Work Text:
20th August 2050
Beep… beep… beep… 07:00am
Sano Manjiro wakes up to his sixtieth birthday, alone. He greets the framed photograph on his nightstand a good morning and takes a moment to stare at the familiar ceiling, slowly easing the stiffness in his neck and his back before starting his routine. Ten minutes later he finds himself in the bathroom, shaving his face clean and getting himself ready before coming down for breakfast.
“Happy birthday Mikey. You’re an old man now, like me.” Same age Draken claps his shoulder and grips it affectionately. He pulls the chair next to Mikey at the dining table, grunting as he takes his seat. “Can I have some hot tea, dear?”
Emma appears from the kitchen with a tray, unlike the usual, she tied her hair in a neat bun; it will be a busy day for her and she doesn’t want her hair to get in the way. “Sure thing, love.” There's a pot of tea for them and a plate of treats for the birthday old-boy. “I made some dorayaki for you, Mikey. I made them not so sweet for your sugar level so don’t let me catch you complaining to Ken.” She smiles prettily, full with wrinkles and Mikey sees no differently from the fourteen years old and fifty-nine years old her. “I’ll go get us our breakfast, it’s ready in the kitchen.”
“Thanks guys.” Mikey takes a bite of a dorayaki and scrunches his nose, notices Emma’s stare from the kitchen door and quickly grins. “Not sweet. But—er—delicious.” Satisfactory answer enough, his sister lets the transgression go and gets more food.
“The shop is not very busy after last week’s new inventories, we’ve settled for the month now and I know what you prefer to do on your birthday. So don’t worry about coming down there today, okay. I’ve got you.” Draken passes one of the newspapers, Mikey nods gratefully. “Take your time, we’ll celebrate you tonight.”
“I’ll like that. Thanks again, Ken-chin.” Mikey finishes the snack and reaches for another one. He scans the headline lazily, unable to read properly without his glasses.
“You know, your nephew is moving to a new place today out of all day. And he thinks his old mum here has nothing to do other than coming over to help him. Thankfully big brother Izana’s coming tonight with food and cake.” Emma serves their breakfast and sits with them. “Why don’t you come with me today, hmm? Then we can have lunch somewhere nice together. You can get taiyaki too at that shop you like.” She suggests.
“It’s alright Emma, Mikey has his own plans today. Let the boy come himself to wish his uncle birthday later. He’s coming over for dinner anyway with the rest of our friends.” Draken assures his wife and eyes the warm breakfasts. “Smells yummy. What do we have here today?”
“Oooh… My favourites! Extra portions too, lucky old me.” Mikey digs himself in with the food. “Pass me the salt, Ken-chin.” He reaches forward, only to have Emma slap his hand away with a rice ladle.
“Your blood pressure, Mikey. I don’t need to remind you about last week’s readings!”
“But Emma, it’s my birthday!”
“Our house, my rules. You best remember that.” Emma says, piling up more food on Mikey’s plate.
-
By afternoon, Mikey is alone in the house, and he wastes no time to take out the portable hard drive he stores in the locked drawer next to his bed. The smooth metal surface of the device glints from the sunlight streaming through the curtainless open window, a sprinkle of thin layer of dust covers it from the long disuse. Mikey brushes the cool surface with his calloused thumb, and exhales shakily; he hasn’t opened it since his last birthday, he’s not strong enough to do it more than once a year even though he dreams of seeing and hearing him from time to time.
The device is the most important possession Mikey has, it holds a small collection of very important memories to him—his beloved late husband.
His laptop runs fast as he plugs in the drive. There are several folders containing multitudes of precious videos and photos in it. Mikey clicks one of the folders and chooses one video; this one—brings a memory of sea breeze to him, with taste of salt in the air and scenery of pastel colours of the idyllic coastal border town of Côte d'Azur, Menton, France. Their anniversary trip.
“You know I could live here, in one of these apartments facing the ocean.” Mikey said dreamily, following Takemichi closely from behind as they ventured the maze-like alleys in the afternoon.
Takemichi turned towards the camera with a disbelieved face, a tug of amusement at the end of his mouth as he pretended to consider Mikey’s sudden absurd suggestion. “Manjiro, that's insane.” He laughed under the dappled sunlight near a tall potted tree. “We’ve been in this country for a week, you declare every night of how much you don’t like the food here and can’t wait to go back for a plate of rice omelette.”
“What does that have to do with the insanity of living in a beautiful place with my husband?” Mikey zoomed towards the melting ice-cream in Takemichi’s hand and snorted, before bringing the focus back to his husband’s face.
