Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun rises slow over the hills, a dusty gold spilling across acres of open land and worn fence posts. The ranch wakes with it — not in a rush, but with that steady, practiced rhythm of a place built on labor and second chances.

It smells like earth and leather and breakfast already burning.

K is up first. He’s always up first.

He moves through the house with silent purpose — boots on, hoodie zipped, jaw tight. His fingers are already stained with oil from checking the generator, his hair damp from a rinse that didn’t quite shake the nerves.

He doesn’t say much, not because there’s nothing to say, but because if he starts talking now, he might not stop. And K has never been one to show too much emotion on his face.

Except today. Today, it's written all over him.

Today, after seven years of waiting, his little brother is coming home.

He was fifteen when they were split. Taki was only ten. Too young to come with him, too easy for the courts to overlook, too easy for their mother to manipulate. K remembers the way she pulled Taki behind her like a shield, screeching that the boy belonged with her, that K was violent, unstable, unfit to care for anyone. He remembers Kaito—his father—fighting tooth and nail to take them both. And he remembers losing.

The house was quiet for years after that.

But this ranch? This ranch is anything but quiet now.

Out by the barn, Maki swings up onto his horse like he was born in a saddle. He’s shirtless, sweat already glinting off his back as he leans forward to whisper something to the wild black stallion beneath him — Fury, the one only he can ride. His laugh is low, rough from sleep, and when he spots K pacing the porch again, he calls out:

“You’re gonna wear a hole through the planks, boss.”

K doesn’t answer. Just lifts a hand, eyes still locked on the road.

Inside, the kitchen is chaos in the way only a house full of reformed teenage boys can be.

Fuma’s got four eggs burning in a skillet while trying to do one-handed push-ups between flips. Yuma, ever the quiet one, is already at the table with a thick binder of livestock records, correcting everyone’s mistakes without looking up. Nicholas is by the sink, arms crossed, watching EJ clean the counters like he owns the place — which he might as well. EJ keeps things running like a well-oiled machine, including people. Especially people.

They’re all ex-somethings.

Ex-pickpockets. Ex-fighters. Ex-runaways. Ex-nobodies the system forgot about — until Bear found them.

That’s what the old man does. Takes in the kids nobody wants, gives them structure, chores, calluses on their hands and warmth in their bones. He doesn’t ask about the past. He just hands you a pair of boots and tells you where to stand.

Bear — his real name’s Kaito, not that anyone uses it — stands now by the window with a mug of black coffee and a cigarette he hasn’t lit. He watches the road the way a man watches for ghosts. Big, broad-shouldered, weathered like the earth he built this ranch on. His silence says more than any sermon.

This house is full of boys he’s raised from ruin.

But there’s still one he lost.

None of the others know about Taki. Not really. K never talked about him, not in specifics. Just a few muttered words here and there — “my brother,” “my kid,” “should’ve been here,” — and a photo tucked in his wallet, the edges worn soft from years of hoping.

So when Bear says, gruff and low, “Truck’s coming at noon,” everyone stops pretending this is just another Tuesday.

“You nervous?” EJ asks, leaning against the counter beside K, now inside and pretending to clean a wrench that doesn’t need cleaning.

K shrugs. “Nah.”

Nicholas snorts. “You rewired the barn lights at six a.m. for fun.”

“I’ve had worse coping mechanisms.”

Maki walks through the front door, dusty and grinning, pulling off his gloves. “So what’s the deal with this mystery brother of yours? Gonna show up with a face tattoo and a flamethrower or what?”

K just stares at him for a beat too long.

“No,” he says, voice quieter. “He’s… small. He talks too much. Or he used to.”

Bear grunts. “Still might. We’ll see.”

In truth, none of them know what to expect. Not really. Not even Bear and K.

They know the legal fight was long and bitter. That the courts didn’t care about a kid raised in neglect so long as the paperwork looked clean. That it took years — years — of reports, witnesses, and finally Taki speaking up himself for the judge to listen.

He’s seventeen now. Almost grown. A stranger.

But still theirs.

The sun has climbed halfway up the sky by the time the air shifts.

From beyond the hill, a rumble echoes. Low. Familiar. The sound of something coming home.

K moves first, stepping onto the porch, heart in his throat. Bear follows slower, mug in hand. The others linger in the doorway, peeking out like curious barn cats.

The truck rolls into view — old, rust-bitten, crawling slow over the gravel. A woman from the courts drives, sunglasses and a clipboard on the dash. The passenger door opens before it fully stops.

And there he is.

Taki.

Lanky, wide-eyed, a backpack slung too low over one shoulder and a hoodie that swallows him whole. He blinks up at the house like it might disappear if he looks away. And when he sees K — frozen on the porch with something crumbling in his chest — he smiles.

Wide. Bright. Like none of the time between ever mattered.

Taki’s feet hit the gravel with a crunch, and for a moment, he just stands there.

The wind rustles his hoodie, carrying dust and the smell of horses and hay — unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. His eyes move slowly across the house, the porch, the weathered wood beams, and the man standing at the top of the stairs like a shadow from a long-lost dream.

K is taller than he remembered. Broader. But the face is the same. So is the smile, even though it’s shaking like a leaf in a storm.

“You still talk too much?” K says, voice barely holding steady as he jogs down the porch steps.

Taki lets out a breath that breaks halfway out of his throat, and then he runs the last few steps forward. Collides into his brother like he never wants to let go again.

K wraps him up tight, arms locked around his shoulders, and buries his nose in the side of Taki’s hair. It smells like cheap shampoo and nerves. Like coming home.

“Hi,” Taki says, voice muffled against K’s chest. “Sorry I took so long.”

“You’re here now,” K mutters, clearing his throat as he pulls back enough to look at him. “That’s all I care about.”

Behind them, the truck rumbles back to life and pulls away without ceremony. No goodbyes from the caseworker. No clipboard checkmarks. Just the dust rising behind the tires, and Taki — seventeen, skinny, nervous — standing in the middle of the ranch with wide eyes and bruised hope.

Then a new voice breaks the quiet.

“Kid,” says Bear.

Taki turns.

At the top of the stairs, Kaito stands like a mountain. Sturdy and unmoving. He’s got crow’s feet around his eyes and a gut built from years of black coffee and skipped lunches, but there’s something soft underneath. Something that flickers and burns steady when his gaze meets Taki’s.

Taki takes a half-step forward, then stops. “Hi dad”

Kaito breathes out hard through his nose. “Hi son”

That’s when Kaito moves. Slow, but sure — like his legs just remembered how. He steps down off the porch, and it only takes two strides before he’s right in front of his son. He looks down at him for a heartbeat.

Then he pulls him in.

It’s not a gentle hug. Not like K’s was. Kaito hugs like someone trying to stitch time back together with nothing but his hands and regret. Taki goes stiff at first, unprepared for the force of it, then melts into the hold like he’s collapsing into warmth.

“Welcome home, Taki,” Kaito murmurs.

The others are silent.

From the porch, a quiet audience watches the moment unfold — all of them frozen, caught between curiosity and something else. Something deeper. They don’t know this boy. Didn’t even know he existed.

But they know what it feels like to be pulled from chaos and told this is your home now.

Taki pulls back, sniffling. “You really built all of this?”

Kaito nods. “Started with just the barn. Boys came later.”

Taki glances at the porch, where five pairs of eyes flick away like they weren’t watching. A guy with ash-blond hair and tired eyes raises a brow. Another one is built like a brick wall and doesn’t blink. One kid is clearly trying not to smile. One looks confused. And the last one—tan, wild hair, smirking—tilts his head like he’s already planning trouble.

“Are they… part of the family too?” Taki asks.

K answers, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “They’re the wolves. You’re the last cub.”

And Taki—battered heart, loud thoughts, and nervous energy buzzing through his limbs—just nods.

“Okay,” he whispers. “I can do wolves.”

K laughs under his breath — short and choked — and squeezes his shoulder before leading him up the steps, arm slung across his back like it belongs there. Kaito follows with slower steps, pausing to grind his cigarette into the edge of the porch before pocketing it with a grunt.

Inside, the house smells like bacon and ash and overcooked eggs.

The kitchen hits Taki first — wide, open, filled with light and the clatter of badly washed dishes. It's messy in a way that says lived-in , not neglected. Like the people here have better things to do than stack plates perfectly. A cast-iron pan still sizzles on the stove. Someone’s sock is hanging off a chair. There’s a horseshoe on the table, beside a half-solved crossword.

And then there are the boys.

They’ve migrated like curious animals, half-sitting, half-leaning across the room. Some still feigning disinterest. One of them’s chewing on a piece of straw. Another’s got a screwdriver in his back pocket and oil on his fingers.

Taki stiffens.

K tightens his hold a little.

“Alright,” Kaito says, voice like gravel in a drum, “this is Taki. He’s my son. K’s brother.”

A pause.

“He lives here now.”

The words hang in the air for a second too long.

Then the one with sharp eyes and a southern drawl — Fuma, Taki will learn later — nods once, real slow. “Damn,” he mutters. “Didn’t even know the two of you had another cub.”

“Neither did most of town,” Nicholas adds dryly from the corner, arms crossed. He’s huge, silent, and terrifyingly still.

“It was… complicated,” K says. “He’s here now.”

There’s an unspoken understanding in this place: none of them got here because life was kind. They all carry weight. And nobody asks questions unless you're ready to answer.

Maki is the last to speak — leaned against the kitchen island, still wearing a tank top and fingerless gloves like he just walked out of a cowboy movie. His gaze flicks from Taki to Kaito to K and then back to Taki again. He's quiet, thoughtful. Then—

“He’s smaller than I pictured,” he says.

Taki bristles. “And you’re louder than I need right now.”

Silence.

Then Fuma snorts. EJ looks away to hide a smile. Yuma blinks. Maki just grins — slow and wide like a dog deciding if it wants to play or bite.

K rubs a hand over his face. “Great. That didn’t take long.”

“You want the tour?” Maki asks, stepping forward.

Taki glances at K, who raises an eyebrow like your call, kid.

“Sure,” Taki says, squaring his shoulders. “As long as it doesn’t involve power tools.”

That earns a genuine laugh from all of them.

“Good,” says EJ, “because after what you just said, I’m not letting you near the barn door controls until Christmas.”

Maki gestures toward the hallway, eyes sparkling. “Come on, I’ll show you the sleeping quarters of the feral wolves.”

“They’re not actually wolves,” K whispers as they pass.

“I figured,” Taki whispers back. “But they kind of look like they are.”

Silence settles again after the first round of teasing. Everyone’s still watching Taki — not unkindly, just curiously, like they’re trying to figure out where he fits in the shape of things.

Then Fuma speaks.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the little canvas backpack slung over Taki’s shoulder. “That can’t be all you brought.”

Taki blinks. “Oh. Uh—” He slips the strap off and holds it up. “Yeah. This is all I have.”

The room stills.

EJ sets his mug down a little too gently. Yuma, who was halfway to sitting, freezes. Nicholas clenches his jaw. Maki’s smirk fades. Even Fuma goes quiet.

Behind Taki, Kaito doesn’t move, but his hands curl into fists at his sides. Not angry at Taki — no, never that. Angry at everything else. At the years he missed. At the system that let his son walk into this house with nothing but a single bag and a bruised kind of smile.

“Cool backpack,” K says roughly, clearing his throat.

“Thanks,” Taki answers, chipper like he doesn’t notice the tension. “Got it at a thrift store. Only five bucks. Zipper sticks sometimes, but we’ve been through a lot together.”

The corners of Kaito’s mouth twitch like he might say something, but he doesn’t. He just reaches out, takes the bag from Taki’s hand, and carries it himself like it weighs more than it does.

“C’mon,” Maki says suddenly, clapping his hands once. “Let’s give the cub the tour before Nicholas eats him alive with those murder-eyes.”

Nicholas doesn’t respond. He just rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

Taki follows Maki down the hallway, sneakers squeaking faintly on the wooden floor. K stays in the kitchen, hovering near the doorway with his arms folded, eyes never leaving Taki’s retreating frame.

Kaito exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

—

The hallway is lined with mismatched picture frames, old boots, and what might be a half-eaten biscuit nailed to the wall in place of art.

“That was Fuma’s attempt at a ‘country-themed collage,’” Maki says, nodding toward it. “We don’t talk about it.”

Taki grins.

“Your room’s at the end,” Maki continues. “Next to K’s, across from mine. Bathroom’s the one with the door that squeaks like a banshee. Try not to flush too hard, or it screams louder.”

“Got it. No angry toilets. Check.”

They reach the end of the hallway and stop by an open door. The room is small but clean — bed freshly made, sun spilling across the floor, a desk in the corner already stacked with a notepad and a brand-new pen.

Someone cared. Someone prepared.

Taki stands in the doorway for a second longer than necessary.

“Hey,” Maki says, voice lower now, less showy. “You know… your dad may seem like a grizzly, but he was the most excited about you coming home.”

Taki looks up, caught off guard. “Yeah?”

“He redid this whole room last week. Said the windows weren’t ‘safe enough for a kid.’ K kept rolling his eyes, but he didn’t stop him.” Maki shrugs. “Even got the soft sheets. Not even K has the soft sheets.”

Taki snorts. “That’s because K’s a masochist.”

“Right?” Maki grins.

Then they’re quiet for a beat. Just standing in the doorway of something new and raw and maybe healing.

Taki steps inside.

Maki leans against the frame and watches him trail his fingers over the desk.

“I’m glad you’re here, y’know,” Maki says, softer now. “Don’t let the jokes fool you.”

Taki looks at him, tilts his head. “You don’t even know me yet.”

“I don’t need to,” Maki shrugs. “K talks about you like you built the sun.”

And that? That sticks.

Chapter Text

It’s dinner time and the kitchen is loud.

Plates clatter. Boots scuff. Someone’s arguing over whether the stew counts as “cooked” if it’s still slightly frozen in the middle. (It doesn’t, and it is.) Someone else is trying to get the Bluetooth speaker to play rap music, but it keeps defaulting to an old rodeo playlist.

Fuma is at the stove, poking aggressively at a pan of something that may have once been potatoes. Nicholas is slicing bread like he’s preparing to defend the house with it. Yuma is setting the table with quiet precision. EJ has somehow taken control of the chores chart.

And Kaito’s watching it all from the corner, arms folded, eyes soft in a way he’d deny if anyone pointed it out.

Taki’s never seen anything like it.

He’s perched at the edge of the long wooden table, hands in his lap, taking it all in like a movie he doesn’t want to end. It’s loud. It’s messy. It smells like salt and heat and too much garlic. Someone’s elbow is in his space. Someone else just swore because they spilled water down their shirt.

And there’s enough food. Like, real food. Hot, homemade—okay, maybe barely homemade—but made here. In a kitchen. With people. With noise. With love.

Taki can’t remember the last time he had dinner with anyone who wasn’t a caseworker. Or food that didn’t come out of a box with a microwave-safe warning. His first instinct is to stay small. To say thank you too many times. To make himself useful, even if he’s not sure how.

Instead, he just sits there, hands gripping the edge of the bench, eyes darting from one face to the next, the pressure in his chest growing tighter by the second.

Laughter erupts across the table when Maki tells a story about a bull chasing K across the field because he wore red flannel by accident. K insists it wasn’t the shirt—it was the way the bull was raised. Maki dramatically disagrees. Fuma makes sound effects.

And Taki just… blinks.

One tear drops.

He doesn’t even realize it until it hits his thumb.

He sucks in a sharp breath, panicked, trying to wipe it away with the sleeve of his hoodie. But another one falls. And then another. His throat closes up, too full to speak.

He makes a noise, soft and broken.

And suddenly the chaos fades.

Seven heads turn.

Maki’s the first to move. He leans forward slightly, squinting. “Hey. You good?”

Taki tries to smile. “I—I’m fine, I just—sorry.”

Maki stands, walks over, and crouches down beside him like it’s nothing. Like there isn’t an entire table full of people watching. “You allergic to overcooked beef or something?”

A weak laugh escapes Taki, trembling. “No.”

“Because, full honesty, I think this stew might actually be a hate crime.”

Taki laughs again, harder this time, but it breaks halfway through. His hands are shaking now, the tears coming faster. He tries to wipe them away again, blinking hard.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I’m totally killing the mood, I just— I don’t—this is…”

He gestures at the table. The food. The people. All of it.

“I’ve never had dinner like this,” he whispers. “I usually just… eat alone. Or not at all. I don’t know what to do with all this.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Fuma, from across the table, raises a brow and deadpans:
“We’re not that bad at cooking, right?”

It breaks the tension like a dropped plate. Yuma smirks. EJ exhales like he’s been holding his breath. Nicholas makes a sound that might be a laugh. K mutters something that sounds like, “Jesus, Fuma.”

Maki smiles.

“I mean,” he says, placing a hand gently on Taki’s back, “you don’t have to cry every time we overcook the meat. We’ll try to do better, I swear.”

Taki hiccups a laugh again, but the tears keep coming.

“I’m not crying because of the food.”

“I know,” Maki says quietly. “But if you were , I’d be crying too. Fuma’s cooking almost killed a man once.”

“Hey!” Fuma shouts.

“Okay, twice ,” Maki amends. Then, softer, to Taki: “It’s okay, y’know. Cry if you need to. Nobody here’s gonna think less of you.”

Taki wipes his nose with his sleeve. “Feels weird.”

“Yeah, well, weird’s kind of our brand.”

Another pause. Then Nicholas reaches over with a massive hand and taps the back of Taki’s chair—once, solid. Yuma silently nudges the bread closer. EJ sets a tissue in front of him without a word.

K just watches from the head of the table, eyes glinting.

Kaito rises. Walks over. Doesn’t say anything.

Just refills Taki’s plate.

A scoop of stew. A ladle of broth. A second slice of bread.

That’s all. That’s enough.

Taki stares at the food.

Then back up at them.

And for the first time in years, he doesn’t feel like he’s outside the glass looking in.

He’s at the table.

He’s part of something.

The house settles slowly after dinner.

Laughter fades into low murmurs. Plates clink faintly in the sink. Somewhere down the hallway, someone argues over whose turn it is to feed the dogs in the morning. One by one, the boys retreat to their rooms — full stomachs, tired bones, maybe a little softer than they’d admit.

But out on the porch, three figures remain.

Taki curls into the corner seat of the worn bench swing, a mug of hot chocolate clutched between his hands. The warmth seeps into his skin, grounding him. K sits on the railing, one boot hooked over a post. Kaito leans against the doorway with his arms folded, gaze somewhere out beyond the hills.

No one speaks for a while.

The crickets do the talking. A distant owl adds punctuation.

Then Kaito breaks the quiet.

“They didn’t give me anything,” he says gruffly. “Just a formal letter. Said you’d be dropped off at noon. Said you were now legally under my roof at least until you turn eighteen. That was it.”

Taki swallows.

K looks up, jaw tight.

“I’ve been fighting for years,” Kaito adds, voice softer now. “I thought it’d be because of her neglect. The drugs. The stolen child support. The police records. But they never cared before, so I couldn’t figure out what changed.”

Taki is quiet for a long moment. Then sighed. “It wasn’t the neglect,” he says finally. “It wasn’t the drugs. They never cared about that.”

He stares into the hot chocolate like it might tell him how to explain this part. Then he lifts his gaze, eyes catching the dim porch light.

“It was her boyfriend,” he says. “Her new one. He got caught up in a prostitution ring a few months back. They’d been using our apartment. Our actual living room. I didn’t know what half the people were doing there at first, I just knew they stayed too long and stared too hard.”

Kaito straightens, frozen.

K swings off the railing, footsteps slow but heavy as he moves closer.

“Did he—” K starts, voice rough. “Did anyone ever—?”

Taki pauses.

And in that pause, something sinks cold into both their guts.

He looks down. Then, softly.

“Nothing happened. Not… like that. Just—fleeting touches, sometimes. He liked to grab my neck when I walked past. Hold it too tight. Would threaten to sell me to his friends when I pissed him off. Which, apparently, was always.”

Kaito turns away. His fist curls against the doorway frame.

K’s breathing is suddenly too loud in his ears. He grips the porch railing so hard it creaks.

But Taki, sweet, tired, so used to patching over things with laughter, just smiles through it all.

“But I’m safe now,” he says quickly, like he’s trying to clean up the mess of what he just said. “That’s what matters, right? I’m finally home. I finally have a family.”

He sets the mug down beside him, legs folded up under his hoodie like he’s trying to make himself small again.

“I like it here,” he says, softer now. “Even if I’m basically allergic to manual labor. Everyone’s kind in their own weird way. Fuma’s terrifying but has good intentions. Yuma gave me the quietest chair at dinner, I think on purpose. EJ reminds me of the serious kid in group therapy who always had snacks to share. Nicholas hasn’t killed me yet, so I think that’s a good sign. And Maki…”

He hesitates.

“Maki called me a dumbass, like, lovingly. That was new.”

K laughs through his nose, not quite ready to unclench. “That’s his love language.”

Taki grins. “I’ll take it.”

Behind the door, just barely out of view, Nicholas stops on the bottom stair with a glass of water in his hand. Maki stands beside him, arms crossed, shoulders tight.

They hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. The front door had been cracked open. They’d just come down for something cold. But now, neither of them moves.

Maki’s jaw ticks. His eyes are on the boy just feet away, curled up on that porch swing like a stray dog who finally found a place to sleep. And all he can think is:

I hope he never has to feel like that again.

Nicholas, quiet as ever, places a hand on Maki’s shoulder for exactly one second. Just enough.

Then they both turn back inside.

Out on the porch, K finally sits beside his brother. Kaito stays standing, arms still crossed, gaze aimed at the stars.

But it’s enough.

For now, it’s enough.

The porch has gone quiet again.

Taki’s curled up on the swing, hoodie pulled over his knees, empty mug resting beside him. His breathing’s gone slow. Softer. A loose curl falls across his cheek as his head dips to the side.

Asleep.

K and Kaito watch him in silence.

The stars above are smeared silver, and the wind hums low through the trees like an old lullaby. The ranch is still. For once, no horses stomping, no voices yelling, no pans crashing in the kitchen.

Just the three of them. Together.

Kaito takes a sip from his own mug — black coffee gone lukewarm — and says, almost too softly:

“I didn’t know it was that bad.”

K doesn’t answer at first.

He’s staring at his little brother like if he blinks, he might disappear again.

“I knew she was a mess,” K says eventually, voice low. “But I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe it was just the neglect we knew about.. Y’know how he talks. How he makes jokes out of everything. He never mentioned anything else in our yearly calls”

Kaito nods slowly. “He shouldn’t have had to.”

Another beat of silence.

K’s voice cracks when he says, “I wasn’t there. I should’ve been there.”

“You were fifteen,” Kaito murmurs. “I wasn’t there either. But we’re here now. That’s what matters.”

K presses the heel of his hand to his eyes.

“I don’t know how to make up for it,” he says.

“You don’t.” Kaito stands. “You just stay. You hold him when he cries. You teach him how to saddle a horse and throw a punch and eat more than canned chili. You tell him he’s not broken.”

K nods, throat too tight to speak.

Kaito moves to the swing and crouches beside it. Taki stirs a little, murmuring something that sounds like “don’t let the stew burn,” and then curls deeper into himself.

Kaito smiles. Gently scoops an arm under his knees, another around his shoulders, and lifts him up like it’s nothing.

Taki doesn’t even wake. He just sighs, turning his face into his father’s chest like it’s the safest place on earth.

K follows close behind as they head inside, down the hall, past the dim kitchen light.

Kaito nudges open the bedroom door with his foot, steps in, and lowers Taki onto the bed. He tucks the blanket around him slowly. Smooths the edge near his neck. Lets his fingers rest there for a second too long.

Then, quietly, barely above a whisper, he presses a kiss to Taki’s forehead.

“Welcome home, kid,” he says.

The light clicks off.

The door closes soft behind them.

And for the first time in years, there’s nothing missing in this house.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The smell of bacon drifts through the hallway.

Sunlight slices through the window slats in stripes. Somewhere in the house, someone’s singing off-key, and a door slams with the sound of someone forgetting their boots.

Taki wakes to it all — blinking slowly, cocooned in soft sheets that smell like detergent and dust. The room is still unfamiliar, but it doesn’t feel cold. The backpack he arrived with sits slouched in the corner. A clean hoodie is folded neatly on the chair. There's a post-it on his nightstand that says: Don’t forget to eat or K will cry. – M

He grins.

When he steps out of the room, the house is already alive. EJ walks past muttering something about vet appointments. Fuma is halfway through threatening the toaster. Yuma’s outside feeding the horses. And Maki is leaning against the front porch rail, twirling a keyring around his finger with a grin that says: I’m about to commit a minor crime of laziness.

“There he is,” Maki says as Taki opens the door, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Up and breathing. Good start.”

Taki stares at the vehicle behind him.

“Is that a golf cart?”

Maki tosses the keys in the air and catches them. “Technically, yes. Functionally, it’s a poorly disguised joyride machine.”

“Why do we have one?”

“Bear says it’s for transporting supplies across the outer fields,” Maki replies. “But it’s mostly for dramatic exits.”

He jerks a thumb toward the passenger seat. “Wanna see the whole ranch? I mean, like—the real ranch. Not just the parts you’ve tripped over so far.”

Taki perks up immediately. “We’re allowed to?”

Maki shrugs. “I didn’t ask. Get in.”

Taki does. Barefoot, hoodie zipped, wild hair and all. He’s practically vibrating as he climbs into the seat and buckles in.

Just as Maki starts the engine with a roar, Yuma’s voice carries across the yard.

“HEY! You’re on stable duty today, Maki!”

Maki slams the pedal and whoops, “I’M ON CITY BOY DUTY!”

The cart peels off down the dirt path, gravel spitting behind them.

Yuma turns to the porch, eyes wide with betrayal. “Bear?”

Kaito steps outside with a mug of coffee. Raises one brow. “Was Taki laughing?”

Yuma blinks. “...Yes?”

“Then it’s sanctioned.”

“What?!”

“Pack law. Don’t fight me on this.”

Yuma gapes as Kaito walks calmly back inside.

— 

The wind hits Taki’s face and he lets out a laugh so loud it echoes. Maki grins beside him, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing like a showman.

“To your left, we’ve got the main barn. Currently smells like regret and wet hay. Ahead, the chicken coop — never go in there alone, they know fear. And now—brace yourself—we’re entering cow territory.”

They roll over the next hill and—

Taki gasps.

There are so many cows . All scattered across a sprawling fenced meadow, fat and glossy and slowly chewing in blissful synchronization.

Maki glances at him. “...You okay?”

“I love them,” Taki says, eyes wide. “Oh my god. Look at them. That one has a lopsided spot. That one’s chewing like she’s judging me.”

Maki parks the cart and watches as Taki all but throws himself toward the fence.

“They’re perfect,” Taki says, completely enchanted. “Do they have names?”

Maki shrugs. “Some of them. Don’t get too attached unless you want to be vegetarian real quick.”

Taki freezes. “I will fistfight anyone who hurts them.”

“They’re dairy cows.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll just threaten them lovingly then.”

Maki laughs — loud, real, belly-deep — and leans against the cart like he could watch this all day.

And maybe he could.

— 

Maki finally drags Taki away from the cows by bribing him with a promise of sheep.

“You’re kidding,” Taki says as they roll up to the next field. “You have sheep too?”

“Welcome to Noah’s Ark, Ranch Edition,” Maki says. “We’ve got two of everything. Except normal people.”

The sheep are clustered beneath a shady tree, all fluff and side-eye, bleating softly as the golf cart rolls by. One of them trots toward the fence with surprising confidence.

“Oh my god,” Taki breathes, kneeling on the seat. “She’s coming right at me.”

“That’s Gertrude,” Maki explains. “She bites.”

Taki extends a hand anyway, enchanted. Gertrude sniffs his fingers, then sneezes directly in his face.

“Love her,” Taki says, wiping his sleeve. “No notes.”

Maki snorts and shifts gears. “Alright, let’s keep going before she starts a cult.”

They drive deeper into the land — and there’s a lot of land. Hills roll in every direction, peppered with trees, fences, and scattered structures. They pass a second barn, a tool shed that looks half-swallowed by ivy, and finally, a path that forks off toward the treeline.

“Where does that go?” Taki asks.

Maki grins and swerves.

The trees part suddenly, and the world opens up again — revealing a small lake , smooth as glass, tucked between a ring of trees and open pasture. The sunlight glints off the surface, and a little dock stretches into the water like it’s been waiting for them.

Maki cuts the engine and leans back.

Taki stares, wide-eyed. “You didn’t mention this.”

“It’s sort of our secret,” Maki says. “Most of the guys come here when they need quiet. You’ll want it eventually.”

Taki nods slowly, eyes still on the lake.

They sit in silence for a moment, just breathing. Just being .

Taki plucks a leaf from his hoodie and says, “Do you ever think… it’s weird we get to have this?”

“What? The lake?”

“No, like—this. A second chance. A whole ranch. A pack. A golf cart.”

Maki doesn’t answer right away.

Then: “All the time.”

Taki turns to him, studying his profile. The messy hair, the sun-warmed skin, the scar on his knuckle. The kind of boy who looks like he was born in motion and doesn’t know how to stop.

“I never thought I’d have something like this,” Taki says.

Maki looks at him. Really looks at him. “You do now.”

Taki’s cheeks flush, and he breaks the eye contact first, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

“Okay,” he says softly. “So what’s next?”

Maki smirks. “The stables. But we’re not getting out. I’ve seen how you walk near power tools.”

—

They pull up near the stable fence and park.

A horse whinnies inside, and Taki visibly flinches.

“Don’t worry,” Maki says. “They can smell fear. And see your posture. And probably read your credit score.”

“Comforting.”

“They like you already.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Thank you.”

Taki leans forward, eyes wide, watching the horses pace through the open stalls. “Do they all have names too?”

Maki nods. “Mine’s named Fury.”

“Why?”

“He bit Kaito once. And I was just a kid with a lot of rage in me, so Fury fitted.”

Taki grins. “Iconic.”

They sit there a little longer, the cart engine cooling between them, until Taki sighs and says, “So... is this what a normal day looks like here?”

Maki glances at him sideways. “This was the normal day. Then you showed up.”

Taki raises an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

Maki shrugs, but he’s smiling. “Nah. Just… different. Kinda loud. Kinda sparkly.”

Taki looks down. Tries not to smile too hard. “I like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They stay like that until lunch time and Maki finally turns the cart around, driving them back toward the heart of the ranch — toward the noise, the warmth, the wolves.

After the tour ends and lunch is long gone, the sun starts its lazy arc toward the west. Most of the boys disappear into tasks — feeding, mucking, prepping equipment — but Taki doesn’t feel like going back inside. He’s not tired yet. Not ready to be alone. His head’s buzzing with new sights and dust and cow love.

He wanders toward the sound of hammering.

It leads him to the side of the equipment shed, where Nicholas and Fuma are rebuilding a chunk of the outer wall. There’s a pile of old planks, a massive toolbox, and a small cloud of sawdust around them like war smoke. Nicholas is focused, measuring something. Fuma’s arguing with a bent nail like it insulted his bloodline.

Taki steps too close and immediately trips over a cinderblock.

“Oh god—” he flails, catches himself against a beam, and looks up sheepishly.

Fuma raises an eyebrow. Nicholas just stares.

“Uh. Hey,” Taki says. “Need help?”

Nicholas doesn’t blink. Fuma gives the hammer a final smack and says, “Are you allowed near wood?”

“No,” Taki replies honestly.

“Metal?”

“Nope.”

“Sharp objects?”

“I once cried trying to open a can of peaches.”

Fuma squints. Nicholas, somehow, still hasn’t moved.

Taki adds, “But I’m a great conversationalist and I come with no emotional warranty.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Fuma grins.

Nicholas walks over, picks up two spare planks and a bucket, sets them in the shade near the wall, and gestures like sit .

Taki blinks. “...Is that a yes?”

“It’s a containment zone,” Fuma says. “You stay in the seat, no sudden movements, no touching anything that could electrocute you or us.”

“I’m in,” Taki says, and plops down like he’s been assigned a mission from God.

—

Ten minutes later, he’s fully in “entertain the uncles” mode. (they are barely 5 and 3 years older than him)

“I don’t get why people are scared of cows,” he’s saying. “Have you seen their eyes? Pure innocence. Like giant, grass-eating toddlers.”

Fuma hammers something a little too enthusiastically.

Nicholas adds another beam without comment.

“I used to watch documentaries about them on the school computer,” Taki continues. “Once I tried to moo back at one and I swear it nodded. That’s emotional intelligence, right there.”

“You talk a lot,” Fuma mutters.

“I was neglected,” Taki says brightly.

Fuma snorts. Nicholas finally says, “Fair.”

“I like you two,” Taki says, pulling his knees to his chest. “You’re like… chaos and intimidation had kids.”

Nicholas pauses mid-hammer.

Fuma looks up, squints. “Who’s who?”

Taki points. “You’re chaos. He’s intimidation. Obviously.”

Fuma grins. Nicholas adjusts his grip and mutters, “I’m not intimidating.”

“You just blinked at a nail and it bent out of fear.”

Nicholas doesn’t answer. But Taki swears he sees the corners of his mouth twitch.

They work around him as the sun dips lower, and Taki keeps going — stories, questions, bits of trivia no one asked for. He’s so full of light it’s hard not to be pulled into orbit. And while Nicholas and Fuma don’t say much, they listen. That’s more than enough.

Eventually, Fuma tosses him a half-wrapped protein bar and says, “Lunch for the mascot.”

“I feel seen,” Taki says.

Nicholas says nothing, but when Taki leans back too far and nearly tips his bucket seat, a giant hand shoots out and steadies him without looking.

Taki smiles.

The sky is starting to blush orange when Taki pokes his head into the open door of Kaito’s office.

The ranch’s “study” is more like a small den with one wall of books, two filing cabinets that don't fully close, and a desk that looks like it’s been punched more than once. Kaito is sitting behind it, glasses perched on his nose, pen moving slowly over a ledger.

He doesn’t look up when Taki steps in. “What did you break?”

“Nothing,” Taki says, grinning. “Which is newsworthy, honestly.”

Kaito grunts. “Sit down.”

Taki does, swinging into the chair across from him and pulling his knees up, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands.

“I met the cows today,” he starts. “And the sheep. One of them sneezed on me. I feel blessed. Then Maki showed me the lake, and I think I ascended briefly, but I’m not sure. Also, did you know Fuma and Nicholas are secretly soft? They built me a containment throne and I talked their ears off and no one told me to shut up. That’s basically a love confession, right?”

Kaito finally looks up, pen paused mid-line.

“You sound like you inhaled a can of soda.”

“I feel like I inhaled a can of soda,” Taki says brightly. “It was a really good day.”

Kaito watches him for a beat longer, then nods once. “Good.”

Taki smiles.

—

Later, someone calls from the back door: “ Taki, have you met the dogs yet?! ”

He freezes. “You have dogs ?!”

The response is a burst of laughter.

