, fingers curling insistently. The heat of his body pressed in again, pushing the chill away.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hiiragi watched as Ugetsu rose, stretching like a cat, pale morning light catching on bare skin and black boxers. He left the room without a sound, moving with the casual grace of someone completely unbothered.

Hiiragi adjusted the blanket slightly—tucking it back up over Mafuyu’s shoulder. It was a small motion. Not much. But it felt like something.

From the living room came a pained groan, thick with regret.

“Kamisama,” Ritsuka muttered. “Why does my skull feel like it’s splitting...?”

Ritsuka Uenoyama lay draped across the couch, shirtless in jeans and socks, utterly defeated by a monumental hangover.

Ugetsu’s voice floated back, light and amused. “You’re not much of a drinker, are you, Uenoyama-kun?”

“No,” Ritsuka answered immediately.

“Here. Water. Tylenol,” Ugetsu said, as casually as if he were offering tea.

A beat of silence, then the sound of pills and gulped water.

“…You’re just—uh—” Ritsuka faltered.

“Yes, yes,” Ugetsu cut in with a smirk. “Shocked by my modesty, I’m sure.”

Then, smoothly: “Would you like coffee or tea, Uenoyama-kun? Your boyfriends are both still out.”

Hiiragi exhaled a soft, amused snort into the pillow, lips brushing the top of Mafuyu’s hair. The chill remained where Ugetsu had been, but Mafuyu’s tenacious warmth held him steady.

It didn’t feel like hiding. It felt like a beginning.

God help him, he wasn’t ready to face the living room.

But this... this was almost enough to make him smile.

Chapter 25: The Shape of Morning

Summary:

As Ugetsu walks through the cold morning, his thoughts drift toward the three boys he left behind—and the uncertain place he holds among them. In the warmth of the apartment, comfort and closeness bloom, fragile and real.

Ugetsu dressed quietly, his movements easy and practiced. He reached for a brush and tugged it through his unruly hair, coaxing the tousled strands into a semblance of order—just enough to look deliberate.

He shrugged into his heavy winter coat, the thick fabric swallowing his frame, then looped a long scarf snugly around his neck. The cold outside was already pressing against the windows, sharp and insistent.

Inside, the air was still warm from sleep and radiators, thick with the scent of skin.

Leaning down, he brushed a kiss to Hiiragi’s temple, his voice low and warm.
“Stay warm,” he murmured into Hiiragi’s ear, his breath warm against the chill.

Then he turned to Mafuyu, still curled loosely in the covers, eyes barely open. He kissed him softly on the mouth—slow, unhurried, something between good morning and I’ll be back soon.

Mafuyu’s fingers curled around his wrist briefly—a quiet, hesitant anchor—before slipping away.

“I’ll be back with breakfast and coffee,” Ugetsu said softly, his voice steady but gentle, as if promising something more than just food.

He topped off Ritsuka’s water glass with steady hands, then pointed him toward the bathroom. “Don’t forget to use the toilet,” he said with a teasing lilt.

And with that, Ugetsu slipped out the door. It closed softly behind him, leaving only the faintest echo of winter air in his wake.

The wind bit at his cheeks the moment he stepped outside, but he welcomed it. The cold was clean, clarifying—a sharp contrast to the warmth he'd just left behind, to the tangle of limbs and skin and breath.

His boots struck the pavement in steady rhythm, each step slicing through the brittle morning silence. A part of him had expected to feel relief at stepping out—some moment of distance to clear his head. But instead, something quiet and heavy tugged at him, more insistent with every step he took.

The apartment.
Those boys.

He hadn’t meant for it to feel like this.

He could still see Ritsuka curled up on the couch, trying not to look too closely at the wreckage of the night before. Still half a child in some ways—wide-eyed, too tender for all of this—but he’d held his own. More than that. There was something quietly resilient about the way he’d slotted himself into their strange little world, accepted what he couldn’t quite understand.

And Hiiragi…

Ugetsu exhaled, his breath fogging into the cold air.

Hiiragi surprised him. Again and again. Not just for the way he hovered protectively near Mafuyu, like a steady pulse, but for the way he looked at Ugetsu now—with less suspicion. As if he was starting to see him, truly. Not just as the inconvenient older man in Mafuyu’s bed, but as someone... tethered. Invested.

Ugetsu could still feel the soft weight of Hiiragi’s hair under his hand, the warmth of his temple when he kissed it. He hadn’t meant to linger—but the affection had come so easily. Too easily, maybe.

He reached up and tightened the scarf around his neck.

And Mafuyu.
Of course, Mafuyu.
Always, Mafuyu.

There was no use pretending anymore—not to himself, not in the hollow chill of morning. His feelings had deepened long before now. This wasn’t a passing phase or a casual indulgence. It was real. Messy. Terrifying. But real.

And it left him with questions he didn’t know how to answer.

What was he to Mafuyu? A lover? A guide? A cautionary tale?
What did Mafuyu even want? Did he know?
What should Ugetsu be offering? What could he safely offer, without destroying what Mafuyu was just starting to rebuild?

He slowed briefly at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. The city moved around him in distracted rhythms—honking cars, hurrying pedestrians, clouds of steam rising from grates.

Could he be the one who drops in from time to time, a flyby reunion, a short-lived collision of bodies and breath before vanishing again? Was that enough? Would it ever be?

He didn’t want to disappear.
Not from this.
Not from him.

But staying—that was a different question entirely.

Then there was Ji-hoon.

Ugetsu’s jaw tensed as he stepped onto the curb again, boots skimming over a sheet of black ice.

He hadn’t answered Ji-hoon’s confession. Not yet. The words still echoed in his head from two nights ago, whispered in the quiet after a concert, full of warmth and bravery. They’d known each other for years, circling closer and closer. Ji-hoon was brilliant, gentle, steady in ways Ugetsu had always admired. And his love was a safe thing, earnest and uncomplicated.

But it wasn’t Mafuyu. Mafuyu was the opposite of safe.

And Ugetsu hadn’t answered, because he didn’t know how to—because some reckless part of him was still tethered to the boy who’d curled around him hours ago like he belonged there.

He reached Zabar’s and paused just outside the door, letting the rush of indoor heat spill over him.

Three boys sleeping under his roof.
One man waiting for his answer.
And himself—adrift somewhere in the middle, heart full, hands empty.

He stepped inside, into the bright chaos of the deli, the clatter of trays and low murmur of morning shoppers.

In Zabar’s, under fluorescent lights, he hovered in front of the deli counter, one gloved hand poised indecisively. Salmon or whitefish? Mafuyu liked both. He decided to get both.

The weight of the bags tugged at his arms by the time he emerged again, but he liked that. It made the return feel earned.

An hour later, he stepped back inside, the warmth of the apartment rushing to meet him. He carried two enormous Zabar’s shopping bags, bulging with comfort—smoked whitefish and salmon, freshly baked bagels, tubs of cream cheese, and bags of dark-roasted coffee beans.

The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the apartment as he unpacked in the kitchen, humming to himself while the dark liquid bubbled to life.

Ugetsu moved with graceful exaggeration, as if staging a scene no one was watching.

Soft, shuffling footsteps echoed down the hall.
Mafuyu appeared first—hair a rumpled mess, eyes still heavy. He lingered in the doorway a moment, swaying slightly.

The scent of coffee tugged at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the lines around his eyes softened.

He padded forward on bare feet, clad in nothing but his underwear, utterly unbothered.

Hiiragi followed close behind, blinking against the light, equally bare. They looked like they’d just been pulled from sleep—flushed skin, tousled hair, the faint imprint of pillow creases lingering.

From the couch, Ritsuka let out a low, weary groan, his gaze narrowing as if lamenting his own fate.
“Kamisama,” he muttered, voice thick with mock accusation, dragging a hand down his face in a slow gesture of defeat. “Ugetsu is a bad influence on you two…”

His fingers twitched nervously on the couch armrest, trying to steady himself as the blurred outlines of warm bodies filled his vision. Heat surrounded him—on skin, in the air—but it felt distant, like a borrowed comfort. He felt a bit a tourist lost in someone else’s world.

Hiiragi gave a slow, unreadable blink.

Mafuyu sank down beside Ritsuka, pressing close, nuzzling his shoulder like a quiet plea. “Missed you,” he whispered, voice low and steady. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Hiiragi settled beside them as well, their legs tangling with Ritsuka’s in a silent, natural rhythm. His hand found Mafuyu’s knee, an unconscious habit born of years, grounding them both. Mafuyu didn’t pull away.

From the kitchen, Ugetsu’s laughter rang out—a bright, delighted sound—breaking the soft stillness as he poured coffee with a theatrical flourish.
“Or am I a positive influence?” he called, amusement weaving through his voice. He cast an eyebrowed glance toward the three of them, sprawled across his furniture—two nearly naked and content, one half-dressed and seemingly defeated.

Mafuyu hummed softly in agreement, his head resting against Ritsuka’s shoulder, eyelids heavy, already drifting back toward sleep.

Hiiragi offered no reply, too warm and too comfortable to pretend he wasn’t savoring every moment.

Ritsuka allowed his hand to brush against Mafuyu’s arm, and Mafuyu smiled softly.

Ugetsu paused, coffee tray in hand, watching the quiet sprawl of limbs, sleep, and trust. His heart tightened—not with pain, but with a profound fullness.

His laughter lingered as he crossed the room, winter light catching the glint in his eyes.
“Breakfast, boys,” he purred, setting the tray down within easy reach. “You’ll need your strength.”
A beat. Then, softer, almost to himself:
“For whatever comes next.”

Chapter 26: Everything We’ve Built

Summary:

After breakfast, Ugetsu and Ritsuka step out, leaving Mafuyu and Hiiragi alone with everything they’ve left unsaid. In the quiet of Ugetsu’s apartment, old fears surface—about love, loyalty, and the fragile thing they’ve been trying to rebuild. Mafuyu wants a life big enough to hold all the people he loves; Hiiragi isn’t sure how to stop being afraid. What begins as a tender moment turns into raw honesty, boundaries drawn, and a confession neither of them can take back.

The apartment had settled into a quiet stillness after breakfast. Plates and mugs cluttered the table, remnants of smoked fish and bagels left behind, little echoes of comfort. The rain outside had softened to a mist and gray light spilled in through the windows.

Ugetsu stood by the door, pulling on his coat with deliberate ease. He glanced back at Mafuyu and Hiiragi, who were still in their underwear—Hiiragi shifting awkwardly on the couch while Mafuyu sat curled on the floor.

Ritsuka rolled his eyes at the sight. “You two gonna stay like that all day?” he muttered, half amused.

Ugetsu smiled faintly, reading the unspoken between them all. “Come on, Ritsuka,” he said softly. “Let’s take a walk. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Ritsuka paused, uncertain, then gave a quiet nod, grateful for the excuse to escape the quiet tension. “Yeah. Some fresh air will do me good.” He understood, better than he let on, the importance of giving Mafuyu space. He pulled on his jacket, then looked back once more at Mafuyu. His voice was gentle. “You okay?”

Mafuyu’s answer was a small, steady nod.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Ugetsu’s parting words hung in the air, soft but firm: “Talk. Take your time.”

Left alone, Mafuyu’s gaze found Hiiragi’s. “Come take a shower with me, Ragi,” he said quietly.

Hiiragi blinked, surprised but willing. Together, they shed the last layers of clothing and stepped into the warm spray—intimate, familiar, their movements easy as they washed each other’s hair, the years of shared moments flowing between them in silence.

Hiiragi’s eyes flickered down briefly, noting with quiet surprise that Mafuyu was smooth, without a trace of hair. Mafuyu caught the look and smiled softly.

When they dried off, they climbed into bed together, wrapped in warmth and light, ready to face the truths they’d left unspoken.

Mafuyu and Hiiragi lay in Ugetsu’s bed, with the city murmuring faintly beyond the window, the warmth between them fragile but real.

Mafuyu lay on his side, one hand resting against Hiiragi’s bare chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his fingers. Hiiragi stared at the ceiling, arms tucked behind his head, eyes open but distant.

“We should’ve talked about this a long time ago,” Mafuyu said softly.

Hiiragi let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “Yeah. Like… years ago.” He paused, then added, “We talked when we got back together. After Yuki died. And a lot after things between you and Ugetsu fell apart back then. But since then? Everything’s been on the fly. Half-conversations. Assumptions. Even when you announced that you really wanted Ritsuka to be a part of us, too.”

Mafuyu looked at him carefully. “I’m greedy,” he said simply. “I want a big life. Surrounded by the people I love.”

Hiiragi scoffed, but there was no real bitterness in it. “Yeah. Well. That makes two of us. Except I tend to torch things before I let myself have them.”

Mafuyu’s fingers brushed his chest, light and reassuring. “Then maybe stop setting fires.”

Hiiragi gave a short, dry laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“I know,” Mafuyu said. “But I’m trying. And I think you are too.”

There was a beat of silence, then Mafuyu shifted closer, cheek brushing Hiiragi’s shoulder.

“You’re still afraid I’m going to leave,” Mafuyu murmured. “Aren’t you.”

Hiiragi didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know how not to be,” he admitted, voice rough. “Every time I think I’ve got you, I remember how easy it was for you to disappear before.”

Mafuyu’s fingers curled slightly against his skin. “I didn’t disappear. I broke.”

“I know,” Hiiragi whispered. “I know. And I hate that I still make it about me.”

“You’re not the only one who’s scared,” Mafuyu said very softly. “And it IS about you, too.”

Hiiragi turned his head then, finally meeting his gaze. “But I drink to bury it. I shut down. I ruin things.”

Mafuyu nodded, his expression open but solemn. “The drinking… it scares me. Not just for you. For us. For Given. For everything we built. I need you to stop hurting yourself trying to hold me so tightly.”

Hiiragi swallowed hard. His voice cracked when he said, “I don’t know who I am if I’m not terrified of losing you.”

“You’re the person I grew up with. My best friend. The first person I ever loved. And you’re still the one I want to wake up next to.”

Hiiragi blinked rapidly, looking away.

Mafuyu leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I don’t want to choose. Between you. Between Ritsuka. Between what I’ve built with each of you. I want a life that’s mine. That includes you. That includes Ritsuka—if he wants to stay.”

Hiiragi’s voice cut the quiet like a blade—not loud, but sharp. “And where does your mad violinist fit into all this, Mafuyu?” He turned to look at him, eyes narrowed just slightly. “You and Ugetsu… you’ve certainly rekindled things.”

Mafuyu didn’t flinch. “He’s part of my life.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Mafuyu sat up slightly, letting the sheet slip down his chest. “It’s not simple. I love him, Hiiragi. Not the same way I love you. Not the same way I love Ritsuka. But I do. He’s opened my eyes.”

Hiiragi’s jaw tensed. “You’re collecting us like songs. Do you even know what you’re asking?”

“Yes,” Mafuyu said firmly. “I’m asking if we can stop pretending this is a triangle with one solution. I’m not trying to pit you against each other. I’m trying to build something where we don’t have to choose sides. I don’t want to lose any of you. But I also can’t keep hiding the truth.”

Hiiragi stared at him for a long time. Then he laughed, bitter and quiet. “You always do this. Say something honest and beautiful and completely insane.”

Mafuyu tilted his head. “Then say something back. Be just as honest. What do you want?”

Hiiragi exhaled slowly. “I want you. I want you just for me. But that isn’t what you want.” He looked down at his hands. “I want to trust you. And I want to stop drinking to forget all the ways I think I’m not enough.”

“You are enough,” Mafuyu said, his voice soft but unwavering. “But you don’t have to be everything.”

Hiiragi looked back up, eyes rimmed with emotion. “Then don’t ask me to be.”

“I’m not.” Mafuyu reached for him, cupping his face gently. “I’m asking you to be here. With me. Like this. Honest. And still choosing each other anyway.”

Hiiragi leaned into his touch, just barely.

Mafuyu’s voice dropped to a whisper, trembling but sure.
“Make love to me.”
He kissed the corner of Hiiragi’s mouth.
“Write songs with me.”
Another kiss, soft and slow, just beneath his jaw.
“See the world with me.”
Now his forehead rested against Hiiragi’s, breath mingling.
“There’s no one I’d rather do any of that with, Hiiragi.”

Hiiragi didn’t smile. He didn’t look away. His eyes searched Mafuyu’s, serious—unguarded in a way that cost him something.

“There’s one thing I’m going to need, Mafuyu. And it’s important.”

Mafuyu drew back slightly, listening.

“When the three of us are in bed together—if that’s really what this becomes—Ritsuka has to be a complete and willing participant. That includes with me.” Hiiragi’s voice didn’t waver, but there was pain in it. “I’m not saying he has to get passionate with me. But I can’t keep being treated like I’m an outsider. Like my touch burns.”

Mafuyu’s lips parted, but Hiiragi continued, quieter now:

“It makes me feel like an intruder in my own bed, Fuyu.”

The weight of that hit like a stone dropped gently in water—rippling.

Mafuyu’s hand moved to Hiiragi’s cheek again, thumb brushing across his skin. “You’re not an intruder. I never want you to feel like that.”

“Then don’t let it happen again.” Hiiragi’s voice was calm, but resolute. “I’m willing to try. With him. With you. But I won’t beg to belong in something I helped build.”

Mafuyu leaned forward, kissed him—not to soothe, but to answer. “He cares about you more than you think. But I’ll talk to him. No more half-in, half-out. Not if this is going to work.”

Hiiragi nodded slowly, tension easing—but only slightly. “Okay.”

They sank into the silence again. And this time, it held something new: not just forgiveness, but terms. Clarity. A foundation for the life Mafuyu had said he wanted.

Hiiragi broke the quiet with a mischievous grin, eyes glinting.
“Mafuyu. I have to ask. Your pubic hair?”

Mafuyu blinked, then laughed softly. “Ugetsu shaved me the night before last.”

Hiiragi raised an eyebrow. “Is that some sort of fetish?”

Mafuyu shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, but you’re going to have to ask Ugetsu what it means. All he said was he wanted me smooth.”

Hiiragi smirked, eyes playful. “Has Ritsuka seen it yet?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I can hardly wait to see his reaction.”

Mafuyu grinned. “It is kind of neat and tidy.”

Hiiragi chuckled, shaking his head. “Your Ugetsu has some strange kinks, Fuyu.”

“You have no idea,” Mafuyu whispered, warmth coloring his cheeks.

Hiiragi’s expression shifted—still teasing, but with something sharper under the surface.
“And are you expecting me to do that sort of thing, Fuyu? Kinks?”

Mafuyu met his gaze steadily. “Ragi, Ugetsu has opened my eyes. Even more than when I was involved with him in high school. Sex with you is good. Really good. But don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I’m not. I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m going to say it straight out.” He paused, then said clearly:
“When you fuck me, fuck me. I love tenderness, but I really want… even need the adrenaline rush that comes with being physically taken. Sometimes very physical.”

Hiiragi’s eyes darkened, the spark in them flaring into something primal. He leaned in slowly, mouth brushing Mafuyu’s ear as he whispered,
“Good. Because that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

A voice rang out from the doorway—smooth, amused, and utterly unbothered.
“He’s not kidding, Hiiragi-kun.”

They both turned, startled.

Ugetsu stood in the doorway, shoulder resting against the frame, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. Ritsuka hovered two steps behind him, wide-eyed and red-faced.

“We’re back,” Ugetsu announced cheerfully. “And you two are right where we left you. How sweet.”

He glanced at Mafuyu with a glint in his eye. “I have a couple of toys to show you, if you really want to please Fuyu-chan.”

Hiiragi didn’t blink. “You going to tutor me in Boyfriend Satisfaction, Ugetsu-san?”

Ugetsu winked. “That’s up to Fuyu-chan.”

Behind him, Ritsuka sputtered wildly, clearly awkward and struggling for a response.

Mafuyu laughed softly into the sheets, dragging them higher to hide his face.

Hiiragi grinned. “Relax, Ritsuka. We were just getting to the good part.”

Ugetsu clapped his hands once, delighted. “Perfect. Don’t mind us. Just pretend we’re not here.”

“I don’t think Ritsuka knows how to do that right now,” Mafuyu murmured, peeking up at him with a crooked smile.

Ritsuka groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Can we please not do this with me standing right here?”

Hiiragi stretched, unapologetic. “You were going to have to join the conversation eventually.”

Ugetsu glanced between the three of them, satisfied. “Mm. Yes. I think this is going to be a very productive afternoon.”

Chapter 27: The Razor’s Edge

Summary:

Ugetsu and Hiiragi engage in a heartfelt conversation about their complex relationships and the challenges of loving someone as intense and passionate as Mafuyu. Ugetsu, with his characteristic blend of wisdom and mischief, offers insights into Mafuyu's needs and desires, encouraging Hiiragi to embrace the full spectrum of Mafuyu's personality.

The apartment felt different with Mafuyu and Ritsuka out—they had gone off for a ramen lunch and to spend some time alone—leaving Hiiragi alone with Ugetsu.

Not ideal. At least, not at first. Ugetsu, as always, was effortlessly himself: open, vibrant, unfiltered. He moved through the space like he owned the air, the light, the very tempo of conversation. Hiiragi sat stiffly at first, unsure of how to navigate someone so utterly uninhibited.

But Ugetsu was generous. Gentle. Encouraging in a way that didn’t condescend. He poured a cup of tea for Hiiragi without asking.

“So,” he said breezily, “how’s your heart?”

Hiiragi frowned. “Excuse me?”

Ugetsu smiled, easy and amused. “Your heart. It’s been through a lot lately.”

Hiiragi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“And Mafuyu?”

Hiiragi hesitated, then gave a small nod. “We talked. Said what needed saying.”

Ugetsu nodded once, expression softening. “He loves you, Hiiragi. Loves you. I hope you know that.”

Hiiragi looked away.

“If you can get comfortable with his vision for his life—that wild, messy, beautiful thing he’s trying to build—he’ll stay with you forever. But he can’t deal with the drinking. Or the spiral. He’s already watched Yuki unravel. He can’t do that again. Not with you.”

The words struck deeper than Hiiragi let on but he stayed quiet.

Ugetsu spoke gently now, each word measured. “You need to know something. I plan on being part of this. I let Mafuyu go once, and while maybe our timing then was wrong, I’ve regretted our separation ever since. Fuyu-chan is precious to me. And this past week has reminded me just how much.”

He sipped his tea.

“His company. His conversation. And what we share physically—it’s something special. Open. Honest in a way I’ve never had with anyone else. It took time. Trial and error. But we’ve built a kind of trust that’s incredibly deep.”

“He gives himself very freely to me now. With his body. His emotions. His consent. That includes some very physical play.”

He glanced at Hiiragi.

“I don’t know how you’ll feel about that. I expect Ritsuka might be appalled. Mafuyu probably won’t bring it up—not yet. He’s careful with you. Still trying to protect you from the parts of him that might scare you off.”

“But your ability to accommodate that part of him—that craving for intensity, that full-bodied surrender—it would go a long way. It tells him he’s safe. Loved. Without conditions.”

Ugetsu studied Hiiragi’s face for a beat. “I’m not saying you have to do what I do. But don’t ask him to shrink. Don’t love only the gentle parts. He won’t be happy pretending.”

Hiiragi finally spoke. “So does that include shaving his pubic hair, Ugetsu-san?”

Ugetsu let out a bright laugh.

“Oh, that? That was entirely my idea. Just for me. And Mafuyu was so sweet about it. Incredibly accommodating. He’s grown up beautifully, hasn’t he? Lean. Handsome.”

He leaned back, fondness in every word. “On a purely physical level, I find him exquisitely attractive. But the shave—it wasn’t just erotic. It was intimate. Deliberate. I like that kind of intimacy. Taking time. Touching without rushing. Sex is so much more than just fucking, Hiiragi. Especially for someone like Mafuyu. And certainly for me.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful.

“And that’s something he and I share that’s unlike anything I’ve had with anyone else. I doubt Ritsuka’s ready for that. But you?” A sly smile curled his lips. “You might be somewhere in there too, if you let yourself be open to it.”

Hiiragi chuckled. “So are you telling me I should ask Mafuyu to shave my pubes, Ugetsu-san?”

Ugetsu clapped a hand to his chest in mock shock. “As I said, that’s my particular kink. But…” His eyes sparkled. “Perhaps we could give you a trim right now?”

Hiiragi choked on his tea. “You can’t be serious.”

Ugetsu was already standing. “You’d be surprised how relaxing it is. Very spa-like. Meditative.”

“You’re not giving me a tea ceremony and a shave in one sitting.”

“Why not? I’m an excellent host.”

Hiiragi narrowed his eyes. “You’re completely insane.”

Ugetsu only smiled. “And very, very good with a razor.”

The space between them shifted. Not yes. Not no. Just the unmistakable air of curiosity.

Ugetsu didn’t push. He simply walked into the bathroom, left the door open.

Hiiragi followed.

The room was warm, softly lit, smelling faintly of sandalwood from a candle on the counter. A narrow daybed lined one wall, draped in a clean towel. Everything had the feel of quiet ceremony.

Hiiragi stripped without comment, a bit stiff and awkward, folding his clothes neatly. When he turned back, Ugetsu was already setting out scissors, a bowl of hot water, a brush, and a straight razor.

Ugetsu looked up and took him in with a glance. Appreciative. But discreet. “You three are a handsome bunch,” he murmured. “You’re a bit more buff than Fuyu-chan. And a bit more hair.”

Hiiragi exhaled and lay on the daybed.

Ugetsu began with the scissors—slow, careful, respectful. Each snip brought them closer to skin, and neither spoke for a while. There was no rush. No judgment.

When he reached for the brush and bowl, Ugetsu lathered with precision. Thick foam, warm against Hiiragi’s skin, applied with soft, swirling strokes.

Hiiragi started to get hard and cursed under his breath.

Ugetsu chuckled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Hiiragi covered his eyes with one hand. “This is so fucking weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s human,” Ugetsu said. “Sensation is sensation. You’re safe here.”

Hiiragi peeked at him through his fingers, saw nothing but ease.

Then came the razor.

Ugetsu worked slowly, patiently—drawing the blade across him with practiced care, wiping clean between passes. It was quiet, intimate, not charged with lust but something deeper. Trust.

When it was over, Ugetsu rinsed him gently with warm water and patted him dry. “There,” he said. “Smooth as one of my violins.”

Hiiragi looked down at himself, then back up. “You really are insane.”

“Maybe,” Ugetsu said, offering a hand. “But I’m very good at what I do.”

Hiiragi took it. And stood.

Ugetsu didn’t let go right away. He leaned in and pressed a kiss—soft, lingering, deliberate—against Hiiragi’s mouth.

“You might give some thought to you and Fuyu-chan spending a night with me,” he murmured. “I expect we’d have a very enjoyable time together.”

His smile was calm, unreadable.

Hiiragi blinked, but didn’t pull away.

A few minutes later, he emerged wearing a pair of Ugetsu’s sweatpants and an old black Given logo t-shirt. He settled beside him on the couch with a new cup of tea.

“You do have some kind of kink, Ugetsu-san.”

Ugetsu smirked. “I like pleasure. I love Mafuyu. You’re important to him. He’s important to me. And I think we’ve established that Ritsuka isn’t exactly open to this sort of thing at this point. So we’ll take it slow for his sake.”

Hiiragi shook his head and laughed under his breath. “This day’s fucking unreal.”

“Come lay down with me.”

Ugetsu moved back into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. He propped on one elbow, his face unreadable in the soft light. Hiiragi hesitated a moment, before following, lying beside him. Neither spoke for a while.

Eventually, Ugetsu broke the silence.

“He really loves you,” he said quietly this time. “That’s the hard part, isn’t it? Loving someone who wants something huge.”

Hiiragi frowned faintly. “Huge?”

Ugetsu nodded. “Big love. Boundless, messy, terrifying love. The kind that doesn’t fit neatly into boxes or even into one person.”

“Yeah,” he said after a while. “I guess it is something like that. He’s collecting boyfriends. I don’t exactly understand it. After you dump… after you left the first time, Mafuyu and I got… well… serious. But there was this thing with Ritsuka too.”

Hiiragi gave a quiet scoff. “It almost sounds romantic. It’s also fucking exhausting.”

Ugetsu’s lips curved faintly. “It is. He demands a lot without realizing it. But he gives so much in return, doesn’t he?”

Hiiragi nodded, slowly. “Yeah. He does.”

He took a breath, slower now. “Anyway, after we all graduated, we’re all three of us in the band—with Shizusumi, he’s another childhood friend of Mafuyu and me. One night when we were on tour, our first big tour—we were staying in a hotel in Osaka. After the show, Mafuyu and I were kissing in the dressing room. And Ritsuka walks in on us.”

He laughed under his breath, almost sheepish.

“We all freeze. And then Fuyu just says, Come join us, Uenoyama-kun.” And he… does. We all go back to our hotel room and spend the night together. It was wild. Mafuyu was so playful with the two of us.”

