Unlike the bustling New Year celebrations of others.
Asou Akiya drove Randou out for excursions into mountains and waters, shunning crowds to savor the freedom of the spirit.
He had taken Randou to listen to the Yokohama sea, to breathe the gentle winds. They had lain together on Tokyo's snow-dusted asphalt roads, shared kisses amid piles of withered leaves, melting into nature for a brief, Bohemian existence. Later they visited galleries of art, gazed upon oil paintings, attended operas — and when inspiration struck, even imitated a passage afterward.
He knew these were the things Randou loved — and by fortunate coincidence, he loved them too.
Even more wondrous was that they loved each other.
How perfectly aligned.
Though he could not ride into battle at Randou's side against ability users, a life composed solely of conflict would be far too sorrowful. In an age when even faith faded, merely existing felt like a profound enigma. He cherished Randou's beauty, admired his bearing, adored the soul that gradually radiated its light once more — and so he wished to be with him. Yet how could an ordinary man stand beside a supreme ability user?
Only through lies, only through cunning, only through utter madness.
After all —
Love has never been something cheap.
In a secluded church they were visiting, Asou Akiya and Randou happened to witness the wedding of a newlywed couple.
Touched by the atmosphere of the ceremony, Asou Akiya leaned close and whispered to Randou.
"Randou, it feels as though I am glimpsing our own future."
Never to part, unwavering through all trials — if they could hold fast to each other, this would be the most beautiful love in the world.
"I am… so happy."
The words had barely left his lips when a rush of heat surged from Randou's chest straight to his cheeks, his fingertips tingling with sudden numbness — for the universal truth of humanity lies in the pursuit of happiness.
He did something impulsive yet utterly inevitable: as the bride and groom concluded their vows, Randou leaned across the long pew among the seated guests and kissed Asou Akiya. In their eyes flickered starlight and flame, as though one could hear the soaring coloratura of Shakespearean opera breaking free from every chain.
Before long, the pair responsible for the mischief found themselves politely but firmly escorted from the church.
Asou Akiya and Randou exchanged glances and burst into laughter, abandoning all pretense of composure as they teased each other about their earlier appearances.
"Randou, this is the first time I've ever seen you look so disheveled while running."
"Akiya! I only kissed you — you're the one who held me there and kissed for so long!"
"Lies — I distinctly remember it was your mouth that kept pulling me back~."
"You're even more shameless!"
Randou huffed in mock disdain, straightening his hat and smoothing his hair in a futile attempt to hide his exhilaration. In truth, if Asou Akiya invited him once more, Randou would agree without hesitation.
Asou Akiya, of course, had no intention of letting the moment pass. Regrettably, their surroundings offered little privacy. He led Randou beneath a tree and gazed upward at the thick canopy of branches. "I can't climb that high."
Without a word, Randou seized his hand and leapt upward with effortless grace, fulfilling the wish in an instant.
Moments later, Asou Akiya pressed Randou against a sturdy branch, covering his eyes with the black felt hat as he claimed those flushed lips in a deepening kiss. Amid breathless, fragmented laughter he murmured, "Between us, who exactly is corrupting whom?"
"You!" Randou accused.
"Liars go to hell, Randou."
"What does it matter… we'll go to hell together… mm… who was it that claimed to want my soul — why are your hands on my thigh?"
Faced with Randou's languid, teasing laughter, Asou Akiya's eyes curved into joyful crescents like twin moons.
Beneath the shadow of the hat brim, between lingering kisses, he whispered against those lips.
"I can't help myself."
I refuse to accept a mediocre life — and so I want to possess you, to unleash the souls we have both kept chained.
Verlaine will kill me.
Perhaps you will too.
I will be shattered to pieces, buried in the sea.
Rimbaud.
There is no God in this world that will help you — so I will stand in His place and rewrite your fate.
…
During their stay at the hotel, the bond between Asou Akiya and Randou deepened further. Randou grew clingy in the most endearing way, leaving Asou Akiya torn between exquisite torment and delight — forced to retreat to the bathroom more than once to deal with his body's insistent reactions.
Afterward, Randou would tease him mercilessly.
"Poor Akiya."
Asou Akiya responded by pouncing on Randou, turning the tables with the very same tactics until Randou lay breathless and dazed, eyes unfocused with desire. Then Asou Akiya pressed a loud, playful kiss to his lips — smack — and declared with feigned virtue, "Randou, what I love is your soul. The bathwater is already drawn for you — go wash up on your own."
