Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s too early in the season for mornings to feel warm yet, the grass still covered in a fine layer of frost. The stone bench facing the altar had been frigid cold when they first sat down, and honestly hasn't warmed much in the—what, ten? Thirty?—minutes they've been there. Mika huddled up, shoulders hunched, hands tucked up inside opposite sleeves of the too-large jacket, watching their breath rise up above their head in little puffs of vapor.

Time to head home, probably, before the town starts to wake and someone finds them perching in the graveyard like some weird little gremlin. That’s definitely not the kind of first impression they’re hoping for.

But it was just so nice and peaceful, so quiet and still in the gray pre-dawn light, the crisp breeze rolling in off the sea... You just didn’t get mornings like this in Pokyo. Maybe if they do manage to stick around for a while, if they can figure out how to make this whole farm thing work, they’ll get used to mornings like this someday. But for now, it’s still a marvel, and they can’t help but want to bask in it a little longer...

“Hope it rains soon.” The voice emerges from nowhere, breaking through their reverie. “Clear up some of this moss...”

Mika turns, confused, to see a man standing a few feet away, hands on hips with a bucket hanging from one implausibly thick forearm, poking at the paving stones with the toe of his boot. “E-excuse me?”

He starts in surprise and whirls around, mouth dropping open as he takes in the sight of them—hair surely a mess, still wearing the flannel pj’s they’d worn to bed, pants tucked into mud-caked boots, one of granddad’s old jackets thrown over top. His cheeks start to flush. “Oh... Hi there...”

“...Hi.” When he doesn't do anything but continue to stare, they ask, “What was that you were saying? Something about moss?”

“Oh–! Uh.” His hair is just long enough on top to be lightly tousled, cropped even shorter on the sides, so they can see that his ears join the party as the blush deepens. “The...rain. Sometimes it washes the moss off the stones.”

Mika tilts their head to one side, considering this. “I’d imagine it just makes it worse? I mean, I dunno much about moss, but...doesn't it like water?”

“It can rain pretty hard here,” he says with a shrug, which, yeah, sure, seems fair. After a moment’s thought, he reaches into the bucket and withdraws a stiff-bristled brush with a sheepish smile. “It’s easier to scrub off afterward, anyway.”

They laugh and nod, finally understanding what this man is doing here this early in the morning—has a much better reason for it than they do, that’s for certain. “Makes sense. Are you the caretaker, then?”

“The..? Oh! Oh, n-no, that’s not...” The blush is back in full force, ludicrously charming on his scruffy, handsome face as he gestures at something behind Mika. “I’m a blacksmith—my brother and I are. We’re right next door, so we help keep the area clean.”

They turn to follow his pointing, easily spotting the house looming above the old altar, built against the cliffside, a blue batik with white hammer and tongs fluttering in the breeze. Right, okay. Blacksmith. That certainly tracks. The dude looks like he has muscle in places their body’s never even heard of.

“You’re the new farmer, aren’t you? We don’t get a lot of visitors anymore.”

“Oh! Right, yeah,” they gasp, hopping up off the stone bench and holding out a hand. “I’m Mika.”

“Rafael,” he says with a small smile, dropping the brush back into the bucket and stepping forward to shake. His hand is huge, strong and dry and warm, difficult to let go of with the way the early morning chill has managed to creep into their bones, making them want to press up against him, conserve some of that heat.

Definitely not an appropriate thought upon meeting a new neighbor.

“Are you liking it so far?” he asks, retrieving his hand but not stepping away from them. His manner so far is too gentle to come across as imposing, but still, they have to crane their neck a little to meet his eyes.

“The farming, or the island?”

“Hmm.” He shrugs. “Both, I guess?”

They take a step back, resuming their seat on the bench, trying to think how best to answer. “Well, the island is...incredible. I mean, I visited a couple times as a kid, but I figured it couldn’t really be as idyllic as I remembered, y’know? But somehow it’s like even better? Everything’s so calm and beautiful, and it’s easy to go off by myself and actually be alone—but then also everyone’s been so kind and welcoming and easy to be around... It’s nothing like Pokyo, that’s for sure.”

His face glows with a soft smile as they talk, looking as pleased as if they’d complimented him directly. Careful not to jostle the cleaning supplies inside, he rests the bucket on the ground and moves to sit beside them on the bench. “And...the farm?”

Mika blows out a long breath, trying to keep from wincing too obviously. How to explain the razor-thin tightrope they’ve been walking these past few days, trying to beat back the imposter syndrome with a stick while also ignoring the looming realization that they may have bitten off way more than they can chew? How to express the strange impulse that had dragged them out of bed before dawn to wander the empty streets in search of this solemn, sacred place? How to evoke the bone-deep weariness from all they’ve done so far to clear the land for use, though even to their own eyes it’s impossible to tell the difference every morning when they wake?

“The farm is...a lot.” It’s the best answer they can come up with.

To his credit, Rafael nods seriously, as though he understands all they’d left unsaid.

"I get that,” he says softly. “Before—before we knew you were coming, when there wasn’t anybody caring for the space—the mayor was talking about turning it into a community garden or something. I kept thinking it’d be a lot of work, even with everybody pitching in where they could. I’m sure it’s tough to do all that by yourself.”

“Well, at least it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do,” they offer with a wry smile, hoping it comes across as nonchalant rather than...pathetic.

Quitting their old job had been such a relief; the company couldn’t possibly pay them enough to ever consider going back. But those months after—the countless applications with only a handful of callbacks, the scant few fruitless in-person interviews, the email inbox full to bursting with cookie-cutter rejection letters... Well, picking up a couple new hobbies could only fill so many empty hours in the day, and craft supplies were expensive lately, especially without a new source of income rolling in.

Rafael frowns at them with a look that clearly says he isn’t buying the affect. “I guess, but– I mean...do you need help?”

They’re not sure exactly what kind of look they turn on him in their surprise, but he starts to blush again.

“Not that I think you can’t handle it or anything,” he hurries to assure. “But I would need help. And if you do– Well, I dunno if I can really do anything, my brother and I are really busy right now. But...will you tell me anyway? If you do?”

For a moment, all Mika can do is stare at him, trying to prevent their expression from revealing just how deeply the offer, and the sweetness of it, has touched them. It’s a challenge; they can’t remember the last time someone wanted to just...help them. No ulterior motives, no strings attached, just helping for helping’s sake and because it seemed like they might need it, this blacksmith who has only just met them. They could kiss him for it.

They should not be thinking about kissing him—he’s been kind and considerate, and he’s way too cute for that to be just an idle fantasy, without veering dangerously far into crush territory.

Seriously, how could everybody on this island be so hot? It’s honestly starting to feel kind of ridiculous at this point.

“Thank you,” they sigh, shaking their head of such nonsense thoughts and knotting their fingers together in their lap to suppress the urge to reach for him, just in case. “I really do appreciate it. I think... For now, I’m just trying to...take my bearings, I guess? I’m not even really sure what I’m doing yet, let alone what kind of help I might need once I figure it out. But, still, thank you all the same.”

He nods in understanding, smiling softly, his brown eyes big and dark and sweet and kind. “Sure, well, if anything comes up,” he gestures ahead, toward the white walls and blue roof of his shop, “you know where to find me.”

“I do! Yeah. Thanks, Rafael.”

“You’re welcome, Mika.”

He rests his hands on his knees and makes a move to stand—and they need to be getting home anyway, the sky brightening enough with daylight that more people than just this handsome sweet blacksmith might be awake to see them in their pj’s and less inclined to be so polite about it—but he is handsome and he has been sweet, and something in their chest doesn’t want him to go and their brain casts around for anything to keep him near, even for just a moment longer.

“Oh! Hey, actually, there is something you could maybe help with. Do you do any locksmithing? Or maybe you know someone in town who does?”

His brows draw together in thought. “Hmm, that’s not really our thing. Maybe the twins know someone? Alice and Suki, I mean—they run the inn, so I guess they probably have a guy for that sort of thing. Why, are you locked out? Wait," he gasps. “Is that why you’re out here?”

“No! No, don’t worry, it’s nothing like that!” they assure him with a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “No, sorry, I just found some weird old box while I was clearing weeds yesterday—or, not a box, really, more like a chest? It seems pretty old, and there’s something rattling around inside it, but I’ve tried every key in the house and nothing fits.”

“Oh. Huh...” He rubs the back of his neck, an adorable little pout on his lips as he makes a thoughtful face. “Well, I dunno, maybe the museum might have something more delicate... But we’ve got loads of tools in the shop; if you’re not that attached to the box itself, I’m sure we’ve got something that can pry it open.”

“Really?”

“Sure, why not?” He grins, seeming pleased at the prospect. “Yeah, I bet we can do it. You should bring it by.”

“Okay! Okay, I will. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” He looks at them curiously, head tilting slightly to the side. “Can I ask a, uh...weird question?”

Mika shrugs. “Sure, yeah, go for it."

“It’s none of my business, but...why are you out here? In the cemetery, I mean.”

“Oh. Uh... Do you want a weird answer?”

He laughs. "Sure, yeah, go for it.”

They snort out a laugh and then turn away, embarrassed, running a hand through their hair—getting shaggy, and in need of a fresh dye job, but they've been way too preoccupied to do anything about it for awhile now. Another task to add to the ever-growing list. “I’m not, like... from here. I mean, my mother grew up here, but she always wanted to live in a city, and after she moved away for school she pretty much stayed gone. Even my grandparents didn’t come here until after they were married. I visited a few times as a kid, but mostly they came to us, so...” They trail off, toeing at the grass with their dirty boots, staring down at it like it’s the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen. “So, I guess... I dunno, I’ve been feeling like I don’t really...deserve to be doing all this, and I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I thought I’d come here and sort of...ask for permission. Or something. From the folks who did.”