Hiiragi’s voice softened. “Pretty certain that was the first time Ritsuka was with anyone. It was intense. Mafuyu actually fucked him. He made so much noise Mafuyu thought he was hurting him and tried to stop. And Ritsuka shouts “Don’t you dare stop now!” But Mafuyu was incredibly sweet that night. After that things just kind of evolved. Mafuyu would invite Ritsuka to our room, he would spend the night with us. And we would have sex. But it was always Mafuyu and Ritsuka or me and Mafuyu. The other guy would just sort of sit and watch. I tried to join in a few times, but it was beyond awkward and Ritsuka was clearly uncomfortable.” Our grumbly guitarist’s big secret. He likes to get fucked. But ONLY by Mafuyu. I found that out one night when I thought I would pitch in. Ritsuka practically threw a tantrum and I never tried THAT again.

He smiled, bitter at the corners.

“So Mafuyu is the TOP in your relationship?” Ugetsu noted, surprised.

“Oh, no,no,no. Actually i really don’t like taking it. I’m almost always the top when we’re together. Sometimes I let Mafuyu do it if he wants to because he does enjoy it. But honestly I don’t enjoy it myself and I won’t do it for anyne else.”

“I’ve only ever been the top with him,” Ugetsu said.

“Yeah, he has always enjoyed being on the receiving end,” Ugetsu added with an almost wistful smile.

Hiiragi nodded, slowly. “Yeah. He does.”

There was a pause between them. Ugetsu was idly stroking Hiiragi’s arm.

“When I was with him,” Ugetsu said, “I used to feel like I was holding music itself in my hands. All that ache and beauty. All that silence waiting to become sound. He doesn’t just write songs—he is one.”

Hiiragi didn’t speak.

Ugetsu looked over at him, something softer now in his eyes. “But songs change depending on who’s listening.”

Hiiragi tilted his head, brow furrowed.

“I think maybe that’s what you and Ritsuka were struggling with. You wanted him to be the same song, every night. But Mafuyu… he adapts. He mirrors. He bends toward the energy in the room. He wants to make everyone feel held, so he becomes what they need.”

Hiiragi exhaled. “And when no one knows how to hold him back?”

Ugetsu smiled, just barely. “That’s when he gets quiet.”

They both stared at the ceiling for a while.

Then Hiiragi spoke again, voice rougher. “When did you fall in love with him?”

Ugetsu didn’t hesitate. “The first time he sang in my apartment. It didn’t start out as a grand romantic evening. He was a very handsome kid. But he was just a boy I wanted to fuck. But he was so earnest. First night we were together, he told me he loved me WHILE I was fucking him.”

Hiiragi’s throat tightened.

“I thought I knew grief,” Ugetsu continued. “I thought I’d written it, performed it, sculpted it into something elegant. But he—he lived it. Raw and untouched. I’d never heard anything so honest. It felt sacred. And terrifying.”

Hiiragi turned his face toward him. “Then why did you leave?”

Ugetsu’s jaw tensed, just slightly. “Because love wasn’t enough. Not then. I wasn’t ready to be seen like that. Not by him. I think part of me still believed I only had value when I was performing. When I could seduce or impress or mystify.”

“And world-renowned violinists with sixteen-year-old boyfriends are definitely frowned upon.”

Hiiragi gave a short breath of a laugh—more disbelief than amusement.

Ugetsu shrugged one shoulder. “I told myself I was protecting him. But really, I was just protecting my career. My image. My fear of what people would say.”

“Mafuyu was crushed, you know. That really hurt him. You just leaving like that. It took his mom and me months to even him out. We thought you were really some kind of violent psychopath. He talked about you spanking him during sex.”

“It wasn’t anything but consensual. There’s an adrenaline rush for some people when they get spanked. There is for Fuyu-chan. So sometimes…”

“Still??” Hiiragi was surprised. “You spanked him?”

“Yes. It was a pretty incredible experience. Ask him about it sometime. Assuming he’ll talk about it with you…”

“Well once you were gone he fell apart. Like I said it took his mom and I weeks to get him straightened out.”

“I am sorry for that.”

“Eventually,” Hiiragi went on, “he starts rehearsing with my band. It was me on bass, Shizusumi on drums, and we’d picked up Ritsuka as our supporting guitarist. And it turned out Mafuyu was sort of the missing piece. His vocals—and he’s gotten pretty good on the guitar. Everything clicked.”

Hiiragi leaned in and kissed Ugetsu lightly. “And here we are.”

“The kind of love Mafuyu wants… it isn’t just physical. It’s about being seen. Without recoil. Without flinching. He wants to be accepted in every form he takes. The sweet, tender parts. The silent ones. And the chaotic, overwhelming ones too. And he tries not to ask for it,” Ugetsu added. “Not directly. He doesn’t want to scare anyone away. But it eats at him. That hunger.”

Hiiragi turned his head toward him. “You mean sex?”

“No,” Ugetsu said softly. “I mean everything.”

He shifted closer, folding his arm beneath his head.

Hiiragi closed his eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m built for that.”

Ugetsu didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low.

“You probably know better than Ritsuka does,” he said, “how deep that ache runs.”

Hiiragi’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

Ugetsu watched him carefully.

“Because Mafuyu doesn’t talk about it willingly. His father.”

Hiiragi turned toward him sharply. “You… know?”

Ugetsu nodded once. “We talked about it. Not much. Just enough. Bits and pieces. From the way he flinches when the air gets too sharp. From the silence that follows when something reminds him.”

Hiiragi’s chest felt suddenly tight. “He still—?” He couldn’t finish the question.

“He still carries it,” Ugetsu said gently. “And not like a memory. Like a mirror.”

Hiiragi didn’t speak. His mouth was dry.

“When he was five or six,” Ugetsu went on, “his father used to beat him for talking. Just for using his voice.”

Hiiragi closed his eyes again. “I was there. I remember.”

“And now,” Ugetsu whispered, “he sings.”

They lay in silence again. Longer this time.

Hiiragi finally spoke, voice hoarse. “He still thinks he’s broken.”

Ugetsu nodded. “He thinks love is something he has to earn. Not something that just exists for him.”

Hiiragi bit the inside of his cheek. “He never told me that.”

“He wouldn’t,” Ugetsu said. “He’s trying to protect you. Always has been.”

Hiiragi turned onto his side, studying Ugetsu’s face. “But not you?”

“I never asked him to be smaller,” Ugetsu said simply. “Not even when I should have.”

Hiiragi blinked. “He doesn’t tell me about his dad. Not like that. He pretends it’s over.”

“It is over,” Ugetsu said gently. “But it left marks. The kind that make you doubt your own worth when someone touches you too kindly.”

Hiiragi’s voice cracked slightly. “I should’ve seen it.”

“You did,” Ugetsu replied. “But you were just a kid too.”

A quiet ache settled between them.

“He needs love that he doesn’t have to perform for,” Ugetsu murmured. “Love that doesn’t disappear when he’s difficult. Or withdrawn. Or needy.”

Hiiragi stared at the ceiling again. “I really don’t know if I can be that for him.”

“You don’t have to be everything,” Ugetsu repeated. “But you can be one part of that. One voice in the chorus that tells him he’s enough.”

Hiiragi’s chest rose and fell in a long, slow breath. “I didn’t think it still haunted him.”

“It does,” Ugetsu said. “Not all the time. But in the quiet. In the dark. When he wonders why the people he loves always seem like they’re about to leave.”

Hiiragi swallowed hard. “Do you love him now?” he asked.

Ugetsu’s gaze was steady. “I do. But I love him more as he is. Not for what he gives me.”

“And where does your friend Ji-hoon fit in this?”

“Ji-hoon likes him. Would happily include him in a wider circle of friends. But he likes Mafuyu, nothing more.”

Hiiragi turned onto his side, facing him fully now. “And what if he still believes he has to earn love? “

“Then we keep reminding him,” Ugetsu said, “until he doesn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was full.

Hiiragi felt something loosen in his chest. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But maybe the beginning of it.

He reached out, just briefly, and rested a hand on Ugetsu’s shoulder.

Notes:

Dedicated to the Italian composer Alfredo Casella whose Symphony #2 in c minor has practically been on repeat as I wrote this chapter

Chapter 28: What We Never Said

Summary:

After a night of tangled intimacy, Mafuyu and Ritsuka finally confront the truths they've been avoiding—about desire, love, and what it will take to stay together.

The steam fogged the windows, blurring the street outside. Inside the cramped ramen shop, the warmth felt almost suffocating against the chill that still clung to Mafuyu’s skin. He sat hunched over the counter, chopsticks limp between his fingers, the bowl before him a perfect picture of comfort—rich broth shimmering amber, golden noodles piled just so—but untouched. The savory scent curled around him like a reminder of normalcy he couldn’t reach.

Ritsuka sat beside him, swirling his noodles absently, the scrape of his chopsticks against the bowl the only sound threading the thick silence between them. His gaze flickered toward Mafuyu more times than he cared to count but never met his eyes. The weight of everything left unsaid pressed down from all sides, a silent demand that neither of them was ready to answer.

Finally, Ritsuka broke first.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said, voice low and rough, rougher than usual. “Even for you.”

Mafuyu’s eyes stayed fixed on the glossy surface of the broth.
“So have you,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” Ritsuka let out a bitter laugh, sharp and dry. “Guess we’re both cowards.”

The word hung between them, raw and accusing. Mafuyu flinched as if struck.

Ritsuka exhaled through his nose, tension rippling in his jaw.
“So.” He stared down at his bowl, like maybe if he didn’t look at Mafuyu, the words wouldn’t hurt as much. “You and Ugetsu.”

The name landed like a dropped blade in Mafuyu’s chest. His chopsticks froze midair, noodles dangling uselessly.
“What about him?”

Ritsuka’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
“What about him? You ran halfway across the world to him, Mafuyu. After everything. After me. After Hiiragi.”

Mafuyu lowered his gaze to the broth, shoulders curling tighter into himself as if trying to disappear.
“I didn’t run.”

“Bullshit.” Ritsuka’s laugh cracked, harsh and bitter. “You were gone before I even realized what was happening. No note. No call. Just—you vanished. And now you’re here, acting like it’s normal.”

Mafuyu’s breath caught, shallow and uneven.
“I needed space.”

“Space,” Ritsuka echoed, the word tasting like rust on his tongue. “From what? From me? From him? From all of us?”

His voice trembled slightly, but Mafuyu forced himself to speak.
“From the fighting,” he said finally, voice low and broken. “Every time I walked in the room, it felt like I was choosing. Between you and Hiiragi. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe anymore.”

Ritsuka’s throat tightened painfully. He wanted to argue, to say Mafuyu was wrong, but the truth smoldered between them—they had been fighting, constantly, over Mafuyu and the things they couldn’t put into words.

Mafuyu’s voice shook, but he pressed on, the dam breaking.
“I begged you both,” he whispered. “You and Hiiragi. Over and over, I asked you to stop—asked you to put it aside, even just for the music. Haruki-san asked too. Suzuki-san. We all tried.” He drew in a ragged breath. “But it didn’t stop. It just kept getting worse. Until Nagoya—after that concert.” His throat tightened, remembering the way the air had felt heavy even before the last note faded. “Hiiragi was drunk. You were so angry you couldn’t even play right. And then the restaurant—” His words faltered like they hurt to pull out. “We were supposed to fix things that day. Make it better. And instead it just... blew up.”

The memory flickered like a bruise behind his eyes: voices raised, chairs scraping, Hiiragi’s glare like ice, Ritsuka’s voice breaking under the weight of anger. That look—like everything they’d built was crumbling in their hands and no one could stop it.

Mafuyu swallowed hard.
“After that, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Ritsuka’s jaw worked, anger and hurt twisting in his voice.
“You could’ve called me.”

“I thought about it,” Mafuyu said quickly, desperation flashing across his face. “I thought about you first. But what would I have said? ‘I need space from you and Hiiragi’? You already knew what I wanted. You knew I wanted the three of us—together. And it was falling apart.”

Ritsuka’s lips pressed tight, because that was true. He had known. From the start.

Mafuyu’s hands trembled as he gripped the counter.
“I called everyone else before I called him. First thing, I called Shogo. He was at soccer camp. My mom had a go tournament. Ueki was buried in work. Hosokai just had a baby. Everyone I could think of—no one was there.” He paused, voice cracking. “And then I thought of Ugetsu.”

The name hung heavy, unspoken years stretching between them.
“We hadn’t talked in so long. Not since...” His throat closed on the memory. “But back then, he was the one who helped me see clearly. About the anger, the grief, the pain. When everything felt too big and I didn’t know what to do with it. And I thought—maybe he could help me remember how to breathe.”

The silence shattered with a sharp smack. Ritsuka’s hand came down hard against Mafuyu’s arm—not enough to hurt, but enough to jolt him. The sound cut through the clatter of bowls like a whip crack. Heads turned, then looked away quickly.

Mafuyu froze, wide-eyed. “Ritsuka—”

“What the fuck is that all about, Mafuyu?” Ritsuka’s voice was low and furious, teeth gritted. “You think I didn’t hear about it? Hiiragi told me. The spanking. Him putting his hands on you like that. What the hell is going on?”

Heat surged to Mafuyu’s face so fast it made him dizzy. His breath stuttered out in a rush.
“It’s—” His throat locked. “It’s not—”

“Not what?” Ritsuka’s eyes burned into him, sharp and relentless. “Not what I think? Because it sure as hell sounds like something you forgot to mention.”

Mafuyu’s fingers twisted in his lap, his whole body folding inward. The humiliation pressed down, hot and suffocating.
“It’s… complicated,” he whispered.

“Complicated?” Ritsuka’s voice cracked. “Try me.”

Mafuyu’s breath came shallow, words catching on his tongue like splinters.
“It’s… there’s this line,” he stammered, his voice barely audible. “Between pain and pleasure. And sometimes it feels… it feels like…” He trailed off, cheeks burning crimson, the words too heavy to push out. “Like I disappear. Like I don’t have to think.”

Ritsuka stared at him, jaw tight with something he couldn’t name.
“Mafuyu—”

“It’s not just that,” Mafuyu rushed on, panic breaking his voice. “It’s not about wanting to be hurt. It’s about—control. About giving it up. Feeling safe enough to let go. To stop holding everything in so tight.” He blinked hard, vision swimming. “And maybe… maybe it goes back to…” The next words scraped raw on his throat. “When I was little.”

Ritsuka’s breath hitched. “What?”

“My father,” Mafuyu whispered, his hands curling into fists so tight his nails bit his skin. “He used to hit me. Every time I talked too much. Every time I wasn’t… quiet enough. I learned to shut up, to disappear, because it was safer that way.” His chest heaved like the words were tearing him open. “And now… when someone—when it’s like that—but I choose it, when I know they won’t leave me or hate me for it… it makes me feel…” He broke off, voice crumbling into silence.

Ritsuka sat rigid, the anger hollowing out into shock, grief—something close to shame.
“Mafuyu…” His voice was barely a breath.

Mafuyu shook his head quickly, as if to ward off the pity flickering in Ritsuka’s eyes. His voice came raw, almost pleading.
“I couldn’t tell you. Because then you’d think I’m even more broken than I already am.”

For a long time, Ritsuka didn’t move. Then, wordlessly, he fished out his wallet, slid a couple of bills onto the counter for the uneaten ramen and untouched tea. His hands shook as he stood.

“Come on,” he said quietly, voice flat. “We’re not done.”

The cold hit like a slap—a sharp wind cutting through Mafuyu’s coat, turning his breath into quick white clouds. He walked fast, head bowed, hands shoved deep in his pockets as if pushing the chill away could also push the weight in his chest.

“Mafuyu!” Ritsuka’s voice cut through the hum of traffic, urgent and ragged. Footsteps pounded behind him.

Mafuyu didn’t stop. Not until a hand closed around his arm, pulling him up short just shy of the crosswalk.

“Mafuyu, stop running from me!” Ritsuka’s breath came heavy, cheeks flushed from the chase. “Please.”

Mafuyu turned slowly. His face was pale, eyes rimmed red, but the expression was not anger—it was something heavier. Defeat.

“I’m not running,” he said quietly.

“Bullshit.” Ritsuka’s voice cracked. “You’ve been running since the second you got on that plane. Maybe before.”

Mafuyu stared at him a long moment, the wind tugging at loose strands of hair. Then he looked away, toward the blur of cars sliding through the intersection.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “I have.”

Something twisted in Ritsuka’s chest. “Then stop. Just... stop for one second and talk to me.”

Mafuyu’s shoulders sagged, a weight that seemed to crush him. For a heartbeat, Ritsuka thought he’d refuse. But then Mafuyu drew a slow, shaky breath and nodded once.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “We should talk. We should’ve talked a long time ago.”

The words landed heavy, an unspoken apology and a fragile promise all at once.

Ritsuka loosened his grip but didn’t let go. “Okay,” he said softer now. “Then start. Tell me why.”

Mafuyu’s throat worked. When his voice came, it was barely above the city’s hum.
“Because I didn’t know how to tell you the truth without losing you.”

Ritsuka’s chest tightened painfully. “You think this—” He gestured helplessly between them. “—is better? Keeping me in the dark while you—while you’re with Hiiragi, with Ugetsu—”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Mafuyu said quickly, voice trembling. “I just... every time I looked at you, I thought—if I say this out loud, if I tell you what I really need, you’ll leave. And I can’t—” He broke off, blinking hard. “I couldn’t stand the thought of that.”

Ritsuka’s heart thudded painfully. “And what is it, Mafuyu? What do you need that I can’t give you?”

Mafuyu lifted his gaze, raw and open.
“I need more,” he whispered. “More than one person. More than what one love can hold.”

The words burned, though Ritsuka had always sensed this fissure beneath their fragile balance.

“Mafuyu—” He swallowed hard. “Do you love me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “I love you, Ritsuka. I always have.”

“Then why isn’t that enough?”

“Because it’s not about enough,” Mafuyu said, voice breaking. “It’s not about who gives me more, or who loves me better. It’s like music. You can’t play a whole song with one note. You need chords. Harmony. I need that too.”

Ritsuka stared at him, a fracture deepening inside. “And what about me? What if I can’t share you like that?”

Mafuyu’s breath caught. “Then you can’t,” he said softly, the words heavy. “And I’ll understand. But don’t stay just to tear yourself apart. I don’t want that for you.”

Ritsuka laughed, short and broken. “Kamisama, Mafuyu. You think I could just walk away from you?”

Mafuyu’s eyes shone with a painful certainty. “You might have to.”

The silence stretched between them, cold and open. Then Mafuyu’s voice broke through, trembling but firm.

“I was already with Hiiragi when we decided to go out,” he said, eyes glistening. “I asked if you could live with that—with the three of us, sharing a bed. You said you’d try. And that was the last you said to me, Ritsuka.” His voice cracked, the wind carrying the shards of it away. “The last.”

Ritsuka flinched like the words hit bone. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Nothing came out.

Mafuyu took a breath and pushed on, voice quieter still.
“Hiiragi… he wouldn’t have chosen this. But if it’s what it takes to make it work, he will. But when we’re all in bed together, you get upset whenever he gets near you.”

Ritsuka’s gaze dropped, stunned into silence.

Finally, his hand fell from Mafuyu’s arm. His fingers tingled numb.
“Then what do we do?”

Mafuyu shook his head, tears clinging to his lashes.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But we can’t keep pretending. Not after this.”

“We all need to talk. You. Me. Hiiragi.”

Ritsuka hesitated. His throat moved, once. Then finally—quietly—he said,
“Okay. We’ll talk.”

Chapter 29: What Comes Next

Summary:

Mafuyu, Ritsuka, Hiiragi, and Ugetsu finally sit down together—no scripts, no evasions—to speak honestly about what’s broken and what might still be possible. What begins in uncertainty becomes something more fragile and necessary: a conversation about desire, jealousy, trust, and what love can look like when it refuses to stay in its expected shape.

The apartment was quiet when they returned, the kind of quiet that felt deliberate. Mafuyu hesitated on the threshold, hand hovering near the knob, his pulse still fluttering from everything they’d said. Ritsuka stood behind him, silent. He hadn’t said much on the walk back. Mafuyu hadn’t either.
He pushed the door open. It gave without resistance.
Inside, the lights were soft. Ugetsu’s coat and Hiiragi’s jacket hung neatly on the rack by the door. Both pairs of shoes were in the entryway, side by side. In the far corner, Ugetsu’s violin rested on its stand, gleaming faintly in the low light.
Ritsuka stepped in behind him and closed the door quietly. Mafuyu hung his coat on the rack then bent to take off his shoes, heart still pounding for reasons he couldn’t untangle. They hadn’t decided what they’d say. Ritsuka had mentioned getting a hotel room. But they were here.
Soft footsteps. Then—
“You’re back,” Hiiragi said from the bedroom. He didn’t sound surprised.
Ugetsu appeared a moment later, barefoot, shirtless in sweatpants, his hair loose and half-dry like he’d recently showered. He looked at both of them—at Mafuyu especially—with a calm, steady gaze. No accusation. No apology either. Just presence. Acceptance.
Behind him, the bedroom door was open. Mafuyu saw the edge of the bed, rumpled. Two pillows. The covers askew. Hiiragi was lying there. Comfortable. Also shirtless and sweatpants.
Mafuyu’s throat felt tight. He didn’t trust his voice.
They stood there in silence. The distance between them was small, but it felt like something else entirely—something vast and uncertain.
Ugetsu’s eyes moved between them quickly—Mafuyu’s hunched shoulders, Ritsuka’s closed-off stance—and something in his expression shifted.
“Oh,” Ugetsu said. “So we’re doing this now.”
“We need to talk,” Mafuyu said quietly. “All of us.”
Ugetsu raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Hiiragi, who looked suddenly very tired. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” Ritsuka said, though his voice was thin. “It’s overdue.”
Hiiragi didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he gave a single nod and got up from the bed and wandered into the living room. He didn’t sit. Neither did Ritsuka. Ugetsu leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded loosely, gaze level but unreadable.
Mafuyu stood in the middle of it all, uncertain where to anchor himself. He looked at each of them—Ritsuka, Hiiragi, Ugetsu—and then down at his own hands, still trembling faintly.
“I don’t know what happens next,” he said softly. “But I don’t want to keep lying to any of you. I don’t want to pretend things are okay when they’re not. I don’t want to keep hurting people just to keep the peace.”
Silence followed. Then Ugetsu, calm as always, tilted his head. “That’s a good start.”
Hiiragi let out a slow breath. “Then let’s figure it out. But not by dancing around each other. No more vague answers. No more hiding behind what we think the others want to hear.”
“Agreed,” Ritsuka said. His voice wasn’t soft anymore, but it wasn’t angry either. Just real. “We talk. All of it. Tonight.”
Mafuyu nodded. “Okay.”
Hiiragi didn’t speak at first. He let the quiet stretch, the air between them thick with all that had been said—and all that hadn’t.

They didn’t gather around a table. They didn’t sit in a circle. It wasn’t neat like that.
Ritsuka stood against the wall near the bookshelf, arms crossed so tightly it looked like he might snap in half. He wasn’t angry—not anymore—but the tension in his shoulders was unrelenting, like he’d been bracing against something for hours and couldn’t stop. Mafuyu sat stiffly at the edge of the couch, hands clenched between his knees. Beside him, Hiiragi mirrored his posture at first, back straight, eyes watchful. Ugetsu, ever the outlier, dropped unceremoniously to the floor opposite the couch, legs splayed out like he was bored at a rehearsal, though his gaze was sharp.

“So,” Ugetsu said, his voice deliberately light. “Let’s blow this whole thing open with honesty, shall we?”

 

Hiiragi shot him a warning glance. “Ugetsu.”

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Mostly.”

But when he looked up at Mafuyu—really looked—his expression changed. “What happened to you?” he asked, voice low. “You look... stripped bare.”

Mafuyu didn’t answer right away. His throat worked once, twice. Then he said, barely audible, “I told him.”

Hiiragi turned sharply. “Told him what?”

“Everything,” Mafuyu said. “About my dad. About... why I left. About why I—” He faltered. “Why I feel safe when someone else takes control.”

Hiiragi’s eyes widened. “Mafuyu...”

Ugetsu sat up a little straighter. “You mean—what we do?”

Mafuyu nodded. “And why it matters to me.” He drew a breath, held it. “I told him about how I grew up thinking silence was the safest place. About the control. The fear. And how now... when I give it up, it’s not weakness. It’s survival.”

Ritsuka looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. “You didn’t say all of that.”

“I’m saying it now.”

Hiiragi reached out, touching the back of Mafuyu’s hand. He flinched—just slightly—but didn’t pull away. His skin was cold.

“You’re shaking,” Hiiragi said softly. “You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

“I’m not,” Mafuyu whispered. “Not now.”

Ritsuka shifted, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he said quietly. “I thought I had it figured out. I liked girls. Then I liked Mafuyu. I thought that meant I was bi or something. But this? Sharing him? Watching someone else touch him? I—”

He stopped, breathing hard.

I’m embarrassed,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be. But I am. I like sex with you—so much it scares me sometimes. It’s not just about liking you. It’s about how much space you take up in my head. In my body.”

“You don’t have to be,” Mafuyu said immediately. “That’s not a requirement. I didn’t ask for that. I just... I didn’t want to keep lying to you.”

Ritsuka looked away. “I know. But I don’t even know what I want. Except you. And that’s the problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be a problem,” Ugetsu said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice suddenly more serious. “It’s not all or nothing. It’s not one blueprint you all have to follow. Maybe it changes week to week. Maybe you need different things than Mafuyu does. Maybe you’re here for the music. Or the way he talks in his sleep. Or the part of him that only opens for you.”

“But I’m not sure I’m enough,” Ritsuka said, barely audible. “I’m not sure I know how to be what he needs.”

Mafuyu’s gaze lifted, sharp with sudden clarity. “You are.”

Ritsuka’s head snapped up.

“You’re enough,” Mafuyu repeated, with more strength. “You’re not everything, and I don’t want you to be. That’s why this started breaking in the first place. I tried to be what you needed, and Hiiragi did the same, and we all kept folding ourselves into pieces until there was nothing left to hold.”

Hiiragi exhaled shakily. “You don’t think we can just be a couple,” he said. “Any of us.”

“I think we already are,” Mafuyu said. “Just not in the way we thought we had to be.”

Ugetsu glanced at Ritsuka, then Hiiragi. “And the two of you? Do you hate each other less yet?”

Ritsuka let out a startled bark of laughter. “Actually, I—” He flushed. “I like him.”

Hiiragi blinked. “You what.”

“I don’t know,” Ritsuka mumbled. “You make me laugh. You get under my skin. You’re loyal as hell and annoying and kind of beautiful when you’re not being a jackass.”

Hiiragi opened his mouth. Then closed it again. “That’s... a lot.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ritsuka said. “I’m just... being honest. I think I needed to hear myself say it.”

Ugetsu grinned. “Well. That makes three of us who’ve kissed Mafuyu and one of us who might kiss each other by New Year’s.”

“Ugetsu,” Mafuyu groaned.

“What? I’m just saying. We’re already in a French chamber play. Might as well own it.”

Hiiragi’s laugh came unexpectedly—quick and surprised, like it caught even him off guard. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“But effective,” Ugetsu said, leaning back on his hands. “Look. This isn’t going to be easy. And it’s not going to be neat. But if we want to keep Mafuyu—if we want to keep each other—then we have to stop acting like love has to look one way.”

“I don’t want a rulebook,” Mafuyu said. “I just want truth. If you’re jealous, say it. If you’re scared, say it. If something hurts, tell me. But don’t shut me out. Don’t decide it’s too messy and leave.”

Hiiragi nodded slowly. “I can do that. If it means I still get to hold you after.”

“You do,” Mafuyu whispered. “All of you do.”

Ritsuka stepped forward. “Can I—” His voice faltered. “Can I sit next to you?”

Mafuyu nodded. He shifted to the bed and Ritsuka sat beside him, knees bumping. He reached for Mafuyu’s hand and this time, Mafuyu didn’t hesitate. Their fingers twined together, quiet and firm.

Ugetsu climbed onto the bed too, stretching across the foot of it, tossing a pillow behind his head. “What now? Do we braid each other’s hair and talk about boundaries?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Hiiragi muttered, then reached for Mafuyu’s other hand. He took it gently, his thumb stroking along the back. “We’ll figure it out. Night by night. Song by song.”

Mafuyu nodded. For the first time all evening, his body eased—only slightly, but enough that the trembling stopped.

“Thank you,” he said. “For staying.”

They didn’t answer in words. They didn’t have to.

There was a beat of silence after Mafuyu spoke, as though the room had paused to consider the weight of something small and surprising.

“Ugetsu,” he said again, softer this time. “Can I please have a glass of wine?”

Ugetsu blinked, caught off guard—not by the request itself, but by the way Mafuyu asked: polite, tentative, like someone testing whether the world might say yes to them for once.

“Of course,” Ugetsu said, already rising. “Red or white?”

“Red,” Mafuyu said, voice a little steadier now. “If there’s any left.”

“There’s always red,” Ugetsu replied with a faint smile. “I keep it for nights like this.”

He padded out into the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening, the gentle clink of glass, carried back into the bedroom like something domestic and ordinary. It grounded them.