Randou tasted defeat.
Wasn't this the exact excuse he had used to torment Akiya a few times before?
He shoved his freshly showered boyfriend away, covering his flushed face with one arm as he muttered dryly, "Akiya, you're awful — you deliberately wanted to see me make a fool of myself."
Asou Akiya answered with unrestrained laughter, the sound bright with youthful mischief and cunning, far from any pretense of maturity. The vibration of it traveled through his chest into Randou's body, scattering the lingering haze of hormones. He wanted — truly, from the depths of his heart — to share a genuine romance with Randou.
Sex felt too crude, too base for what they shared in this moment.
Randou slipped out of bed in his bathrobe, a complaint already forming on his lips. "If you insist on demanding love, how can you possibly tell whether I truly love you right now?" His voice grew muffled as he continued from inside the bathroom. "What if I'm only deceiving you?"
Asou Akiya settled comfortably against the pillows, one leg crossed over the other, a magazine having mysteriously appeared in his hands.
"Go ahead and try deceiving me if you can."
As long as you dare to lie, I dare to believe it.
Silence fell from the bathroom.
Submerged in the warm embrace of the tub, Randou — long-haired, slender-waisted — stretched his limbs languidly. Amid the swirling steam of the bathroom, he was a vision of breathtaking beauty, every strand of hair and every toe imbued with quintessential French refinement and romance.
He pondered the most difficult question in the world — love.
[I like Akiya's personality. I'm willing to be with him. But what is love?]
[Do I love him?]
[I don't know.]
Even harder to admit… whenever Randou gazed at Akiya — the man he had come to cherish — another pair of eyes, utterly different and strikingly blue, would flash unbidden across his mind, bringing an instant, disorienting sense of displacement.
An acquaintance?
A former lover?
Randou sank silently deeper into the hot water, attempting to rinse away the useless clutter in his thoughts.
There was no cause for shock — the internet had made it clear that every Frenchman possessed a wealth of romantic experience. Discussing exes while beside one's current partner was a piece of common knowledge no Frenchman would forget, even under amnesia.
And by keeping that as a secret from Akiya, Randou felt a quiet sense of relief.
On the final day of their holiday, they returned to their home in Yokohama.
Shopping, grocery runs, a thorough cleaning, changing the bed linens — a full array of chores descended upon them both. Randou shed the elegant overcoat he wore outdoors and slipped into simple Japanese cotton loungewear. He tied his long hair back and set to wiping the glass windows. Asou Akiya worked alongside him, tackling the more troublesome floors. Glancing up to see Randou absorbed in his task filled him with an indescribable swell of accomplishment.
"Randou, don't you feel a little less cold now?"
"Mm…"
Randou finished the bedroom windows and gained a profound understanding of just how tedious housework could be — he was certain he had never done it in his past life.
He tossed the cloth aside, washed his hands, changed the sheets, and retrieved the sun-dried pillows from the cupboard.
Then, like a liquid cat melting into the mattress, Randou collapsed onto the bed.
"Let's hire a cleaner next time."
In the faint impressions that remained to him, tasks like these were meant for maids or servants. Asou Akiya would never refuse such a soft-spoken request. He sat on the edge of the bed and teased gently, "Tired?"
Randou dodged his reaching hand. "Dirty — go wash your hands first, Akiya."
Asou Akiya spread his palms in mock surrender. "I haven't finished the floors yet."
Randou sighed with reluctant grace and pushed himself upright. "I'll help you."
Ever since awakening his ability, the Arthur Rimbaud who had never lifted a finger for menial labor had somehow, in a haze of confusion, become this Randou — and in equal confusion boarded the pirate ship Asou Akiya had launched solely to fish him from the depths.
Day by day, he was acquiring more and more of a human warmth.
He would tear up from the spice of hot pot, sip milk from his cup in delicate little mouthfuls, and Randou had even learned to slip the vegetables he disliked onto Asou Akiya's plate — followed by a compensatory kiss on the cheek.
Beyond that, he adored anything fluffy. His earmuffs were fluffy, slippers were fluffy, and every throw pillow on the sofa had quietly transformed from simple fabric to luxurious natural fur.
A single glance at the changes around the house told Asou Akiya that his wallet had shrunk once again.