“Oh come on don’t be silly. It has everything to do with living. Eating is living, Manjiro.” Takemichi turned around and began climbing the steep stairs. “Your tongue is too Japanese.” He snickered and stopped after a few steps, he turned around again and passed the melting ice-cream to Mikey’s visible hand in the video. “You can’t get taiyaki or dorayaki anytime you want. You would really-really hate it here. I just know it, Manjiro, I know you the best.” He said it in a matter-of-factly manner.
“Oh.” Mikey said, and chuckled. “You’re right. Never mind then.” He followed Takemichi sauntering into a short tunnel, a pathway shaded from the sun with various small colourful flowers in hanging pots as decoration. “What do you want me to do with this very melted ice-cream, Takemitchy? My hand is all sticky now.”
“I’m giving it to you. Can you finish it for me? I don’t really want it anymore.” There were early signs of crow’s feet at the edges of then thirty-five years old Takemichi’s eyes when he smiled. His nose was a bit red from sunburn and forehead slightly damped with sweat from the heat. “You want it, right?” He smiled so cheekily towards Mikey, showing all of his teeth.
Mikey sighed deliberately loud in the video. “Yeah yeah… I want it.” He blew a raspberry as Takemichi cheered ‘whee!’ with a small jump. “I’ll finish it for you. I’ll drink this liquid ice-cream from its weird softened cone if it makes you that happy.” He laughed at the funny wriggling dance Takemichi did for his small win.
“Thanks Manjiro, I love you…” Takemichi stepped closer towards Mikey with pouted lips for a quick kiss.
“I love you too, Takemitchy.”
It’s like time travelling. It feels as if Mikey’s there with him, with the love of his life that would never age, always staying the same in his memory, forever young and forever vibrant. Only him that changed so much—old and battered, white hairs, gaunt skin and joints that are never the same. They remind him so violently that it is the past he’s seeing—days of loving Takemichi, whose warmth never quite truly leaves him after many winters past.
The trip in the video followed by an impromptu border crossing to San Remo, Italy. That’s where they bought many types and way too many pasta that they didn’t even know how to cook. They had given them to Emma, who had invited them to eat dinner every other weekend where she tried various recipes with them. Some of them were so delicious that it’s a shame they couldn’t eat them again. Although Draken never said it out loud, he had hated the food; the man loved his rice.
Mikey replays the video and presses pause, he observes Takemichi’s face keenly. His chest hurts something terrible, and something so beautiful at the same time. He misses him so much—his beautiful and kind husband.
A hoarse chuckle escapes unwittingly, the thought of Takemichi not recognizing his own old Mikey will be a funny surprise later on. Hell, Mikey is sure even he doesn’t remember well of how he had looked like back then. Looking at the photographs of his youth is like looking at another person, similar to him—but different. Yet, like a paradoxical joke, he doesn’t feel all that different at the same time. From within, he thinks he’s the same taiyaki loving Sano Manjiro; and maybe—that’s how Takemichi will be able to recognize him again.
He clicks another folder and chooses another video. This one is so ordinary, that it’s particularly precious. Takemichi was not terribly happy with him in it, but he had felt the love best in Takemichi’s harsh but loving scolding, and tepid rejection that never failed to invite Mikey wheedling him with apologies and adoring attention.
It was a sunny afternoon, on a hot mid-summer day and a very hectic day.
“You know what? I had enough of this! Sometimes, I hate you so much, Manjiro!” Takemichi huffed angrily, as he alone attempted to pull a heavy three-seater couch into their second home.
“I am trying to help, Takemitchy. I’m just recording here and there a bit, so we can look back on this day later when we’re old, y’know. You’ll thank me when—” The camera was off focused, wobbled scenery of the unadorned front garden flashed fast to the left side. Mikey was avoiding the cushion Takemichi threw at him. “Hey! That’s mean!” The camera was back to recording Mikey’s upset husband.
Takemichi’s mouth was downturned and he had the telltale signs of wanting to cry, blue eyes shining, unblinking and fixed. “I’m tired Manjiro… and you…” He clamped up his mouth as he gestured towards Mikey tiredly, turned around fast and abandoned the couch right there and then.
“Takemichi? Honey? Love?” Mikey climbed hastily over the couch lodged at the front door and chased Takemichi into the kitchen.
Takemichi was crying into his palms, facing the unplugged refrigerator and ignoring Mikey’s anxious calls of his name. The camera was placed on the countertop; it was a coincidence that its lens was facing them, Mikey was visibly rushing to his husband’s side, who tried to push him away weakly.