Ritsuka looked at Mafuyu sideways. “You don’t usually drink around me.”

Mafuyu hesitated. “I know.”

“It’s okay,” Ritsuka added quickly. “I’m not—judging. I just...” He trailed off, then tried again. “Are you sure?”

Mafuyu gave a slow nod. “Just one. I think I’d like to feel a little softer tonight. Not numb. Just...” He looked down at his hands, still lightly tangled with Hiiragi’s. “Warm.”

Hiiragi squeezed gently. “You don’t need wine for that.”

“No,” Mafuyu said. “But it helps.”

Ugetsu returned, a half-filled glass in each hand. He gave the first to Mafuyu, then offered the second to Hiiragi with a raised brow.

Hiiragi snorted. “I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to,” Ugetsu said breezily, settling back into his place at the foot of the bed. “You always do when you’re pretending not to worry.”

Hiiragi didn’t argue. He took the glass. and sat back against the headboard.

Ritsuka declined with a shake of his head. “Water’s fine. I want to be clear tonight.”

Ugetsu gave him a slight nod of respect. “Smart.”

Mafuyu lifted the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. The red was deep and dry—nothing sweet, nothing easy. But it settled in his chest like warmth unfolding, and he exhaled like he hadn’t since they’d walked back through the door.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Ugetsu. You're family, you know.”

That word—family—landed quietly between them all. A strange word. A generous one. Nobody said anything else for a while.

Mafuyu took another slow sip of the wine, the stem of the glass steady between his fingers. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes not meeting anyone’s at first. The quiet pressed in again—but it was a soft quiet now, expectant rather than tense.

Then he spoke.

“You three,” Mafuyu said, and his voice caught faintly on the first word. He looked up, eyes landing somewhere between them all. “So much of what I am, I owe to you three.”

Hiiragi’s brow furrowed slightly. Ritsuka stilled. Even Ugetsu, who so rarely broke his poise, sat straighter.

Mafuyu didn’t let himself stop. “I used to think I was just... surviving. Just floating. But the truth is, I didn’t even know how to survive. I didn’t know how to talk. Or feel. Or even want anything.” He looked toward Ritsuka first, and there was no hesitation in it—just quiet awe. “You were the first one who really saw me. Who gave me music again. A voice. You made me feel like I could exist without being erased.”

Ritsuka’s expression twisted. He looked like he was trying not to cry—or trying to figure out if he was allowed to. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Mafuyu turned to Hiiragi next. His hand was still curled in his, thumb brushing unconsciously along Hiiragi’s knuckles. “You held space for me before I even knew how to ask. You waited. You forgave me.” He swallowed. “You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself.”

Hiiragi stared at him, his mouth pressed into a line, eyes bright. “I would do it again,” he said. “Any day.”

And finally, Mafuyu turned to Ugetsu. “And you,” he said, voice softening, some odd mix of reverence and disbelief in it. “You taught me that I didn’t have to make sense to deserve love. That I could be fragmented and still be—wanted. You didn’t try to fix me.”

Ugetsu gave a crooked smile, almost bashful. “Well,” he said lightly, “you weren’t mine to fix. Only to love, if you’d let me.”

Mafuyu moved back to the headboard next to Hiiragi and set the wine glass down carefully on the nightstand. He exhaled slowly, like the words had physically left him hollowed out.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be,” he admitted. “I don’t know what we’re doing. But I know I’m here because of you. All of you.”

There was a long pause. It was Ritsuka who broke it.

“That’s a lot,” he said, quietly. “To carry. To say.” He leaned forward slightly, hands on his knees, searching Mafuyu’s face. “Does it help? Saying it out loud?”

Mafuyu gave a small nod. “A little.”

“Then keep going,” Ritsuka said, voice steadier now, even if his hands were trembling slightly. “You don’t have to stop.”

“Neither do you,” Mafuyu said, meeting his gaze.

And the room went still again—this time not with tension, but with the kind of openness that begged for honesty to fill it.

Chapter 30: The Shape of Intimacy

Summary:

As the night deepens, so does the intimacy. Between Mafuyu and Hiiragi, there is gentleness and rediscovery; between Ugetsu and Ritsuka, teasing gives way to tender care. The four of them circle around the fragile beginnings of something whole—something polyamorous, possibly lasting—held together by bruised trust, curiosity, and the decision to stay.

Later, when the others had drifted away and the lights had dimmed, Hiiragi’s thumb brushed Mafuyu’s knuckles. “You don’t have to do anything right now,” he said gently. “We can just be still.”
But Mafuyu tilted into him, breathing out like he’d been holding something in all evening. “I don’t want still,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”
There was no urgency in the way Hiiragi pulled him close, just a deep, attentive warmth. Like he was listening with his whole body. When they kissed, it was slow, almost tentative, a rhythm learned from the way Mafuyu’s fingers curled at his chest, from the way he sighed as if every inch of pressure grounded him further in the moment.
They sank back into the bed without speaking. Cloth shifted, skin touched skin, the world narrowing to sensation and trust.
Hiiragi kissed the hollow beneath Mafuyu’s throat, then lower, pausing every so often as if asking permission in silence. Mafuyu responded not with words, but with the soft flex of his spine, the small hitch of breath when Hiiragi’s hand moved over him.
Everything blurred. Mafuyu felt like he was drifting underwater—heat, movement, breath—caught in the hush of something too close to name. The weight of Hiiragi over him was not crushing but anchoring. Like being held, gently and wholly, in a tide that knew when to rise and when to recede.
His body opened slowly, uncertain at first, but with trust—real trust—coiling into his limbs. Hiiragi was warm and sure above him, and when they moved together, it felt less like taking and more like remembering something that had been his all along.
After, they lay tangled in quiet. Mafuyu’s hand splayed on Hiiragi’s bare shoulder, sweat cooling. The silence wasn’t empty—it pulsed with everything they hadn’t said, everything that no longer needed saying.
Hiiragi drew in a breath. “You okay?”
Mafuyu nodded against his chest. “Still not still,” he whispered. “But maybe… not lost either.”
Something in Ritsuka refused to turn away.
Hiiragi and Mafuyu moved together in a slow tangle of limbs, their bare skin flushed, breath coming in soft gasps. The intimacy between them wasn’t just arousing—it was disarming, dizzying. Something inside Ritsuka bloomed and burned. His hand drifted low without quite realizing it, arousal rising like a tide.
He didn’t know if he envied them or admired them more. Or if it was something else entirely—some quieter longing he hadn’t yet found the words for.
Their voices, soft and tangled with breath, faded into stillness. They curled together, foreheads touching. Mafuyu laughed at something Hiiragi said—quiet, happy. Private.
Ritsuka felt warm all over. Not just from what he’d seen, but from what it meant. He’d been allowed to witness it. He didn’t want to interrupt. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.
A soft rustle behind him. Ugetsu was there, holding a folded towel and a small, open grooming kit. His eyes were gentle. His presence quiet.
Ritsuka blinked, disoriented, caught between the heat in his body and the ache in his chest.
Ugetsu crouched slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. He extended a hand, brushing his fingers lightly over Ritsuka’s wrist.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
Ritsuka glanced back at the bed. Mafuyu was tucked against Hiiragi, his laughter already fading into sleep-heavy quiet. The moment felt too intimate to keep watching. Ritsuka swallowed.
Ugetsu’s voice came again, even softer. “You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me take care of you.”
There was no pressure in it. Just the open offer of a steady hand.
Ritsuka nodded.
The bathroom was dimly lit, warm with lingering steam. The scent of sandalwood hung in the air—rich, earthy, grounding. A towel had been laid across the padded daybed in the corner, and the counter was neatly arranged with a basin, a small bottle of oil, and a shaving razor. The whole space felt curated, like a place to be handled gently.
Ugetsu set the towel down and turned to him, reaching slowly for the hem of Ritsuka’s shirt with a silent, questioning look.
Ritsuka inhaled. Nodded again.
They undressed in slow, careful movements. Ugetsu didn’t rush him. His hands never wandered, never asked for more than Ritsuka was ready to offer. When the last layer fell away, Ritsuka lay back on the towel with one arm thrown over his eyes, as if shielding himself from the sheer vulnerability of the moment.
“I’ll be gentle,” Ugetsu murmured.
And he was.
“I’m going to start, okay?”
Ritsuka nodded faintly. Ugetsu lathered his lower belly with slow, practiced care. The contrast was striking—raw desire just beyond the door, and here, this: deliberate, soothing tenderness.
“You’ve got a bit more hair down here,” Ugetsu said. “I’ll just do up to your belly and leave your thighs alone.”
“Okay,” Ritsuka whispered.
The razor skimmed across his skin in clean, steady lines. Every stroke sent a flicker of awareness through him—not fear, but something like awe. Ugetsu wasn’t just touching him. He was tending to him. Present in a way that made Ritsuka feel small and safe all at once.
Hiiragi and Mafuyu’s voices filtered faintly from the bedroom—close enough to hear, but distant enough to feel like another world. They were still talking, quiet and honest, threading emotion into language like they always had.
Ritsuka listened with a lump in his throat. He thought of Mafuyu’s openness with Hiiragi, of how carefully he’d let himself be seen. He wondered if this—being touched with no demand, no claim—was how Mafuyu had felt then, too.
When Ugetsu rinsed him clean, Ritsuka was hard and mortified. His face flushed deep.
“Don’t be,” Ugetsu said calmly. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction.”
Ritsuka looked away. “You’re the only one besides Mafuyu who’s ever… touched me like that.”
Ugetsu blinked, then smiled—not teasing, not smug. Just… soft.
“Really? Then thank you. That means something.”
He leaned in to press a kiss just above Ritsuka’s hip, his lips warm against skin.
“Uenoyama-kun,” he said, eyes lifting under his bangs, “we’ve come this far already. Let me give you something back. I’ll stop if you want me to. Just say the word.”
Ritsuka didn’t say anything. He didn’t stop him, either.
The first brush of Ugetsu’s tongue along him made him gasp. His fingers curled in the sheets. When Ugetsu reached the tip, carefully peeling back the foreskin before taking him in, Ritsuka trembled.
Ugetsu moved slowly, steadily, with practiced care. His mouth was warm. His pace unhurried.
Ritsuka moaned, hand finding Ugetsu’s hair without thought. He wasn’t going to last.
“Shit—I'm gonna—” he gasped, trying to pull away.
But Ugetsu held him gently through it, until the tremor passed and Ritsuka came with a low, broken sound.
After, Ritsuka looked down at him, face hot. “Sorry…”
Ugetsu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled softly.
“Nothing to apologize for.”
He leaned in, breath warm against Ritsuka’s cheek.
“You’re sweet,” he whispered—not teasing, just warm. “Now we share a bond of our own.”
Ritsuka’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at Ugetsu, searching, and something fragile opened in his chest.
“…Do you want me to… I mean, I could…”
The words barely made it out.
Ugetsu’s smile deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You really are sweet,” he said, brushing a kiss to Ritsuka’s lips. “But save that for your boyfriends. They need it more than I do.”

Ritsuka blinked, overwhelmed and oddly at peace. Something inside him had changed—gently, irrevocably.

Chapter 31: The Ones Who Stayed

Summary:

After a night of tangled intimacy and quiet revelations, Ritsuka reflects on everything that’s changed—within himself, and between them. As the others drift in and out of sleep, laughter, and memory, he begins to understand what it means to stay, and to be chosen.

In the aftermath of their raucous evening, Ritsuka flopped naked onto the bed, not feeling particularly modest. The sheets were a little damp, the air thick with heat and everything that had just passed between them. He could still hear the echo of it in his skin, in the silence that had settled over the room.

Ugetsu had showered, dressed, and slipped out with a half-murmured goodbye. “I’m going to Ji-hoon’s. Don’t burn the place down. I’ll be home in the morning.”

Then he was gone, leaving the three of them alone. Mafuyu and Hiiragi were still curled together, a tangle of limbs and breath, the kind of closeness that came with intimacy. Ritsuka didn’t mind. He didn’t feel excluded. He just felt—unmoored. Staring up at the ceiling, muscles aching in unfamiliar places, he let his mind drift loose from the moment.

What the hell just happened? Ritsuka was sprawled naked on Ugetsu Murata’s bed. His skin still tingled, not just from the sex—but from the strange, warm gravity of what had happened. Mafuyu and Hiiragi were curled together beside him, limbs tangled like ivy, still catching their breath after something loud, chaotic—something Ritsuka couldn’t quite name. Was this what people meant when they talked about makeup sex? It was messy and overheated and felt like too much, and yet—

God, he didn’t want to move.

His thoughts raced, tangled like wires sparking in the back of his mind. The afternoon had shattered something inside him—the calm illusion he’d clung to, the image of Mafuyu he’d quietly carried for years. The way Mafuyu talked about his past... so raw, so honest, like tearing bandages off old wounds and showing them without flinching. Ritsuka had never imagined it would hit him like this—like a storm breaking just overhead. Too close. Too loud.

And that storm hadn't passed. It had changed shape, crashing into Mafuyu’s need for something rougher, freer, more open. A polyamorous future. Something wild and unstructured and terrifying.

It felt like the ground had shifted beneath him, shaking loose everything he thought he knew—what he wanted, who he was, the version of himself he’d believed was real.

He thought he knew what he wanted. Thought he’d figured himself out, back in that hotel in Osaka or maybe earlier, in the small moments when Mafuyu looked at him and didn't look away.

But today? Today felt like betrayal. Not of him—of the version of himself he thought was real.

And then there were Mafuyu and Hiiragi, moving together like they shared some silent choreography, like their bodies remembered each other even when their minds faltered. Watching them had been like witnessing something private and sacred. Ritsuka couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just sex—it was connection. It was trust, bruised and rebuilding. A language spoken in breath and touch and glances that said, I still choose you.

It was beautiful. Fierce. Tender. Unapologetic.

He didn’t know whether to feel jealous or grateful.

Because in the middle of it all, he felt something stir inside him—something that had nothing to do with performance or jealousy or even possession. It was awe. And longing. And a sense of being cracked open.

Did love have to be this complicated? Could it ever be simple?

Could it still belong to him?

And then—Ugetsu. Ritsuka flushed, remembering the razor against his skin. The way Ugetsu had knelt like it meant something, not worship exactly, but a kind of reverence that made Ritsuka’s breath catch. It wasn’t even about the sex, not really. It was the care. The way Ugetsu’s hands had steadied him. The quiet between them, unafraid.

I’ve never been looked at like that, Ritsuka realized. Not by someone who wasn’t asking for something back. Not with that calm, self-contained kind of reverence that made me feel seen, not just touched.

If Ugetsu could do that for him—for anyone—then maybe there was another way forward. A way that didn’t require certainty, just willingness.

Maybe love wasn’t about one perfect fit. Maybe it was about the people who held you when you broke down, the ones who stayed.

Sex wasn’t just sex anymore. Not after this. It was a conversation without words—a promise, a reckoning, a kind of healing.

Maybe that’s what Mafuyu meant when he said he needed all of them. When he asked them to stay. Not as distractions, not as roles to fill—but as people. Messy, scared, hopeful people trying to build something with no map.

Maybe it wasn’t about labels. Maybe it was about choosing each other, again and again, even when it got hard.

Maybe Ritsuka wasn’t lost after all. Maybe this was the beginning.

He looked at the room—at the warmth that lingered in the air, the way the shadows curled around Mafuyu and Hiiragi, the faint scent of wine and sweat and sandalwood. It wasn’t neat, but it was real.

How could this not be another step on the same road—the one that started that night in the club, beneath flickering lights, when he’d spontaneously kissed Mafuyu after the first time he sang, and his heart had leapt like it didn’t know the rules yet?

Or in that hotel room in Osaka, when Mafuyu had touched him like he already knew how to love him. Breath warm against his skin. Careful. Claiming. And across the room—Hiiragi hadn’t looked away. He hadn’t hidden. He’d watched. Accepted.

And later that same night, Hiiragi had taken Mafuyu too—right there, in the same dim room. Ritsuka remembered lying there on crumpled sheets, still dizzy, still trying to understand how it could all be real—and not break them.

If that was the beginning... then maybe this was just what it meant to walk forward. To hold the edges of something too bright and breakable and try anyway.

Maybe they could keep walking together.

“—I’ve been with four guys, counting Mafuyu,” Hiiragi said suddenly, voice teasing, as he slid a hand over Ritsuka’s chest. “And one girl back in high school.”

Ritsuka blinked. He swallowed. “Wait—four?”

His cheeks warmed.

Mafuyu chuckled, nudging Hiiragi playfully. “No girls. Seven guys for me. I guess that makes me the champion. Or trashy.”

“You’re kind of the benchmark, huh?” Hiiragi smirked. “Player, maybe. But never trashy.” He looked over at Ritsuka with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “You don’t actually know any of mine.”

“But I know yours,” Hiiragi added, rolling onto his back and pointing at Mafuyu with a lopsided grin.

“Two are right here.” Mafuyu gestured lazily. “And Yuki. And Ugetsu. The other three… let’s not name names. Ritsuka knows them. Gotta protect the guilty.”

He winked at Ritsuka, smug.

Ritsuka stared. “I know them?”

“You really know one of them,” Hiiragi added, grinning like it was a private joke.

“Actually, he really knows two of them and we’ll leave it at that.”

“Oh my God,” Ritsuka muttered, burying his face in the pillow as they laughed.

Mafuyu exclaimed, “Ritsuka got shaved!”

He and Hiiragi laughed wildly and rubbed his shaved groin.

Mafuyu laughed, “Ugetsu has marked all three of us!” displaying his own shaved groin. Hiiragi followed suit.

Ritsuka just shook his head.

Another step on the road.

Notes:

All three of Mafuyu’s “other” guys are specifically mentioned in other stories, so check them out if you’re curious.

Chapter 32: What Am I To Do With You, Murata?

Summary:

After a long night, Ugetsu seeks refuge at Vivian’s apartment. Amid quiet wine and soft music, they share a rare moment of tenderness and honesty. Vivian teases, challenges, and comforts him, reminding Ugetsu that despite the tangled lives he navigates, he is seen—not as the rumors say, but as the vulnerable genius only a few truly know.

Vivian’s door opened at exactly 9:03 PM. She didn’t look surprised to see Ugetsu.

Barefoot, her long black hair pinned up in a loose twist, she stood framed by the amber light of her apartment. The satin of her nightdress slipped off one shoulder, her face bare and soft without makeup. A wineglass dangled from one hand.

“Murata,” she said smoothly, voice like a bow gliding across silk. “You look like someone stole your favorite violin and slept with your ex.”

He bowed shallowly, the duffel bag slipping from his shoulder. “You’re not entirely wrong. May I come in?”

Vivian only arched a brow and stepped aside.

He didn’t explain why he was there. He never did, not right away.

Her apartment smelled of jasmine, dust, and old wood. Books overflowed shelves, pillows lay scattered, and a music stand bore a marked-up copy of Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata.

“Alekséi and I are performing that next month—in San Francisco. It’s on our program for our tour,” she said, watching him take it all in.

“By the way,” she added casually, “I’m bringing Aleksei with me on Christmas Day.”

Ugetsu nodded once and sank to the floor, exhausted.

Vivian poured wine for both of them without asking. “Murata-san’s Youth Hostel is open again, I see. Did you at least change the sheets?”

“Fresh linens. Scented soap. Very classy establishment,” he muttered, a ghost of a smile twitching.

She swirled her wine and eyed him. “What I don’t have, Ugetsu, is a grasp on why you’ve filled your home with emotionally volatile Japanese boys and decided to stir them like soup.”

“They needed somewhere to be,” he said quietly.

“And you needed what? A challenge? A new arrangement of broken toys?”

He glanced sharply at her. “I’m not collecting them.”

“No? Because from where I’m sitting, Murata-san’s Youth Hostel is nearing capacity. One: your beautiful little ghost-boy, Fuyu-chan. Two: the spiky boyfriend with murder in his eyes. Three: the baby-faced bassist boyfriend who still flinches when anyone gets near Fuyu-chan. Shall I continue?”

He raised a brow. “You forgot that they’re all more talented than most people we know.”

“Of course they are,” she said. “Which is why I love Fuyu-chan. I would seduce him in a heartbeat if I had half a chance.”

“You’re missing a rather key piece of anatomy,” Ugetsu replied, lips twitching.

She sighed mock-tragic. “So I’m told.”

Her tone softened. “But you’re not just feeding strays, Ugetsu. You’re in this.”

“Where did you tell them you were going?” she asked.

“I told them I’d be with Ji-hoon tonight.”

Vivian’s soft laugh held amusement and something else. “You always were a terrible liar. Lucky you’ve got a better one nearby.”

“They don’t need to know everything.”

“No. But you do.”

She stood and held out a hand. “Come on. I’m not sleeping alone with a handsome man under my roof.”

He stripped to his underwear without protest and followed her.

Her bedroom was cool and dim. She threw back the covers and stood expectantly.

Vivian climbed into bed and patted the space beside her. He lay down without protest.

They faced each other in the dark, knees barely brushing.

Vivian reached out and touched his cheek, gentle.

“What am I to do with you,” she said softly, “Murata?”

He didn’t answer.

She smiled, thumb brushing the hollow beneath his eye.

“Everyone thinks you’re some kind of bitch queen,” she went on. “But I think Fuyu-chan and I are the only ones who know the truth.”

Her voice dropped. “You’re just about the sweetest, most vulnerable musical genius on Earth.”

Ugetsu swallowed, throat tight. He didn’t look away.

He lay beside her, warm and close. She didn’t speak or stroke his hair—just held him.

He exhaled a breath that emptied something deep inside.

“Go to sleep,” she murmured. “You can lie to the world tomorrow.”

She curled one arm around him, pulling him close. She planted a kiss on the back of his neck.

“Not to me.”

Notes:

Vivian is all mine and appears in several stories and chapters as a member of the Arashi Quartet and friend of Ugetsu’s.

 

Beethoven Sonata in A for Violin and Piano “Kreutzer”

Chapter 33: Interlude 3

Summary:

Vivian Choi and Aleksei Volkov land in New York in style, drawing stares at Newark Airport. But a message from Ugetsu shifts their banter into something heavier—signaling that this Christmas may stir up old wounds.

The automatic doors hissed open, sending a rush of cold air around Vivian Choi’s calves. The renowned violinist didn’t flinch.

Her boots clicked against the polished floor. Her pace was steady and confident. She wore a black wool coat that fit her perfectly. Her red cashmere scarf was knotted neatly at her throat, matching her lipstick and nails. Oversized sunglasses covered half her face, but the other half, calm and controlled, warned off casual approach.

Behind her walked Aleksei Volkov, her charismatic pianist partner, a full head taller. His ash-blond hair was slicked back. A camel wool coat hung open over a gray cashmere turtleneck. His chocolate-colored scarf was thick and knotted. Leather gloves gleamed. Mirrored sunglasses reflected the terminal lights.

They didn’t try to make an entrance.
The airport made one for them—every glance, every turned head, a silent announcement of their arrival.

A pair of businessmen slowed. A teenage girl nudged her friend. A stewardess whispered, “They look like models. Or gangsters.”

A high-pitched gasp cut through the noise.
“Excuse me—Victor? Victor Nikiforov?”

Aleksei stopped. Slowly, he turned toward the voice.
The girl, no older than sixteen, wore a glittery parka and sequined beanie. Her phone shook in her hand.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “It’s you, right?”

Aleksei removed his sunglasses with deliberate grace. “I’m not a skater, young lady,” he said. “I’m a pianist. A very famous one. And I’m much taller than Mister Nikiforov.”

The girl hesitated. “But—it’s the cheekbones—”
“And the hair,” Vivian said without looking up. “Always the cheekbones and the hair.”
Aleksei nodded. “They confuse people. Especially in airports.”

The girl asked, “Can I take a photo anyway?”
Aleksei smiled slightly. “If it helps you recover from your disappointment.”

She took a shaky selfie and ran off, texting quickly.
As they kept walking, Aleksei muttered, “I should carry headshots.”
Vivian smiled. “You’d autograph them.”
“I’d charge.”
“You’d flirt with their mothers.”
“Only if they’re generous,” he said.

They stepped onto the escalator. Vivian turned toward him.
“Oh—and Aleksei. We’re celebrating Christmas at Murata’s. Don’t forget.”
“How could I forget?” he said, adjusting his scarf. “It’s the only Christmas party in New York where the wine is older than the guests.”
“And the host is more dramatic than the music.”
Aleksei raised a hand to his chest. “What drama is weighing on Murata-san this week?”

Vivian sighed. “I’ll give you three guesses.”
“He’s sleeping with someone he shouldn’t be?”
“Obviously.”
“He lied about where he was going and ended up at a former lover’s apartment?”
“Close enough.”
“He’s trying to emotionally repair someone while barely keeping his shirt on?”
Vivian nodded. “Winner.”

Aleksei laughed under his breath, but the sound faded quickly. Vivian’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her expression tightening—not from the cold this time.

A voicemail from Claudine popped up.
“You missed the radio interview again. Call me when you get this. We can’t afford to be late.”

Vivian dismissed it with a swipe, but her jaw stayed set. Another notification appeared almost instantly—this one from Ugetsu.
Mafuyu Satou is coming. Alone.
We need to talk.

She stood still for a moment, watching the terminal floor glide past beneath the escalator. The hum of the airport dimmed in her mind, replaced by a weight she knew would follow them all the way into Christmas.

Vivian looked at Aleksei. “You know who that is?”
He shook his head.

“Ugetsu seduced this kid, fell for him, then broke his underage heart.” Her voice was quieter now, edged with memory. “Ugetsu cared for him once. Apparently he’s a singer. But Mafuyu was underage. When Ugetsu walked away, it left a wound.”

Aleksei removed his gloves slowly. “This Christmas party just got serious.”
Vivian glanced out the window at the gray December sky. “More like a storm we’ve been avoiding. And now he’s coming back—alone. It’s dredging up everything Ugetsu thought he buried.”

Outside, the airport lights flickered as the limo pulled away, carrying them toward a night tangled in old wounds and fragile hopes.

Notes:

Vivian returns from tour a few days before Mafuyu arrives in New York, with her touring partner, Russian pianist Aleksei Volkov.

Claudine is Claudine Marchand a powerful music agent who represents Vivian and Ugetsu among others. She has a reputation for terrifying people, but Vivian admires her deeply.

Chapter 34: The Shape of Want

Summary:

After a night charged with raw emotion and intimate revelations, Ritsuka, Mafuyu, and Hiiragi confront the shifting dynamics of their relationship. As they wrestle with desire, trust, and the weight of their pasts, each must decide how to fit into this complicated new shape of love — together or apart.

Last night burned behind Ritsuka’s eyes — Mafuyu and Hiiragi moving in perfect sync, like a dance written just for them. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between wanting and aching. Then Ugetsu’s hands, steady and precise, the razor’s blade tracing his skin, followed by the slow, warming press of lips. His first time with anyone but Mafuyu, yet he felt half a stranger in that world, watching from the edges.

After a long night that still burned in his mind, now they were gathered in the living room, coffee in hand. Ritsuka had announced he needed to speak to both of them.

Hiiragi, shirtless in sweatpants, sat at one end of the couch; Mafuyu at the other in a loose Zawa Festival t-shirt and blanket over his legs. Ritsuka sat across in the armchair, mug gripped tight, wearing a faded Given tee and gym shorts.

Ugetsu had left the night before, saying he was going to Ji-hoon’s to give them space.

No one spoke at first.

When silence settled, Ritsuka’s gaze dropped to his cooling coffee, but his mind was elsewhere.

Ritsuka wasn’t sure he’d ever really known who he was. For years, he’d followed the script — boys liked girls, and that was that. But he’d never dated anyone. Then, after their first concert in high school, everything shifted. He had impulsively kissed Mafuyu, and it had unexpectedly tilted his world. Maybe he was bi, or something else entirely.

But then Mafuyu was with Hiiragi — loud, flashy, charismatic, a force that pulled the room like a magnet. Mafuyu, quieter but equally captivating, was like the calm within that storm. Together, they were a dazzling pair, and Ritsuka was drawn to both.

Their first big tour in Osaka had changed everything. Ritsuka had walked into the dressing room after the show, and there they were — Mafuyu and Hiiragi, close, private, a world apart from the band’s chaos. Mafuyu had invited him to join them that night. Mafuyu had been tender, affectionate, the first to truly see him. That night, Mafuyu had taken him — his first real touch, his first real love — and it had been incredible.

Then he’d watched Hiiragi take Mafuyu with a passion that was fierce and real, raw but full of care.

After that, they’d drifted into this triangle, a complicated shape he was still learning to fill.

Looking now at Mafuyu — so effortlessly sexy, so certain — Ritsuka felt that fierce, sure love again. There was no question about it. Especially after Mafuyu’s quiet, raw revelation about his childhood trauma — how those shadows had woven themselves into every part of his life, even the way he experienced sex. Mafuyu’s need for roughness clashed with the sweetness Ritsuka had long seen, but beneath that gentle surface lay raw, fierce sexuality and deep vulnerability. It was a side of Mafuyu Ritsuka was only just beginning to grasp — complicated, real, and aching with truth.