Seconds later, Taki is barefoot and sprinting toward the back field where a small fenced-in area holds a squad of massive, very excited dogs.

There’s a blur of fur and motion and barking—and then a border collie with a bright purple collar launches into his arms.

“DONATELLO?!”

“He’s Donnie,” someone yells. “He’s the smart one.”

Donnie wriggles in delight as Taki hugs him like he’s just found his soulmate.

Then comes the cane corso , massive and intimidating, but his tail wags the second he sees Taki. “That’s Raphael. He’s all bark and no bite.”

“He’s BEAUTIFUL,” Taki gasps.

The Anatolian Shepherd trots up next, all calm energy and big paws. “That’s Leonardo. He’s the oldest. He’ll protect you even if you insult his mom.”

“I would never ,” Taki says, petting him reverently.

The Great Pyrenees thunders in from nowhere and knocks Taki flat on his back, tail wagging like a helicopter. “Michelangelo. A chaos demon. You’ll get along great.”

“MY PEOPLE,” Taki screams from the ground, now covered in fur and joy.

And finally—regal, slow, utterly wise—comes the Bernese Mountain Dog .

“That’s Splinter,” Maki calls. “Yes, after the rat.”

Splinter walks right up, places one massive paw on Taki’s chest, and licks his nose.

Taki immediately tears up. “I’ve been chosen.”

From the porch, the entire household has gathered.

Fuma has a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. Yuma’s actually smiling. Nicholas is watching like someone witnessing a spiritual awakening. EJ shakes his head but doesn’t look away. K is beaming, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

Kaito appears behind them, sipping his coffee.

“He’s going to ruin them,” EJ says.

“They’re already ruined,” Kaito replies. “He just speaks their language.”

It doesn’t take long.

Taki, still barefoot and covered in fur, ends up lying in the grass beside the fence with all five dogs piled around him like bodyguards at nap time.

Donnie is curled protectively at his feet. Michelangelo’s head is sprawled across his stomach, snoring like a truck. Leonardo is draped across his legs like a weighted blanket. Raphael lies just close enough to keep watch but not touch, and Splinter is right at his side, his big chin resting gently on Taki’s shoulder.

Taki is out cold.

Mouth slightly open. Hoodie pulled over his hands. One arm flopped over Donnie’s back. The sun paints warm stripes across his cheek. His whole body has gone loose and soft in the kind of sleep you only fall into when you feel safe .

From the porch, the boys watch in silence.

“Okay,” Fuma mutters. “That’s kinda cute.”

“Kinda?” EJ says.

“I mean,” Fuma shrugs. “If you’re into emotionally wrecked cow-worshippers with too many opinions.”

“I am,” Nicholas says flatly.

Everyone turns.

“…What?” he says.

K raises his eyebrow. “You like my little brother?”

Nicholas blinks. “No? He talks too much. I just think he is cute”

Maki says nothing. Just folds his arms and stares a little longer than he should.

“He’s really asleep?” Yuma asks.

“Dead to the world,” EJ confirms.

“We should move him inside.”

“I’m not moving him,” Fuma says. “Those dogs would maul me.”

“They’d maul you anyway,” K offers helpfully.

Kaito steps up behind them, arms crossed. “Leave him. First day here and he’s already got the entire security team wrapped around his finger.”

He says it like a joke, but his voice is soft.

Maki tugs his hoodie up over his mouth and mutters, “Told you. City boy’s dangerous.”

The sun dips a little lower. The breeze shifts. And for a long while, no one moves — like if they speak too loud or get too close, the moment might break.

But it doesn’t.

Taki sleeps on.

And the pack watches over him.

Chapter Text

Taki’s first week on the ranch had been, in a word: magical.

Not in the sparkly unicorn kind of way (though Donnie was kind of unicorn-level smart), but in the good food, real hugs, late-night porch talks and slightly dangerous cows kind of way. He’d learned the layout of the land, memorized who had the softest hoodie (EJ), who cursed the most during chores (Fuma), and who kept pretending they weren’t the best cuddler alive (Nicholas — liar).

He hadn’t tripped over anything important in three days, and K had only called him a “walking liability” once yesterday. Progress.

This morning, the kitchen smelled like toast and slightly hopeful coffee.

Taki yawned his way down the hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes, only to pause when he spotted K at the window — still in pajama pants, mug in hand, eyes fixed outside like he was waiting for a sign from the heavens.

Taki tiptoed up, curious.

He rose on his toes to peek over K’s shoulder.

Outside, Fuma was chopping wood near the side fence. Shirtless. Sweaty. Muscles flexing like it was a live-action commercial for rugged thirst traps.

Taki blinked once.

Then broke into the world’s slowest, most evil smile.

“Oh,” he whispered. “ You like him. ”

K spit his coffee.

“Shut up,” he barked, spinning around and slamming his mug on the counter. “Get out.”

“ You liiiike him! ” Taki sing-songed, holding his stomach as he doubled over laughing. “This is the best day of my life—wait, do you watch him every morning ?!”

“I swear to God—”

K launched after him, catching him in a chokehold that was 80% hair-ruffling, 20% aggressive affection.

Taki shrieked, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “I’m telling Fuma you like his splitting technique! ”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“You’re so red right now!”

They wrestled halfway across the kitchen until—

“ Ahem. ”

They froze.

EJ stood in the doorway, one brow arched, holding a clipboard and looking exactly like someone who absolutely knew everything and judged nothing but remembered it all .

“Everything okay?” he asked dryly.

Taki beamed, still trapped in K’s hold. “Oh, everything is peeerfect . Just enjoying the views .”

“TAKI!”

Taki cackled, broke free, and made a break for the porch. K was on his heels, ready to tackle him into next week.

“HELP!” Taki yelled through breathless laughter as he dodged a broom.

“K!” a voice called from across the yard. “Come help me with the hay!”

Fuma.

Still shirtless.

K literally stuttered mid-run. “I—I—uh—yeah! Sure! Coming!”

Taki collapsed against the railing, breathless, and whispered after him, “You have good taste, big bro!”

K flipped him off over his shoulder and jogged across the yard, stumbling once.

Just as he disappeared behind the barn, Kaito stepped onto the porch with a steaming mug of coffee and the face of a man who’d seen everything.

“Give your brother some leeway,” he said, watching the barn. “He’s a brave man, but the one thing he can’t handle is his crush on Fuma.”

Taki gasped, scandalized. “You know ?!”

Kaito snorted. “Of course I know. Your brother is not subtle.”

“Since when?”

“First five minutes he met him. Which says something, considering Fuma was a scrawny kid who desperately needed a shower.”

Taki wheezed. “Romantic!”

Kaito sipped his coffee and nodded. “Very.”

There was a pause as they watched the sun rise over the stables.

Then Bear asked, “Wanna come to town with me? I’ve got errands.”

Taki lit up instantly. “OMG. Yes. When do we leave?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Let me grab my bag and emotionally prepare for society!”

Kaito nodded. “And maybe brush your hair this time.”

“No promises!”

Town was twenty minutes away by truck. Thirty if you got stuck behind one of the old tractors or that one neighbor who drove his pickup like it was a Sunday church float.

Taki loved it.

He leaned his head out the window like a golden retriever the entire drive, narrating every cow, mail box, and oddly placed scarecrow they passed. Kaito grunted along, mostly quiet, sipping from a travel mug and occasionally muttering things like “that diner’s a scam” or “don’t ever buy canned goods there.”

Their first stop was the hardware store.

“Wood glue,” Kaito said as they parked. “And replacement nails. Fuma keeps bending ‘em.”

“He just vibes too hard,” Taki replied.

Inside, the store smelled like sawdust and old receipts. Kaito knew half the staff by name. Taki wandered the aisles, running his hands over the shelves, wide-eyed at how many varieties of screws could possibly exist.

They were just about to check out when the front door opened — a little bell jingling overhead.

And in walked Officer Brandt.

The tension changed instantly. Like a breeze shifting before a storm.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Clean uniform. Tacky sunglasses pushed up into his graying hair. His eyes flicked toward Kaito, then landed on Taki like he was an unpaid parking ticket.

“Well, well,” Brandt drawled. “Another delinquent, Kaito?”

Kaito didn’t flinch. “Brandt.”

“Scraping the bottom of the barrel again?”

Kaito set the wood glue down slowly, calmly. Then turned, placing a hand on Taki’s shoulder.

“Taki, this is Officer Brandt,” he said, voice even. “Please ignore his out-of-pocket little comments. He still thinks we’re all in high school.”

Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Kaito. Wouldn’t want folks to think you’re disrespecting law enforcement.”

Kaito raised an eyebrow. “People already know what I think of you.”

“Is that so?” Brandt stepped closer. “Maybe it’s because your house is full of criminals. Hard to trust a man who lets wolves run loose.”

Before Kaito could reply, the front door swung open again.

“Hey!” the shop owner barked, stepping out from behind the counter. “If you’re not gonna buy anything, you can take your mouth and your attitude elsewhere.”

Brandt stiffened.

“Don’t need trouble in my store,” the owner added. “Especially from the one who causes the most.”

Brandt glared, but didn’t respond. Just muttered something under his breath and walked out, door slamming behind him.

Taki stared.

Outside, Brandt stood near his cruiser, scribbling something into a notepad before driving off.

“…What was that?” Taki asked quietly.

Kaito sighed. “Brandt’s always had a problem with me. Now he thinks I’m making the town dangerous by giving the boys a place to land.”

“But—what did he mean by ‘delinquents’? Were they…?”

Kaito didn’t answer at first. He placed the glue and nails on the counter. Paid. Then, once they were walking back toward the truck, he said:

“They’ve all got stories. Arrest records. Some worse than others. Juvenile detention, court appearances, probation. None of them were born bad. They were just born unlucky.”

Taki looked down at his boots. “What did they do?”

“That’s not my story to tell,” Kaito said firmly. “If they want to tell you, they will. If they don’t—respect that.”

Taki nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”

Kaito stopped, turned to face him fully.

“If you ever come into town on your own and see Brandt? You call one of us. Immediately.”

Taki nodded again, more serious this time. “Okay. I will.”

They walked on in silence for a while.

At the next stop — a sleepy general store that sold groceries, yarn, and probably three things from 1973 — Taki wandered toward the front cork board while Kaito picked out soup cans.

And then he saw it.

Cooking Class: Mondays and Thursdays, 9–11 AM. Local Kitchen Space. Beginners Welcome.

Taki lit up like a birthday cake.

“Dad,” he called, holding the flyer like it was made of gold. “Dad can I? Can I?”

Kaito turned from the canned tomatoes, visibly unprepared for the ambush. He blinked once. Twice.

Taki bounced. “Pleeeease. I swear I won’t blow anything up.”

Kaito tried. He really did. But Taki had said dad and he was smiling like that and—

“Fine,” Kaito muttered, defeated.

Taki let out a victorious squeal.

“Start next week,” Bear added. “We’ll make sure someone can drive you.”

Taki beamed. “You’re the best dad ever.”

“I regret everything.”

“You love me.”

“…I really do.”

By the time they pulled back into the ranch, the sun was stretching long shadows across the fields.

Taki practically bounced out of the truck before Kaito could finish parking, flyer still clutched in one hand like a winning lottery ticket.

Inside the house, the boys were scattered — K and Nicholas were doing something suspicious with rope and a step ladder, Fuma was leaning against the counter eating directly from a can, EJ was reading on the couch, and Maki was juggling apples with a cocky grin and zero coordination.

“EVERYONE,” Taki shouted, kicking open the front door like a dramatic prince returning from battle.

Fuma didn’t look up. “Oh no.”

“I,” Taki declared, “am taking cooking classes.”

That got their attention.

K slowly peeked down from the top of the ladder. “Do they know you?”

“They said beginners welcome,” Taki sniffed.

Maki dropped an apple. “Define beginner.”

“Define shut up.”

Nicholas blinked once. “You set the microwave on fire last week.”

“I barely set it on fire,” Taki corrected. “Also that was science.”

Yuma leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

Taki beamed. “ No! I’m going to cook for you. Eventually. And you will all weep with joy and possibly indigestion.”

Donnie, the border collie, padded into the room and sat beside Taki, giving him the dog equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

“Even Donnie’s judging you,” K said.

“He’s just overwhelmed by my ambition.”

Donnie sneezed in mild offense.

EJ closed his book. “What kind of classes?”

Taki walked into the middle of the room and held up the flyer. “Twice a week. I already got permission. Local kitchen. I’m gonna learn to chop, stir, bake, and sauté.”

“I don’t know what sauté means,” Nicholas admitted.

“It means I’ll be fancy,” Taki replied.

There was a pause.

Then Fuma, still eating from his can, said, “If you can make edible bread, I will build you a shrine.”

Taki grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

That’s when the dogs came in.

Donnie barked once and the whole crew barreled in after — Splinter regal, Michelangelo reckless, Raphael grumbling, Leonardo trailing like a majestic sheepdog prince. They swarmed Taki instantly.

“AH! My loyal knights!” he yelled, dropping to the floor as Michelangelo tackled him.

The boys watched him get licked, nuzzled, and completely covered in fur.

—

Later, Taki wandered out to the cow field again, Donnie at his heels.

He leaned against the fence, reaching out to pet the lopsided-spotted one he’d named “Lady Moo.”

She licked his hand.

Taki smiled and leaned his forehead against her nose.

Behind him, K and Fuma stood watching from a distance.

“He talks to them,” Fuma said.

“They listen,” K replied. "He's one of us now."

And just like that — somewhere between hay bales, dog hair, and the distant smell of burned toast — Taki had a place.

Not a guest.

Not a case number.

Just family.

Chapter Text

Taki couldn’t stop fidgeting.

He tugged at his hoodie sleeves. Then adjusted his hair. Then re-tied his sneakers for the fourth time while muttering something about “needing good ankle support for culinary emergencies.”

K leaned against the truck door with his arms crossed, watching him like he was trying not to smile.

“You good?”

“I don’t know,” Taki said. “What if I burn the lasagna and the stove and the entire town?”

“You’re not cooking yet. ”

“What if I trip carrying flour and suffocate in carbs?”

“Taki.”

“What if they all laugh at me because I don’t know what julienne means?”

“Okay,” K said, pushing off the truck. “First of all, calm down. Second of all—don’t get in trouble, don’t burn anything, and maybe try not to say the word ‘suffocate’ in your first five minutes.”

Taki stuck his tongue out. “Come on, I survived like, seven years on my own. I’m not gonna die from a cooking class.”

K stopped walking. His smile faded.

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to do that anymore. You have me. You have all of us now.”

Taki blinked.

K reached out and messed up his hair halfheartedly. “Let me fuss, okay? It’s nice to take you to your first cooking class. I didn’t get to take you to your first high school class.”

Taki went still. Then smiled. Small, warm, so real it nearly knocked the air out of K’s lungs.

“…Okay,” Taki said quietly. “Then you’re allowed to fuss. A little.”

“Damn right.”

K walked him to the community kitchen building like he was escorting royalty, even opened the door for him with a sarcastic bow.

Taki gave him a mock curtsy, said bye to his brother and walked in.

And immediately froze.

Everyone in the room was over forty.

Every. Single. Person.

An army of aprons and printed cardigans. Glittery glasses. Someone had a crochet hook sticking out of her bun.

Taki took one small step back toward the exit.

Then someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned around—and walked face-first into a hoodie.

“Whoa, sorry!” the guy said, stepping back with a startled smile. “Hi. I’m Harua. You look as lost as I feel.”

Taki blinked. “Oh my god. I am lost.”

Harua grinned. “First class?”

“Yeah. I’m a disaster. I once burned soup.”

“Burned soup?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I won’t,” Harua laughed. “I’m seventeen, by the way.”

Taki’s face lit up. “Wait, seriously? Me too! I’m Taki. My birthday’s May fourth.”

Harua froze.

“ YOU ARE FUCKING KIDDING ME, ” he shouted. “ I’M MAY FIRST. ”

Taki gasped. “Oh my god. We’re twins. ”

The teacher cleared her throat aggressively. “Ahem.”

They both turned to find the entire room watching them.

“Sorry!” they blurted in unison.

They shuffled to the back table, whispering giggles between them.

The teacher started talking about garlic ratios and preheating the oven.

Taki leaned over. “So like… why’re you taking this class?”

Harua shrugged. “I’m a walking disaster in the kitchen, but I really wanna move out when I turn eighteen. I want to live with my boyfriend, Jo, and I figured I should learn how to cook before I burn down his apartment.”

Taki melted. “Oh my god that’s so cute. I want that for you.”

Harua smiled. “Thanks! What about you? Why’re you here?”

Taki took a breath. “So, I recently moved in with my dad and brother. And like… a whole pack of guys on my dad’s ranch. It’s a long story. But I’m basically a safety hazard around power tools. I wanted to do something useful. Also, I swear to god, the food they eat should be classified as toxic waste.”

Harua blinked.

“…Wait,” he said. “Ranch? Are you living with the Wolves ?!”

Taki stared at him, then burst out laughing. “ People really call them that?! ”

“Dude, yes! Everyone in town calls the ranch guys the Wolves! You guys show up in town all big and quiet and hot and intense and leave with eighty pounds of hay. It’s terrifying.”

“Oh my god, that’s hilarious. ”

“They say your dad once broke someone’s nose for disrespecting one of you.”

“I mean… probably.”

They tried to keep it together, they really did, but soon they were giggling through kneading dough, screwing up the sauce steps together, and covering for each other when someone accidentally dropped a clove of garlic on the floor.

They high-fived over not burning the lasagna.

They wept with joy over the smell of real garlic bread.

By the end of the class, they were both flour-dusted, tired, and clinging to their tupperware like trophies.

“So,” Harua said, opening the door for him as they stepped into the cool air, “Wolves, huh?”

Taki smirked. “What can I say? I run with a pack.”

After class, Taki was all smiles and flour and warmth. His tupperware clutched like treasure, cheeks still pink from laughing.

Harua had practically skipped out beside him.

“You wanna grab a coffee?” he asked. “There’s this tiny place just down the street. Good pastries. Weird ceramic frogs in the window. Whole vibe.”

Taki blinked. “You had me at pastries.”

They ended up at a café that looked like it had been built from mismatched furniture and pure serotonin. There were doilies. The music was jazz that didn’t know it was jazz. And the lady behind the counter gave Taki a free cookie because “you look like someone who says thank you too much.”

Harua was in the middle of loudly ranking every milk alternative by chaos energy when the door jingled.

“BABE!” Harua shouted across the room, waving wildly.

Taki turned—

—and was met with a really tall guy in a crisp button-up, glasses, and the startled expression of a deer who’d just been hit by a love bomb.

“Hi,” Jo said softly, walking up. “Sorry I’m late.”

Taki blinked. Wow. Shy.

“This is Taki,” Harua said, already pulling Jo into a side-hug. “He’s seventeen like me. He’s new in town. He’s also emotionally attached to cows and thinks garlic bread is a love language.”

“Hey,” Taki said, waving. “Nice to meet you.”

Jo nodded, offering a small smile. “You too.”

As they sat, Harua practically flopped into Jo’s lap. Jo turned red like a faucet.

Taki watched it happen with wide eyes.

“You’re gonna kill the poor guy,” he whispered.

Harua grinned. “He looks like that. All shy and respectable. But trust me—this one? Chaos gremlin in disguise.”

“I’m right here,” Jo said, deadpan.

Harua patted his chest fondly. “Not for long if I get my way.”

Taki choked on his coffee.

Jo turned an even deeper shade of red.

“I like him,” Taki decided immediately. “But I fear him.”

“You should,” Jo replied, deadpan again. “Now there’s two of you. I’m limiting your interaction hours.”

Taki laughed so hard he nearly dropped his cup.

They talked for almost an hour—about everything and nothing. About Jo’s internship in the town hall, about how he once accidentally deleted a year’s worth of town records (no one knows), how Harua burned spaghetti once, spaghetti , and how Taki thinks the cows at the ranch are smarter than most people.

It was easy. Light. Good.

Just when Taki was getting ready to order a second cookie, his phone buzzed.

A text from Fuma.

“I’m outside. Don’t make me come in. That shop gives me hives.”

Taki grinned and looked up. “My ride’s here. Apparently Fuma’s allergic to aesthetic.”

Harua snorted. “Tell him I said hi!”

Jo added, “And maybe... thank him for not letting you die in a fire.”

Taki stood and gathered his things. “You guys are awesome. Let’s do this again?”

“Absolutely,” Harua said. “Next week. Bring snacks. We’ll judge them.”

As Taki stepped outside, he spotted Fuma leaning against the truck, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite the fading sun.

“How was class?” Fuma asked as he climbed in.

“I made garlic bread and two new best friends.”

“Dangerous combo.”

Taki smiled out the window, watching the town slip past.

Yeah.

He was starting to like it here.

Dinner was chaos, as usual.

Yuma was threatening to hide the salt again. Nicholas was trying to peel potatoes with the least amount of emotional investment possible. Fuma had commandeered the skillet like it owed him money, and EJ was walking around with a clipboard like he was preparing for an inspection.

But then—

Taki entered the kitchen.

Carrying a plate.

Covered in foil.

And glowing .

“Gentlemen,” he said dramatically. “And whatever Maki is.”

“Rude,” Maki muttered.

Taki set the plate down in the center of the table like it was the Holy Grail. Then whipped off the foil like he was doing a magic trick.

“Behold,” he declared, “ GARLIC BREAD. ”

The room fell silent.

“You made that?” Fuma asked skeptically.

“Yep. In class today. I’ll make Lasagna tomorrow.”

Nicholas poked a slice with one calloused finger. “Looks… not lethal.”

“ Thank you, ” Taki beamed.

They all took a piece. Slowly. Like it might explode.

Maki bit into his first.

Then paused.

Then made a sound that was maybe a groan, maybe a spiritual epiphany.

“Oh wow,” Fuma said. “Boss. Don’t you dare stop paying for that class.”

The rest of them turned toward the head of the table.

Kaito—Bear himself—was already halfway through his second slice, chipmunk cheeks, and just lifted one finger.

Thumbs up.

Taki collapsed into the nearest chair laughing.

“You guys,” he wheezed, “I made my first friend ever today.”

Yuma blinked. “I thought we were your friends.”

Taki looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. “No, you’re my family. Anyway, I made my first friend ever , his name is Harua, and he is three days older than me— can you believe it?! We’re twins. It’s fate. He’s terrible at cooking but in a fun way, and I also met his boyfriend who’s super shy but secretly chaotic. Like, dangerous levels of mischief once he warms up to you. It was adorable. I’ve never laughed so much in my life.”

He kept talking.

But the boys weren’t listening anymore.

Not really.

Because he’d said “ You’re my family .”

The room stilled, just for a second.

EJ blinked, looked at Nicholas like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “Did he just—?”

“Talk about the cutest shit anyone’s ever said to me,” Nicholas muttered, face unreadable except for the soft twist of his mouth.

Fuma blinked and looked away. Yuma stared into his cup like it might offer emotional clarity. K rubbed the back of his neck and smiled into his sleeve.

Maki was the only one still looking straight at Taki.

No teasing. No grin.

Just quiet.

Like he was trying to memorize this version of him — smiling, loud, full of life and garlic bread.

Taki didn’t notice.

He was still rambling about Harua, gesturing with crumbs flying everywhere, laughing at his own jokes and talking with his whole heart.

He didn’t notice how they all leaned a little closer.

How the room softened around him.

How this , finally, felt like home.

Dinner was long gone and the stars were starting to blink awake when Maki leaned over the porch railing, arms crossed, watching the sky like it owed him something.

“Taki,” he called. “Come with me.”

Taki, mid-laugh with EJ about the garlic bread war crimes of earlier, perked up. “Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

That never meant anything good. But Taki was already up, jogging after him in socked feet, hoodie sleeves flapping.

They walked past the barn, toward the back pasture where the shadows stretched long and the fences hummed in the wind.

“You do realize this feels vaguely threatening,” Taki muttered, half-joking.

Maki didn’t answer.

Until they stopped.

And Fury— massive, glossy, and very much alive —stepped into view, tethered near the post.

Taki froze .

“…Do you fancy a ride to the lake?” Maki asked casually.

Taki blinked. “Sure. Where’s the golf cart?”

“No golf cart.”

There was a pause.

“ You’re a true cowboy now, ” Maki added with a smirk. “You’re riding Fury with me.”

Taki’s face morphed into betrayal personified .

“ No the fuck I’m not. ”

“Come on,” Maki grinned. “You’ll be fine. You’re riding with me. Nothing’s gonna happen. You don’t even have to do anything.”

“You are literally asking me to ride a horse named Fury. ”

“Which is a perfectly respectable name.”

“It sounds like something that would kill me for sport.”

“She only bit Kaito once.”

Taki turned to leave.

Maki grabbed his sleeve.

“Come on, ” he coaxed. “Just once. It’ll be fun.”

Taki stared at him.

Maki stared back.

Then Maki just dragged him toward the horse like a man on a mission.

“Maki!!!!” Taki yelped. “THIS IS A CRIME!”

Fury blinked as they approached, regal and unfazed.

Taki eyed her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“Hi,” he said nervously. “I would really appreciate it if you didn’t kill me. I bring nothing of value to the afterlife.”

Maki snorted a laugh.

He looped the reins, checked the saddle, then stepped behind Taki.

“What are you doing?” Taki asked, already suspicious.

“Hold still,” Maki said, placing his hands firmly on Taki’s hips. “Jump.”

“ WHAT?! ”

“Jump, Taki.”

“I AM NOT—”

But Maki had already half-lifted him and launched him upward like he weighed nothing.

Taki flailed. Yelped. Landed in the saddle with all the grace of a noodle. “You can’t just yeet me onto a murder animal! ”

Maki mounted easily in front of him, adjusting the reins with one hand.

“Hold on tight,” he said.

Taki blinked. “Wait—wait, are we moving ? Already?!”

“ Let’s goooo! ” Maki called out.

Fury took off .

Taki screamed.

Full volume.

Like someone had set him on fire.

He wrapped his arms around Maki’s waist and buried his face in his back, shrieking, “I HATE YOUUUU!”

Maki laughed.

The wind rushed past them, and Fury galloped through the open pasture like she was showing off.

Taki clung on for dear life, legs shaking, heart pounding—and maybe, just maybe, smiling a little against Maki’s spine.

—

The lake was quiet.

The stars stretched overhead like someone had spilled sugar across velvet. Trees whispered at the edges, their reflections barely visible on the still water.

Fury was grazing lazily somewhere nearby, reins loosely tied. The boys had kicked off their boots at the edge of the dock. Now they sat, jeans rolled up, legs dangling over the edge, feet skimming the cool water beneath.

Taki leaned back on his palms, gaze tilted skyward. “Okay,” he said. “That was... not the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“You screamed into my spine,” Maki replied.

“You yeeted me onto a demon horse.”

“She likes you.”

“I begged her not to kill me.”

“She still likes you.”

Taki laughed softly. The kind of laugh that melted into the quiet.

They sat in it for a while, just listening to the insects, the ripples, the soft breath of the wind.

Then Maki asked, voice low, “How was your day?”

Taki blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Um. Pretty good, actually.”

He swung his legs a little. “Cooking class was fun. I didn’t burn anything. Made garlic bread. Harua made chaos. I made my first real friend. It was… a lot. In a good way.” He looked over. “Harua also confirmed something hilarious.”

“Oh yeah?”

Taki grinned. “People really call you guys the Wolves.”

Maki gave a soft snort. “Of course they do.”

“I couldn’t believe it. I was like, is this a local urban legend?”

Maki glanced at him. “Did Harua say anything else?”

“About you guys?” Taki shook his head. “Not really.”

Maki nodded, like he was filing that away. “Oh. Cool.”

“But,” Taki said, voice shifting, “the officer from the other day did. Officer Brandt. He called you all criminals. Delinquents. And… my dad… he told me you all came from pretty complicated backgrounds.”

Maki was quiet for a second.

Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah. We were all trouble kids, in different ways. Your dad gave us a spot. And a job. And a family. Someone to care about. Something to fight for. We’re not perfect, but we’re better now.” He picked up a rock, turned it over in his palm, then tossed it into the water. “Also, that officer is a bitch.”

Taki burst out laughing.

“I’m serious,” Maki added. “He has a personal vendetta and a superiority complex. That’s a dangerous combo.”

“Yeah, well,” Taki said, calming down, “we all come from troubled backgrounds. So it’s kind of meant to be. We understand each other.”

Maki looked at him.

Really looked.

And then, like something opened inside him, he started to speak.

“My dad was a narcissist, he left when I was a kid,” he said. “Mom couldn’t handle it. She… eventually took her own life. I was eleven.”

Taki’s breath caught.

“I went through foster homes like most people go through socks. No one cared. No one noticed. I got angry. Fell in with the wrong crowd by thirteen. Started smoking. Drinking. Doing drugs. Getting into fights. Then they started using me to steal.”

He scratched at his wrist absently.

“I got caught. They bailed. Pretended I didn’t exist. But your dad didn’t. He was there. Picked me up. Gave me a bed. Said I could stay if I worked.”

A small pause.

“I’ve been with him and K for four years now. Fuma and Yuma were already there when I came. Nicholas and EJ came later. We all sort of… became something.” He exhaled, “Just, thought you deserved to know part of my story… because I know part of yours.”

Taki nodded, letting it all settle in.

Then he whispered, “My mom used to put me in a suitcase.”

Maki’s head turned sharply.

Taki kept his eyes on the water. “And cupboards. Cramped places. Whenever she was mad, or wanted me to shut up. I think that's why I like it here so much, there's so much space to breathe, to exist in. She didn’t feed me much. Some days I didn’t get anything at all. So I learned to save tiny bits of food. Just in case. I still do it. Then I realize I don’t have to anymore.”

He dipped his toes into the lake.

“There’s always going to be food on the table for me here. And space. So much space. I love it here. I can breathe. Exist. Not feel like I’m taking up too much room.”

Silence. But it wasn’t empty.

It was soft.

Safe.

And then Taki said, voice almost too quiet:

“We’re all products of our environment. We are the way we are because we learned to survive that way. Doesn’t mean it’s okay. Doesn’t mean we can’t change.”

He looked down at the ripples around his feet.

“One day I’ll stop saving food for later. And I think…” he glanced sideways at Maki, “...you’ve already made a big change for yourself.”

Maki didn’t speak.

But he looked at Taki like he was seeing something he hadn’t known he was missing.

And for the first time in a long time, something inside him shifted. Like the weight he carried had been picked up— not by someone else , but with someone else.

They sat there, ankles brushing in the water.

Two boys. Not in love. Not yet.

But slowly, very quietly—

Starting to heal.

Chapter Text

The morning sun slipped gently into the kitchen, casting warm light over the countertops and floorboards, soft enough to feel like a secret.

Taki was up early again.

He stood at the stove in his too-long hoodie and pajama pants that didn’t match, hair a little wild, focus intense. There was flour dusting the tip of his nose and the corner of his mouth. A bowl of lasagna dough rested under a towel on the far counter — rising quietly, like hope.

But right now?

He was conquering breakfast.

“Okay,” he whispered to the pancake batter. “I believe in us. We will not burn. We will rise. Like the lasagna dough of destiny.”

He flipped the next pancake with a triumphant grin.

Behind him, footsteps padded in.

Yuma was first, still swaddled in a blanket like an ancient monk. He blinked at the scene. “Are you… cooking?”

Taki turned dramatically. “Turns out,” he said, “I’m really good at following culinary instructions.”

Yuma raised an eyebrow. “How good?”

“Like— golden pancake good.”

Yuma took a plate, one bite, and blinked slowly like he’d just seen God.

“Okay. Respect.”

Soon after, the others filtered in.

Nicholas silently stole a slice of crispy bacon. EJ followed, humming under his breath, pausing only to pat Taki’s head as he passed.

Fuma gave a low whistle. “This smells suspiciously like effort.”

“I know, right?” Taki grinned. “Please bask in my domestic power.”

“Are you gonna cook every day now?” K asked, halfway through his third pancake.

“Maybe. No promises,” Taki replied. “I still have the capacity to be a disaster.”

“True,” Nicholas muttered.

“ Hey. ”

Then Maki walked in.

Still sleep-ruffled. Hoodie half-on. Eyes soft with morning haze.

He made a beeline for the counter, leaned across from Taki, and blinked at the stack of pancakes.

“ Damn. You did all this?”

“I am a man of many talents,” Taki said smugly, flicking flour off his sleeve.

Maki just smiled and reached out.

Without a word, he brushed his thumb gently across Taki’s cheek — wiping off a streak of flour.

Taki blinked. “Did you just—”

“You were smudged.”

“You’re smudged.”

Maki grinned and popped a piece of bacon in his mouth like nothing happened.

Taki turned away quickly to hide the sudden warmth crawling up his neck.

—

Once everyone was fed, the house settled into a rare lull — soft voices, full bellies, chairs scooted back lazily. Taki wiped down the counter, smiling to himself.

He felt it again.

That quiet thing in his chest.

Safety.

Belonging.

Then Kaito walked in.

Big. Calm. Steady as ever.

He looked around at the boys. At the plates stacked with crumbs. At the scent of something new and warm in the air.

And then his eyes landed on Taki and Taki looked at him in question.

“Just…” he said quietly, “…glad you’re home.”

Taki didn’t answer right away.

Just smiled.

Small.

True.

“I am too.”

The kitchen was in full prep mode.

Taki had a streak of flour on his cheek, a smear of tomato sauce near his elbow, and the most determined expression on his face as he layered lasagna sheets like a Michelin-starred general.

Garlic butter sizzled in the pan beside him. He hummed under his breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he double-checked the oven temperature.

Then K wandered in, looking for a glass of water and not expecting a full-blown culinary operation.

“What the—” he started, looking around. “Is this… a war room ?”

Taki grinned. “I’m in the zone, big bro.”

K blinked at the cutting board, the dough bowl, the organized chaos.

Then Taki glanced out the kitchen window and smirked. “Oh, hey. Your favorite show is on.”

K squinted. “What?”

Taki pointed.

Outside, Fuma was in the barnyard, shirtless, stacking hay like a fitness model in an agricultural magazine. His arms flexed, back muscles catching the sunlight. There was a bit of dirt on his jaw like he’d rolled out of a cowboy calendar.

K flushed. Instantly. “I—he— you —” he sputtered, nearly spilling his water.

Taki doubled over laughing. “You liiiiike him,” he sang.

“I’m going to throw you in the river.”

“Too late, I know your truth.”

“And I know you stole that cowbell last week, you little goblin!”

“I regret nothing.”

Which was true.

Especially because Taki did steal a cowbell from the storage shed.

And today?

Today it was finally time to use it.

—

Ten minutes later, the front porch rang with a loud:

CLAAANG. CLAAANG. CLAAAAANG.

“ LUNCH IS READYYYY YOU ROWDY MEN!! ” Taki shouted into the wind like a town crier possessed.

The sound echoed through the fields like a prophecy.

“COME CLAIM YOUR DESTINY!”

Nicholas was the first to emerge from the side barn, dusty and mildly alarmed. “Why is there a bell?”