When they finally work up the courage to look over at Rafael, it’s to find him frowning deeply.

“You can belong here, Mika,” he says plainly, simply. “I mean, it’s not like there’s a test you have to pass or anything. You’re here. That’s enough. That’s plenty.”

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the jet lag finally catching up with them, or the physical exhaustion of the past few days of hard labor, or the emotional exhaustion of the past few years of burnout and dissatisfaction and job hunting and leaving behind everything they’ve ever known to take a chance out here on something they’re not remotely qualified for—or maybe it’s all of that, combined and mixed together with the words they’ve maybe always needed to hear for their whole life, spoken with such a blinding absence of any pretense or sarcasm. Whatever the cause, the tears just start rolling down their cheeks without even a moment’s warning, the blacksmith’s handsome, worried face blurring in their vision as they try desperately to wipe their eyes dry.

“Oh! Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Mika blubbers, trying to wave off his apology while still trying to dry their face on their sleeves. “Shit. Sorry. Ugh... Hell of a first impression, huh? I just... It’s been a weird week. I’m not used to strangers being so kind, I guess.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m... You should talk to my brother, Pablo. He’s a lot better with people. I’m always saying the wrong thing...”

“No, no, it was a lovely thing to say, Rafael,” they tell him, laying a hand on his arm. “Please don’t take it back.

He leans in toward them and frowns down at their hand—but before they can pull it back in mortification, he lays his own over it, the breadth of his palm wide enough to cover their fingers, the heat of his skin radiating up their whole arm to hitch somewhere deep in their chest.

“You’re so cold,” he breathes, looking up at them with wide eyes, brow drawn together with concern.

They lick their lips—nervous, flustered, unaccustomed to this much attention and this degree of interest in their wellbeing—and... And his eyes track the movement of their tongue, linger on their lips, they’re sure they’re not just imagining that...right?

“Yeah, I s-should—probably head home,” they stutter, heaving off the bench and sliding their hands free for one last futile swipe at damp cheeks before stuffing them deep into the pockets of gramps’s coat, well away from temptation and kind, beefy blacksmiths. “Farm’s not gonna till itself, right?”

"...Maybe," he says softly.

Mika blinks and frowns, knocked clear off their train of thought. "...What?"

"Uh." The blush comes rushing back, his expression taking on a distinctly deer-in-headlights kind of look. "Sorry, that was– I was just– Uh, there's this...hammer. Well, a mythical hammer. It's supposed to wield itself, makes all kinds of incredible swords and axes and...and stuff. So maybe there's... I was just thinking, maybe there's like some mythical farm tools too, or something? Sorry."

"Oh." Oh, no, he's way too cute. This is really going to be a problem, isn't it? "Well, that would be...great. If you hear of any, will you let me know?"

"Yeah," he says hurriedly, nodding quickly, blushing deeply and looking anywhere but at their face. "Sure. Will do."

"Okay... Thanks, Rafael."

Another quick nod. "Mm-hm."

They take a step away, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable than they obviously have, but... But once again, it was a sweet thing to say, even if a tiny bit silly; they hesitate a moment, not wanting to leave him feeling silly and embarrassed for being kind.

"Thanks for...the talk, too," they add, and finally manage to get his eyes on them again. "This really did make me feel better. Sorry I cried at you for it."

His mouth quirks up in a sheepish sort of smile. "That's okay, I don't mind."

"Okay, good. I'll...see you around, I guess?"

"Yeah," he says, and this smile seems genuine. "See you."

Chapter Text

Mika knows they look ridiculous, wading into the river near the farm in fishing boots and a wide-brimmed hat, a baggy pair of swim shorts they’d picked up at the Beach Shack, a t-shirt printed with the word “fresh” and a pair of cherries from the White Flamingo that they’d haphazardly cut into a cropped tank top in hopes of rounding out the truly bodacious farmer’s tan they’ve been rocking for the past week or so. It’s certainly not the kind of look to impress Leah, or anyone else with any amount of sartorial taste, but they hadn’t been expecting to be perceived by anyone while dressed like this.

They should’ve known better than to tempt fate like that.

“ Oye! That you, Mika?!”

They hadn’t bothered to check the calendar before heading out, hadn’t been keeping track of the days of the week—all they’d been thinking was that the weather was too lovely to waste clearing rocks down in the mines or trash beneath the waves. But they look up to find Pablo’s grinning face and Rafael’s concerned one and realize suddenly, blisteringly, that it’s Sunday . The day the Sanchez brothers spend with their family at the inn. The inn just a little way past the bend of the river Mika’s currently standing thigh-deep in.

Right. Okay. They can die of mortification later. For now, time to remember how to pretend to be normal.

“ Hola, hermanos ,” they call back, hoping their rusty, elementary-level Spanish is enough to disguise their embarrassment. “What’re you two up to? Going to visit the inn?”

“We were ,” Pablo nods, his expression seeming torn between confusion and laughter, “until we spotted you in that getup. What’re you doing in there?”

“Did you drop something in the water?” Rafael asks, worry creasing his brow as he steps off the path, past the benches, seeming ready to dive in and help them look.

“Oh! No! I’m just...doing some fishing.”

“...With a bug net? ” both brothers ask in unison—for two men with such polar opposite personalities, it’s really fascinating just how similar they can seem sometimes.

“I’m collecting specimens,” Mika informs them, pointing with the net’s handle to the opposite bank, where they’d stashed a cooler full of jars and other supplies from Scott and Eleanor. “For the new museum! Theo’s been a huge help, but Scott said they could use more freshwater fish, and Theo’s more an ocean guy.”

“So you’re scooping them up with a net?” Rafael asks. “Is that...difficult?”

“It’s not so bad,” they laugh. “They’re a lot faster than I am, so I haven’t had much success. But the weather’s warm and the water’s cool—I’m not mad at the excuse to get in here, even if it makes me look pretty silly.”

“Or just pretty,” Pablo cuts in, smooth as ever. “We're gonna go see the twins and Val. But you should come by when you’re done here! Let everybody get a load of this outfit.”

“If I come by, I’ll definitely be changing first,” they snark back. “But thanks for the invite! I might swing by for dinner or something?”

“You better! Or we’ll send Rafi to come fish you out of the river!”

“I— I won’t do that,” Rafael stammers, shooting his brother an annoyed look. “ But...you should come, Mika! If you want to.”

“Thanks,” they tell him with a smile, hoping they’re not blushing too obviously. “Okay. Count me in.”

“Great! Entonces, vámanos , hermanito,” Pablo calls with a broad grin, slinging an arm around his brother’s neck and guiding him back to the path and on their way. “Hasta luego, Mika!”

“Ta luego, chicos!” they call back, waving at their retreating forms.

Right. Okay. Dinner. At the inn. With Pablo and Rafael. Who have now seen them in possibly the most ridiculous outfit they own.

They look down into the cool, clear water coursing around their legs, wondering, were they to fling themself face-first into it, if the current would be strong enough to drag them out to sea.

As if to talk them out of it, the biggest, orangest, most beautiful goldfish they’ve ever seen swims up, pauses, gapes at them for a moment—then darts off.

“ Ah! Hey, wait, no! Come back!” they call, lunging after it with the net.

Twenty minutes later, the perfect, beautiful goldfish is long gone, but so too is the mortification.

It’s fine. The hottest guy in town and his unspeakably cool older brother have seen them in their goofiest outfit, and the fish that could’ve been the pride of the refurbished museum got away. But it’s totally fine. There are other fish in the river.

...Most of them appear to be brown trout, which the museum is lousy with already, but still. The metaphor mostly fits.

They’re fumbling with the net, struggling to dump the day’s hundredth and most slippery trout back out into the water, when the call of “ Mx. Mika! Mx. Mika! ” makes them turn to see Valentina hurrying up the path, dressed in a swimsuit and rain boots, waving her own bug net in the air—her uncles following along behind. “Mx. Mika, we’re here to help!”

“We’re here to ask if you want any help,” Rafael corrects, a pained look on his face.

“Uh-huh,” the girl nods, still grinning. “You do, don’t you?”

Mika can’t help but laugh at her shamelessness, her eagerness, as the trout finally wriggles out of the net and back into the water. “I’d love some help. C’mon in, let me show you what to do!”

Helping the kid wade into the shallows, and explaining the goals of this endeavor (“they’re for the new museum’s freshwater exhibit, you know, so any of these pretty little fish would be great but we gotta be careful not to scare them and please no more brown trout for the love of the goddess and— whoa , be careful with the algae here, it’s really slippery!”) turns out to be both a blessing and a curse—a much-needed and much-resented distraction from the two handsome blacksmiths stripping off their shirts nearby, then sitting in the grass to roll their pant legs up and put sunscreen on, then splashing into the water to join them.

“We don’t have nets,” Rafael says, the first to hop in, a hopeful, goofy, heartachingly endearing grin on his face. “But can we still help, too?”

Mika’s equal parts grateful and resentful that he’s kept his undershirt on, that the incredible, adorable teddy bear swim shorts they’ve seen him in before are nowhere in sight. They’re not sure their heart could take it right now. They open their mouth to say something (hopefully intelligent, probably ridiculous), but Valentina beats them to it.

“No way! You’re too splashy, Uncle; you’ll scare the fish away!”

“What! I’m not splashy, Pablo is!”

“Hey!”

“No! Uncle Pablo’s too loud —you’re too big! ”

“ Hey! ”

“Maybe you two could collect some trash instead?” Mika blurts, choking back a laugh at all their offended faces. “There are extra bags and gloves in the cooler—I can swing by the recycling center after I leave the museum.”

“ Great idea,” Pablo laughs, lurching through the water to scramble up the bank for the supplies. “C’mon, Rafaelito—bet I can grab more trash than you!”

