Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer-a good time of year for many things: shopping, seeing friends, swimming perhaps. But more than anything, summer means freedom. Vacation, the best way to spend the long, sun-lit days. Many young people plan to do just that, to carve out memories far from home, and this year, in the apartment of Makoto and Ren, preparations were already underway.

Makoto was standing by the table, checking through a list she had written in her neat, orderly handwriting. Ren leaned against the doorway, watching her fuss over every detail.

“Do you know where the key is?” Makoto asked, her tone already betraying a tinge of nerves.

Ren smirked faintly. “Did you check your purse?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” Makoto shot back, only to pause mid-sentence as her fingers brushed against the cool metal tucked neatly in one of the inner pockets. She froze, then sighed, a faint blush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. “Found it. Maybe it’s just the stress,” she admitted quietly, “this is Hideaki’s first time leaving the country.”

Ren crossed the room and reached out, resting a gentle hand on her arm. “He’ll be fine,” he said with quiet confidence. “Hawaii was good to us, remember? And there’s even a chance he’ll run into Sae and Yuuto since they’re there too.”

For a moment, Makoto was silent. Her eyes softened as she thought of her son. Nineteen years old already, yet in her heart he was still the boy she had held so tightly the day he was born. The thought of him stepping foot on foreign soil stirred something heavy in her chest. “He’s still my baby,” she whispered, half to herself.

Ren smiled, not unkindly. “I know. But babies grow up. He’ll manage. Besides,” he added with a teasing glance, “whoever he’s going with… I’m sure they’ll keep him on his toes.”

Just then, the sound of a zipper broke the quiet. From his room, Hideaki emerged, a sturdy travel bag slung over his shoulder. He carried himself with a mixture of youthful energy and carefully composed calm, though a spark of excitement flickered in his eyes.

“Got everything,” he announced, lifting his passport and ID in one hand to show them.

Makoto’s gaze lingered on him, searching his face for even the smallest crack in his certainty. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice hushed with motherly concern.

Hideaki gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure, Mom.”

Ren stepped forward then, resting a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “Be safe,” he said simply. “Your mom worries enough for the both of us, and I don’t need to hear it every hour.”

Makoto elbowed Ren lightly, though her lips curved into the faintest smile. Hideaki chuckled, looking between them. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Makoto looked at her son-those unmistakable, deep red eyes-and saw the glimmer of excitement shining through his calm exterior. It was the same spark he’d had as a child whenever he was on the cusp of something new, something unknown. The urge to pull him back, to hold him close, pressed at her chest, but Makoto was also filled with a complicated pride. Her baby was nineteen now, on the verge of carving out his own memories, ready to set out and find the world for himself.

She held out the keys, their metal surface glinting in the early sunlight. “Let’s go,” she said quietly, her voice almost steady. “We should leave for the airport. We don’t want to risk you missing your flight.”

Hideaki grinned-his smile wide and earnest. He slung his travel bag higher on his shoulder and followed his parents to the door. Ren reached out and squeezed Makoto’s hand once, silent reassurance passing between them. The three stepped out of the apartment and into the warm, humming promise of a summer day.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, at a simple mansion not far from the city of Tokyo, Asami was folding a navy cardigan into her suitcase with careful, practiced hands. She had been planning this vacation for months, yet now that the morning had arrived, the air around her shimmered with anticipation and a thread of nervousness that she tried not to show. Her room, usually pristine, was now scattered with clothes, phone chargers, and a small stack of travel guides, each one marked with hopeful sticky notes.

Down the hall, Minato leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, watching his daughter. Mitsuru stood just behind him, her presence regal even in such an intimate setting. For Asami, this moment was surreal-her parents, the people who had shaped her with both warmth and challenge, now watching as she prepared to step beyond their protection for the first time.

Mitsuru took a step forward, her heels making a soft click on the wooden floor. She looked at Asami with eyes that held both pride and an unspoken plea. “Are you sure about going to the airport?” she asked, voice gentle but edged with concern. “If you prefer, I can have the private jet or even a helicopter prepared. And whoever you’re traveling with, I can make sure there’s extra room."

Before Mitsuru could say more, Minato reached for her hand, his touch soft but firm. “You’re being overprotective again,” he teased lightly, a trace of a smile on his lips.

Mitsuru turned, ready to respond, but Asami caught her mother’s hand, holding it between both of her own. “I’ll be fine, Mother,” Asami said quietly, looking up with steady confidence. There was a soft humor in her eyes. “Besides, knowing my family, if things get even a little overwhelming, you’ll probably send a rescue team before I can even ask for help.”

For a moment, time stilled in the room-the early summer light slanting through silk curtains, casting gentle patterns across the bedspread strewn with her careful preparations. Mitsuru, always composed, always in control, looked at the daughter who was now meeting her gaze as an equal. But to Mitsuru, Asami was-and would always be her ice cube, her precious, distant star, the child she’d held close on snowbound evenings and encouraged to walk her own path. Pride warred with the ache of letting go.

Minato stepped closer, his presence calm and grounding. He placed a gentle hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his eyes finding Mitsuru’s with quiet amusement. “Relax, Mitsuru,” he murmured, his voice soft, as if speaking to a skittish bird. “She’ll have her old classmate with her. Besides, Asami can look after herself-and you know she’s more than capable.”

Asami squeezed her mother’s hand reassuringly. “I am a Kirijo, after all. I’ll be okay. No one is going to push me around.” She gave her mother a knowing look, as if reminding her that the strength of their family name was part of her very bones.

Mitsuru’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a fleeting moment, she looked ready to argue-but the words died unspoken. She nodded, silent, acknowledging the truth that Asami was growing, stretching beyond the shelter of their family legacy. For all the icy poise Mitsuru was known for, her eyes were soft, lingering on her daughter with a tenderness she rarely allowed herself to show.

“She’ll be fine,” Minato said again, quietly this time, as if reassuring his empress more than anyone else. “Let her have this. She deserves it.”

Mitsuru shot Minato a glare-half teasing, half a warning not to make light of her worry-but the moment passed, and her expression gentled. Turning back to Asami, she summoned a faint, regal smile. “Very well. I’ll have a butler prepare the limousine. There’s no reason for you to go to the airport without at least some comfort.”

She stepped from the room, heels tapping a brisk farewell against the polished wood, her presence lingering like a cool breeze even after she’d gone.

The silence left behind was warm and private. Minato let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head as he watched his wife’s retreat. Then he turned to his daughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “So,” he said, voice low, “who are you going with, Asami? Have I met this person before.”

Asami smiled, folding the last of her things and closing the suitcase with a soft click. She glanced up, her dark eyes reflecting a mischievous glimmer. “You have, Father. But I won’t make you guess. I don’t have time for riddles this morning.”