“Because your stomachs deserve pageantry, ” Taki said solemnly.

Yuma followed, covered in straw, clearly skeptical. “If I come in and there’s just cereal, I will start swinging.”

“I made lasagna and garlic bread from scratch, ” Taki replied with smug pride.

One by one, the boys stumbled in — boots caked in mud, sweat glistening, sunburnt and tired and starving.

Taki pointed to the porch.

“ Boots off. Hands clean. No exceptions. ”

They all groaned but obeyed. Begrudgingly. Like they were being dragged into church.

Maki arrived last, bandana around his neck, t-shirt damp and clinging in all the right ways.

“Smells like ambition,” he muttered, slipping off his boots.

They gathered around the table, hair damp from hastily splashed water, voices low in anticipation.

Then Taki placed the lasagna dish in the middle of the table like it was made of gold.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Feast.”

They dug in.

There was a moment — just one — of absolute, reverent silence.

Then:

“Holy shit,” Fuma whispered.

K, chewing slowly, nodded with dazed approval. “This is illegal.”

Nicholas put his fork down and looked at the lasagna like it had personally healed him.

Maki blinked. “Did you… make a deal with a god?”

Taki grinned. “Nah. Just Harua’s notes and unyielding determination.”

Kaito entered mid-bite, took one look at the dish, and gave a thumbs up before even sitting down.

And somehow — between teasing, bickering, and the second round of garlic bread — Taki realized he didn’t need the cowbell anymore.

He already had a pack.

And they always came running when it mattered.

Lunch was a masterpiece.

Taki had never felt more satisfied in his life. He’d fed the Wolves. Not just fed — fed . Properly. Lasagna had been praised like divine intervention. Garlic bread was fought over like treasure. He had made food and they had devoured it like it mattered.

After cleaning up and dodging a group hug from Fuma and Ej, Taki snuck away.

He took a worn paperback from the bookshelf — something about dragons and found family (he had a type) — and wandered out to the pasture.

The cows were already lazing under the sun.

Lady Moo, his favorite, blinked slowly at him as he approached, her massive spotted frame curled in the shade of an old oak tree.

Taki grinned. “Hey, pretty girl.”

He sat beside her, then slowly laid back, pillowing his head against her belly. She didn’t even twitch — just let out a soft huff and closed her eyes again.

The dogs followed soon after.

Michelangelo flopped across his legs. Raphael curled by his side like a grumpy bodyguard. Splinter took up his post between them and the rest of the field, watching everything like a noble sentinel. Leonardo nuzzled against his arm before falling asleep. Donnie, he knew, was off with the sheep — fulfilling his sacred herding duties.

Taki cracked open his book and began to read aloud.

He gave the dragon a Scottish accent. The villain had a dramatic whisper. The hero sounded suspiciously like Yuma when he was sleep-deprived.

He didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind him.

Nicholas had wandered out to check the south gate and spotted the pile of fur and limbs under the tree. He paused. Watched.

There was something about it — Taki’s voice low and soft, the dogs breathing in rhythm, Lady Moo gently twitching her ear as Taki played both sides of a fantasy war — that made something in Nicholas’ chest go warm.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat down a few feet away, elbows on his knees, watching the wind in the grass.

After a few minutes, Taki looked up.

“Oh,” he blinked. “Hey.”

Nicholas nodded. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “You?”

Taki smiled, pushing Leo’s ear out of his face. “Perfect.”

Another pause. Then Nicholas said, voice quiet, “You really belong here, huh?”

Taki froze.

Then looked down at the book in his lap.

“I hope so,” he said.

Nicholas didn’t reply. But he didn’t leave either.

And somehow, that said enough.

It started with a sentence that would alter the very foundation of the ranch.

Taki, sitting cross-legged on the couch, arms full of blankets and ambition, looked up at the boys and declared: “We should watch The Lord of the Rings. ”

Silence.

Maki blinked. Fuma raised an eyebrow. Kaito, from his armchair, made a vaguely unimpressed grunt.

“You haven’t seen it ?” Taki shrieked, standing like a man betrayed. “YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LORD OF THE RINGS?! ”

Nicholas shrugged. “Is that the one with the talking lion?”

EJ let out a quiet “oh my god.”

Taki placed a hand over his heart. “Do you people live under a rock?! This is criminal! War crimes! Movie night. Weekly. We’re watching the entire series. Extended editions. No exceptions.”

“We don’t even have popcorn,” Fuma muttered.

“We have heart, ” Taki said dramatically. “And pizza. We’re ordering pizza.”

“Delivery doesn’t come this far,” Yuma reminded.

“I know.” Taki turned. “That’s why we’re going to town. I’m driving.”

“You’re not driving,” Maki, EJ, and Yuma said at the same time.

Taki crossed his arms. “Fine. But I’m choosing the toppings.”

—

Maki drove. EJ navigated. Taki and Yuma argued in the back seat like an old married couple.

“If you say pineapple, I swear—”
“IT’S A PERFECT COMBINATION OF SWEET AND SAVORY.”
“I will throw you out of the truck.”
“I would like to see you try, you pocket size devil!”

They parked near the pizza place, a small-town spot with scratched booths and faded menus. Inside, they huddled around the counter, still arguing toppings.

“I want mushrooms,” EJ said.

“You’re banned,” Yuma muttered.

But before they could finalize their order, the door behind them jingled.

And in came them.

A group of local teens, or like, young adults? the sun clearly hadn’t done them any favors — three of them, all familiar. All the kind of people who liked to whisper about the Wolves like they were urban legends.

One of them — tall, smug, dead-eyed — spotted them and grinned.

“Well, well,” he said. “Look who crawled into town.”

Maki stiffened. “Botan.”

EJ stepped slightly forward, casual and calm.

Another one of them scoffed. “Still playing cowboy with your little rehab gang?”

Taki, confused and already annoyed, opened his mouth—

And the last guy, smirking like the devil, added “Didn’t know they let orphans bring in stray puppies.”

Yuma blinked.
Then smiled.

A terrifying, deadpan smile.

“How about you die?” he said softly.

The smug boy’s face faltered.

Maki moved, slow and deliberate, stepping in front of Taki, jaw clenched.

“You want to say that again?” he asked, voice low and dangerously even. Taki looked down and saw Maki’s fists clenched tight — not in panic, but in restraint. Like violence lived just under the surface, waiting to be told it was time.

The tension spiked like the heat before a storm.

But EJ laid a hand on Maki’s shoulder.

“Not here,” he said. “They want trouble. Don’t give it to them.”

Taki was still processing what was said — the casual cruelty, the way Maki had stepped in front of him, the way Yuma hadn’t even flinched.

Eventually, the guys backed off, muttering something under their breath as they left.

Ej’s hand didn’t drop until they were gone.

“Are they always like that?” Taki asked quietly as they got their pizza.

“Only when they’re trying to feel powerful,” Yuma said. “We don’t play their game.”

Taki nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the boys beside him.

“Okay,” he said, lifting the box. “But like… seriously. No pineapple? ”

By the time they got back to the ranch, the sky had melted into a swirl of indigo and burnt orange.

The dogs greeted them like heroes returning from battle — Leonardo jumping into Taki’s arms, Michelangelo trying to steal a slice from the pizza box, and Splinter circling like a general inspecting the troops.

Inside, the living room had been turned into a blanket fort battlefield.

Blankets covered the floor. Pillows were stacked like barricades. The projector flickered against the white wall, the DVD menu for The Fellowship of the Ring glowing like it knew what it was about to do to them.

Taki placed the pizza boxes in the middle of the chaos like sacred offerings.

“We feast,” he said solemnly.

They piled in — bodies tangled, dogs flopped wherever they pleased. Kaito claimed the recliner. Fuma, Yuma, and K formed a row of limbs and denim on the couch. Nicholas and EJ leaned back-to-back like secret service agents with snacks.

Taki plopped between Maki and the dogs, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

—

Thirty minutes into the movie, chaos resumed.

“Okay but like—” Taki leaned forward dramatically, eyes wide. “Legolas is the finest man alive.”

“Really?” Maki said, side-eyeing him. “You like a man who looks hot riding horses?”

Taki turned to him slowly, dead serious. “He rides a horse and has amazing hair. You’re just jealous.”

“Of an elf?”

“OF THE KING. ”

Taki lobbed a handful of popcorn at Maki’s face.

Maki caught one kernel in his mouth and grinned like he’d won something. He then had the audacity to wink. 

Yuma, lying half-asleep across three people, muttered, “If Aragorn gets with her, I’m gonna riot.”

“She’s literally an elf princess,” EJ replied.

“Yeah, well,” Yuma said. “Bad taste is universal.”

Splinter sneezed in agreement.

By the time the credits rolled, no one had moved for a while.

Taki was half-asleep against Maki’s shoulder, legs tangled with Yuma’s, Donnie curled behind his knees. Michelangelo was snoring on Nicholas’s lap, Raphael stretched over Kaito’s boots.

It was a puppy pile. A disaster of warmth and breath and the occasional snore.

Taki didn’t dare move.

For the first time in his life, he was surrounded on all sides — by warmth, by softness, by people who had fought and lost and kept fighting anyway.

By people who chose him.

He closed his eyes.

And let the quiet carry him.

The sun crept in slowly, golden and drowsy, warming the corners of the ranch house as it rose.

In the living room, the aftermath of movie night was something between a cuddle puddle and a natural disaster.

Taki blinked awake to the distinct feeling of someone’s elbow digging into his ribs, a dog’s tail flicking across his face, and an entire leg — not his — thrown over his thigh.

He lay still for a moment, processing.

Okay, he thought. Let’s assess.

He was half on top of Yuma, who was sprawled across the couch like a dead man, snoring softly. Nicholas was to his right, curled into a pillow that had become a dog bed overnight. Raphael was pressed against his shins. Michelangelo was on top of his feet. EJ was wedged between the wall and the armrest like someone had Tetris-ed him into the furniture.

And Maki.

Maki was behind him, one arm loosely slung around Taki’s waist, breath slow and steady against the back of his neck.

Taki went very still.

His heart, however, did not.

And then—

“Donnie,” came a groggy voice from the floor. “You’re crushing my soul.”

Donatello huffed but did not move.

From across the room, a voice cut through the peace like a blade of reality.

“ I told y’all to clean up before bed. ”

Taki peeked over a wall of limbs.

There stood Bear.

Arms crossed.

Coffee mug in hand.

The only man alive who could stare down a mountain of blankets, bodies, and dogs like it was an active crime scene.

“Don’t say anything,” K mumbled from under an avalanche of pillows. “I have regrets.”

“No you don’t,” Fuma muttered without opening his eyes. “You love this.”

Bear sighed. “Y’all are useless.”

Taki stretched his leg. Mich grumbled and rolled further onto him.

“Correction,” Bear said. “Y’all are useless and now glued together like soup.”

There was no response.

Just more soft snoring. A little shuffle. Someone sighed in their sleep.

And no one moved.

Not even a twitch.

Taki smiled.

Pressed deeper into the warmth.

And thought, Yeah. I could stay like this forever.

Chapter Text

Taki bounced in his seat as the cooking teacher handed out the recipe packets.

“Today,” she announced cheerfully, “we’re making Marry Me Chicken —”

A collective gasp from the middle-aged women around the room.

“—and a simple tiramisu for dessert.”

The women giggled. One of them clutched her chest and said, “Oh lord, if I brought this home, my husband would propose again.”

Another snorted, “Mine might actually do the dishes.”

The teacher laughed and added, “So keep your men close, ladies. And if you don’t have one—this chicken might find you one.”

Taki and Harua looked at each other.

Then both leaned in and, simultaneously: 👀

Harua cracked first, snorting into his apron. “Okay but should we be worried?”

Taki grinned. “I mean… you already have Jo. So I think you’re safe.”

Harua flipped his ponytail over his shoulder. “Safe? I’m thriving. But you?”

Taki blinked. “What about me?”

“You’ve got like—what? Five eligible hot cowboys back home?”

Taki cackled. “Okay, first of all, rude. ”

“I’m just saying, the odds are in your favor.”

“No. It’s not five. It’s like… two.”

Harua dropped his spoon. “ Bestie, ” he whispered, eyes wide. “Spill. The. Tea.”

Taki leaned in dramatically, pretending to whisper but absolutely not lowering his voice. “Okay so my brother is in love with Fuma’s muscles. Like. Completely gone. Fuma breathes near him and he turns into a Victorian maiden.”

Harua clapped a hand over his mouth, grinning.

“And then,” Taki continued, stirring the sauce with far too much enthusiasm, “I’m 110% sure Nicholas and EJ are in love with each other. But they’re both too emotionally constipated to do anything about it.”

“ Tragic romance, ” Harua whispered. “Tell me more.”

“So that leaves Maki and Yuma.”

Harua raised his eyebrows. “And?”

Taki shrugged. “And nothing. They’re my friends.”

“Riiiiiiight.”

“They are! ”

Harua just hummed, unconvinced, as he sprinkled cheese onto his chicken.

“You’re telling me,” he said, “you live on a ranch surrounded by tall, muscly, emotionally layered boys—and you haven’t made out with even one of them in the hayloft?”

Taki gasped. “ Harua! ”

The middle-aged woman next to them leaned over and said, “Honey, you should. That’s what haylofts are for.”

Taki turned red.

Harua wheezed.

By the time class ended, the Marry Me Chicken had turned out divine and the tiramisu was slightly lopsided, but still delicious. Harua boxed his up proudly for Jo, and Taki carefully covered his containers, already planning to serve the wolves a full romantic dinner that would absolutely not lead to any marriages. Definitely not.

Outside, as they waited for Fuma to pick them up, Harua bumped his shoulder against Taki’s.

“Still think you’re not gonna fall for anyone?” he asked.

Taki rolled his eyes. “I’m immune.”

“Famous last words.”

Fuma pulled up in the truck right on time, arm resting lazily out the window.

Taki jumped in the back with a wave, and Harua slid into the front seat, looking at Fuma with interest.

“Hiiiiii,” he sang, stretching out the word like ribbon. “I’m Harua.”

Fuma tilted his head slightly. “Hmm. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Harua’s smile sharpened. “And I’ve heard a lot about you. ”

Fuma’s brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Harua said innocently, looking out the window. “Just that you’re the one that usually stacks the hay.”

Taki choked in the backseat.

Fuma blinked. “You little gremlin.”

“I try. ” Harua beamed.

Fuma rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

They stopped at the town hall after a quick bakery detour (Harua insisted that bureaucracy was better with pastries). The line for the payment desk was long and full of tired locals with crossed arms and heavy sighs.

Taki and Harua were busy dissecting tiramisu technique when it happened.

Three guys walked in.

The guys from the pizza place.

Taki felt the air tighten.

They noticed Fuma first.

Then Harua.

Then all three of them looked at Taki and sneered.

One of them scoffed. “Didn’t know they let mutts bring their pets into town.”

Another snorted. “You sure that one’s house-trained?”

The third one turned to Harua and said, smirking, “You should stay away from rabid dogs, sweetheart. They bite.”

Harua blinked. Once. Twice.

Then smiled like a viper.

“Dude,” he said sweetly. “You literally had chlamydia last year. I don’t know what you’re so cocky for.”

The guy’s face crumpled.

Fuma exploded into laughter — full-body, uncontrollable, breathless laughter. He leaned against the wall to steady himself.

“ Harua, ” Taki gasped. “You legend.”

The guys backed off fast — grumbling insults that couldn’t quite land with their reputations now dragging behind them like garbage bags.

And then—

“Babe?”

Jo appeared at the entrance, calm as ever in his soft grey cardigan and town hall badge.

Harua turned and lit up. “My Jo!!!”

“Are you causing trouble again?”

Harua pouted. “I would never. I’m an angel.”

Jo raised an eyebrow as Harua jumped into his arms and nuzzled his neck.

“What are you guys doing here?” he asked.

“Paying the water bills,” Taki said. “Eventually.”

Jo sighed and kissed Harua’s temple. “Gimme your documents.”

Fuma blinked. “Wait, you work here?”

Jo already had the paperwork in hand. “Yup. And I hate inefficiency.”

Ten minutes later, they were back outside — bills paid, receipts in hand, skipping the 40-minute line like gods.

Fuma turned to Taki and squinted. “How have you been here for like three weeks and you already have political connections?”

Taki steepled his fingers like a mob boss. “It’s about respect. Also charm. And a little bit of chaotic luck.”

Harua added, “And cheekbones. Don’t underestimate the cheekbones.”

As Fuma and Taki got in the truck and they pulled away, Harua got closer to the road and shouted, “You should come to town way more often bestie.” Taki threw a kiss and waved bye-bye.

Jo just shook his head with a fond sigh and waved.

The house was quiet when they got back.

Fuma parked the truck and disappeared toward the stables with a casual wave and a promise to rinse the dust off before dinner. Taki, still cradling his tiramisu like a priceless artifact, placed it in the fridge, then wandered outside with no particular destination in mind.

The ranch was alive in that quiet, purposeful way — dogs barking in the distance, cows lowing lazily, the sound of tools and low voices traveling on the wind.

Taki let his feet carry him.

He passed Yuma and Nicholas working near the greenhouse, heads bowed together in some complicated debate over irrigation tubing. EJ was on the porch repairing something that may or may not have once been a chair. K was hauling bags of feed like a man possessed.

But it wasn’t until Taki wandered closer to the horse arena that he slowed down.

Because there, riding in smooth, confident circles, was Maki.

He wasn’t on Fury.

This horse was younger — lighter brown, stockier, with a flash of white down its nose. It moved with a certain wildness, like it didn’t quite know its own strength. But Maki rode it with practiced ease, posture straight, hands gentle, legs firm.

Taki stopped just outside the fence.

And watched.

For a minute.

Maybe two.

Long enough for the horse to take another full loop before Maki finally spotted him.

He rode up to the fence, smirking down at him with that usual cowboy confidence.

“Well hey there, little chef, ” he drawled, still astride the horse. “How was class?”

Taki rested his elbows on the fence. “Good. We have tiramisu for dessert and Marry Me Chicken for dinner.”

Maki raised his eyebrows, mouth twitching. “You’re asking me to marry you?”

Taki rolled his eyes. “I’m Absolutely not doing that.”

“C’mon,” Maki said, leaning down slightly, “at least ask me out on a date first. I’m a respectable young man.”

“There’s nothing respectable about you.”

Maki laughed, a low, easy sound.

Taki glanced at the horse beneath him. “What are you doing, cheating on Fury?”

“I would never. ” Maki patted the young horse’s neck. “The ranch an hour east of here asked us to train this one for herding. He’s still green. Bit unruly.”

Taki tilted his head. “And you’re qualified for that?”

Maki raised a brow, hand resting on the saddle horn like a movie poster. “Darling, I’m the best cowboy around.”

Taki snorted. “You’ve got hay in your hair.”

“And you’ve got flour in your soul. We all have our talents.”

Taki just rolled his eyes again — but he was smiling now.

“Okay,” Maki said, hopping off the young horse with an easy swing of his leg. “Let’s put you to work, little chef. ”

“I’m reporting you for verbal abuse,” Taki muttered, but he followed.

Maki clipped a long lead line to the horse’s halter, giving the young gelding a soft pat. “This is groundwork. You don’t ride until the horse trusts you on the ground first. We’re building respect, communication, and muscle memory.”

Taki blinked. “You sound like a real adult.”

“I am a real adult.”

“You ate three brownies and passed out under the porch last week.”

“Focus,” Maki said with a grin, handing him the rope. “Keep the line loose but not floppy. You’ll stay in the center, and I’ll show you how to move him in a circle. See how he watches my body language?”

Sure enough, as Maki stepped toward the horse’s hindquarters, the animal started to move — a wide, loping circle, calm but alert.

Taki watched, eyes wide. “That’s so cool.”

“Here. You try.”

Taki stepped forward cautiously. The horse — jittery but curious — tossed his head, but stayed moving as Maki guided Taki’s posture.

“Don’t look down. Shoulders back. Think confident thoughts.”

“I’m wearing a sweater with cartoon eggs on it.”

“Confidence comes from within.”

The horse swished its tail but kept walking.

“Look at that,” Maki said. “You’re a natural.”

“Didn’t run me over. That’s a win.”

After a few minutes, Maki unclipped the lead rope. “Okay, now we cool him down and give him a proper rinse.”

They led the horse to the outdoor wash area. Maki showed Taki how to unbuckle the bridle, loop the reins, and gently pull off the saddle.

“Careful with the girth straps,” he said, reaching to help.

Taki stumbled slightly, landing against Maki’s shoulder. Maki didn’t even flinch — just steadied him and kept going like it was nothing.

Which somehow made it worse.

“I’m not built for this,” Taki muttered.

“You’re doing great.”

“Stop being encouraging, it’s confusing. ”

Maki just laughed and grabbed the hose.

The first blast of water splashed against the horse’s legs. Taki watched as the dust washed away in rivers.

“This is nice,” he said.

Maki raised an eyebrow.

And turned the hose on him.

Taki shrieked. “ MAKI!! ”

“You looked warm.”

Taki lunged for the hose, missed, slipped slightly, then grabbed a sponge and threw it.

Maki ducked, laughing like a devil.

The horse, remarkably unfazed, blinked at them with sleepy judgment.

Eventually they called a truce, both soaking wet, the horse sparkling clean.

Taki handed over a few apple slices he’d grabbed from the kitchen. The horse took them gently, lips brushing against his palm.

“He likes you,” Maki said.

“He has excellent taste.”

Then Maki tugged his shirt over his head — heavy and soaked through — and ruffled his hair out.

Taki froze.

Maki glanced over, caught him staring, and smirked.

“Enjoying the view?”

Taki blinked. “Do I have eyes?”

Maki barked out a laugh.

Taki turned, cheeks warm, pretending to check the saddle.

Just friends, he reminded himself.

Just friends.

Even if his friend looked like a shirtless Calvin Klein ad.

Even if his friend had just taught him how to whisper to horses and spar with a hose.

Just. Friends.

(He was doomed.)

The house smelled like heaven.

Golden, garlic-heavy, herb-warmed heaven.

Taki moved around the kitchen in socked feet and an oversized sweater that hit mid-thigh, sleeves flopping past his hands as he stirred sauce and set plates with a rhythm that made him hum under his breath.

His hair, freshly showered and still damp, curled soft around his cheeks. He looked like a marshmallow that had come to life to make you dinner.

The boys weren’t home yet — still out finishing chores and feeding animals — which meant Taki had time.

He slid the pan of Marry Me Chicken into the oven to reheat, plated the tiramisu, then padded to the office down the hall.

Kaito looked up from a stack of bills.

Before he could speak, Taki wrapped his arms around him in a sudden, tight hug, burying his face into the side of the older man’s shoulder.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said softly. “Come eat.”

Kaito didn’t say anything. Just gave a low grunt and squeezed his arm gently.

By the time the boys started drifting into the house, the kitchen was warm with laughter and clinking forks.

Taki served the chicken with the confidence of a man unveiling a masterpiece. K and Bear took their places at the head of the table, the rest of the crew slotting in like puzzle pieces.

EJ took the first bite, chewed, blinked once, and asked: “What’s this called again?”

“ Marry Me Chicken, ” Taki replied, chin lifted.

Kaito — Bear — lowered his fork slowly. “Yeah, you’re not allowed to cook this for anyone outside this house.”

“Agreed,” K said immediately, pointing with his fork. “Illegal.”

“Off the market,” Fuma added.

Taki laughed, ears red. “Oh my god.”

Yuma, mouth full, said, “If anyone proposes after this, I’m blaming you.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“You’re also dangerous.”

They dug in.

The room filled with satisfied groans and content chewing, a low symphony of delight that made Taki beam.

“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Nicholas said seriously. “Keep going to those classes. I’ll drive you myself if I have to.”

“Seconded,” EJ added.

Kaito grunted. “Agreed.”

Taki sat down, beaming, already thinking about next week’s dish.

Halfway through the meal, Fuma wiped his mouth with his sleeve and said, “So. Harua.”

Everyone looked up.

Fuma smirked. “You know Botan’s crew? Yeah he shut down those guys cold. One of them called us rabid dogs again. Harua didn’t blink. Just said, and I quote—” he paused dramatically, “ ‘You literally had chlamydia last year. I don’t know what you’re so cocky for.’ ”

The table exploded.

Nicholas choked. Yuma dropped his fork. EJ covered his face and muttered, “I need to meet him.”

“And then,” Fuma continued, “Jo showed up like some town hall sugar daddy and cleared our bill like it was nothing.”

K whistled. “Political power couple.”

Maki elbowed Taki lightly. “Look at you. Three weeks in and you’ve got city hall in your back pocket.”

Taki made a face. “I am the godfather.”

Kaito groaned. “I am surrounded by chaos.”

Taki raised his glass. “ Familia. ”

The table was already halfway through the post-chicken haze when Taki popped up from his seat and made a dramatic sweeping motion toward the kitchen counter.

“And now, ” he said, “for dessert.”

He returned a moment later with the tiramisu, carefully plated and garnished with a little dusting of cocoa. He set the tray down with the flair of someone unveiling a national treasure.

Everyone leaned forward like they were watching a magic trick.

Yuma took one bite and let out a groan. “You’re lucky we spend our days sweating and hauling things. Otherwise we’d all be shaped like barrels.”

Bear pointed his fork at Taki without looking up. “You, on the other hand, need to eat more. You’re all bones.”

Taki blinked.

“You’re lucky we’re going into summer,” Bear added, still chewing. “Winter here is brutal. You need some meat between those ribs.”

Taki puffed his cheeks and said, “Or! I could just survive winter on cuddles and puppy piles.”

“Yeah, no,” K cut in, leaning back in his chair. “We’re fattening you up before winter. End of discussion.”

“Operation Chubby Chef,” Maki said with a grin.

“I hate it here,” Taki muttered, but his ears were pink and his smile said otherwise.

—

As the last of the tiramisu disappeared, the conversation shifted.

Bear reached for his notes, flipping through a few pages. “We need to talk sheep sales,” he said. “We’ve got twenty ready to go. We can send out the first shipment before the weekend if we prep tomorrow.”

Nicholas nodded. “The buyers from south ridge confirmed. We’re good on paperwork.”

“What about the milk run?” K asked.

“They confirmed the permit,” EJ said. “We’re sending crates into town on Thursday. Need someone to drive.”

“I’ll do it,” Yuma offered, licking his fork clean.

“And horses?” Bear glanced at Fuma.

“Three potential new ones coming from up north. Trial period. We might rotate one for training, maybe even keep a mare if she gets along with the herd.”

The room hummed with agreement and easy talk — quiet and professional but with a warmth underneath it all.

Taki sat quietly for a minute, watching the way everyone moved, spoke, contributed.

His chest was soft and full and just a little tight.

He wasn’t just here anymore.

He belonged here.

And it felt… safe.

Chapter Text

It was a normal day.

Taki was helping EJ take inventory in the shed, half-reading labels, half-distracted by how painfully meticulous EJ’s handwriting was.

He was mid-sentence, bent over a dusty crate of syringes, when the distant hum of engines made him pause.

Two police cars rolled up the dirt road.

Taki stood slowly. “Daaaaaad,” he called without thinking, voice pitching up. “The po-po is here.”

The words barely left his mouth before Bear appeared from the barn like the devil himself, gloves still on, expression stone cold. K followed right behind him, jaw tight.

The rest of the boys seemed to appear out of nowhere — emerging from the fields, the stables, the chicken coop — forming a loose, wary line behind the house.

The dogs were tense, ears pricked, growls low in their throats. Even the cows near the fence grew restless, shifting and snorting, as if the mood in the air reached their bones.

Officer Brandt stepped out of the lead car, smug as ever, flanked by two deputies with matching smirks.

Kaito crossed his arms. “What kind of business do you have here, Brandt?”

Brandt smiled too wide. “Just checking nothing illegal is going on. You know. As a precaution.”

Nicholas snorted. “What, you think we’re growing weed out here?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Brandt stepped forward a little. “You wouldn’t mind an inspection, would you?”

Before Kaito could answer, Taki stepped forward.

“Do you have a warrant, sir?”

K turned his head slowly toward him, surprised. The rest of the boys tensed.

Brandt’s smile faltered. “I am the law, kid.”

“No,” Taki said, sweetly. “You enforce the law. Which is why you should know it. And if you knew the law properly, you’d know you need a search warrant, issued by the state, to legally enter and search private property.”

Silence.

Even the cows stopped making noise.

Maki blinked.

Yuma let out a snort he tried (and failed) to smother.

Kaito’s face didn’t change, but his jaw unclenched. Just a little.

Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason this new charity case of yours knows so much about police procedure Kaito? He running from something? Or someone?”

Kaito stepped forward. “That’s my son you’re talking about.”

That hit.

Brandt raised his eyebrows. “Son? What, you knocked someone up and just found out? That’s low, even for you.”

The other officers laughed like they were at a bar instead of standing on someone’s property with holstered weapons.

But before anyone could react, Taki said evenly, “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

The laughter died.

But from behind him, Maki snorted. EJ turned away and coughed. Yuma flat-out giggled.

Taki folded his arms. “Now. Unless you have dessert in those cars and plan to stay for lunch, we’d prefer if you kindly left the premises.”

As if on cue, the dogs growled again — low and warning.

Brandt looked at Kaito.

Kaito didn’t move. “You heard him.”

Eventually, the officers got back into their cars.

They left dust in their wake.

The boys didn’t move until they were gone from sight.

Taki let out a breath.

Bear clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Next time,” he said, voice like gravel but warm, “warn me before you start quoting legal codes at cops.”

Taki grinned. “Yes, sir.”

The office still smelled like old paper and saddle oil.

Kaito sat behind the massive desk, his shoulders hunched like the leather chair didn’t quite know how to carry a man like him. The light from the single desk lamp pooled across scattered documents, receipts, a coffee mug full of pens and rust.

Taki knocked once before slipping inside.

Kaito looked up. “You alright?”

Taki nodded and stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Yeah. Just... came to check on you.”

Kaito studied him for a moment before gesturing to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

Taki sat. Swung his legs a little.

After a pause, Kaito asked, “How’d you know all that stuff earlier? About the warrant.”

Taki shrugged one shoulder. “Something good had to come out of being in the system for years.”

Kaito’s mouth pulled tight.

He didn’t say anything, but the guilt in his expression was louder than any apology.

Taki leaned forward. “Dad,” he said gently. “You couldn’t have done anything. She had friends inside the system. It was rigged.”

Kaito looked away, jaw working. Taki continued.

“I’ll be forever grateful you didn’t stop fighting. Even when the years passed. Even when I thought… you’d given up.”

“I didn’t,” Kaito said, voice thick. “I couldn’t. You’re my kid. You belong here. With me. With us.”

Taki got up and walked around the desk, then plopped into his father’s lap sideways like he was still five.

Kaito stiffened a little — surprised — but then exhaled and wrapped his arms around him.

“I love you, Dad,” Taki mumbled against his shoulder.

“I love you too, son.”

They stayed like that for a long time.

The only sound was the creak of the old chair and the soft breath of two people slowly healing.

Eventually, Taki shifted, his eyes drifting over the chaos of papers on the desk. “What’s all this?”

Kaito groaned. “The ranch finances. Inventory logs, expense sheets, feed orders, tax prep. All of it is a pain in my ass. I’m made to be outside, not inside with numbers.”

Taki tilted his head. “Can I take a look?”

“You’ll go blind.”

“Math and econ were my best subjects,” Taki said, already reaching.

Kaito narrowed his eyes. “Are we sure you’re my kid?”

Taki snorted. “You literally can’t deny parentage. We have the same nose. It’s unfortunate, but it’s there.”

He flipped through the folders, eyebrows furrowing.

“You’re overpaying for feed delivery,” he muttered. “And these two entries are duplicated. You could’ve claimed a tax deduction on last quarter’s livestock treatment.”

Kaito blinked. “I understood maybe five words of that.”

Taki looked up, grinning. “Dad. Let me fix this.”

Kaito stood without another word, lifted Taki off his lap, and deposited him into the office chair like a toddler being handed the family crown.

“You’re in charge now,” he said. “Don’t burn the place down.”

Taki saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Kaito walked out — but not before ruffling his hair and muttering something about prodigies and paperwork gremlins.

Taki turned back to the desk, rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, and dove in with the focus of a man on a mission.

The kitchen table had seen many things over the years — late-night snack raids, chaos-fueled Uno games, emotional breakdowns over burnt toast — but this was a first.

Taki stood at the head of it, clipboard in hand, sleeves pushed up like a tiny accountant on a warpath.

The rest of the boys were… less prepared.

Nicholas had a pen stuck behind his ear for no reason. Yuma was peeling an orange directly onto the floor. Maki had dragged in a chair backwards and was straddling it like he was about to interrogate someone. EJ looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices. K and Bear hovered nearby, arms crossed, clearly bracing for impact.

Taki cleared his throat. “Okay. Welcome to our first ever ranch budget meeting.”

Silence.

“Why does this feel illegal,” Fuma muttered.

“I’ve gone through the last three months of receipts,” Taki continued, clicking his pen. “And we need to talk about our spending.”

“Do we get paid for this?” Maki asked.

“You get to keep eating. Sit down.”

Maki smirked and bit into an apple instead.

“Alright. First question — how many bags of cow food do we go through in a week?”

Nicholas blinked. “Define bag.”

Yuma added, “Define week.”

Taki stared at them. “Are you people okay?”

“No, not really” EJ said honestly.

K, bless him, tried to help. “I think we go through… six of the 40-kilo ones? Not including the extra blend for the calves.”

“That’s good!” Taki said, scribbling. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Somewhere terrifying,” Nicholas muttered.

“Next question — who orders the vet supplies?”

Yuma raised a hand. “Me. I order the cheap stuff unless it’s for Donnie.”

“Because?”

“He’s the only dog that respects me.”

“That, and he has IBS,” Maki added.

Taki didn’t blink. “Okay. No notes. That’s valid.”

Bear grunted from the corner. “Is it bad no one here knew how much feed we go through until just now?”

“It’s fine,” Taki said brightly. “I’m here now.”

They continued like that for another thirty minutes. It was part therapy, part confession booth.

“Someone’s been ordering random tractor parts every month with no labels,” Taki noted.

Everyone looked at Maki.

Maki raised both hands. “Sometimes I feel like the tractor needs a new carburetor. Don’t judge me.”

Ej looks straight at him and says “I’m judging you so hard.”

Taki finally clicked his pen closed. “Okay. So based on the complete chaos that is your current bookkeeping and my calculations, I can reduce our spending by at least 9% next quarter. Possibly more.”

Everyone stared at him like he’d just turned water into wine.

“You’re seventeen,” Nicholas said.

“Seventeen going on ranch CFO,” Yuma muttered.

“Are we… budgeting now?” Maki asked, horrified.

“Yes,” Taki said. “Also no more mystery parts.”

“Rude.”

Bear, who had remained suspiciously quiet, clapped a hand on Taki’s shoulder. “You’re a menace,” he said fondly.