“Why does everything have to be a contest..?” Rafael sighs, but moves off (with, yeah, maybe a bit of a splash) to follow his brother.

“Mx. Mika! Look! I got one!”

Mika whirls around to find Valentina brandishing her net high, something dark and squirmy wriggling inside. “ Wow! That was so fast! Pablo, can you grab a jar?”

Rafael helps the girl keep hold of the net as Pablo comes clambering back into the river with an empty specimen jar, which Mika dunks to fill it with water and guides underneath the dripping mesh.

“ What is it what is it what is it! ” Val sings as Rafael helps Mika plop the little critter into the jar.

“I think it’s a...crayfish! Or a crawdad? Are those the same thing?”

Everyone crowds around to see, and Mika bites their lip at the brush of Rafael’s solid, bare arm against their own, suddenly hyperaware of the smell of his sunscreen and the warmth of his skin and the sheer size of his bicep pressed to theirs.

“It looks like Stephen!” Valentina gasps, her eyes wide and wondering.

“Oh yeah, look at his little claws!” Pablo agrees. “Little Stephen junior.”

“Stephen Junior!” the girl echoes with a megawatt grin—and just like that, the crayfish has a name. A name Mika makes sure to write on the lid of the jar, along with “caught by Valentina”, and the day’s date, and a couple of doodled hearts and stars for good measure.

“Do you think he’s gonna be lonely at the museum?” Val asks softly, watching over their shoulder as Mika sets the jar down gently in the cooler.

“Oh... I hadn’t thought of that,” they admit, sitting back and considering the question, wanting to give her as honest an answer as they can. “I don’t really know much about crayfish. I dunno how social they are. I know the tanks at the new museum are even bigger than they were before, but... It can be scary to move somewhere new and not know anyone, even when the new place is really nice.”

The girl nods slowly, frowning. “But...it can be nice to make new friends, too, right? That’s what my mom said when we moved here from Labuan Bajo. And then I met Archie and Zoe and Oliver!”

“That’s right,” Mika agrees, grinning at the girl—and looking toward her technically-not-uncles a few feet away, Rafael rolling his eyes at whatever Pablo was chattering about—and the inn beyond them, where so many of their own new friends live—and the flags waving in the breeze even further beyond that, advertising the upcoming Beach Cleanup Day, when everyone in town will come together to pitch in and make this wonderful island even that much more beautiful. “Your mom’s really smart; new friends can be pretty great, can’t they?”

“Yeah!” Valentina cheers, smiling again. “Maybe... Maybe I could catch another one? So Stephen Junior has a friend as soon as he gets there?”

“Now that ,” Mika declares seriously, planting their hands on their knees, “sounds like a great idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay!” The girl turns with a bright, infectious laugh, scoops her bug net up from the grass, and prances back down the riverbank.

Mika makes a move to follow, reaching for their net too, but Pablo beats them to it.

“Mind if I take a turn?” he asks, an eager gleam in his eyes. “I’m usually not patient enough for normal fishing, but I like the look of your direct approach, here.”

“Be my guest,” they laugh, gladly relinquishing their claim to the net. “I’d like to just cool off up here in the shade for a minute.”

“Great call—you take a load off; I’ll keep an eye on the kiddo!”

That sounds great to them. Mika flops back in the grass and removes the oversized sun hat, then pries off their boots and stretches their legs out past the shade of the trees to let their waterlogged feet get a little fresh air and sunshine.

The breeze feels nice, and the shade, and the cool soil and soft grass beneath them, the air filled with the sound of leaves rustling and birds singing and the river babbling, and Pablo and Valentina laughing and splashing as they wave their nets at one another like swords. And when Rafael eases down to sit in the grass beside them, the moment feels about as close to perfect as anything they could possibly imagine.

It’s one of their favorite things about Rafael, if they’re honest: how comfortable his company feels, how easy it is to sit together in silence, without any pressure to come up with something interesting or funny or clever enough to say to impress him. It feels good to just sit and share the quiet with him, to let the moment wash over them, together—a kind of good they’re rapidly becoming addicted to, a craving they can’t ever seem to quench.

“You look happy today,” he says softly, and Mika turns—surprised that he’s the first to break this cozy silence—to find him smiling at them. He turns away, looking back toward his brother and niece, shying away from meeting their eyes. “It...kind of makes me happy to see.”

Mika hopes it’s dark enough, here in the shade, for him not to notice how they’re blushing. “Thank you... I feel happy today.”

“Good,” he says, nodding. He fidgets for a moment with the hem of one pants leg, hiking it a little higher up his knee, then stretches his long, muscular legs out beside their own. “Are you...glad you came here, then? To Coral Island, I mean.”

“ Oh —yeah, definitely ,” they answer, not even needing to think about it. “It’s... Everything has been really great. Hard work, but... worth it , you know?”

“Yeah,” he sighs with another nod. “Yeah, I know.”

They’re sure he does. “I keep thinking I’m gonna have a tough call, when this year is up."

“Why?” he asks, turning to them with a frown creasing his brow. “What happens then?”

“Oh.” They thought they’d mentioned it before. “That’s the deal my grandparents offered me. I was sort of...struggling, back in Pokyo. Quit my job, but couldn’t find another one; my best friend moved away to San Franciskyo; I stopped talking to my parents—which, trust me, was for the best , but it meant there were a few weeks there where I didn’t really talk to anybody or leave my apartment except to buy groceries, and even just that gets expensive quick in the city.”

They clear their throat, try not to remember too vividly the endless cycle of anxiety and depression that had dogged their every waking moment and most of their dreams back then—try to focus, instead, on the sun and the shade and the birdsong, on the broad-shouldered and big-hearted blacksmith sprawling in the grass at their side. “Anyway, my grandparents asked me to come keep an eye on the farm. Said they’re thinking of selling, that I could stay for free for the year if I just clean the place up enough for them to find a new owner next spring. Unless I decide I want to stay...in which case they’d sell it to me .”

“Yeah?” Rafael asks, eyeing them curiously. “And you...think you might want that?”

“Maybe,” they shrug, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing, certain they’re failing in that endeavor. “I dunno. I’m trying not to overthink it just yet. Trying to just take things one day at a time.”

He nods slowly, considering this. “And today’s been...one of the good days?”

Mika turns to him and grins. “ Definitely one of the good ones.”

He returns their smile, and for a moment, that’s all there is in all the world. Just Mika and Rafael, on the grass, in the shade; just this moment when his gaze meets theirs and every warm, good, gentle thing that wells up in their chest whenever he’s near is reflected in his big brown eyes.

And then there’s a cry and a splash and a peal of laughter, and they both whirl around to see a drenched Pablo spluttering in the river, shoving wet hair out of his eyes as Valentina tries to prop herself up with her bug net to keep from doubling over with laughter.

“C’mon,” they laugh, tugging their hat back on and scooting over to reach for their boots. “We better go make sure they’re not getting into too much trouble down there.”

Rafael rises to his feet, brushes off his pants, and holds out a hand to help them up—which Mika tries not to reach for too eagerly—tries not to dwell on the way his big, calloused hand so completely encompasses theirs, nor on how effortlessly he’s able to lift them to their feet.

But he makes it difficult not to dwell, keeping their hand held in his well after the point when he should have let go, waiting until they raise their head enough to peer up from under the brim of the ridiculous sun hat to find him gazing down at them with an earnest—almost pleading —look on his gorgeous face.

“I hope—” he starts, and clears his throat, a blush working its way up his neck and into his cheeks. “Whatever you choose, Mika, I hope it’s what’s best for you. But I hope whatever’s best for you...is to stay.”

They feel their lips part, feel their breath catch, feel their heart clench—feel the warmth of his eyes even hotter than the sunlight dappling through the leaves overhead, feel the little tremble in his fingers as they give his hand a squeeze. “I...hope so, too.”

“Mx. Mika! Mx. Mika, look ,” Valentina calls, her sing-songy voice slicing right through the overloaded moment. “Look! I caught a goldfish! ”

Chapter Text

Fall swept over the island with a vengeance. It was as if the leaves turned overnight, lush greens gone golden and bronze in the blink of an eye. The summer here had been so effortlessly warm and lovely, even those too-hot days easily whiled away lounging on the beach or, more often, diving in the ocean’s generous coolness. It had certainly lulled Mika into a false sense of security in the temperate weather.

Today’s storm had come as more than a shock—it was more like an epiphany, a revelation, a jarring reminder that summer could not last forever, that the end of the year was well on its way.

But they couldn’t think about that, or all it would bring, just like they couldn’t spend all day in flannel pj’s back at the farmhouse, checking the weather radar on their phone every ten minutes in hopes of some miraculous break in the rain. The storm wasn’t letting up any time soon, but they still had things to do.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t spent just about every spare hour of the past three days delving deeper and deeper into the mines on such a fool’s errand, all the while chastising themself for being there in the first place. It was such a silly idea, embarrassing and obvious, likely to blow up in their face and dash all their ever-rising hopes—but once they’d taken the first swing of the pickaxe, they’d found it impossible to stop.

They had found what they were looking for, finally, after countless long hours and many misleading gem nodes. And in the meantime, the world had kept turning, the farm’s crops kept growing, and Mika had found themself with an overflowing delivery box and thus a glut of errands to run, rain or no rain. So they’d dressed in their largest hoodie and sturdiest boots, strapped on their backpack full of gems and geodes, loaded up tote bags with garlic and bok choy and beets and basil, and hauled the load out to the town center.