Minato laughed-a sound both soft and melancholy, tinged with the knowledge that the days of holding his daughter close were fading. He ruffled her hair lightly, letting his hand linger for a heartbeat. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said, “but just remember-call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Asami nodded, her mask of stoic calm briefly slipping to reveal something younger, more vulnerable. “I know. Thank you.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So many cars were moving along, which wasn’t a surprise-it was summer, after all, a season of restless hearts, road trips, family reunions, and long-awaited escapes. Summer meant planning and moving, bustling terminals, and the promise of adventure shimmering in the heat haze.

After a while, at the airport, Makoto, Ren, and Hideaki finally arrived. The parking lot was almost at capacity, the sun bouncing off metal and glass in a hundred different directions, but Makoto was barely aware of anything but her son. Hideaki slid out of the back seat, pulling his travel bag from the trunk with a practiced movement, the zippers and buckles glinting in the sunlight.

“Should be fun,” Hideaki said, slinging the bag over his shoulder, that crooked, easy smile never far from his lips. “I’ll be back in a week.”

Makoto couldn’t help herself. She reached out and pulled him into a hug-a tight, fierce embrace that surprised even her. For a second, Hideaki tensed, caught off-guard by the force of her love. Ren, ever the gentle voice of reason, tried to gently pry them apart, his hands warm on Makoto’s shoulders.

“Let him breathe, Makoto,” Ren said, a note of fond exasperation in his voice. “He’s gotta catch his flight, not miss it because you’ve fused yourself to him.”

Makoto squeezed her son one last time, feeling the thud of his heart through his shirt, the familiar scent of him-so impossibly grown, yet still her little boy. She finally let go, eyes glassy but smile steady. “Stay safe, my little sheriff.” she said, the words almost trembling in the summer air.

Hideaki stepped back, flashing her a grin full of hope and promise. “I will, Mom. Promise.”

Without looking back, he headed toward the airport’s glass doors, the crowd swallowing him up, the future unfurling ahead of him like a golden ribbon.

Ren slid an arm around Makoto’s waist as they watched their son disappear inside, the weight of the moment anchoring them in place. Then, quietly, Ren squeezed her hand, grounding her in the present. “He’ll be fine,” he whispered, his voice low and certain. “And besides, now that we’ve got some time, we can finally get that group together with Mitsuru and Minato. I think you could use a little fun.”

Makoto managed a small, reluctant smile, the idea of reconnecting with old friends a fragile comfort. “Maybe,” she allowed, voice soft. She took one last look at the terminal doors, then let herself be led back to the car. Ren didn’t let go of her hand as they drove off, the city slipping past in a blur of sunlight.

But behind them, a sleek black limousine swept into the airport’s arrivals lane, coming to a soft halt at the curb. The car gleamed in the sun, its engine a quiet purr against the low hum of the city.

Asami stepped out first, composed but electric with anticipation. Her hair fell in a perfect dark curtain across her shoulders, her movements precise even in this chaos of beginnings. Behind her, Mitsuru emerged, her presence as unmistakable as ever-poised, regal, but unable to hide the hint of worry in her eyes. Minato followed, his hands in his pockets, radiating a calm that seemed to settle the air around him.

Asami moved to the trunk, retrieving her suitcase. She glanced over her shoulder at her parents, a flicker of mischief crossing her otherwise serene features. “The person I’m meeting is already inside,” she said, her voice light.

Mitsuru stepped forward, and for once, her immaculate composure faltered just enough for Asami to see the worry beneath. She opened her arms, expecting the usual brief, elegant embrace-but as Asami leaned in, Mitsuru tightened her hold, wrapping her daughter in an unexpectedly fierce hug. It was a rare thing for Mitsuru to show such open affection, and the moment drew out, silent but heavy with unspoken things. Asami, usually so poised, stilled for a heartbeat in her mother’s arms, feeling the quiet strength of the woman who had protected her since birth.

Minato, ever the quiet center of gravity, watched with a small, knowing smile. “You’re being fussy again, Mitsuru,” he teased, though his voice was gentle, amused.

Mitsuru only tightened her hold. “Maybe I am,” she admitted, her voice muffled in Asami’s hair. “But let me hold my little ice cube just a little bit longer.”

There was a glimmer of warmth in Asami’s eyes as she squeezed her mother’s hand. When Mitsuru finally let go, it was with reluctance, her hands lingering on her daughter’s arms, eyes searching her face as if to memorize her all over again.

Asami stepped back, smoothing her blazer, mask of composure falling neatly back into place. “I’ll be back next week,” she promised, her voice steady. “It’s only a week, Mother. I won’t get into trouble.” She turned to Minato, offering him a rare, fond smile. “You too, Father. Don’t worry about me.”

Minato gave a mock salute, his smile tinged with pride and just a shade of sadness. “We’ll be here,” he said. “Take care, Asami.”

With one last look-one that Mitsuru caught and held, as if storing it away for the empty days ahead-Asami wheeled her suitcase toward the sliding glass doors. Mitsuru and Minato watched her go, the sun glinting off the polished marble at their feet, the world inside the airport shimmering with possibility.

The limousine door was held open by a crisp-suited butler, and as Mitsuru and Minato slid inside, the city seemed to blur at the edges-a world still bright, but a little emptier. The car eased away from the curb in perfect, silent grace.

For a while, neither spoke. The city unwound behind them in streams of gold and blue. At last, Minato slid his hand across the seat, finding Mitsuru’s. “She’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “She’s stronger than you think. Besides, with her gone, maybe we can see if Ren and Makoto want to get together. We could use a little fun ourselves.”

Mitsuru let out a slow, rare laugh, her lips curving into something almost playful. “That might be exactly what I need,” she said, voice soft. She leaned back, letting herself imagine it-the warmth of old friends, laughter echoing in spacious halls. The worry didn’t leave her, not really, but it softened just a bit.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside the airport, the world was a swirl of movement-travelers hurrying toward their gates, announcements echoing off tile and glass, the energy of a thousand departures and reunions vibrating through the summer air.

Asami moved through the crowd with a precision that was almost surgical, her eyes scanning the sea of faces. And then-there he was.

Hideaki stood by the departure board, his travel bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, hands in his pockets. Even in the chaos, there was something effortlessly magnetic about him-those unmistakable red eyes, the easy tilt of his mouth, the restless energy held barely in check. For a moment, Asami just watched him, a secret smile flickering across her lips.

She walked up quietly, suitcase rolling at her side. Hideaki looked up, eyes lighting up as he spotted her. “Hey,” he said, that signature, crooked grin tugging at his lips. “They don’t know, do they?”

Asami gave a sly smirk, her voice almost a whisper. “My mother and father have no idea,” she replied. “They’d have had an entire Kirijo investigation team on you if they did.”