Then he looked at Hiiragi, relaxed but alive on the couch, that spark in his eyes. Hiiragi was louder, flashier, but just as captivating.

Could he love Hiiragi the way he loved Mafuyu? Could he hold both? Could his heart stretch wide enough without breaking?

The question lingered in the quiet between sips of cooling coffee — heavier than any words spoken. Finally, Mafuyu broke the silence. “Are you okay?”

Ritsuka hesitated. “I don’t know. You and Hiiragi… last night, you were incredible together. Like it’s always been that way.”

Mafuyu’s eyes flicked to Hiiragi, a brief shadow passing over his face. “It’s always felt like that, with him. But we’ve had our struggles. We were just kids when we first came together — really immature, fumbling our way through everything. We had our friends, like Yuki and Shizu, pulling us in different directions too.” He swallowed, voice quieter now. “And then Yuki… he was gone. I was broken. For a while, I thought we might lose each other. But somehow, we always seem to find our way back.”

“I liked watching last night,” Ritsuka admitted. “And what happened with Ugetsu… it felt good. But I still felt like I was outside of something.”

Hiiragi set his mug down.

Hiiragi smiled faintly, a wry curve tugging at his lips. “You let Ugetsu in. Let me in like that too. You’re my friend, my bandmate. We both love Fuyu.” He paused, his voice dipping slightly, a flicker of hesitation beneath the calm. “I have my own concerns about this whole arrangement.”

Then, softer still, he added, “But… I think we can learn to love each other too.”

He had loved Mafuyu since they were children — inseparable, then teenage lovers — yet there was always competition. First Yuki, then Ugetsu, and now Ritsuka. Someone else was always vying for Mafuyu’s attention, and it had been hard to shake the ache that came with that. Hiiragi had numbed the fear with alcohol more times than he cared to admit. But in the end, what mattered most were the three of them — Mafuyu, Hiiragi himself, and yes, Ritsuka too.

Hiiragi snickered softly at a sudden, mischievous thought — pulling Ritsuka onto Ugetsu’s expensive leather couch right now, showing him exactly how much they could share.

Mafuyu leaned forward. “I want you there, Ritsuka. Not on the edges. With us. All three of us together.”

“And what about the band?” Ritsuka asked.

“Yes,” Mafuyu said. “I want you in those talks. The four of us are still the band. Our relationship — how we define ourselves personally — is distinct from the band. So if you don’t want this,” he gestured between himself and Hiiragi, “the band remains the same as always.”

“We’re supposed to be on tour next week,” Ritsuka said.

Hiiragi nodded. “We’ll have to push some dates.”

“I can talk to Shizu, Haruki, Suzuki-san,” Ritsuka offered. “We’ll make it work.”

Ritsuka looked between them. “I want to be part of this. But I need to know I matter as much as you matter to each other.”

“You do,” Mafuyu said.

Hiiragi’s gaze met his. “Yeah.”

Mafuyu’s fingers brushed his knee. “I want you here. In the band. With me. With Hiiragi. That’s what I want most.”

Deep down what Ritsuka wanted most at that moment was for the three of them to crawl back into Ugetsu’s bed and perhaps Mafuyu and Hiiragi could help him understand his feelings. They had been captivating last night. Ritsuka had to admit he wanted to experience something that charged. But was that what he needed just now? He needed to figure things out for himself. Then perhaps…

Then Ritsuka spoke again, his voice low.
“I’m going home.”

Hiiragi’s voice was firm, a hint of urgency beneath it. “Don’t do it, Ritsuka. Stay here. It is important for us to be together. United.”

Mafuyu turned slowly, the blanket shifting with the movement. “What?”

“I mean it. Today. I already looked up flights — there’s one this afternoon.”

Mafuyu blinked, struggling for words. “But—”

“You and Hiiragi should stay,” Ritsuka said gently. “You need this time. I think I need mine, too. And there’s plenty for you to discuss with Mura — with Ugetsu-san.”

Mafuyu sat up straighter, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. “Is this because of last night?”

“It’s because of everything,” Ritsuka said, not unkindly. “The last few months. The pressure. The push and pull. The way I keep trying to figure out what shape I’m supposed to be. I just — I need space, Mafuyu. Like you did when you flew here.”

Mafuyu’s breath hitched, but he didn’t speak. He just stared.

Ritsuka held his gaze. “Let me go for a bit. I’m going to go to my sister’s… maybe for New Year. So I can come back wanting it as much as you do.”

Mafuyu’s hand lingered. “You’ll come back?”

Ritsuka’s mouth curved faintly. “If we still want the same thing, yeah.”

When they fell silent again, Ritsuka looked down into his coffee, the quiet questions still lingering — about love, about desire, about whether his heart could hold them both.

Chapter 35: Interlude 4

Summary:

Mafuyu wrestles with the fragile balance between past wounds and present desires.

Mafuyu sat back, the weight of the conversation settling deep in his chest. Things were moving fast—too fast—and he felt like he was clinging to a fragile balance. Hiiragi’s drinking still gnawed at him. It wasn’t just the alcohol; it was the fear beneath it, the way Hiiragi tried to numb the ache. Mafuyu wanted to believe he could find steadiness, but the worry was constant.

And then there was Ritsuka. Tonight, hearing him speak so openly—it was like a breakthrough. Finally. But was it enough? Could Ritsuka truly find his place with them? Could they all fit together without tearing apart?

Fatigue seeped into his bones as Mafuyu rubbed his face. Sharing everything—his past, his pain, his desire—had drained him more than he’d expected. It was exhausting. Necessary, but exhausting. He had to be honest, raw, if there was to be any hope.

Hiiragi had been the last to touch him. That fierce, intimate connection had filled a hollow space in him for a fleeting moment. Silly, maybe, but true. Ugetsu had once done the same in a different way—offering peace in the face of what still felt impossible to accept. As he thought of Hiiragi now, Mafuyu’s hand drifted to his belly… then lower, over his groin—not with desire, but as if feeling for those invisible empty spaces. For a brief moment, his mind flickered to Ugetsu—what he brought, how he might fit into all this. His hand slipped beneath the blanket, briefly resting on his bottom. No one could see him there, the sting of Ugetsu’s hand still fresh against his skin, a memory of an intense, private connection. A connection he still struggled to understand and voice—need. Trust. Consent.

Last night, after they’d both released—an intense, breathless moment—Hiiragi had come right out and asked, “Do you need me to be rougher when we’re like this, Fuyu? I don’t understand it entirely but I want to give you what you need…” Mafuyu had laughed at that. It was such an incredibly typical bit of consideration from Hiiragi, always trying to accommodate him. Mafuyu knew he needed to understand and meet Hiiragi’s needs as well.

His father’s beatings for simply speaking had left scars that never truly healed, and Yuki’s manipulations had carved fresh wounds. Filling those holes was a lifelong fight.

But he was determined. Determined to reclaim his life, to move forward on his own terms. And in that future, there was room—no, there was a need for Ritsuka Uenoyama. Not just as a bandmate or a lover tangled in their complicated history, but as a vital piece of his life’s new shape.

He exhaled.
This was messy.
It was raw.
It was real.
And it was theirs.

Chapter 36: The Shape of Hope

Summary:

Ritsuka prepares to leave, needing space to understand himself, while Mafuyu wrestles with the impending separation.

The front door clicked open quietly, and Ugetsu stepped inside, carrying a small duffel bag. He closed the door softly behind him and paused for a moment, taking in the stillness of the apartment. His eyes immediately sought out the three in the living room. Mafuyu glanced up, then gestured wordlessly toward Ritsuka’s half-packed suitcase.

Ugetsu’s gaze flickered to Hiiragi, then to Mafuyu and Ritsuka. “Wait — who’s leaving?”

Hiiragi pointed at Ritsuka with a small, knowing smile. “That’s him. He’s getting ready to leave—needed some space to think.”

Ugetsu’s brow furrowed, concern softening his expression as he looked toward the half-packed suitcase.

“And last night —” Ugetsu started, voice low, “it was good, right?”

Ritsuka gave a small, genuine smile, then leaned forward and kissed Ugetsu’s cheek — soft, careful, chastely sweet. “It was.”

Setting his duffel bag down, Ugetsu slipped out of his coat and then peeled off his dress shirt, revealing a plain white t-shirt underneath. He pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a charcoal gray turtleneck sweater, the fabric soft and warm against his skin. The quick change felt like shedding the last traces of the day’s stress.

“I’m going to run up to Trader Joe’s and get something for dinner. Hiiragi, why don’t you come with me?” Ugetsu said, tugging at the collar of his sweater.

Hiiragi looked up from where he was sitting and exchanged a glance with Ugetsu—an unspoken understanding passing between them. “I’ll come with you,” Hiiragi said, grabbing his camera bag from the floor. “Someone’s got to help carry all that stuff.”

Ugetsu nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. Mafuyu, you should stay back and help Ritsuka finish packing.”

Mafuyu gave a small, grateful nod. “Yeah, that sounds good. I want to make sure everything’s ready.”

Hiiragi stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Well, looks like it’s just us now.”

Ugetsu grabbed his coat and slung it on. They exchanged a glance, a mixture of amusement and something quieter beneath — the complicated, tender ties that bound them all together, even when apart.

“We’ll make sure to send pictures,” Ugetsu called over his shoulder as they stepped out into the cold air.

The click of the front door shutting echoed softly through the apartment. The space suddenly felt larger, quieter — just Mafuyu and Ritsuka left behind.

Mafuyu folded his arms across his chest, eyes searching Ritsuka’s face. “Are you sure about this? Leaving like this.”

Ritsuka stepped closer, reaching out to take Mafuyu’s hand gently. “I have to do this. Not because I don’t want you, but because I need to understand myself better. To come back whole.”

His voice was steady but low, almost fragile. “I want you to trust me, Mafuyu. That won’t change. But I need to make some decisions about what I want our life together to look like.”

Mafuyu’s gaze faltered for a moment, the familiar ache of fear flickering behind his eyes. “It’s hard. You’re… part of me.”

Ritsuka squeezed his hand. “And you’re part of me. That won’t change.”

He stepped even closer, voice dropping to a soft murmur. “I want to come back wanting it. Wanting you and Hiiragi. Wanting all of this — us.”

Mafuyu’s breath hitched, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then I’ll wait.”

For a long moment, they stood like that — hands entwined, a quiet promise hanging in the air between them.

Ritsuka moved slowly around the room, folding the last of his clothes into his suitcase. Mafuyu watched, his heart tightening with the weight of goodbye. But there was also something else — a quiet hope that this space might bring clarity, strength, maybe even new beginnings.

“Mafuyu,” Ritsuka said softly, stepping closer, “come take a shower before I go. It’ll help you feel… reset.”

Mafuyu blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I need that.”

They walked to the bathroom together, the close space shrinking the distance between them. As they began to undress, Ritsuka hesitated, voice low and serious.

“Mafuyu,” he said, eyes steady, “I don’t know how else to show you I mean this — that I’m serious about us.”

There was no drama, no flourish. Just quiet determination. Ritsuka turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature, then they undressed and climbed under the spray.

Ritsuka immediately began shampooing Mafuyu’s hair as so often did, working the shampoo in with his fingers. “Mafuyu, this isn’t easy for me. But I need you to trust me.” “I do,” Mafuyu replied softly.

Ritsuka worked up a thick lather and with a firm touch massaged Mafuyu’s scalp. “I’m sorry this is all happening so fast. Especially with everything we’ve shared over the past couple of days.”

Mafuyu took a breath. “I know. But it’s okay. I want to be here with you.”

Ritsuka rinsed Mafuyu’s hair, cupped his cheek. Then without another word he knelt in front of Mafuyu with the spray coming down on them, and after a final glance up at him, he took Mafuyu’s length into his mouth.

Ritsuka gave Mafuyu a very heartfelt blowjob, ministering to him with a deft touch and steady concentration. This was something they had shared before, but this time Ritsuka was clearly deeply committed.

Mafuyu’s climax came quickly, powerful and overwhelming. He gasped, clutching at Ritsuka’s shoulders as heat and relief washed over him.

Ritsuka stood, pulled Mafuyu close, and kissed him gently. “This will need to hold till we can be together again.”

Mafuyu rested his forehead against Ritsuka’s, breath slowing, heart pounding steady in the quiet steam.

Mafuyu then took a breath and began shampooing Ritsuka’s hair. Ritsuka smiled at the tender way Mafuyu cared for him — how they had looked after each other. This was something special. Something they gave each other that was worth preserving, and perhaps building on for the future.

When they emerged from the shower, Ugetsu and Hiiragi were back. Hiiragi grinned as they came out of the bathroom. “Mafuyu, you suddenly look very relaxed.”

Mafuyu blushed and smiled, catching Hiiragi’s teasing glance.

They dressed casually — Mafuyu pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt, Ritsuka gym shorts and a t-shirt — and went into the living room where Ugetsu was in the kitchen, whipping up something aromatic. “Just Spaghetti Napolitana. Comfort food for a comfortable evening. Hiiragi-kun, can you open the wine?”

Ugetsu laid out dinner on the coffee table, Ritsuka and Mafuyu sitting up against the couch, Hiiragi and Ugetsu on the opposite side. They devoured Ugetsu’s creation, which was delicious—spaghetti, with tomatoey sauce, laced with garlic and onions and full of pieces of sausage and sliced mushrooms.

They talked idly into the early evening. Ritsuka’s flight was early morning, so they couldn’t stay up too late.

“Uenoyama-kun, are you on the couch again?” Ugetsu asked.

Ritsuka paused a moment, then replied, “Is there room enough for me in the bedroom tonight?”

“We’ll make room,” Ugetsu answered. And the four of them crowded into Ugetsu’s queen-size bed. It was very snug, all four pressing together — Ugetsu and Ritsuka on the outside, Hiiragi and Mafuyu in the middle.

They fell asleep wrapped in a hopeful peace.

Chapter 37: Drifting Apart

Summary:

Ritsuka leaves New York on Christmas Eve, carrying more than luggage. As the plane lifts off, he wrestles with distance, regret, and the quiet ache of the people he loves—and the choices he’s made.

It was the twenty-third of December.

Ritsuka packed quickly—methodically, like he didn’t want to think too hard. His guitar case clicked shut. He folded his hoodie into the top of the suitcase, zipped it, and stood in the hallway looking exhausted.

“I booked the last flight I could get,” he said, eyes not quite meeting Mafuyu’s. “One-thirty, from JFK.”

“I can go with you to the airport,” Mafuyu said, stepping closer.

Ritsuka shook his head. “No. Don’t. It’s fine. I’m calling a cab.”

He picked up his phone and made the call. His voice was quiet, polite. Too normal.

Mafuyu stood by the door, barefoot.

“You don’t have to go like this,” he tried. “We could—talk again. Just sit for a while.”

“I just need some time to think,” Ritsuka said. “I’ll call you when I get back. I might stay with my sister for a bit if she has room.”

Silence pressed between them.

The car pulled up outside, headlights flashing.

Ritsuka slung his bag over his shoulder and rolled his suitcase to the door. “Okay,” he said.

Mafuyu opened his mouth. Closed it.

Ritsuka looked at him for a long second, then nodded once. No kiss. No hug.

Then he walked out and climbed into the cab.

The door closed. The engine started.

Mafuyu stood there watching until the taillights vanished down the street. His hands were still at his sides. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t cry. He just stood there—empty, like the hallway after a slammed door.

The cab pulled away. Ritsuka didn’t look back. He kept his eyes on the street ahead—Christmas lights blurred through the window, smudges of red and gold in the dark. The driver said something about traffic on the expressway. Ritsuka just nodded.

His hands were tight around the strap of his bag. He hadn’t meant to leave like that. Not without a hug. Not without something real. But the words had dried up in his mouth. His body had gone rigid. He’d felt like if Mafuyu touched him—if he let that softness in—he wouldn’t be able to go at all.

The silence in the cab pressed in, sharp at the edges.

“I love you,” Mafuyu had texted. Ritsuka hadn’t replied. Not yet.

He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Only memories—Mafuyu curled beside Hiiragi on the couch, Ugetsu’s voice telling him to let go if he needed to, the way Mafuyu had looked at him: hopeful, hurting, needing more than Ritsuka knew how to give.

He swallowed hard. He didn’t regret loving them. That wasn’t it. But something in him was unraveling, and he didn’t know how to hold it all at once.

Just need some time, he thought, hugging his arms to his chest and tracing the strap of his bag with restless fingers.

The cab dropped him at Departures. Winter air cut sharp through his jacket, tugging at his scarf as he dragged his bag and guitar inside. They hadn’t played together—not once since he’d arrived in New York.

Inside, it was chaos. Lines twisted around stanchions, families herding kids in matching coats, flight announcements blaring overhead in too many languages. Fluorescent light made everything look washed out, unreal.

Ritsuka moved like a shadow through it all. He checked his guitar to baggage. Check-in. Boarding pass printed with a mechanical hum. The counter agent wished him a “Merry Christmas,” and he forced a brittle nod.

Security followed in a blur: shoes off, laptop out, belt clattering into the gray bin. He kept his eyes down, adjusted his hoodie, and tapped the armrest repeatedly, small, anxious movements that seemed louder than they should have been.

At the gate, he dropped into a molded plastic chair and stared at nothing. He pulled out his phone. There was a text from Mafuyu. Have a safe trip. I love you. He called Mafuyu back immediately. Voicemail. “…Hey. It’s me. I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to fix this. I just… I miss you. That’s all. I miss you. I want to hear your voice.”. He hung up and closed his eyes for a moment The hum of the terminal, the blur of families and announcements, pressed in around him. He pulled his hood up, hugging his arms to his chest again, letting his thoughts drift.

Toward Mafuyu curled on the couch. Toward Hiiragi’s quiet presence. Toward the apartment he had left behind.

As he waited, the memory returned: that night in the apartment, Mafuyu reaching for him—warm, sleepy, tentative. He had been fine, until Hiiragi entered half-dressed, asking to join. He’d pulled away, clipped, defensive. Mafuyu went quiet. Hiiragi backed off.

They hadn’t touched since, except that hurried encounter in the shower.

Ritsuka’s fingers drummed against the armrest. What if that was the last time?

He glanced at his phone again. Shizusumi’s curt reply glared back: Alone? I hope you’re not doing something you’re going to regret.

The words caught somewhere between his throat and chest, refusing to escape. He turned the phone face-down and traced the edge of his hoodie, wishing he could fold himself into it like a safe harbor.

Boarding was called. The line moved slow as a glacier, his stomach knotting tighter with every step. By the time he handed over his ticket, his throat burned with unsaid words.

The jetway smelled faintly of fuel and metal. He exhaled, bracing himself. Seat 34A. Window. He shoved his bag under the seat, buckled in, and clenched the armrest until his knuckles whitened.

The plane lifted off at 2:03 p.m., a half-hour late. City lights shrank beneath him, the East River winding like liquid silver. Clouds swallowed it all, and the hum of the engines filled his ears.

Sleep didn’t come. Only the looping thoughts: that night, that unfinished closeness, that sense of being both present and absent in the same moment. Panic and obligation, tenderness and longing—everything tangled, unresolved.

If Mafuyu had touched him before he left, if he had let that softness in—would it have been so bad to stay?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was he doing? He had accused Hiiragi of giving up and breaking everything. But Hiiragi was still in New York. Facing it all, being present in Mafuyu’s life. That was exactly what Mafuyu had wanted. From both of them. And Hiiragi had managed that despite the drinking and the fear.

Alone on a plane, Christmas Eve, heading home to Tokyo, while the people he loved stayed behind.

Chapter 38: Room to Breathe

Summary:

Ritsuka returns from New York, confronts Shizusumi, and seeks refuge at Yayoi’s apartment, finding quiet, understanding, and comfort with her and Take-chan.

It was late afternoon by the time Ritsuka reached the apartment.

He barely remembered most of the train ride from Narita. His suitcase dragged behind him like a weight. The key stuck slightly in the door—maybe it was just stiff from the cold.

The air inside was dry. Familiar. Quiet.

He stepped in and kicked off his shoes. Just get inside. Don’t think too much, he told himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

The sound of pencil scratching came from the living room.

Shizusumi sat on the couch, surrounded by sheet music and open books. A mechanical pencil twitched between his fingers. At first, he didn’t look up. Of course he’d come back. Why wouldn’t he? And yet… it shouldn’t feel this hard, he thought.

Ritsuka dragged his suitcase in and let it slump to the floor, shoulders tight. His fingers fidgeted with the handle. He swallowed hard. I shouldn’t have left. I can’t fix this fast enough.

Then: “I really thought you would work harder.”

Shizu’s voice was calm, but the words landed like stones. He met Ritsuka’s gaze. Stay steady. Don’t let him see me crack.

He looked up fully, eyes sharp and unreadable—but for a flicker, something softer betrayed itself. “You ran?” he said. “Just like that?”

Ritsuka opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His jaw clenched. A shiver ran down his spine. I didn’t run. I—what could I even say? His hands trembled slightly.

“I guess this just wasn’t important to you after all,” Shizu added. “That must be it.”

Ritsuka flinched. Why do my words fail me now? he thought. “That’s not fair,” he muttered. “You don’t even know what—”

“I know exactly what,” Shizu snapped, rising from the couch. His pencil clattered lightly onto the table. Stepping closer, he forced his voice to remain steady.

“Don’t play stupid. You chased Mafuyu across the globe without a plan. You came back with nothing but a sour face and the same goddamn attitude you left with.” His voice wasn’t raised, but it cut sharply. “You’re lucky he even picked up when you called.”

“He’s the one who walked out!” Ritsuka shot back. “Don’t act like this is all on me.”

“No, he left because he couldn’t breathe here anymore. You think I don’t see it? The way you keep everything so tightly wound that even love has to pass inspection before it’s allowed in the room?”

Ritsuka’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. You’re so convinced you’re the only one hurting that you can’t see past your own reflection. You think this is about who’s right? Who deserves what?” Shizusumi took a step closer, his dark eyes cold. “Mafuyu’s out there trying to survive without either of you. And you—you came back with nothing but excuses and pride.”

“You think I don’t care?”

“I think you care in all the wrong ways. You love them, yeah. I believe that. But you love like it’s a fight you have to win, and you’d rather lose them both than admit you’re scared.”

Ritsuka’s breath caught in his throat. For a second, the mask slipped. Just for a second.

Shizusumi’s voice dropped, quieter but no less cutting. “Fix it. Or don’t. But stop dragging the rest of us through your mess if you’re not willing to clean up your own goddamn heart.”

He turned away without waiting for an answer, picked up his laptop, and disappeared into his room, door shutting with a final, unambiguous click.

Ritsuka sank against the wall, exhaling shakily. His chest felt tight, the confrontation still raw. I need to calm down. I need to think.

He headed to the bathroom, letting hot water wash over him, letting the tension in his shoulders dissolve, if only slightly. Steam filled the small space, carrying away some of the weight of his guilt and fear.

When he finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, he pulled out his phone. He called Mafuyu first. Straight to voicemail. I’m home. I miss you. I’ll call you tomorrow, he whispered, leaving the message.

Then he dialed his sister. Yayoi answered warmly, her voice a comforting anchor.

“Yayoi, I need some space to think. Can I crash at your place for a few days?”

“Of course! I’m happy to make a place for you,” she replied. Relief washed over him. Finally, a moment to breathe. He would see her tomorrow.

Ritsuka stepped off the street into the narrow stairwell of Yayoi’s apartment building. The worn steps creaked under his weight, and the faint smell of damp concrete and winter frost filled the air. His suitcase scraped against the railing as he climbed.

When he reached her door, he hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath. It’s just Yayoi. She’ll understand. Just go in. He knocked softly.

“Ritsuka?” Yayoi’s voice floated through the door, warm and bright.

“It’s me,” he called, voice tight.

The door swung open. Yayoi appeared in pajama pants and a loose sweater, hair tied up messily, glasses perched on her nose. She took one look at him and smiled, gentle but not indulgent.

“You look like shit,” she said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Ritsuka shuffled past her, dragging his suitcase into the small entryway. The apartment smelled of jasmine and old wood, a mix of familiarity and calm that made his chest loosen for the first time in hours.

Yayoi reached for the handle of his bag. “Here, I’ll take that. You can relax.”

He shrugged, suddenly aware of how exhausted he felt. His shoulders slumped. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Couch is all ready for you,” she said, pointing to a neatly folded blanket and clean sheets. “I made some tea too, if you want it.”

Ritsuka dropped his bag and kicked off his shoes, letting the quiet of the apartment wash over him. The tabby cat in the corner stretched and yawned, indifferent to his presence.

Safe, he thought. Finally, a space that didn’t demand anything of him except to exist.

He sank onto the couch, letting the blanket settle around him. He barely had the energy to speak, his chest tight with everything he hadn’t been able to process.

Yayoi perched on the armrest nearby, her presence steady and unintrusive. “Want to tell me what happened?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, staring at the floor. “…I left them,” he finally admitted, voice small.

A pause. Not judgment—just space.

“You mean Mafuyu?” she prompted gently.

“…Yeah. And Hiiragi. They’re in New York. I… I couldn’t do it. I—” His voice cracked, the admission bitter and raw. “I couldn’t figure out how to exist with both of them wanting me and each other, and everything felt like it was spinning out of my control.”

Yayoi didn’t press. She let the silence stretch, giving him room to breathe. “You okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

She nodded, understanding. “Do you want to stay here for a while?”

He hesitated. His instinct was to refuse, not wanting to be a burden, but something in her calm, open expression made him stop. “…Yeah,” he said finally.

“Good. Couch is all ready. I’ll make more tea if you want, or you can just… rest,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.

After a pause, Yayoi added, “Just don’t forget to call Mom and Dad. They’re worried about you, even if you’re here.”

Ritsuka nodded faintly. “I will,” he murmured.

He phoned his parents to reassure them. He was thankful they didn’t want to stay on the phone long, but they wanted to see if he would come home for New Year’s. That could be fun. Then he called Mafuyu again as promised. Voicemail again. “I’m at my sister’s. Wish we were together”. That was the truth.

The soft chime of the doorbell startled Ritsuka awake. Yayoi padded out to answer it, leaving the door cracked.

A tall man stepped in, carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers. His smile was gentle, eyes bright behind round glasses.

“Take-chan,” Yayoi said warmly.

Ritsuka blinked awake. Take-chan’s presence was immediately familiar—Yayoi’s boyfriend, a rock bassist and graphic artist Ritsuka had known for years.

“Hey,” Take-chan said quietly, setting the flowers on the small dining table. “Heard you were here. Thought I’d drop by.”

Yayoi returned, barefoot, brushing her hair back. “I told him you could use some company.”

Ritsuka felt awkward, but Take-chan’s kindness was a quiet balm.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Take-chan pulled a folding chair over, sitting a respectful distance away. They didn’t rush to fill the silence. After a moment, Yayoi smiled and said, “I’ll leave you two to chat a bit. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ritsuka nodded faintly. Take-chan offered a small, reassuring smile.

They drank tea, shared small stories, and for a few hours, the heavy weight inside Ritsuka lifted—if only a little.

After a while, Yayoi stood and stretched. “I’m going to make some dinner. Yakisoba sound good?”

“Yeah,” Ritsuka said softly, surprised at how normal it felt to say yes. Take-chan nodded in agreement.

Yayoi moved efficiently in the small kitchen, the sound of chopping and the sizzle of the pan filling the apartment. The smell of garlic and soy sauce soon drifted through the living room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

Once the noodles were tossed with vegetables and meat, Yayoi brought the plates to the table. She opened a couple of beers and poured one for each of them.

“Here,” she said, setting the drinks down with a small smile. “To a quiet evening.”

Ritsuka clinked his glass gently with Take-chan’s. The first sip was cold and sharp, but grounding. The three of them ate slowly, talking softly, sharing little observations about their day, letting the weight of the past hours ease with every bite.

By the time they finished, the apartment felt lighter, warmer. Laughter had slipped in naturally between sips and stories. Ritsuka leaned back, feeling the tension in his shoulders finally loosen.

Chapter 39: Gathered Notes

Summary:

Mafuyu adjusts to the quiet after Ritsuka’s departure, holding onto the lingering warmth of his presence. He listens to Ritsuka’s voicemail, allowing himself a fragile flicker of hope. Later, Ugetsu and Hiiragi return with lunch, and Mafuyu and Hiiragi share a tender, private moment of intimacy and reassurance before the holiday gathering begins.

Mafuyu didn’t move.

The hallway was still warm with the ghost of Ritsuka’s presence. His coffee cup was still on the table. A hoodie slouched over the couch, forgotten. Mafuyu picked it up and pressed it to his chest.

It didn’t smell like Ritsuka. Just detergent.

He picked up his phone and typed a message to Ritsuka.

[Have a safe trip. I love you.]

He didn’t cry. Not then. He just curled into the corner of the couch, clutching the hoodie, and let the quiet swallow him. Ugetsu had grabbed Hiiragi and gone out to pick up food for the party.

The city outside was loud—too loud for how still he felt. The New York street buzzed with traffic and shouting and the occasional horn, but none of it reached him.