It was...a terrible idea. The storm was worse in person than it had looked out the window, howling winds whipping the rain into little pellets that struck their skin and drenched their clothes in moments, the cold seeping in right after. The trek to Sam’s was more of a trudge, the bags of produce heavy on their shoulders and heavier still weighted down with rainwater, yet light enough to get caught by the wind and tugged hard enough to pull Mika out of step. They scrambled through the door of the shop, dumped the bags’ contents in a messy jumble on the shelves labeled “Local Produce” before the bell even stopped ringing, and scurried back out into the rain with barely a wave in the direction of Sam lest he tried to convince them to stay. They still had one more delivery to make—and this one really mattered.

The heat of the blacksmiths’ shop was such a welcome relief; as soon as they managed to wrench the door shut behind them, it was all Mika could do to let their backpack slide to the floor and lean back against the wood, basking in the rush of warmth.

It’s become such a familiar place over such a relatively short stretch of time—often the highlight of their day, dropping by on their way to or from the lake or museum, stopping in to get a tool upgraded or a geode cracked open or simply to say hello. They know Rafael dislikes the noisiness of his trade, but to them there’s something oddly soothing about the crackle and rumble of the furnace and the steady, rhythmic ring of the hammer striking metal—not to mention the way he looks as he wields it, the expression of focus and certainty on his face, the way his body moves with such effortless strength, the way his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders and chest with every swing...

Not that they’ve...noticed, or anything.

They try not to think about it, squeezing their eyes closed and leaning back against the door, trying to catch their breath after the mad dash from Sam’s and waiting for a lull in that sound of hammering to call out, “H-hello!”

The hammering stops. A moment later, Pablo’s confused face pops around the corner to the entryway. “Mika?”

“What?!” they hear Rafael call—and then a loud clang, and then he joins his brother in gaping at them in their bedraggled, waterlogged state. “Wh— Are you okay?”

They’d made their peace awhile ago with Rafael’s uncanny knack for always encountering them whenever they’re looking the worse for wear, but they still can’t help the blush they feel burning in their cheeks. “Sure! Yeah, I’m good, just— I don’t wanna track rain and mud through the shop. Could I borrow a, um...a towel, or something?”

“I’m on it,” Pablo assures, darting off.

Rafael, though, steps forward, wiping a gloved hand on his apron, brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

They offer a weak smile, trying not to make the chattering of their teeth obvious. “Just a little chilled. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

He shakes his head. “This storm’s pretty bad. I didn’t think anyone would be going out in this.”

“I had deliveries to make,” they admit with a shrug, crouching down to grab their discarded backpack.

“They couldn’t wait?”

“This couldn’t,” they say, hoping he’ll chalk up the tremor in their voice and hands to the cold and rain, not the nervousness that’s suddenly clawing its way up their throat as they all but thrust the long-sought-after stone into his hand. “Here. Happy birthday, Rafael.”

They’ve given him gifts before—little things, mostly. Coconuts from around the island, jars of jam or honey from the farm, fresh flowers just about whenever they find some because he makes a really cute face whenever they give them to him and it’s nice to see them displayed in the vase on the shop’s counter over the next few days. Not really anything more or less than they’d give to anyone else in town. This, though... This had taken planning and effort and intention, and some reckoning with the fact that they could no longer deny the monumental crush they’ve been harboring and that such a gift would certainly make evident. And he might think it’s too much, might be uncomfortable with this obvious, ridiculous display of affection, might not think of them the way they’ve been thinking of him...

But they bite their lip and try not to get ahead of themself, try not to weigh his potential reaction against their own weird baggage, try to just wait and watch and see.

He seems...confused at first, peering down at the thing in his hand with a furrowed brow. He still has a hold on the big shop hammer from whatever work Mika’d interrupted, and he sets it down on the floor gently, strips off his work gloves, and strokes his fingers along the stone’s cool, smooth surface, mouth dropping open as his brows lift with surprise. “This is...onyx.”

It’s not really a question, but Mika answers anyway. “Yes.”

“And it’s...” He looks up at them, eyes wide and brows lifting, somehow, even higher. “...For me?”

They huff a laugh. “Yes.”

He drops his gaze shyly, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, cheeks flushing as a sweet, soft smile spreads across his face. “This is... I mean... T-thank you for the Mika, present. I-I mean... Oh, you know what I mean.”

Something in their chest does a little dance, every word they’ve ever wanted to say to him suddenly vying to fall out of their mouth. Somehow they manage to blurt out, “I— You’re...welcome.”

They’re rescued from finding anything more coherent to say by the graceful return of Pablo, with towels. “Fresh out the dryer!” he announces, dumping a pile of warm, sweet-smelling cotton into Mika’s arms. “And I threw some other things in while I was at it, to warm up. Thought you could change into something dry and just hang out here for a while!”

“What?” Mika asks—or tries to, but the words come out muffled through the soft towel they’re busy burying their face in.

“You don’t wanna go back out in this; I can’t believe you came out here in the first place! No one else is going to, that’s for sure. C’mooooon ,” Pablo whines—this to Rafael, who’s staring back at him blankly with flushed cheeks, clasping the nugget of onyx in both hands. “It’s your birthday, baby bro. Let’s close up early and watch a movie with Mika. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“Uh—” Rafael blinks and turns to Mika. “Can you, uh... Do you...want to?”

There’s an almost pleading look in his eyes that soothes away the last dregs of their lingering nervousness, as they scrub the towel over their hair. “That sounds fun! And it’s not like there’s anything I can do around the farm in this weather. If you’re sure I’m not intruding..?”

“Of course not,” they both say, and Pablo shoots his brother a sly look.

“You wanna finish up and bank the furnace, hermanito? I’ll get our amigue sorted.”

“Um,” Rafael says, looking down at his clasped hands, then up at Mika with another soft, warm smile. “Right.” He starts to go, only makes it a few steps before whirling to retrieve the hammer he’d set down and then hurrying away again.

Mika nearly falls over prying off their muddy boots, does their best to squeeze as much water out of their sweatshirt and into the towel as possible, and follows Pablo through the workshop to the rest of the house, and to the laundry closet down the hall.

“Thanks for this,” Pablo says, pitching his voice low as he opens the dryer and reaches inside. “He never lets me plan anything for his birthday; says he doesn’t want to make a fuss, but... I dunno...”

They nod and hum a conciliatory tone, hoping they’re not dripping water on the floor. “I tried asking if he was doing anything today. He told me it was ‘just another Thursday’.”

Pablo sighs, looking crestfallen. “He’s always been like that. Summer tends to be a busy time for the shop, so our parents always liked to take time off the first week of fall, and he would sort of get—not forgotten, really, but his day would get swept up in other vacation stuff, y’know? He says he doesn’t mind, but I still try to do something for him. I was gonna take him to dinner at the tavern, but with this rain...”

He shakes his head, and finally seems to find the clothes he’s looking for, and turns to them with a much brighter grin. “But now you’re here! And he likes to stay in and watch movies more than going out anyway. This’ll be even better!”

Mika laughs, accepting the warm clothes from his hands. “I’m glad I can help! I’m always game for a movie night.”

“Good to know,” he says with a wink, and gestures to the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I’ll get another load of laundry prepped; just drop your wet things in the washer and hit start when you’re changed, sound good?”

“Perfect, thanks Pablo.”

“No, thank you!”

The downstairs shop bathroom is homey and clean, but windowless, and the overhead light does nothing to make their reflection in the mirror look anything less than ridiculous. They run their fingers through their hair in a desperate attempt to tame the frizz—even peek under the sink with a small hope for some kind of product, but all they find is cleaning supplies and handsoap refills. “Worth a shot,” they huff, and start peeling off their damp sweatshirt and jeans. Only then do they actually look at the clothes Pablo’d handed them, and realize that they look...familiar.

The gray sweatpants seem pretty standard; could belong to anyone, really. But the coral-colored long-sleeved shirt, with the stretched-out collar? Not only is it Rafael’s—they’re pretty sure it’s his favorite, the shirt he always seems to be wearing when the weather gets cool enough, unless he has multiple pairs of the same shirt? Which he might, honestly; it looks great on him either way, the color a lovely contrast to his tawny skin, the neckline really emphasizing the tantalizing lines of his collarbones, and the way the sleeves cling to his forearms when he pushes them up and wipes the sweat from his brow, in the middle of some work of delicate and difficult craftsmanship in the shop..?

Not that they’ve...noticed...or anything...

They clear their throat and reach for the shirt, trying desperately not to think about it. It’s just good sense that Pablo found them something of his brother’s to wear; Mika may not share any of the height of the local blacksmiths, but they’re not exactly a small person, especially now with all the muscle they’ve built up working the farm and mines and breaking up trash in the ocean. Any sighted person could make a guess that most of Pablo’s clingy tight shirts wouldn’t fit their wider, rounder frame. It didn’t need to mean anything more than that.

Still, the traitorous bathroom mirror reveals how much they’re blushing as they pull the shirt on over their head. They have to turn away from their reflection, embarrassed to witness themself do so but unable to resist the urge the tug the collar up and take a sniff of the clean laundry smell, with the pervasive woodsmoke scent underneath. If that’s how good he smells everyday..? They’re in danger, girl.

Get it together, Mika. They try to shake off the thought, tugging on the sweatpants—which they then have to crouch down and roll up the legs of so the extra fabric doesn’t pool around their ankles. With one last desperate swipe of fingers through their hair, they scoop up their discarded wet clothes and head back out to the hall.

Pablo had left the half-full washer propped open, so they drop their things inside and hit the start button, waiting to hear the sound of water running inside to make sure they’d done it right before they turn and pad on bare feet down the hall and through the workshop, to the big cozy sitting room just off the garage.

It’s strange, being here like this—wearing borrowed clothes, no less—without the low grumble of the forge burning or the ringing sounds of the brothers at work. It feels a bit like being a kid again, in school after hours, with the lights low and the hallways empty. It feels a bit like something sacred.