“Just—leave me be. I just—I need a sec…” Takemichi’s shoulders trembled, and Mikey hugged Takemichi’s waist, another hand carding soft black hair, shushing him gently.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Takemitchy… I’ll stop playing around, okay. I’ll help you with anything you need, anything, promise! Don’t cry my love, I’m really sorry… I’m so so sorry… Please stop crying…” Mikey whispered to the side of Takemichi’s head, raining soft kisses on his husband’s temple as they swayed gently left and right.
“This whole thing… this… moving into a new place… I’m just so stressed…” Takemichi shifted in Mikey’s arms and hugged him back, smothering his wet face onto Mikey’s shoulder. “I don’t hate you. You know that, right? I didn’t mean it… I could never hate you… Are you… are you angry at me?” His sniffles were muffled with Manjiro’s plaid shirt, his hands clawing at the back of it.
“I know, don’t worry about it. I’m not angry at all. Hey listen, it’s my fault okay, you did nothing wrong. I should’ve helped you. You’re so stressed and tired… I should’ve known better. Please stop crying… hmm? Love?” Mikey kissed Takemichi’s hair and lingered there, still shushing him gently.
“Okay… I love you, Manjiro…” Takemichi brought his tearful face up, and looked into Mikey’s eyes. His mouth was slightly downturned, just a tad bit still upset about the whole thing.
Mikey gave him a quick peck on the lips, and laughed as he pushed Takemichi’s bangs away. “I love you too. So much!” He gave him another peck, not unlike a chicken. “Now, come on. We have things to move. Let’s do this together and finish before dinner.” They sauntered out of the kitchen, hands held on to each other.
Mikey watches the rest of the video; forty minutes of them lifting boxes into the house and putting things away. He laughs at every single item Takemichi drops, repeats the parts where Takemichi looks nervously and guiltily at the crockery he destroys, and the grateful and shy looks he gives to the young him when he comes with a broom and a dustpan. Sometimes, when he’s not looking at him, Takemichi would go in front of the camera and make silly faces, or say terrible puns that’s not at all funny.
The jealousy he feels towards himself, whenever they stop doing their task to kiss, the hugs, accidental and intended bumps, and the affectionate looks, smiles they have for each other—every single one of them, are overwhelming enough for him to let his eyes grow hot. He blinks away the tears—a silly old man he is, scoffing at himself, getting sad and emotional over an old video. He continues watching Takemichi with rapt attention on the screen, until the video shows the both of them plopping on the then settled couch to rest; just about the time when the camera runs out of battery.
He closes the video player and continues to browse. His eyes catch a title, and he frowns. The cursor hovers reluctantly on a folder, he contemplates watching it with a heavy heart.
Mikey stares at it, unsure. This video, he knows what it contains and what it does to him.
He’s never ready to watch it, and he’s never gotten over it either, on the countless times he’s watched it and how hurtful it was—still is.
There were many Takemichis in his memory, and the one in the folder was the one that robbed him of his sleep for many nights. Until eventually he was so exhausted, he found himself broken inside and crumbled into a shell of a man—slowly dying—with a promise to live.
The hospital bed had looked too big.
Takemichi was so thin and frail, he was swallowed by the bed sheets as he lay weakened fighting the cruel disease. The nasal cannula tube over his nose was making him uncomfortable, but he had let it be. One of Emma’s many knitted beanies worn warmly on his head; it was the red one he chose for the day, with an embroidered sunflower swaying in the wind.
“Did you… get… some sleep…?” Takemichi wheezed, voice hoarse. “Manjiro?” His hand was shivering as he reached for his husband, asking with great difficulty. “You… don’t… look so well…” Mikey held the pale hand, bringing it to his face.
“I did, Takemitchy. I did a little just now. I’ll sleep again later.” Mikey kissed the hand gently, his thumb caressed over Takemichi’s cheekbone. “I just want to be with you for now.”
Takemichi’s breathing was loud, the monitoring machine beeps constantly, filling in the silence as he gathered what little strength he had to continue the conversation. “It’s your… birthday… today.” He smiled, eyes a little glassy and red-rimmed. “Happy… birthday… Manjiro…” The hand in Mikey’s hold gripped tighter, albeit feebly. “Should I… sing?” He joked tiredly, Mikey chuckled at it.
“What a birthday song, my love? I already sang it twelve times today. Maybe later, okay?” Mikey leaned closer, grinning mischievously and still holding Takemichi’s hand. “Have you got a present for me? You always do.”
Takemichi slowly turned to his side, facing Mikey closely. The tubing for his intravenous drip pulled over his shoulder, Mikey rearranged it so it wouldn’t hurt.
