by Anna Veriani
They tortured each other, Kai’s shoes scraping against the dashboard, Hiro’s hitting the front window. Finally all they could do was pant against each other.
“We’re always going to be friends,” Hiro breathed. “Best friends. For the rest of our lives. No compromises.”
He wanted to seal it with a kiss, but they’d said just once, and he’d meant it, however painfully. Kai’s eyes were all dark and soft, melted chocolate, and he could clearly read the calculation in Hiro’s mind. To kiss or not to kiss?
Hiro’s lips grazed Kai’s forehead, not quite a kiss. Then he rolled off him and took a moment to get his bearings before restarting the car.
Chapter Thirteen
YA-SAN insisted on sitting in the back seat of Hiro’s kei car, claiming it made her happier to see Kai and Hiro sitting next to each other. Kai was pretty sure she just wanted the extra leg space, though, as she retrieved a blanket from her suitcase and curled up across the back seats, falling asleep within the first half hour of their drive back.
The sun was already beginning to set, even though it wasn’t even four o’clock yet.
“We’ll stop for an early dinner,” Hiro said. “Ya-san will need to stretch her legs.”
Hiro hadn’t asked any questions about why, precisely, his grandmother wanted him to drive all the way here and bring Ya-san back to the inn. Kai had paid for her accommodations, plugging the booking into the inn computer system without asking anyone earlier that day. Kai understood why he had done those things, though. He loved that Hiro was driving her without knowing, simply because a loved one asked him to. That infinite patience of Hiro.
They stopped and woke Ya-san at a restaurant on the end of a small fishing town. It looked like a cottage but for its hand-painted sign advertising fresh snow crabs. They got stuffed crab oden. It was a steaming-hot pot full of dashi broth and kobako-gani, little jewel box crabs, which were filled with sweet meat and rich eggs. Every time Kai ate crab, he remembered some other winter in Ishikawa from before he left home, when he’d spend whole afternoons catching crab with his mom and dad and Hiro, and whole evenings slurping them up while the sun sank around them.
“Ya-san,” Hiro said, “I’ve always meant to ask you: Why you are called Ya when the inn’s rice supplier, according to the paperwork, is listed as Tokuda Yumi?”
She nodded, adjusting her enormous glasses. “My name is Yumi. Written with the kanji for kind and beautiful. But I wasn’t concerned with beauty when I was young, so I took that kanji out of my name. Your grandmother did it for me, actually.”
“The Ya comes from yasashii,” Kai said. “Kind.”
It was like her nickname was Ms. Kind. It made him like her even more.
She said, “And Hiro’s grandmother’s name was Aiko, written with the kanji for love and child. But she wasn’t a child any longer, so when I became Ya, she became Ai-chan.”
Ms. Kind and Ms. Love.
“I’ve always thought Hiro’s kanji was perfect for him,” Kai said. It could mean gentle or generous or open-minded. “The other reading for hiro is kutsurogu, which I always liked.”
“To feel at home,” Ya-san repeated. “Yes, Hiro tends to make himself right at home, wherever he is. He makes others feel that way too, doesn’t he? It’s a good quality.”
Hiro shrugged, grinning self-consciously.
Kai hadn’t felt at home anywhere but Ishikawa in a long time. Maybe Hiro’s inn was really the only place he’d ever felt at home.
“Your name,” Ya-san said, gesturing to Kai, “must mean sea, because you were born near the ocean?”
He flinched; it was the most common kanji for Kai. “You might think.”
“Oh?”
“Kai’s kanji is special,” Hiro said. “It’s two kanji—for beautiful and rejoice.”
“Rejoicing in his beauty,” Ya-san said. Kai shifted uncomfortably; his name seemed so boastful to him sometimes, even though he hadn’t chosen it.
“It was a gamble that Kimi Takahashi took when he was born,” Hiro said. “I’m just glad he didn’t grow up ugly.”
Ya-san laughed, and Kai snorted over a mouthful of crab. Once they were finished, they went back to the car. Ya-san, more alert after nourishment, insisted Hiro drive them over the beach so that they could watch the sun set. Hiro briefly flickered his hand off his steering wheel and grazed Kai’s fingers as his tiny car’s tires protested over the undulations of the sand. They watched, together, that brief, gorgeous moment when the ocean and the sun met in a sinking, oozing glory of golden light.