Hideaki laughed, the sound low and warm. “Same here. My folks just think I’m meeting up with old friends.” He reached out, letting his fingers brush lightly against hers. They laced their hands together, a quiet, stolen intimacy in the middle of the rush.

Asami squeezed his hand, looking at him with a wry smile. “We should tell them, you know. Eventually.”

Hideaki’s grin turned mischievous. “Maybe. But this keeps things a little spicy, don’t you think? Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Asami rolled her eyes, but there was a spark of excitement in her expression-a thrill that ran deeper than just secrecy. “They’re going to find out,” she warned, “and then we’re both in for it.”

Hideaki shrugged, his gaze affectionate. “Worth it,” he said simply.

They fell into step together, weaving through the crowds. For a moment, the noise and bustle faded away, and it was just the two of them-two worlds colliding quietly beneath the vaulted ceilings and sunlit glass of the airport.

Chapter Text

The airport was surly busy, but it wasn’t surprising as people lined up, shoulders brushing, voices blurring into the endless announcements about gates and delays. Even in that storm of movement and anticipation, there was something steady and bright about the two young travelers threading their way through the crowd. Hideaki walked beside Asami, their steps matched unconsciously, their tickets pressed between careful fingers.

It wasn’t luck that landed them in first class-that was Mitsuru’s doing, though she had no idea Hideaki would be on the same flight. If she had, perhaps there would have been even more luxury, another layer of quiet protection. But as it was, first class felt like its own quiet world, set apart from the frenzy just beyond the thick curtain.

Asami moved with her usual, almost regal precision, her suitcase rolling silently behind her, while Hideaki grinned at the polished wood and gleaming glass of the cabin. They settled into seats-just two, window and aisle-tucked together in the front row, a little cocoon of calm and promise. Hideaki took the window, watching sunlight glitter along the curve of the wing, while Asami set her phone to airplane mode and slipped it away.

There was no drama here, nothing to disrupt this simple, untroubled moment. Just the two of them, Asami Kirijo and Hideaki Amamiya setting out to carve another chapter of their own story, in the air above a thousand possibilities.

As the plane began to fly, Hideaki turned to her, eyes shining with the kind of anticipation he used to have as a boy at the gates of a festival. “What do you wanna do once we get to Hawaii? First thing?”

Asami thought for a second, her lips curling as she surveyed the possibilities she’d been quietly gathering for weeks. She’d researched, as she always did-travel guides marked with sticky notes, bookmarked blogs, recommendations passed along in the Kirijo household like precious currency.

“Well,” she said, her voice cool and even but her eyes sparking, “there’s a place I found in Waikiki. It’s supposed to have the best loco moco and shaved ice on Oahu. I’d like to try it, if you’re up for it.”

Hideaki’s smile grew, soft and a little surprised, as if something old and sweet had just resurfaced. Asami noticed, tilting her head, a playful curiosity coloring her gaze. “What’s with that look? Did I accidentally pick the worst place on the island?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, it’s just… That’s one of the restaurants my folks went to. On their field trip. They told me about it when I was little."

Asami let out a low, teasing whistle. “hmm, a full-circle moment. This is turning into a family tradition, huh? I hope I live up to your parents’ date night standards.” Her tone was light but the words landed somewhere deeper, as if the story she was building with Hideaki was winding itself through time.

She glanced at him sidelong, half a smirk on her lips. “Are we going to run into your aunt and uncle too, or is it just fate putting us in the same seats?”

Hideaki leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. He let out a quiet sigh, part excitement and part something heavier. “Honestly? I’m not sure. They’re supposed to be in Hawaii, but I haven’t heard their exact plans. If we do run into them…well, we do. And if not, that’s fine too. I’m here for the adventure.”

He looked at her, and for a second, Asami saw the mix of confidence and vulnerability that made Hideaki so impossible to read at times. He was older now-nineteen, independent, shouldering the weight of his own dreams-but there was still a gentleness about him that softened the edges.

“Adventure, huh?” Asami echoed, settling back into her seat. “I suppose that means you’ll want to try surfing, or volcano hiking, or something completely reckless.”

Hideaki shook his head, the barest hint of a grin tilting his lips. “I won’t go that far. Not unless you want to drag me up a volcano, anyway.” He leaned back, fingers absently tracing patterns on the armrest between them.

The plane engines rumbled, low at first, then rising, a gathering tide. Hideaki’s words lingered between them, threading through the bright hush of first class. Asami glanced sideways at him, her expression unreadable, but a small smile curled at the edge of her lips-a secret the world didn’t get to share.

They both felt it, in the quiet before takeoff, this was more than a vacation  to them.

The jet rolled, gathered speed, and then, with a sudden, weightless rush, they were climbing above the world. The city slipped away beneath a wash of clouds, sunlight splintered into bands of gold and white across the glass. Hideaki pressed his forehead to the window, watching as the familiar became small and distant.

For a while, the two sat in companionable silence. Hideaki looked outside, his breath fogging the glass. Asami, meanwhile, reached into the seat pocket and pulled out a glossy in-flight magazine. She flipped through the first few pages absently, pausing on an article about the best beaches in Oahu, then a two-page spread on high-end boutiques in Honolulu.

A shimmer of silk, a model caught mid-laugh, and the glint of jewelry on sun-warmed skin-Asami’s eyes lingered. She wondered, briefly, what it would be like to buy such things for herself, not because she needed to look a certain way, but because she wanted to. Freedom felt as rare and precious as the ocean’s shimmer at that altitude.

But it was the next headline that stopped her. “Kirijo Group Power and Legacy.” A candid photo of Mitsuru, regal in a charcoal suit, flanked by board members. Asami’s heartbeat ticked faster. She tilted the magazine just enough for Hideaki to see.

Hideaki’s eyes darted to the page and widened, the name catching his attention like a spark. He reached out, quick, trying to nudge the magazine from her hands with a grin that didn’t quite mask his worry. “Maybe skip that part,” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “You never know what they’ll say about big companies your family."

But Asami caught his wrist with gentle fingers. “It’s not bad news. Look.” She turned the magazine so he could see for himself, her voice even but soft, her gaze never wavering.

Hideaki hesitated, reading the article-just a short, glowing piece about the Kirijo Group’s philanthropy, the new medical wing at the university, Mitsuru’s leadership, the company’s efforts after disaster. Nothing about the old scandals. No shadows. He let out a slow breath, relaxing.

“Sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed but honest, “It's just-sometimes they write bad stuff. I wanted to make sure.”

Asami shook her head, smiling-a real, warm smile she reserved for only a handful of people. “You always try to protect me from the world. Even the parts I already know about. I appreciate it.” Her tone was teasing, but there was something else beneath it-a tenderness, a gratitude that went unspoken but shimmered between them.

Hideaki flushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Guess I can’t help it. Old habits.”