Sacred, too, feels the look on Rafael’s face, when they walk into the sitting room and he turns and sees them dressed in his clothes. Eyes wide, cheeks flushing, mouth dropping open—the tablet and jumble of cords he’s hooking up to the tv slip from his hands and fall to the floor with a clatter.

“Whoa,” Pablo calls from the kitchen, where he seems to be rifling through the fridge. “¿Estás bien, Rafi?”

“Sí—sí, sí, sí, está bien,” he mutters, kneeling down to grab everything he’d dropped, keeping his head down and eyes firmly averted.

His brother shakes his head at him, then turns and spots Mika and grins. “Hey, amigue, c’mon in! Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” they say, stepping up to lean against the back of the purple couch. “I really appreciate you guys letting me hang out.”

As if to punctuate the sentiment, the storm rattles the house with a boom of thunder, rain pelting suddenly harder against the roof and windows.

“We’re glad you’re staying!” Pablo assures, letting the fridge door shut. “How’s frozen pizza sound for dinner? For you, I’ll even throw it in the oven.”

“How generous,” Mika laughs. “Sounds great—and next time, I’ll buy.”

“I like the sound of that! Movie nights with Mika—got a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Rafaelito?”

Still blushing, Rafael glances up quickly, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, that— That sounds nice.”

The pizza goes in the oven as more snacks are produced, an assortment of half-full packages of chips and pretzels and crackers arranging themselves haphazardly on the coffee table along with a variety of beverages—water and sodas and a bottle of wine Bree had brought by for Pablo’s birthday this year that the brothers hadn’t seen fit to drink before tonight. Rafael goes upstairs at some point to change out of his work clothes, returning with a faded band t-shirt, a breathtaking (at least to Mika) pair of adorable teddy-bear-printed pajama pants, and an armload of blankets that he dumps on the back of the couch in case they all get cold with the furnace out. Then Pablo dashes the lights, Rafael fiddles with his tablet, and they all settle in on the couch to watch his favorite movie, Alakazam!

Mika’s never been much of a horror buff, but they also never thought of themself as a particularly jumpy or skittish person. And the premise is entirely ridiculous—a young couple buying their first house only to discover it’s haunted by the ghost of an evil old-timey magician—and the practical effects are great in that hokey, goopy, totally unconvincing way. But the writing and acting are surprisingly good and the soundtrack is really, truly unsettling—and something about being in the blacksmiths’ shop after hours, in the dark, a just-past-summer storm still raging outside...

Well, it starts off innocently enough, a jumpscare perfectly timed to match a boom of real-life thunder that shakes the garage door and has all three of them screaming—and has Mika, in particular, reaching for the nearest solid thing—something, anything, to keep them calm and grounded. And that nearest thing happens to be...Rafael’s arm. And when they grab him, instead of pulling away, he leans in, throwing his other arm around them and holding them close.

On screen, the horrible demonic-looking rabbit monster that fell out of a tattered old top hat is revealed to be nothing more than an ancient stuffed animal, previously well-loved and long since moth-eaten to give it such a frightening appearance. Mika gives a nervous laugh, embarrassed and relieved. Rafael makes a joke about having seen the movie a hundred times and still somehow getting scared by it. They release each other with more embarrassed laughter, shifting back to their respective couch cushions.

Some minutes later, when the rabbit plush the husband most definitely threw in the trash and wheeled out to the street reappears in the middle of the floor of the room the couple intend to use someday as a nursery, they grab one another again. This time, they don’t move away.

By the time the horror really starts going—people getting shoved into old stage boxes in the basement to be sawed in half, corn syrupy fake blood splattering everywhere—Mika’s all but climbed into his lap, burying their face in his shoulder, Rafael murmuring in their ear that it’s okay, that they don’t need to see it, that he’ll tell them when the gore is over and it’s safe to look again. And he does tell them, and they do look, but they also keep their head resting against his shoulder, just...in case they need to hide their face again.

Definitely for no other reason. Definitely not because it turns out he does smell like laundry soap and woodsmoke.

The rain is somehow still coming down by the time the movie ends and the ghost-magician is banished to the nether realm or whatever, and Pablo makes the brilliant suggestion that they put on something more lighthearted so they can all actually sleep that night. So they make a 180-degree tonal shift and put on an old animated fantasy adventure movie they’d all grown up with instead. And Mika...

Well, Mika keeps their head on Rafael’s shoulder. No, they don’t have a good reason for it. But he doesn’t make any indication that he wants them to stop—even, after a little while, rests his cheek against the top of their head. And he smells nice, and his body is warm, and the shop really has gotten a bit cold without the furnace lit, and the thunder seems to have moved on so the rain makes for a nice white noise, falling against the roof. They maybe had a bit too much of the Duckorns’ wine, and now that the horror-fueled adrenaline rush has past, all Mika can really feel is the bone-deep exhaustion of these past few days spent desperately hunting for onyx in the mines to give to the man they can no longer deny they really, really, really like.

They remember laughing at a silly voice Pablo does over the scene in the movie where the young squire pledges to rescue the princess and slay the dragon in the cowardly knight’s absence. They...don’t remember much else after that.

When they wake up, it sounds like the rain has finally stopped. The lights are still off, and now the tv is as well. The detritus of pizza and snacks have been cleared from the table, and someone appears to have draped a soft, warm blanket over Mika. And they seem to have fallen asleep...not on a pillow, or even a couch cushion...but on a sleeping Rafael, their head resting on his broad chest, rising and falling with his deep, even breaths.

They sit up and stare down at him, feeling guilty and thrilled and surprised, all at once. They... They should go. Right? They should get up and go get their own clothes out of the laundry and get dressed and go home. Who knows what time it is, surely late, but this is Starlet Town, not Pokyo—it isn’t like they’re going to come across anything remotely dangerous between here and the farm. They should...just go.

But...

Well, he could have woken them up, if he hadn’t been okay with this. Or even if they’d been too tired to be woken, he could have pushed them off himself and gone upstairs to his own bed, as Pablo appears to have done. But instead, he’d let them fall asleep on him, had let them stay, had maybe even pulled the blanket over them to keep them warm.

And they were warm, after all. He was warm. And really comfy to lay on, just as they’d always secretly suspected he would be. And he looks so contented asleep, with Mika close by, and—well, dammit, how much willpower could one person reasonably be expected to have? C’mon, who could possibly blame them?

They ease back down, resting against him gently, doing their best not to make any sudden movements and risk waking him. He makes a small snuffling sort of noise, squirming a little as they make themself comfortable again. And he manages to get an arm free of the blanket, then drapes it across Mika’s back, holding them in place against his chest with a pleased little sigh.

Mika lets their eyes close, lets their worries fall away, at least for tonight. They drift back asleep to the rhythm of Rafael’s breaths and the soft thrumming of his heart against their cheek, hoping with the day’s last conscious thought that he’d found this to be more than just another Thursday.

Chapter Text

“Haven’t seen your blacksmith in a minute,” Raj says in lieu of a greeting as Mika finds their way over to the drink bar. “Where’d he run off to?”

“I don’t have any blacksmith,” they sigh, grateful that everyone else seems gathered around the prize wheel and the dessert tables, so probably no one overheard that. “But I think the brothers are still up by the Observatory, playing with fire.”

“You don’t have one yet—because you won’t just talk to him,” Raj scolds, rolling their eyes as they fill a mug with steaming-hot apple cider and hand it over. “I’m just saying, you two keep dancing around your feelings like they’ll bite if you stand too still, but it’s clear you care for each other! Why not take a chance? That’s what life is all about!”

Mika wraps both hands around the mug, grateful for its warmth; the vineyard is certainly beautiful, but why the town would host their New Year festival outdoors in this kind of weather is beyond them. They take a quick glance around, making sure no one’s wandered close enough to overhear them give in to the strange, potent magic all great baristas (and thus, of course, Raj) have in spades, the magic that makes people confess all their deepest darkest secrets in exchange for a hot drink. “I’ve...taken chances before. It never seems to end well for me.”

They can feel Raj’s frown without needing to look up from the mug, can’t even blame them for it. They know what they’re like, know that any pity cast their way is likely well deserved—just an awkward little enby, so easily devastated by what others think of them and so determined to never let a glimpse of that vulnerability show, totally desperate to be good enough for something and someone in a world where the question of their worth has long since been answered by such a recurring and resounding no. They want Rafael, sure—more than they’ve maybe wanted anything ever in their life. But that just means the stakes are higher, the potential for heartbreak even more devastating.

“Hey,” Raj says, their voice gentle but tone stern enough to break through Mika’s doom-spiraling. “Do you think he’s worth the risk?”

“Wh- of course,” they blurt, the words all but falling from their mouth.

Rafael? With all his steady, quiet kindness and his sneaky, sarcastic humor? With his skill and dedication to his work and his care and devotion for his family? With his undeniable strength and his perpetual gentleness and his big bright grin and warm welcoming laugh? Goddess, he was worth...anything, everything.

Raj’s eyes crinkle with the pleasure of their smile, somehow hearing all Mika hadn’t said, and fills a second mug of cider. “Thought so. So here, take this to him. Pull him aside. Tell him how you feel, ask him on a date—hell, kiss him at midnight! Do something before you give me an aneurism just from watching you hold it all in.”

Mika looks down in surprise at the second mug of cider in their hand, only half certain how it got there. “I... You really think I should?”

“I know you should. It’s new year’s eve! It’s the night for being honest about what you want, and setting out to get it.” They waggle their perfectly-groomed eyebrows at them suggestively. “So go get it!”