“IS there a winter festival I didn’t know about?” Hiro frowned. The normally empty streets that led to the Asada Inn were filled with parked cars.
“I don’t see any food stalls out,” Kai said. “Do you really get festivals here?”
“Not in the winter.”
“At least your car’s small.”
Hiro was able to navigate the narrow passages left by the odd influx of cars until he took them up to the front gate of the inn. He jerked and pushed Kai down. “Shit—Kai, stay low.”
“What?” But the moment he said it, he knew: There was no celebration. Those cars were here because of him, because he’d escaped New York two weeks ago and word finally got out that Ishikawa’s most famous celebrity was back in town.
“I don’t think anyone saw you,” Hiro said, “but it’s going to look weird if none of us get out of this car in the next twenty seconds.”
“You should take Ya-san in first,” Kai said, unclicking his seat belt and lowering himself to the car floor. “They’ll bombard me, and she might fall in the snow if things get too chaotic.”
“I know.” Hiro frowned. “But I can’t leave you alone out here. I’ll take you in first, quickly, and then I’ll come back—” He put up his hands. “Too late.”
“What?”
Ya-san’s voice sounded from outside the car. “Get away, you dogs! Go home!”
“Oh my God, she’s shaking her fist at them,” Hiro said. “Kai, she is threatening the paparazzi.”
“The paparazzi are here?” Kai was expecting screaming fangirls, maybe some more aggressive men, but not paparazzi. Not here in the countryside, where he’d come to be safe.
“Some guys with cameras, at least.” Hiro cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do this, shall we?”
“That’s okay,” Kai said from the bottom of his seat. “I don’t need to get out.”
Hiro left the car. For a horrible moment Kai thought he’d been abandoned, but then his own car door opened and Hiro unceremoniously scooped him outside.
“I’ve got you,” Hiro said in his ear, wrapping an arm tight around him and bringing him forward.
“Kai, Kai…?” Kai knew the rhythm so well: The familiar whispers of waiting, hungry fans—they were debating whether it was really him, and as soon as they knew it was—
“KAI-CHAN!” Immediate shouting. “KAI-CHAAAAAN!”
Ya-san hollered back. “He’s Kai-san to you! You don’t know him! Learn your manners!”
Cameras flashed, burning Kai’s eyes. His body went into fight-or-flight mode, his heart racing. Hiro just kept trudging on, whistling to himself, gently warning people to keep their distance. When one man with a camera leaped in front of their path, Hiro pushed him away easily and kept going.
When they got to the inn entrance, the shoji doors slid open, and Kai flinched, burrowing himself against Hiro’s chest. But it was only Hiro’s father ushering them in. They quickly stepped inside, and he slid the door shut behind him.
Hiro’s father, his uncle, and Shinsuke were guarding the entrance with a calmness not dissimilar to Hiro’s.
Through the thin doors, Kai could still hear the voices:
“Kai-chan! Come out!”
“Kai-chan! Sign my arm!”
Kai froze, unable to take off his shoes.
“YOUR FACE IS TATTOOED ON MY ASS, KAI-CHAN!”
“That makes two of us!” Hiro shouted back, pointing at his own but
t.
“Hiro!” His mother came out from behind the front desk. “Don’t be impolite.”
“They’re scaring Kai, Mama-san,” Hiro said. He helped Ya-san take off her shoes and put on indoor slippers.
“Welcome to the inn,” his mother said, bowing to Ya-san. “Are you a new guest?”
Of course. She’d never been the one to pick up the rice, so she didn’t recognize Ya-san.
“This is Tokuda-san,” Kai said immediately, pushing on his own slippers and rushing forward. “I’ll take her to the tatami room and get her tea.”
Hiro’s mother was clearly wondering why they’d come home with an unexpected guest, but she was in Okami mode, so she only bowed to Ya-san and let them pass. Before Kai slipped away, he turned to Hiro’s father.
“Asada-san, I’m so sorry for this trouble. I’ll be leaving tonight.”
