Mikey was still holding him and Takemichi didn't move. He didn't mind. If anything… he felt more grounded like this. As if the weight in Mikey's body—his silence, his trembling, his pain—had tethered them both to the earth. Held them still in a way that made the rest of the world feel less loud.
He wasn't used to being the one people leaned on. That was usually someone else. His brother. His parents. His uncles.
But today… he was the one in the middle. Holding everything steady when it could've cracked. And he didn't know how he felt about that. It wasn't exactly comforting. It was kind of heavy, actually. But it mattered. So even if he didn't like it—he'd do it anyway.
Because Mikey was his friend now.
When Mikey finally pulled away, it wasn't sudden. Just slow, like gravity had loosened its grip a little.
He muttered something—a low and rough, "…Thanks."
Takemichi smiled at him, warm and real. "It's no problem."
He reached up to brush a few leaves from Mikey's hoodie. "You wanna head back to where we left the bikes? Draken might still be waiting. Or we can stay here for a while longer."
Mikey took a breath. Deep. Shaky. But steadying.
Then nodded.
"To Ken-chin," he said simply, and together, they made their way down the steps.
Draken was leaning against a tree not far from the path, arms crossed—but his gaze lifted when he saw them. He didn't ask questions. Didn't pry.
He looked at Mikey for a long moment. Then asked, just one thing, "…Feel better?"
Not 'Are you okay?'
Because it was obvious he wasn't.
But 'better?' That left room.
Mikey gave a crooked little smile. Small, but more like himself. "…Kinda."
Draken's hand landed on his shoulder in a quiet thump of brotherhood. Then Mikey's stomach let out a low, disgruntled growl.
Draken blinked. Takemichi snorted.
Mikey looked away, deadpan. "…I'm hungry."
Takemichi smiled wider. "Ramen?"
"Ramen," Draken confirmed.
Mikey nodded like it was the first decision he'd made all day that didn't make his chest hurt. "Ramen."
They started walking toward the bikes, the path winding back through quiet trees and scattered shrine charms.
Mikey walked in the middle with Draken on his left and Takemichi on his right. The silence stretched for a while—comfortable, this time.
Then—
"So," Draken said casually, hands in his pockets, "you really have uncles that throw spontaneous boxing tournaments in your yard?"
Takemichi groaned. "Why are you stuck on that part?!"
"Because that's not normal, man," Draken said with a snort. "That's, like, some underground anime villain training arc."
"It was one time," Takemichi muttered. "Well. Two. And the second time, I dodged Uncle Ryohei's opening hook. He's a boxer, so—"
"Wait. You dodged an adult boxer's punch?"
"He was wearing ankle and wrist weights! And I had a broom!"
"That doesn't make it better, that makes it worse!"
Takemichi waved his arms. "You didn't even hear the part about the trampoline cannon—"
"What."
"Nothing. Forget it."
Mikey didn't join in, but he listened. Let the voices flow around him. The teasing. The rhythm of something easy. Something ordinary. And when Takemichi glanced back—He caught it.
Mikey, walking beside them with his head tilted down just a bit. Shoulders looser than before. Eyes a little tired, but smiling, soft, quiet and real.
Takemichi smiled too and turned back around and let the conversation roll on—louder now, more animated as Draken demanded a full explanation for "trampoline cannon," and Takemichi tried, in vain, to defend his family's honor.
The trees swayed gently overhead.
The wind carried their laughter down the path.
And for a little while, everything felt okay.
.
The warmth hit them the second they slid open the door.
A wave of steam, miso, and sizzling pork broth washed over the three of them as they stepped inside. The little shop was half-full, the clatter of chopsticks and low voices forming a comfortable background hum.
Draken flopped into the booth first. Mikey followed, sliding into the middle seat. Takemichi sat last, still feeling the faint tingle of Sky Flames settled low in his chest from earlier, soft and dormant.
They ordered quickly—three bowls, extra pork for Mikey, and a side of gyoza because Draken insisted.
It didn't take long for the conversation to pick up again.
"So," Draken said, cracking his knuckles and resting his elbows on the table, "I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About the… what was it? Trampoline that launches people over hedges?"
Takemichi slumped. "You really wanna bring that back up?"
"Yes," Draken said immediately.
"I didn't even mention the flameproof suits or the airbag trees—"
Mikey blinked. "Airbag trees?"
Takemichi groaned into his hands. "I'm going to regret everything."
"No no no," Draken grinned, leaning in. "You're not allowed to start a story like that and stop. Explain."
Takemichi sighed, dramatically. But the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him.
"Okay. So. Uncle Verde decided it'd be 'good science' to replace all the oak trees on the east lawn with emergency crash-test dummies disguised as greenery. For safety."
Mikey blinked. "You can't be serious."
"I wish I wasn't," Takemichi muttered. "You haven't lived until you've seen a thousand-dollar bonsai try to punch you in the ribs because it thought you were falling."
