Hotaru

I don’t own the lovely Tomomasa and Takamichi

Hotaru
by Michalyn
Pairing: Tomomasa + Takamichi

Pinching the firefly
he has caught, the boy’s fingers
go green at the tips
(Seishi Yamaguchi)

“Come with me.”

“Where?” Takamichi blinks suspiciously.

Tomomasa’s lashes lower. His laughter bubbles up, rough as a cat’s tongue over Takamichi’s senses.

“Come and watch the summer moon with me.”

Takamichi nods. A warm breeze tickles beneath his yukata as they make their way across the field, their footsteps muffled in the summer-ripe grass. The air is vibrating with the chirping of cicadas and beside him, Tomomasa’s fan opens and shuts with a sound like the fluttering of wings.

The evening is beautiful and Takamichi presses forward into the fading light. He cannot stray too far, however, for Tomomasa’s hand is in his: warm, rough, keeping him close, measuring the pace.

A little boy in a red kimono is catching fireflies near the pond. One hovers on the tip of his finger, trembling in the instant between freedom and captivity. Near his feet, its brethren wink on and off, glittering in a makeshift bamboo cage . Takamichi smiles wistfully.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand why the children catch them.”

Tomomasa cocks his head. In the moonlight his hair is limned in silver, his eyes unreadable.

“This world is so sad, so fleeting….” He pauses, his gaze seeking Takamichi’s. “Sometimes when we find one bright, beautiful thing we don’t want to let it go.”

Takamichi frowns, considering. The boy is still bobbing near the pond, his kimono muted by the darkness. Only his face, moon-round, moon-pale, is easily visible.

His face and the fireflies, blinking and winking, burning against the cage.

Tomomasa’s palm tightens around Takamichi’s.

When he extends his arm, Takamichi allows himself to be folded into it.

End