“You’re not leaving, Kai,” Hiro growled immediately.
“Please.” His father waved his hand. “This is good for business.”
Kai knew he was lying. It was upsetting the atmosphere of the inn, and he was probably furious inside, only too kind to show it.
Kai took Ya-san’s hand and helped her to the tatami room.
“Where is Ai-chan?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Hiro said. “Let’s look for her after you’ve settled in.”
Once Ya-san was seated, Hiro and Kai stepped into the garden and headed toward the teahouse. Hiro was as good as any bodyguard Kai had ever had, and Kai was glad he was coming with him. The open air felt dangerous, like fans might climb the garden walls and launch themselves at him. Stranger things had happened. He’d been bombarded at pizzerias, trapped in dressing rooms, put under siege while inside limousines. It had given his life a claustrophobic aftertaste he had almost forgotten about. Now he felt like he was being forced to gulp it down all over again.
The garden was blessedly empty. Hiro slid open the teahouse door. The small room was filled with girls.
It took his clouded brain a moment to register that it was Risa and her two bandmates, Karin and Miyu.
“Hiro. Kai!” Risa looked just as startled as he probably did.
“I’m just getting tea…,” Kai started.
“Is everyone all right?” Hiro asked seriously.
Miyu was on the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks and wetting the tips of her braids.
“Oh God, big cousin, we’re so sorry,” Risa said. She was standing up, and she bowed to him and Kai. Karin and Miyu, both on the floor, bowed from their knees.
“What’s going on?” Kai asked uncomfortably.
Karin was patting Miyu’s shoulder, but Miyu pushed Karin aside and said, “I was s-s-so stupid! I’m sorry, Kai-chan!”
“It’s okay,” he said immediately, having no idea what she was talking about.
“Shh.” Hiro lowered himself to his knees. He looked enormous next to Karin and Miyu, but he hugged Miyu incredibly gently. “It’s all right. What happened?”
Miyu tried to explain but was sniffling too hard.
“Miyu posted her selfie with Kai on Instagram,” Risa explained. “That’s why….”
Why the inn was surrounded with fans and cameras.
“It’s okay,” Kai said quickly as Hiro murmured soothingly to Miyu. “It was bound to happen eventually. It’s my fault for staying here so long.”
“M-my Instagram is private,” Miyu sniffed. “And I only have twenty-seven followers, so I thought—I thought it would be okay, but….”
Hiro patted her back.
“Someone screenshotted the post and sent it to their friend, who sent it to their friend, who posted it on a fan forum,” said Risa. “I called you both earlier to warn you, but no one picked up.”
Since Thanksgiving Kai had taken to deliberately leaving his phone in odd places where he was guaranteed to forget it. Right now it was either in a random bin in the dressing room or stuffed inside Hiro’s pillowcase.
“We were driving up to Noto,” Kai explained. “It’s fine. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”
He meant it, too, as much as he wished Miyu hadn’t made the post. It wasn’t her responsibility to keep him safe—that duty belonged to his security team, which he had deliberately ditched in New York. So the only person to blame was himself. Which he would do, in excess, as soon as Ya-san had her tea.
Kai made a cup and set out sweets on a tray, as Okami had trained him to do. When he finished, Hiro parted from Miyu.
“Are you all right now?” he asked gently.
Kai wasn’t even being addressed, and he practically melted at the sound of Hiro’s voice. Miyu blinked up at him in understandable awe, her cheeks going red. She seemed infatuated after one hug. If any man in this room was celebrity material, it was Hiro.
Kai picked up his tray and faded into the background, happy to serve.
HE’D been so busy with his own work earlier that he hadn’t even thought of where Ya-san was staying until Kai led them down the hall, stopping briefly to pick up an extra-small yukata for her. Kai had apparently booked a room on Ya-san’s behalf. He’d chosen one not far from the lobby so that she wouldn’t have to walk much. It was a smaller room, easier to keep warm, but it opened onto a beautiful private garden that had a man-made pond built in the shape of kokoro, the kanji for heart.
“This is beautiful,” Ya-san said, surveying the room. “But where… where is Ai-chan?”