“Good habits,” Asami said. She flipped the magazine closed and slipped it back in the seat pocket, then leaned her head toward him, just a little.

The tension eased, and Hideaki, ever the optimist, brightened again. “Wanna watch something? It’s a long flight-we could pick a movie.” He reached for the in-flight entertainment screen, scrolling through the limited options. There weren’t many: a nature documentary, a classic black-and-white film, a couple of comedies. It felt like a small world, curated and safe.

Asami gave him an arch look. “You’re not picking the dumb comedy, are you?”

Hideaki feigned outrage. “What if it’s so bad it’s good?”

She just rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and after a minute they settled on the old film. Hideaki tilted his screen toward her so they could watch together, shoulders bumping with the movement of the plane. The story played out in flickering monochrome, a love letter to an era neither of them had lived but both recognized: courage, longing, ordinary people made extraordinary by circumstance.

The hours slipped by, measured in laughter, whispered commentary, the click of Asami’s pen as she doodled in her planner, the soft brush of Hideaki’s hand when he pointed out a scene he liked. Lunch arrived-Soranoiro yuzu-scented ramen in porcelain bowls, delicate and savory, steam curling up in fragrant clouds.

Asami took a careful bite, eyes widening at the bright citrus, and Hideaki grinned, pleased. “Not as good as my dad’s curry, though,” he said, nudging her gently.

Asami paused, chopsticks hovering. She looked at him, the shadows of memory flickering in her gaze. “I do miss your father’s curry,” she admitted quietly. “That was… something special.” There was a softness to her words, a rare glimpse of nostalgia. “No one else could ever get the spices quite right.”

Hideaki’s smile turned a little shy, a little wistful. “He’d be happy to know you liked it. Maybe when we’re back, I can get him to make some for us. Or… I could try.”

“I’d like that,” Asami said. For a moment, she wasn’t the poised, untouchable heiress of the Kirijo legacy, but just a girl dreaming of home, of warmth and belonging. And Hideaki, for all his easy smiles and teasing, knew how much that meant to her.

After the meal, dessert arrived in a tiny gilded box, Chocolat Jean-Paul Hevin, bittersweet and melting on the tongue, a taste of Paris over the Pacific. They shared a piece, the chocolate smudging Asami’s fingertip. Hideaki laughed, handing her a napkin, the intimacy of the gesture settling between them like the softest of promises.

They watched the clouds slip by, the world below hidden, the future waiting somewhere beyond the horizon. For a while, neither Asami nor Hideaki spoke. Their fingers, twined together between the seats, remained still and gentle even as their eyelids drooped with the calm exhaustion of travel. Sleep crept up quietly-first a yawn from Hideaki, then a delicate sigh from Asami-and the hush of first class became a cocoon of dreams and gentle motion.

Outside, the endless Pacific shimmered beneath them, golden sunlight scattered across its surface. In that quiet, the two young travelers drifted together into a shared nap, hands clasped, shoulders barely brushing, two heartbeats steadying each other in the hush above the world.

It was the lilting chime of an announcement that finally roused them-the soft murmur of the flight attendant, half dream, half reality, welcoming them to Hawaii. The words echoed above the rustle of passengers waking, stretching, voices bright with anticipation. Hideaki blinked awake first, rubbing his eyes and turning, still dazed, toward Asami. She was already stirring, stretching the sleep from her long limbs, the soft light catching on her hair and making her look, for a moment, as ethereal as she felt.

“Look,” Hideaki whispered, breathless with wonder as he pressed his forehead to the window. There it was-Oahu, green and gold and ringed by impossibly blue water. Diamond Head loomed in the distance, the shoreline edged with pearl-white sand, and the city below shimmered in the morning light. Hideaki’s smile was wide and unguarded, the same look of awe and hope he’d worn as a boy, and Asami, seeing it, felt her own heart lift.

They sat in silence, hand in hand, watching the island draw closer, feeling the promise of new memories glimmering ahead. When the wheels touched down, the cabin erupted in gentle applause and laughter, a hundred stories colliding in the bright Hawaiian morning.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ritual of landing-seatbelts unbuckled, bags pulled from the overheads, the shuffle and murmur of passengers eager to step out into the sun-passed in a dreamlike blur. Hideaki, with his usual restless energy, helped Asami with her suitcase and offered her a hand as they stepped off the plane. The jet bridge was cool, but as they crossed into the terminal, the air shifted-warmer, sweeter, tinged with the scent of plumeria and salt.

The Honolulu airport was a swirl of color and movement. Travelers hurried past, suitcases rattling, the air thick with cheerful welcomes and the music of ukuleles played by airport greeters. Hideaki stretched his arms high above his head as soon as he stepped outside, grinning up at the endless blue sky. The heat of the day was immediate and perfect, golden light warming his face. “This,” he declared, spinning in place like a kid, “is exactly what I needed!”

Asami rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her laughter. The sight of Hideaki, so unreservedly happy, made something inside her soften. She let the moment linger, then adjusted the strap on her suitcase and glanced around, her gaze sharp and analytical even in paradise.

Suddenly, a taxi pulled up to the curb-a sleek, well-kept black car, its driver stepping out and holding up a sign with Asami’s name in bold Japanese characters. Hideaki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wow, someone’s prepared! Who knew your reputation crossed the ocean?”

Asami just gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “The Kirijo name gets around. Besides, I planned ahead.” There was pride in her voice, but also a quiet vulnerability-as if she hoped her carefulness would make this trip smoother, safer, more memorable.

They climbed into the taxi, Hideaki bouncing a little on the leather seat, the city and ocean rolling past the windows as the driver-an older Japanese man with a warm smile-greeted them in accented English and then in their native tongue. Asami gave the hotel’s name and address in perfect, practiced Japanese, and the man nodded, his eyes crinkling. Hideaki relaxed into the ride, glancing at Asami with a look of open admiration. “You really think of everything, don’t you?”

Asami shrugged, looking out at the streets of Honolulu, the palms swaying in the gentle wind. “Someone has to.”

The city unfurled around them, lush parks, bustling avenues, locals on mopeds, the riot of color from flower stalls and surf shops. It was a world apart from the careful, ordered spaces Asami had always known, and Hideaki’s excitement was infectious. He pointed out murals, food trucks, stray cats napping in the sun. Asami found herself smiling, the tightness in her shoulders unwinding a little more with every mile.

Their taxi wound its way through Waikiki, past open-air cafes fragrant with pineapple and roast pork, past children with sand still clinging to their knees, past honeymooners holding hands as if the world belonged to only them. It was a kind of freedom that Asami rarely allowed herself to imagine. Even Hideaki, usually so self-contained, seemed lighter, more himself under the tropical sky-grinning as if he’d shed half his worries on the tarmac.