The screen buzzed once. A new voicemail.

He stared at the notification for a long time, unmoving. The name lit across the top of the screen in quiet gray letters: Ritsuka Uenoyama.

His stomach turned. Not with fear. Something heavier. Older. Like longing. Like regret.

He tapped the screen.

“…Hey. It’s me.”

Just his voice—rough, quiet, like he was trying not to crack. Mafuyu closed his eyes and listened.

“I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to fix this. I just… I miss you. That’s all. I miss you. I want to hear your voice.”

There was a beat of silence on the line. Then nothing. No goodbye.

Just Ritsuka, real and imperfect, suspended in the space between apology and need.

Mafuyu didn’t move. He barely breathed. His chest was tight, his throat aching, his heart beating too hard. Something close to hope flickered there, still raw, not ready yet.

He pressed the phone to his forehead and curled tighter on the couch.

He had wanted space, not silence. And now—Ritsuka had finally said something that wasn’t a demand, wasn’t sharp or defensive. Just a reach across the distance. Mafuyu had waited so long to hear that voice without anger in it.

He wanted to call back. He didn’t.

Instead, he whispered, “I miss you too.”

Not into the phone. Not into a recording. Just to the air, to the room, to whatever pieces of Ritsuka might still feel it across the ocean.

For a moment he wished Hiiragi were here, close enough to touch. The wanting came sharp and greedy—someone steady, someone who wouldn’t vanish when he reached out.

Hiiragi had been facing his drinking with admirable resolve all week. A little wine here and there. But the bottle of expensive Japanese whiskey on Ugetsu’s bar cart had remained untouched. That was really encouraging. Mafuyu clung to that as he exhaled, tucking the phone against his chest.

Ugetsu and Hiiragi returned carrying three bags, and Hiiragi held a large cardboard carton. Boxes of sushi and sashimi, trays of gyoza, takoyaki.

“Here, lunch, since you are unlikely to eat without urging,” Ugetsu said, dropping down on the couch beside him and handing Mafuyu a little bento. Teriyaki and rice, a few pieces of sushi—tuna, octopus, and Japanese mackerel, his favorites—some Japanese pickles.

Hiiragi came over and sat on the couch, nibbling on his own bento, equally customized to his favorite tastes.

“I’ve got to go out again and pick up another order. Should take an hour or so. Still early enough that we shouldn’t have to worry about early arrivals.”

Mafuyu offered to go along and assist, but Ugetsu waved him off.

“No, no. You’ve had a stressful morning after a wild week. I’m used to this pace, but you two have a long night ahead. Relax.”

After a quiet lunch, in the soft lull of early afternoon, Mafuyu and Hiiragi found themselves alone on the couch. The apartment felt still, the quiet after Ritsuka’s departure heavy in the air.

Without warning, Mafuyu reached over and took Hiiragi’s hand, pulling him closer. Before Hiiragi could speak, Mafuyu’s lips traced a slow, deliberate path downward, catching him completely off guard.

Hiiragi’s breath hitched, eyes wide with surprise but quickly melting into delight as Mafuyu moved with tender certainty. The room blurred around them, everything else fading into the background except the quiet, intimate exchange.

When Mafuyu finally pulled back, Hiiragi’s cheeks were flushed, a satisfied smile playing at his lips, and a lingering heat hummed between them—something private, urgent, and belonging only to those few minutes.

“What was that for?” Hiiragi asked, still catching his breath.

Mafuyu shrugged softly, gaze steady. “I shouldn’t need a reason to show you how much I love you. But I am glad you’re here.”

Hiiragi’s smile deepened, eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

They lingered for a moment longer, letting the memory of that private closeness settle before the first guests arrived, pulling the apartment back into its lively hum.

Early afternoon light filtered softly through the curtains as the apartment hummed with quiet energy. Ugetsu stepped in first, hands full of grocery bags and treat boxes, a faint trace of winter clinging to his coat. Earlier than expected. Hiiragi’s jeans were still open and unzipped. He couldn’t manage to fasten them quickly enough and hastily grabbed Ritsuka’s hoodie and pulled it across his lap. Behind him, Ken Tanaka followed—tall, lean, with sun-kissed skin and an easy grin. In one hand, Ken balanced a carefully packed case of wine: four bottles of Amarone, four Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio, two Vermentino, and two Cortese di Gavi.

“And this,” Ken said, producing a single elegantly boxed bottle, “is for you and me.” He gave Ugetsu a pointed look. “A superb Gianni Brunelli Brunello di Montalcino. Not the absolute best, but definitely something to savor.”

Ugetsu’s smile deepened, a spark of gratitude in his eyes. Even amidst all this chaos, they always manage to bring a sense of calm. I like that.

The doorbell chimed sharply just before five. Ugetsu opened the door to reveal Vivian Choi—impeccably dressed, every inch the glamorous musician. Despite her petite frame, she was lugging a hefty case that clinked with the unmistakable promise of celebration: six bottles of Yellow Label Veuve Clicquot.

“Vivian!” Mafuyu greeted warmly.

Vivian’s eyes lit up. She dropped the case carefully and pulled Mafuyu into a quick, breathy kiss on the cheek—perhaps a degree more than strictly appropriate, but Mafuyu made no move to pull away. “Fuyu-chan,” she purred, voice all warmth and sparkle. “One of your handsome boyfriends Murata’s been talking about.”

Hiiragi stepped forward, extending a hand with a soft smile. “Hi, I’m Hiiragi. Nice to meet you.”

Vivian’s gaze swept over him appraisingly, then she tilted her head. “Aren’t there supposed to be two?”

Mafuyu’s smile faltered briefly. Ritsuka’s absence is a pinch I didn’t expect to feel this sharply. “Ritsuka left earlier today.”

Vivian’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Fuyu. I know how hard that is.”

“Well, let’s make sure tonight is worth celebrating anyway,” Vivian said, dropping the case by the door as she turned toward the living room.

Trailing after Vivian came her dashing duo partner, pianist Aleksei Volkov, tall, lean, with a flowing mane of silver-blond hair. A soft knock came as the afternoon light softened, carrying a large tin of caviar and fixings, and a bottle of vodka. Ji-hoon Kang entered, balancing two large boxes of decorations. Behind him strode Carson Dyal—the handsome American clarinetist—carefully carrying a lush Christmas tree almost as tall as himself.

“Hey, everyone,” Ji-hoon greeted, stepping inside. “Carson insisted on carrying the tree. I told him he was nuts.”

Carson grinned. “It’s tradition.”

Mafuyu and Hiiragi stepped forward to help, and Ugetsu watched with an amused tilt of his head. It’s comforting, seeing them all work together. Chaos, but coordinated.

Ji-hoon set down the boxes and gestured toward Carson. “Mafuyu, Hiiragi—this is Carson Dyal.”

Carson gave a warm smile and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

Hiiragi, cheeks still faintly flushed, finally managed to fasten the button and zipper on his jeans, a small but triumphant movement amid the bustle. Mafuyu caught the subtle shift and smiled in relief.

Just then, a firm knock echoed. The door swung open to reveal John Upson—tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakably Brooklyn in his easy confidence. His double bass, nearly as imposing as he was, was cradled carefully in one arm.

“Hey, everyone,” John called, stepping inside with a wide grin. “Ready to make some noise?”

The musicians gathered, each holding their instrument: violins, cello, clarinet, Mafuyu’s red Gibson, Hiiragi Fender bass, double bass, and a digital piano case leaning against furniture.

Ugetsu’s eyes gleamed as he addressed Mafuyu and Hiiragi. “All very talented, all very stylish. Now, you two—” He glanced at Hiiragi, “you’re about the same size, and Mafuyu’s close enough. Raid my closet. Dazzle me.”

Before either could respond, Ugetsu pressed a quick, warm kiss to Mafuyu’s temple, then another to Hiiragi’s cheek.

“Shoo,” he said, waving toward the bedroom. “Go get ready.”

Chapter 40: Resonant Chords

Summary:

With the first wave of guests arriving, Mafuyu and Hiiragi dress in Ugetsu’s carefully curated wardrobe, sharing quiet touches and words of trust. Julian Carter enters, drawing Mafuyu’s attention and weaving new awareness into the bustling Christmas celebration. The room hums with music, conversation, and the subtle beginnings of new emotional connections.

The bedroom was warm and quiet, a soft refuge from the buzz of the living room beyond the door.

Mafuyu and Hiiragi stood side by side, peeling off their shirts and pants until only their briefs remained, flushed cheeks and easy smiles lighting the space between them.

“Okay, you take the left side,” Mafuyu said, grinning as he opened one of Ugetsu’s tall closets, revealing a rainbow of fabrics—sleek shirts, tailored jackets, and pants in every shade from charcoal to midnight blue.

Hiiragi chuckled, stepping to the right side. “Deal. But no stealing my favorites. Ugetsu has a very impressive wardrobe.”

The bedroom closet was a treasure trove of sleek fabrics, most of them in shades of black that seemed to drink in the light.

Mafuyu held up a sharply tailored black jacket, his brow furrowed with mock seriousness. “Okay, these,” he said, waving at the darkest pieces—the fitted blazers, the silk shirts—“are definitely Ugetsu’s. Leave those alone.”

Hiiragi grinned, draping a velvet jacket over his arm. “So you’re saying I should avoid becoming the second Murata?”

Mafuyu smiled softly, his eyes warm. “I’m happy with you just being Hiiragi.”

Hiiragi’s grin softened into something quieter, his gaze lingering on Mafuyu for a beat. He’s grown so much… so steady now, even with all the chaos surrounding him. “Good. Because I’m not trying to be anyone else.”

Without hesitation, Hiiragi leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Mafuyu’s lips. Mafuyu’s hand brushed Hiiragi’s side as he leaned back slightly, letting the moment linger longer than necessary.

“What’s that for?” Mafuyu asked, voice light but carrying warmth.

Hiiragi’s eyes twinkled. “For that blowjob. I feel super relaxed and ready to face this impending chaos.”

Mafuyu laughed softly, warmth flooding through him. “Good. Because we’re going to need it.”

They moved between hangers and drawers, careful to avoid the darkest black pieces Mafuyu had pointed out—the ones reserved for Ugetsu’s sleek, signature look.

Mafuyu settled on a rich plum silk shirt that caught the light with just enough shimmer, paired with deep charcoal trousers that balanced elegance and comfort. He smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, catching Hiiragi’s approving glance. Hiiragi’s fingers lingered on Mafuyu’s arm as they adjusted the collars and cuffs, small contact that sparked warmth.

Hiiragi chose a muted slate blue dress shirt, its subtle sheen lending a refined edge, topped with a charcoal velvet jacket. He tugged on tailored dark gray pants that fit like a second skin. When he brushed past Mafuyu to adjust the cuffs of his shirt, his hand paused just a second longer, brushing against Mafuyu’s wrist.

The two shared soft smiles and quiet words as anticipation built. Mafuyu glanced at the mirror, then turned toward Hiiragi. It feels different without Ritsuka here. But I want to bring everything together—the music, the life I want, with Hiiragi, with Ritsuka, maybe even with Ugetsu… I want it all. I want it to work.

“Ready to dazzle?” Mafuyu asked softly.

Hiiragi’s eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief. “Always.”

Hiiragi pulled Mafuyu close, hands framing his face, pressing a deep, lingering kiss carrying hope, trust, and fierce devotion. Mafuyu rested a hand lightly on Hiiragi’s chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm.

When he finally pulled back just enough to meet Mafuyu’s eyes, Hiiragi’s voice was low but steady. “Fuyu, all this will work out. Probably as it’s supposed to. And we’ll trust Uenoyama to make the right decision.”

Mafuyu’s breath caught. It feels different now—he’s not the only one holding me steady. I can trust him. I can trust us.

Hiiragi’s gaze softened, then sharpened with rare ferocity. “Fuyu, I know you want all of this, but remember what’s at stake. Ugetsu… he’s brilliant, intense. He can upend everything if he wants. I’ve seen it. I just don’t want you to get caught in the middle again. And if you get hurt, or he leaves you dangling like before…” His voice dropped low, almost dangerous, “…I’ll fight for you. I’ve already fought to bring you back once. I won’t hesitate again.”

Mafuyu swallowed, warmth and awe rising in his chest. He’s still the one who stayed. He stayed when it counted. And he’s still holding me up, even now.

The soft hum of the apartment seemed to shrink around them. Mafuyu reached for Hiiragi’s hand, squeezing gently. “I don’t want to lose us again. And I want to try, all of it—with you, with Ritsuka, and maybe… even Ugetsu. Carefully.”

Hiiragi’s grip tightened slightly, eyes holding his with a ferocious tenderness. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together. But I’m warning you—I’m not stepping aside again. Not ever.”

Mafuyu allowed himself a small smile, leaning against Hiiragi’s chest for a brief, grounding moment. Now, I’m ready. Ready to take all the pieces of my life, put them together, and see what we can build. Carefully. Fully. And I won’t let fear dictate any of it.

The bedroom door opened, and Mafuyu and Hiiragi stepped out into the low golden light. Both carried themselves with quiet confidence, their borrowed finery catching approving glances from every corner of the room.

“Now that,” Ugetsu announced, voice rich with satisfaction, “is what I call presentation.”

Vivian let out a low whistle. Ji-hoon offered an exaggerated bow. Even Carson’s eyes widened a fraction. Mafuyu flushed faintly under the sudden attention, Hiiragi’s steady presence at his side keeping him from retreating inward.

Ji-hoon and Carson were setting up the tree, weaving strands of lights around it and hanging ornaments on it. John and Vivian were decorating the room, John’s height a great advantage in getting to places Vivian couldn’t reach.

And then came another knock.

Ugetsu arched a brow. “Ah. That must be the last one.”

Mafuyu moved to the door, smoothing his cuff as he opened it.

Framed against the cold winter dusk stood a tall man with a sleek digital keyboard case slung easily over one shoulder, dark wool coat draped open, scarf loose. His smile carried warmth, his eyes something sharper.

“Julian Carter,” he said, offering his free hand. The rhythm of Harlem colored his voice, smooth and deliberate. “Murata told me I’d find the best company here.”

Ugetsu called from across the room, “Late, as usual. But I’ll forgive you—because you bring the jazz.”

Julian grinned, but his gaze lingered on Mafuyu just a moment longer than courtesy allowed. Hiiragi’s body tensed beside me, fingers brushing mine almost protectively. “You must be Mafuyu,” Julian said softly, almost as if confirming something for himself.

Hiiragi stepped forward slightly, shoulders stiff. Why is he looking at Mafuyu like that? His hand brushed against Mafuyu’s, seeking reassurance.

Mafuyu squeezed Hiiragi’s hand lightly, voice low and gentle. “It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

Hiiragi exhaled, the tension easing fractionally as Julian shifted the keyboard case on his shoulder and nodded politely.

“Well,” Julian said at last, stepping inside, his voice as smooth as the coat he shrugged from his shoulders. “Looks like the night just got interesting.”

The room seemed to tilt subtly as Julian entered, the weight of his presence pulling at the air. The sleek black keyboard case, slung with effortless strength, caught the faint light of the apartment lamps, its matte finish stark against the warmth of the Christmas décor. His coat fell open as he moved, revealing a lean frame dressed in deep navy, the color striking against the pale hush of winter outside.

Mafuyu found himself staring longer than he meant to. He looks like he carries music the way I carry breath. Not fragile, not hesitant—like it’s woven into his body. I’ve never seen that in someone new before.

Julian’s smile softened slightly as he caught Mafuyu’s eyes again, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that felt both knowing and disarmingly casual.

Vivian, perched elegantly on the arm of the sofa, tilted her head, eyes narrowing as though she’d picked up the invisible thread running between Mafuyu and Julian. Aleksei seated next to her grinned at her. “I believe we’re witnessing a connection,” he said, holding up his empty champagne glass. Vivian smirked knowingly and popped open one of her champagne bottles with a crisp, satisfying pop. “Well,” she drawled, “the cast is complete.”

Julian’s gaze swept the room, pausing on each person with the ease of a seasoned performer measuring his stage. But when his eyes returned to Mafuyu, they held for a beat too long, as if some unspoken recognition had just begun to unfold.

Mafuyu’s hand twitched at his side. Why does it feel like he’s already inside my music—like he’s already listening to something I haven’t even played yet?

Hiiragi shifted closer, fingers brushing the back of Mafuyu’s hand, anchoring him. “Welcome, Julian. I’m sure Ugetsu told you—this isn’t just an audience. Everyone here can play.”

Julian’s smile widened,

Chapter 41: Improvised Connections

Summary:

At a lively gathering, Mafuyu and Hiiragi navigate teasing questions about their relationship, culminating in a spontaneous improvisational jam with Julian that dazzles the room and highlights trust, skill, and subtle intimacy.

The room settled into a hushed reverence as Ugetsu, Vivian, Ji-hoon, Ken, and Carson positioned themselves around their instruments. The polished wood of the clarinet gleamed under the soft light, strings taut and ready. With a quiet nod, Carson lifted his clarinet, and the first note of Brahms’ Clarinet Quintet in B minor, Op. 115, spilled into the room—a somber, lush melody that drew a collective breath from everyone present. Ugetsu’s first violin shimmered over the opening phrase, Vivian’s second violin weaving delicate counterlines, Ji-hoon’s viola threading warmth between the lines, and Ken’s cello grounding the harmony. The clarinet echoed with precise clarity, each note a conversation, the quintet already hinting at the tension, playfulness, and intimacy that would unfold later.

As the last notes faded, the room exhaled. Laughter and conversation swelled, glasses clinked, and attention shifted from music to murmured intrigues. Hiiragi passed the bar cart, where the unopened bottle of Japanese whiskey still sat like a dare. His hand didn’t twitch toward it. Instead, he poured a modest splash of wine, swirling it once before sliding back into a conversation with Upson about the mechanics of the double bass.

Mafuyu noticed, as he always did. He glanced at his own glass—refilled once, still barely touched. The wine flowed, easy and generous, but he wasn’t drinking to disappear tonight. The realization startled him, then steadied him.

Vivian had just popped a blini topped with sour cream and caviar into Aleksei’s mouth and another into Mafuyu’s. By the time the lights softened and laughter peaked, Hiiragi drifted back with another glass. He leaned close, voice pitched low under the noise. “Pacing myself,” he muttered, almost defensive.

Mafuyu looked at him, then down at his own empty glass. He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Me too”. Ken noticing the empty glass from halfway across the room, descended on him and filled his glass. “Try this Brunello, Fuyu-chan. It really is marvelous.” He topped filled Hiiragi’s glass as well, then head off to find Ugetsu.

Mafuyu and Hiiragi looked at each other and shrugged in sync, then offered a silent toast. The Brunello was marvelous.

For a moment they stood shoulder to shoulder, a quiet rhythm beneath the party’s din. Then Julian slid onto the couch beside Hiiragi, casual but attentive. “So what’s your story? All I could get out of Vivian was that you’re in some kind of boy band?” he teased.

“Well, we’re boys in a band, but our band plays math rock—with a bit of pop to it,” Mafuyu replied evenly.

“There are four of us,” Hiiragi added. “Mafuyu, our vocalist and rhythm guitarist. Our drummer, Shizusumi. And me on bass. Ritsuka Uenoyama is our guitarist—he went to high school with Mafuyu.”

Julian’s gaze flicked between them. “I notice you two sticking close.”

“Hiiragi is my boyfriend,” Mafuyu said, a flash of pride. “And so is Ritsuka. He was here, but flew back to Japan yesterday.”

Julian tilted his head, intrigued. “And your drummer—Shizusumi, was it? He’s the odd man out in your…relationship?”

Hiiragi shifted, weighing his words. “Shizu’s our friend. Always with us, but not in…that way. Doesn’t mean he’s on the outside.”

Mafuyu, calm, added, “He matters. To me. To all of us.” He tilted his head toward Julian. “Why do you ask?”

Julian’s smile curved, foxlike. “Curiosity. Musicians’ lives aren’t often tidy. Seeing how you balance—most trios topple sooner or later.”

Hiiragi bristled slightly. “We’ve been through enough to know where we stand.”

“Mm.” Julian swirled his wine, considering. “You make it sound sturdy. But you two—” his eyes lingered on Mafuyu, then Hiiragi, “—you don’t exactly look like rivals for affection.”

“We’re not,” Mafuyu said evenly. “We don’t need to be.”

Julian chuckled, low and warm. “So you share. Generously?”

“Yes,” Mafuyu said, the word firm, without hesitation.

Hiiragi’s mouth twitched, part smile, part warning. “It’s not always simple. But it’s real. And it works for us.”

Julian leaned back, eyes glinting. “Not rivals, not possessive, and not afraid to admit it. That’s rarer than you think.” He tipped his glass toward them both.

Before Mafuyu could respond, Ugetsu appeared at his shoulder, glass raised like an emblem. His tone was light, eyes carrying a warning spark. “Julian, they’re mine. Just so you know.”

Hiiragi stiffened. Mafuyu turned to Ugetsu, unruffled. “Well,” he said dryly, “Ugetsu is mine, actually. I’m collecting musical geniuses.”

The ripple of laughter around them drew Julian’s amused, thwarted grin. Ugetsu’s satisfaction was subtle but evident. Hiiragi exhaled, uncertain whether to relax or tense, but Mafuyu’s calm anchored him.

Ji-hoon leaned in, brow lifted. “And where does that leave me, Fuyu-chan? After this week?”

Hiiragi blinked, Mafuyu only tilted his head, lips curving faintly. Before he could respond, Carson slid into the circle, arm around Ji-hoon’s waist. “Still my boyfriend, Ji-hoon Kang—unless that’s changed.”

The revelation settled strangely in Mafuyu’s chest—unexpected, but not unwelcome. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “So that’s the part you forgot to mention.”

Ji-hoon gave a small, unrepentant smile. Carson only squeezed his waist. Ugetsu stepped forward, voice smooth, amused. “Carson, dear, Kang was my boyfriend when you were still running track in high school.”

The statement landed playfully. Carson’s eyes flicked to Ugetsu, caught between surprise and amusement. Ji-hoon chuckled, shaking his head, leaning slightly into Carson’s hold. Mafuyu’s eyes widened briefly, a spark of curiosity and amusement flickering. Hiiragi glanced at Mafuyu with a subtle half-smile: Welcome to the chaos.

Julian grinned, clearly delighted. “Oh, the plot thickens. I thought I was improvising.”

Vivian’s voice lifted over her glass. “If we’re declaring stakes, I’ll take Fuyu-chan.” Her eyes glinted. “And I hope he and Hiiragi-kun come as a set.”

Mafuyu felt a spark, curiosity stirring behind his usual calm. He kept his expression neutral. Hiiragi straightened, jaw set. “We do.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the cluster. Vivian’s smile deepened, satisfied, while Mafuyu’s gaze flicked to Hiiragi’s, a subtle glimmer of intrigue hidden in calm.

Julian leaned back, swirling his glass. “Ah, Vivian stakes her claim, and suddenly Fuyu-chan shows interest? How…predictable. I like a challenge. Looks like I’ll have to work harder.”

Mafuyu’s lips curved faintly. He glanced at Hiiragi, who lifted a brow—a quiet acknowledgment of their shared rhythm. Together, they presented a united, calm front.

Hiiragi’s hand brushed against Mafuyu’s side, subtle and grounding. “You’ll have to,” Mafuyu said, voice low, teasing but measured. “We’re not easy to sway.”

Julian’s grin widened. “A duo in sync—delightful. Full of subtle sparks.”

“It’s less about blinking and more about timing. Rhythm matters,” Mafuyu said, mischievous but calm.

“And improvisation,” Hiiragi added. “You never know what will happen next.”

Julian leaned forward, savoring the interplay. “Does that rhythm extend beyond each other, or is it strictly internal?”

Mafuyu glanced at Hiiragi, then back to Julian. “We can’t speak for others, but we know our own score.”

Hiiragi brushed his shoulder against Mafuyu’s. “Exactly. And it works for us.”

Julian laughed softly. “A well-balanced ensemble… but what happens when a new instrument enters? Can harmony survive, or shift entirely?”

Mafuyu and Hiiragi exchanged a brief, unspoken glance. “You might be surprised,” Mafuyu said, calm but charged. “Harmony adapts. We’re not easily broken.”

Julian, delighted, finally suggested, “Shall we test your improvisational skills? Why don’t we three jam?”

Mafuyu glanced at Hiiragi, amusement in his eyes. Hiiragi raised a brow, intrigued. No words were needed—they moved together, always in sync.

“I think that could be… entertaining,” Mafuyu said, voice teasing but warm.

Hiiragi leaned slightly toward him, shoulders brushing. “As long as you don’t mind our style. We improvise…carefully.”

Julian leaned back, eyes flicking between them. “Oh, I love careful improvisation, especially when it sparks unexpectedly.”

Mafuyu and Hiiragi picked up their guitars, adjusting straps and knobs. “Don’t want to rattle the neighbors,” Mafuyu murmured, faint smile tugging. “Good plan,” Hiiragi said softly, fingers flexing over the strings.

Ugetsu interjected, voice smooth but amused, “I’ve had the apartment soundproofed. Essential for a musician…”

Julian launched a syncopated jazz riff—light, teasing, threading between dissonance and melody. Mafuyu harmonized with arpeggios and slides, weaving teasing lines around Julian’s runs. Hiiragi joined with bass accents and subtle slap tones, their interplay effortless.

Each phrase became conversation: a trill, a pause, a counterpoint. Mafuyu’s subtle bends drew a grin from Julian; Hiiragi’s rhythmic punctuations earned Mafuyu’s raised eyebrow and satisfied nod. Their smiles were quick, acknowledging mastery and surprise. Julian’s eyes sparkled, admiration plain, fingers flying over keys with delight.

The room leaned closer. Glasses paused mid-air. Ken murmured, “Incredible. Cohesion like that takes weeks of practice.”

Vivian drifted near, eyes sparkling, smirking at Ugetsu. “Careful. Julian might steal your boys.”

Ugetsu’s smirk tugged. “Let him try. They’re mine—in more ways than one.”

The trio continued, playful flourishes colliding with teasing riffs, syncopated interplay threading through dynamic highs and gentle lulls. Mafuyu’s controlled glissandos and Julian’s swinging syncopation danced around Hiiragi’s grounding bass. Every pause, smile, and glance punctuated the music with delight, respect, and quiet intimacy. The room faded; all that remained was the music—the interplay of skill, timing, trust, and joy.

Vivian laughed softly, eyes flicking between the three. Around them, the room thrummed with curiosity and delight, the playful tension suspended like a lingering note.

Notes:

Brahms Clarinet Quintet in b, opus 115 first movement>

Chapter 42: Shared Rhythm

Summary:

After the party winds down, Mafuyu, Hiiragi, and Ugetsu navigate quiet, intimate moments of choice, trust, and desire. From lingering glances to gentle touches, they claim each other deliberately, culminating in a tender night and a soft, shared morning that celebrates connection, agency, and warmth.

The apartment had finally quieted. Aleksei had slipped out before midnight, Upson not long after, leaving only the faint hum of distant traffic and the lingering scent of wine and candle smoke. The Christmas lights twinkled low, reflecting off the scattered glasses and plates, casting the room in soft, trembling shadows.

Mafuyu and Hiiragi moved slowly, gathering what could be saved. His hand brushed Hiiragi’s shoulder once, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The contact sent a warmth up his arm, grounding him. Every movement felt intimate, deliberate, a ritual marking the end of the night and the beginning of something unspoken.

Julian packed up his keyboard, the soft clicks of the case echoing in the quiet apartment. Before he left, he lingered by Mafuyu and Hiiragi, leaning slightly, eyes curious but gentle. “How much longer are you going to be in town?” he asked.

“Few days,” Hiiragi replied, voice low, almost casual, though the weight of the question lingered in the air. Mafuyu caught the slight flex of Hiiragi’s jaw, the tension coiling there like a spring.

“And time for me?” Julian pressed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Mafuyu returned the smile, a quiet nod. He felt his stomach flutter at the thought of the call, the small thrill of attention that felt both electric and safe. Julian is dynamic, handsome, clearly gifted—but right now, my focus is on Hiiragi and Ugetsu, and wherever I am with Ritsuka. Everything else can wait.

“May I call you tomorrow?” Julian asked, eyes holding theirs for just a beat longer.

“Yes,” Mafuyu said softly, his tone carrying a warmth that made the promise feel tangible. He let his hand brush against Hiiragi’s as he spoke, the touch brief but intimate, a silent acknowledgment of shared space.

“I look forward to it.” Julian leaned in then, pressing a gentle kiss to Mafuyu’s lips, lingering just long enough to make the gesture intimate, but not possessive. He turned slightly and kissed Hiiragi on the lips as well, brief, careful, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond between them. “This has been a memorable evening. And I hope the first of many.”

Ugetsu watched them, subtle curiosity in his eyes. The way Julian had lingered over Mafuyu and Hiiragi was not lost on him. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. Interesting, he thought. Seems he’s noticed just how close you two are… and maybe he wants in.