Taki beamed. “And I come with spreadsheets.”

Later that evening, after chores were done and the dogs were asleep under the table, Kaito walked past the office and paused.

Taki was at the desk, glasses perched on his nose, laptop open, receipts stacked like battle plans.

The screen was full of color-coded rows, equations, formulas, margin notes.

Kaito stared at it for a long moment.

“…Witchcraft,” he muttered.

Taki didn’t look up. “It’s called Excel, Dad.”

It was one in the morning, and the only light in the house glowed from the office.

Maki squinted at it as he walked down the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to stay up this late — he’d just gotten distracted helping Fuma reorganize the supply room — but now that he was passing by, he noticed the door cracked open and the quiet tap-tap of a keyboard inside.

He pushed it open fully.

Taki was still at the desk, bathed in soft light, glasses on, hair up, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows. He was grinning like a man possessed, surrounded by color-coded spreadsheets and post-its.

“Taki,” Maki said, half amused, half exasperated. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know,” Taki said brightly, not looking up. “But I just figured out how to streamline the animal feed categories and still make the monthly budget aesthetic. Look—green for grass-fed, blue for blend, yellow for mineral supplements. It’s so satisfying and cool.”

Maki walked in and stared at him. “Never say something like that and the word cool in the same sentence again.”

Taki grinned wider.

Maki reached behind the chair, grabbed it by the backrest, and started pulling.

“NOOOO—!” Taki squawked, stretching his arms dramatically toward the desk like a cartoon character. “I wasn’t done—”

“You’re done for today ,” Maki said, dragging him out of the room.

“I have post-its left to use!”

“You need to refresh your brain.”

“Where are we going?” Taki asked, pouting, but letting himself be pulled anyway.

Maki didn’t answer. He just led him out the door, across the yard, toward the stable.

The moon was high and silver over the fields. Waiting just outside the fence, already saddled, was Fury.

Taki stopped dead. “Oh no. ”

“Oh yes, ” Maki said, smirking as he led the horse over.

Taki backed up a step. “I still remember the last time. I screamed. A lot. I think I pulled a neck muscle.”

“You didn’t die, did you?”

“Emotionally? Maybe.”

Maki turned to him, pulled his hoodie strings like reins, and said, “Relax. You’re riding with me again. No solo cowboy chaos.”

Taki gave the horse a skeptical glance. “We’re not even wearing helmets.”

Maki laughed. “We’re cowboys, not city bikers.”

He boosted Taki up first, hands warm on his hips, then swung up in front of him.

Taki barely had time to adjust before Maki said, “Hold on tight,” and gave Fury the signal.

They shot off into the field.

Taki shrieked and immediately buried his face in Maki’s back, arms locked around his waist.

“You’re the worst! ” he yelled over the wind.

Maki just laughed, low and loud. “You love it!”

“I love living, Maki!”

The gallop slowed to a trot as they crested the hill, the lake shimmering below in moonlit stillness. Taki’s arms were still locked tight around Maki’s waist, his face half-buried in his back like letting go would launch him into space.

Maki chuckled, voice a little winded. “You can breathe now, y’know.”

“I am breathing,” Taki mumbled. “I just prefer doing it from inside your spine. ”

They dismounted near the dock. Maki tied Fury to the old post with practiced ease, patting his neck. “Good girl.”

Taki stumbled off the horse with the grace of a newborn deer. “You keep saying that like we didn’t just nearly die.”

Maki looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “We were never in danger.”

“ You weren’t. I was one jolt away from becoming a cautionary tale.”

Maki stretched, long limbs silhouetted by moonlight. “Come on. Let’s take a swim.”

Taki blinked. “A what ?”

“A swim. Refresh that genius brain of yours. You’ve been color-coding cow food for five hours straight. That’s unhealthy.”

Taki folded his arms. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“It’s literally twenty degrees,” Maki said, already kicking off his boots.

“That’s criminally cold for swimming. ”

Maki ignored him. With zero shame, he peeled off his shirt and then his jeans, standing there in just his boxers like this was the most casual thing in the world.

Taki stared.

Not in a we’re just friends kind of way.

Maki’s body was all long lines and defined muscle, bronzed from the sun, built from years of hard labor. He looked like he belonged in a saddle and a Calvin Klein ad at the same time.

Maki caught him looking and grinned. “See something you like?”

Taki’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Then opened again. “Turn around.”

Maki raised a brow. “You can’t be serious.”

“If you don’t turn around, I’m leaving you to drown.”

Maki laughed, loud and teasing, but he turned around and jumped into the lake.

Taki stripped quickly, muttering under his breath, and crept to the edge of the dock in his boxers, shivering from the breeze alone.

He sat first, dipping his toes into the black glass of the lake. Cold. Evil. Unholy.

Then something grabbed his ankle.

He screamed.

A splash — sudden, loud — and he was yanked straight off the dock and into the freezing water like a horror movie.

His head broke the surface with a gasp and a string of profanity.

“ MAKI! ” he shrieked, flailing.

Maki was already laughing, treading water like a smug water god.

“You’re an asshole! ” Taki sputtered.

“You needed to loosen up!”

“I’m going to kill you!”

Still flailing, Taki launched himself forward — and ended up clinging to Maki like a koala, arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his waist, half-drowned and completely furious.

Maki’s laughter echoed across the lake.

“You’re insane,” Taki hissed. “I could’ve died.”

“Relax, city boy. I would never let you die.”

They froze.

The laughter quieted. The only sound was the ripple of water around them and Taki’s ragged breathing.

They were chest to chest, Maki’s hands steady on Taki’s thighs to keep him afloat, and Taki’s face far too close for comfort.

A beat passed. Then another.

Taki cleared his throat and abruptly shoved away. “Soooo. Friend.”

Maki blinked. “Yeah? Friend?” He arched a brow and smirked, teasing, savoring the word like it was some exotic spice.

“Shut up,” Taki muttered, splashing water into his face.

Maki sputtered and retaliated. “You’re dead. ”

A full-on splash war ensued.

They chased each other through the shallows, laughing like children, until their arms were sore and their lungs ached from cold and joy.

Eventually, they collapsed back on the dock, soaking and breathless, lying side by side in silence.

The stars above them looked like something Taki had only seen in movies.

“You know,” Maki said, voice low, “you’re kinda fun when you’re not doing math.”

Taki nudged him with his foot. “You’re kinda tolerable when you’re not trying to kill me.”

And under the stars, under the weight of unsaid things, they smiled.

Just a little too long.

Chapter Text

Taki had never seen so many cows in one place in his life.

The cattle market was chaos wrapped in hay dust and heat, a never-ending sprawl of pens, trailers, muddy boots, and old men yelling across fences like they were in a Western movie.

He gripped the strap of his backpack tighter and stepped closer to Bear and Maki, eyes wide.

“Does it always smell like this?” he asked, half-choked.

“Welcome to the cow economy,” Maki said, adjusting the brim of his hat with a grin.

Taki turned to look at him and forgot what he was going to say.

Maki was in full cowboy mode.

Boots, fitted jeans, a dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, worn leather gloves tucked into his belt. And that damn hat, shading his eyes just enough to make him look like the main character in a ranch romance novel.

Taki blinked. “You dressed up for this?”

“I dressed right for this,” Maki corrected, smirking. “You’re the one in sneakers.”

Taki looked down at his mud-splattered Converse and sighed. “I’m gonna die.”

“Try not to,” Bear grunted. “It’d mess with the pricing.”

They reached a pen full of calves and Bear launched straight into business mode. He leaned on the metal fence with one hand and greeted the seller like an old rival — casual words, sharp undertone, all teeth behind the smile.

Taki watched in awe.

The man Bear was talking to looked like he chewed gravel for fun. But within five minutes, he was scratching his head and lowering the price like Bear had hypnotized him.

“Is my dad always like that?” Taki whispered to Maki.

“He once got a horse for half-price and a free bag of feed,” Maki replied. “Just by saying the guy’s hat was ugly.”

Taki stared. “He’s terrifying.”

Maki grinned. “Yeah. But in a good way.”

Bear called them over a minute later. “We’re taking five calves,” he said. “They’ll deliver by Thursday. Come on, there’s another pen I want to see.”

As they moved through the market, Taki soaked everything in — the clanging of metal gates, the hum of auctioneers in the distance, the smell of manure and sweat and something fried.

He saw Maki tip his hat at a woman walking by, and she blushed.

He elbowed him. “You’re such a player in that hat.”

Maki tilted his head toward him, smug. “You like it?”

Taki made a face. “It’s fine. ”

(He did like it. Very much. He just wasn’t going to say it.)

As Bear strode ahead toward another pen — all business, all purpose — Taki tugged lightly at Maki’s sleeve.

“Wait up,” he said, eyes caught on a wooden stall tucked between the livestock pens and the auction lane. “I wanna check this out real quick.”

Maki followed his gaze.

It was a small setup, rustic and crooked, with little hand-painted signs and a dozen glass jars that sparkled in the sun. An older woman with wind-chapped cheeks and kind eyes stood behind the table, arranging baskets of fruit with practiced care.

Taki approached, nose wrinkling with delight. “Oh my god, that’s real honey.”

“Fresh from my hives,” the woman said proudly. “Wildflower and sage blossom. Got some creamed jars too.”

Taki picked up a jar, holding it up to the light. “This is so pretty. It looks like gold.”

“You like honey?” Maki asked, leaning on the stall beside him.

“I like the idea of honey,” Taki said. “We couldn’t afford stuff like this back then. But it always felt… I don’t know. Gentle.”

The words hung there for a moment.

Maki watched him quietly as he picked out two jars — one plain, one creamed — and then grabbed a little basket of peaches, sun-warmed and bruised just right.

“I’ll take these,” Taki said.

The woman smiled. “For your girl?”

Taki blinked. “Oh — uh. No. Just for the house.”

Maki raised an eyebrow and smirked behind his hat.

Taki elbowed him.

They paid in cash — Bear always made sure they had some small bills on market days — and as they walked back toward the main lane, Taki cradled the basket like a small treasure.

“I’m gonna bake something,” he declared. “Peach something. I don’t know what yet.”

“I support your ambitions,” Maki said solemnly. “Especially if I get to eat it.”

Taki grinned. “You always get to eat it.”

The ranch garage always smelled like oil, dust, and faint regret. Which made sense, given the amount of stuff they managed to break weekly.

Nicholas was elbow-deep in the engine of one of the ATVs, his sleeves rolled and fingers stained with grease. Yuma sat cross-legged beside the tractor, sorting wrenches by size and muttering to himself every time he picked the wrong one.

Taki, of course, was doing the most important job of all: sitting on a hay bale looking very cute and very useless.

“I’m moral support,” he said when Yuma raised an eyebrow.

Nicholas grunted. “You’re a hazard .”

“I’m a spectacle, ” Taki corrected, flicking a small bolt across the floor like a coin. “There’s a difference.”

At that moment, EJ passed by the open garage, sipping coffee from a dented thermos. He nodded at them — polite, calm, quiet — and kept walking.

Taki saw it happen in slow motion: the way Nicholas’s eyes followed him. Just a little too long. Just a little too soft.

He clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “Oh my god, ” he gasped. “You’re so in love with him.”

Yuma snorted.

Nicholas didn’t even look up. “No, I’m not.”

“Nicho,” Taki said, swinging his legs. “You just stared at him like he’s a sunset you didn’t think you’d get to see again.”

“He’s not even your type, ” Yuma added, voice light. “He has emotions. ”

“Which is wild,” Taki said. “Because you literally bench press cows for fun but can’t tell a man you like his face.”

Nicholas tightened a bolt a little too hard. “You two done?”

Taki grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know you can like… date him, right? It’s legal now. No one will throw you in cowboy jail.”

Yuma snickered. “He won’t. He’s a coward.”

“I’m not a coward,” Nicholas said calmly. “I’m waiting.”

Taki blinked. “For what? A letter from God?”

Nicholas looked up finally, eyes steady. “For him to be ready.”

The garage went quiet.

Taki blinked, caught off guard by the softness.

Then he said, “Okay but if you kiss in the hayloft, can I know first so I don’t walk in on it? I swear the hay’s haunted now.”

Yuma snorted so hard he dropped a wrench.

Nicholas rolled his eyes and turned back to the engine. “You’re the reason we can’t have nice things.”

“No,” Taki said, stretching out like a cat on the hay bale. “I’m the reason your life is more entertaining.”

There was something quietly magical about mornings on the ranch — the kind of golden haze that clung to your clothes, the crisp air that promised both sweat and satisfaction. But Taki wasn’t focused on magic right now.

He was focused on sheep.

Dozens of them.

Bleating, charging, chaotic sheep.

Maki clicked his tongue against his teeth as he circled the herd on horseback, hat low over his eyes. K stood near the gate, calling commands with the calm rhythm of someone born into this life. Donnie darted and weaved around the sheep like a black-and-white blur of divine order.

Taki, standing on the fence like a glorified cheerleader, yelled, “You guys look like a cowboy music video!”

“You look like someone who’s about to fall face-first in manure,” K called back without looking.

“I’m observing ,” Taki defended, waving his clipboard. “I’m here to collect vibes. ”

Maki guided a few strays back toward the center with practiced ease. His posture was so natural it made Taki’s throat go dry. The reins were just an accessory — Maki rode like he and Fury shared a brain cell.

(And yes, fine, the flannel rolled up to his elbows didn’t hurt.)

“They’re crowding left!” K shouted, boots crunching on gravel.

“I see it,” Maki called, swinging around and whistling low. Donnie responded instantly.

Taki muttered, “God, that dog’s smarter than me.”

Suddenly, the sheep burst left faster than expected — a few sprinting toward the fence. Taki let out a tiny scream and flailed backward, nearly dropping his clipboard as he scrambled out of the way.

“ You’re fine! ” Maki yelled. “They sense fear!”

“I’m full of fear!” Taki shouted back, breathless.

K snorted. “And sass. Useless combo.”

They finally got the last of the herd into the gated pasture and Maki dismounted with a dramatic stretch.

Taki clapped from the fence. “Y’all survived. I’m proud of you.”

Then came the sound of approaching boots.

Heavy, steady, thirst-trap boots.

Fuma appeared from behind the barn, dragging a hay bale and glistening like a Grecian statue. No shirt. Jeans low on his hips. Not a bead of sweat out of place.

Taki blinked once. Then looked at K.

K, who had completely frozen.

Taki whispered, “Look alive, big bro — your Greek statue of a boyfriend is doing his rounds again.”

K turned. Locked eyes with Fuma. Flushed so red it looked like a medical emergency.

K muttered under his breath, “I swear he does it on purpose. He wants me dead. ”

Taki lost it.

Maki leaned on the fence beside him, trying and failing to hold back laughter.

“Does he do this every day?” Taki asked through snorts.

“Only when K’s nearby,” Maki said. “It’s honestly impressive.”

Taki turned towards his brother, “You want me to ask him for a spin or are you good just watching from afar?”

K, desperately trying to keep it together, barked, “Focus up. Anyone still slacking is cleaning troughs alone. ”

Fuma dropped the hay with a loud thunk and stretched again.

Taki wheezed. “That was a war crime.”

K pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something about early retirement.

The sheep, apparently sensing the drama was over, began grazing peacefully.

The kitchen was warm with late afternoon sun, golden light spilling over the counter where Taki stood, his tongue poking out in concentration as he carefully pinched the crimped edges of the pie crust into place.

The scent was heavenly — peaches soft and syrupy, honey caramelizing into the crust, a whisper of cinnamon weaving through the air. His hands were sticky, his cheeks dusted with flour, but he was grinning like a man who’d just conquered Everest.

He opened the oven, gently set the pie inside, and closed the door with the air of someone laying down a final, triumphant move in chess.

He turned, leaned back on the counter, and exhaled. “If this comes out even half as good as it smells, I’m baking for the rest of my life.”

The timer ticked on. While the pie baked, Taki juiced lemons, humming under his breath, and stirred in a generous swirl of the wildflower honey he’d bought at the cattle market. The taste test made his eyes widen — it was bright, sharp, and somehow comforting.

The pie emerged golden and bubbling, its crust shining like lacquered wood. He set it on the window sill to cool, then cut it into neat slices with the kind of reverence usually reserved for church or antique swords.

Each plate was styled like a Pinterest post come to life: a generous slice, a sprig of mint, a tall glass of lemonade clinking with ice. He loaded the golf cart with practiced chaos, balancing the plates in a crate lined with a dish towel, and hopped into the driver’s seat.

First stop was the porch.

Bear was sitting with one boot in his lap, cleaning it with all the intensity of a man ready to pick a fight with the sole. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, reading glasses hanging off his nose, and his face creased with focus.

Taki climbed the steps holding a plate and a glass like a peace offering. “Delivery for the house alpha,” he declared, holding the items out dramatically.

Bear glanced up, raised one brow, and asked dryly, “Is it poisoned?”

Taki gave him a look. “Only emotionally.”

Bear grunted but took the plate. The moment he bit into the pie, his brows lifted in surprise.

“You made this?”

“Yep. And the lemonade.”

Bear chewed slowly, savoring. “Kid, if you ever poison someone, you’ll probably get away with it. This is damn good.”

Taki beamed, cheeks flushing with pride. “Made with that fancy honey I got in the market.”

“You keep feeding us like this,” Bear muttered around a forkful, “we’ll build you a new kitchen.”

Taki saluted and skipped down the steps.

The golf cart sputtered into motion, bumping over the gravel path as he made his next few stops. Fuma was shirtless again (seriously, did the man even own a shirt?) stacking hay near the barn. Nicholas and Yuma were covered in sawdust by the workshop, hammering something into place. EJ was crouched near the supply shed, clipboard in hand, pencil behind his ear.

Each boy got a plate and a glass. Each one made a sound not entirely appropriate for a family-friendly setting.

“City boy’s got hands,” Yuma said, licking honey from his thumb.

Nicholas nodded solemnly. “Cooking hands. Not fencing hands.”

“Unbelievable,” Taki muttered, rolling his eyes as he handed them napkins. “You people are incapable of gratitude.”

He left them behind, giggling quietly to himself, and steered toward the lower paddock. The fields opened up like a painting — wide and green, the sun lowering behind a slow-drifting cloud.

Maki was there, wiping down a saddle and talking softly to the horse tethered beside him. His sleeves were rolled up, his collar popped open, and his hair fell into his eyes in that perfectly unintentional way that made Taki’s brain forget how nouns worked.

He parked the cart and hopped out, holding out a plate like a peace offering.

“Hey, cowboy,” he said, breathless with sun and pride.

Maki looked up and smiled slowly. “Hey little chef. Is this the ranch version of room service?”

“You wish. This is special. Pie made with the peaches and that honey we bought. And lemonade. With the same honey. It’s basically art.”

Maki took the plate, sniffed theatrically. “You trying to seduce me?”

Taki choked. “ You’re my friend. ”

Maki blinked.

“My friend, ” Taki said again, louder, as if repetition would make the moment less humiliating. “I feed my friends.”

Maki sipped the lemonade and nodded thoughtfully. “Mmm. Romantic.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m fleeing .”

Taki turned so fast he nearly tripped over a hose. He launched himself back into the cart and pressed the pedal like it might save his soul.

Behind him, Maki’s laughter rang out, bright and unbothered.

“You’re such a dork! ” he called.

Taki didn’t answer — mostly because his face was on fire and he accidentally veered into a flower bed.

The day had continued almost too perfect.

The kind of sky so blue it made your teeth ache. The wind was warm, rustling through the dry grass in slow, lazy sweeps. Even the dogs had gone quiet, lounging under the shade of the porch like kings at rest.

Taki had a book in his lap, but he wasn’t reading. He was lying on his stomach out near the barn, sketching idly in the margin of the ledger he was supposed to be updating, toes kicking in the air. Lady Moo stood nearby, chewing lazily and occasionally licking his shoulder like she’d adopted him.

That was when Donnie barked.

Just once.

Sharp. Alert. Tail high.

Taki blinked. “What?”

Donnie barked again — then took off running toward the pasture.

Lady Moo mooed low and restless.

Taki sat up slowly, the hair on his arms rising.

“Uh.”

Behind him, the wind shifted. The kind of shift that hit your chest first, like a breath being sucked in. Leaves flipped. Somewhere in the distance, a loud creak echoed from the trees.

Then came the voice.

“ Storm’s coming! ”

It was K’s voice, loud and clipped, cutting across the air like a whipcrack.

Taki jumped to his feet just as Bear came stomping around the corner of the house, radio in hand, eyebrows already furrowed deep. His other hand pointed.

“Fences in the west pasture. That line’s weak, double check it. We’re not losing sheep again.”

Yuma sprinted toward the barn, grabbing ropes and slamming open the tack room. Nicholas and EJ appeared out of nowhere, one dragging a tarp, the other already shouting over the gusting wind about the generator.

Taki spun in place. “Wait—what—what do I do?!”

“Grab the dogs and count horses!” K shouted as he jogged past. “Don’t just stand there with your mouth open!”

Taki scrambled. Donnie had already come back and was circling him like a sheep in need of urgent direction. The other dogs barked in unison — all except Splinter, who padded beside him with a kind of slow, deliberate calm that made him feel slightly less like the world was ending.

The wind picked up again, stronger this time. The first crack of thunder rolled somewhere in the distance.

It felt like a warning shot.

Taki ran, skidding slightly on the gravel as he reached the stables. Most of the horses were already uneasy, tossing their heads, their hooves clacking against the wooden stalls. Fury was kicking at her gate until Maki appeared and murmured something low and soothing, brushing a hand over her flank.

Maki glanced up. “You good?”

“I’ve never been good!” Taki shouted over the wind. “But I’m here! ”

Maki grinned and pointed toward the tack shed. “Check the roof! Last time it almost flew off!”

“What do I even do if it does?!”

“ Yell really loud! ”

Taki turned, arms flailing, and dashed off again.

The sky was already darkening — that eerie, oil-smudged gray that didn’t belong to nighttime but promised something worse. A flash of lightning cracked through the sky, white and jagged.

Taki winced and ducked into the shed, checking corners, shoving equipment back onto hooks that were shaking loose from the walls. The roof groaned above him like an old man sitting up too fast.

He burst out again, drenched in sweat and dust, and paused just long enough to see Fuma and K trying to herd the last of the sheep in from the far field. The dogs were working double time, yipping and barking and dancing through the tall grass like streaks of fur and fury.

“Come on,” Taki whispered to himself, watching the wind bend the trees. “Come on, come on, almost done—”

The sky split.

Lightning, again. Closer now. The thunder came with it this time — not a delay, not a beat. Just boom and flash, like a war drum and sword drawn at once.

Taki gasped. “Okay. That’s enough lightning. You made your point.”

He turned to run back toward the house — but something in the storm shifted. The rain came, sudden and wild, slamming into the world with no preamble. It hit like a wall, soaking him to the skin in seconds. The wind screamed. The dogs barked in unison.

Taki blinked through water and darkness, eyes burning, completely disoriented. He spun once, twice. Everything looked different, he couldn’t see the house— warped by water, twisted by wind.

And then he ran.

But not towards the house.

His feet took him somewhere else. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere he knew there was warmth, even if it wasn’t fire.

He stumbled toward the barn.

Inside, the cows lowed softly, huddled in their pens. One of the horses stomped. The dogs — two of them now, Leonardo and Michelangelo — followed him in and circled close. He reached out, fingers fumbling, and found Lady Moo’s side.

She didn’t move.

She let him press against her, curl down beside her flank.

Taki pulled his knees to his chest and tried to focus on the rhythm of her breathing. On the wet fur of the dogs against his side. On the feeling of not being alone.

The wind howled around the barn like it was angry.

But inside — inside there was just the storm, and the animals, and Taki’s quiet whisper.

“...okay. I’m okay.”

The storm didn’t pass so much as it collapsed.
As if the sky had been holding its breath for too long and finally let it all out.

It took over an hour to get the gates reinforced, the animals sheltered, the loose supplies anchored. The sheep were huddled in the far pen, the horses finally calmed. Everyone was soaked, covered in mud, panting like they’d run a marathon blindfolded.

The house became a place of quiet return.
One by one, the boys stumbled inside, tracking dirt and water, peeling off soaked clothes and rubbing at bruises they wouldn’t remember getting.

The living room filled with the sound of wet boots being kicked off and the soft murmur of “someone start the fireplace.” K moved through the crowd handing out towels like he was born for it. Bear was in the kitchen boiling water, grumbling about tea and thunder and the worst summer wind he’d seen in years.

EJ emerged from the hall in clean sweatpants and a hoodie, hair damp from a quick shower. “Where’s Taki?” he asked, toweling off his glasses.

Someone blinked. Then someone else looked around.

Yuma straightened from where he was tying his hair up. “He was with the horses, wasn’t he?”

“No,” said Nicholas, frowning. “He was in the shed.”

“He helped me with the sheep earlier,” Fuma added.

Silence.

The air shifted — not stormy, not loud. Just sharp.

“Check the rooms,” K barked instantly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a whip. “Go.”

Feet thundered down the hallway. Doors opened and slammed. Bathroom. Kitchen. Pantry. Upstairs loft.

Nothing.

Maki didn’t wait for confirmation.

He was already gone.

Out the door, into the wind, umbrella forgotten, boots slamming through puddles and gravel and mud. His lungs burned, heart a steady drum in his chest. He shouted Taki’s name once, twice — but the wind swallowed it.

The rain hadn’t let up.

It wasn’t the hard, angry kind anymore — it was just relentless. Heavy sheets that blurred the world into gray and silver. Maki slipped once in the mud but didn’t stop. He rounded the barn, the shed, the pasture edge—

Then he saw Splinter.

The Bernese mountain dog stood planted at the entrance of the main barn, drenched but unmoving, barking once — sharp and sure.

Maki sprinted.

The barn door creaked on its hinges as he shoved it open. His eyes adjusted slowly to the dim, the smell of wet hay and animal heat.

And then he saw him.

Taki was curled into Lady Moo’s side like a curled comma, arms wrapped around his legs, clothes soaked through, shivering despite the warmth of the cow and the two dogs pressed against him like fuzzy shields.

He looked up at the sound.

Eyes wide. Face pale. Lips blue at the edges.

“Maki?”

Maki was at his side in seconds.

“ What the hell are you doing here? ” he breathed, voice cracking between relief and panic. “Are you—are you hurt?”

Taki blinked slowly. “I—I didn’t mean to. I just—couldn’t find the house. It was too loud. And they were calm. So I stayed.”

Maki dropped to his knees in front of him, fingers brushing his cheek — cold. “God, Taki, we thought—”

He didn’t finish.

He just pulled him in.

Taki didn’t resist. He sagged forward like a thread that had finally gone slack, arms sliding around Maki’s waist, face pressed against his soaked shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” Maki said, voice low. “Just… let’s go home now, yeah?”

Taki nodded against him.

Maki peeled off his own jacket and wrapped it around him, careful, steady. He lifted Taki like it was the most natural thing in the world — and Taki didn’t even protest, just curled into his chest, small and silent.

Splinter followed them back out into the storm, tail low but wagging.

—

The front door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Every head turned.

Maki stood on the threshold, soaked to the bone, his hoodie dripping, his hair plastered to his forehead. In his arms, curled against his chest like something fragile and precious, was Taki — pale, damp, shivering in Maki’s jacket, arms wound tightly around his waist like he didn’t quite believe he was safe yet.

For a beat, the house was silent.

Then it exploded.

“ Jesus Christ, ” K swore, already crossing the room.

“What happened—” “Is he okay?” “Where the hell was he?”

Maki didn’t stop to explain. He just walked straight into the living room and knelt by the fire, lowering Taki gently onto the big couch like he was something breakable. Bear was there in an instant, throwing a thick blanket over his shoulders, hands steady as they checked his temperature, his pulse, the color in his lips.

“He’s freezing,” Maki muttered, pushing damp curls off Taki’s forehead.

“He’ll be fine,” Bear said. “He’s already warming up. Just needs to get dry and rest.”

Yuma appeared with a pile of warm clothes. EJ shoved a mug of tea into someone’s hands. Nicholas brought over two more blankets. It was chaos, but it was organized chaos — the way only a pack could be.

Taki blinked slowly, overwhelmed by the warmth, the voices, the hands fussing over him. “You found me,” he whispered to Maki.

“Of course I did,” Maki said, so softly it almost didn’t register. “You think I’d leave you out there?”

“You shouldn’t have gone back out,” Taki murmured, blinking up at him. “You’re soaked.”

“I’m fine,” Maki said. “I’ve got a stupidly strong immune system. And also a lot of rage.”

Taki cracked the tiniest smile.

“Where were you, baby?” K asked from behind the couch, voice low but tight. “You scared the hell out of us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Taki said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—I got turned around in the wind. I couldn’t see anything. But the barn was there, and the cows were calm, so I just… stayed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

No one said anything for a moment.

Then Bear knelt in front of him, one massive hand landing on his shoulder. “You did the right thing. Animals are smarter than us, most days.”

Taki sniffed once and nodded.

From the corner of the room, Fuma said, “Next time just yell really loud. You know we’d come running.”

“I didn’t know which direction was which,” Taki mumbled, cheeks pink now from more than just the cold. “The wind was everywhere.”

“That’s fair,” Nicholas said. “Also terrifying.”

“I almost ended up cuddling a goat,” Taki muttered. “Lady Moo had better manners.”

That got a soft laugh.

Bear stood with a grunt. “Alright. Enough hovering. Let the boy breathe.”

“We’re not hovering,” EJ said at the exact same time Nicholas said, “We are hovering.”

“Come on,” Bear added, jerking his chin toward the kitchen. “Let’s make something hot. Cocoa or soup or whatever we’ve got.”

The pack began to peel away — reluctantly, but trusting that Taki was okay now.

Maki stayed kneeling by the couch.

Taki tugged gently at his sleeve.

“Thank you,” he said.

Maki met his eyes, searching his face. “For what?”

“For coming back for me.”

Maki reached out and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Always.”

Taki bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at his hands. “I didn’t really get scared. Not until I thought no one would notice I was gone.”

Maki swallowed hard. “We noticed, Taki.”

Taki nodded.

There was a long pause, and then:

“I think I like storms now,” Taki murmured, eyes starting to droop. “They end soft.”

Maki smiled, just a little. “Only ‘cause you have a family now.” he said, brushing Taki’s bangs out of his face with all the gentleness of the world.

Taki’s eyes fluttered closed, breathing the evening out.

The storm passed.

Inside, the fire crackled. The kettle whistled. The guys laughed quietly in the kitchen.

And on the couch, under three blankets and the soft weight of Splinter’s head in his lap, Taki slept — safe, warm, and finally home.

Chapter Text

Taki woke up with heat in his bones.

Not the good kind either — not like summer sun or warm blankets. This was the sticky, suffocating kind that made his skin feel too tight and his thoughts slosh around in his head like soup.

He groaned and shifted under the covers, but everything ached. His muscles felt heavy. His throat scratched. And his brain? A total lost cause. Fuzzy, slow, half-dreaming.

Still, when the door creaked open, he automatically turned toward it, blinking blearily.

K stood in the doorway, towel around his neck, clearly fresh from the morning chores. His eyes narrowed the second he got a good look at Taki.

“You look like microwaved death,” he said.

“I feel like microwaved death,” Taki mumbled, voice hoarse.

K crossed the room in three long strides and pressed the back of his hand to Taki’s forehead.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re burning up.”

Taki, still blinking slowly, grabbed K’s wrist and held it there. “You’re warm.”

“That’s because I’m not a corpse.”

“Nooo,” Taki said, pout forming, “you’re warm like… big bro warm.”

K made a face. “Ew. Don’t weaponize affection, I’m emotionally fragile in the mornings.”

But he didn’t pull his hand away.

Muffled footsteps thundered in the hallway. Moments later, Bear leaned in, hair still damp, sleeves rolled up.

“Fever?”

“Sky-high,” K confirmed. “Probably from getting soaked and snuggling cows during a hurricane.”

“Solid choices all around,” Bear grunted, but he was already moving. “Yuma!”

“I heard! ” Yuma’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Are the sheep okay?” Taki asked suddenly, eyes wide with worry. “Did they blow away?”

“...No, baby,” K said gently. “The sheep are fine.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Taki relaxed slightly. “The cows were really brave.”

Yuma arrived a second later with a thermometer and a no-nonsense frown. “Right. Fever protocol. Water, tea, blankets. No arguments.”

“Are you the fever police?” Taki asked, squinting up at him.

“Yes,” Yuma said, shoving the thermometer under his tongue. “And you’re under arrest for being reckless.”

Taki giggled.

From the doorway, Maki leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes dark with concern. “What’s his sentence, doc?”

“Mandatory cuddles and being hand-fed soup by doting cowboys,” Yuma replied.

“That’s so embarrassing,” Taki muttered around the thermometer, but he was already melting back into the pillows.

Nicholas poked his head in next. “Is he dying?”

“No,” Yuma sighed. “He’s just—”

“Alive and annoying,” Taki said proudly.

“Same as usual, then.”

Bear reappeared with tea. “Let’s keep him in bed today. He’s got a fever and delusions of being hilarious.”

“I am hilarious,” Taki insisted, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “I’m just also dying.”

“You have a cold,” K said flatly.

“I’m too pretty to die,” Taki added. “Let the ugly people go first.”

“You’re such a menace,” Maki muttered — but he was smiling.

Taki reached out a hand, blindly, until it landed on Maki’s wrist. “Stay.”

Maki blinked.

“I like when you’re here,” Taki mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut again. “You’re... like. Warm.”

And just like that, he was asleep again — cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open, fingers still curled in Maki’s sleeve.

Maki exhaled slowly and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The others faded out of the room one by one, whispering as they went, already arguing about who was going to make the soup and whether or not to spike it with chili flakes.

But Maki stayed.

Because even if Taki wouldn’t remember it later — even if it was just fever talk — he asked him to.

The afternoon brought warmth back into the house, but Taki didn’t notice.

He was drifting again, somewhere between sleep and half-lucid, too warm but also cold, wrapped in three different blankets and still curled like a cat on the living room couch.

Yuma had declared it “the official sick zone,” and Fuma had taken that as a personal challenge to organize the space like a five-star hotel lobby. There were tissues, herbal tea, a bucket (just in case), a thermometer within arm’s reach, and a small army of dogs acting as bodyguards. Only Splinter was allowed on the couch itself, curled against Taki’s feet like a loyal heater.

Fuma stood near the window now, arms crossed, commanding the operation like a field general. “I said no heavy scents. That candle smells like someone set fire to a lemon factory.”

“Technically,” Ej said from the kitchen doorway, “I said we should keep the environment clean and comforting. You’re the one lighting candles like this is a séance.”

“I was trying to set the mood.”

“What mood?” Nicholas muttered. “Flammable?”

“Can I die now?” Taki mumbled, his voice rough, muffled under the blanket.

“No,” Maki said from beside the couch, “you haven’t paid your taxes.”

“Shut up,” Taki said, not opening his eyes. “I’m tragic and hot. Let me die dramatically.”