“I do…” Takemichi said, laughing breathily. “It’s a… a bet.”
“A bet?” The pillow sank as Mikey rested his head awkwardly next to Takemichi’s, he was still sitting on the chair pulled close to the bed.
Takemichi nodded, and giggled. “A bet. Yours…” He takes time to catch his breath. “That… Sano Manjiro… will live up to… ninety… years old!” His finger booped weakly on Mikey’s nose.
“Oh… y—yeah? What a unique birthday present you’ve got me.” The shaky tearful voice Mikey spoke with wasn’t commented on, Takemichi only looked at him with a hopeful smile.
“Hm… And… he’ll be… very happy.” Added Takemichi, wiping Mikey’s tears away in a rare moment his hand was as steady as the healthiest he could be.
“Would I?” Mikey sniffled onto Takemichi’s hand, he forced a laugh that he didn’t mean. “But what would I get? If I win the bet, hmm, love?”
“Taiyaki?” Takemichi laughed breathily again, he looked so tired. “You like… taiyaki… right?”
“I do. I like taiyaki.” Mikey pulled the blanket over Takemichi, making sure he’s warm.
“I knew it… I know you… the best…” The blue eyes that Mikey adored the most were starting to drop. Takemichi was getting more sapped from the talking, and he needed to rest. “I… love you… Manjiro… so much…” Takemichi stubbornly fought his sleepiness, forcing himself awake to look at Mikey.
“I love you too, Takemichi. I love you so so much. I love you…” Mikey had silently cried on the pillow. Takemichi nuzzled him softly, until he couldn’t help it, and fell asleep.
Mikey knows how the rest of the video goes; it’s just him looking after Takemichi sleeping on that too big of a hospital bed. He doesn’t need to continue watching it, he knows, he knows… he has watched it—many, many painful times.
He finds himself in a prawn position, on his bed—under the blanket, hiding away from the world like a sixty years old child, crying pathetically, wishing he could reach out and hold that one person that matters the most in his entire pitiful life.
He’s tired of pretending.
But he’s okay, he’s alright…
Takemichi was there in his life; he had poured all the love Mikey needed, all the love he could ever wanted and deserved. And with it itself, will be the source of his strength. He will take pride in it—everything that Takemichi has given to him, sadness and longing as well, and live to the fullest.
A bet between them, until he’s ninety; 20th August 2050—just another birthday without Sano Takemichi. Thirty years still to come, he will win it and claim his rightful prize—the love of his life, next to the promised silly taiyaki.
-
Mikey must have fallen asleep, at six in the evening Izana comes into his bedroom to stop the looping video and wake him up. He tells Mikey to shower and come down, his friends have started to show up, one by one, and are asking about him.
They celebrate his birthday until quite late in the night—well, by old people standard that is, about half past eleven. It’s an unmeant paradigm they follow whenever they’re celebrating someone’s birthday, just let loose as if they’re all forty years younger without the bedevilling medical records.
They sing the birthday song many times in what seems like ten weird versions of it—Nahoya is relentless with his portable microphone. Someone bakes another birthday cake midway, about nine-ish; Mikey reckons it’s either Baji or Kazutora—or both, they love their cakes and all of them know that.
Some of them are embarrassingly drunk and disgraceful, Draken and Emma have to lay all the futon sets they can find in the house. The first one to claim one is as always, lightweight drinker Pah-chin. At some point, Mikey joins very not sober Chifuyu and very not sober Hakkai to cry over Takemichi’s photos. And the rest—obviously, he too must have abandoned sobriety, he couldn’t really remember what transpired afterwards other than grumpy old Mitsuya dumping his wrinkly sagging ass back on his bed, where he sleeps alone throughout the night.
Come morning, Mikey wakes his reluctant nephew up, and drags the boy to visit his late husband.
21st August 2050, 07:30am;
“This is a new model one, I’m not sure—how do I—help me set this up a bit…” Mikey passes the new expensive camera he bought last week to Draken’s son.
“It’s like this—you press this to set it up—and the usual red button here—I’ve set it on auto-focus mode for now—but, there, like that if you want to change it—then press this button again to stop it.” The young man hands him back the camera. “Okay?”
“Yeah okay. Thanks, boy.” Mikey grins, squeezing his nephew’s shoulder.
“I’ll be right over there, uncle. Just holler at me if you need anything.” He smiles and walks away, to give Mikey the privacy he needs with Takemichi.
Mikey takes a moment to breathe; he coughs a little to clear his throat, and brings the camera focus to Takemichi’s tombstone.