He bowed his head in silent mourning.
Raising a wife truly was a high-cost endeavor.
Yet when he caught sight of Randou's innocent expression, he understood perfectly the men whose girlfriends drained their bank accounts dry. What they bought was not luxury — it was the smile blooming across Randou's face.
Randou noticed Asou Akiya propping his cheek on his hand, gazing at the new purchases with a complicated mix of emotions. A faint pang of guilt stirred in his chest — fortunately Akiya never grew angry. Next time he must not indulge himself so much. Randou resolved firmly in secret, yet every time he encountered something he desired, his fingers moved of their own accord to place the order. Once purchased, he ceased to care — as though in his past he had never lacked for money, fostering a habit of never letting funds linger long in his accounts.
After dinner, Asou Akiya held Randou close as they watched a film. Out of the blue he heard Randou murmur in that soft, gentle voice, "Akiya, once my memories return, I'll take care of you."
Asou Akiya blinked in surprise. "Has Randou recovered his memories?"
Randou shook his head hesitantly, cupping Akiya's cheeks in his palms. "I must have been wealthy — I don't recall ever worrying about money. In the future, you won't have to work yourself to exhaustion with overtime."
Asou Akiya recalled Randou's future self burning books for warmth, watching others vandalize his villa without a flicker of distress, and let out a deep, heartfelt sigh.
"I'd rather you had no money."
"Why?"
Randou tilted his head in genuine confusion — how could anyone wish for poverty?
"That way you would learn to cherish things, to feel more of life's simple joys." He nuzzled his cheek against Randou's palm, smiling with infinite tenderness. "You are my reason for working, after all."
"But I want to see more of you, Akiya." Randou lowered his gaze, his brows and eyes carrying the sculpted beauty of a classical statue. Asou Akiya could almost envision the sharp, frost-shattering edge that would emerge if this man ever grew truly angry.
Asou Akiya replied, "If we see each other too often, you'll grow tired of me."
Randou denied it at once. "I won't."
"All right — you won't." Asou Akiya was always sweetened by Randou's words, yet he confessed his own frustration. "I feel the same — every day the time I spend with you seems far too brief. But I can't change jobs."
Randou pouted. "I know…"
Akiya went to work, while he searched for ways to write poetry and recover his memories. Akiya had mentioned that publishing a poetry collection could earn money.
Unwilling as he was, he had no choice — he possessed no independent income, after all.
Randou nestled deeper into Asou Akiya's embrace and rewound the film; he had missed the last scene entirely.
The next morning, Asou Akiya was roused mercilessly by the alarm. He slipped from the warm cocoon of blankets and the even warmer presence of Randou beside him, brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth, and stepped into the rhythm of a new year's work.
"Randou, I've prepared breakfast for you — don't wait for me at lunch, go out and eat on your own." Asou Akiya issued the reminder while organizing his briefcase. Randou yawned from beneath the covers, a single sleepy tear glistening at the corner of one eye — utterly pitiable. Asou Akiya stole one more lingering glance and felt his heart ache at the thought of leaving.
This was his French beauty — still untouched, still waiting.
Every day they shared only kisses and embraces, the occasional brush of hands — he held steadfast to his vow of loving the soul above all.
Asou Akiya turned his head away in flustered haste, refusing to linger on Randou's half-awake allure. Once the front door clicked shut behind him, any trace of drowsiness vanished from Randou. He lay staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed. He had considered finding work himself, yet before his identity cleared, a faint, persistent sense of danger always hovered at the edges of his mind.
"Beyond being a poet… who else was I…"
"Does Akiya know?" Randou drifted deeper into the fog. "He probably doesn't… we hadn't known each other long before my amnesia… I am French…"
I cannot go back!
I cannot go back!
France was absolutely not a place he could return to in his current state!
This realization surfaced with stark clarity in Randou's mind, growing ever sharper. Even though he missed France and longed to glimpse his homeland once more, he no longer voiced any wish to Akiya about returning.
Randou rose from the bed and reached for his black hat.
His fingertips traced the embroidered letters hidden inside the lining — not Randou, but Rimbaud. Unless something unforeseen had altered it, Rimbaud was his French surname; his full name, however, remained entirely elusive.
"I can't even remember my complete name — how could I possibly travel to France to search for my past… If I stumbled into an enemy's trap, it would be disastrous…" Randou murmured unconsciously, utterly unaware of how strange the words sounded. An ordinary person returning home — where would enemies come from?