“I’m sorry,” Hiro said. Obaachan knew when Ya-san was supposed to arrive. He suspected she was hiding from the stir Kai’s fans were causing out front, but he didn’t want to say that in front of Kai. “I’ll go look for her now—”
“Ya-chan.”
Hiro turned around.
Obaachan stood in the doorway, her hair up and her kimono different from the somber dark colors she typically wore. Her furisode kimono was almost white at first glance, like a bride’s, but when she stepped forward, Hiro saw that it was actually a faint peach, a pattern of soft pink trailing down beneath her obi.
Ya-san blinked at Obaachan with her magnified eyes, and every question Hiro had about why the two ladies wanted to meet at the inn was answered.
“It’s like the photograph,” Kai murmured. Hiro didn’t ask what he meant. He only bowed, unnoticed by the two women, and stepped backward out of the room. Kai followed him, closing the door.
“They’ll explain later,” Kai said.
Hiro almost felt like laughing. “That doesn’t need explaining.”
That was love. Love was a visible thing; it lived in the eyes. He saw it in his own reflection when he thought of Kai. He thought he’d seen it in Kai’s soft eyes when they kissed in the car. It radiated off Ya-san and his grandmother, tentative and sacred.
“I can’t believe I never knew.” He stepped away. “I mean, all those years—Ya-san was just the rice farmer. I took Obaachan up to her husband’s funeral, and I had no idea.”
“It’s okay.” Kai took his hand, and it felt so cold and small, like something Hiro needed to protect. “They weren’t ready for you to know.”
“Do my parents know?” Hiro asked as they headed toward the Winter Quarters. Hiro knew Kai’s fans outside needed to be dealt with, but he was sure his parents would prefer him to help Kai first, as he was the guest they distressed most.
“No,” Kai said. “No one in your family knows, I think.”
“Then why do you know?”
“Obaachan told me my first night here. I don’t know why.”
Hiro frowned. “She confides in you like you’re her favorite grandchild. And I always thought I was the favorite grandchild.”
They went into the room, and as Hiro rushed toward the heater, Kai headed toward the garden, looking outside as if trying to find hidden faces. Then he bolted the wooden doors to the garden. Hiro felt terrible for him.
Kai grabbed his duffel bag from the table and started cramming it full of dirty laundry.
“What are you doing?” Hiro asked.
“Packing.” Now that they were alone, Kai wasn’t trying to stay composed. His pale hands were trembling.
Hiro stiffened. “What? What do you mean?”
“My fans aren’t going to leave until I leave,” Kai said, shoving a fistful of his socks into the bag.
“So?” Hiro said. “They’re not bothering you right now, are they? You’re safe here—”
“Your family shouldn’t have to be on high alert to protect me,” Kai said. “And those people weren’t respectful. Stomping all over your front gardens, shouting—how are other guests supposed to come in and out of the inn in peace?”
“My dad said he doesn’t mind,” Hiro said, even as his stomach sank, because Kai didn’t seem like he could be persuaded easily.
Kai snorted, shaking out a pair of sweatpants—Hiro’s—until his phone dropped on the floor. He picked it up and turned it on. “Your dad’s just treating me like a guest, and you don’t show a guest how you really feel. I need to leave, Hiro. I can’t wait for your family to tell me that.”
“But you’re not….” Not a guest. Hiro had just watched Kai navigate the tearoom and check in a guest like he was residential staff. Lived here. Was an Asada. Somehow over the past weeks, Kai working at the inn had become the norm, and Hiro went whole lengths of time forgetting Kai had a check-out date.
HE’D expected to find the selfie he took with Miyu on the tabloid sites when he googled his name, and he did. But there were also pictures taken less than a full half hour ago of him and Hiro at the front of the inn. The pictures were largely blurry, and Hiro looked like a protective bear in them, like he wanted to fit Kai into his coat.
The comment section was vile. People were posting the inn’s address, and Kai felt bare, naked, exposed before the entire world.
At least his American fans were too far away to come see him. How many fans in Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka cared enough to trek all the way out to Kaga? He had no idea. He knew the answer wasn’t zero.
Strangers were discussing Hiro at length.
Kaisgirl5: Who is the other man???? Is that Godfrey Gao?