Mafuyu felt the glance too, a flicker of amusement warming his chest. Noted, he thought quietly. And don’t worry, Ugetsu—my eyes are open. I see everything, and I’m choosing my own moves.

With a soft nod, Julian gathered his things and quietly left, the echo of his footsteps fading into the night. The apartment settled into a hush once more, the lingering hum of the party filling the empty spaces.

“Don’t worry,” Ugetsu murmured, brushing a hand along Mafuyu’s arm, fingertips tracing the line of his wrist. “You’re safe here. I see who’s paying attention.”

“Don’t worry, Ugetsu,” Mafuyu said softly, meeting his eyes. “My eyes are open.” A warmth spread through his chest as Ugetsu’s gaze lingered on him, unflinching and curious.

From the corner, Ken straightened, glancing at the scattered instruments. “I’ll come over in the morning and help clean up,” he said, voice warm, practical. Vivian gave a small nod, slipping her arm through his as they collected their cases. “Good plan,” she agreed. Together, they gathered the remaining instruments and music stands, their movements easy and synchronized, and left the apartment quietly, the night folding in behind them. Ji-hoon and Carson were the last to go, with a wave and a promise to return in the morning.

The apartment was quiet now, the echoes of laughter and music fading. Mafuyu lingered near the couch, fingers brushing the edge of a glass, mind still thrumming from the warmth and closeness of the night. Hiiragi’s presence behind him was solid, a heat pressing against his back, grounding him, and he could feel Ugetsu’s watchful gaze at his side, the faint brush of air as he shifted closer.

Hiiragi leaned in slightly, brushing a hand across Mafuyu’s arm, deliberately slow. “You okay?” he murmured, voice low, husky with leftover tension. Mafuyu met his gaze, feeling the unspoken question, the need for reassurance. He nodded, letting his hand drift up to rest briefly against Hiiragi’s chest, the warmth there anchoring him.

Ugetsu stepped a little closer, the soft scent of pine and wine lingering around him. His fingers hovered near Mafuyu’s, not touching at first, but the quiet invitation hung in the air. Mafuyu’s pulse quickened at the subtle tension, the promise in Ugetsu’s near touch. He reached out, lightly tracing a line from Ugetsu’s wrist to his shoulder, testing the boundaries, and felt Ugetsu lean into it rather than pull away.

Their eyes met, the silence stretched with mutual understanding. Mafuyu’s chest lifted, slow breath matching the rhythm of anticipation building between them. He let his gaze wander briefly to Hiiragi, noting the intensity there, before returning to Ugetsu. The magnetic pull of both men—the safety, the desire, the unspoken agreement—was undeniable.

“We… we don’t have to rush,” Mafuyu whispered, a half-smile tugging his lips, though his fingers tightened slightly on both of their arms. “But I want you here. Both of you.”

Hiiragi exhaled, jaw relaxing just enough, letting his hands linger on Mafuyu’s sides. “Then let’s not wait,” he murmured, voice rough but tender. Ugetsu’s lips quirked, mask slipping into a softer expression, and he pressed closer, letting Mafuyu’s insistence guide him.

Step by careful step, the three of them moved through the apartment, limbs brushing, hands finding familiar places, the tension in the air thick but consensual. Each small touch, each glance, each shared breath became a silent negotiation, a rhythm they all understood. The bedroom door came into view, a quiet signal of the next chapter waiting just beyond it.

Mafuyu’s heart beat faster, but not from fear—anticipation, choice, and trust surged through him. He stepped forward first, drawing the other two after him, letting the soft click of the door behind them mark the threshold. In that instant, the apartment outside faded, leaving only the warmth and presence of the three of them, and the shared certainty that they had chosen this moment together.

The sheets clung to their bodies, heavy with warmth and sweat, the faint scent of wine and pine from the night’s celebration still lingering. Christmas night had burned long, laughter and music filling Ugetsu’s apartment until at last the guests had gone and the three of them had found their way into his bed.

Ugetsu had taken Mafuyu with the intensity of a man starved, passion edged with reverence. He had taken Hiiragi too—Hiiragi, who never bottomed, who had always kept that control—but for reasons even he couldn’t name, he’d let Ugetsu in.

Now, in the quiet aftermath, Mafuyu lay between them, skin marked, breath uneven, but eyes sharp—no longer that hollowed boy Hiiragi once had to pull back from the edge.

Hiiragi’s arm was thrown across him, possessive, pressing tightly against his side. His fingers dug into Mafuyu’s hip briefly, just enough to punctuate his words. He dragged a finger through Mafuyu’s damp hair, sudden and rough, before letting it linger softly.

“Do you even get it?” Hiiragi’s voice hit in jagged bursts, almost stumbling with the raw edge of emotion. “You think… you think you’re the only one… to pull him back?”

“Every day. Every damn day I—” He cut off, swallowed, and leaned closer, forehead nearly brushing Mafuyu’s temple. “I’ll tear you apart if you hurt him again. I don’t care who the fuck you are.”

Mafuyu pressed a hand lightly to Hiiragi’s chest. “Hiiragi.” A single word, firm and grounding. Then, quieter but deliberate: “Stop talking about me like I’m not here. I know what he did. I know how much it hurt. But I still wanted him here tonight. That was my choice.”

Ugetsu shifted, the usual ease slipping just slightly, his fingers tightening around Mafuyu’s hand. His mask faltered, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Your choice,” he murmured, though the faint tremor in his voice betrayed him. He brushed a thumb across Mafuyu’s knuckles, soft, reverent.

Mafuyu’s hand tightened around Ugetsu’s wrist—not in fear, but in deliberate claim. “Stay with me,” he said softly, but with a weight that made Ugetsu pause. “Don’t just float here, watching. I want you here—now, with me.”

He’s not afraid anymore… Ugetsu thought. Not of me, not of Hiiragi. He chooses this. And I—I didn’t expect to feel this pulled, this unsteady, while still wanting to stay.

Ugetsu blinked, caught off-guard by the quiet authority in Mafuyu’s tone. For a moment, his usual mask faltered, and he leaned into the pressure of Mafuyu’s grip instead of pulling back.

Hiiragi’s eyes burned, still jagged, still raw. He pressed slightly against Mafuyu’s side, hands moving almost unpredictably as if the ferocity in his voice needed translation into touch. “Then fine. If that’s what you want, if you want him—he’s in. But listen to me, Murata.” His jaw clenched, breath catching. “If you disappear on him again… if you hurt him the way you did before—”

His hand pressed against Ugetsu’s shoulder sharply, a warning made flesh. “I swear. I’ll tear you apart.”

For once, Ugetsu had no quip ready. His usual ease was gone, replaced by a flicker of doubt and surprise at both Mafuyu’s quiet insistence and Hiiragi’s rare, dangerous heat.

Mafuyu broke the tension. He exhaled, slow, deliberate. “He won’t,” he said simply. Not pleading. Certain. He turned toward Ugetsu, eyes steady, and the look made Ugetsu’s chest tighten more than any words could.

The room went quiet again, only the rhythm of breath and the weight of touch grounding them. Hiiragi’s grip hadn’t eased, Ugetsu’s pulse still trembled beneath his mask.

Then Mafuyu moved, claiming space deliberately. He slid his hand from Hiiragi’s cheek to the curve of his shoulder, thumb dragging once across damp skin before falling still. His other hand still gripped Ugetsu’s, but the hold had eased, not a tether anymore but an anchor. He pressed Ugetsu closer, tilting his head, voice soft but commanding: “You’re staying here. With me. Not because you’re forced, but because I want you here.”

Ugetsu’s breath caught. His mask had completely slipped, revealing vulnerability Hiiragi had rarely seen. He shifted closer, letting Mafuyu’s insistence guide him, yielding not out of habit but choice. I’m here because he wants me here, not because he’s afraid, not because he needs me. He chooses me. And maybe… maybe I don’t have all the control anymore. And I like that.

Mafuyu’s eyes fluttered, the fight draining out with each slow breath. “Enough,” he murmured, not command, not plea—just final. And with that he let his body slacken between them, his head dropping against Hiiragi’s chest as if he’d known all along where it belonged.

Hiiragi swallowed, arm curling tighter, still fierce, still jagged, yet protective. Ugetsu rested his forehead lightly against Mafuyu’s shoulder, the weight of both men grounding him.

And as the room settled into silence, Mafuyu felt it deep in his chest: “I’m part of this now, fully. I can feel them both, and I can choose how it happens. I’m not the hollow boy anymore. Now… I’m going home to Japan. I’ll make my case to Ritsuka too. I’ll show him I’m not just being pulled along, that I can hold this, all of it, and all of us.”

Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, bathing the room in soft gold. Mafuyu stretched slightly, the sheets tangled around their legs, and felt the quiet heat of Hiiragi beside him and Ugetsu’s lingering warmth pressing gently against his back. He traced slow, idle patterns along their arms, fingertips brushing with gentle rhythm, savoring the tactile intimacy.

Hiiragi stirred, eyes opening first, scanning Mafuyu with a careful tenderness that made his chest tighten. “Morning,” he murmured, voice low, rasped with sleep but edged with protectiveness. Mafuyu smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, thumb grazing over the warmth of his jaw.

Ugetsu shifted, letting his head rest near Mafuyu’s shoulder, brushing fingertips along the small of his back. The faint scent of pine and lingering candle wax mingled with the warmth of skin, a soft intimacy that needed no words. Mafuyu breathed it in, feeling safe and seen in a way he hadn’t known possible.

He let himself linger there for a moment, the three of them entwined, the apartment quiet except for the gentle hum of morning outside. Fingers brushed and tangled, soft smiles exchanged, a light laugh shared at a private joke, all weaving a web of quiet connection. In that gentle light, Mafuyu thought quietly: I can hold this. All of this. And I choose it. They choose it too.

Chapter 43: Fumbling Forward

Summary:

Ritsuka doesn’t know exactly who he is—or who he’s into—but he knows he wants to understand. Between awkward admissions and guidance from Shizu, he starts learning that it’s okay to take his time.

After two days at his sister’s, Ritsuka trudged back home. His suitcase dragged behind him, wheels rattling softly against the hardwood. There was work to do—rescheduling dates, helping Shizu with the schedule—and, well, he’d promised. But every step toward the apartment felt heavier than it should.

The air inside was still, carrying the faint weight of unfinished work and quiet tension. Shizu was at the table, papers and sheet music spread around him. He glanced up. “Back already,” he said, voice sharp and calm. “What do you want?”

Ritsuka froze, fingers tightening around the strap of his suitcase. “I… I think I know?”

Shizu raised an eyebrow. “Think you know?”

Ritsuka chewed his lip. “I… I’m not even sure I’m gay. Maybe it’s just… Mafuyu. I’m not… interested in other guys.” His words stumbled out, shaky.

Shizu leaned back, smirking slightly. “Okay. That’s a start. I’ve talked to Haruki and Suzuki about all this. They think you’re making it harder than it needs to be.”

Ritsuka blinked, flustered. “They… said that?”

“Yeah. Not that you asked. But it’s true,” Shizu said, shrugging. He poured two beers and slid one to Ritsuka, who hesitated before taking it. The cold glass burned slightly against his palms, steadying him. He flopped onto the couch, curling inward, knees drawn up.

“New York Felt… it was awkward. Watching… Mafuyu and Hiiragi. Them trying to fix things. And I… I didn’t know where I fit in.”

Shizu leaned forward, fingers drumming on the table. “Go on.”

Ritsuka twisted the beer glass in his hands, peering through his fingers. “…Hiiragi… he had his drinking under control, mostly. He didn’t seem… threatened by Ugetsu. And…” Heat rushed to his face. “…I actually… like Ugetsu. More than I expected. But… his energy… it’s intense. Unsettling.”

Shizu smirked. “Intense how?”

Ritsuka stumbled. “…I mean… he shaved me. And… um… gave me… oral sex. I—uh… I don’t even know how to… describe it. He shaved Mafuyu and Hiiragi too, and… they just… they didn’t—like—they were fine. I wasn’t ready. Not like that.”

Shizu laughed, low and amused. “Several degrees outside your comfort zone, I’d say.”

Ritsuka groaned, burying his face in his hands. Fingers drummed against his forehead. “…Yeah. Exactly that. I can’t… I don’t get why shaving is… why it’s… Ugh, I can’t even—” He flailed slightly, cheeks burning. “And I’m… I’m fumbling just saying it!”

“Relax. You’re fumbling words, not your life,” Shizu said, arms crossed, grinning. “Honestly? You’re fine. Totally fine. What’s the problem?”

Ritsuka let out a nervous laugh. “I… I just don’t understand… any of it sometimes. I… I like Mafuyu, yeah, I think… I don’t know about other guys. I… didn’t expect to… like Ugetsu. He’s… intense. And—ugh! I can’t even—why does this all feel like a trap?”

He pictured Mafuyu’s calm, patient expression, Hiiragi’s anxious, almost panicked eyes, and Ugetsu’s intense gaze, and his stomach tightened. “Oh no… they’re all gonna know how awkward I am. They’ll think I can’t handle this.”

Shizu tilted his head, teasing. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not actually gay. But you like Mafuyu, right?”

Ritsuka nodded, chewing his lip. “…Yeah. But if he sees me fumbling like this… and Hiiragi… and Ugetsu… ugh! I’m doomed!”

Shizu’s grin widened. “Then maybe you’re bisexual. Or maybe you’re just figuring it out. Nobody said you have to know everything immediately. It took me a while. Mafuyu and Hiiragi figured some of it out quickly, but they still took their time. And…” He leaned back casually. “Do not repeat this to him—you’ll mortify him—but when Mafuyu decided to have sex with Hiiragi, he went online to study and got so worked up I had to sit with him all night and calm him down. Hiiragi… well, he was anxious until it happened. If you can’t keep up with his grand vision for his life, no one says you have to. I love Mafuyu and Hiiragi as much as any boy or girlfriend I’ve had. Doesn’t mean I need to be in their crazy harem.”

Ritsuka’s eyes widened, panic prickling. “…Wait. You… you’ve actually… been with people? Guys and girls?” His voice cracked, a mix of astonishment and embarrassment. “I… I’ve never… seen you with anyone.”

Shizu chuckled. “Yeah. Both. Doesn’t matter. Experience doesn’t make me perfect—it just means I’ve had practice figuring things out. Don’t look so shocked—it doesn’t change anything about you.”

Ritsuka swallowed, heat crawling up his neck. “…I… I didn’t expect that. I mean… you’re… you. And I’m just… sitting here like a fool.”

“Exactly,” Shizu said, smirking. “Confident in myself, messy in life, fumbling like everyone else. That’s all it means.”

Ritsuka exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping. “I… I don’t know how to be in all of this without feeling like I’m… losing myself. Or them. Or both.” He kicked his feet lightly against the couch cushion, fingers tapping nervously.

“Then don’t rush it. Pay attention. Be honest with yourself. Fumble, mess up, overthink—it’s fine. You don’t need all the answers today, tomorrow, or next week.”

Ritsuka let the words settle, imagining the others’ reactions again. A flicker of relief ran through him, even with the lingering knot of panic. He whispered, almost like a mantra: “Be honest with Mafuyu. If you can’t keep up with his grand vision… it’s fine. “

”I love Mafuyu and Hiiragi as much as any boy or girlfriend I’ve had. Doesn’t mean I need to be in their crazy harem.” Shizu raised an eyebrow, catching the low murmur. “See? You’re already figuring it out.”

Ritsuka let out a shaky laugh, clinking his beer gently against Shizu’s. “To… figuring it out.”

“To figuring it out,” Shizu echoed, warm and teasing. “Awkward, messy, fumbling—perfectly human. That’s you. And that’s more than fine.”

Ritsuka slumped back against the couch, fingers tapping nervously, letting himself feel both relief and the lingering twinge of panic. The apartment hummed quietly around him, and for the first time in days, he could breathe. Awkward, uncertain, still fumbling—but alive, honest, and present.

In the corner of his mind, he pictured Ugetsu’s sly smirk—one hand casually holding a razor, as if he knew Ritsuka’s inner chaos perfectly well. The image made him choke on a laugh, part panic, part disbelief, and completely human.

Chapter 44: Morning Light

Summary:

After a night of intimacy and improvisation, Mafuyu, Hiiragi, and Ugetsu share a quiet, teasing morning that balances domestic warmth with erotic tension—until Claudine’s unexpected arrival stirs authority and disruption.

The apartment was quiet, morning sunlight spilling across scattered glasses, wine-stained plates, and a few empty bottles left from the night before. Mafuyu stirred first, sprawled on the couch, completely naked, the warmth of last night still clinging to his skin.

Hiiragi settled onto the couch next to him, in his underwear, a throw blanket draped over his shoulders. His eyes traced Mafuyu’s form with soft attentiveness, careful not to disturb the fragile calm between them. Ugetsu lounged in his silk dressing gown, untied, black briefs visible beneath, hair tousled, watching them both with subtle amusement.

Mafuyu’s fingers absently traced the rim of a glass. He rested his head in Hiiragi’s lap, his presence, grounding him; Ugetsu hovered at his side, fingertips skimming the air near Mafuyu without touching—a quiet invitation, a promise. The rhythm of trust from the night lingered, unspoken but palpable, tying the three of them together.

They drifted lazily toward the kitchen in that hush that follows a storm. The counter was a collage of leftovers—sushi in plastic trays, gyoza in foil, a crumpled paper bag of karaage. Hiiragi, pale but determined, speared a cold gyoza with a chopstick and popped it into his mouth, chewing as though the effort were worth it. Mafuyu pinched a strip of leftover sushi and ate it in two small bites, silent, content. Ugetsu split a piece of karaage, placing the larger half on Mafuyu’s napkin without comment.

Then the door creaked, unlocked as always when Ugetsu was home. Vivian stepped in first, and immediately kicked off her shoes, her casual morning elegance slightly rumpled from last night.

Vivian padded in, barefoot, queenly without trying. Mafuyu froze, naked and exposed, then bolted for the bedroom, grabbed a sheet, and wrapped it around his waist. He reappeared quickly, cheeks flushed, breath tight.

She paused, taking in the scene, then leaned forward and kissed Mafuyu’s cheek. “Good morning, Fuyu,” she said warmly. Mafuyu’s eyes widened, and he hastily wrapped the sheet around his waist, suddenly aware of his nakedness in front of another person. He clutched it tight, heart still thudding from both the rush and the lingering heat of last night.

Before Mafuyu could respond, Vivian turned to Hiiragi and pressed a brief, teasing kiss to his lips. Hiiragi’s eyes went wide in surprise, a low hum of amusement and disbelief escaping him. Vivian straightened, smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m claiming this one too,” she announced, mock-serious but with warmth in her eyes.

Ken followed behind her, glancing around and straightening. His gaze landed on Mafuyu and Hiiragi, noting the chaotic aftermath of the night but also the lingering connection between them. He gave a small nod, the easy practicality of him apparent even in this moment. “I’ll help with cleanup in a bit,” he offered, then followed Vivian into the room.

Ugetsu’s mouth curved. “Clothing—or at least the illusion of it—proves practical in these domestic circumstances,” he said mildly to Mafuyu.

Ji-hoon and Carson arrived ten minutes later. Ji-hoon paused mid-step, eyes flicking between Mafuyu and Hiiragi. “I was sure Julian was going to carry both of you off last night,” he remarked casually, though his tone betrayed mild surprise. Ugetsu’s expression shifted, a faint flash of possessiveness crossing his features. “He tried,” Ugetsu said evenly, voice low, a subtle edge in it. “Tried to spirit them away.”

Hiiragi shifted slightly, expression tight. Mafuyu, holding the sheet securely around himself, gave a small, wry smile. “Another time, perhaps,” he murmured quietly, the words carrying both amusement and a hint of gentle correction toward Ugetsu’s possessive streak.

They grazed as they talked—Hiiragi fishing out another gyoza, Mafuyu stealing a final piece of salmon nigiri, Ugetsu breaking karaage in half and setting the larger piece on Mafuyu’s napkin without comment. Vivian leaned against the counter in jeans and a hoodie over her t-shirt, barefoot, queenly without trying, topping up orange juice where the champagne bit too hard. Ken, loud shirt blazing, stacked plates into neat columns with the unbothered focus of a man pretending he did not drink mimosas before noon.

Mafuyu eased back to the couch, sheet secure, the mug of coffee Ugetsu had pressed into his hand cooling pleasantly against his palm. Hiiragi’s shoulder met his; Ugetsu’s presence hovered at his other side, steady and amused. The apartment breathed with them—messy, bright.

The phone on Ugetsu’s kitchen counter began to ring—incessantly. He glanced at it, sighed, and didn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Ji-hoon asked.

“No,” Ugetsu said. “It’s Claudine.”

“And?” Vivian prompted.

“And I’m naked, hungover, and emotionally compromised. She’ll smell it through the phone.”

Ken picked it up anyway. “Don’t worry, Claudine. He’s alive. Also shirtless. Do you want to talk to his nipple or his left eye?”

There was a pause. Then a clipped, French-accented voice came through the speaker:

“Tell Monsieur Murata that if he does not return my call within five minutes, I will cancel his residency in Vienna and replace him with an AI-generated hologram who shows up to rehearsals.”

Ugetsu groaned. “She’s serious.”

“Always,” Vivian murmured, with a mixture of reverence and fear.

Mafuyu, almost instinctively, pulled the bedsheet up to hide his otherwise naked body.

“Should I… leave?” he asked quietly. Mafuyu recalled an encounter with Ugetsu’s longtime manager seven years ago when he’d been a wide-eyed boy in high school who was out of his depth as… what? Even now he couldn’t define it? Ugetsu had pointedly said NOT boyfriend. What then? Protégé? Boy toy? Sex slave? That meeting had NOT gone well.

“No,” Ugetsu muttered. “And be careful. If she hears your voice, she’ll only start asking more questions.”

“Hear whose voice, Monsieur Murata?” came Claudine’s voice, cold and precise through the speaker. Everyone froze.

Ken winced. “Oops.”

“Tell her your cousin from Hokkaido is visiting,” suggested Vivian helpfully in a low voice.

Hiiragi and Carson emerged from the bathroom, one looking haggard and ghostly pale, the other a peculiar shade of gray-green.

“Fuyu,” Hiiragi said weakly, “Carson made a bit of a mess in the bathroom…”

Ugetsu rolled his eyes, and Mafuyu gathered up his bedsheet and hurried off to assess the damage—to both the bathroom and his companions.

“Ken, please tell Monsieur Murata I’m on my way over to see for myself,” Claudine snapped. The line disconnected abruptly.

“She’s coming over!” Ken called out.

“Well, darling,” Vivian said to Ugetsu with a sigh, “at least Fuyu-chan can hold his alcohol without demolishing your apartment.”

Ji-hoon stood and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll go look after the children. You might consider pants as an immediate first course of action, Ugetsu.”

Ken grinned at him from the couch. “And you accused me of causing chaos, Ugetsu.” He sat back, looking immensely pleased with himself as he polished off the last of a bottle of Lacryma Christi.

Just then, there was a strong knock at the door. Ken visibly jumped.

“How did she get here so quickly?”

“That can’t be Claudine,” Ugetsu replied, moving toward the door. “She doesn’t knock.”

The door opened to reveal John Upson, stopping just short of the threshold before ducking and moving through the doorway, hauling his double bass behind him like another guest.

“It’s only me,” he announced in his booming voice. “Ugetsu, it’s a bit early for Christmas nudity. I assume the party has carried over from last night.”

“Last night,” Vivian announced. “Ugetsu has been entertaining a Japanese boy band.”

Mafuyu appeared in the doorway, still shirtless, but having traded the bedsheet for his jeans. “We’re NOT a boy band,” he corrected, clearly dismayed at the mere notion of being a boy band.

“Now, Viv, they’re boys IN a band but Given isn’t a boy band. They’re actually pretty inventive…” Ugetsu offered, returning to the room in jeans and one of Mafuyu’s Given t-shirts.

Mafuyu’s phone lit. Ritsuka. He looked to Hiiragi and Ugetsu; both gave the smallest of nods.

“Hello?”

“Mafuyu,” Ritsuka said, longing threaded through the line. “I miss you…what’s that noise I keep hearing… noise. Overflow? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mafuyu said softly. He glanced at the kitchen island—the sushi trays, the gyoza foil, Vivian refilling glasses, Ken’s impossible shirt—and smiled. “Just morning chaos. I’ll explain when I get back.”

A quiet breath. “I just… I miss you. Please be careful, Mafuyu.”

“I am,” Mafuyu replied. “I’ll be back soon, and we’ll talk. I promise.”

He ended the call. The room settled around him again—the clink of glass, the faint citrus in the air, the soft scrape of chopsticks on foil. Hiiragi nudged a corner of toast into his hand without looking and topped it with a dollop of crème fraiche with a bit of caviar; Mafuyu picked up a piece of mackerel and popped it in his mouth. Vivian crowned the moment with one last, satisfied pour.

Mafuyu let the quiet hold him. He could feel each of them distinctly—Hiiragi, Ugetsu, Vivian, Ken, Ji-hoon, Julian—and still make room for Ritsuka, and Shizusumi back in Tokyo. For the first time in a long while, he knew he could hold all of it. And he was ready.

Mafuyu tilted his head, resting lightly against Hiiragi’s shoulder. “You think Julian’s… what a night with him would be like?” His voice was soft, half speculation, half confession.

Hiiragi chuckled quietly, the sound almost lost among the clinks of dishes and muted chatter. “Handsome. Wild. He was fun—he really made the jam… fly.” His fingers absently traced the arm of the couch. “I don’t know… I’d like to see it.”

Mafuyu nudged him gently with his elbow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You think Ugetsu would let us?”

Hiiragi’s eyebrows rose. “I—well… last night, you know…” His words faltered, trailing off under Mafuyu’s steady gaze.

Mafuyu’s expression grew serious, his eyes narrowing slightly, searching Hiiragi’s face for the truth in the pause, a quiet tension settling between them.

“You let Ugetsu fuck you,” Mafuyu said softly, almost a whisper. “You never bottom… except for me.”

Hiiragi’s gaze fell, earnest and vulnerable. “I… I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to understand things—us, you, Ugetsu. I wanted to see if… if I could trust that much.” His voice was quiet, steady, almost fragile. “I guess I wanted to see what it meant.”

Mafuyu leaned closer until his shoulder pressed against Hiiragi’s, their hands brushing before Hiiragi’s fingers settled lightly over his own. The warmth of that touch said more than words ever could.

Things had been so raw between them lately—months of strain from Hiiragi’s drinking and the fights with Ritsuka that still hung over them, waiting to be worked through. But now Mafuyu could see how much Hiiragi was trying, how carefully he was meeting him. It wasn’t just effort—it was proof they were finding their way back. What they had wasn’t only affection or attraction; it was a quiet closeness he could trust, steady enough to carry them through whatever came next.

Mafuyu shifted slightly, brushing his lips near Hiiragi’s ear, a teasing whisper. “Maybe… you’d like to see what it feels like, with me and him?” The question hung delicately, coaxing, drawing out curiosity and tension without urgency.

Hiiragi stiffened slightly, startled by the directness, especially as he’d been struggling to make sense of the tangled pull between Mafuyu and Ugetsu. Mafuyu pushed gently—not forcing, but inviting—encouraging him to step into this new space of vulnerability.

That space carried more than physical closeness; it held the same mix of musical expression and charged intimacy that drew Mafuyu toward possibility itself. Sharing it with someone he loved gave it weight, made it real. It was part of why building something complicated and honest with Hiiragi—and with Ritsuka too—felt so vital. He wished Ritsuka were there now, so the three of them could talk about it together.

Ugetsu, sensing their conspiratorial quiet, leaned in slightly, a slow, amused drawl. “What are you two conspirators up to?”

Mafuyu’s lips quirked in response, a subtle mischief stirring the air. “Eavesdropping Ugetsu? Do you need a little discipline?” The implication was clear, a nod to the impact play they shared, the private language of touch and trust.

Leaning closer, Mafuyu rested his head lightly against Hiiragi’s shoulder. “Ugetsu,” he murmured, the words soft and teasing, “maybe you should let the two of us fuck you for a change of pace.”

“Dangerous words,” Ugetsu drawled, leaning back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Very dangerous indeed.”

Mafuyu almost purred, considering the idea. “I wonder if you could…”

A faint tapping echoed from the doorframe, subtle yet sharp. Ugetsu’s eyes flicked up, muscles tightening. “That can’t be Claudine. She doesn’t knock.”

The door opened. Claudine Marchand stepped inside, immaculate, every movement precise. She did not glance at anyone else at first. “Monsieur Murata,” she said, clipped and commanding, “if you do not return my calls immediately, I will cancel your Vienna residency and replace you with an AI-generated hologram who shows up to rehearsals.”

Ugetsu’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Claudine…”

She ignored him, sweeping the room before fixing back on him. “I’ve been here twenty minutes and no one has offered me so much as a glass of wine.”

Only then did her eyes fall on Mafuyu. Recognition flared subtly. Seven years ago, she had met him—wide-eyed, overwhelmed, caught up in Ugetsu’s orbit. Now he seemed grown, poised, calm amid the morning chaos.