In the end, Randou decided to step out.
While Akiya was at work, he would gather more information and piece together his forgotten history.
And incidentally —
He had grown intensely curious about Akiya's company.
The "puzzle game" Asou Akiya had left for Randou served as a pleasant diversion. Without exerting much effort, he learned from casual conversations with locals about the existence of the "Port Mafia."
Randou was a clever man. Observing how Yokohama citizens instinctively gave a wide berth to the five towering buildings, he understood at once that the port company Akiya worked for was none other than the Port Mafia! Akiya's claim that he could not quit stemmed from the organization's iron rule — members were not permitted to leave easily. He had already sold his life to the Port Mafia!
Randou lowered his head, settling onto a roadside bench. He searched "mafia" on his phone, reading through every detail of their operations until a faint crease of worry appeared on his face.
"Akiya… does he have any way to protect himself?"
Behind the serene, worry-free cohabitation lay the reality that Asou Akiya alone toiled in a dangerous world.
Randou could not remain seated a moment longer.
That evening, Asou Akiya — having managed to avoid most night shifts — returned home on time and sat down to a dinner prepared by Randou's own hands. In this strange and unforgiving world, he was no less a stranger in a foreign land than Randou had been. To have someone waiting for him, someone to share the quiet hours — that in itself was already a profound happiness.
"Does your work require travel, Akiya?" Randou asked from time to time.
"Not often — It's mostly indoor translation tasks," Asou Akiya explained. "I'm part of the clerical staff. There's barely any wind or sun exposure, so I have far fewer troubles than the field operatives face."
"Troubles from the mafia?" Randou's expression remained unchanged.
Asou Akiya nearly choked on his water. "Pfft — I was wondering why your questions felt odd today. So you've figured it out." He poured himself a glass to soothe his throat. "My dear, it's simply a job one cannot easily quit. My late parents were members of the Port Mafia — It's merely inheriting the family trade, nothing more."
The candid revelation unfolded smoothly. Randou visibly relaxed. "I was worried about you, Akiya. You look so fragile — how have you managed to survive in the mafia?"
The words struck deep.
Asou Akiya retorted, "My appearance can still intimidate when needed."
He was no brute — he belonged to the elite intellectual class!
Randou extended a single forefinger, pretending solemnity as he smiled. "I feel like one poke from this would topple you."
Asou Akiya stared at the offending finger, the corner of his mouth twitching. The statement was painfully true — yet could he admit it? Absolutely not!
He ignored Randou's very real physical prowess and splashed cold water on the notion. "Randou, believe me — if the two of us walked out together, any kidnapper who spotted us would choose you without hesitation."
If not for Randou's impressive build, all those layers for warmth could bundle him into a perfect ball.
Randou fell into thoughtful silence. "Because I look wealthy?"
Asou Akiya's smile carried a hint of mischief. "No — it's because you look frail and perpetually chilled, Randou!"
Don't deny it, Randou!
Randou let the topic drop, rubbing his palms together. Cold — but he's certainly not frail. He studied Akiya carefully. "Akiya, I could do translation work. Or perhaps I should join the Port Mafia too?"
Asou Akiya's gaze softened. He offered only a single, quiet reply. "I want to see you become a renowned poet."
Randou — still an unknown name in the poetry world at this stage — fell silent once more.
He lingered over the taste of a life spent reading and writing poetry. It was perhaps a touch too tranquil, yet he cherished it deeply. He could sit alone for an entire afternoon with perfect ease, pen in hand, capturing the words that bubbled up from within his heart.
"I will do it."
After a long pause, Randou discovered a goal worth striving for — one born from Asou Akiya's gentle wish.
Write poetry!
Become the most celebrated poet of all!
With such fame as his shield, he could support himself independently, sparing Akiya any worry. Joining the Port Mafia would serve little purpose anyway.
Vastly underestimating his own strength, Randou reluctantly abandoned the idea of entering the underworld and chose instead the path of a poet.
Asou Akiya soothed that restless literary soul — the same restlessness shared by so many great writers unwilling to settle into quiet creation.
"The fate of poetry rests on your shoulders now, Randou!"
—
Author's note:
Daily thanks to Verlaine!
Did you know that the real life Nakahara Chuuya was once hailed as "Japan's Rimbaud"?
heh heh.