When they reached the hotel, Hideaki paid the driver, slipping a generous tip into the man’s palm and bowing with a gratitude learned from his father. Asami watched, quietly pleased, always attentive to the small ways kindness could root itself in ordinary acts.

Inside, the lobby was all cool marble and glass, a fountain burbling softly beneath a canopy of orchids. The desk clerk, efficient and smiling, found their reservation without fuss. There was a moment of strange intimacy as she handed over two room keys-silver and heavy, printed with the hotel’s crest.

Hideaki took one, spinning it on his finger, and shot Asami a sidelong look, his voice low and conspiratorial. “So… just the two of us, huh? A room all to ourselves. Think of all the things that could happen.”

Asami blinked, her brow furrowing in earnest confusion. “What things? We’ll sleep, we’ll eat, maybe watch a movie…”

Hideaki’s mouth curled into a smirk. “You know, things,” he drawled, as if that explained everything. He leaned in a little closer, teasing, enjoying her discomfort.

She flushed, mortified, and smacked his chest-once, twice, a flurry of indignation. “Tu es un idiot! Un imbecile! Vraiment, je ne comprends pas comment tu es arrive jusqu’ici-” Her voice tumbled into French, exasperated and fast, every word a sharp nudge for the fussiness was getting to her.

Hideaki laughed, delighted at having gotten under her skin. “C’mon, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

She glared, but there was a reluctant smile breaking through. She stopped herself, smoothing her hair and trying to reclaim her composure. Hideaki, still grinning, nudged her. “Why’d you stop? I was enjoying that.”

Before she could answer, there was a tap on Hideaki’s shoulder. He turned, still grinning-and then froze. Standing behind him was his uncle, Yuuto, tall and quietly imposing, his eyes gentle but keen as ever. Beside him, Sae, stood with her arms crossed, lips pursed in a look that was both a warning and a dare.

Hideaki’s smile faltered, caught off-guard. “Uh… hey, Uncle Yuuto! Aunt Sae!”

Yuuto’s eyes flicked from Hideaki to Asami, taking in the two keys in their hands, the flush still lingering on Asami’s cheeks. He gave a slow, deliberate nod, the hint of a wry smile on his lips. “So, this is your ‘friend’ you mentioned, Hideaki?”

Sae, meanwhile, didn’t bother to hide her disapproval, her gaze narrowing as she looked between them. “Interesting. You didn’t say anything about a girlfriend, Hideaki.”

The silence that followed was immediate and sharp, almost physical in the air-conditioned calm of the lobby. Yuuto folded his arms, his height lending him an easy authority as he fixed Hideaki with a look that was neither angry nor amused-simply waiting, evaluating. He tilted his head, brown eyes thoughtful, his voice gentle but clear as he recalled, “You only mentioned a friend, Hideaki. Just a friend, right?”

Hideaki’s cheeks burned, but Asami spoke before he could flounder, her composure returning in the face of scrutiny. “We planned this trip together for a while now. It’s nothing sudden or reckless.” Her tone was cool, measured, as if she were presenting an argument in a boardroom. She glanced at Hideaki, then squared her shoulders. “We’re both nineteen. Adults, at least by law. Everything’s above board.”

Yuuto nodded, considering. “I see. And do your parents know you both went together?” There was a softness in his eyes that softened the directness of his words-a memory of the boy Hideaki had been, and maybe, the hardships Yuuto himself had weathered.

Asami and Hideaki both hesitated. For a split second, neither of them said a word. Then, together, as if choreographed by years of shared secrets and silent glances, they shook their heads. “No,” Hideaki admitted, voice small. “We didn’t tell them.”

A thin silence drew out in the lobby, sharper than any reprimand. Hideaki half-expected the storm-Sae’s clipped tone, Yuuto’s disappointment, the familiar lecture on trust and responsibility that always seemed to follow when you were young and trying to grasp at freedom. But instead, Sae and Yuuto just looked at them, their gazes unreadable, measuring. There was no immediate scolding, no raised voices or stern warnings. Just the slow, steady breath of adulthood, full of understanding and reluctance, heavier than either Asami or Hideaki expected.

After a long moment, Hideaki couldn’t take it anymore. He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing his thumb anxiously over the edge of his keycard. “Are… are you going to say anything?” He tried for a joke, but it came out shaky and thin.

Sae’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t smile. “We could,” she said finally, her voice calm-almost too calm, like the steady surface of a deep pond. “We could give you the lecture about responsibility, about keeping family informed, about how you’re adults now but still learning.” She paused, giving Hideaki a long, appraising look, then turned to Asami. “But to be honest, we planned this vacation for months. Just us. No work, no responsibilities, no drama. And, more importantly, no kids to babysit.” For the first time, there was the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across her lips-a rare, fleeting vulnerability. “I think Reina’s more than capable of watching over things back home. So let’s all try not to ruin our breaks, okay?”

Yuuto let out a low laugh, a single sound that was equal parts relief and amusement. He slung an arm around Sae’s shoulders, the gesture as easy as breathing. “Besides,” he teased, his gaze flickering to Hideaki, “it’s not like you two are going to do anything wild-”

He broke off, eyes narrowing with sudden realization. Sae, too, was looking more closely now-her eyes darting from the two keys in Hideaki’s and Asami’s hands, to the matching room numbers embossed in silver. A silent conversation seemed to pass between Sae and Yuuto, their years together making words unnecessary. Sae’s elbow found Yuuto’s ribs-a small, sharp prod of wifely authority. Yuuto winced, but his eyes were resigned. He knew exactly what that nudge meant.

Yuuto’s tone shifted, becoming more deliberate. “But tonight…” he started, a little more serious now.

“Another night,” Sae cut in, her voice firm and non-negotiable. Her eyes glimmered with amusement as she leaned in, whispering just loud enough for Yuuto to hear, “I’ll wear the red one later, if you behave.”

Yuuto’s shoulders slumped, a dramatic sigh escaping him as he pressed the bridge of his nose. “You’re breaking my heart, Sae.”

Hideaki watched the exchange with a look of mixed confusion and dawning horror, as if he’d just walked in on the tail end of a grown-ups’ secret. He tried not to imagine what ‘the red one’ meant.

But Sae was already reaching out, plucking the keycard from Hideaki’s hand and holding out her own to Asami. “Just to keep things above board,” she said briskly. “Asami, you’re with me tonight. Hideaki, you’re with Yuuto.” She didn’t phrase it as a request. She didn’t have to.

Asami’s expression flickered-a brief, unmistakable flash of disappointment-before she quickly schooled it into something neutral. She met Sae’s eyes, giving a small, respectful nod, and stepped away from Hideaki’s side, her posture perfect even as she turned over her key. Sae placed a gentle hand on Asami’s shoulder, her touch unexpectedly kind. “Come on. I’ll show you how to work the espresso machine in the suite."