“You!” she exclaimed, voice clipped. “The Sato boy… Manjirō Sato’s son. I remember how your father’s brilliance burned—and how harshly he treated you. You’ve grown despite that.”

Mafuyu picked up two glasses, filled them and handed one to Claudine, and met her gaze steadily, lifting his glass of Lacryma Christi in quiet acknowledgment. Claudine studied him for a moment longer, her expression softening slightly before returning to her scrutiny of Ugetsu.

“And you,” she said, voice still sharp, “are the same Monsieur Murata who ignores his manager’s calls while leaving a trail of chaos for others to clean up. Explain yourself.”

Ugetsu ran a hand through his hair, smirking slightly despite the tension. “Claudine…”

She allowed her gaze to sweep the rest of the room—the breakfast chaos, the domesticity, Hiiragi and Vivian—but spoke only to Ugetsu and Mafuyu. “Answer my calls on time. Maintain your schedule. Keep your protégés under observation. Understood?”

Ugetsu inclined his head, tight-lipped. “Understood.”

Claudine gave a measured nod, finally taking in the room with a cool, appraising glance. Her business was done—for now—but the weight of history, authority, and expectation lingered in her presence.

The storm in the room had dissipated slightly. Claudine settled on the couch with a glass of wine, a bit of cheer in her expression, and began to remind Vivian that she was due to start touring with Aleksei next month. Vivian responded that they were leaning toward the Beethoven as a centerpiece of the program, with a couple of pieces to fill out, probably César Franck. Claudine remarked that Ken was performing the Dvořák Concerto in Los Angeles and Ji-hoon was doing the Walton with the New York in late January, and that they needed to discuss the recording sessions.

Mafuyu’s phone buzzed sharply. He glanced at it and saw Julian’s name. “Lunch tomorrow?” he murmured, answering softly. Then, leaning close to Hiiragi, he whispered, “We ought to discuss when we want to go back to Tokyo.”

Heads bent together over Mafuyu’s smartphone, he and Hiiragi exchanged small jokes and nudges about the afternoon’s schedule, while Ugetsu lingered behind the couch, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he listened in.

Chapter 45: Step By Step

Summary:

Ritsuka grapples with his tangled feelings for Mafuyu, Hiiragi, and Ugetsu, while Shizusumi offers quiet guidance. In the intimacy of the apartment—and a shared bed—Ritsuka faces his anxieties and the awkward closeness of a friend he can’t help noticing.

The beer cans sat empty on the table, silence stretching between them like a loose thread. Shizu stretched his arms overhead, bones cracking, and gave Ritsuka a look equal parts sharp and fond.

“You’ve been wound up since you walked in,” he said, rising. “Come on. Room.”

Ritsuka blinked. “My room?”

As he lingered by the door, suitcase still slumped at his side, a small, awkward thought flickered through his mind. Was Shizu… hitting on him? No, that wasn’t it. Shizu was just Shizu—sharp, teasing, annoyingly reliable. Still, with everything tangled between Mafuyu, Ugetsu, and himself… and the things that had happened in Ugetsu’s apartment in New York… Ritsuka felt a strange, uncomfortable flutter in his chest, one he couldn’t quite name. Part curiosity, part guilt, part something clumsy and stubbornly persistent that made him want to look away and laugh at himself at the same time. He forced himself to focus on the door in front of him and the small room waiting beyond it.

Shizu shot him a flat stare. “Don’t argue. You’ll just pace the living room and keep me awake. Go.”

Ritsuka hesitated, then stood, dropping the suitcase by the door. He led Shizu quietly down the hall. His door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the noise.

The small room smelled faintly of stale air. His unmade bed waited like a question mark, sheets twisted and crumpled from when he’d rushed out three days ago, luggage still half-packed at the side.

“You’re… staying?” he asked, watching Shizu kick off his shoes.

Shizu kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his shirt, then slowly loosened his pants and removed them, draping them neatly over the chair. Ritsuka blinked, a flush creeping up his neck. He hadn’t expected Shizu to get so calmly comfortable. His mind stumbled, heart fluttering with a mixture of surprise and something he didn’t want to name.

“You… just—like that?” Ritsuka asked awkwardly, fidgeting with the strap of his suitcase.

“Relax. It’s a bed,” Shizu said calmly. “It’s for comfort. There’s nothing strange about two friends in the same bed. You’ll breathe easier once you lie down.”

Ritsuka hesitated, then toed off his socks and tugged at his own jeans. The warmth of Shizu’s body so close was startling, but grounding too. He climbed under the covers, blanket falling over both of them, and let out a shaky exhale.

“What if I mess everything up? With Mafuyu, with Hiiragi… now Ugetsu’s in this somehow? What if I can’t handle any of it?”

Shizu shifted, looping an arm around his shoulders in a loose, grounding hold. His voice was calm, steady. “Then you mess up. You start again. You keep going until it feels like yours. That’s what ‘finding your way’ means.”

The words landed heavier than Ritsuka expected. His eyes stung, but not unpleasantly.

“…Find my way,” he echoed, almost like a mantra.

Shizu gave him a small squeeze. “Exactly. And for the record—” His voice softened further, almost conspiratorial. “Remember the story I told you earlier? Mafuyu, panicking before he slept with Hiiragi? I stayed up all night with him. Just sat there, talking, letting him spiral until he wore himself out. You’re not the first, Uenoyama. Not the last either.”

Ritsuka’s breath caught. “He… really did that?”

“Yeah. Mafuyu. The one you put on a pedestal. He was a mess, same as you. Difference is, I was there to remind him he wasn’t broken. Same thing I’m doing now.”

Something loosened in Ritsuka’s chest, relief mingling with exhaustion. He let out a shaky laugh. “…So I’m not the only disaster.”

“Not even close,” Shizu said, teasing but kind. “Now shut up. Overthinking time’s over.”

Ritsuka let himself sink into Shizu’s warmth, the weight of the words settling. Beyond the thin walls, the apartment hummed with life—but here, he could finally breathe. Awkward, fumbling, still uncertain—yet safe. And like that, he drifted into sleep.

Chapter 46: What He Carried

Summary:

Ritsuka drifts off to sleep under Shizusumi’s comforting presence, and Shizu reflects on past mistakes, restraint, and his own longing for companionship. A quiet, intimate chapter that explores trust, care, and the complexities of desire, while hinting at the challenges and responsibilities awaiting them with the band.

As Ritsuka’s breathing evened and the last threads of tension slipped from his body, Shizusumi lay beside him under the covers, listening to the quiet rhythm of sleep—and let his mind wander into memories, regrets, and the small, dangerous fantasies he had long kept at bay.

The warmth between them spread quietly, steady as a heartbeat. It felt right—simple, grounding, chaste. Nothing more than comfort, the kind of closeness a friend could offer when the weight got too heavy.

And yet, in the hush of the room, his thoughts betrayed him. For an instant he imagined shifting closer, imagined Ritsuka’s body turning into his, imagined want instead of weariness. The picture came fast, hot, dangerous.

All the while his childhood friends had been tangled in their never-ending sexual antics, Shizusumi had held back. He’d wanted Hiiragi once, badly enough to try and convince him, but that door had never opened. In high school he’d been relatively promiscuous—guys and girls alike, always discreet, careful. He doubted even Hiiragi and Mafuyu knew the full extent of his wanderings.

Since then, though, near celibacy. A constant focus on the band, on being the steady foundation the other three could lean on. Even the two times he’d lost his composure—if you could call it that—had been tied, inevitably, to the band.

To his eternal surprise, he had taken Mafuyu once, in a tent after their set at the Zawa Festival. Right after graduation and right after they turned pro. Too many beers, too much adrenaline, Hiiragi asleep just an arm’s length away. A reckless moment of bonding with Mafuyu, who he loved like family but had never once desired. In the morning it had felt wrong—like he’d slept with his little brother. Mafuyu hadn’t seemed to resent it, but Shizusumi knew he had gone along with something he hadn’t wanted.

Then, silence. Not a single lover through college. Hiiragi and Mafuyu had each other. Ritsuka, as far as Shizusumi could tell, was even more untouched than he was—until he wasn’t.

After Hiiragi and Mafuyu had swept Ritsuka up in their usual hijinks, Shizusumi had sat drinking with Haruki in his hotel room. Haruki had overheard enough of the backstage whispers to piece it together, and the two of them had laughed over the thin walls and the impossibility of privacy on tour. The laughter dulled into weariness as the beers emptied. When Haruki finally stood to leave, Shizusumi had stopped him—without thinking, just a hand on his sleeve, an unspoken question.

Haruki hadn’t argued.

And so, somehow, Haruki had ended up in his bed. Not planned, not wanted in the clear light of thought, but accepted all the same. A body beside his, heat and weight, the kind of closeness that had nothing to do with love. By morning, it had dissolved into a hangover and a wry smile, the two of them never speaking of it again. Fucking your manager might not have been the best idea.

Since then, nothing. Steady. Controlled. Untouched.

And now, here he was again—under the covers with someone sleeping at his side, body warm against his own. Only this time it was Ritsuka. Young, uncertain, carrying too much.

The dangerous thought flared, brief but insistent. He could reach, if he wanted. He could have, if he pressed. Ritsuka would likely have gone along, if he pressed the issue. The knowledge made him shrink a little inside. That he even entertained it, after all these years, made him question himself. Desire or selfishness? A craving for warmth? A test of restraint?

And yet, he didn’t need to act. The closeness, the trust, the boy’s quiet breathing beside him—that was enough. Care without conquest. Protection without violation. The steady weight of a sleeping body against his arm grounded him more than lust ever had.

Though life—the band, his bandmates—kept him busy, Shizusumi couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to have a warm body next to him in bed most nights. Someone who wanted him without needing him to take advantage. A companionship free of adrenaline, alcohol, or the recklessness of youth. Not that it would ever be Ritsuka’s role to fill that need; that thought brought its own pang of guilt.

He shut his eyes, arm tightening just enough to remind himself of what this was. Not temptation. Not conquest. Care. Protection.

Not now. Not ever.

In the quiet, he noticed the small details: the rise and fall of Ritsuka’s chest, the way his hair brushed against his cheek, the faint scent of the day lingering on his skin. Each inhale was grounding, a reminder of why he stayed still, why restraint mattered.

He breathed with the boy in his arms until the thought ebbed, leaving only the steady rhythm of Ritsuka’s sleep and the quiet, unshakable weight of his own restraint. For tonight, that was enough.

And as sleep began to claim him, Shizusumi’s thoughts drifted ahead—tour dates to rearrange, bandmates to meet, the small chaos that came with balancing everyone’s schedules and emotions. But for now, all that mattered was the here and now: the gentle warmth of the boy beside him, the fragile trust in their shared silence, and the quiet knowledge that whatever came next, they would face it together.

Chapter 47: Between the Notes

Julian had invited Mafuyu and Hiiragi to jam with him at his apartment in the West Village. Mafuyu hesitated. Leaving Ugetsu for the day didn’t sit right with him—not after how kind he’d been lately. Supportive. Present. Even… loving.

Christmas had marked a turning point. Something real had shifted between them. Ugetsu had softened, become more grounded. He’d treated both Mafuyu and Hiiragi with rare gentleness. Respect, even.

And of course, Ugetsu could read him like a score.

“You want to spend time with him,” he said simply, sipping his coffee. “You don’t have to pretend otherwise. He’s a brilliant musician. He clearly likes you. Both of you. Go. Just text me, let me know where you’ll be.”

“We still need to plan our return trip,” Mafuyu replied, half-heartedly. “And reschedule our tour dates…”

He trailed off, then smiled, almost shy. “But… jamming with him on Christmas Eve was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Musically, I mean.”

He was beaming. Lit from the inside.

“Then go,” Ugetsu said, waving him toward the door. “Ji-hoon and I are going to keep Carson entertained this evening anyway. We’ll survive without you for one day.”

That was that.

Mafuyu and Hiiragi packed up their guitars, raided Ugetsu’s closet one more time—New York’s winter wind had teeth—and stepped out into the cold. Mafuyu pulled his coat tighter around his chest, feeling the chill bite at his neck, while Hiiragi adjusted his scarf and shook his shoulders, trying to ward off the wind.

The subway was an adventure all its own.

Back in Tokyo, the trains were familiar—orderly, a rhythm you could trust. New York’s subway was something else entirely. Loud, crowded, unpredictable—but alive. Ugetsu had mapped out their route in careful detail, and they clung to it like a lifeline.

It was overwhelming. And also… freeing.

They squeezed into a rattling downtown train, guitar cases pressed against their knees. The car lurched and swayed, announcements blurring overhead. Mafuyu adjusted the strap on his guitar, feeling the weight settle against his chest. Hiiragi leaned against the pole beside him, a hand loosely gripping Mafuyu’s shoulder as the train rocked.

For a while, the noise of the subway filled the silence between them. Then Mafuyu leaned closer.

“He wants to play with us,” he said quietly. “And he wants to play with us.”

The implication was clear.

Hiiragi gave him a sideways look. “And you?”

Mafuyu’s fingers traced the edge of his strap. “…I’m dedicated to you. To Ritsuka. Even to Ugetsu. That doesn’t change. But when I play with Julian, it feels like… he sees something in me I haven’t learned to play yet.”

Hiiragi nodded slowly. “He sees us, too. This would be us. Not just you.”

Mafuyu let that settle between them, heavy and true. The train jolted again; he steadied himself against Hiiragi’s shoulder.

“Ragi,” he murmured, voice almost too low to be heard under the clatter of the tracks, “I’m so grateful for you. And so happy we seem to be moving forward again. You’re so much to me. You and Ritsuka. Let’s keep growing together.”

He paused, almost contrite, fingers fidgeting at the strap. “I’m being greedy again. I see a bigger future. And I want it. And I want it for us. But I’ve been guilty of acting without talking to you. Or Ritsuka.”

Hiiragi’s hand found his, warm and grounding. “Sharing you… with Ritsuka, with Ugetsu, now maybe with Julian… has always caused a strain on me,” he said gently, voice steady. “Made me fearful. Undermined us. So we work together. Openly. And you *need* to discuss this. We *need* to discuss this with Ritsuka when we get home. No secrets. Everything above board.”

Mafuyu nodded, letting the weight of Hiiragi’s words settle. “Together,” he whispered.

Hiiragi squeezed his hand; Mafuyu felt the pulse of certainty in his grasp. “Together.”

By the time they surfaced in the West Village, cheeks pink from the wind, something in both of them had loosened. They walked the last few blocks in silence, guitars slung over their backs, breath fogging the air. A taxi honked; a dog barked; the scent of roasting chestnuts drifted from a street cart. The narrow streets glowed with string lights still clinging to the holidays, each step carrying forward the quiet vow they’d made underground: whatever awaited them, they would face it together.

Julian’s building stood on Charles Street, an old co-op with a brick face and narrow iron stairwell. The address plate was worn, the kind you might miss if you weren’t looking closely. It had the feel of a place that had absorbed decades of stories—jazz rehearsals in cramped rooms, artists carrying canvases up too many stairs, couples arguing on the stoop at two a.m.

Inside, the hallway smelled faintly of varnished wood and radiator heat. Julian’s apartment—4C—was small, but airy. High ceilings, wood floors, tall windows catching the last light. A faint scent of incense lingered, mingling with the varnish of the piano. Neat but lived-in. Records stacked against the wall. A scattering of candles burned low on the mantle above a working fireplace.

The grand piano dominated the second bedroom, lid propped, sheets of music strewn across its surface. A stray note from the piano echoed softly in the empty room, as if testing them.

Julian met them at the door with a grin, hair still damp from the shower, sweater sleeves shoved up to his elbows. He was tall—towering over Mafuyu and Hiiragi, his posture relaxed but commanding. Handsome in a striking, effortless way, with rich black skin and features that held both mischief and intensity. Twenty-seven, he carried an energy that filled the room before a single note was played, magnetic and a little dangerous.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

Mafuyu crossed the threshold, heart hammering. He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, trying to contain the flutter in his chest. Hiiragi’s hand brushed lightly against Mafuyu’s back as they stepped inside, steadying them both. The air was warmer than the street, but charged with something else—like static against his skin.

Julian wasn’t just talented. He was intense. A little dangerous. He challenged people—emotionally, artistically, even spiritually. Mafuyu could feel it already.

Something was waiting for them here.

And it wasn’t just music.

Chapter 48: The Weight of Touch

Summary:

Ritsuka and Shizu share a quiet, intimate morning, confronting unspoken feelings before the arrival of Haruki and Suzuki brings news of Mafuyu and Hiiragi’s New York plans. Amid coffee, breakfast, and subtle touches, Ritsuka learns to stay present in Shizu’s warmth.

Ritsuka stirred, stretching slowly as sunlight spilled across the apartment floor. The warmth of Shizu’s body beside him made him linger under the covers a moment longer. Without thinking, he rolled closer, cheek brushing against Shizu’s bare shoulder, the warmth of skin startling in its intimacy. The steady rhythm of Shizu’s breath grounded him, even as it sent his pulse skittering.

Shizu shifted, looping an arm around him with easy weight. His palm rested against Ritsuka’s back, thumb moving in an absent circle. “Relax, Uenoyama,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but softened by something else—something more deliberate. “Take it slow.”

Ritsuka blinked, caught between comfort and a flutter he didn’t want to name. His chest tightened at the touch, at the simple ease of being held. “…I—uh… just…” He stammered, then let the words fall away.

Shizu’s smirk was faint, but his gaze when it met Ritsuka’s was steady. He brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, fingers lingering just long enough to ask without words. “Find your way, Uenoyama,” he said quietly. His voice carried no tease this time, only a calm insistence. “Does this touch you? Do you feel it?”

Ritsuka swallowed, heat prickling along his skin. He couldn’t answer—not yet. But leaning into Shizu’s half-embrace, he let himself admit, if only silently, that he did.

Shizu rose leisurely, still in his underwear, stretching as he padded toward the small kitchen. The movement was casual, but Ritsuka couldn’t stop himself from watching—the easy line of his back, the way morning light traced along his shoulders. He tugged on a pair of sweatpants, trying to disguise his distraction.

The apartment already carried the faint scent of miso, rice steaming gently, pickles lined neatly on a small dish, and a fillet of grilled fish resting on its plate. Shizu moved with practiced ease, setting the kettle, rinsing bowls, handling each step with quiet confidence.

“You sit,” Shizu said over his shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”

Ritsuka obeyed, settling at the low table. The steam from his coffee curled between his hands. Each time Shizu passed near him—placing chopsticks, sliding a dish onto the tray—their fingers brushed. It was nothing deliberate, yet the contact lingered in his mind. A warmth bloomed in his chest, threatening to spread further if he let it.

“You need to eat,” Shizu said simply once everything was arranged. He leaned against the counter, brushing his palms clean. His gaze softened, lingering on Ritsuka’s face. Then, deliberately, he let his hand rest near Ritsuka’s on the table—close enough that it was a choice. “After that, we’ll talk through the tour. Haruki-san and Suzuki-san should be here soon.”

Ritsuka tightened his grip on the mug, uncertain whether to acknowledge the closeness. “…Here? Not calls?”

Shizu tilted his head, eyes catching the light, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. He leaned in under the pretense of adjusting a bowl, his arm brushing against Ritsuka’s. The faintest shiver ran through him. “Easier in person. Fewer excuses.” Then, softer, almost as if to himself: “Do you feel that?”

Ritsuka blinked, heat rising in his cheeks. He couldn’t answer, but he didn’t move his hand away.

Shizu lingered a moment longer, fingers brushing against Ritsuka’s on the table. The silence stretched, warm but edged with something heavier. Then his voice lowered, even and deliberate. “Let me ask you something, Uenoyama.” His thumb pressed lightly to the back of Ritsuka’s hand, steady, unyielding. “Do you love Mafuyu?”

Ritsuka froze. His chest tightened, heat rushing up his neck. The words were too direct, too clean—like Shizu had carved straight through the fog he’d been living in. He dropped his gaze to the dark swirl of his coffee, searching for cover.

“I—” The word caught in his throat. He shook his head once, more to steady himself than to deny it. “…I don’t know if I can say it.”

Shizu tilted his head, eyes steady, voice soft but insistent. “Not to me. To yourself.” His thumb pressed more firmly into Ritsuka’s hand. “Do you feel it, Uenoyama? That’s all I’m asking.”

The room seemed to contract around him—steam curling off the miso, the faint hiss of the kettle cooling, the warmth of Shizu’s touch grounding and unbalancing him at once.

“…I think so,” Ritsuka whispered at last. It was barely more than breath, but it felt like confession.

Shizu’s expression softened, not triumphant but almost protective. His fingers brushed lightly over Ritsuka’s knuckles, sealing the moment in quiet acknowledgment. “…Good. Then don’t run from that.”

Before Ritsuka could answer, the apartment buzzer rang. Shizu padded to the door, still in his underwear, and opened it to reveal Haruki.

Haruki looked unusually harried, sharp eyes flicking over the scene—the breakfast tray, Ritsuka half in sweats, Shizu barely covered. His mouth tightened. “So you’re back. Where are Mafuyu and Hiiragi?”

Ritsuka shifted, heat rising to his cheeks. He gripped the mug with both hands. “…They’re still there.”

Haruki’s brow furrowed. “So you came back alone?”

Ritsuka hesitated, then nodded once. “Yeah.”

Shizu set another mug on the counter deliberately, letting his fingers brush Ritsuka’s hand when he passed it. The touch lingered, grounding him, making him acutely aware of the warmth beneath the table. “Sit down, Haruki-san. Coffee’s hot. Suzuki will be here in a minute. Then we’ll go over everything properly.”

Haruki exhaled sharply but stepped inside, loosening his scarf as though conceding. His eyes lingered a moment on Ritsuka’s sleep-ruffled hair before moving to Shizu’s calm, faintly amused expression.

The buzzer rang again. Shizu opened the door to Suzuki, who entered with his usual quiet composure. He took in the scene at a glance—the breakfast tray, Haruki already bristling, Ritsuka tense, Shizu steady.

“…Morning for you, evening in New York,” Suzuki said mildly, setting his bag down. He accepted the mug of coffee Shizu handed him and glanced at Haruki before continuing. “I spoke to Mafuyu a few hours ago.”

Ritsuka blinked, gripping his mug like a lifeline. “…You actually talked to him?”

“Yes,” Suzuki said evenly. “Mafuyu wanted to check if there was any prohibition to him and Hiiragi appearing as guests of a jazz pianist named Julian Carter at Minton’s in New York. I told him no. He emphasized it would be a guest appearance only—unpaid. A personal favor. They’ll return to Tokyo after the date—so, on or around January third.”

Haruki’s head snapped up. “What?”

The name meant nothing to Ritsuka, but the weight in Suzuki’s voice sent a strange tremor through him. He felt Shizu’s knee brush against his under the table—a grounding, intimate anchor.

Haruki pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling quickly. “Julian Carter… Harlem-born, mid-twenties. Classically trained, but a jazz artist.” His brows furrowed as he read further. “A rising star on the New York club scene. And they’re considering appearing with him?”

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. “Handsome,” Haruki noted quietly, almost to himself, before shaking his head. “Since when do Mafuyu and Hiiragi know anything about jazz?”

Ritsuka’s throat felt dry. He stared into his coffee, heat seeping into his palms. Mafuyu and Hiiragi—still in New York, meeting some brilliant pianist he’d never even heard of.

Shizu’s hand brushed against Ritsuka’s under the table again, thumb pressing lightly to the back of his hand. Ritsuka’s fingers twitched, caught between wanting to pull away and leaning slightly closer. Shizu’s faint smile met his glance, teasing, intimate, but grounding.

As Suzuki spoke, Shizu leaned just slightly forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from Ritsuka’s forehead. Ritsuka swallowed, flustered, and looked down at his mug, fingers tightening around it. He felt both shy and drawn in, acutely aware of every small movement Shizu made, every faint pressure under the table.

Suzuki folded his hands, gaze steady. “They’re being deliberate. That much is clear. It’s not a distraction—it’s something Mafuyu feels he can handle, alongside the tour.”

Haruki set his phone down with a soft thud, frustration pulling at his mouth. “I don’t like it. It feels… risky. Out of nowhere.”

Ritsuka exhaled quietly, letting the heat of the coffee, the comforting aroma of miso, rice, pickles, and grilled fish, and Shizu’s gentle pressure on his hand ground him again. He shifted slightly, toes brushing Shizu’s under the table, and felt Shizu’s thumb rub just a little more insistently against the back of his hand.

For a long moment, the apartment held a fragile balance—between domestic warmth, the subtle intimacy threading through his chest, and the looming uncertainty of Mafuyu and Hiiragi’s New York plans.

The faint hiss of the cooling kettle was the only sound marking time.

Haruki and Suzuki rose shortly after, their notes and schedules in order. “We’ll handle the rest,” Suzuki said evenly, glancing at the pair. “Everything seems manageable for now.”

As the door closed behind them, Ritsuka let out a soft sigh. The apartment felt suddenly quieter, warmer, and his heart lighter. He looked at Shizu, whose faint smirk had returned, eyes glinting with teasing, protective warmth.

“You were… amazing,” Ritsuka said quietly, cheeks still warm.

Shizu’s smirk softened. “…You mean at breakfast or at surviving our morning chaos?”

Ritsuka let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Both.”

Shizu leaned closer, brushing a final strand of hair from his forehead, just barely grazing Ritsuka’s lips. “…Then I’ll call that a win,” he murmured.

Ritsuka’s fingers brushed against Shizu’s hand again, holding it briefly as if testing the comfort of closeness. Shizu didn’t pull away.

They lingered there for a while, coffee cooling slowly in their mugs, the scent of miso and rice filling the quiet apartment. Ritsuka let himself relax fully, aware of the subtle pressure of Shizu’s hand, the warmth of his presence, and the unspoken thread connecting them.

For the first time that morning, he allowed himself to simply be—safe, seen, and quietly drawn in. Shizu’s gaze held him steadily, and in that shared calm, the apartment felt like its own little world, paused between morning sunlight and the busy day ahead.

Chapter 49: The Beginning of Harmony

Summary:

A night of laughter turns intimate as Mafuyu, Hiiragi, and Julian move together into something deeper.

Mafuyu and Hiiragi arrived just before noon, unpacking their instruments quickly—Mafuyu with his red Gibson ES-330, Hiiragi with his Fender bass, and Julian heading straight to the piano. Julian popped open a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. “A little fuel for creativity,” he said, handing them each a glass.

“Cheers,” Mafuyu said, clinking his glass lightly against theirs.

Julian started with a simple chord progression. Mafuyu plucked a soft melody over it, sliding into a bluesy bend. Hiiragi followed with a steady bass line, fingers moving with precision, giving the rhythm a solid backbone. Quick smiles passed between them as the music found a natural groove.

“Try this,” Julian said, shifting into a more syncopated rhythm. Mafuyu mirrored it on guitar, and Hiiragi added a counterline, letting the bass push and pull against the piano. They played around for a few bars, nudging the melody in different directions.

“I like that bend,” Julian said. “Give it more edge.”

“Edge coming right up,” Mafuyu answered, sharpening his notes. Hiiragi adjusted the bass slightly to lock in with the intensity. The room filled with their combined sound, riffs sparking immediate responses from each other.

Hiiragi smiled to himself. “When did Mafuyu’s playing get so dynamic?”

“Hmm, that’s spicy,” Julian said, letting a chord linger. “I didn’t think you had that in you.”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Mafuyu said, fingers dancing faster. “Careful, I might surprise you.”

Julian leaned toward him, playful. “I like surprises. Keeps things interesting.”

Hiiragi’s bass mirrored Julian’s teasing rhythm. “Looks like I’m the only predictable one,” he said, grinning. “Not that I mind keeping up with you two.”

Julian’s fingers flirted across the keys. “You’ve got a certain… charm. I’m just encouraging it.”

Mafuyu laughed softly, tilting the guitar. “Encouraging, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“Dangerous is my specialty,” Julian said, low and playful. “Don’t tell me you’re scared already.”

Hiiragi chuckled. “I think we’re all scared of each other at this point…I’ve got my eyes open.”

Julian slowed the chords, letting each note linger. “Your turn,” he said to Mafuyu, eyes sparkling.

Mafuyu let a low, sultry riff roll off his guitar. “You really want me to play, or just teasing?”

“A little of both,” Julian said, leaning closer. “There’s tension in your playing. Hard to resist.”

Hiiragi’s bass joined boldly, giving Julian a little nudge. “Looks like I’m the buffer—or maybe the provocateur.”

Julian’s fingers grazed Hiiragi’s wrist, then returned to the keys. “Provocateur, huh? I like that.”

Mafuyu laughed softly. “I can be convincing.”

Hiiragi’s bass hit the edge of Julian’s chords. “Seems we’re all trying to outdo each other,” he said. “I like it.”

“Past outdoing each other,” Julian said. “We’re seeing who can make the others squirm first.”

Hiiragi leaned toward Mafuyu. “You… enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” Mafuyu said, grinning.

Julian’s eyes flicked between them. “And if I asked you both to stay the night—just here with me—would you?”