“You’re tragic, and hot?” Maki asked. “Bold.”

Yuma returned with a fresh cup of tea and a glare. “Maki, help him change out of that sweaty shirt. His fever’s going to spike again.”

Maki raised a brow. “And you’re not doing it?”

“I diagnose, I don’t undress,” Yuma replied, already walking away.

Taki whined. “I don’t wanna move.”

Maki laughed quietly, leaned over the couch, and tugged the edge of the blanket down. Taki’s face was flushed, curls damp at the edges, a little dazed — he looked like a marshmallow someone left in the sun.

“C’mon, little chef,” Maki said gently. “We’ll go slow.”

Taki squinted up at him, eyes glassy. “You’re always nice when I’m dying.”

“I’m always nice,” Maki said, helping him sit up, then peeling off the shirt with careful fingers.

Taki didn’t protest. He leaned into the touch like a cat, cheek briefly pressing against Maki’s shoulder as he changed into the clean cotton one Ej had left nearby. Maki smoothed his hair back automatically.

“You’re soft,” Taki whispered.

Maki blinked. “What?”

“I said you’re soft,” he repeated, slumping back into the blankets. “Like… you’re not scary. You’re soft and warm and my favorite friend. ”

The room went silent.

Yuma stopped mid-pour in the kitchen. Nicholas choked on something. Fuma blinked slowly from where he was fluffing another pillow.

Maki just stared down at him, caught between something sharp and something sweet. “Favorite, huh?”

Taki didn’t answer.

He was already asleep again.

Maki tucked the blanket back around his shoulders, quiet as ever. But when he looked up, every single person in the room was staring at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” he said.

Fuma smirked. “Nothing.”

Yuma snorted. “Totally nothing.”

Nicholas just sipped his coffee and mumbled, “Yeah, that didn’t sound like a confession or anything.”

“ He’s delirious, ” Maki said through gritted teeth.

“Sure, cowboy.”

Maki glared at them all, but when he looked back at Taki, the corners of his mouth twitched.

Maybe… maybe he liked being the favorite.

No one saw him slip out.

Which was impressive, considering that Splinter was basically his furry shadow and the rest of the boys had been hovering like a SWAT team.

But somehow, with the soft pads of his socked feet and the cunning stealth of a cat wearing pajamas two sizes too big, Taki escaped.

Well — escaped ish .

The dogs caught on within twenty seconds.

Donnie was the first to follow, tail wagging but clearly concerned. Michelangelo and the Splinter joined next, flanking him like secret service agents as Taki wobbled down the porch steps and made his way toward the barn with all the focus of someone on a deeply spiritual mission.

“Lady Moo,” he mumbled under his breath, eyes glazed, “she gets it.”

The wind had calmed. The grass was still wet, the sky cloudy. But the storm had passed, and the barn doors stood open like a welcome.

The animals stirred gently as he entered.

Lady Moo looked up from her hay, blinked slowly, and mooed once — low, soft, patient.

Taki beamed. “Hey, pretty girl.”

He stumbled over to her and collapsed right beside her front leg, letting his cheek press into her side. The dogs settled around him in a protective sprawl, sighing in sync.

“This is better,” he whispered, eyes already fluttering closed. “Much better.”

Back at the house, chaos was breaking loose.

“He’s gone?!”
“Check the bathroom!”
“The dogs are missing too!”
“ HE TOOK THE DOGS?! ”
“He took himself, genius. The dogs just followed!”

Maki didn’t wait for them to organize. His boots were already on. Jacket half-zipped. No hesitation.

He ran toward the barn.

He didn’t know why — he just knew .

And when he reached the doors and saw the soft halo of fur, the unmistakable silhouette of Lady Moo, and the small, blanket-wrapped figure tucked into her side like a puzzle piece—

He exhaled.

“Of course,” he said under his breath. “You little chaos gremlin.”

He stepped into the barn slowly, boots crunching against straw. The dogs perked up but didn’t move. They simply blinked at him like you try getting him out of there.

Taki stirred at the sound, and when his eyes opened, he smiled like the sun was behind Maki’s head.

“Hey cowboy,” he rasped. “You found me again.”

“Again?” Maki repeated, kneeling down beside him. “You say that like it’s a game. ”

Taki nuzzled deeper into Lady Moo’s side. “I didn’t like being in bed. It was too quiet. But Moo Moo’s nice. She makes the world feel slow.”

“She also weighs more than a pickup truck,” Maki muttered.

Taki didn’t respond. He just hummed happily, shifting closer to the cow’s flank, one hand gently stroking her coarse fur.

Maki tried again. “C’mon, fever boy. You need to be inside. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

“Nooooo,” Taki moaned. “Lady Mooooooo…”

Maki blinked. Then let out a soft laugh he didn’t mean to let slip.

“Well, Lady Moo will still be here tomorrow,” he said gently, reaching out. “But if you melt into a puddle, I’m gonna have to mop you up, and that’s a lot of work.”

Taki squinted at him. “You’d mop me up?”

“With bleach,” Maki deadpanned.

Taki giggled — actually giggled — then reached for him, letting Maki pull him up slowly into his arms. The dogs stood too, following as Maki carried Taki back through the grass, whispering low under his breath about chaos and cows and how one person could have this much effect on everyone after only a few weeks.

Back in the house, K was pacing.

The moment the door creaked open, every head turned.

“I got him,” Maki said, stepping inside. “He was cuddling the livestock. Again.”

No one even looked surprised.

Yuma sighed. “Next time, just chain him to the couch.”

“Next time,” Maki echoed, still holding him close, “someone else can brave the Moo.”

Taki, already dozing off against his chest, whispered, “Maki’s my favorite friend.”

And Maki just smiled.

Because the feeling was mutual.

The fever had broken by evening, but Taki was still warm and slow-moving, cheeks flushed pink like overripe peaches. His curls were fluffy from a shower, he wore socks that didn’t match, and his favorite sweater — the one too big even by K’s standards — swallowed him whole.

“You look like you’re about to hibernate,” K said, poking at the blanket pile Taki was building on the couch.

“Good,” Taki muttered. “I’m a fevered bear.”

“You’re a soggy raccoon at best,” Nicholas said, walking past with three mugs of tea.

“Hey,” EJ scolded gently, “don’t insult raccoons. They’re intelligent.”

Nicholas blinked at him, then smirked. “So you’re saying Taki isn’t ?”

“Excuse me,” Taki said, head popping out from his blanket fort like a furious kitten. “I’m brilliant. I just lack coordination and common sense.”

Everyone ignored him.

Fuma set a tray on the table. “Honey tea. From the market. You know—your honey.”

“My what? ”

“Your honey,” Fuma repeated. “You bought it. It’s yours. You’re our honey guy now.”

Taki blinked. “I have a title? ”

“Only if you wear a badge,” Yuma muttered, settling beside him.

“Can we watch something?” Taki asked, already halfway curled into K’s side. “Like… something with talking animals?”

Silence.

“You mean like a cartoon?” Maki asked slowly.

Taki sat up, scandalized. “You’ve never seen Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron ?”

Everyone just blinked at him.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!” he gasped. “You’re a ranch full of horse boys and you’ve never watched THE horse boy movie?!”

Maki made a face. “Is that the one with the horse that doesn’t talk?”

“He talks with his heart, you ignorant cowboy,” Taki snapped, scrambling for the remote. “We’re fixing this. You’re all uncultured.”

“Is this part of your fever delusion?” Yuma asked.

“No,” Bear said from the armchair. “This is just Taki.”

The movie began as pizza boxes and mugs shuffled around. Someone handed Taki another blanket. Someone else tucked the dogs at his feet. He grinned through all of it — the warmth, the noise, the family.

About halfway through, just as the first emotional montage hit, Taki sighed dramatically.

“He is so fine,” he declared.

“He has a type.” K muttered.

Maki, without missing a beat, turned and said, “So you do like men who look good riding horses, huh?”

Taki didn’t even blink. He grabbed a fistful of popcorn and threw it at him.

“It’s the jawline and the flowing hair, obviously.”

“I’ll grow my hair out.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

Laughter bubbled across the room.

Then Fuma, mouth full of pizza, added, “Wait, this guy is the villain? What the hell. He has the eyebrows of a tortured poet. How you gonna villain him?”

“Life is pain,” EJ said serenely.

“Okay, emo Freud, calm down.” deadpanned Fuma.

Taki giggled so hard he nearly dropped his tea.

Eventually, the movie wore on. Blankets shifted. Bodies relaxed. One by one, heads dropped against shoulders.

By the time the credits rolled, Taki was curled into a puddle of sweaters and dogs again — this time with his head in K’s lap, Splinter by his feet, and Maki sitting nearby with one hand gently carding through his curls like it was second nature.

“Best movie night ever,” Taki whispered sleepily.

“You say that every movie night,” Nicholas replied.

“Doesn’t make it less true.”

And no one argued.

Because honestly?

It was .

Chapter Text

The morning was supposed to be calm.

Taki had just finished his tea and was arguing with Yuma about whether organizing the pantry alphabetically was “deranged” (Yuma’s words) or “efficient and sexy” (Taki’s).

Then they heard it — shouting .

Not the usual kind — not teasing or banter or someone yelling about Fuma being shirtless again. This was sharp. Loud. Urgent.

Taki and Yuma froze.

Another yell, closer this time, followed by what sounded like thundering hooves.

And then chaos.

Taki dropped his cup and ran.

By the time he made it outside, half the boys were already sprinting across the field. K was shouting orders. Bear had grabbed rope. A few of the dogs were barking wildly but staying at a distance.

And in the center of it all—

A horse.

Wild-eyed, chest heaving, muscles trembling like coiled springs.

He bucked against the reins, hooves carving at the dirt like a rodeo bull, not a ranch horse. He was soaked in sweat, whites of his eyes showing, nostrils flared as if the air itself was hurting him.

“Watch it!” Nicholas shouted as Maki ducked under a rope. He had a lasso in one hand and panic in his eyes. “He’s gonna bolt again—!”

“What’s going on?” Taki shouted, wide-eyed, heart pounding.

Yuma reached him, panting. “New horse. From one of the smaller ranches. Said he just needed discipline. Bullshit. He’s scared out of his mind.”

“He’s terrified, ” Taki said quietly, eyes locked on the animal.

It hit him like a punch. That frantic, cornered energy—like the world had proven too loud, too fast, too cruel, and all you could do was survive it. He knew that feeling. Knew it in the marrow. And suddenly, he wasn’t looking at a horse anymore—he was looking at the echo of his own panic from another life. The one where everything good came with strings, and quiet was just the moment before the next explosion.

The horse thrashed again, slamming into the gate post, and a sickening thunk followed. A red mark bloomed along his shoulder.

Taki took a step forward.

“ Don’t! ” K snapped, grabbing his arm. “He’s not safe. You stay back, Taki.”

But Taki didn’t answer.

He was watching the horse — really watching him — the frantic, glassy movements, the twitching ears, the jerky head. Not anger. Not violence.

Panic.

Deep, helpless panic.

Just like his own.

Just like—

He took another step forward.

K held him tighter. “Don’t.”

Taki looked up at his brother. “He’s not dangerous. He’s scared.”

And in his mind, something shifted.

Because he recognized it.

The shaking eyes. The flinching when someone moved too fast. The bracing-for-impact kind of stillness.

This horse had been hurt.

Badly.

And no one had listened.

Until now.

The first time Taki came back to the fence, no one noticed.

He didn’t make a big deal of it. Didn’t bring it up at dinner or ask for permission or even tell K where he was going. He just wandered out after lunch, hoodie sleeves pushed over his hands, half a slice of apple in one pocket.

The horse was alone again.

Not penned, exactly — just in the outer arena, separated from the others. Isolated. He moved like a live wire, like his own skin bothered him. Every time the wind picked up or a bird passed too fast overhead, he flinched. Ears twitching, tail swishing, hooves restless.

Taki didn’t get too close.

He just sat outside the arena fence, cross-legged in the dirt, picking at the wood grain with his thumbnail.

After a few minutes, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the apple slice. He didn’t say anything — just leaned forward, arm under the lowest rail, and slid the fruit onto the dirt a few feet in.

Then he sat back and waited.

The horse didn’t come.

Didn’t even sniff at it.

He just paced, long and sharp, like his muscles had been set too tight for too long.

That was okay.

Taki didn’t need him to come.

He just wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.

—

He came back the next day.

Then the day after that.

Sometimes he brought apple slices. Sometimes it was a carrot he’d swiped from the kitchen or a bit of dry hay wrapped in cloth like an offering.

The horse didn’t accept them. Not yet.

But he didn’t bolt either.

And that felt like something.

—

On the fourth day, Nicholas passed by while Taki was sitting in the same spot, legs stretched out, humming some off-key song under his breath.

“You know that one’s not friendly, right?” he said, tossing a length of rope over his shoulder.

“I’m not trying to be friends,” Taki said. “I’m just watching him.”

Nicholas gave him a long look, then nodded once and kept walking.

Taki stayed there until the sun dipped behind the trees and the horse finally, finally, came close enough to sniff at the apple slice before walking away.

—

On the fifth day, Fuma muttered something about “death wish” when he saw Taki sitting there again, this time in the rain. It was light, a drizzle more than anything. Taki had a jacket and an umbrella, and Splinter curled at his side like a judgmental old man.

Still, no one told him to stop.

Even when the horse lunged once and kicked at the fence for no reason. Even when the food was ignored.

Even when nothing changed.

Because something was changing.

Just very, very quietly.

It was late afternoon, the kind where everything looked washed in amber and tired from the sun. The sky had turned soft and windless, and the only sound was the slow rhythmic click of Taki’s pen tapping against his clipboard.

He was sitting cross-legged just outside the arena fence, spreadsheets spread in front of him, half-focused on his calculations, half-focused on the movement just beyond the rails.

The horse was closer today.

Not close enough to touch. Not close enough to trust. But closer.

He stood in the center of the arena, ears forward, head low, one foreleg bent just slightly — not out of tension, but something like hesitation. Like he wanted to step forward but didn’t quite remember how.

Taki didn’t look at him directly.

He just kept writing.

Humming, low and easy, the same tune as before. Not even a song really, just something that felt like the sound of calm.

The horse inched forward a few steps. Flicked his tail. Lowered his head to sniff the air.

Taki reached for an apple slice, slid it under the fence like it was no big deal, and returned to his math. “You ever think maybe they should’ve taught ranch budgeting in high school?” he asked softly, not expecting an answer. “I would’ve gotten straight A’s.”

The horse stepped forward again.

Then stopped.

Then backed away.

Taki didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Just nodded slightly and kept writing.

Behind him, boots crunched over the gravel path.

He knew the sound before he turned — Maki walked like the earth answered to him.

“You’ve been out here a lot,” Maki said, coming to stand at the fence. He didn’t look down. He was watching the horse.

“Yeah.” Taki flipped a page. “It’s peaceful.”

“He’s still dangerous.”

The horse pawed at the dirt like he’d heard them.

Taki closed his folder gently and rested his chin on his arms, folding them over the top rail.

“Only to himself,” he said. “So was I.”

Maki blinked.

Taki didn’t look at him — didn’t need to. His voice was quiet but certain.

“He doesn’t know who or how to trust,” Taki said. “And every time he wants to take a step forward, he hears a voice in his head reminding him what happened the last time he did.”

Taki didn’t say the rest aloud. That some part of him still lived there—tensed, waiting, always halfway to flinching. That he saw the horse not just as a reflection, but as a mirror left out in the open, showing him the parts he usually kept buried. The cracked trust. The slow steps forward. The aching hope that this time, maybe, no one would hurt him for being soft. He watched the horse shift, uncertain and alert, and felt it deep in his chest—like recognition. Like looking at the version of himself he’d never quite been able to comfort.

The wind stirred.

Maki let out a slow breath, and when he finally looked at Taki, something in his expression had changed. Like a puzzle piece that finally understood where it fit.

“You’re not still like that,” Maki said after a moment.

“Not quite,” Taki agreed. “But I still remember.”

They stood like that for a while — both of them quiet, both watching the horse, who had returned to the center of the arena, but wasn’t pacing anymore.

Just standing.

Still.

Present.

“You should name him,” Maki said, after a while.

Taki glanced up. “What?”

“You’re clearly adopting him,” Maki smirked. “Might as well make it official.”

Taki grinned slowly, warmth blooming behind his ribs. “Not yet. He hasn’t told me who he is.”

The office was quiet except for the occasional scratch of pen against paper and the soft click of Taki’s mouse.

He was fully tucked into the big leather chair behind Bear’s desk, feet pulled up under him, hoodie sleeves pushed over his hands like gloves. The screen was filled with tab after tab of open articles — all about equine behavior, trauma responses in horses, body language, rehabilitation.

A legal pad sat beside the keyboard, filled with notes in Taki’s slanted, messy handwriting:

• fight vs flight vs freeze
• ears = language
• aggression ≠ danger
• approach, retreat, rest
• zoomies?

He was humming softly under his breath as he scribbled, completely unaware of the door creaking open behind him.

“Kid,” came Bear’s voice.

Taki jolted so hard he nearly dropped the pen. “Holy shit, you scared me—!”

Bear raised a brow. “This is my office.”

“Yeah, well,” Taki said, breathless and flustered, “I was just—there were papers, and you left the door open, and I got curious—”

Bear stepped in, moving toward the shelf beside the desk. “You been in here long?”

“Uh. Since breakfast,” Taki admitted. “I brought snacks.”

He gestured toward an empty plate that used to hold a muffin.

Bear gave it a glance, then turned back to the filing cabinet. “What’re you reading?”

“Horses,” Taki said instantly, scooting up straighter. “Well, more like behavior psychology. But, like, horse edition. Did you know that when a horse pins its ears back, it’s not always about aggression? Sometimes it’s just uncertainty or being overstimulated. Also! Their nostrils flare differently depending on whether it’s fear or excitement—”

Bear slowly turned toward him.

Taki blinked at his dad’s blank expression.

“What?” he asked.

Bear squinted at him. “Taki.”

“Yeah?”

“I literally own a ranch.”

Taki flushed. “I know that—”

“You think I’ve been running this place for years without noticing how ears work?”

“I just thought—” Taki tried, already talking with his hands, “—that maybe I could bring, like, a science angle? Help figure him out from a different lens? I mean, no offense, but your methods are like, ‘kick it till it stops being feral,’ and mine are more… gentle neuroscience?”

Bear stared at him.

Taki wilted a little. “I just want to help him,” he mumbled.

A beat passed.

Then Bear stepped forward and ruffled his hair, rough and warm. “I know you do.”

Taki blinked.

“You’ve got your own way,” Bear said gruffly. “Don’t mean it’s wrong. Just different.”

Taki’s throat felt tight. “You’re not mad I’m… researching?”

“I’m proud you care,” Bear said simply. “Just don’t go trying to out-cowboy me with Google.”

Taki grinned. “Too late. I’m starting a ranch blog.”

Bear grunted. “Don’t you dare.”

He grabbed the papers he came in for and started toward the door. But before he left, he paused, looking back.

“He’s starting to stand straighter when you’re nearby,” Bear said. “You notice that?”

Taki blinked. “...No.”

“You will.” And then he was gone.

Taki sat there, stunned and warm and a little emotional, then turned back to the screen and whispered, “Okay. Today’s lesson: how to rebuild trust with a prey animal using vocal tone and snack-based diplomacy.”

He leaned back in the chair, letting the page go blurry for a second. He wasn’t just reading for the horse anymore. He was reading for the version of himself that had never gotten this chance—to be approached gently, to be given space instead of expectations, to be offered kindness without cost. Maybe if he could get it right for the horse, it would mean something. It would mean something for that 14 year old boy that forgot how to smile, that boy that begged for someone to see him and not just his circumstances. Maybe it would rewrite the part of his story that still stung.

Fury still scared the hell out of him.

Taki wasn’t proud of it — he was surrounded by literal cowboys every day now — but something about Fury’s sleek black coat, his constant pacing, and his name (seriously, Fury ?) made Taki’s pulse spike whenever he saw him.

Still, he had a plan. Or, at least, an idea. And the first step involved facing a slightly less feral horse than the one he was trying to connect with across the arena fence.

He walked toward the paddock slowly, dragging a folded-up spreadsheet in one hand and muttering to himself like it was a prayer.

“Okay. Friendly horse time. Exposure therapy. If I can survive Fury, I can survive anything.”

Fury was tethered outside the stable, brushing his hoof along the dirt, nostrils flaring.

Taki hesitated ten feet away, then cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said. “You don’t know me super well, but I’m the house health hazard. You might’ve seen me trip over a rake last week. Twice.”

Fury flicked an ear in his direction.

Taki took that as a win.

“I just thought I should start interacting with, you know, less feral horses before I try to win over the feral horse. Build up my courage. Horse-fluency. Whatever.”

Fury didn’t respond. Just stared at him with that intense, slightly judgmental horse expression.

“I don’t hate you,” Taki offered. “But you do look like a villain in an animated movie. And your name doesn’t help. Like. ‘Fury’? Really? That’s a war horse name. You were doomed to intimidate me.”

Fury snorted.

“Okay, rude. I’m trying to bond. ”

He took a small step forward — just one. Fury lowered her head slightly, still watching.

Taki raised a hand, halfway between a wave and a peace offering. “If you could not bite me, that would be great. Not saying you would, just, you know. Mutual trust. Like coworkers.”

Then he heard the crunch of boots behind him.

Taki turned his head and immediately bumped into a chest.

Specifically, Maki’s chest.

Taki jolted. “Oh my god.”

Maki smiled down at him, amused. “You were doing great. Don’t back up now.”

“I wasn’t backing up, I was—”

“You were absolutely backing up.”

Taki flushed, eyes flicking away. “Well. She’s big.”

“So are you,” Maki said. “In personality.”

Taki squinted at him.

Maki just stepped behind him, hands resting lightly on Taki’s waist. “Here,” he said, voice low, “just reach your hand out. Slow. I’ll guide you.”

Taki went still, the warmth of Maki’s palms through his hoodie making his brain glitch. He barely registered that Maki had taken his arm gently, lifting it and directing his hand toward Fury’s shoulder.

They both moved slow — so slow Taki thought he might pass out from tension — until his palm landed against warm, sleek fur.

Fury didn’t flinch.

Taki exhaled. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. I’m touching her. I am not dead.”

Maki chuckled behind him.

“I can’t believe you’re more scared of her than of that feral one,” Maki said, head tilted toward the white-and-brown horse across the field.

Taki pulled his hand back, mildly offended. “Hey. He’s not feral. He’s just… rowdy. Scared. Misunderstood. I’m sure he’ll be the sweetest boy once he’s comfortable around us.”

Maki leaned closer. His mouth brushed the edge of Taki’s ear, voice low and smug. “Like you?”

Taki turned so fast he nearly headbutted Fury.

“ Excuse me? ” he squeaked.

Maki raised both hands in surrender. “Nothing. Just saying. Some of us have a type.”

Taki opened his mouth to argue, but his brain short-circuited at the word type and refused to reboot.

He turned on his heel and stormed off, muttering under his breath.

Maki called after him, “You were great, by the way!”

Taki flipped him off over his shoulder.

Fury snorted again.

Maki grinned. “Don’t judge me. He started it.”

It was late again. The sun was just starting to melt behind the hills, throwing long gold shadows across the arena. The air smelled like hay and dirt and safety.

Taki sat in the usual spot.

He didn’t bring the clipboard today. No spreadsheets. No apple slices.

Just a soft fleece blanket under him, a slice of peach tucked into his pocket, and a promise to himself that he wouldn’t push.

The horse was already watching him.

Closer than ever.

No pacing. Just watching — ears flicking, eyes steady. There was still that twitch in his back leg, the cautious weight-shift like he was ready to run if something went wrong. But he hadn’t run yet.

And Taki had learned that not-running was progress too.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just sat. Let the moment breathe.

Then slowly, he reached into his hoodie and pulled out the slice of peach. Small. Soft. Ripe. He set it gently in the grass, just past the rail.

The horse flinched at the movement.

Taki didn’t move.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice calm and low. “I flinched too.”

The horse didn’t respond. But he didn’t back away.

“I used to flinch when someone raised their voice. Or stood too close. Or laughed too loud near me.” Taki smiled, small and sad. “K used to put a hand on my shoulder and I’d jump like he burned me.”

The horse took a single step forward.

“I didn’t trust softness at first. Or space. Or silence.”

Another step.

Taki stayed completely still.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered. “It doesn’t feel like it yet, I know. But you are.”

The horse lowered his head.

Sniffed at the peach.

Taki didn’t breathe.

Then — gently — the horse took the slice.

And chewed.

Taki exhaled, chest shaking with the force of holding that in.

“See?” he said, voice shaking slightly. “Not so bad.”

The horse looked at him.

For a moment, it was just the two of them. The wind, the dirt, the quiet.

And then — slowly, cautiously — the horse stepped closer. Close enough that Taki could reach out.

So he did.

One hand, open, palm up. His fingers didn’t tremble this time.

The horse sniffed. Hesitated.

Then nudged his nose into Taki’s palm.

Taki closed his eyes, overwhelmed.

His hand moved slowly, gently brushing over the horse’s cheek. The skin twitched under his touch, but the horse didn’t pull away.

“You’re doing amazing,” Taki whispered. “This place does that. It doesn’t feel like it at first, but it’s built for healing. For beings like us.”

He let his hand rest there. The contact was small, but real.

“You’ll flourish here,” he said. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

And for the first time — the horse stayed.

Taki stayed long after the horse wandered away though, eyes still on the rail. The touch had been brief, but it felt like something permanent had shifted. Not just in the horse—but in him. Like the silence had said: I see you. Like the stillness had whispered: You are not too broken to be met with patience. Like the universe was telling him he was worthy of being loved.

And maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to believe it.

Chapter Text

Taki was already elbow-deep in curry paste when Harua practically danced into the classroom, dropping his tote bag with a dramatic sigh.

“I swear to the moon and back,” Harua whispered, sliding onto the stool beside Taki. “If I fail this class because of ginger paste, it will be the most humiliating scandal in culinary history.”

“You’re not even five minutes late,” Taki said, not looking up from the bowl. “And you haven’t done anything that counts as cooking yet.”

Harua pouted. “Emotionally, I’ve cooked.”

Taki snorted. “Emotionally, you’ve screamed into your cutting board twice and almost cried over soup.”

“Exactly,” Harua said, grabbing an apron and tying it around his waist with flair. “Growth.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, the kind of quiet that only lasted as long as Harua could go without digging into someone else's business.

“So,” Harua said casually, reaching for the spice jar Taki had just used, “how’ve you been? You look a little less like a scared baby deer this week. Storm trauma healed?”

Taki huffed a laugh. “Getting there. It wasn’t that bad.”

Harua raised a brow. “Didn’t your friend Maki literally carry you out of a barn during a thunderstorm?”

“He didn’t … He just… helped.”

“Mmhmm. Helped,” Harua echoed, lips twitching.

Taki narrowed his eyes at the cutting board. “Friends help friends. That’s not romantic. That’s just being nice.”

Harua propped his chin in his hand, watching him like a scientist observing a very amusing experiment. “So your very attractive cowboy friend rode off in the middle of a storm, found you in a barn, and swept you into his arms because… friendship?”

Taki turned bright red. “Yes. He’s my friend. My helpful, rugged, questionably dramatic friend.”

Harua grinned. “If I ever collapse under a stack of hay, Jo better move that fast or I’m filing a complaint.”

Taki tried not to smile, failed, and turned back to his meatballs.

They worked in companionable silence for a few beats — if you could call Harua occasionally humming Taylor Swift and dramatically sighing every time he got meat under his nails “silence.”

Then Harua leaned closer and said, “You seem happier. Like, lighter.”

Taki blinked. “Do I?”

“Yeah. Like you’ve been sleeping more. Or smiling without realizing it.” Harua nudged his shoulder. “I’m a vibes expert. I know these things.”

“I guess…” Taki said, biting his lip, “the ranch is starting to feel like home.”

That earned him a soft smile from Harua — the kind that didn’t need teasing or glitter, just quiet understanding.

Before either could say anything else, the instructor clapped her hands. “Everyone, finish your shaping and prep. You should have meatballs ready for the pan in five.”

Taki muttered, “I swear if mine fall apart—”

“They won’t,” Harua said, nudging one into place. “They have the power of domestic longing.”

Taki stared. “What does that even mean?”

“Nothing,” Harua whispered, smug. “But you can’t unhear it.”

After class, Harua stretched like he’d just finished an Olympic triathlon and slung his tote bag over his shoulder like it personally owed him money.

“Okay,” he declared. “Now that you’re officially my emotional support bestie, you’re coming with me.”

Taki blinked. “Where?”

“Town,” Harua said, like it was obvious. “There’s a café I love, and then I’m showing you the vintage store that raised me. It’s time to corrupt you properly.”

Taki, cheeks still faintly pink from laughter over their cheesecake disaster, blinked at him. “What if I had plans?”

Harua narrowed his eyes. “Do you?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Let’s go.”

—

The café was all rustic wood beams and mismatched mugs. A tiny bell chimed as they walked in, and Taki’s eyes darted to the chalkboard menu, immediately overwhelmed by options with names like “Sunset Fog” and “The Beekeeper’s Kiss.”

Harua was already halfway through ordering something with oat milk and cardamom.

“What do I get?” Taki whispered. “I don’t speak…hipster.”

“Close your eyes,” Harua said, spinning him by the shoulders toward the barista. “Point at something. Trust fate.”

Taki did exactly that.

Fate chose a sparkling hibiscus lime spritzer with edible flowers. Taki spent the first three sips giggling every time the petals touched his lip.

“I feel like a fancy frog,” he whispered. “Like, if a frog owned a bakery and wore a little vest.”

Harua choked on his drink. “What the hell goes on in your brain?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Taki said, proudly sipping again. “Just static and this beverage.”

—

After the café, Harua dragged him down three side streets and into a vintage shop that smelled like incense and denim.

Cowboy boots lined the back wall. Every flannel known to mankind was color-coded on hangers. A man with three nose rings and a crochet poncho nodded at them from behind the counter.

Taki stared, wide-eyed. “Is this…heaven?”

“No,” Harua said solemnly. “It’s better. It’s queer-coded bargain bin heaven.”

He grabbed a denim jacket with a rainbow embroidered inside the collar and flung it at Taki. “Try it on.”

Taki disappeared into the changing curtain, only to return wearing that same jacket and an offensively fringed cowboy hat. He struck a pose.

Harua shrieked. “You look like a rhinestone saloon owner who commits tax fraud.”

“Do I look like I charge five bucks for apple pie and judgment?” Taki asked, grinning.

“You look like you seduce tourists and then rob them blind.”

“Perfect,” Taki said, spinning in the mirror.

They collapsed onto a faded loveseat by the dressing room, wheezing with laughter. Harua clutched his chest.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in forever,” he said.

Taki just smiled at his reflection in the mirror — still goofy in the hat, but seeing something in himself he hadn’t recognized before.

Not just a boy trying to adjust.

But a boy…belonging.

Town didn’t feel like the place that judged his clothes, or whispered about the ranch. Not today.

Today, it felt like his.

—

They strolled toward the bookstore just as the sun began to dip, casting long golden shadows across the sidewalk. Taki still had half his sparkly drink from earlier, and Harua was mid-rant about how Jo had gotten caught wearing mismatched socks to a city council meeting.

“I’m telling you, he swore they were navy. One was purple. Purple , Taki. He walked into a whole room full of bureaucrats looking like a bisexual warning flag.”

Taki giggled so hard he nearly tripped over the curb.

The bookstore smelled like old paper, wood polish, and magic. Taki froze in the entryway, eyes wide as he took in the creaky floorboards, overflowing shelves, and sleepy cat curled on the window seat.

Harua made a beeline for the poetry corner, but Taki gravitated toward the nonfiction section. After a few minutes of soft page-turning and internal debates, he picked out a secondhand book on horse behavior, flipping through pages with wide-eyed interest.

“You really are going cowboy,” Harua said, peering over his shoulder.

Taki shrugged, a little bashful. “There’s this one horse back at the ranch… he’s like me. Or how I used to be. Scared, skittish. But maybe I can help.”

Harua softened. “You’re a cinnamon roll with trauma. You know that, right?”

Taki laughed. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yep.”

They bought the book and stepped back onto the street. Harua checked his phone, then lit up. “Makeup stop!”

“Wait, what?”

Ten minutes later, Taki was standing beside Harua in a tiny boutique bursting with glitter, gloss, and unapologetic flair.

“I don’t think eye stuff is my thing,” Taki murmured as Harua held up a shimmery palette to his cheekbones.

“Valid,” Harua nodded, reaching for something else. “How about lip gloss? That’s universal. And you,” he added, twisting a tube open, “have great lips. This’ll make them look all shiny and soft, like you’re in a K-drama waiting to be kissed in the rain. Or a hayloft.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Taki flushed. “That’s very specific.”

Harua grinned and gently dabbed the gloss on him. Taki smacked his lips once, paused… and then started giggling.

“It’s so sticky, ” he said.

“Sticky but powerful. Like emotional attachment.”

“You’re so weird.”

“ You’re the one drinking flower juice and reading about traumatized horses.”

“Fair.”

They paid for the gloss — Harua insisted it was Taki’s “emergency flirt tool” — and walked a bit more through town, past old buildings and dusty side streets. Taki noticed for the first time that the town didn’t feel hostile today. People smiled at them. A kid waved. The lady from the café gave them a thumbs-up from inside.

He didn’t feel like an outsider anymore.

⚠️ ⚠️

Taki waved dramatically at Harua as he disappeared into the city hall building with Jo in tow, still mid-story about how he’d once mistaken paprika for cinnamon and ruined an entire cake. They were laughing, flushed with sun and sugar and the buzz of town energy.

It was one of the best days Taki had ever had. No exaggeration. No asterisk.

He wasn’t quite ready to go back to the ranch just yet. So he wandered. Past the café. Past the bookstore again. Through a street he didn’t remember walking before.

That’s when he saw it — in the dusty window of a little gift shop tucked between a hardware store and a tailor’s. A small black horse keychain, stitched leather and simple, with little silver eyes. It looked like Fury.

He blinked at it for a second, then smiled, stepping inside.

The bell above the door jingled as he walked into the narrow store. Shelves were cluttered with postcards, little ceramic owls, miniature oil paintings, handmade soap, jars of candy. Taki beelined for the keychain, set it gently on the counter, and gave a tiny wave to the older man sitting behind it.

“Just this for now,” he said brightly, voice soft.

The man gave him a long look. Didn’t respond.

Taki blinked, then turned to look at the soaps nearby while he debated whether he should pick up something for Ej too. Maybe that coffee-scented one…

“You new around here?” the man said suddenly.

Taki looked up. “Hm? Oh. Yeah—well, sort of. I live on the ranch outside town now. Kaito’s my dad.”

There was a pause. The man’s eyes narrowed.

Taki felt it before he understood it — that slow, invisible shift in the air.

He reached toward the display shelf. Before he could touch anything, the man’s voice rang out, louder this time.