Yuuto glanced at his nephew, the beginnings of a smile fading into something softer, more complicated-a silent apology wrapped in resignation. There was gratitude in his eyes, but also disappointment lingering beneath. He had been hoping, perhaps selfishly, for an evening with his wife-Sae, in red, the promise of something rare and intimate after months spent managing responsibilities neither of them had ever truly asked for. But now, with Hideaki standing beside him, awkward and sheepish, Yuuto just sighed and gave his nephew’s shoulder a gentle, almost fatherly squeeze.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, the word carrying more weight than Hideaki expected. He tried to muster a grin, to pass it all off as another harmless adult inconvenience, but he couldn’t quite hide the wistfulness.

Hideaki watched his uncle, a pang of guilt pressing at his chest. He didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s disappointment, least of all Yuuto’s. But there was a flicker of hope, too, that maybe this wouldn’t ruin everything-that the promise of this trip, the anticipation in the air, could still find its way back.

Chapter Text

The next day, it was beautiful and warm, and the beaches were alive-a pleasant crowd humming along the shoreline, umbrellas blooming in clusters, and the sun just rising above the blue line of the Pacific, golden and bold. 

The air tasted different here, softer, carrying the scent of salt, sunscreen, and flowers. After a night apart-separated by Sae’s careful oversight and Yuuto’s steady presence-Asami and Hideaki found each other just past dawn, slipping out of the hotel before the rest of the city could fully wake. They met in the lobby almost by accident, though it felt inevitable, their steps converging like old habits too ingrained to break.

Asami was radiant and effortlessly composed in her new swimsuit: a blue halter-style bikini top with a neat bow at the center, a skirted bottom that brushed the tops of her thighs and tied in a matching bow at her waist, cute and modest and a little daring for her. She’d tucked a yellow flower into her hair, which caught the sunlight every time she turned her head, casting a playful shadow on her cheek.

Hideaki, meanwhile, was shirtless but wore a casual, open red vest over black swim trunks, the kind that stopped just above his knees. He looked every inch the confident young man she’d got to know better in their early days-untamed, a little wild, with salt on his skin and hope in his eyes.

No stress, no plans, no weight but the day itself. That was the promise between them as they walked out to the beach, the hotel falling away behind them. They were holding hands before they even realized, fingers entwined, their touch gentle, as if still unsure how much to let themselves hope for.

At the edge of the sand, Asami paused to breathe in the view-the sweep of Oahu’s coast, the water turning from turquoise to indigo, and the endless motion of waves gathering and breaking, gathering and breaking. The sun crept higher, brushing gold across Hideaki’s shoulders and sparking off the curve of Asami’s cheek. For a moment, the whole world felt paused, a secret just for them.

They wandered the shoreline in no hurry, the morning sand cool beneath their feet. Around them, children darted in and out of the waves, their laughter rising above the dull thrum of surfboards and shouts. A family built a sandcastle farther down, while a trio of surfers paddled out, their boards cutting bright trails through the shallows.

From a distance, another pair caught their attention, Yuuto and Sae, unmistakable even among strangers. But to Sae’s surprise Yuuto lifted her off her feet and she laughed, loud and unguarded, her arms wrapping reflexively around Yuuto’s neck. He spun her, grinning, feet kicking up arcs of sand, until her hat tumbled off and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, half-embarrassed, half overjoyed as he ran while holding her.

Asami, watching this, gave a little smile, half-amused, half-envious of the freedom in Sae’s laughter. She nudged Hideaki gently, her hand still warm in his. “It seems your aunt and uncle are having the time of their lives,” she said, teasing but with real fondness.

Hideaki couldn’t help but chuckle, a sound soft and real. “You know,” he said, eyes still on Yuuto’s broad, sunlit back, “I’ve never seen them like this. Yuuto’s always so… put together. Calm. And Sae-well, she’s usually busy making sure everyone else follows the rules. I guess vacation does weird things to people.”

For a moment, they just walked-no hurry, letting the breeze pull at their hair, the world softening around them into simple, golden shapes. It felt like a dream that kept refocusing, something so fleeting they both tried to memorize it in real time. Hideaki nudged a piece of driftwood with his toe, leaving a trail in the sand, his other hand swinging Asami’s gently between them.

“I just hope,” he said, tone turning half-serious, “our folks don’t murder us for slipping out before breakfast.”

Asami gave him a sidelong look, something playful flickering in her eyes. “If they do, at least it was for a good cause. I’m not spending another hour cooped up in that hotel when the world looks like this.”

“Yeah,” Hideaki said, voice quiet but full, “me neither. Let’s just… not worry about anything else, not today.”

They walked on, leaving faint, overlapping footprints behind them, and as the beach got busier with the day’s first sunbathers and surfers, Hideaki caught the colorful sprawl of an ice cream cart and a drink stand farther down, both bright against the pale sand. He glanced sideways at Asami, grinning. “Hey, check that out. You up for something cold? My treat.”

But Asami shook her head, that hint of determination lighting up her features. “No, let me. You always pay. This time, I insist. What do you want?”

Hideaki grinned, a flash of warmth in his eyes, the sort that made Asami’s heart squeeze. “All right, all right,” he conceded, raising his hands in surrender. “How about… iced tea? Lots of lemon. You know, the way I like.”

“Lemon, extra ice. Got it,” Asami replied, her smile soft and pleased with herself. She squeezed his hand before stepping off toward the little drink stand, the sand shifting under her bare feet.

Hideaki watched her go for a moment, admiring the sway of her skirt and the bright yellow flower bobbing in her hair. The world felt bright and new and so full of possibility it almost hurt to stand still.

He was pulled from his reverie by a sudden voice-low, smoky, and touched with a lilt he couldn’t quite place. “Excusez-moi, monsieur, would you mind getting me a drink as well? I think I’ll have the special. Unless you recommend something better?”

Hideaki blinked, glancing sideways toward the sound. The small outdoor bar’s awning fluttered in the breeze, its shaded stools dappled with gold. A woman leaned against the counter, one long leg crossed over the other. She wore a striking red bikini-two simple bands of color framing toned arms and sun-kissed skin, a wide-brimmed hat angled just so, and sunglasses that glinted as she regarded him. What arrested him wasn’t her confidence or the curve of her smile, but the sharply defined abdominals-like something out of a swimsuit ad, or a movie scene he wasn’t supposed to be witnessing.

She lowered her sunglasses, revealing striking blue eyes that seemed to laugh all on their own. “You’re staring,” she teased, accent slipping unmistakably into French. “Do you always help beautiful women at the bar? Or are you just a very helpful young man?”

Hideaki’s face flamed, every instinct screaming at him to look away, but he was caught. “I-I’m not a waiter,” he managed, stumbling over the words as the woman’s lips curled upward.