Rather than the blatant innuendo, the words remind Mika instead of a day back in summer, when Valentina’s cry of, "Get it, uncle, please!" had lured them away from Sam’s notice board to see what was going on in the plaza. The kid had gotten her kite stuck in a palm tree, and Mika had joined her vigil underneath it, watching as Rafael shimmied up the trunk to tug it loose. It was only after, when kite and man had returned to solid ground and Val had finished hugging and thanking him and Mika had led him over to a bench to help pull the splinters from his big, warm, trembling hands that he’d admitted, softly, to being terrified of heights. He just hadn’t wanted to let his niece down.

Mika thinks they can be brave, too, for a guy like that.

Raj believes they can, anyway, and that feels real enough. Better, even.

“Okay,” they mutter, rallying themself with a decisive nod.

Raj huffs a laugh and shakes their head at them. “Gonna be a lot of bruised hearts around town after this... But I’m sure everyone will learn to move on when they see how happy you two are together.”

“A lot of..?” Mika repeats, feeling dazed and off-kilter. And stupid, and defensive, and then embarrassed for getting defensive. Shit, how had they not even considered that yet? “Is there..? You mean...someone else is trying to pursue Rafael? I mean, of course they are, but who..?”

“Oh for the love of—” Raj sputters, fixing them with a look that seems torn between delight and exasperation. “I mean over you.”

Over... “Me? ”

“Yes, you! You sweep into town, all hot and mysterious from the big city, and then it turns out you’re also sweet and generous and thoughtful and determined, too? And did I mention hot?”

“Oh—that’s— Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m maybe being reductive, if anything. You’re a catch, Mika. And he knows it, if he’s any sense at all. So go catch him, before that cider gets cold.”

They’ve climbed the steps from the vineyard to the Observatory more times than they can count this past year, but never as quickly as they do tonight.

At least, that’s how it feels. One moment, they’d been getting a pep talk (or a scolding? It was a little tough to tell) from Raj—the next, they were at the top, gazing over to where the Sanchez brothers were packing away their fireworks and sparklers and supplies, without the least idea of what they’re going to say to him.

Goddess, where to even begin? ‘I brought you a drink, do you wanna get another with me sometime?’ ‘Hi, here’s a warm beverage, would you like to go makeout for a few hours?’ ‘Good evening, I can’t stop wondering if I can make you moan, wanna let me find out?’ Bad, bad, bad Mika—and now they’ve stood here so long that Rafael has glanced over and spotted them and smiled because he always smiles when he sees them, as if he somehow doesn’t know that it makes them weak in the knees. So then they have to step forward to lessen the chances of losing their balance and tumbling back down the stairs, which means they’re walking toward him which means they’ve got to say something, plan or no plan.

“Cider? ” they squeak, holding out the mug that still has a little steam curling from it, as if it could absolve them of the weirdness of this approach.

But Rafael’s smile only broadens as he stands up and walks over to them. “You’re really thoughtful. Thank you so much!”

Mika’s grown accustomed to him always wearing gloves when they see him lately—for work at the shop, for warmth around town—but he’s cast them off for whatever delicate nonsense he and his brother have been getting up to up here, and the brush of his bare fingers against theirs as he takes the cup warms them more than any beverage could ever hope to.

“What, none for me?” Pablo calls over, still kneeling beside the crate they were loading up.

They look down at their own drink, no longer steaming, feeling foolish. “I— Sorry, I think I already took a drink of this one. I can—”

“I’m just messing with ya,” he says with a wink and a laugh.

“Want some of mine?” Rafael offers, though he seems to have drained about half the mug in one go already, a fine wisp of steam curling out of his mouth as he speaks.

“Nah, I think we’re about done here, ¿sí, Rafi?” He sets the last box of sparklers in the crate and, at Rafael’s affirming nod, stands and picks up the whole thing with a grin. “I’ll take this down and get my own, then. Probably about time for the countdown, anyway. See you kids down there?”

“Sure,” Mika says, trying not to sound too eager for the opportunity to be alone with Rafael for a minute—and trying not to suspect too seriously that Pablo and Raj and maybe everyone in town and possibly the whole universe were conspiring to make this happen.

“Having a good night?” Rafael asks, turning to them with a hopeful smile as Pablo heads off to the rest of the party.

“Oh—yeah,” they answer, mostly honestly. They had been, anyway, until local barista-turned-menace Raj had called them out on their whole life. They take a sip from their own mug; even after cooling off, the cider is spicy and flavorful and delicious because if nothing else their friend really knows their craft. They sigh, and try to send apologetic vibes Raj’s way for the mean sentiment—they’d only been trying to help, Mika knows.

“Yeah, people here sure know how to throw a party,” they add, a touch more cheerfully. “How about you?”

Rafael looks a bit surprised, as he always does whenever someone asks anything about his own feelings or preferences, and like always it makes Mika’s heart ache for him. But he quickly suppresses the look with a smile and a nod. “Sure, yeah, it’s been a good one. I’m...a little glad it’s almost over, though,” he admits sheepishly. “It’s just...a long day for us, with the setup and all. Pablo always seems to be energized by having lots of people around, but for me it’s...exhausting.”

“Yeah, I get that,” they sigh, and then immediately begin to worry. “That’s—I mean... I can head back down, if you need some time alone—?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean you— I mean, not that you’re not people! I just... You’re not...exhausting.”

They can’t help but grin, even though he looks so embarrassed. “You don’t exhaust me, either, Rafael,” they tell him sincerely, and he grins again, too.

“I’m glad.”

He’s standing there, looking down at them, his dark eyes warm and kind and gleaming in the lantern light, and Mika thinks Now and takes a step closer to him, and says, “Rafael, I—”

A whistle pierces the night, startling a family of birds out of the trees around the Observatory.

“What was that? ” they gasp, but Rafael just rolls his eyes.

“Pablo,” he groans, striding over to the railing that keeps people from getting too close to the cliffside.

Mika follows, leaning against the railing and peering down past the trees and brush to the flat plane of the vineyard, spotting his older brother almost immediately since he’s down there waving his arms above his head and mouthing something in their direction. “How did he do that?”

“He’s always had a knack for being loud,” Rafael sighs, waving an arm above his own head. “He wants us to come down, I guess the countdown’s about to start.”

“Oh,” they say, not sure how he got all that from such vague gestures, but they’re not nearly as fluent in Pablo as he obviously is.

“Do you...want to?” Rafael asks hesitantly, and they turn to find him watching them with what seems to be a carefully-neutral expression on his face. “I usually just watch from up here; the sound carries pretty well, with everyone counting, and otherwise the crowd’s a bit noisy for my taste. But we can go, if you want to! I don’t want you to miss out.”

They really like the sound of that ‘we’, they have to admit. Down in the vineyard, everyone’s more sheltered from the cold by the hillside and the space heaters and the communal heat of bodies and lights and cups of mulled wine and hot cider—but up here, Mika has the press of Rafael’s arm against their own. And if the past year has taught them anything, it’s that his is the company they crave over anyone (or everyone) else’s. Time spent with Rafael has never felt like missing out.

“Is it okay if we just stay up here?”

The brilliance of his pleased grin outshines any of the lights below, any of the stars above. “Of course.”

They fall into one of his cozy silences together, leaning against the railing and sipping the last dregs of their cider, waiting as the last dregs of the year wind down. There’s a crisp smell in the air—the forecast had predicted one last dusting of snow to fall on them in the night, winter showing off one last time before spring returns in full.

“I’m...really glad you chose to stay,” Rafael says softly, like he’s afraid to disturb this moment of quiet but needs to make sure this gets said. “You know—up here with me tonight, too, but also...on the island. The farm, and everything. When the year is up.”

Goddess. Was Raj right? It’s cold up here, but Mika can feel their face grow hot, their hands gone clammy. They have to say something, don’t they? They open their mouth, and—

A cheer goes up from the crowd below. Rafael smiles and says, “There it goes!” A chorus of voices begins to count: thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight...

His cheeks are ruddy, his face illuminated by the soft glow of paper lanterns hanging above their heads, his eyes big and dark and warm and glittering with starlight, and he looks so beautiful it’s all they can do to stare at him in wonder, barely noticing as his voice joins the countless others echoing from below until he murmurs, “one,” and Mika raises up on their toes and presses their lips to his.

His mouth is warm and sweet with cider, lips plush, beard scratchy, delicious as they’ve always dreamed he would be but he doesn’t kiss them back—in just the scant moment it takes to pull away and drop back to flat feet and find his wide-eyed, slack-jawed, stunned-still expression looking back at them, Mika’s already cycled through at least five stages of grief with a heaping helping of regret loaded on top. In a hopeless bid to feign an air of nonchalance they sweep their hair back from their forehead and say, “Happy new year, Rafael,” before turning on their heel and not quite running away.

It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine. Raj was so, so, so wrong, but it’s fine. He won’t make it weird and they’ll pretend it hadn’t meant anything, and it’ll all be fine. Stupid, miserable, foolish, miserable to just assume that he would want them, too—if he had he would’ve surely said something by now, right? Surely? And if not, well, had they really wanted to be with someone who was too afraid to make the first move? Oh, but they had really wanted to be with him, and was that really so much to ask? Was the universe really that cruel? Oh—they’re spiraling. And sure, yeah, of course they are, but now they’re also down at the bottom of the steps, everyone in town gathered close by and cheerful and celebrating and look—they promise themself a full-fledged cry fest and then a good old-fashioned existential crisis when they get home, but first they have to get home.

They scurry over to a bin to drop off the empty cider mug, make a bee-line through the crowd of friends and neighbors, keeping their eyes down but plastering on a smile and offering up half-hearted ‘happy new years’ to anyone who greets them while determinedly avoiding Raj like their life depends on it and it’s working, they’re nearly home free, and then—

“Oh, there you are, you magnificent butterfly!”

Apparently it is literally, physically impossible to be annoyed with Millie, even at a moment like this. And despite everything, the hug she pulls them into feels like a very much needed moment of relief.