“Hey.”

Taki froze.

“You planning to pay for that? Or are you just pocketing things when you think I’m not looking?”

The words didn’t register for a full second.

“…What?”

“You heard me,” the man snapped. “Don’t play innocent. That horse keychain was just a distraction, wasn’t it?”

Taki’s mouth opened and closed. “I—I didn’t take anything. I swear. I haven’t even—” He lifted his arms like he expected someone to search him. “You can check—”

“You people always have excuses,” the man muttered. “This is what happens when you let criminals run wild out of that damn ranch.”

Taki’s heart thudded once, loud and confused. His face flushed.

“I’m not a criminal,” he said quietly. “I haven’t done anything.”

“I’m calling the police,” the man announced, already reaching for the phone.

“Wait, please—” Taki stepped back, his voice pitching higher. “Sir, I swear, I didn’t take anything—”

But the man turned his back and spoke into the receiver.

Taki felt his hands shaking. The store spun slightly. He fumbled for his phone, the keys slipping once before he could unlock it.

He didn’t know who to call.

But he knew who would help.

He opened his messages and texted Ej:

i didn’t do anything. he’s calling the cops and said i stole. please. please come. please tell dad. i didn’t do anything.

He hit send. He has his location shared with his dad at all times, he would come, he had to.

Then curled his fists into the hem of his hoodie and took a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay still, stay small, stay silent.

He heard the bell ring again.

And then a voice.

“Well, well, well.”

His stomach dropped.

“Look who we have here,” said Officer Brandt, boots heavy on the wood floor as he stepped inside like he owned the place. “The runt of the ranch. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You people always end up right back where you started.”

Taki’s mouth went dry. He didn’t move.

Brandt smirked. “Caught stealing, huh? Kaito really is slipping.”

Taki didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

And behind his silence, in the pit of his chest, something began to crack.

❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹

The front door slammed open so hard it startled the dogs.

“Bear!” Ej’s voice cut through the afternoon like a whip. “Taki’s in trouble with the police!”

The world stopped.

Within seconds, the ranch emptied. Boots on floorboards, chairs scraping back, a glass clattering to the ground and shattering in the barn. The boys appeared like ghosts out of every hallway and corner, drawn by instinct, by fear. K was already moving toward the door before Bear even got to his feet.

“What happened?” Bear demanded, eyes already dark with something dangerous.

Ej held up his phone. “He texted. Said someone accused him of stealing. The cops were called. He’s scared.”

The silence that followed was thunderous. Fuma swore under his breath. Yuma was already grabbing his jacket. Nicholas’s fists clenched. Maki looked ready to tear through the walls.

Bear’s voice cracked through the chaos, firm and commanding. “No.”

Everyone turned.

“No?” K echoed, jaw tight.

“You’ll only make it worse,” Bear said, pointing at them one by one. “They’re looking for a reason to drag you all back into the system. You know it. You walk in there — angry, wild-eyed — and that’s it. That’s all they need. A headline and a reason.”

“But he’s our—” K started.

“Do you think Brandt will hesitate to escalate this if you show up?” Bear said sharply, his voice louder now, colder. He looked at Nicholas. “Do you want him bringing up your sealed charges again?”

Nicholas looked away, biting down fury.

He turned to Maki next. “You think it’ll help if he sees you there, knowing what you used to run with?”

Maki didn’t respond. His nostrils flared, jaw working like he was chewing rocks.

“I’m going,” Bear said, already grabbing his coat. “Yuma and Ej are coming with me. That’s it.”

“No way—” K began again, but Bear fixed him with a look.

“I need you here, Koga,” he said quietly. “Someone has to hold the house down.”

That silenced him. K gave a stiff nod, eyes stormy.

Yuma was already out the door, Ej on his heels. Bear followed, shouting to someone about the keys as they disappeared toward the truck.

The silence left in their wake was suffocating.

Maki kicked an empty feed trough so hard it cracked against the barn wall. Nicholas slammed the back door. Fuma cursed again and punched the side of the fridge, just once, before muttering a quiet apology to it. K just stood there, frozen, chest heaving like he’d run miles and didn’t know where he’d ended up.

And all of them were thinking the same thing.

He didn’t do anything.

But none of that mattered to the people who already thought they knew what kind of boys they were.

⚠️ ⚠️

The air inside the store had turned electric. Taki stood stiff and pale, fists clenched at his sides, trying not to shake.

“I didn’t steal anything,” he repeated, voice firmer this time. “You can check my pockets.”

Officer Brandt crossed his arms. “We’re going to.”

Taki huffed, flipped his pockets inside out with trembling fingers. A crumpled receipt, a gum wrapper, the lipgloss and a grocery list — that was all. Harua had taken his tupperware by accident, so they couldn’t even accuse him of hiding something there.

The shopkeeper, a thick man with sour eyes and twitchy hands, pointed again. “I—I think I saw him put something down his pants. Swear I did.”

Taki’s eyes widened. “No you didn’t. I didn’t do that. You can’t lie to the police.”

Brandt’s smile twisted. “You have two options. Come with us to the station and we book you for theft—”

“—Or,” another officer interrupted, expression unreadable, “you consent to a strip search right now. If you’ve got nothing to hide, it won’t be a problem.”

Taki recoiled. “What? Absolutely not! There’s no reason for that. You can see there’s nothing in my clothes—”

Brandt took a step closer. “If you’ve got nothing to hide, why are you so jumpy about it, huh?”

Taki’s throat dried. “Because I’m a minor,” he said, voice thinning, “you can’t do that to me. It’s illegal.”

Brandt sneered. “Last I checked, you weren’t too shy about mouthing off, now were you? Must be something to hide if you’re so scared. You ranch boys all bark until someone pulls your leash.”

“I’m not—” Taki backed up, heart tripping over itself. “Please, I didn’t—”

Brandt grabbed his wrist.

It wasn’t rough, not at first. Just firm. Like a warning.

But it was enough .

Taki’s breath snapped in half.

His body went rigid, his legs locking in place like he’d stepped into a trap. His vision narrowed at the edges. The smell of dust and old wood vanished, replaced by something sharp and cold — breath on his neck, a voice too close, fingers digging into skin that wasn’t meant to be touched.

“Let go,” he whispered. Not loud. Not a demand. A please .

Brandt didn’t. His thumb pressed tighter, bruising against bone. “What’s wrong? Nervous now? You weren’t so mouthy five minutes ago—”

“ Let go! ” Taki shouted this time, yanking back hard. The sudden movement threw him off-balance — he stumbled, hit the edge of the candy shelf with a thud, glass jars rattling like dice.

The second officer startled, but didn’t move.

Brandt took a step toward him. “Careful. You keep flailing like that, you’ll give me a reason to put you on the ground.”

Taki shook his head. “I didn’t do anything,” he gasped. His chest was rising too fast, too shallow. “I didn’t take anything. Please. Please don’t—”

He saw it happen.

Brandt’s hand shifted to his belt, hovering near the cuffs.

And Taki froze.

Handcuffs.

He couldn’t breathe. His knees buckled and locked again. His throat seized, soundless, the scream lodged deep behind his ribs. Not again. Not again. He couldn’t be trapped again, restrained, punished for something he hadn’t done. He was good. He was trying . He was trying so hard —

A choked noise tore from his throat. Not a word. Just fear .

And then—

Then the bell above the shop door exploded open.

“Step away from my son.”

The voice hit like a gunshot.

Kaito stood in the doorway, windblown and furious, flanked by Ej and Yuma, who looked ready to tear the place down brick by brick.

Taki’s whole body sagged with relief. “Dad,” he whispered.

Ej rushed forward, wrapping Taki in a hug without hesitation, checking him for injuries without saying a word. “You’re okay, you’re safe.” He whispered.

Brandt stepped back with mock innocence. “Just doing our job, Kaito. This boy’s been accused of theft—”

“By who?” Yuma snapped. “That twitchy rat behind the counter?”

“I have the right to ask questions,” Brandt replied coolly.

“He wanted to strip-search me” Taki’s voice was a whisper, but everyone heard it like he had shouted it”.

“He what? — You what?” Kaito’s voice was murderous. His eyes zeroed on Brandt. “You don’t have the right to strip-search a minor without a warrant or a guardian present,” Kaito growled. “And if you laid one finger on him—”

“He was resisting,” one of the officers said lamely.

“Because you threatened him and you accused him without evidence,” Kaito snapped, taking a step forward.

Ej stood taller behind him. “You want to arrest someone? Start with yourself.”

Taki clung tighter to Ej, eyes wide but brimming with relief. The store had gone quiet. Even the shopkeeper looked like he regretted every decision that had brought him to this moment.

The air shifted.

No one moved.

No one dared to.

Taki was shaking and he barely registered what happened next.

All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. All he could feel was Ej’s arms around him, warm and grounding, but his body still trembled, teeth nearly chattering from the weight of adrenaline that hadn’t burned out yet.

Kaito didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“Brandt,” he said, stepping between Taki and the officer like a wall made of brick and fury. “Strip-searching a seventeen-year-old boy? Without a warrant? Without a guardian? You crossed a line.”

Brandt smirked, but there was a twitch in his jaw. “He looked suspicious.”

“And yet,” Yuma cut in, arms crossed, “you didn’t even bother to ask the shopkeeper to pull the security footage. You just jumped to detain him.”

“That kid is living with a bunch of delinquents—”

“—He’s living with me ,” Kaito snapped, and the weight of it hit like thunder. “You got a problem with my ranch, take it up with me. But you don’t lay hands on my son. Ever.”

Taki blinked fast at that word again — my son — and his throat tightened.

Yuma didn’t budge. “Pull the security tape. Let’s do this the right way. Unless you're afraid of what it's going to show.”

The shopkeeper, who had turned a sickly shade of pale, shifted behind the counter. “I… I didn’t mean to escalate things,” he muttered. “It was just… I didn’t want trouble.”

“Well,” Ej said sharply, still keeping one arm on Taki’s shoulder, “you found it.”

Kaito turned, slow and deliberate. “We’re done here.” Brandt opened his mouth to argue, but Kaito just glared. “Unless you want to explain to the Sheriff why you tried to coerce a strip search on a minor with no legal grounds—”

Brandt stepped back.

Coward.

❤️‍🩹 ❤️‍🩹

Outside, the sky was low and gray, like mother nature had felt his pain. They walked Taki to the truck in silence. The truck door slammed shut. Rain started streaking down the window like tears someone else was crying. Taki didn’t look up.

Yuma pulled out of the parking lot like the road had done something personal to him. Inside, the silence was thick, broken only by the hum of the engine and the scrape of Kaito’s coat as he shifted in his seat.

Taki sat with his arms locked around his stomach, hunched over like he was holding something in. Or holding himself in. His lips moved once — no sound. Then again.

“I didn’t… do anything…” he whispered. “Didn’t even want anything for me. Just the— there was a keychain, it looked like Fury, thought Maki would like it.” He was talking, but it looked like he was mentally somewhere else.

His throat closed up. He shook his head like the words were too loud inside him and too quiet outside.

EJ twisted around in the passenger seat, voice soft but certain. “You don’t have to explain, baby. We know. You don’t owe us anything.”

“He touched me,” Taki murmured. “Grabbed me. Said they’d—if I didn’t go with them—”

“You don’t have to repeat it,” Yuma cut in, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. “They didn’t get to follow through. That’s what matters.”

“But they wanted to,” Taki said, voice cracking. “They looked at me like…” He paused. Swallowed. “They acted like I was dangerous,” he whispered. “Like I already did something. Just because of where I live. Because I’m one of you.”

The air in the truck shifted. The silence wasn’t still — it was charged .

Kaito reached towards him, placed a firm, grounding hand on Taki’s knee.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

Taki lifted his eyes. They were red-rimmed, lost, exhausted.

“You’re mine,” Kaito said. “Not because I earned you. Not because a paper said so. Because I never stopped being your dad.” He leaned in just a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, thunderous growl. “And anyone who lays a finger on you again, who tries to strip you from your dignity… they’ll have to go through me first.”

That broke something open. Not with panic — with release .

Taki let out a sob and crumpled forward. Kaito caught him with strong arms. EJ twisted around again and gently reached back to touch his hair.

“It’s okay to fall apart,” EJ whispered. “That’s what we’re here for. To build you back up.”

Yuma slowed the truck as they turned onto the gravel road home. “They don’t get to define you,” he said. “You hear me? They don’t get that power. You’re not what they believe. You’re what we know .”

Taki nodded into Kaito’s chest. Small, broken movements. A breath. A sound. Something alive inside him still fighting to be held.

“You’re home,” Kaito said again. “And you’re not alone.”

They didn’t even make it halfway up the driveway before the front door slammed open.

Like a ripple in still water, one after another, the boys came pouring out of the house — not running, but moving fast, like something had been pulled tight in their chests and finally snapped.

The truck hadn’t even stopped before K was already at the side door.

Taki barely had time to unbuckle before it swung open and K was pulling him out of the car and into a hug so tight it knocked the breath from his lungs.

“You okay?” K murmured. “Are you hurt? Did they touch you? Tell me who—”

“I’m okay,” Taki whispered, even as his throat tightened. “I’m okay now.”

Nicholas and Fuma were next, standing on either side of him, looking him up and down like they couldn’t quite believe he was standing there. Yuma stepped around the truck to unlock the front door as Bear rounded to the other side and gave a single nod — the kind that said go inside, now, before he broke someone’s jaw.

The second they crossed the threshold, the dogs followed them in like shadows. Taki sat down at the long kitchen table before he even realized he’d moved.

Warm hands set a mug in front of him. Tea. Honey-sweet and still steaming.

Fuma sat next to him. Nicholas across. K wouldn’t stop pacing. Even EJ was still standing behind Taki’s chair, like he couldn’t bring himself to sit down until the room stopped spinning.

Then someone asked.

“What happened?” It might have been Fuma. Or K. Or all of them at once.

And so Bear told them.

He didn’t embellish. He didn’t raise his voice.

But the words alone were enough.

Strip search. Coercion. Power abuse. He’s a minor.

The moment they heard it, the temperature in the room dropped.

K stopped pacing.

Nicholas’s hand curled into a fist on the table.

Fuma said nothing, but his jaw clenched and unclenched like he was biting back something violent.

Maki hadn’t moved since Kaito started talking.

He stood near the door, spine rigid, hands curled into fists at his sides. His jaw worked once. Then again. Like he was chewing on something he couldn’t swallow — rage, maybe. Or helplessness.

And then, without a word, he turned and walked out.

The screen door slammed so hard it echoed down the hall.

No one stopped him.

No one could .

Nobody followed.

“Is he… okay?” Taki asked after a moment, voice small.

“He will be,” K said gently. “He just… needs a minute.”

They all did, really. But the problem with protecting something fragile is that sometimes the fury it sparked had nowhere to go.

Nicholas finally spoke. “They tried to strip search you?” His voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

Taki nodded, his fingers curled around the mug so tight his knuckles were pale. “Said I could go to the station or let them do it right there.”

“They can’t do that,” K said, shaking his head. “They can’t —”

“They almost did.” Taki’s voice cracked. “They would’ve if dad hadn’t come.”

No one said anything for a beat.

Then Fuma, quiet but steady, set his hand on Taki’s shoulder and said, “You’re safe now.”

“I know,” Taki whispered. “It’s just…”

He hesitated.

K crouched beside him again. “What is it?”

“It’s just—he said—he said if I didn’t have anything to hide, I shouldn’t be scared.” Taki’s eyes filled. “But I was scared. So scared. I remembered what I told you about—about the threats. From mom’s boyfriend. I thought…”

Nicholas stood abruptly and walked out of the room, hands shaking.

Kaito closed his eyes for a long second.

Then he sat down beside Taki and wrapped one arm around his shoulder. “Being scared doesn’t mean you did something wrong, Taki. It means you knew better than to trust someone who wanted to hurt you.”

“You did everything right,” Fuma added, voice like granite.

Taki nodded slowly and wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater. He still looked shaken, but surrounded by his pack, his family, he didn’t look alone.

He looked loved and protected.

The house was asleep.

Taki slipped through the front door, blanket draped over his shoulders, the hem whispering against the porch steps. The screen door creaked behind him but no one stirred. The dogs must’ve sensed him—Raphael and Splinter peeled away from their usual sleeping spots and padded quietly after him, their paws barely making a sound as they followed him into the night.

The stars were low and soft tonight, the air thick and still. A whisper of wind swept across the pastures, carrying the scent of hay, earth, and dusk-settled calm. The world held its breath.

Taki crossed the grass with familiar steps now, barefoot and silent, until he reached the fence of the horse arena. The figure was there — he always was — dark and imposing against the silver-stained night. Broad chest heaving. Ears twitching at every sound. His back legs shifting restlessly, never quite still.

Taki climbed onto the lowest fence rung and sat down, pulling the blanket tighter around his narrow frame. The dogs settled by his feet, quiet as shadows.

The horse stilled.

“You and me, huh?” Taki whispered. “We don’t sleep much.”

The horse’s ears flicked toward him.

“You know — what they call you,” he said, voice wobbling. “Dangerous. Aggressive. Unstable.” Taki smiled, watery and sad. “They used to call me all kinds of things, too.”

The horse stepped closer.

“I know what it’s like… to think you’re finally safe and then — bam — the world just kicks you in the ribs again… I experienced it again today.” Taki said. “It’s like… every time you take one step forward, someone drags you ten steps back.”

The horse exhaled sharply, a loud snort.

Taki laughed weakly. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

Another shift, a restless motion from the horse’s shoulders to his haunches. A sound like thunder cracking low in the lungs.

“I used to flinch when people touched me. Every time.” Taki’s throat tightened. “Sometimes I still do. I think it’s because I was always waiting for something bad to follow. A slap, a scream, a silence. Something.”

He reached into the pocket of the blanket and pulled out a piece of apple — soft, sweet, and slightly bruised.

He didn’t stand. He didn’t move closer.

He just placed it on the flat post of the fence, pushed it gently forward with one finger, and leaned back.

“You don’t have to take it. I won’t be mad if you don’t.”

The horse didn’t move. But he didn’t move away either.

So Taki kept talking.

“I don’t think you’re mean,” he whispered. “I think someone hurt you, and you never got to heal. You’re just scared all the time. And that makes people scared of you.”

The dogs lifted their heads.

Slowly, slowly, the horse stepped forward. One pace. Then another.

Taki didn’t breathe.

The animal reached the fence post and, with cautious hesitation, sniffed the apple. His lips brushed the wood. Then he took the piece in his teeth and chewed, slow and deliberate.

Taki’s breath escaped like wind breaking loose.

“That’s all I wanted,” he whispered, eyes wet. “Just to know you weren’t giving up.”

The horse’s large, dark eyes met his — cautious, curious, wild.

And in that moment, something inside Taki cracked wide open.

He pressed his forehead to the fence rail, tears sliding down silently.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered. “Feeling like you’re trying, but no one sees it. That you’re not enough. That they only see the damage, not the effort. But I see you. I swear I do.”

The horse shifted again, closer now. Close enough that his head dipped, slowly — carefully — until his warm, heavy forehead met Taki’s.

Taki’s hands rose, shaking, and cradled the horse’s jaw.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I promise. I’ve been where you are. I understand. We’re gonna figure it out together, okay?”

A pause.

Then, softly, brokenly, Taki laughed between sniffles.

“It’s good we found each other,” he whispered. “We understand each other’s pain, don’t we?”

He looked up at the horse again, and finally — finally — he smiled.

“I think I want to call you Solace.”

A stillness.

The horse gave a soft, low huff, almost like a sigh — and then, startlingly, a gentle neigh , light and brief.

Taki’s eyes went wide. “You… you like that?”

And from behind him, a voice said softly:

“I do.”

Taki turned quickly, heart in his throat.

Maki stood a few feet away, hoodie zipped halfway up, arms folded — but his expression wasn’t mocking or smug.

It was… warm. Barely held together. Eyes a little shiny in the moonlight.

“How long were you standing there?” Taki asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Long enough,” Maki said, walking over and climbing up to sit on the fence beside him. He looked at the horse, then at Taki. “It suits him. You… suit each other.”

Taki’s chest ached, but for once, in a good way.

He turned back toward the horse — toward Solace — and rested his head gently against the warm, strong neck beside him.

“I think we do.”

—

They stayed in silence for a while, Taki pressed gently against Solace’s side, Maki beside him on the fence. The moon hung low, casting everything in silver — the grass, the fence rails, the dark silhouette of Solace flicking his ears against the night.

Eventually, Solace stepped away, soft hooves moving slow and steady as he drifted back toward the center of the arena. He didn’t bolt. Didn’t tense. Just… gave them space.

Taki watched him go with something close to awe.

Then he turned to Maki, voice hesitant but clear. “Why did you leave earlier?”

Maki didn’t answer right away.

He sat there on the fence beside Taki, staring out into the darkness like he was watching for something. Or avoiding something. His hands were on his knees, fingers flexing — tense, twitchy, like they wanted to fight or flee or fix something but didn’t know how.

“I wasn’t in the right headspace to help you,” he said. “You needed gentleness. Calm. Someone steady.” Taki blinked. Maki looked down at his hands, fingers flexing slightly like they didn’t quite know how to be still. “All I had in me was rage,” Maki continued. “And not the useful kind. Not the protective kind. But the kind that burns bridges just to watch them fall. If I had stayed in there, I would’ve made it worse for you.”

Taki was quiet for a long moment.

Then he extended his hand — palm up, open, a quiet offering.

Maki hesitated.

But only for a second. Then he took it.

The connection was simple, warm. Maki stepped down from the fence to stand beside him properly, their hands still linked. The dogs didn’t move. The air didn’t stir.

Solace, a few feet away, paused and watched them with one dark, unreadable eye. Then, as if understanding something deeper than words, he turned his head away — not in rejection, but in acknowledgment — and walked slowly toward the far fence line, leaving the moment behind him.

Taki exhaled.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For thinking of my feelings.”

Maki glanced sideways at him.

“But,” Taki added, voice firming just a little, “you were hurting too. You shouldn’t carry that alone.”

Maki looked away.

Maki gave a humorless exhale, barely a laugh. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry I’m a ticking time bomb. Be right back after I scream into a field’?” Taki didn’t flinch. He just waited. 

Maki’s voice dropped lower, quieter. “It wasn’t just about being angry. It was how easy it was to go into that part of my brain again. How fast I wanted to hurt someone. Not protect. Just… destroy. I know what that version of me looks like, Taki. I’ve been him. I’ve watched people get scared of him.” He hesitated, hands curling slightly at his sides. “I haven’t told you everything about my past. You don’t know that version of me,” he said, eyes still fixed on the ground. “And I don’t want you to.”

Taki was silent for a moment. Then he said, quiet but unwavering, “You don’t have to tell me everything. Not now. Not if it hurts too much. I’ll never ask you to bleed just to prove something. You don’t owe me your past.” Maki blinked, caught off guard — like that wasn’t what he expected to hear. Like it was too gentle, too kind.

But Taki wasn’t done.

“That said…” He hesitated, then stepped just a little closer, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to know. Not just the easy parts. Not just the calm or the quiet or the soft. I want to know all of you. The anger. The hurt. The mistakes. The mess.”

Maki turned to him slowly, his expression unreadable — but his eyes were raw.

“Because none of that scares me,” Taki said. “Not when it’s you. I’ve never felt unsafe around you. Not once. I’ve never felt afraid in your arms. I’ve only ever felt… safe. Like I mattered.”

Maki looked like he’d stopped breathing.

Taki held his gaze. “So when — if — you’re ready to show me the rest, I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

A beat passed. Then Maki asked, voice low and almost shy, “Can I hug you?”

Taki didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He just stepped forward, slipped his arms around Maki’s waist, and buried his face into his chest like he’d been waiting to exhale all day.

Maki inhaled, sharp and full — then let it all go as he folded his arms around Taki, holding him tighter than he meant to. His body eased for the first time in hours, like someone had taken the weight off his shoulders and reminded him how to breathe.

They stood there like that, quiet in the dark, the warmth of the hug slowly soaking into the cold corners they hadn’t even realized were still shaking.

For a moment, there was nothing else — no yelling, no accusations, no threats, no pasts. Just two boys in the moonlight, a horse named Solace nearby, and a truth neither of them was quite ready to name.

But it was there, waiting for them to claim it.

Chapter Text

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Taki didn’t wake to the smell of coffee or the sounds of boots across the porch.
He woke to a gentle knock, followed by the soft creak of his bedroom door and the smell of crispy bacon and toast.

“Taki?” Yuma’s voice was low, careful, like he was stepping into a glass house.

Taki cracked one eye open, squinting against the morning light peeking through the curtains. “Hmm?”

Yuma pushed the door wider, a tray in his hands and a wary softness in his gaze. “Didn’t think you’d want to get up just yet.”

Taki blinked. “You brought me breakfast?”

Yuma gave a one-shouldered shrug, stepping in and setting the tray gently on the edge of the bed. “Kaito cooked. I just carried it.”

Taki smiled sleepily, already sitting up and wrapping his blanket tighter around himself. “That still counts.”

Yuma turned to leave, but before he made it three steps, Taki’s voice stopped him. “Hey.”

Yuma turned.

Taki patted the space beside him on the bed. “Stay. We can share.”

For a beat, Yuma didn’t move. Then he sighed and climbed in, careful not to disturb the tray as he settled beside Taki, cross-legged. They ate in comfortable silence, passing bites back and forth, neither saying much at all. Taki leaned into Yuma’s side as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like this had always been their routine.

After a while, Taki spoke. “Have you ever worn makeup?”

Yuma frowned around his fork. “No?”

Taki hummed. “I went to the makeup store yesterday with Harua. I'm not particularly invested in having a full make-up routine, but…” He paused to pick up a piece of bacon. “I really liked the lip gloss. It’s sticky, but it’s funny and it looks cool.”

Yuma snorted, but not unkindly. “Sounds about right for you.”

Taki chewed thoughtfully. “You should try eyeshadow, or eyeliner? the eye stuff, you have really pretty eyes, you would look really cool and pretty. You’d be like… intimidating but sparkly.” He said it while laying his head on Yuma’s shoulder, like it was just a passing thought, not a genuine offering.

Yuma chuckled, but there was a flicker of something uncertain behind it. “Yeah? You think?”

“Mmhmm,” Taki nodded. “We could learn together, if you want. I don’t know how to do the eye stuff — I’ve got the pulse of a five-year-old with a sugar rush. But we could watch tutorials.”

For a moment, Yuma didn’t answer. Just kept chewing slowly. Then he said, quieter this time, “Maybe.”

They stayed quiet for a while after the food was gone, leaning into each other under the weight of blankets and soft morning light. Taki had drifted into the kind of stillness that always came after too many emotions—too much remembering, too much pretending he was fine.

Yuma watched him for a moment, then asked, “You really okay?”

Taki hesitated. Then nodded, but it was slow, unsure. “I will be. I just… I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”

Yuma hummed.

“It reminded me of the cupboard,” Taki said softly. “And the suitcase. The way I used to freeze up—like if I didn’t move, it couldn’t get worse.” Yuma turned his head slightly. “I hate that feeling,” Taki whispered. “Knowing you’re not safe, and no one’s coming. Or worse… someone is coming. And they’ll make it worse.”

Yuma’s eyes didn’t leave the wall in front of them, but his voice shifted — lower, more careful. “That’s how I felt the day I hurt my dad.”

Taki looked up at him, surprised.

“My dad used to beat me,” he said. “Hard. Often. I still have scars from it. My mom didn’t care. She was too high most of the time, or just glad it wasn’t her. But I could handle it. Thought I could, at least. Until one day he went after my little brother. Hit him so hard he filled his mouth with blood. He was just six.” Yuma said, slowly. “Not the first time he did it. But it was the first time I saw blood on my brother’s face. And I just—”

He paused, like the memory was sharp in his throat.

“I didn’t even think. I kinda blacked out. There was a kitchen knife on the counter, and I grabbed it and stabbed his hand before he could hit him again. Just—straight through the back of it.”

Taki didn’t say anything. He just kept watching him, steady and still.

“There was blood everywhere. He screamed like I’d killed him. But I didn’t feel guilty. I felt… relief. It was his dominant hand and he would never get to use it to inflict pain on someone else again.” Yuma’s fingers flexed. “But it made news, the papers said I was violent, out of control. Dangerous. They didn’t even acknowledge the abuse, or the fact that I had never had a similar outburst before that day.” He paused, inhaling deeply, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Everyone treated me like I was no different than him. Which is what pisses me off the most.”

Taki reached over without a word and wrapped their fingers together.

Yuma’s voice softened. “Bear found me in holding when he was bailing Fuma out for getting into a fight. He asked me one question: ‘Was it for you, or for someone else?’ When I said my brother’s name, he told me that meant it wasn’t rage. It was love. A moment of pure desperation. ”

Taki’s chest pulled tight. “I’m so sorry.”

Yuma shook his head. “I’d do it again if I had to. But I wish I didn’t grow up thinking violence was the only way to be seen.”

Taki leaned his head back on Yuma’s shoulder. “You’re nothing like what they said. You are gentle and patient. And you were just a kid trying to survive, trying to save your little brother.” He closed his eyes, because the image of a young, terrified Yuma wouldn’t get out of his mind now. “I’m so sorry that the people that were supposed to protect you failed you so badly.” 

Yuma smiled gently, “Ditto.”

Taki caressed Yuma’s hand with his, pausing for a while to gather all of his thoughts. “Is your brother okay now?” He saw Yuma’s tiny smile, the one that highlighted his snaggletooth, that’s how you knew it was genuine. 

“Yeah, he got adopted by a couple that couldn’t have children. Bear made sure they were decent people, for my peace of mind I suppose.” Yuma let his head rest on Taki’s and sighed. “They moved to a different city years ago, didn’t want my brother to grow up in this town, everyone here knows about my case, everyone just assumes they know the details.” Something gloomy passed through his eyes. “Apparently, my case was Brandts first ever case.” Taki tensed at the sound of that name. Yuma squeezed his hand, giving his silent support. “He used to be way less cocky, but he still can’t look me in the eye, which is pathetic, cause he’s like, what? — 25 years older than me?” Yuma snorted and lifted his head, looking at Taki. “have you noticed that scar he has in his nose?”

Taki nodded. “Yeah, why?

“I gave him that scar, he was trying to hold me down, put me to the ground so they could handcuff me, so I bit his nose” Yuma’s face was the definition of smug, like that was one of the biggest highlights of his short, young life.

Taki widened his eyes, completely thrown out of balance. “YOU DID WHAT?”

With a shrug of his shoulders Yuma answered like he was telling Taki about the weather. “I bit his nose, got a good chuck out of it too.” He started laughing and Taki could only look at him in bewilderment. “To be honest, I wouldn’t say I’m the most ‘dangerous’ out of all of us, but that moment seemed to traumatize him and now he just avoids speaking directly to me whenever he interacts with us.” He bumped his shoulder with Taki, trying to reassure him. “Your dad is completely aware of it, that’s why he brought me yesterday, he normally gets a lot of entertainment out of it.”

At the mention of that, Taki finally relaxed, he snorted softly first, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Omg, is that why those guys at the pizza place were so afraid of you?” He looked at Yuma with full expectation and excitement in his face.

“Well, I may have suggested I was hungry for more noses once during Halloween, but to be fair, they were harassing us first.” Taki’s mouth was completely opened at this point, he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“You are the coolest person ever.” Yuma smiled softly at him and they stayed silent for a few seconds, then Taki asked, out of curiosity, or maybe out of concern. “Do you get to see your little brother?”.

“Yeah, I drive to see him from time to time, especially during his birthday or important events.” Taki couldn’t help but notice how all the tension seemed to ease from Yuma’s shoulders whenever he was talking about his little brother. “Last year they celebrated Christmas here with us.”

That pulled a soft smile out of Taki. “That sounds awesome”.

“It was. You should come with me next time, I bet you guys would love each other, he is also a little math freak and he has ADHD, which we should definitely see if you have.” Taki narrowed his eyes at Yuma’s giggles and punched his arm.

“Your brother already sounds 10 times cooler than you.” He tried to act indifferent, but eventually a genuine smile made its way to his mouth. “I would love to meet him sometime.”

And for a while, that was enough. Two boys, tangled in warmth, holding pieces of themselves they didn’t know could fit in someone else’s hands so gently.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

The floorboards creaked softly beneath their feet as Taki and Yuma made their way downstairs, the late-morning sunlight pouring into the hallway like syrup. The house was quiet in that moment — the kind of hush that came only after storms, literal or emotional. Taki’s blanket was still draped around his shoulders like a cape, and Yuma’s hair stuck up at strange angles, damp from a rushed shower, collar of his shirt tugged half-on.

They didn’t talk much. After what they'd shared upstairs — pain, memories, quiet laughter over badly buttered toast — the silence felt easy. Restful.

Yuma scratched absently at his jaw, halfway to shrugging on his ranch jacket. “You sure you don’t wanna stay in bed?” he asked, grabbing his work gloves from the hook near the back door.

Taki shook his head. “I need to do something. I thought maybe I’d help out with the ranch books. I’ve been behind on the feed inventory. And...” He paused, fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. “I kinda want to see the horse. Solace.”

Yuma looked up, brows raised. “You named him?”

Taki blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Yeah. Last night.”

“Fitting,” Yuma said simply, sliding his gloves on. “He’s not the kind of horse you name something dumb like Thunderstrike or Shadowblaze.”

Taki huffed a laugh. “You have something against dramatic horse names?”

Yuma smirked as he opened the back door. “Only when they sound like rejected metal bands.” Taki rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll be up at the west fence. Call if you need anything.” Taki offered a small smile as Yuma disappeared out the door.

Taki drifted into the kitchen, bare feet brushing the worn tile. The scent of sun-warmed wood and leftover coffee lingered. He moved on instinct — reached for the bin where they kept the apples, digging around until he found the ones that weren’t bruised. He turned one over in his hand slowly, thumb brushing the yellow-red skin.

It had only been a few hours since he named him, since the silence between them broke. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it — how gently the horse had leaned into him, how warm his breath had felt. How, for the first time in a long time, something had responded to his softness without fear.

He rolled one apple in his hand thoughtfully, then stepped out onto the porch.

Taki didn’t even make it down the last porch step.

The sound of the engine was loud, too fast, and dust kicked up like smoke as one of the ranch trucks barreled down the driveway. His brow furrowed, apple still in hand, blanket slipping from his shoulder.

The tires screeched a little when the truck came to a stop.

Before he could move or ask what was going on, the passenger door flew open and Harua launched out of it like he’d been fired from a cannon.

“TAAAKIIIIII!” Harua shouted at full volume, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprinted toward him. “ARE YOU OKAY?! I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO KILL THEM—”

And then his arms were full.

Taki stumbled back a step, overwhelmed as Harua tackled him into a hug so tight it knocked the wind out of him. He blinked, dazed, registering warm limbs and loud breathing and the smell of whatever ridiculously expensive cologne Harua had smuggled into his backpack.