She let out a low, delighted chuckle, the sound both teasing and warm. “Ah, so you’re just staring because you like what you see? Or perhaps,” her blue eyes danced with mischief above the rim of her sunglasses, “you’re one of those shy types who can’t help but admire older women from afar? Don’t worry, monsieur, I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” She leaned in a little, one elbow on the counter, her smile growing wicked. “I might be in my thirties, but I can make an exception for someone who looks so charmingly out of his depth. What are you, early twenties?”

Hideaki’s mouth worked soundlessly, a rush of heat climbing all the way up to his ears. “I-no, that’s not-! I mean, you’re not-” His words tangled together, panic and embarrassment mingling as he waved his hands defensively. “I’m not interested in, uh, older-but, you’re not old, that’s not what I-” His voice broke off as he realized just how much deeper he was digging himself. The woman’s laughter, rich and easy, only deepened the color in his cheeks.

Before he could attempt a recovery, a bright, familiar voice cut through the awkwardness behind him. “I’m back with the-” Asami’s words halted mid-sentence, her eyes landing squarely on the woman beside Hideaki. For a split second, she froze, drinks in hands began to shake. Then, like a wave breaking over a reef, recognition swept over her features, her mouth dropping open in shock.

“Juliette?!” Asami’s voice shot up an octave, the drink nearly slipping from her grasp. She hurried forward, her composure unraveling in a way that only true surprise could bring. She reached out, grabbing the woman’s arm and giving her a little shake, disbelief and exasperation blending together. “What are you doing here? Why-how-Juliette why are you here!?"

Juliette’s lips curled in an unmistakable, slow grin. “Mademoiselle Asami! Imagine seeing you here-what a small world.” She tilted her sunglasses down with one manicured finger, revealing a flash of blue eyes, sly and dancing with mischief. “I assure you, I am as surprised as you are. This is my last day on holiday before I return to the mansion. And you-” Her gaze swept from Asami, still clutching her arm, to Hideaki, whose face was a portrait of mortification and confusion. “-have kept some interesting company, it seems. Are you going to introduce me, or is he just an admirer you picked up on the sand?”

For a moment, Asami just stared, mouth opening and closing, words failing her as the realization dawned. Of course. She had never once told Juliette about Hideaki-not really, not the truth of it, anyway. The world around her seemed to tilt, the easy magic of the morning giving way to the tight coil of nerves in her stomach. “He’s not-” She stopped, took a breath, and then managed, “Juliette, this is Hideaki. He’s…my boyfriend.”

Juliette’s eyebrows shot up, the surprise plain on her face. For a beat, she said nothing, studying Hideaki with a shrewd, appraising look-a slow sweep from his tousled hair to the red vest hanging open over bare skin, and then to the way his hand found Asami’s without thinking. A smile crept across Juliette’s lips, not unkind, but almost proud. “Well, well, Asami. You have taste, at least.” She held Hideaki’s gaze for a moment longer before turning back to Asami, her voice lowering. “And your parents-do they know about this little…getaway?”

The question hung in the air like a thrown stone. Asami shook her head, fingers tightening around Hideaki’s. “No. They don’t know anything. Neither do his parents.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, desperation and pleading in every word. “Please, Juliette. Don’t say anything. They’d…they’d never let us live this down, not after everything that happened last time. You know how my mother is. And his-”

Juliette held up her hands, palm out, her laughter quiet and rich. “Chérie, your secrets are safe with me. I don’t answer to your parents when I am on vacation.” She slid her sunglasses back up, shrugging with a lazy grace. “Though I hope you two are being careful, hmm? The last thing you want is a scandal in paradise-or a souvenir you weren’t expecting.” Her eyes twinkled, and for a second, Asami blushed so furiously she nearly dropped the drinks again.

A waiter arrived, weaving between sun-soaked tables with a practiced ease. “Excuse me, madam, would you care for another drink?” he asked, voice low and respectful.

Juliette flashed a knowing smile. “The special, if you please.”

But he was already holding it out-a tall, frosted glass with a charry red cocktail drink. She accepted it with a graceful nod, her fingers wrapping around the glass as if this moment were a ritual, something she’d done a thousand times before. “Merci,” she said, lifting it in a small salute.

She walked away with languid confidence, never rushing, her steps somehow in time with the hush of the surf. Juliette settled herself into a lounge chair, stretching out on the bench beneath the striped umbrella. With a contented sigh, she leaned back, propped up on one elbow, drink balanced with impossible poise. Sunlight flickered across her skin as she tilted her head to look at Asami and Hideaki, lips curling in a slow, mischievous smile.

“You two take care now,” she called, her accent honey-smooth, “for things are about to get interesting.” She gave them a little wave, winking just once before settling her sunglasses back in place, the picture of effortless intrigue and amusement.

Asami didn’t trust herself to look back. Her hand shot out, catching Hideaki’s wrist in a grip much tighter than she intended. “Come on,” she said, voice pitched low and urgent, as though even the waves might overhear, “we have to keep moving.” She half-dragged him down the sand, her bare feet kicking up little clouds behind them, her heart racing in her chest-not with fear, but with the dizzying rush of being caught, being seen, and somehow, still being free.

Hideaki tried to glance over his shoulder at Juliette, bemused and a little shaken. “Was that-? Is she always like that?”

Asami shook her head, the flower in her hair trembling with the motion. “She’s…impossible to explain. Just-don’t ask.” Her fingers finally loosened on his wrist, but she didn’t let go, not yet. She needed the anchor, the warmth of his skin against hers, just for a moment longer.

Chapter Text

Back at Tokyo, while it was night, the heat of summer still clung to the city, making the air thick but somehow comforting. Windows were cracked just enough to let in the muted city sounds-the distant hush of traffic, the occasional peal of laughter from a nearby street, the rhythm of cicadas. Inside the cozy apartment of Makoto and Ren, the atmosphere was entirely different, bright, gentle, and alive with warmth.

Makoto’s laughter came first, low and surprised, as Ren’s last story wound to its conclusion. She sat cross-legged at one end of their battered but beloved couch, a dish towel tucked into her lap, sleeves rolled above her elbows. Across from her, Ren, perpetually relaxed even after a long day, balanced a coffee cup in one hand, gesturing animatedly with the other as he delivered the punchline.

Mitsuru, elegant as ever but softened in the company of friends, allowed herself a rare smile, her shoulders easing as she listened, the lines of stress around her eyes smoothing. At the table beside her, Minato watched quietly, the corners of his lips quirking upward. His gaze, though gentle, missed nothing.

Makoto looked around, a kind of quiet awe passing over her features as she realized-maybe for the hundredth time tonight-how much this meant. “It’s so good to have you all here,” she admitted, her voice sincere. “After so many months of planning, it's good to have you both here."