Hiiragi looked at his partner. “Yes?”

Mafuyu paused. “Yes… but I won’t keep this from Ritsuka. So we need to keep that in mind.”

Hiiragi nodded. “Of course. We’ll be careful.”

“Sounds like a complicated relationship,” Julian said.

“Well, very complicated sometimes, but we’re working through things. Three big personalities. Two and a half of us suck at communication,” Mafuyu added.

Hiiragi raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving yourself that much credit, Fuyu?”

“I was talking about you, Ragi,” Mafuyu said, smiling. “I flat out suck, but I’m trying.”

Julian smiled. “If you let your music speak for you, that’s a good start, Fuyu.” (He’d picked up Hiiragi’s pet name along the way.)

Hiiragi’s fingers tightened around Mafuyu’s hand. “See? You’re improving.”

Mafuyu laughed, a faint blush warming his cheeks. “Music really does say more than words sometimes.”

Julian stretched. “Then it’s settled. Dinner first, then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

Hiiragi squeezed his hand. “Whatever happens, we’re still us. That doesn’t change.”

They were settled into Fedora. The subtle aroma of wine and fresh bread mingled with low conversation. Julian held the menu lightly, eyes catching both Mafuyu and Hiiragi with an easy warmth.

Julian raised his glass. “To complicated fun, then.” They clinked glasses, warmth and anticipation spreading between them.

“You two are something else,” Julian said softly. “Charming imps, aren’t you?”

Mafuyu’s cheeks warmed. “Maybe…”

Hiiragi smirked. “We try.”

The meal unfolded in laughter and gentle teasing, Julian offering tastes of wine, watching reactions like a conductor attuned to the smallest note. “So… what about Ritsuka?” Julian asked. “Is he part of the picture?”

Mafuyu glanced at Hiiragi, then met Julian’s gaze. “Yes. Ritsuka is… important to me. And to us. He’s back in Japan trying to figure what he wants out of this.”

Hiiragi’s hand brushed Mafuyu’s under the table, grounding him, while Julian’s glance lingered just long enough to make them conscious of the shared moment.

“Careful,” Hiiragi murmured. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Perhaps we should invite Julian to join our little group,” Mafuyu suggested, voice light but daring.

After dessert, bundled against the December chill, they left the restaurant. Julian’s condo was a short walk, warm lamplight and polished wood greeting them. They shed their coats, and a casual jam began immediately—fingers on frets and keys, playful improvisation. Laughter softened into glances; curiosity and trust guided each movement.

The session slowed, and soon they were in the bath together, steam curling around them, water warm against skin, hands brushing over shoulders, waists, and hair. Gentle touches and tentative exploration set the stage for the night to come—a precursor to the full symphony of intimacy awaiting them.

Steam curled around them in the bath. Mafuyu leaned against Hiiragi’s shoulder, damp hair clinging to his cheeks. Hiiragi gently caressed Mafuyu’s belly, fingers tracing soft, languid patterns as Julian knelt opposite, hands trailing lazily across the water’s surface, gaze caught on the smooth skin of both boys.

“You’re both…” he hesitated, flushing as his eyes dropped lower. “Clean shaven.”

Hiiragi barked a laugh, Mafuyu’s cheeks reddened instantly. “Ugetsu,” Hiiragi explained, half-amused, half-exasperated. “He has this thing about shaving.”

Mafuyu ducked his face into the steam, words muffled but bright with embarrassed laughter. “The day after I arrived… a little welcome present.”

Julian tilted his head, lips quirking. “And you let him?”

“Didn’t have a choice,” Hiiragi muttered, though his grin betrayed him. “He did me after a night of drunkenness. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Ugetsu can be very persuasive.” Mafuyu shook with quiet laughter.

“Perhaps we should invite Julian to join our little group,” Mafuyu suggested with a sly grin. “He’s certainly handsome enough.”

Julian’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “I place myself in your hands,” he replied, voice low and warm, letting the words linger between them.

Together, shyly at first, then with mounting boldness, Mafuyu and Hiiragi pressed him back against the bath’s edge. Soap, water, and razors gleamed under their hands. Julian’s chest rose, breath uneven as their touches turned ritual into intimacy, and he surrendered to them both. The three of them stepped carefully from the tub, water dripping in small rivulets across the tiled floor. Julian moved first, his arm curling around both Mafuyu and Hiiragi, holding them close as he guided them forward. The air was warm and fragrant with lingering soap and sandalwood, a quiet intimacy between them.

They paused briefly at the edge of the tub as Julian handed each of them oversized towels. Mafuyu wrapped one around his waist, Hiiragi did the same, but Julian’s arm stayed draped over them, his touch anchoring and possessive. The glow from the bathroom lighting traced the curve of their bodies, highlighting the tension and softness that coexisted in every movement.

Together, they crossed into the bedroom. The room seemed to hum with anticipation, the low light from bedside lamps spreading a soft, golden warmth across the sheets. The space was relatively small, just enough to accommodate a king bed flanked by small tables with mismatched lamps. The wall behind the bed was exposed red brick, grounding and warm, while the wall to the left was dominated by two large windows. To the right, cabinets stretched floor to ceiling, dark polished wood reflecting the soft glow of the lamps. A rug covered much of the wood floor, soft underfoot, absorbing the quiet warmth of the room. The subtle scent of clean cotton mingled with the remaining traces of sandalwood, creating an almost sacred atmosphere.

The three of them lingered for a moment on the edge of the bed, breaths mingling, hearts racing, the quiet intimacy of the room pressing in around them. Julian’s hands slid lightly along Mafuyu’s sides, feeling the tension in his muscles, while Hiiragi’s thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Mafuyu’s wrist. A shared glance passed between Hiiragi and Julian, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: this was their moment, and they would move together, carefully, deliberately.

Julian leaned closer, his voice low and warm, a tremor of want threading through it. “I want to… fuck you, Mafuyu” he said, eyes seeking permission, reverence and desire mingled in his gaze. Mafuyu’s breath caught, cheeks flushed, and he hesitated just long enough to feel the weight of the moment before nodding softly. Hiiragi’s hand tightened over his, a grounding anchor, as Julian’s hands traced the familiar contours of his body, drawing him closer, preparing him. The warmth in the room thickened, a tangible current that wrapped them together with each subtle shift of touch and breath.

Julian didn’t just take Mafuyu. He CLAIMED him. He was big, big enough that Mafuyu had trouble taking him. “Let me in,” Julian murmured. Mafuyu arched under Julian’s careful rhythm. Julian entered him slowly, every movement measured, deliberate, coaxing him gently as he adjusted to the fullness, the exquisite pressure of Julian’s length. Hiiragi held his hand, steadying, grounding, eyes wide with awe at Mafuyu’s unraveling.

“Just breathe. Let me in,” Julian said, pressing a soft kiss behind Mafuyu’s ear, then sinking deeper, drawing out every shiver and gasp. Mafuyu trembled, fingers tightening around Hiiragi’s hand; Hiiragi’s own chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath. Every sound of pleasure echoed against the sheets, blending with Julian’s low hums of satisfaction. His release was intense, loud, almost desperate.

Mafuyu collapsed boneless into Hiiragi’s arms, breath spent and cheeks flushed.

Soft laughter bubbled up between gasps and sighs, fragile and bright, as they shared whispered words that only made sense in the quiet aftermath of intimacy. Julian leaned forward to brush a damp strand of hair from Mafuyu’s forehead, pressing a gentle kiss there. Mafuyu nuzzled into Hiiragi’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and a warmth that went beyond the bathwater spread through him, calming and anchoring.

“You okay?” Hiiragi asked softly, his breath warm against Mafuyu’s hair.

Mafuyu’s eyes fluttered closed, then he flashed a soft, wry smile. “I guess I’m not walking on my own anytime soon.”

Hiiragi chuckled, giving Mafuyu a reassuring squeeze.

“You made me cum just watching you, Fuyu,” Hiiragi murmured, voice low and playful.

Julian gathered them both close, his chest pressing softly against theirs. The warmth of their bodies mingled with the fading scent of soap and sandalwood. Hiiragi’s fingers traced slow, comforting circles along Mafuyu’s back, while Julian’s hand rested lightly on Hiiragi’s chest, grounding them all together.

Minutes passed in serene silence, punctuated only by the occasional sigh or soft laugh, until the exhaustion of both body and mind began to pull at their eyelids. Julian adjusted slightly, his head resting against Hiiragi’s shoulder, arms curling more tightly around them both. Hiiragi brushed a finger across Mafuyu’s damp cheek, then pressed a lingering kiss to his temple.

Mafuyu let his body fully relax, nuzzling deeper into Hiiragi’s warmth. “Don’t let go,” he murmured sleepily, voice thick with contentment.

“We won’t,” Hiiragi replied softly, voice low and soothing. Julian let out a soft hum of agreement, chest pressing gently against them both.

The quiet intimacy of the room, the soft glow of the lamps, the mingling scent of sandalwood, all folded around them like a protective blanket. Slowly, sleep claimed them in turns, breath evened, muscles slackened, and the three of them drifted together—tangled in warmth, trust, and the quiet promise that this closeness was just the beginning of a deeper harmony between them.

Chapter 50: Evening in B Minor

Summary:

A night of music, flirtation, and gentle intimacy draws three hearts closer.

Ugetsu’s living room smelled faintly of rosin and polished wood, the late afternoon sun catching dust motes over the floorboards. The Arashi Quartet, with guest artist clarinetist Carson Dyal, was rehearsing the Brahms Clarinet Quintet in B minor, Op. 115 again and again, correcting, refining, teasing one another. Ugetsu’s bow drew long, deliberate arcs across the first violin, the sound resonant, intense, almost imperious. Viv’s second violin wove a nimble counterpoint, fingers tight but precise, her gaze locked on Ugetsu, catching every subtle cue.

Ji-hoon, viola in hand, offered a steady warmth, matching Ugetsu’s phrasing with quiet authority, while Ken’s cello anchored the group, deep notes vibrating through the room. Carson’s clarinet slid in and out, occasionally breathless, slightly uneven, but alive with eagerness. He hesitated a beat too long on the entrance, eyes flicking nervously to Ugetsu as the bow arced past his first note.

“Now, Carson,” Ugetsu’s voice cut through, smooth but commanding. “The entrance is there—don’t anticipate. Wait for the cue. Breathe.”

Carson swallowed, cheeks warming, fingers fumbling over the keys. “Sorry… I thought I—” His voice trailed off, a quiet embarrassment threading through him.

Ji-hoon reached out, brushing Carson’s hand lightly against the clarinet, steadying his posture. “You’ve got this. Trust the rhythm, and trust yourself.” The gesture was fleeting but grounding, a subtle reassurance that eased the knot of tension in Carson’s chest.

Ugetsu’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “See? No need to apologize for listening too hard. That eagerness is welcome—but keep it disciplined.” His bow moved again, fluid and precise, and Carson followed, adjusting his timing. The piece breathed again, each player responding to the other, the room alive with collective focus.

Viv’s eyes flicked between Carson and Ugetsu, smirking at the quiet intimacy playing out among the lines. Ken hummed under his breath, tipping a nod to the rhythm. Fingers and bows danced in sync, breaths rising with the music, small touches—an elbow, a thumb—charging the room with unspoken connection. Carson laughed, breathy and a little embarrassed, as Ugetsu leaned in to demonstrate a tricky passage, their faces close for a fleeting moment, the warmth of shared focus palpable.

“Perfect,” Ugetsu murmured finally, letting the last note linger. “Brilliant work, everyone. Carson, see what happens when you listen instead of rushing?”

Carson’s shoulders relaxed, a grin tugging at his lips. “I—yeah. I think I got it this time.” He adjusted the angle of his clarinet, more confident, more at ease.

“Good,” Ji-hoon said quietly, voice soft but carrying weight. “Music isn’t about speed. It’s about understanding. And you’re learning it faster than you realize.” His hand brushed Carson’s shoulder lightly, a grounding gesture, and Carson felt the tight coil of anxiety unwind just a little.

Viv and Ken collected their things with murmured goodbyes. Ugetsu turned to the remaining pair, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Shall we continue the evening at Café Luxembourg? Dinner, perhaps?”

Viv shook her head with a small, indulgent smile. “I think I’ll stay in tonight, relax a little. Maybe read, have some wine. And there is a stack of scores on my desk that I am trying very hard to ignore. I’ve earned a quiet evening.”

Ken glanced at his watch, nodding. “I promised my girlfriend a night out. She’s been looking forward to it, so I’ll have to pass on this one.”

Carson’s eyes lit up, a grin tugging at his lips. “Then it’s just us,” he said, laughter in his voice as he gestured between himself, Ugetsu, and Ji-hoon. His wine glass caught the light, sloshing slightly as he raised it in mock salute.

The warm buzz of Café Luxembourg wrapped around them like a familiar coat. Carson’s glass caught the light, wine sloshing slightly as he gestured, laughter spilling freely from him. Ugetsu leaned back in his chair, one arm draped casually along the banquette, his smile both sly and disarming. Ji-hoon, composed and quietly magnetic, met Carson’s eye with a slow, knowing smile, letting the younger man ride the high of admiration and slight. “You shine when you’re this eager,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a quiet indulgence.

Ugetsu raised his glass. “To live without loving is not really to live.”

“Did you just… quote Molière at me?” Carson asked, glass halfway to his lips. His Boston vowels tripped over the words, charm wrapped in confusion.

“I did,” Ugetsu replied smoothly, a teasing tilt of the head. “You’re not easily impressed?”

“Impressed? I’m… dazzled,” Carson admitted, cheeks pink, wine loosening his tongue. Ji-hoon leaned in, brushing Carson’s hand lightly with his own. “Watch yourself,” he murmured, voice low, playful. “We can be… persuasive.”

Carson laughed, nearly spilling the last of his wine. Ugetsu’s eyes sparkled, and a shiver of anticipation ran through him, warm, teasing. Laughter echoed around the table, glasses emptied and refilled. Each glance and touch—Ji-hoon’s thumb brushing the back of Carson’s hand, Ugetsu leaning slightly closer—built the quiet tension that pulsed beneath the conversation.

The conversation continued in arcs of wit and innuendo, laughter echoing over the low hum of the restaurant. By the time the check was discreetly handled, Ugetsu rose, sweeping the younger man along. “Let’s continue somewhere quieter,” he suggested, voice low and inviting. Ji-hoon’s hand lingered briefly on Carson’s back, steadying him, a quiet promise of the night ahead.

The night air bit lightly at their cheeks as they left the café, winter wrapping around them like a cloak. Carson walked between Ugetsu and Ji-hoon, hands occasionally brushing Ugetsu’s coat or Ji-hoon’s elbow. Streetlights cast pools of gold along the sidewalk, and the faint hum of traffic and distant laughter provided a rhythm to match the heightened pulse of anticipation. Hands brushed along coat and elbow as laughter mingled with the quiet charge of desire, every step carrying tension forward.

By the time they reached 120 West 72nd Street, their breaths had risen in sync with both cold air and unspoken longing. Ugetsu’s apartment door opened to the scent of polished wood and lingering warmth, a prelude to what was coming.

Soon enough, they were settled into Ugetsu’s bedroom. The room smelled of wine, the wood-paneled walls warm and soft against the low light. Ugetsu leaned back against the headboard, shirt already open, hair slightly tousled from drink. Ji-hoon had rolled up his sleeves, steady and quiet, while Carson sprawled loose-limbed on the rug, stylishly dressed yet slightly disheveled, laughter spilling from him as his Boston vowels curled around his words.

“So are you going to let me fuck you, Ugetsu?” Carson drawled, daring, slurred just enough to betray how far gone he was.

“Dangerous words, my friend.” Ugetsu stood, elegant as ever, guiding Carson upright. Ji-hoon moved deliberately, brushing along Ugetsu’s shoulders before resting briefly at his waist. In moments, Ugetsu had begun removing Carson’s clothes, jacket, shirt, and pants falling away until he was bare, breath catching between awe and disbelief.

“You need a haircut,” Ugetsu murmured, voice low, amused, yet unyielding. Carson froze, half a laugh caught in his throat. Stories from Mafuyu and Hiiragi flickered through his mind, laughing, flushed, embarrassed. He’d dismissed them. Now he understood. Ugetsu produced a tray from the bathroom, his shaving tools arranged neatly, the warm lather and straight razor waiting for him.

Carson’s body betrayed him, cock stiffening as the blade skimmed. Carson shivered, overwhelmed, as Ji-hoon watched from the edge of the bed, glass in hand, eyes gleaming with a fond, quiet cruelty. Then, methodically, Ji-hoon began to undress Ugetsu, sleeves rolled, fingers precise, each movement deliberate, maintaining a calm, grounding presence in the charged room.

Fully undressed, Carson reached for Ugetsu—too eager, unpracticed. Ugetsu caught his wrist with a smirk, guiding him onto the bed. Carson’s first attempt was clumsy, earnest, and raw. His movements were shaky, uneven, but filled with desire. Ugetsu guided him gently, offering encouragement and reassurance, while Ji-hoon’s steadying hands held him close. Carson climaxed prematurely, breathless and embarrassed, but Ugetsu coaxed him further, turning the moment into shared pleasure.

“Not finished yet,” Ugetsu murmured, turning him gently, chest against the sheets. Ji-hoon pressed a steadying hand to his shoulder, grounding him as Ugetsu’s hands gripped his hips, guiding the rhythm, eased into him. Slow at first, letting him adjust, then gradually deeper, the movement building until every nerve seemed to hum.

“You are a beautiful boy, if a bit wild for your own good,” Ugetsu murmured. Carson arched against him, breath coming in ragged gasps, fingers clutching the sheets as he tried to keep up.

The room was alive with the sounds of exertion: soft shuffles, hurried moans, and the occasional sharp inhale from Ji-hoon as he watched and supported. Ugetsu’s rhythm remained steady, coaxing Carson higher, pressing him toward a new kind of climax.

Finally, Carson collapsed, shivering into Ugetsu’s arms, Ji-hoon’s hand lingering lightly on his shoulder, grounding him as the intensity melted into warmth. Breath gradually evening, chest rising and falling against Ugetsu’s, the raw energy softened into quiet afterglow.

The room was quiet, save for the soft, uneven rhythm of Carson’s snores. He sprawled comfortably between them, loose-limbed and warm, a faint smile curling his lips even in sleep. Ugetsu and Ji-hoon leaned against one another on either side, bodies close, hands occasionally brushing, exchanging small, intimate gestures. Fingers threaded together, a palm resting on a cheek, lips brushing in fleeting kisses while the other watched, quietly amused.

“They’re a joy,” Ji-hoon murmured, voice low, eyes still on the sleeping Carson. “We’ve got these adorable boys around us. Not exactly easy to keep up.”

Ugetsu tilted his head, a soft laugh escaping. “They try,” he said, his hand lightly grazing Ji-hoon’s, “and they’re fun playmates.”

Their eyes met, and without another word, they traded a long, lingering kiss, slow and deliberate, savoring the quiet intimacy that filled the room.

Ji-hoon tilted his head, watching the sleeping Carson. “What are your Japanese guests doing?”

Ugetsu smiled softly. “Mister Carter is looking after them tonight. Mafuyu texted when we were at dinner.”

Ugetsu’s hand found Ji-hoon’s cheek, tracing it gently. “So it’s us for tonight. And I’m happy to share my life with you, my dear friend,” he murmured. “Very happy.”

Ji-hoon’s lips curved in a tender smile. “As am I.”

They settled against one another, Ugetsu’s head resting lightly on Ji-hoon’s shoulder, fingers entwined. Carson’s soft snores continued between them, a rhythm that grounded the quiet warmth of the moment. Slowly, deliberately, they drifted into sleep, the room holding them in a gentle embrace, the night’s laughter, desire, and tenderness lingering like a soft melody that would carry them until morning.

Chapter 51: Quiet Rhythms

Summary:

Ritsuka and Shizusumi share a quiet day of domestic rhythm, emotional vulnerability, and tender intimacy, deepening trust and connection between them.

Shizusumi and Ritsuka were bent over the calendar Haruki and Suzuki had left with them, pencils tapping lightly against paper as they tried to make sense of the dates and notes. The table was cluttered with scraps of paper, a half-empty tea mug, and the faint remnants of breakfast.

“Do you think they actually expect us to follow this strictly?” Ritsuka asked, eyes tracing a line of crossed-out days.

Shizu hummed, leaning back with one elbow on the table. “They’re organized. Very organized. We… don’t have to be, not really.”

Ritsuka frowned, tracing another day with his finger. “We don’t even know when Mafuyu and Hiiragi are going to be back.”

“Maybe,” Shizu said slowly, tilting his head. “Or maybe it’s just a guide. Not a rule.” He reached over and tapped a date. “See this one? You don’t have to stress. We figure out what matters first.”

Ritsuka nodded, exhaling softly. He paused, pencil hovering over the page. “…I wish Mafuyu and Hiiragi were here. It feels weird without them.”

Shizu didn’t answer immediately, just reached for a small pickle leftover from breakfast and popped it into his mouth. Ritsuka followed suit, reaching for one himself. Their fingers brushed over the plate, ordinary yet intimate, grounding him in the moment.

“…Shizu,” Ritsuka said quietly, after chewing, “do you… think they’d be okay if we called them?”

Shizu glanced up, expression unreadable. “…You mean Mafuyu and Hiiragi?”

Ritsuka nodded. “It’s just… I want to hear their voices. Make sure they’re okay.”

Shizu hesitated, then said softly, “It’s 2:30 in the morning in New York…” He shrugged. “Okay. Then call.” He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, letting Ritsuka take the lead.

The call rang a few times before Mafuyu’s sleepy, soft voice answered. “…Hello?”

“Morning,” Ritsuka said, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry—we woke you?”

A low shuffle in the background, then Hiiragi’s groggy voice: “Who is it?”

“Mafuyu, put it on speaker,” Shizu said, stretching. “It’s us.”

Muffled shuffling, half-hearted protests, and sleepy laughter filled the room as both voices came through. Ritsuka felt a strange mix of warmth and guilt.

“It’s eleven thirty here,” Shizu said lightly. “We just wanted to check in.”

“You’re impossible,” Hiiragi muttered, though the affection in his tone was clear.

Ritsuka could hear the warmth, the intimacy, though he didn’t know the full context—Mafuyu and Hiiragi were curled up in bed with Julian Carter, resting despite the late hour.

“I’m… happy to hear your voice,” Mafuyu said, a tired but genuine smile in his tone. “Even this late.”

Hiiragi’s voice followed, quieter but tender. “He’s happy. That’s enough for me. I want… all of us to work. Ritsuka smiled despite himself. “…We’ll let you go back to sleep soon. Just… wanted to hear you.”

“…Okay. We hear you. Now let us sleep,” Mafuyu said softly. The call ended with the scrape of sheets as Hiiragi pulled Mafuyu back down.

Shizu leaned back, picking up the calendar again. He read off a list of upcoming shows, cross-checking with the notes Haruki and Suzuki had left. Then, slowly, he proposed a few new dates, shifting some rehearsals and marking potential gaps.

Ritsuka watched him, pencil poised, but made no objections. Each suggestion Shizu made seemed reasonable, considerate, and careful. The quiet approval in Ritsuka’s nod was enough; he trusted Shizu’s judgment.

The day unfolded quietly. They ate the last of the pickles, brushed fingers over plates, cleaned the table together, and let their rhythm slip into something domestic. Later, they ordered takeout from Din Tai Fung—soup dumplings, shrimp and pork wontons, shrimp and pork fried rice, and stir-fried water spinach with garlic.

Shizu laid the food out on the low table in front of the couch. Steam rose from the boxes as they passed chopsticks back and forth, their knees brushing lightly in the close space.

“…Shizu,” Ritsuka said finally, hesitant, “can I ask you something? About… you. Before all this.”

Shizu glanced at him, one brow raised. “Depends what you mean.”

“Just—your experience. With… people.”

For a long moment, Shizu said nothing, gaze slipping toward the table where the last of the dumplings sagged in their tray. Then he asked, “What about you? Have you ever been interested in anyone?”

Ritsuka’s throat went dry. He pushed a piece of fried rice around with his chopsticks, eyes fixed anywhere but Shizu. “…Just Mafuyu,” he admitted quietly.

Shizu hummed, thoughtful. The silence stretched until Ritsuka’s phone buzzed, Hiiragi’s name flashing across the screen. Ritsuka stared at it, then muted the call, leaving the phone facedown on the table.

“Not right now,” he whispered.

Shizu said nothing. He only leaned back, the rhythm of the apartment settling around them again—steam curling from takeout boxes, the faint hum of traffic, the weight of questions still waiting to be answered.

By late afternoon, the remnants of Din Tai Fung crowded the low table—cold dumplings, wilted water spinach glossed with garlic, the scent of sesame still heavy in the air.

“…Shizu,” Ritsuka said quietly, “you never did tell me about your experience. With other people. Can you… tell me?”

Shizu leaned back, sighing. “Not something I usually lay out. But you asked. Might as well.”

He began simply: first times in middle school, awkward crushes, brief encounters with boys and girls, and later, a high-school confession to Hiiragi that ended in rejection. Then, after graduation—sleeping with Mafuyu, something neither of them truly pursued nor regretted.

Ritsuka sat frozen, turning it over, his chest tight. “He… never told me that.”

“Not surprising. He keeps things inside,” Shizu said gently. “But you asked. That’s my truth.”

The table sat heavy with silence. Ritsuka’s stomach tightened, thoughts spinning.

“You’re stuck in your head,” Shizu said softly. “Sometimes you just try. Let yourself feel. See where it takes you.”

Ritsuka’s pulse quickened. “And if I mess it up with them?”

“You will. But that doesn’t mean forever.” Shizu tilted his head, studying him. “Could be with me. No strings. No pressure.”

Ritsuka’s throat worked. “…I don’t… I’ve never—except Mafuyu.”

“That wasn’t nothing,” Shizu murmured. “This time, it could be about you.”

The words lingered. Slowly, almost against his own nerves, Ritsuka nodded. “…Okay. Show me.”

Shizu’s smile was small, private. “Good. Let’s move somewhere more comfortable.”

They moved to Shizu’s room, the late light spilling in through blinds, drumsticks and sheet music scattered across the desk.

“Sit,” Shizu said, gesturing to the bed. “No pressure.”

Ritsuka perched, hands knotted, breath uneven.

Shizu crouched beside him, brushing a strand of hair back. “You’re nervous. That’s okay. I’m not.”

“…I’ve never… done this except with Mafuyu,” Ritsuka whispered.

“You don’t have to know everything. We go at your pace,” Shizu said, voice warm and low.

The first kiss was awkward—teeth brushing, lips uncertain—but warm, grounding. Shizu steadied him with quiet confidence, guiding, coaxing, never demanding. The nervous tremor in Ritsuka’s body slowly gave way to curiosity and trust.

Touches followed: tentative, charged, patient. Words fell away. Their rhythm grew from shy kisses to something deeper—Ritsuka learning, Shizu teaching with care.

Eventually, clothes slipped away. The room dimmed, lit only by fading afternoon. Shizu kissed down Ritsuka’s chest, teasing, tasting, until his mouth closed around him, coaxing breathless gasps. Ritsuka gripped the sheets, overwhelmed and unsteady, but Shizu’s voice and touch grounded him.

Later, Shizu’s body pressed to his, slow and steady, every movement careful, every pause a chance to breathe. It hurt at first, strange and new, but Shizu soothed him, patient until Ritsuka’s body relaxed, opening to the rhythm.

Their breaths tangled. The bed creaked softly. Shizu’s hand stroked him in time with his thrusts until Ritsuka broke apart, trembling, Shizu following moments later.

After, they lay tangled together, catching their breath. Shizu cleaned him gently, lips brushing his temple.

“You’re safe here. Always,” Shizu whispered.

Ritsuka let himself lean into the warmth, still trembling. “…That was… weird. Hurt a little. But… really good. I’m glad it was with you.”

Shizu smiled, brushing his cheek. “Me too. You did well.”

Ritsuka laughed weakly, tentative. “…Maybe next time, I’d like it on top more.”

Shizu grinned. “Try it and find out. I’m sure your boyfriend won’t object.”

A blush rose on Ritsuka’s face. “…Can we do it again? I think I need more practice.”

Shizu chuckled softly, pulling him close. “Absolutely. Step by step. No pressure. We’ll figure it out together.”

Ritsuka’s heart steadied as the last light faded from the room, trust and quiet intimacy holding them in its glow.

Notes:

The start of a long arc with Given and friends in New York, in my Winter’s Holly AU as always.

In this AU, Given consists of Hiiragi Kashima (bs/v), Mafuyu Satou (g/k/v), Ritsuka Uenoyama (g/backup v), and Shizusumi Yagi (dr)
Managers are retired bassist Haruki Nakayama and fixer extraordinaire Taisuke Suzuki.
The “boys” are all 24 here, except Mafuyu who is still 23. Ugetsu is 29

See Directory for earlier stories in the timeline

This is dedicated to E, Givenlover and The Otaku Mom, my wonderfully encouraging betas and fellow Given fans. Comments and kudos appreciated