“I—what—?” he tried, but Harua only hugged tighter.

“You look okay,” Harua rambled near his ear. “But maybe you're in shock. You should’ve called me—no, I should’ve felt it through the air, something was wrong , I knew it— I’m serious, say the word and I’ll key their cars and burn their license plates into ash—”

“Harua,” came Jo’s voice, calm and level, just as his arms wrapped around both of them from behind — hugging them all into a warm, soft, impossible-to-escape ball of safety.

Taki was entirely engulfed . Jo’s jacket was cold from the air outside and Harua was vibrating with rage and protectiveness and dramatic flair. Sandwiched in the middle, Taki just… stood there. Stunned. Safe.

Over Harua’s shoulder, he spotted Ej sliding out of the driver’s side with less chaos but just as much urgency in his step.

And in the distance, near the barn, two familiar heads had poked around the wooden doors — Fuma, brow furrowed, and Nicholas, arms crossed. Their postures said it all: Is Taki okay? Do we need to throw hands?

Taki blinked several times before the hug finally broke. Harua pulled back just enough to cup his face between perfectly manicured hands, checking his eyes, his cheeks, like a mother hen on steroids.

“What are you doing here?” Taki asked, voice quiet and still a bit shaky.

Ej stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I went into town to find them. Figured you might… want a little backup. A distraction. Something to make the day less terrible.”

Taki’s eyes softened, his chest catching. “Thanks,” he whispered.

He turned to Harua and Jo, guilt creeping in around the edges of his relief. “I’m sorry—about all this. I just wanted to—”

“You don’t need to explain,” Harua interrupted, eyes flashing. “Ej told us everything.”

“And Harua made sure to loudly repeat every sentence he said,” Jo added dryly, “while we were standing in the town hall. In front of at least ten people. Including Mrs. Watanabe.”

Taki tilted his head. “Mrs. Watanabe?”

Fuma chose that moment to approach, brushing dust off his hands as he walked up the porch steps. “Editor of the town newspaper. And the biggest gossip on this side of the county.” 

Taki raised his brows. “You don’t say.”

Fuma smirked. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we’re front page tomorrow.” He glanced at Harua and grinned. “Honestly, I’m half-tempted to hire you. That was a pretty tactical bit of social warfare.”

Harua clasped his hands together and batted his lashes innocently. “Oh, I just figured—if they love making up stories about “ the wolves” , might as well give them a good exclusive.”

Jo groaned beside him. “Harua…”

Harua wasn’t finished. He crossed his arms and tossed his curls. “Besides, that rat-faced gas station gremlin who owns the shop has been skimming sales tax receipts for years. Ask anyone. Let’s see how he likes public scrutiny and being treated like a criminal.”

Jo just shook his head, fond but exasperated. “I don’t know how you manage to weaponize public gossip like it’s a blade.”

“I’m very versatile babe,” Harua said, smirking.

Taki couldn’t help it. He laughed. A real laugh, small but bright, and the sound of it seemed to ripple through the porch like a spark of firelight.

Everyone stilled a little. Inhale. Exhale.

Then—

“You’re staying for lunch,” came Bear’s voice from the side of the house.

Jo straightened a bit. “Oh. Hi, sir.”

“Call me Bear,” Kaito said without missing a beat, tugging on his gloves as he passed by.

Harua turned around with a grin. “That’s iconic. Nice to meet you, sir Bear.”

Taki snorted . It turned into a full-body laugh and he doubled over, still holding his apple.

Everyone sighed in quiet relief.

Kaito’s lips twitched into the barest of smiles. “Taki, why don’t you show your friends around before you start with lunch?”

Taki brightened. “Sure! Where’s the golf cart?”

Ej groaned. “I knew I should’ve slashed the tires last time.”

Harua grabbed Taki’s hand like they were going to Disney World, and Jo just sighed as he was pulled along.

—

Everyone slowly peeled off, returning to their own corner of the ranch as Harua, Jo, and Taki made their way down the path that ran beside the house. The chaos of earlier had dissolved into a golden hush, the late morning sun washing everything in calm warmth — like the ranch itself had collectively exhaled. A fresh breeze carried the scent of hay and horses and something faintly sweet — Taki’s apple still cupped in his palm.

Harua leaned in as they walked. “Where are we going, tour guide?”

Taki smiled, tugging them forward. “To see someone important. Just a quick stop before we start for real.”

“Ohhh,” Harua teased. “Is this your secret boyfriend? Hidden in the barn? Scandalous.”

Taki snorted. “Shut up. It’s not a boyfriend, it’s a horse.”

They rounded the small tool shed and approached the quiet stretch of fencing near the open-air arena. The world slowed a little. Solace was there — bright coat glinting where the sun caught him, mane slightly tangled, one ear turned in their direction, the other twitching lazily at a fly. He looked... watchful, but at ease, standing near the far side, not retreating like he might’ve days ago.

Taki slowed his pace, the way someone might slow before greeting a nervous animal. Because that’s exactly what he was doing.

“Hi, Solace,” he said softly, lifting the apple into view. “I brought you a snack.”

The horse didn’t move at first. He blinked, snorted once, and eyed the newcomers with his usual skepticism.

Taki glanced back at Harua and Jo. “He’s not exactly a social butterfly. Maybe take a few steps back?”

They both obeyed with surprising ease, stepping back toward the edge of the path, giving Solace the room he needed.

The distance made the difference. Solace stepped forward, slow but deliberate. No spooked retreat. No flash of teeth. Just cautious steps — and then he was there, right in front of Taki. Big, solid, breathing warm against Taki’s hand.

Taki offered the apple in his open palm, steady, patient. Solace took it gently, lips brushing his skin. The quiet crunch of teeth felt like applause in his chest.

“There you go, my brave boy,” Taki murmured, reaching to stroke the side of Solace’s face. His fingers slid along the dark patch above his jaw, brushing over one of his spots. 

Behind him, Harua let out a soft, awed sound. “You finally named him.”

Taki didn’t stop stroking Solace’s cheek. “Yeah,” he said, the word so full it nearly cracked. “Just last night.”

Jo, dead serious, nodded. “He does look like a Solace.”

Harua turned to him, one eyebrow raised, already halfway to laughing. “Does he now?”

Jo nodded again, slower this time. “It’s the eyes. And the brown spots. Very... solacy.”

Taki broke into a quiet laugh, forehead leaning against Solace’s broad face for just a second. “Solacy,” he repeated, grinning.

Solace flicked an ear.

Jo looked entirely proud of himself.

Taki gave the horse a final chin scratch and stepped back, brushing the dirt from his pants with both hands. “Alright. Let’s go do a proper tour. The barn’s just next door.”

Harua clasped his hands behind his back like he was about to be escorted through a royal estate. “Lead the way, your Majesty.”

Jo shook his head again — but this time, he was smiling too.

—

The barn door creaked as Taki pushed it open, the scent of oil, hay, and sunbaked wood hitting them like a wave. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of light slicing through the upper windows, and somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic thud of hammer on metal echoed with practiced precision.

Taki stepped inside first, arms wide like a magician unveiling a grand trick. “This,” he announced, “is the barn — home to hay, tools, and more importantly, big scary ranch machines that definitely don’t come with manuals.”

Harua giggled immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jo, on the other hand, walked in slowly, eyes wide like he’d stepped into a church.

Taki pointed toward the two figures crouched beside the heavy machinery. “And that,” he said dramatically, “is Fuma — our local shirtless ranch model. You’ve met him before. Unfortunately for the town’s heart rate, he actually owns shirts, he just refuses to wear them.”

Fuma, kneeling beside the tractor with a wrench and entirely unfazed, lifted one hand in greeting without looking up. His shoulder muscles rippled from the movement, glistening slightly from the heat.

Taki turned next, pointing toward the second figure crouched near the harvester. “And that’s Nicholas,” he said with a wicked grin. “Certified best cuddler on the ranch. Has cried at every movie night we’ve ever had. But you’d never know it — because he’s committed to the whole emotionally constipated, mysterious emo cowboy act. Full-time brooder, part-time blacksmith, full-time sap.”

Nicholas, oil-streaked and unbothered, didn’t even lift his head. “I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“You see what I mean?” Taki chirped, delighted. “So emotionally available.”

Nicholas finally looked up, met Taki’s smirking face — and without breaking eye contact, dragged two blackened fingers down Taki’s cheek in one slow, greasy swipe.

“EWW! Nicholas, come on!” Taki cried, staggering back and scrubbing at his face with the hem of his shirt. “I’m giving you a glowing Yelp review here!”

“Serves you right,” Nicholas replied, returning calmly to his work.

While Taki sputtered and Harua laughed so hard he had to hold his knees, Jo had approached the harvester, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“Is this a—” he trailed off, peering at the model number. “—Deutz-Fahr? 7250?”

Nicholas paused. “You know your equipment?”

Jo nodded, brushing his fingers lightly over the machine’s body, reverent. “I was obsessed with farm equipment when I was younger. I used to draw them. Collect little models. But I’ve never gotten to see one up close before.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Nicholas blinked — a slow, curious blink — and handed Jo the cleanest rag from the pile. “Wanna learn how to change a bearing?”

Jo looked like he’d just been handed the Holy Grail.

From behind them, Harua leaned toward Fuma, voice low and mischievous. “If you give my cute, nerdy boyfriend tasks and manage to convince him to do them shirtless, I will build you a shrine. Right in the middle of the town plaza. With flowers and candles and everything.”

Fuma snorted and chucked a wet rag straight at his face. “You’re deranged.”

Harua yelped as it smacked him in the chest, then turned with glee to Taki. “He wants to adopt me so bad, it’s tragic.”

Taki rolled his eyes but smiled. “Come on, let’s show you the upstairs tools before you start encouraging romantic barn crimes.” He led Harua toward the wooden stairs that creaked beneath their steps. They hadn’t made it halfway up when a soft huffing sound drew their attention. A large dog was sprawled out across two steps, paws twitching in his sleep.

“Michelangelo!” Taki whispered fondly, crouching to scratch behind one floppy ear. The dog groaned contentedly.

Harua froze mid-step. “There are dogs? You didn’t tell me there were dogs.”

“There are five,” Taki replied without missing a beat.

“Five,” Harua repeated, eyes huge.

“Donatello, Splinter, Michelangelo here, Leonardo, and Raphael. You’ll meet them all, probably before lunch.”

“I’m not emotionally prepared for this,” Harua whispered, as if this was the greatest news he’d ever received.

Taki just grinned, reaching for his hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the circular saws and then we can go pet cows.”

—

The three of them stumbled out of the barn in a flurry of bickering and greasy laughter, trailing the sound of Harua’s scandalized gasps and Taki’s gleeful snorts. The midday sun was high, the dirt warm underfoot, the ranch humming with a thousand small sounds of life — distant hammering, soft clucks from the chicken coop, the occasional bark or neigh blending into the breeze.

Taki made a beeline for the golf cart parked just outside the barn. “C’mon, time for the rest of the tour,” he declared, hopping into the driver’s seat with the confidence of a man who had absolutely never driven anything in his life.

Jo hesitated beside the cart. “Wait—do you even know how to drive this?”

“Nope,” Taki chirped.

And then he floored the gas.

The golf cart lurched forward so violently Harua let out something between a shriek and a wheeze of laughter, clutching the side of the seat like his life depended on it. Jo braced his foot against the floor and hissed, “We’re going to die .”

“We’re gonna live, ” Taki corrected gleefully, steering with one hand and pointing dramatically with the other. “Anyway! To your left, you’ll see the Chicken Coop of Doom, home to the one and only — The Pecky Blinders .”

Harua wheezed. “You did not name the chickens that.”

“Oh, I did,” Taki said with solemnity. “They are a literal mafia. If you go in there with even a hint of weakness, they will destroy you. I fear no man, but I fear them.”

As the cart rattled past the coop, a single chicken perched on the wooden rail glared at them — the timing so perfect that even Jo looked mildly alarmed.

They bumped down the path toward the stables, where a few horses flicked their tails lazily from the fence line.

“The stables are where the horses sleep, obviously,” Taki said, leaning back with a casual hand wave. “We’ve got space for thirty-five, though right now we’ve only got twenty. Twenty-one if you count Solace.”

Jo looked over. “Is Solace… yours?”

Taki blinked at the question. A soft smile curved on his lips. “I guess he is. Kind of.”

As they rolled past the far corner of the stable, Ej stepped into view, clipboard tucked under his arm.

“Hi!” Taki called.

“Hey yourself!” Ej waved. “If you see Yuma, tell him the new squeeze chutes are in. He’s gotta install them today or K’s gonna explode.”

Taki gave a thumbs-up. “Copy that. Ranch quest accepted.”

Soon, they made their way further west, where the rolling hills dipped gently into a golden field dotted with slow-moving cows. The sky was clear and blue, the wind soft against their skin.

And then they saw them.

“Oh my god,” Harua gasped, clutching Taki’s arm like a child seeing fireworks for the first time. “The cows. ”

Taki grinned, already easing the cart to a stop. “Be gentle. Cows are sweethearts, but they take no one’s bullshit. Like, at all. You gotta earn it.”

He climbed out of the cart and started walking toward a familiar figure — a wide-eyed black-and-white lady lounging in the sun like royalty.

“That’s my girl,” Taki cooed, approaching slowly. “Lady Moo.”

Harua followed close behind, hands clasped reverently in front of him. “She’s gorgeous. ”

Lady Moo blinked at them lazily, head still resting in the grass. She flicked an ear. Harua crouched beside her and reached out, brushing his hand tentatively along her side. “She’s so soft. I expected… I don’t know. Something crunchier.”

“She moisturizes,” Taki said with a straight face.

Back at the cart, Jo hadn’t moved. He stared at the cows like they might spontaneously combust. “Jo!” Taki called. “Come pet her!”

Jo shook his head rapidly. “Nope. I’m good here.”

“Are you scared?”

“Terrified.”

Taki raised both eyebrows and gestured dramatically at Lady Moo, who was still reclined in pure, uninterested bliss. “She’s literally napping in the sun. She won’t hurt you.”

“I just—look, they’re big. And unpredictable.”

“She’s greeting you with her silence,” Taki insisted. “Also, if you had to be scared of anything here, you should be scared of the pigs . They’re evil. We have a pigpen, but I’ve never been there. I don’t trust them. I think they speak to demons.”

Jo groaned like he was preparing to regret his life choices and stepped out of the cart. He moved cautiously, gaze flicking to each cow like he was walking through a minefield.

Taki met him halfway and gently took his hand, guiding him to Lady Moo. “Just crouch, and pet her right here,” he said, showing Jo how to place his hand on her broad shoulder. “She loves a good chin scratch too, but that’s advanced level. You’re still a cow freshman.”

Jo did as told, fingers trembling slightly — and Lady Moo let out a loud, sleepy moo right as his hand connected.

He yelped. “Oh my god —she spoke to me.”

Taki nearly fell over laughing. “She said ‘welcome to the friend group.’”

They didn’t move for a while.

Harua and Taki had claimed Lady Moo’s broad, sun-warmed stomach like a pair of lounging cats, their heads pillowed against her side as she chewed lazily on grass, unbothered by the world. Jo sat cross-legged in front of them, tracing little patterns into the dirt with a stick, occasionally glancing up with that soft, thoughtful look that only seemed to appear when he thought no one was watching.

The sun filtered gently through the haze of early afternoon, and everything was quiet in that golden, untouched kind of way — until two enormous blurs of fur came sprinting across the field.

Harua yelped. “WHAT—WHAT IS THAT—IS THAT A BEAR—”

Splinter was galloping toward them with Leonardo close behind. Tails wagging, tongues out, pure joy in motion.

“Oh no,” Taki said, grinning as Splinter flopped dramatically across his lap. “Reinforcements have arrived.”

Leonardo nudged Harua with a wet snout, causing him to shriek and laugh all at once. “They are all so cute!” He started petting Leonardo’s head like his life depended on it. “Babe,” he said, entirely serious, “can we adopt a dog when we move in together?”

Jo didn’t miss a beat. “We won’t have enough space for a dog.” Harua deflated. “But,” Jo added, brushing dirt off his jeans, “we can always come visit these guys.”

Taki’s heart swelled in his chest like someone had slipped warm honey into it. “You can come whenever you want,” he said, earnest and glowing.

The three of them stayed there for a while — wrapped in sunshine, dogs, cows, and quiet laughter. It was the kind of moment that snuck into your bones and stayed there, long after the sky turned dark.

And then, in the distance, the steady clip-clop of hooves broke the stillness.

Taki shaded his eyes and spotted a rider on the horizon, silhouetted by the sun. A black-and-white leopard horse moved with smooth grace across the field, her rider tall and relaxed.

Taki sat up slightly. “That’s Yuma,” he said with a grin. “And his horse, Selene. He named her after the Greek goddess of the moon — because Yuma’s a total sky freak. He knows all the constellations, all the moons of Jupiter, probably the diameter of Neptune.”

Harua turned to look — and froze, mouth slightly open. “Oh wow.” He whispered.

Taki blinked. “Uh. Harua?”

Jo was blushing.

“Guys?” Taki repeated, sitting up straighter.

Yuma slowed Selene to a stop beside them, hopping down with casual ease, one hand brushing her neck. “Hey,” he said, looking between Jo and Harua. “These your friends?”

Harua didn’t hesitate. “You’re so pretty.”

Taki made a noise that could only be described as a dying kettle.

Yuma blinked. Then smiled, slow and sharp. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re not bad yourself.”

He turned toward Jo. “And you?”

Jo was practically vibrating. “I—uh—you have really pretty eyes.”

Taki whipped around. “OH MY GOD, I told him that this morning! ”

Yuma tilted his head, amused. “Aren’t you guys a couple?”

Harua shrugged, absolutely unapologetic. “We still have eyes, right babe?”

Jo covered his entire face with his hands.

Taki stared between the three of them. “Okay, can we please bring it down before someone proposes to Yuma in front of Lady Moo?!”

Yuma grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos. “You guys staying for lunch?”

They all nodded.

“Cool,” he said, swinging back up onto Selene with practiced ease. “Maybe we should hit the lake after. It’s hotter than hell out today.” He guided Selene in a slow circle and added, over his shoulder, “And you know, my eyes really pop with water reflections.”

He winked— winked —directly at Jo, then turned his horse toward the distant barns with theatrical flair.

“YUMA!” Taki called after him, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Ej said you need to install the new squeeze chutes today!”

Yuma slowed slightly, then shot back, “Got it!” before kicking Selene into a light canter and disappearing into the horizon like a smirking constellation cowboy.

Taki turned to stare at Jo and Harua, both looking vaguely dazed.

He pointed an accusing finger. “We are resuming the tour right now, before you start writing sonnets about Yuma’s eyes.”

Jo muttered something about planetary alignments under his breath.

Taki sighed, climbing back into the cart. “You two are unbelievable.”

Harua giggled as he climbed in beside him. “Can’t help it. The ranch is full of snacks. ”

Jo settled in the back with flushed cheeks and muttered, “This was not in the brochure.”

Taki rolled his eyes fondly and hit the pedal again.

The cart zoomed forward. Onward, to the next stop in a tour full of chaos, cows, and cowboy crushes.

—

The golf cart bounced slightly as Taki steered them toward the north fence, the sun now hanging heavy and golden in the sky. It painted the grass in honeyed streaks and stretched long shadows from every post and tree. A warm breeze swept across the ranch, carrying with it the low, distant bleating of sheep.

Jo perked up at the sound, shifting slightly in his seat. “Is that—?”

“Yep,” Taki said quickly, eyes narrowing toward the horizon. “Those are the sheep. Cool, fluffy, they exist. Great. Let’s go.”

Harua was already squinting out across the pasture. “Absolutely not. You are not skipping the final act of the cowboy parade.”

Taki groaned, but he knew it was futile. Harua had locked eyes on the sight ahead like a hound on a trail.

From the rise in the pasture, Maki appeared on horseback—on top of Fury, no less—cutting a striking figure against the sky. His posture was effortless, one hand holding the reins, the other lifting in a casual wave as he expertly guided the sheep toward open pasture. Beside him, darting in practiced loops and zigzags, was Donnie, the border collie, eyes sharp and body low as he worked the herd like a seasoned pro. Fury’s hooves moved like clockwork beneath Maki, Donnie’s barks punctuated the air in rhythmic cues, and the sheep flowed in synchronized waves across the field like they’d rehearsed this routine a thousand times.

And Maki—well, Maki looked like he belonged in a movie. Jeans that clung just right, the sleeves of his work shirt rolled to his elbows, hat tilted low to shield his eyes from the sun. The breeze ruffled his hair under the brim and caught the edge of his shirt where it clung damp to his back, and Taki hated how stupidly cinematic it all looked. His jaw was sharp, his grin even sharper, and when he leaned low over Fury to give Donnie a signal, the muscle in his forearm flexed like it knew it was being watched.

“Showoff,” Taki muttered under his breath.

Maki caught sight of them and lifted his hand higher, signaling for them to come closer. Taki reluctantly turned the wheel and brought the cart up to the edge of the pasture.

“Come on,” he said, hopping out. “Let’s get this over with.”

Harua was practically vibrating. “We are meeting the famous cowboy whether you like it or not.”

They approached just as Maki brought Fury to a smooth halt. He leaned down slightly, hat shadowing his grin, and tipped the brim with exaggerated flourish.

“Well, hey there, little chef. Little chef’s friends.” He winked.

Taki crossed his arms, deadpan. “Don’t flirt with them. You’re not their type. Yuma already romanced them.”

Maki raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “Don’t be jealous, city boy. I only flirt with you .”

Harua laughed, delighted. “So you’re the friend.”

Maki slid smoothly from Fury’s back, landing with a thud of worn boots against soft dirt. He stepped forward and extended his hand toward Harua, his smile charming and utterly unrepentant. “I am indeed the friend. Like, the friend. Friendliest of the friends. Extra friendly.”

Harua shook his hand like a knight accepting a royal alliance. “I approve.”

Taki blinked between them, the most unimpressed look on his face. “Okay. I need you both to forget each other exists. Immediately. For my sanity.”

They both laughed, entirely too pleased with themselves.

Jo finally rescued Taki with a soft: “Can we see the sheep?”

Maki stepped aside and gestured toward the open pasture like a host unveiling a secret garden. “Be my guest. But be careful with the one in the pink collar.”

“Gertrude,” Taki added. “She bites and sneezes on you. Often simultaneously.”

Jo paused in mid-step.

“Noted,” he said warily.

Harua beamed as he followed Jo toward the field. “Okay, but if I get bitten by a sheep named Gertrude, I’m taking her collar and wearing it as a badge of honor.”

Jo chuckled under his breath, brushing his hands over his pants as they moved toward the herd, but Taki didn’t get the chance to follow. A hand closed gently around his arm, fingers warm, calloused, and careful. Maki.

“Hey,” Maki said, voice low, soft, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

Taki turned to him, and something about Maki’s face—serious, unreadable, eyes clouded under the brim of his hat—made his breath catch for half a second.

“How are you doing?” Maki asked, not letting go of his arm.

Taki blinked, then smiled softly, a little tired but honest. “I’m good. Yuma brought me breakfast in bed and stayed for a while. You know, Yuma cuddles are top-tier. Then Ej showed up with Harua and Jo, and I haven’t really had the chance to… let my brain catch up.” He gave a soft, breathy laugh. “Which might’ve been the plan.”

Maki’s eyes stayed on his, watching too closely. He raised his free hand and brushed his knuckles against Taki’s cheek. The touch was feather-light, reverent. “You sure?”

Taki’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment at the contact. He nodded. “Yeah.”

They stood like that—barely a breath apart, the sounds of the ranch fading into a kind of hush between them—until Taki opened his eyes again and, without thinking, whispered, “Are you okay?”

Maki looked away. His jaw shifted under his hand before he let it drop, resting instead on Taki’s shoulder. “I will be,” he said quietly, eyes fixed somewhere over Taki’s head. “But I can’t get your scared face out of my head. ” He broke off, squeezing his jaw like he was trying to crush the memory in his teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hurt someone so badly. It’s just—knowing you’re smiling again… that helps. Don’t worry about me.”

Taki tilted his head, watching him with something achingly gentle in his gaze. “I will always worry about you,” he whispered. Then, a little stronger, “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

Maki looked down at him, eyes unreadable again—but softer now. “I’m holding you to that, city boy.”

And for a long, weightless moment, they just stood there, inches apart. Not touching anymore, but not apart either. Close in that way that made everything else fade into the warm hum of the pasture, the lazy bleats of the sheep, and Jo yelping in the distance, “Harua, don’t chase Gertrude! I like you with all 10 fingers!”

Taki huffed a laugh, and Maki’s lips twitched.

It didn’t fix everything. But it felt like a start.

The kitchen looked like a war zone.

Flour was somehow on the walls. A wooden spoon had been flung into the sink. Taki and Harua were standing at opposite ends of the counter, both armed with whisks and wearing matching aprons like they were about to duel.

“I’m telling you,” Taki said, pointing his whisk like a sword, “if you keep stirring that sauce like you’re folding laundry, it’s going to split.”

“And I’m telling you,” Harua snapped back, dramatic as ever, “if you don’t stop micromanaging my whisk-to-pot ratio, I’m going to stage a culinary mutiny!”

“Culinary mutiny?” Taki blinked. “You’ve been watching too many cooking shows again.”

“Gordon Ramsay is my spirit animal.”

That was the exact moment K walked in—stopping dead in the doorway at the sight of the chaos, his arms crossed, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. “Should I be worried?”

Harua gasped when he saw him, dropping his whisk dramatically and pointing. “Oh my god. You’re Taki’s brother.”

K raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Guilty.”

Before K could react, Harua launched into his personal space and wrapped his arms around him. “We’re doing hugs! Yay!”

K let out a startled laugh but returned the embrace. “You must be Harua.”

“That’s what the birth certificate says.” Harua beamed. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Taki, still elbow-deep in potatoes, groaned. “Please don’t encourage him.”

But K was already grinning. “Thanks for being here. I’m really glad Taki has someone like you in his life.”

Harua sniffed dramatically. “Okay, no. Don’t make me cry on top of the mashed potatoes. I have dignity.”

“No, you don’t,” Taki said.

“You’re right,” Harua conceded, then shoved a spoonful of buttery mash into Taki’s mouth before he could retort. “How’s that for dignity?”

K laughed and joined them at the counter, offering to help. Which meant standing near the stove, chopping with unholy precision, and being absolutely useless at anything that required seasoning, timing, or common sense.

“Just—go guard the oven,” Taki told him eventually.

“I’m literally one of the strongest people in this house.”

“Great. Use that strength to make sure Harua doesn’t add garlic powder to the mashed potatoes again.”

Harua huffed. “Excuse me for wanting flavor!”

Eventually, the chaos came together into something edible. They set the table, called out the lunch bell—well, Taki shouted like a town crier while Harua hit a ladle against a pot—and the guys slowly filtered in from the fields, boots muddy, hands washed.

“Boots off!” Taki yelled automatically. “No dirt demons allowed near my mashed potatoes!”

Fuma ruffled his hair on the way to the sink. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

“Wash your hands!” Taki smacked his shoulder with a dishtowel. “I saw you pick up chickens earlier!”

They settled into the long table with the kind of energy only this house could contain—cows lowing in the distance, Donnie barking at the back porch, laughter bubbling between every seat.

Harua, seated beside Bear, leaned in conspiratorially. “So, do you want the good town gossip or the scandalous one?”

Bear blinked. “There’s a difference?”

Harua grinned wickedly. “Nope. They’re both equally ridiculous. But it’s my civic duty to report. I am a public servant of the highest order.” Taki snorted into his drink while Harua continued, utterly serious now, “But really, don’t take anyone in town seriously. They’re all fools. Especially the ones who think they’re subtle. Like Mrs. Watanabe pretending she doesn’t know every person’s blood type in a five-mile radius. Or the mayor, who thinks no one saw him sneaking out of the florist's with two bouquets last Tuesday. Two! Same day. You connect the dots.”

Bear leaned back, clearly entertained. “Should I be concerned you know all this?”

“Oh, Bear,” Harua said, patting his arm like they were old war buddies. “I’m not the town gossip. I’m the town’s chaos gremlin. They provide the mess, and I simply broadcast it with flair.”

Fuma groaned across the table. “Don’t encourage him.”

Harua ignored him entirely and whispered something else to Bear that made the older man bark out a laugh so loud, Jo jumped slightly in his seat. Harua beamed in victory.

Across the table, Jo was chatting with Ej and K about his job, explaining something about distribution deadlines and feature layouts with passionate hand gestures.

Maki, meanwhile, was silent. Focused. He buttered a roll with intense precision, then handed it to Taki with a wink and a soft, “For the little chef.”

Taki flushed but took it, biting back a smile. “Thanks… friend.”

The word made Maki snort, and he bumped Taki’s shoulder with his own.

Taki looked around the table—at Harua laughing too loudly, Jo’s cheeks pink from a compliment, Fuma playfully flicking water at Nicholas, Bear trying not to smile at Harua’s dramatic tales, K watching everyone with quiet pride—and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It felt amazing.

The lunch plates had been cleared, and the last bits of mashed potatoes were being scraped from bowls when Yuma leaned back in his chair, glancing out the window toward the sun-soaked fields. “It’s scorching today,” he muttered, stretching his arms overhead. “Perfect lake weather.”

Fuma looked up from where he was wiping his hands on a dish towel. “You said that this morning.”

“I meant it this morning,” Yuma replied. “Still mean it now.”

There was a moment of quiet — the kind that signals an idea settling over a room — before Harua’s eyes lit up. “The lake,” he said, turning dramatically to Bear. “Sir Bear. Your presence is required.”

K, sitting beside Taki, raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “You trying to drag our dad to the lake now?”

“Yes,” Harua said, entirely serious. “You can’t send a gaggle of unsupervised young men near water. We could drown. We could be swept away by a rogue cow. We could—”

“Harua,” Taki interrupted, laughing, “we’re not unsupervised. We’re mostly adults.”

“Debatable,” Nicholas muttered.

Bear, who had been sipping his coffee in quiet amusement, set the mug down with a sigh. “I have paperwork.”

“You always have paperwork,” Taki said, giving him a look. “Dad you should really join us, it will be so fun.”

Bear glanced around the table — at Jo, now chatting quietly with K and Ej about internships and town administration, at Harua still trying to look like the picture of innocence, at Yuma already half out of his chair. He sighed again. “If I go, none of you are allowed to dunk me.”

“No promises,” said Yuma.

Bear’s eyes narrowed. “I mean it. You dunk me and I start handing out tractor maintenance assignments.”

Fuma saluted. “Understood, General Bear.”

Harua raised his hands. “Scout’s honor. Though I was never a scout. But you have my spirit promise.”

Bear shook his head, clearly regretting everything, but Taki saw the quiet curve of a smile on his face as he stood. “Alright. Let’s get changed.”

—

Back in Taki’s room, the summer light slanted in through the window, warm and golden. Clothes were flung haphazardly across the bed — swim trunks, a loose T-shirt, two towels — and the quiet hum of cicadas filtered in from the trees outside.

Taki was folding the towels, already dressed in dark green swim shorts and a cream-colored tank top that hung off one shoulder. Harua, half-changed and pacing barefoot, was looking through Taki’s belongings like it was a matter of national importance.

They were both moving with the lazy, unhurried rhythm of a day that had been heavy and long but somehow still full of light.

“Hey, Taki?” Harua asked suddenly, turning around.

Taki looked over, a shirt halfway over his head. “Yeah?”

Harua reached into his bag and held something out in his palm. A small, black horse keychain. The one Taki never got to buy.

Taki froze.

“I…” Harua looked down, thumb rubbing over the little figure’s back. “I asked Ej to stop by the store when we passed through town. He told us why you were even in there. What you wanted.”

Taki took a step forward, but no words came out.

Harua’s voice dropped. “I walked in. The guy behind the counter gave me a look like I was radioactive. I smiled — you know, my winning one — and told him if he called the cops on me, I’d make sure half the town knew exactly where his sketchy energy drinks come from and how his cousin’s been repackaging expired jerky with fake barcodes.”

Taki blinked. “Harua—”

“I didn’t steal it,” Harua added quickly. “I just… didn’t let him stop me.”

He extended the keychain again.

Taki took it slowly, fingers trembling. The weight of it was nothing — but the meaning behind it landed like a stone in his chest. “I— You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Harua said simply. “You shouldn’t have had to go through any of that. But if something this small makes you feel even a little better... then I’d do it again.”

Taki stepped forward, silent, and pulled Harua into the tightest hug he could manage. He buried his face in his friend’s shoulder, gripping the keychain in his hand.

“You shouldn’t have,” he whispered. “But thank you. Thank you so much.”

Harua rubbed his back and whispered back, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

They stayed like that for a moment. Not moving. Just breathing. Letting it settle.

When they pulled apart, Taki gently placed the keychain on his bedside table, fingers lingering on it for a second.

Then he turned back to Harua with a small, grateful smile. “Okay,” he said, voice steadier now. “Let’s go to the lake.”

Harua bumped their shoulders together. “Race you.”

And with that, they grabbed their towels and headed out into the sun.

They made it to the lake in a chaotic mix of horsepower and, well, actual horse power. Half the group rode down on the backs of patient mares with tangled manes and knowing eyes. The rest piled into the golf cart, towels flapping like flags behind them, Harua screaming whenever Taki took a turn too sharply.

The lake shimmered before them like a mirror of the sky, tucked between two rolling hills and cradled by swaying trees. The sun had mellowed, stretching shadows across the water, the golden light soft and thick as honey.

Clothes flew. Shoes were kicked off. And then—chaos.

The sound of water splashing swallowed everything. Fuma cannonballed in first, followed by Nicholas with a dramatic slow-motion run and bellyflop that earned immediate applause and a splash-back curse from EJ. Yuma dragged Jo in and Harua squealed and jumped in on his own with a high-pitched “for glory!” 

Taki grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. He edged toward the water, eyeing his dad who stood near the edge, arms crossed and amused. “Hey,” Taki said, sidling up like a scheming cartoon character. “Wouldn’t it be funny if—”

Before he could finish, Bear turned with a raised eyebrow, grabbed him by the waist like he weighed nothing, and launched him into the air with a smirk.

Taki hit the water with a scream and surfaced sputtering, hair plastered to his face. “DAD!”

Bear was doubled over laughing.

Until K appeared silently behind him and shoved him in with all his weight. Bear flailed midair before crashing in like a falling tree.

“Revenge!” K shouted triumphantly, fists raised like a victorious gremlin.

Bear surfaced and immediately went after both his sons, dragging them under one arm each like they were kids again. Taki clung to his dad’s back, soaking wet and giggling like a five-year-old, while K yelled that he was too old for this. But neither fought that hard. Not really. Not when the sun was warm and the lake cool and their father's laugh boomed across the water like a hymn.

Around them, the others swam and splashed and floated in circles. Someone was trying to race a dog. Someone else was teaching Harua to float. Laughter echoed against the trees, pure and unfiltered.