Mitsuru nodded, her expression softening in the lamplight. “I agree. After so many weeks apart, it feels… right, somehow, to finally gather like this. There’s been so much to manage, so many things pulling us in different directions.” She let the words hang, the rest unspoken but understood by everyone in the room.

Minato, calm and observant, reached for his mug and gave Ren a gentle look. “So, Ren, how has LeBlanc been? Still as lively as ever?”

Ren let out a low, genuine laugh, settling back into the cushions. “Busy-busier than ever, really. There’s always someone who needs coffee or advice, sometimes both at once. But it’s been good." He took a slow sip, then grinned at Mitsuru. “And how’s the Kirijo Group these days? Still changing the world, one conference at a time?”

Mitsuru gave a faint smile, the pride obvious in her eyes, but with a trace of weariness. “It’s been… rewarding. Difficult, but rewarding. There’s always more work to do-more to give back, especially after everything we’ve been through. Lately, I feel the weight of it more, the responsibility. But seeing the good that comes from it makes every late night worth it.”

Makoto, having listened in silence, nodded quietly. Mitsuru turned to her. “And you, Makoto? How have things been with your-ah, sense of justice?”

Makoto looked down, her fingers tracing a faint pattern in the weave of her napkin, before letting out a soft breath. “Stressful,” she admitted, the word catching for a moment in her throat. “Especially lately. Some days, it feels like there’s always one more case, always someone convinced they can slip through the cracks. People who think the law doesn’t see them. But-” She lifted her gaze, her voice steadying, “they’re wrong. They get caught. One way or another, justice finds them.”

The table fell quiet, everyone caught in the weight of her words, until Minato reached across, giving her hand a brief, reassuring squeeze. The gesture-gentle and grounding-was enough to bring a quiet smile to her face, just as Ren broke the silence with a self-effacing grin.

“Well, no one’s getting away from our curry tonight, Makoto.” He gave a playful nudge toward the table, where the unmistakable scent of LeBlanc’s best recipe was thick in the air, layered with spices and comfort. “Let’s eat before it gets cold."

Everyone seemed to relax at that. Mitsuru and Minato both reached for their bowls as Makoto served out generous helpings, the rich, savory sauce steaming in the lamplight. Cups of coffee-strong, black, with just a trace of sweetness-made the rounds as they settled back into their seats, their laughter and conversation picking up as easily as it always had, no matter how many months passed between gatherings.

For a while, it was all warmth and soft light, stories traded back and forth, inside jokes resurfacing, and old memories gently dusted off and made new again. They talked about work, about the city’s endless pulse, about changes-big and small-in their lives. The topic drifted, as it always did, to their children: to the relentless march of time, and how it felt like they’d only just been teenagers themselves.

Ren was the first to broach it, with a half-smile, as he reached for a refill. “I can’t believe how fast they’re all growing up. Feels like just yesterday Hideaki was pestering me for tips on making coffee, and now he’s off on his own adventures. How do you keep up with it?”

Mitsuru let out a soft, nostalgic laugh, her expression gentling. “You don’t. You just…try to savor it while it lasts. Asami’s the same. She’s become so independent-I see her less every year, it seems, even when we’re under the same roof.”

Makoto nodded, her face thoughtful. “Sometimes I worry we expect too much from them. They’re still so young, but…” She trailed off, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. “Maybe I’m getting old.”

Minato’s lips quirked in a rare, tender smile. “We all are, just a little. But they’re good kids. They’re finding their own way.”

There was a moment of quiet, and then Minato, ever perceptive, glanced around the table, his eyes lingering on the empty spot where Hideaki would usually sit. “Speaking of-where is Hideaki, anyway?”

Ren blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, he’s in Hawaii,” he answered, trying for casual but failing to keep a note of wistfulness from his voice. “He went with a friend."

For a split second, the air in the room seemed to still. Then, unexpectedly, Mitsuru’s lips parted in a small, genuine laugh, her eyes glinting with a sudden realization. “That’s quite a coincidence,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Asami is in Hawaii with a friend too.”

Makoto sat up straighter, a dish towel sliding unnoticed to the floor. “Wait-Asami’s in Hawaii?” Her gaze darted to Ren, then Mitsuru. “Who’s her friend? Did she say?”

Mitsuru’s elegant composure faltered just a bit. “She didn’t. I assumed it was someone she used to go to school with, but now that you mention it…” Her brow furrowed, lips tightening in concern and something close to frustration.

Ren blinked again, this time slower, his mind suddenly replaying old conversations. “Hideaki never told us who he was going with either. He just said he was meeting someone." He looked to Makoto, his tone growing uncertain, as if trying to recall a detail missed.

A hush fell-realization blossoming, slow and complete. They all exchanged a glance, that unmistakable, wordless communication only friends of many years can share. Silence clung for a heartbeat, then another.

Mitsuru broke first, frustration bubbling out in a string of rapid, elegant French, the words sharp and tinged with affection and exasperation. “Comment est-ce possible? Ma fille-elle m’a cache ca. Encore!” She pressed a hand to her forehead, shaking her head.

Makoto could only stare, momentarily at a loss. “They hid something from us. Again.” Her voice was half incredulity, half worry. “Why… Why didn’t any of us realize they could have gone together?” She bit her lip, a flash of guilt mixing with anxiety. “We’re supposed to be paying attention.”

Ren let out a soft, rueful laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe it-another secret. Guess that apple didn’t fall far from the tree, huh?” He looked apologetically at Makoto, as if the responsibility should have fallen on him to notice.

Across the table, Minato sighed, a soft, long breath that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. He gazed at his wife, an understanding passing between them. “She’s always been good at keeping the details to herself,” he admitted, not without a trace of pride. “But still… how could Asami not say anything?” His voice was gentle, but there was a sadness in his eyes-a parent’s longing to be let in.

Makoto’s fingers twitched toward her phone. “We should call Hideaki,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, the instinct to protect and worry as strong as ever.

Mitsuru mirrored the motion, already reaching for her own phone. “Asami will answer if I call. I should-”

But before either could press a button, Ren leaned forward, laying a gentle hand on Makoto’s wrist, and Minato gave Mitsuru a quiet, measured look. “Let’s wait,” Minato said softly. “Let them have this. We know where they are. They’re together, and they’re not alone.”

Ren nodded, squeezing Makoto’s hand. “Sae and Yuuto are in Hawaii too. You know them-they’d never let anything happen. If anything goes wrong, they’ll tell us.” His words were calm, but Makoto could feel the tremor beneath them-the uncertainty of letting go.

There was a moment where no one spoke. The sounds from the street outside-laughter, the distant echo of cicadas, the hum of the city-filtered in, a strange kind of comfort.