“Millie, darling, hello,” they sigh, sagging into the embrace and squeezing her tight. Whatever happens with Rafael, they still have friends, good friends, people like Millie and Raj and Noah and Macy, people that will still care about them even if Rafael... doesn’t, in the way they'd wanted him to. They will, eventually, be okay. “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year!” she chirps happily, then leans back and eyes them carefully, her smile shifting to a look of concern. “Is everything alright, golden moth? You look a little down.”

“I... I think I’m just tired,” they manage with what they hope is an embarrassed smile. “Not as young as I used to be, y’know?”

“Oh, yes of course, you’re on farm time now, aren’t you? Poor dear. You should head home and get some rest.”

“I will definitely do that,” they agree, and it’s probably not totally a lie—crying in bed for the next 3-5 business days would be some kind of rest, certainly.

“Good, let’s see who can walk you home...” Millie hums, craning her neck and glancing around, and Mika follows her gaze and notes with a start that Rafael had come downstairs, too—was just a few feet away, whispering furiously with an exasperated-looking Pablo, glancing their way.

A panicked vice grips their chest. “Oh, n-no, I don’t need— It’s not that far—”

“Nonsense! It’s late, and dark, and I’d hate to hear from Yuri that you’d been found passed out from exhaustion again somewhere. Oh, perfect, there are the Sanchezes!”

Maybe the ground will open up and swallow them whole.

“Hey boys!” Millie calls, unconcerned. “Do you mind to walk Mika home?”

Maybe they should just start digging. With their hands. Give that sinkhole a jump-start.

“Rafael can,” Pablo says sternly, giving his brother a shove their way for good measure.

“I... Um...” says a panicked-looking Raf, stumbling forward, looking anywhere but at Mika’s face. “I...can do that.”

“Great..?” Millie says suspiciously, looking between the two brothers and Mika, clearly picking up on the not-at-all-subtle weird energy happening right in front of her.

“Yep! Great! Thank you!” Mika says stiffly, trying to remember how to move their body, afraid that they look like some kind of clumsy wind-up toy as they turn and walk away. “Goodnight everyone!”

“Goodnight!” Millie and Pablo and a few other people nearby call after them, but Mika hurries away, trying desperately not to think of what horrifying conversations will be taking place in their wake.

Pablo must know what happened, that has to be what they were whispering about. Would he tell Millie? Or Suki? Would Raj start looking for them, and hear that they’d left with Rafael? Would they start talking about the two of them, too? Not everyone in town had still been at the party by the end of the night, but Erika had, and if she found out then surely everyone would know by morning. And, goddess, they’d all be so damned kind and polite about it of course, but they’d know, and Mika would know they knew, and how were they ever going to look anyone in the eye again? Maybe they should go back to Pokyo.

Mika stops walking mid-way down the path beside Kenny’s pastures, staring up at the arch above the steps leading down to their own farm, the place they’ve been working so damned hard to make their own, feeling ashamed for even having the thought. Of course they wouldn’t leave, not over something as simple as an ill-advised kiss. And they feel ashamed for thinking so uncharitably about their friends. Sure, Erika could maybe be a bit of a gossip, but only because she really listened to people when they talked; and sometimes she maybe went a little far interfering, but only because she cared enough to act. And Raj had only wanted to do the same, to be encouraging, to see two people they cared about end up happy; they couldn’t have known it wasn’t to be. Hell, everyone in Starlet Town has been nothing but kind and generous and welcoming since Mika got here—everyone, including...

Rafael, who’s been following along silently all this time, now steps up beside them and touches their arm softly, looking...well, frankly miserable, but concerned for them nonetheless. “...Mika?”

“I’m sorry,” they blurt, blinking away a fresh crop of tears and continuing down the path again, newly eager for home but grateful that he keeps in step beside them so they don’t have to raise their voice, or turn to yell it back at him. “I shouldn’t have just... I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, and they’re too cowardly to look at him or find something else to say. Maybe they should take a page out of his book and just not say anything else; maybe then they won’t continue making things worse. They sigh, and move to head up the porch steps to the house.

Rafael grabs their hand.

He’s strong—of course, they knew that, but when he isn’t at work he’s always so timid and gentle that they’d sort of...forgotten it, in practice. His grip now is steady, even if (they think—they hope) his hand is shaking. He would let go if they pulled away, they’re sure. There’s no part of them that wants to, even now.

“You don’t. I mean, you didn’t. I mean...” He trails off, takes a deep, ragged breath. When they manage to turn and look at him, it’s to find him gazing back with wide and pleading eyes, cheeks blazing. “Talking with you is the most comfortable I ever feel. I mean, maybe not right now, but you’re... I... I’m sorry I froze. I’m so bad at this stuff, and you’re...so...amazing. I’m scared I’m gonna mess this up or scare you off or not be good enough, but I... With everyone else, when they look at me, I know they just see Pablo’s little brother. And I was okay with that! Until you came along. Because you look at me like you see me, and I... I don’t wanna lose that, Mika.”

Their legs suddenly decide they’ve done enough for the day, and deposit them bonelessly to sit on the top porch step. And when they squeeze his hand and tug, Rafael steps forward and settles down beside them.

“You’re not...upset with me?” they croak.

He makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

They’re pretty sure they blackout for a second there, staring at this beautiful man’s beautiful face. But his beautiful lips are still moving, and they force themself to tune back in, to listen to what he has to say, to etch every word of it in stone.

“...not any good at this,” he’s saying. “I really don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t wanna mess up again like I did tonight. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” they hurry to assure him. “You won’t. I was too wrapped up in my own insecurity, too stuck in my own head. I... I should’ve trusted you more than that.”

They look down at their still-clasped hands, resting on their knee, surprised to discover that they’re in one piece despite feeling like their body has dissolved into fizz, every molecule abuzz with something frothy, distilled light pouring through all the gaps. Maybe it’s just that Rafael hasn’t let go yet, that he’s somehow holding them together, his broad, strong, calloused hand keeping them steady and solid and secure. He could crush their hand if he wanted, but Mika knows he never would.

They know he’ll treat their heart the same.

“I’m not very good at this stuff, either,” they admit, turning back to meet his deep dark eyes. “But I don’t think there’s any one right way to do it. I think we get to decide what works for us. I think we can be in love any way we want.”

His eyes open somehow wider, his body sagging toward them in what seems to be relief, his breath sighing out against their skin. “Then...” he starts, taking a rallying breath, leaning—goddess bless them—even closer. “Then can I please kiss you again?”

“Please,” they cry, far too eagerly but it doesn’t matter because it’s Rafael and he’s kissing them and it’s Rafael.

His mouth is like a furnace in the cold night—like a forge, his lips and tongue taking the staticky mess of their body and molding it into something stronger, something new, his hands holding them carefully together. They can’t help but laugh into his mouth, overwhelmed with relief and delight and love, and they can feel his lips curling up into a grin and it’s the best thing they’ve ever felt in their whole entire life.

He takes advantage of their open mouth, kisses them deeper, kisses them breathless, and when they finally have to break away to gasp for air they keep their face pressed close to his, no longer afraid of seeming desperate to be near him.

“Happy new year, Mika,” Rafael sighs against their skin.

They laugh, and kiss him again. And again. And again.

Chapter Text

The morning air is prickly with cold, the grass coated with enough frost to cruch underfoot; the stone bench is once again frigid, but at least they’d thought to bring a blanket this time. This isn’t exactly the best spot on the island from which to view the sunrise, but the warm wash of light on their skin once it’s climbed high enough above the horizon feels no less marvelous a gift for the subpar vista. Mika closes their eyes and turns their face East with a sigh. The cool breeze smells of cold stone and clean laundry from the blanket around their shoulders, of violets blooming in the grass nearby, of the last wisp of incense burning on the altar. They wish they could drink this moment down, could let it fill them up.

“...Oh, wow.”

Already smiling at the sound of his voice, Mika opens their eyes to find Rafael, just come from the shop, staring at them in surprise. “‘Wow’ what?” they ask with a laugh as he quickly cuts across the grass with his long legs to reach them.

“I just—wasn’t expecting to see...you,” he admits with a sheepish smile, bending at the waist to kiss them. “And you’re...really gorgeous.”

They laugh, flustered, and kiss him again. His mouth still tastes of toothpaste, and his scruffy beard tickles against their skin, and everything about him is just the best thing.

“You’re one to talk,” they huff, holding out one end of the blanket and scooting over to make room, eyeing him up. His hair is extra messy, sticking up on one side from his pillow, and he’s dressed in plain work pants and an old, worn sweatshirt that still manages to cling suggestively to his tummy and pecs and shoulders and biceps, and he looks ruffled and delicious. “You have no business looking this good this early in the morning.”

He shakes his head, setting down his bucket of cleaning supplies and sitting on the bench beside them, snuggling close under the blanket. “I think you just have weird taste...” he says, though his blushing cheeks betray him.

“I have excellent taste, thank you very much,” they scoff, resting their head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his middle, leaning into his warmth and softness. “Excellent, specific, Rafael-shaped taste.”

“Thank goodness,” he sighs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head before resting his chin there, holding them close.

It still feels new, and surprising, and wonderful—to be this close to him, to have his hands on them and theirs on him, to desire his presence and then be gifted with such abundance. A day will come, they’re sure, when kissing Rafael will feel as natural (and as necessary) as breathing. And that will be a wonder all its own, but Mika’s in no real rush to get there just yet. They’d spent the past year growing so well acquainted with the butterflies in their stomach; they’re not quite ready to say goodbye.

“Can I...ask a weird question?” he starts, his voice soft and light and not-quite-teasing.

“I promise I’m not locked out of the house or anything,” they assure him with a laugh. “I just...couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go for a walk to clear my head.”