Taki eventually drifted a bit away from the fray, floating on his back, letting the water cradle him. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet, lips curled in something soft.

Then—

“Hey, little chef.”

He jolted and turned his head. Maki was right beside him, chest-deep in the water, eyes dark and fond and a little too close.

“Hey, cowboy,” Taki murmured back, trying to sound casual, but his heart was already doing something traitorous in his chest.

Maki tilted his head. “Had a good day?”

Taki looked at the lake. At his soaked friends, his grinning family. At the dogs running along the edge and the sun bleeding gold into the sky.

“The best.”

“Good.”

There was a sudden shriek from across the water. “CHICKEN FIGHT!”

They turned to see Yuma, dripping and laughing, hoisted on Fuma’s shoulders like a chaotic prince about to declare war.

Taki opened his mouth to say something, but Maki had already disappeared beneath the surface.

“What the—MAKI!”

He didn’t have time to react before he felt strong hands grip his thighs and hoist him up, his legs suddenly straddling Maki’s shoulders, water cascading down both their backs.

“No no no no—”

“Yes,” Maki laughed, locking his arms around Taki’s legs. “It’s your time to shine.”

Taki screamed-laughed as Yuma charged toward them, a battle cry already echoing. Water flew. Dogs barked. And for a moment — brief and perfect — the world was nothing but joy.

And in that golden haze of laughter, chaos, and love, Taki thought:
Yeah. Life was good.

Chapter Text

The morning light spilled soft and warm over the ranch, gilding the tips of grass in gold, casting long sleepy shadows across the pastures. The sky was gentle — pale blue with a lace of wispy clouds — and the breeze was cool enough to whisper against the skin without being cruel.

Taki stood by the fence of the training arena, an apple slice in his hand, untouched. Solace stood several feet away inside the open enclosure, head lowered, watching the world with that same tense stillness he always carried. 

Today, Taki wasn’t holding anything out to him. No offerings. No tricks. No coaxing.

Today, he stepped through the gate and into the dust and silence.

He didn’t go toward Solace. He didn’t even look at him.

He simply walked — slow, steady, quiet. His sneakers kicked up little puffs of sand with every step. He traced a wide circle around the perimeter of the arena, arms tucked loosely around himself, sweater sleeves pulled over his hands. His posture was relaxed, unrushed, as though he wasn’t aware of the other living thing sharing the space with him.

But he was.

He always was.

Behind him, Solace didn’t move at first.

Then, after a full circle, Taki heard the faintest sound — the shuffle of hooves on dirt, cautious and light.

He kept walking.

Another lap. Another pause. Another shuffle.

Then a low sound — somewhere between a huff and a hum — filled the air behind him. Taki smiled softly, but didn’t turn.

“You know,” he said, voice quiet and conversational, “if you’re going to stalk me, at least be good at it. I can literally hear you, you big, dramatic thing.”

He swore he heard a snort behind him, indignant and amused all at once.

Taki kept moving.

“You ever wonder why oranges are called oranges but bananas aren’t called yellows?” he asked aloud, words floating up into the blue. “Like, we just gave up on naming things halfway through. Classic humanity.”

More soft hooves followed behind him, slow and steady.

“I think Lady Moo was judging me yesterday,” he continued. “She kept staring at me like I’d forgotten something. I probably did. She’s always right. I bet she secretly runs this place.”

A few more steps.

A little closer.

“I tried making pancakes without eggs the other day. It was... a disaster. Like, culinary homicide. You ever tried eating a sad flour sponge, Solace? No? Don’t.”

He swore the breath behind him got louder — like a laugh trying not to be.

And still, he didn’t look back.

“I’m gonna name one of the future chickens Benedict. Just for the drama. Make everyone uncomfortable at breakfast.”

A soft nudge brushed the edge of his shoulder.

Taki froze — not afraid, not startled, just... struck by the weight of it.

Slowly, gently, he turned his head. Solace was standing behind him, close enough that Taki could feel the warm huff of his breath on his cheek. His eyes were softer now, curious instead of guarded. His ears flicked once. A sound rumbled low in his throat, inquisitive.

Taki smiled and raised a hand slowly, letting it hover.

“You’re such a weirdo,” he whispered, fond and awed all at once.

Solace leaned in.

Nose brushed hand.

Taki laughed, quiet and breathless.

From the side of the house, behind the wooden railing of the porch, three figures stood in quiet witness.

Kaito had one hand resting on the railing, the other loosely holding his coffee mug. Beside him, K leaned forward, arms braced on the railing, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

And Maki — arms crossed, hair over his eyes — just stared.

It wasn’t amazement on his face. It wasn’t pride.

It was something quieter. Something more sacred.

Wonder.

None of them said a word as they watched Taki slowly walk forward again, Solace now trailing after him, just a breath away. Every few steps, Taki would speak, and Solace would answer with a nudge, a huff, or a flick of his tail. It was strange and silent and magic in its own way.

A boy and a creature the world had given up on.
Both still learning how to exist gently.

“Holy shit,” K finally whispered, almost reverently. “He’s really doing it.”

Bear didn’t answer. He just kept watching, his chest full of a thousand different kinds of love.

And Maki — Maki didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until Taki stopped in the middle of the arena, turned around, and smiled at Solace like he’d been waiting for him all along.

They stayed in silence for a while — the kind of silence that feels too sacred to break. Down below, Taki was now sitting in the sand, legs crossed, back relaxed. Solace stood beside him, not touching, not quite curled around, but close enough. The wind tugged at Taki’s curls and at Solace’s mane, and the moment looked more like a painting than something that should be real.

K finally exhaled — a deep, shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“Well,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “How the hell are we supposed to return him now?”

Maki shifted slightly, arms still crossed, but the smallest smile curled into his cheek. “We’re not.”

K raised an eyebrow. “We’re not? He’s a loan horse.”

Maki’s voice was quiet, certain. “His name’s Solace.”

K turned to him. “What?”

“Taki named him,” Maki said, still watching the arena like something precious might vanish if he blinked too long. “The other night. After everything... he said they understood each other. That they’re both trying to feel safe again. He called him Solace. And the horse agreed.”

There was another pause — thicker this time, heavier.

Bear shifted his stance and placed the coffee mug down on the railing with a quiet thunk. His gaze didn’t waver. “We’re not returning him,” Bear said, voice low and final. “I already called the other ranch. Told them we’re keeping him. I’ll sort the paperwork. Pay them what they need.”

K blinked. “You’re serious?”

“I’m not about to separate those two,” Bear said simply. “We’ve got the space. We’ve got the feed. And most importantly... he’s finally got someone.”

Maki glanced at him. “Which one?”

Bear looked at him, and then back down to the pair in the arena.

“Both.”

K whistled under his breath. “Well, damn.”

They all went quiet again.

Down below, Taki had laid back in the dust, arms spread wide, the sun warming his chest. Solace, without a sound, lowered himself to the ground beside him, folding those long legs slowly, gently, until he was resting in the sand too. Their shoulders nearly touched.

“I’ve never seen that horse relax like that,” K said, awed.

“Never,” Bear agreed.

Maki didn’t say anything.

But a softness lived in his eyes — the kind that never came easy to boys like him. It was the same kind of softness he only seemed to wear when looking at Taki now. Quiet awe. Quiet pride.

And something deeper.

Something Solace-shaped.

By 7am the kitchen had the steady hum of life already pulsing through it, filled with the smell of sizzling bacon and the gentle clatter of dishes as Taki moved around in his soft hoodie and sleep-creased cheeks. The others were just starting to shuffle in from their early-morning duties — boots muddy, eyes still blinking against the harshness of the rising sun.

“Fuma, I swear if you track that in here—”

“I wiped them on the mat,” Fuma replied gruffly, already pouring himself a coffee.

“Wipe them again ,” Taki called, shoving eggs onto a plate with precision that spoke of suppressed chaos. Then he turned towards Maki, “Maki, the blue plates. Not the cracked ones. I don’t care if you think it adds 'ranch charm,' I’m trying to make a respectable breakfast here!”

Maki grumbled under his breath but obeyed, grabbing the correct stack from the cabinet and ferrying them to the table. “One day I’ll be appreciated for my rustic sensibilities,” he said, mostly to himself.

Taki didn’t even glance up from where he was cracking eggs with one hand and flipping bacon with the other. “That day is not today, cowboy.”

By the time the last of the crew filtered in — K, Nicholas, Yuma, and finally Ej, still half-buttoning his flannel as he entered — the table was set and brimming with a protein-heavy breakfast worthy of a harvest season.

Taki stood at the head of the kitchen with a spatula like it was a scepter. “Eat before I start assigning who gets what for lunch.”

They all laughed softly, gathering around the table as plates clinked and chairs scraped against the floor.

Bear arrived just a few minutes later, already dressed and booted, clipboard in hand and a pen stuck behind his ear.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and steady, “duties for the day. The land’s dry and we’re prepping the northwest fields for new grass seed, so it’s all hands on deck.”

No complaints followed — they were ranch hands through and through, and days here always started with purpose.

“Maki,” Bear said, scanning the sheet, “you’re on the tractor. Tilling and disking the back plots.”

Maki blinked, chewing slowly. “All of it?”

“Unless you want to share with someone.”

“Nope. I’ll romance the land solo,” Maki grinned boyishly.

“Yuma, Nicholas — you’re checking the east fence again. We had a few of the sheep crowding it yesterday. I want it reinforced by dusk.”

“Got it,” Nicholas nodded.

“Fuma,” Bear continued, “you and I are working with the horses today. Farrier’s coming tomorrow, so I want them prepped and calm.”

K yawned mid-sip. “What about me?”

“You’re with Ej — toolshed inventory and irrigation line check.”

Ej nodded. “We’ll start at the creek.”

“And Taki?” Bear glanced over his list, then lifted his eyes. “You good to make lunch again today?”

“Absolutely,” Taki said brightly. “I’ll finish up some ranch accounting first and start cooking by late morning.”

He picked up his phone to check the time — and froze.

Everyone noticed immediately.

Yuma, sitting next to him, leaned in. “What is it?”

Taki blinked and turned the screen. “Harua just messaged me.”

He opened the text, hands suddenly shaky.

every mom in town is pissed at what happened to you
(1 attachment)

The image loaded slowly. And then…

A scan of the town paper’s front page — bold, tabloid-style letters stretching across the top in unapologetic scandal:

“‘PERVERTED POLICE DEMAND STRIP SEARCH FROM MINOR — LOCAL RANCH KID HARASSED BY AUTHORITIES AND ACCUSED OF THEFT”

Underneath, an image of the shopkeeper shielding his face outside his store, a caption that read:

“Shopkeeper Mr. Rowan accused of false reporting. Town questions Officer Brandt’s abuse of power.”

In a smaller bubble off to the side, a quote from Mrs. Rin Nakamura — proud grandmother, known cinnamon roll champion, and loudest voice in Taki’s cooking class:

“That boy? Taki? He barely knows how to stir without giggling. He’s kind and gentle and always calls me ma’am with the sweetest smile. I’ve seen mean kids, and I’ve seen good ones. He’s one of the good ones. That man in the store should be ashamed of himself.”

Taki choked on a half-laugh, half-sob. His hand trembled slightly.

“She really printed this,” he said in awe.

Maki leaned over to read, eyebrows shooting up. “Holy shit . She went for the throat.”

“She said perverted police, ” K whispered, stunned. “Mrs. Watanabe wrote that? That? ”

Bear exhaled through his nose, setting down his coffee slowly. “Well. Guess the town’s finally got a headline worth reading.”

“She mentioned you by name,” Yuma grinned, pointing at the third paragraph. “ ‘Taki, Kaito’s boy, known to brighten every stall he enters—’ ”

Nicholas choked on his juice.

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Fuma added. “You’ve got a fan club now.”

“And apparently,” Ej said dryly, “the town moms and grandmas have formed a militia.”

Taki’s lips trembled — but this time, it was from the warmth in his chest. His eyes stung a little as he put the phone down.

He looked around the table — his family, this place, the warmth, the coffee, the grease-stained flannels and tired eyes.

The laughter. The safety.

He took a deep breath.

“I guess I’ll go make the spreadsheets,” he said softly, trying not to cry into the buttered toast.

And the boys, bless them, just let it be.

The house was quiet except for the soft tapping of laptop keys and the hum of summer cicadas through the open window.

Taki sat cross-legged on the rug in the study, surrounded by a controlled storm of papers, folders, receipts, and open file boxes. A steaming mug of tea sat to his right. Donnie was curled nearby, occasionally flicking his tail in his sleep. The screen of Taki’s laptop glowed with the bright rows of a color-coded spreadsheet, a massive file called Ranch Operations Archive – Digital Conversion Project blinking at the top bar.

He was days into the process.

Taki had taken it upon himself to digitize the entire operational history of the ranch — every receipt, every sale, every government permit and supply invoice. There were thousands of papers, decades’ worth, neatly packed away in meticulously labeled folders in Kaito’s massive study. They were safe, sure. But paper was fragile, and memory was worse. So Taki scanned and uploaded, sorted and renamed. He built folders and backups and redundancies. The system would be perfect — searchable, preserved, secure.

Because losing things scared him. Always had.

He hummed under his breath as he reached for the next set of folders, shuffling over to the lower cupboards under the built-in shelves. He yanked the small wooden handle and winced as the cabinet door creaked open.

Inside were more boxes. More files.

One of the folders caught his eye.

It had his name on it.

He blinked, then leaned forward. Not his handwriting . Not his work.

The tab read: TAKI – YEAR ONE

Taki sat back on his heels. His fingers hesitated for a second before pulling the folder free.

The paper inside was thick, slightly yellowed. At the top was a photograph, glossy and worn at the edges — a baby, barely crawling, bundled in a fluffy yellow onesie, chewing on a plastic spoon. He stared at it for a long second, breath caught in his throat. His fingers brushed the surface like it might crumble if he pressed too hard.

Tucked in behind the photo were handwritten notes in black ink. Neat. Structured.

“Loves pears and cold floors. Hates being swaddled. Grabs noses.”

Another note read:

“Sings to himself when he thinks he’s alone.”

He flipped through the folder. There were more photos, more notes — almost obsessively documented. Every tooth, every milestone. Little drawings of airplanes, stickers in the corners of pages, a strand of baby hair carefully taped into a folded index card. He opened another folder. TAKI – YEAR TWO.

Taki felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

He closed the folders carefully and reached deeper into the cabinet. There were more folders, not with his name this time — but legal files. Case numbers. Printed transcripts.

And beneath those… law books. Thick, annotated, dog-eared.

Tort Reform and Child Custody Law .
Civil Rights for Foster Youth .
Wrongful Custody Claims: Precedents and Case Law .

Taki reached for the small cardboard box wedged behind the stack. Inside were newspaper clippings, manila envelopes, legal pads filled with handwritten notes in that same familiar handwriting.

Dozens of cases. Some marked with green highlighter. Others circled with notes like “Judge leaned into trauma testimony” and “Won appeal via procedural misstep — review chapter 4 again.”

Taki sat frozen.

Not because of what he held, but because of what it meant.

The sound of boots on hardwood startled him. He flinched, and his hands flew to close the folders — but it was too late.

At the doorway stood K.

Covered in dust and sweat, streaks of dried mud up his jeans, a worn flannel clinging to his frame, and one of his work gloves half-tucked in his back pocket. He must’ve come in to change. But he didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down — not at Taki, but at the books and files spread out across the floor.

His gaze softened, something behind his eyes folding in on itself.

“He never stopped fighting,” K said, voice quiet.

Taki looked up, startled again — this time in a different way. “I—I didn’t mean to. I was just looking for more receipts to scan and—”

“He never stopped,” K repeated, walking into the room.

He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound anything close to that. If anything, there was this strange reverence in his voice — a kind of exhausted awe. He crouched down beside Taki, boots squeaking softly on the rug as he sat.

He reached out and picked up one of the worn folders, his thumb brushing across the name on the tab.

“He started this wall of research the day the first petition was denied,” K murmured. “You were nearly eleven. I remember ’cause I was still learning to ride bareback and he didn’t come to the lesson. Spent the whole day reading court transcripts instead.”

He thumbed open the folder and smiled faintly at the picture of baby Taki chewing on a spoon.

“He was obsessed. Not in a bad way. Just… consumed. He thought if he could understand every precedent, every clause, every exception in the system, he could beat it. Bring you home.”

Taki blinked, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

K kept talking. He wasn’t looking at Taki — only at the records spread between them.

“He built this ranch with you on his mind. Every fence, every field, every barn… he wanted a place to bring you back to. A place where no one could hurt you again. Where you’d have animals and land and safety. A home.”

The folder slipped from Taki’s lap. He didn’t notice.

“He worked the land every day and read law every night. Studied cases that looked like yours. Tried to figure out what those families did right that he didn’t. Kept these books in the truck, in the bathroom, by his bed. Man was sleeping three hours a night, eating cold beans out of the can, and still somehow finding the time to grow this place.”

Taki shook, hand trembling as he clutched a page from one of the legal pads. His name was written at the top.

“I thought he’d lose himself in it,” K said, his voice dipping low, rough now. “But then I’d catch him just staring at your pictures. Sitting right here. Crying. Like his ribs couldn’t hold it in anymore. And the next day, he’d get up and keep going.”

Taki choked on a sob.

That was it — he couldn’t keep it in.

K finally looked at him. And without a second thought, he pulled Taki into his arms and held him. Arms strong and steady, tight around his ribs like he could anchor him here and now. Taki curled into him, face pressed to his brother’s shoulder as he cried, raw and wordless.

K pressed a hand to the back of Taki’s head and whispered, “He never lost hope. Not once.”

They stayed like that for a long time.

K didn’t loosen his grip. Taki’s face was still buried in his shoulder, breaths coming in hiccups, fingers clinging to the front of K’s shirt like he was five years old again, and the world was too big to handle on his own. K held him through it, anchored him, soothed him without a word.

Just them.

Just the quiet.

Until finally, K whispered, “I lost hope instantly.”

Taki froze.

K wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were somewhere else, lost in the folds of memory, the weight of things long buried.

“The moment I saw her hand gripping your arm like that in the courtroom — nails digging into your skin, dragging you back — I knew we weren’t getting you back. Not then. Not for a long time.”

Taki lifted his head slowly, eyes wide, tear-streaked and trembling. K’s voice didn’t shake, but something about it was deeper than sorrow. It was grief after years of silence. The grief of someone who hadn’t said it out loud in a very long time.

“No visitation rights. No appeals accepted. No reason given. Just ‘case closed.’” K exhaled like it hurt. “And suddenly you were gone. Like you never existed.”

Taki didn’t speak.

“I was the first troubled kid this ranch ever saw,” K continued, a humorless half-laugh undercutting the heaviness in his tone. “Long before the others. While Dad was losing himself in law books, trying to bring you back... I was losing myself to everything else.”

He reached forward and tapped the edge of a torn legal pad, fingers ghosting over it.

“I started drinking. Fighting. Stirring up shit in town just to feel something. I was so angry — at the system, at the courts, at Mom—” He caught himself. “At the whole damn world. I thought, if they could just… look the other way while she hurt us for years, then what even was the point? Why should I follow rules made to protect people when they didn’t protect you?”

K took a shuddering breath.

“The thing about this system,” he murmured, “is that it has double standards. It won’t save a kid who’s quietly slipping away in the shadows of an abusive house. But the second that same kid lashes out in survival? Tries to protect themselves the only way they know how? Suddenly, everyone’s paying attention.”

Taki’s eyes welled up again.

“You were the light of my life, you know?” K’s voice cracked for the first time. “Even when our house stopped feeling like home. You were it. You were the reason I got up, the reason I took every hit. You were the reason I stayed.”

His voice broke. Just barely. And when he spoke again, it was quieter. Like a confession.

“And when I lost you, I lost my will.”

Taki looked like he was about to apologize — lips parting, heart breaking — but K shook his head before the words could form.

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “Don’t say sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s only one person who owes anyone an apology for what happened to us. And she never will.”

Silence settled between them again, heavier this time, but not hopeless.

K exhaled.

“Dad and I… we didn’t talk much back then. He kept going because hope was the only thing he had left. I tried to destroy everything because hope was the first thing I lost.”

He sat back, finally turning his face toward the small sliver of light breaking through the study’s dusty curtains.

“But eventually… we found our way back to each other. He started pulling himself together. So did I. And the first time we saw someone else — a kid, just as lost, just as angry, ready to give up — Dad didn’t hesitate. He brought him in. That was Fuma.”

Taki blinked.

“He was the second,” K said. “The second broken boy who found a home here.”

Taki’s lips parted on a breath that sounded like a sob but didn’t fully form. K reached for him again, gentler now, and pulled him back into his arms.

There were no words left. Not really. Just tears. Just a quiet bond forged in pain and made stronger by survival.

And the study — lined with photos, and files, and the wreckage of years spent fighting — had never felt more like a sacred space.

The house felt too full.
And yet too quiet.

After K had gone — boots heavy as he returned to his work, leaving Taki alone in the study surrounded by decades of hope and heartbreak — the silence had wrapped around him like a weighted blanket. Too much. Too sharp. He’d tried to refocus, even reached for another folder, but his fingers trembled and his vision blurred.

So he walked.

He didn’t know where he was going, not really. But some part of him — something small and instinctual, buried deep in the center of his chest — was leading him. Tugging softly in a single direction. Like gravity, but gentler.

He wanted to be around someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. Someone who didn’t need him to speak to understand. Someone safe.

So, of course, his feet took him to Maki.

The wide expanse of the back field was open under the morning sun. The wind was warm and steady. The scent of soil and summer and diesel filled the air.

In the middle of it all stood the new tractor — a towering, gleaming thing of steel and glass — its engine humming like a giant mechanical heartbeat. Inside, Maki sat in the cab, one hand on the wheel, other arm slung lazily out the open window. He looked relaxed, focused, alive — a real cowboy in his element.

Taki stopped at the edge of the field.

He knew he shouldn’t interrupt. Maki was working. He was probably deep into whatever land prep duties he'd been assigned that morning. Taki should’ve turned around, gone back to his spreadsheets, gone back to being useful.

But he stayed.

His eyes locked on the tractor like it held all the answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask.

The cab rotated slowly, turning with the arc of the path Maki had plotted through the tilled soil. And then, as the massive tires carried the machine into alignment with Taki’s view — Maki saw him.

Their eyes met across the distance.

Maki’s whole face softened. A slow, lazy smile bloomed at the corners of his mouth.

And then it faded.

The moment he really saw Taki — his red-rimmed eyes, the tight clutch of his hands, the way he stood like the world had just knocked the air out of him — the smile fell away.

The tractor came to a stop.

A hiss of pressure released from the cab’s side. Maki swung the door open and leaned out.

“Taki?” His voice cut clearly across the short distance. Concern bloomed immediately. “What happened?”

Taki shook his head quickly, looking down at the churned dirt under his shoes. “Nothing,” he said, too fast, voice small. “Just… needed a distraction. So I came to take a walk.”

Maki didn’t answer right away.

Taki could feel his eyes. Could feel the weight of them, reading him like an open book, even without flipping a single page.

Then Maki extended a hand.

“Come keep me company,” he said, voice quieter now. Like he knew exactly how gently he needed to tread.

Taki blinked. He looked up, surprised.

“What?”

Maki tilted his head toward the empty passenger seat in the cab. “It’s comfy. Air-conditioned. I’ve got water. And you look like you need a break from whatever the hell your brain’s doing right now.”

Taki hesitated. He didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want to intrude.

But he didn’t want to be alone either.

So he stepped forward.

Maki’s hand was warm and steady as it wrapped around his, strong fingers tugging him gently up the metal steps and into the cab.

And for the first time that morning — safe in the quiet, sunlit space beside someone who didn’t need explanations — Taki exhaled.

—

The quiet inside the cab was thick but not heavy. It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask for filling — the kind that held space, soft and steady, like the hush of sunlight warming old wood floors.

Maki drove with the confidence of someone born to do it. One hand on the wheel, gaze sharp on the lines of the field, the tilt of the land. Taki sat beside him in the passenger seat, their shoulders nearly brushing with every bump and shift of the tractor’s slow rhythm.

The engine rumbled beneath them like a low purr. Outside, the world stretched wide — golden fields, wind-tossed trees, and a sky so blue it looked unreal.

Taki watched him. Quietly.

Maki’s profile was so familiar now, but still it made something ache inside him. The firm line of his jaw. His lashes, darker than they had any right to be. The way he furrowed his brow, just slightly, when navigating tighter turns.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Then — without looking away from the field — Maki moved.

One smooth shift of his arm, sliding under Taki’s knees, lifting gently, and settling his legs across his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Taki let out a startled little squeak, eyes wide. “Maki—!”

But Maki just grinned, still not looking at him, hand steady on the wheel. “Relax, little chef. You looked uncomfortable.”

Taki blinked, flustered. His legs now rested warm and solid across Maki’s lap, knees bent, socked toes brushing the seat edge. And then — just as casually — Maki reached down with his free hand and rested it on Taki’s thighs. Not holding, just… there. His thumb rubbed slow circles into the fabric of Taki’s sweatpants. Quiet comfort, wordless reassurance.

They stayed like that.

The steady roll of the tractor. The soft hum of the engine. The whisper of wind through the open vents.

Eventually, Taki shifted, just slightly, and slid his hand over Maki’s. Their fingers intertwined naturally. Maki let him — didn’t even look — as Taki began playing with his hand absentmindedly. Tracing his knuckles, brushing his thumb over the curve of his palm. A grounding rhythm, like a heartbeat between them.

Minutes passed like that. Long, quiet, safe.

Then Maki spoke.

“Do you want to go on a road trip with me?”

Taki looked up, startled. “What?”

Only then did Maki glance over at him, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I have to go on a little trip to deliver something to a ranch that's a few days out.”

He paused, squeezing Taki’s hand just a little.

“Come with me.”

Taki blinked, processing.

“It’s just a few days,” Maki continued, voice low. “But you need a break. A real one. Something different. New towns, new roads. Music, gas stations, Just us. It’ll do you good.”

Taki didn’t answer right away.

He stared down at their hands, at the way his fingers curled around Maki’s calloused ones. At the way Maki’s thumb brushed against his knee like he was doing it without even realizing.

He took a slow breath.

Then whispered, “Okay.”

Maki smiled — small and real and full of something too warm for words. He didn’t say anything else. Just focused back on the field, letting the moment settle like dust in the sunlight.

Taki leaned his head back against the seat, still playing with Maki’s fingers.

And for the first time in days, he felt the tight knot in his chest begin to loosen.

The house was quieter now, everyone having returned to their afternoon duties — the echo of boots on dirt and dogs barking in the distance a soft reminder that the ranch never truly slept.

Taki stayed behind.

The kitchen was warm with sunlight pouring through the window, catching the floating dust and turning it to gold. The citrusy tang of lemon filled the air as Taki moved with quiet precision, mixing ingredients for a lemon pie — the kind Bear liked. The kind Taki made when he needed something to keep his hands busy and his thoughts steadier.

He reached for the sugar when movement in the corner of his eye made him pause. Kaito was passing by the open doorway, likely heading toward the barn or feed storage. Taki hesitated for a second, then called out.

“Dad.”

Kaito turned immediately, pausing in the doorway with a slight tilt of his head, eyes full of patience. Waiting.

Taki swallowed, looking down at the bowl in his hands for a second before setting it aside.

“Maki asked me to go on his road trip with him tomorrow,” he said, carefully. “He thinks it’ll be good for me. You know, to get away for a few days.”

Kaito didn’t interrupt, just waited.

Taki looked up, his voice soft. “But I wanted to ask you if I can go.”

Kaito stepped into the kitchen slowly, his boots quiet on the old wooden floor. He came to stand just across from Taki, gaze warm, voice gentle.

“Maki’s right,” he said, nodding once. “It’ll be good for you. A little air, a little distance. Just be careful. Listen to him.” He reached out and ruffled Taki’s hair lightly. “He’ll take care of you, okay?”

Taki nodded. “Okay.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just full.

Then Kaito tilted his head slightly. “Are you okay?”

Taki nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. Just… it’s been an emotional day. That’s all.”

Their eyes met across the kitchen. Taki smiled — small and real and just a little wobbly — then lifted his arm slightly, almost shy.

“Hug?”

Kaito’s entire face softened. “Hug,” he echoed.

And then he stepped forward and pulled his son into his arms.

Taki melted into the embrace instantly, arms curling around his father’s waist, his face pressed into the soft fabric of Kaito’s shirt. He closed his eyes and let himself breathe it in — the steady heartbeat, the faint smell of hay and pine soap, the solid warmth of home.

“I love you, Dad,” he whispered, voice cracking just a little.

Kaito exhaled hard through his nose, holding him tighter. “I love you too, my baby.”

Taki closed his eyes.

In that kitchen, wrapped in his father’s arms with the scent of lemon and sugar and safety around him — he had never felt safer.

The house was settling into its nightly rhythm — dishes drying, lights dimming, the soft murmur of evening voices giving way to silence. Taki padded barefoot down the hallway, sweater sleeves pulled over his hands, fingers fidgeting at the cuffs. He stopped at a familiar door and knocked gently.

“Come in,” came EJ’s voice, calm as always.

Taki opened the door and stepped into the room… then blinked.

“Wow,” he said, eyes sweeping across the space. “Your room is really… you.”

EJ snorted, glancing up from the book he was shelving. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taki walked further in, still looking around. The walls were painted a muted shade of blue, calming and clean. Bookshelves lined one corner, all alphabetized from the look of them. The bed was neatly made, not a single wrinkle out of place. There was a tall lamp with a soft amber glow and a small succulent perched near the window.

“It’s tidy,” Taki said, with a tiny grin. “Peaceful. Kind of like a really nice library that smells like mint tea.”

EJ raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Taki grinned fully now and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… K said I should come to you because you might have a travel bag I can borrow?”

EJ gave him a curious look as he stood, crossing to his closet. “You going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Taki said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Maki’s going on a delivery trip tomorrow — to a ranch a few days away. He asked if I wanted to come with him.”

EJ paused.

Slowly, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He turned from the closet, holding the travel bag — a sturdy, dark canvas one with reinforced zippers — and arched an eyebrow.

“Ooooh,” he said, dragging out the sound. “A road trip. Just the two of you?”

Taki groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Not you too.”

EJ laughed as he crossed the room, holding the bag out. “Come on, can you blame me? You two are the very definition of unresolved tension. A road trip is basically a book trope at this point.”

Taki took the bag, blushing. “You guys are so nosy.”

“We’re observant,” EJ corrected with a wink. Then, quieter: “Besides… maybe it’s time.”

Taki looked up.

EJ’s voice softened, steady like it always was. “You should talk to him, Taki. Maki… he’ll always respect your boundaries. That’s why he won’t start the conversation on his own. But that doesn’t mean he’s not waiting for it.”

Taki stayed still, the bag clutched against his chest. He nodded slowly, lips pressed together in thought. His eyes flickered down, thoughtful.

EJ smiled gently and reached out, ruffling his hair with affection — the kind that only a brother could get away with.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured.

Taki smiled, soft and small. “Goodnight, EJ.”

And then he turned and padded out of the room, the travel bag swinging gently by his side and a thousand quiet thoughts trailing behind him like smoke.

—

Taki sat cross-legged on the floor in front of his bed, surrounded by a very chaotic attempt at packing. There was a half-zipped duffel bag to one side, a pile of shirts that somehow included three tank tops he hadn't worn since arriving at the ranch, and a pair of pants that definitely belonged to Yuma.

He held them up skeptically. “There’s no way these are mine.”

He sighed and flopped backward onto the floor, arms spread wide. “How do you pack for a road trip you know nothing about…”

A knock interrupted his dramatic moment. Taki sat up, brushing hair out of his face.

“Come in!”

The door opened, and Maki leaned against the frame with a grin. “Heard you were panicking.”

Taki lit up. “Oh, perfect. You’re here.” He reached out, gesturing wildly at the mess. “What am I supposed to pack?”

Maki stepped in, laughing as he toed around a rogue sock. “Basics,” he said. “We’re mostly on the road — comfy stuff. Nothing fancy. You’ll be in a car, eating gas station snacks and listening to my superior music taste.”

Taki gave him a look. “Bold of you to assume your music taste is better than mine.”

Maki sat on the edge of the bed, watching with amusement as Taki started sorting through clothes again.

“Should I bring a jacket?” Taki asked, holding up a denim one.

Maki shrugged. “Sure. Mornings might be chilly.”

There was a moment of quiet — the kind that felt comfortable, soft.

Then Maki spoke again. “Do you want to bring one of the dogs?”

Taki looked up, eyes instantly gleaming. “Wait—really?”

“Not Donnie,” Maki said with a half-smile. “They need him here for the sheep. But the others are good to go.”

Taki clapped his hands together. “Oh my god, we should take Raphael. He’s the cuddliest.”

Maki grinned. “Works for me.”

As Taki went back to folding a hoodie, Maki’s eyes wandered — casually nosy, the way someone always is in someone else’s space. His gaze landed on the lip gloss on the nightstand.

Without asking, he reached out and picked it up, turning it between his fingers.

Taki looked over, narrowing his eyes. “You’re so nosy.”

Maki smirked. “I live for chaos.”

Taki lunged forward to grab it, but Maki smoothly raised it out of reach. “Gimme that,” Taki huffed, standing on his knees as he tried to reach it again.

“Nope,” Maki said, scooting back onto the bed, holding the lip gloss above his head like a crown jewel.

“I swear to god, Maki—” Taki launched himself forward.

A tangle of limbs, a shout, and a thud later, they were laughing breathlessly — Taki pinned underneath Maki, their legs tangled awkwardly over the mattress. The gloss had fallen somewhere to the side, long forgotten. Taki’s cheeks were flushed from the exertion, his chest rising and falling quickly, his hair a little messy.

Maki was grinning down at him, one hand braced beside his head, the other hovering slightly over his stomach. Their laughter faded slowly, replaced by something quieter. Taki’s fingers curled into the sheets. Maki’s eyes softened.

Without saying a word, Maki reached out with his left hand, fingers ghosting along Taki’s hairline. He traced the line of his forehead, then his nose, down to the curve of his lips, gentle and unhurried.

Taki stilled, wide-eyed, heart stuttering.

Maki smiled. “Goodnight, little chef,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

And then he stood, brushing his hands on his jeans as if nothing had happened, heading for the door without looking back.

Taki lay there in stunned silence, his heart drumming against his ribs like a second breath.

The door clicked shut behind Maki.

Taki didn’t move.

He lay exactly where Maki had left him, sprawled across the bed like a forgotten sock, one hand still curled where it had clutched the sheets. His heartbeat pounded loud and uneven in his ears, his cheeks burning red like he'd spent too long in the sun.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised a hand to touch his own lips. The ghost of Maki’s fingertip still lingered there like a question he didn’t know how to answer.

“…Yeah,” Taki muttered to the ceiling, voice breathless and flat, “we should definitely have a conversation.”

And then he buried his face in a pillow and let out a muffled, mortified groan that echoed the room.