“Good morning, Takemitchy.” He laughs to himself, feeling a little daft but excited nonetheless. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
The sky is August bright, the bluest it could be—vast and glorious, not unlike those brilliant eyes in Mikey’s dream. It’s a calm day as well, and it’s just him with the singing cicadas, visiting Takemichi so early on a weekend morning.
“I miss you. So much” The voice that’s recorded in the camera is a cruel disparate from the ones he watched in the hard drive videos—gravelly old. But it’s modulated all the same, always a gentle confession to his only lover.
“There’s not…” Mikey swallows hard, scratching the back of his head, not really sure how to proceed when he has so many things to say.
After a moment, he continues with surety. “There’s not a day, I ever stop loving you. Just you remember our bet, love; thirty more years… thirty more, and I’ll win. I always win, remember?” He grins, and falters as he realizes something so melancholy that it hurts. “But I guess, I always lose when it comes to you.” He laughs ruefully, remembering Takemichi’s nonsensical mixture of expression between expressive and deadpan.
No… Takemichi wouldn’t like it if he lost this bet… Mikey is doubtless that Takemichi wants him to win.
He blinks his eyes rapidly, he doesn’t feel like crying again. It’ll give him a headache that he’ll need painkillers for it to subside, and the pills usually hurt his stomach, so no… he won’t cry.
Mikey ignores his own tears—quite the contradictory old man he is, ridiculous like always. He takes his time to regain himself, and gaze at the kanji ‘Takemichi’.
“Thank you for loving me, Takemitchy. I—I can’t… I can’t wait to be ninety. I can’t… wait to see you again.” He places the camera aside, and rests his hand on the asperous stone.
The wind blows a gentle caress on his skin, trees rustle and calm awash him.
“I love you.” Mikey says, closing his eyes and imagining Takemichi returning the words back to him.
“Mikey, wake up! Wake up!”
Mikey opens his crusty eyes blearily, his hand clutching the tattered towel close to his drooling mouth. “H—huh… wh—what? Is it morning already?” He slurs, voice still heavy with sleep.
“It’s mid-morning-ish, Mikey. You said it like it’s the crack of dawn.” Takemichi pulls him into a sitting position. “Now come on, wakey wakey!”
“Did I miss school? If school hasn’t ended yet, I can still go.” He yawns, and stretches his hands and legs.
“There’s no school here, Mikey. Don’t be silly.” Takemichi laughs so ardently free, he surprises Mikey. Mikey stares at him—at the blond fourteen years old Takemichi. “Draken is not here yet, so let me do your hair.”
Takemichi combs Mikey’s blond hair, and ties up the top part neatly—not at all tight, but secured, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts—Mikey realizes.
“How’s it?” Takemichi holds up a small square mirror.
The reflection on it, is the fifteen years old him. “Oh!” Mikey says, it clicks and he finally remembers. He finally understands. He turns to look at Takemichi and asks, “did I win the bet?” More eagerly than appropriate, he knows why he’s there—he knows what it means.
“Too bad, you didn’t.” Takemichi shrugs, feigning a pout. “You’re this close—thiiisss close! Five years early, Mikey. Five years! Your blood pressure! You should have listened to Emma!” He throws his hands up in frustration.
“Aw… damn…” Mikey sighs exasperatedly with exasperation he does not at all feel, and catches Takemichi’s face, squeezing his cheeks. He pulls him close to give him a big smooch. “Does this mean I don’t get taiyaki? Hmm?” Nuzzling his nose on Takemichi’s.
“No you don’t.” Takemichi climbs on him, and tentatively grins. “But I do. And because I’m nice, I’ll share some with you.”
“How very nice of you indeed.” Mikey pulls the younger boy closer, and pecks him another kiss. “But thank you, I’ll gladly eat them.”
“I know… I always know.” Takemichi nods importantly, and jumps off of Mikey’s lap. “Now come on! We can visit Shin, Peh-yan, Souya and Sanzu later. They’re here too. But you know that.” He pulls Mikey up. “Let’s go get that damn taiyaki!”
“Okay, okay… help me find my key first, Takemitchy. We can’t go anywhere without it.” Mikey smiles simperingly—the simpering invincible Mikey; feared far and wide, hopelessly in love and pining his one and only Takemitchy.
Takemichi dangles the key in front of him with an impish look, and beckons impatiently.
Somewhere—nowhere but here and there, fast on the empty smooth road, on the ever so cool CB25OT—they ride away together.
Now and always, until the end of time. Because death, will never do them apart.