He hums thoughtfully, and they can feel him nod. “You could’ve walked to the shop, you know? I mean, you didn’t have to sit out here in the cold. We’re just next door; me and Pablo will always let you in.”

“I-I know,” they say, swallowing hard around the lump in their throat; they’ve cried on him for his kindness in this exact spot once before—they’re sure they don’t need a repeat. “It was just so early... I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He puffs out a breath, leans back so he can look them in the eye. “You know you’re more important to me than that, right?”

Okay, well, yeah, maybe they’re gonna cry, a little. “I know. I do, I promise,” they sniffle, leaning in to nudge him with their forehead.

“I’ll make you a key,” he says softly. “So you don’t have to worry.”

“You...are really wonderful, you know that?” they ask, watching in delight as a blush creeps over his cheeks again. “Can you make one for my place, too? You should have a key; I want you to have one.”

“I-I can do that,” he says, flushing darker, his warm, tawny skin going pink and radiant, and he’s just—so cute.

And they don’t have to be embarrassed to think so anymore.

“You’re so cute,” they say, and he chuckles, bashful, but lets them kiss him again.

“Come on,” he says a moment later, pulling back and moving to stand. “You’re cold.”

“I’m not,” they protest halfheartedly, realizing even as the words leave their mouth that he’s right, of course—they just hadn’t noticed, not with him pressed so close at their side. Rafael turns and holds out a hand, and they don’t even have to think about it as their body automatically reacts to him, reaching out and letting him pull them to their feet. “Where are we going?”

His dark brown eyes gleam in the dawn light. “Inside. I’ll make you breakfast, and then we’ll go upstairs and take a nap. Hopefully somewhere in there you’ll tell me about what has you so anxious that you needed to go for a walk in the middle of the night. And if you don’t feel better after food and sleep and talking... Well, uh, then we’ll figure something else out. I dunno, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Mika stares at him in surprise for a moment—just long enough to reassure themself that they’d heard that right, that these past months haven’t just been the most incredible dream, that he’s real, and here, and theirs. Then they step forward and press their face into his big chest and wrap their arms around him, holding him tight. “You are—the best boyfriend.”

He gives a surprised laugh and wraps an arm around their shoulders, keeping them close. His free hand brushes through their hair, cradling their head, guiding their face up so he can meet their eyes. “Only because I’ve got you for a partner.”

Goddess. It’s far too early in the relationship to be thinking of marriage, but they can’t help but do it anyway. They can’t possibly imagine a scenario where they won’t want him at their side, not ever.

So Mika thinks about house keys and forever as Rafael takes their hand and leads them out of the graveyard and around the stone wall to his shop.

Pablo is outside, hauling one of his tall speakers over toward the whetstone, where an assortment of hoes and shovels and scythes lay piled on a tarp—preparations for the coming Tree Planting Festival, apparently.

“Hey you two,” he calls with a grin, and if he finds anything odd about his brother heading off to clean the headstones and instead returning minutes later with Mika dressed in their pj’s and a blanket, he at least keeps it to himself. “I was gonna put on a little music while I work; any requests?”

They don’t have any; he puts on something jazzy, and the muffled sultry rhythm follows them indoors. Rafael tries to make eggs, sighs with his whole body and soul when he realizes Pablo used the last of them, and makes oatmeal instead. Mika doesn’t mind in the slightest—it’s as warm and sweet as he is, and they get to watch him blush all over again when they tell him so. They hadn’t realized how hungry they were, after the long and sleepless night, and Pablo’s music mostly covers the sound of the growling of their stomach and the clinking of spoons as they all but inhale the meal.

“You...know you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, right?” Rafael asks softly, nudging their elbow gently. He’d scooted the bar stools closer together in the kitchen, so the two of them could sit side by side and look out the window as they ate. “I mean, I don’t wanna make you talk about something if you’re not ready to.”

Mika reaches a hand out to his and gives it a squeeze, resting their head on his shoulder for a second. “We’re partners, Rafi,” they remind him with a smile. “There’s nothing I don’t want to talk about with you.”

And it’s true. So they tell him.

They tell him how strange everything feels lately, so familiar, yet so daunting. They tell him how last year had felt like an experiment, a trial run, but the grace period is over and everything is real now. And there’s no part of them that regrets their choice to stay, they assure him, but they also tell him about how a week or so ago they’d run into Eleanor at the store, and she’d mentioned that she was keeping an eye out for lychee from the farm this year—and it hadn’t been any kind of an accusation or a demand, but still they’d been kicking themself ever since for not having planted the fruit sooner so she didn’t have to wait. They tell him how worried they are that they’ll let people down.

They tell him about how strange it feels to be happy—to be dating the man they love, and be living in a beautiful house on a breathtaking island, doing work they enjoy surrounded by people they care about. They tell him how they can’t stop feeling like it’s all gonna disappear—that the universe is gonna somehow notice that a mistake’s been made in the cosmic ledger book somewhere—that it’s gonna be revealed, inevitably, that they never deserved all this after all.

And through it all, he listens, because he’s Rafael and he’s so good, and his hand never leaves theirs, and he’s not always very comfortable with eye contact but he meets theirs every time, watching them with care and concern in equal measure. And when they finally run out of burdens to share, he squeezes their hand and rests his forehead against theirs, and just...breathes. And so Mika does, too. In, and out. Slow, and steady.

“Thank you for telling me,” he sighs. “I think... I think you already know everything I want to say. But maybe it’ll help to hear it from someone else?”

They press their eyes closed and nod, too tired and talked-out to say any more, but they always want to hear what he thinks, no matter what.

“Okay. Well, I think you deserve to be happy—completely and totally—and if being with me helps with that then I’m the luckiest person in the world. And if you want help around the farm, then you can teach me to farm and I’ll help you. And if something goes wrong with your house, we’ll go to Joko and Dinda and they’ll fix it. And if someone wants produce you haven’t grown, Sam can order it from someplace else. Things won’t always be perfect forever, but...you’re not alone here, Mika. We’re partners, right? I’ll help you. We all will. You don’t need to worry about what could happen—whatever does, we’ll get through it together.”

They blink back tears, rest their head on his shoulder, press their face into the crook of his neck. “You’re right,” they breathe. And then, “Rafael? You’re the best.”

“You’re the best, Mika,” he chuckles, squeezing their hand. “And...you’re sleepy. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

How could they possibly resist? Why would they ever even want to?

Later, he’ll have to get up and get dressed and go take over the afternoon shift for Pablo. And Mika will have to get up too, and hustle back to the farm, and see what chores still need doing. Maybe, if things aren’t in too bad of shape, they’ll have time to do a little fishing, could head back over here to surprise the brothers with fresh sashimi for dinner.

But all of that can be figured out later. For now, all that’s required of them is to follow Rafael through the shop and up the stairs to his bedroom, to fall into his big, soft, warm bed and wait for this big, soft, warm man to get in beside them.

But that takes a moment longer than they’re expecting—first he turns and steps over to the windows. “Is it okay if I open these? It’s cold now, but it’ll heat up fast when Pablo comes in and starts stoking the forge.”

“Of course,” they laugh, not remotely upset for an extra excuse to snuggle close to him—and when he hauls the windows open and hops, shivering, into bed, they get to do just that. “We really gotta get you a fan up here or something.”

“I know—I’m sorry,” he sighs, tugging the comforter up and wrapping an arm around their middle, holding them close. “Not looking forward to summer—it gets unbearable up here. I can never sleep.”

“I bet. Oh,” Mika gasps, their sleepy brain cells managing to spark up one good thought before they give in to exhaustion and the comfort of lying here with him. “Why don’t you stay with me?”

“What? When?”

“For the summer. I mean—if you want to,” they add, suddenly realizing from the surprised look on his face that this is kind of a big ask they should’ve introduced more carefully. “I mean, I know it’s a little far away from the shop, but it’s a lot cooler. Temperature-wise, I mean, not— This place is very cool, but, y’know. In the summer. With the heat.”

“You mean like...move in with you?”

They could lie, pretend that wasn’t really what they’d meant. But they meet his eyes and there isn’t any part of them that wants to lie to him, about anything—especially not about feelings like this. It’s Rafael. They’re partners. “Yes. If you want to. I-it doesn’t have to be every night. Or even most of them, just—you know. You’ll have a key, so... Whenever you want to come by, however often that is, however long you wanna stay—I’ll be glad you’re there.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Mika refuses to let themself panic about it. It’s Rafael—sometimes he just needs time to think things over, figure out how he feels and what he wants to say, especially with Mika’s dumb mouth making such a habit of springing stuff on him without warning. They’re learning to trust him more than they do the mean, critical little voice in their head. He’s far more worthy of it, anyway.

“What if...I want to stay longer?” he asks, speaking slowly, hesitating. “After summer’s over, I mean?”

They try not to grin too broadly. They don’t quite succeed. “Then you’ll stay longer.”

He grins, too, his dark eyes glittering. “I... I might be weird to live with.”

“I might be, too. I can be messy. My old roommate said I snore.”

“You do.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry! It’s a really cute snore.”

“You’re a cute snore,” they grumble, and he laughs, and they know they’ll never tire of the sound. “I love you, Rafael. And I think I’d really like living with you, too. And maybe I won’t, or you won’t, or we’ll only like it for short periods of time or something; I don’t know. But I’d like to find out. And even if it doesn’t work out great, I’m not going to stop loving you, and we can go right back to loving each other and living apart, right? I mean, it’s worked for us this far.”

“I’d like that, too,” he agrees, still grinning. “I love you too, Mika. No matter where we are.”

Mika laughs, and holds him close, and sometime later they finally manage to fall asleep, even with their mind swirling with thoughts of house keys, and summer...and forever.