Draken burst out laughing.
Mikey chuckled into his sleeve.
It made Takemichi pause—just long enough to catch the warmth blooming in Mikey's face. Faint. Fleeting. But there.
And real.
He kept going.
"Anyway, I think it was Papa's fault. He mentioned one time how the east lawn 'lacked obstacle coverage,' and Verde took it personally."
"So your family's insane," Draken said, nodding approvingly.
"Insanely resourceful," Takemichi corrected, holding up a finger. "We haven't had a broken limb since 2013."
Mikey smiled again, more freely now, and stole a piece of gyoza from Takemichi's plate without blinking.
"Hey!"
"What?" Mikey said innocently, chewing. "You must have got a backup metabolism or something. You'll be fine."
"That's not how that works—"
Draken smirked. "You've got more stories, don't you?"
Takemichi hesitated. Then grinned. "I mean… did I ever tell you about the time Uncle Byakuran tried to teach me how to bribe a diplomat with marshmallows?"
Draken leaned in. "This I gotta hear."
Mikey rested his chin on his hand, eyes still shadowed with something tired—but brighter now. Less storm, more sky. And Takemichi, sitting there between the two of them, talking about chaos and mayhem and distant, dangerous love? He felt—maybe for the first time since coming to Japan—like he was home.
.
The ramen had been perfect.
The laughter, better.
Now, the sky was bruising into soft twilight, the last gold slipping behind the rooftops as Mikey parked Babu, as he told Takemichi his bike was named, in front of Takemichi's apartment building. Draken leaned back against Zephyr, arms crossed, but relaxed.
Takemichi climbed off the bike, tugging his coat into place.
"Thanks for the ride," he said, smiling as he turned to face them.
"Anytime," Draken said, nodding.
Mikey just made a noise that sounded vaguely like 'you owe me dessert.'
Takemichi hesitated a moment, then opened his arms wide. "Alright. C'mere."
Draken blinked. "Huh?"
Takemichi stepped in and hugged him firmly. Draken stiffened for exactly two seconds. Then patted his back with a half-hearted grumble. "You're lucky you're small, man. Anyone else tries that and I'd—"
"Oh my god," Mikey said from behind them. "If he gets a hug—I want one too."
Takemichi laughed as he stepped back. "You're such a brat."
Mikey held his arms out expectantly. "A brat with abandonment issues. C'mon."
Takemichi rolled his eyes fondly and hugged him too—tight and easy, like they hadn't just been dealing with some awful tension a few hours ago.
Mikey buried his face in his shoulder for a half-second too long. Then stepped back, sniffing dramatically. "Okay. I'm full of ramen and validation now. We're good."
Takemichi grinned. "Glad to be of service."
He waved as they rolled away, both bikes fading into the hum of evening traffic. When he finally turned back to his door, he was still smiling. Because yeah, he was far from home. But right now?
This was enough.
.
The lights were off when he stepped inside, but he didn't flip the switch. The quiet was nice and after the day he'd had—after the tension, the weight of old wounds and new bonds—this kind of stillness felt like exhaling after holding his breath too long.
He toed off his shoes, padded into the living room, and dropped onto the futon without bothering to change.
The city buzzed faintly outside his window as Takemichi pulled out his phone and stared at it for a moment. Then, without thinking too hard, he hit speed dial.
It only rang once.
"Takemichi?" came the voice—low, warm, a little drowsy. "It's late here. What happened? Are you okay?"
Takemichi smiled, soft and full. "I'm fine, nii-san. Just… had a day."
A pause. Then a sigh. "One of those, huh?"
"You have no idea," he muttered.
He sat back, letting his head rest against the wall as the words started to come. Not all at once. Just little pieces. About Mikey, and Draken. About Shinichiro and everything he told his parents and more.
His brother listened. Didn't interrupt. Didn't ask too many questions. Just offered his quiet ear like he always had, all their lives.
Ieyasu Sawada: the sharper, older twin. The one with a tongue like a knife and a heart like his father's Sky flame, burning quietly for those he loved.
"So, you've got friends now," Ieyasu said softly when Takemichi paused to breathe. "Real ones."
"...Yeah," Takemichi said. "I think so."
"They're lucky to have you."
Takemichi blinked. Then smiled. "I hope so."
There was another beat of silence, comfortable in the way only siblings could be.
"And the rest?" Ieyasu asked, voice a little softer. "How's school? Your other friends? Are you eating real food or still pretending instant curry is a vegetable?"
Takemichi rolled his eyes. "I cooked pork rice with egg yesterday. I even added something green."
"Was it a single chive?"
"...No comment."
Ieyasu chuckled and Takemichi relaxed even more because even from an ocean away, his brother could still pull the weight off his shoulders.
And for the first time all day, Takemichi wasn't holding anything back. Just himself, unfiltered.
.
.
Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS