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The gallery in Shibuya hummed with the kind of polite chatter that always made Ash itch. Soft jazz filtered through the speakers, the air thick with the mingling scent of perfume, cologne, and expensive wine. People floated from one photograph to another, murmuring in Japanese, their tones rising and falling like waves on a shore.
Ash stood near the back, leaning casually against the wall with his hands buried in the pockets of his dark blazer. He looked sharp, impossibly so—his blond hair catching the warm light overhead, his broad shoulders drawing every wandering glance whether he invited them or not.
And he didn’t.
His eyes never strayed long from Eiji.
Eiji was in his element, moving gracefully among the crowd, answering questions about his photographs in the polite, earnest tone that Ash knew by heart. His smile was small but genuine, the kind that softened his whole face. The pride in his work shone through every word he spoke, and Ash found himself watching with a quiet stillness that belied the restless edge of his body.
He didn’t belong here. That much was obvious. He could feel it in the way people’s eyes lingered on him—not just curiosity, but suspicion. Too tall, too foreign, too sharp-featured for a crowd that thrived on neatness, conformity. He was an anomaly in a room that didn’t know what to do with him.
But Eiji wanted him here. And that was enough.
Ash tugged at his collar, adjusting it. He’d promised he wouldn’t start anything tonight, no matter how restless he got. No matter how many whispers brushed against him when they thought he couldn’t hear. He could handle it. He always had.
That resolve lasted about twenty minutes.
The man approached with a confidence Ash recognized instantly—the smooth arrogance of someone who thought the room belonged to him. Mid-thirties, slick dark hair combed neatly back, a tailored suit hugging a body that had gone soft with money. His English was crisp when he spoke, the kind of practiced fluency that came from too many business trips to New York.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” the man said, stepping into Ash’s space with a glass of wine dangling from his fingers, “you’ve been standing back here all evening. Not much of an art enthusiast, are you?”
Ash’s eyes flicked toward him, unimpressed. “Not really.”
The man chuckled, low and knowing. “Didn’t think so. You don’t seem the type.” He let his gaze drift deliberately—down Ash’s frame, then back up with a curl of his lip. “Though I suppose you’ve found a way in.”
Ash tilted his head, expression still unreadable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The man sipped his wine, savoring the moment. “I’ve known Eiji for some time. Talented boy, polite. Always wondered who he’d bring into a room like this. And now…” He gestured vaguely at Ash, as if he were a curiosity on display. “Now I see.”
Ash’s posture shifted, subtle but sharp. His weight came off the wall, shoulders straightening. “See what?”
“That he has… unusual taste,” the man said smoothly. His smile sharpened, tinged with something mean. “Foreign strays, for example. Pretty ones. You don’t exactly belong here, do you?”
Ash’s jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing. His voice dropped, low and cutting. “You wanna run that by me again?”
The man didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk widened. “Don’t misunderstand. I can see the appeal. You stand out. Eye-catching. But I can’t imagine what else you bring to the table besides that.” His tone grew sharper, spiteful. “Eiji could be naive you know, so i doubt he saw that. However, he deserves better than someone who drags shadows with him.”
Ash’s lips parted, slow and dangerous. “Say one more thing about him.”
The man arched a brow, amused. “Oh? Protective, are we? Funny. That should be my role, don’t you think?” His voice dropped lower, venom disguised in silk. “I’ve known Eiji far longer than you have. I respect him. Admire him. And then you come along—some boy with a past he won’t talk about—and suddenly you’re at his side? Taking up space in his life like you earned it?”
Ash’s temper snapped, sharp and immediate. He took one step forward, closing the gap so quickly the man froze. His smile faltered at the sudden proximity, at the dangerous glint in Ash’s green eyes.
“You don’t know a thing about me,” Ash hissed, low enough that only the man could hear. “But you’re about to learn what happens when you run your mouth about Eiji.”
The man stiffened, clearly not expecting the threat to be so blunt, so real. He opened his mouth, ready to retort—
And then another voice cut through the tension.
“Enough.”
Ash blinked.
Eiji was there, standing between them before Ash had even registered him crossing the room. His expression was calm, but his eyes—dark and steady—carried a sharpness Ash rarely saw in public.
“Do not speak to him like that,” Eiji said in English, his voice clear enough for the man to hear, but soft enough that the surrounding crowd remained unaware.
The man gave a startled laugh. “Eiji. You misunderstood, I was only—”
“You weren’t.” Eiji’s tone was clipped, firm. “You were being rude. And you should either stop or leave.”
Ash stared at him, momentarily caught off guard. He’d been ready to tear the man down himself. He didn’t need anyone to step in. But the way Eiji stood, shoulders squared, eyes unwavering—it wasn’t about protection. It was about choice.
And it rattled the man far more than Ash’s threats had.
The man’s smirk wavered under Eiji’s steady gaze. For a moment, the air hung taut, stretched thin between them. Around the room, no one paid them direct attention—yet Ash could feel eyes flicking, glances stolen, the awareness of something happening in the corner.
The man straightened, adjusting his cuff as though to reclaim some dignity. “You’ve changed, Eiji, he’s rubbing off on you. You used to be so… polite.”
Eiji didn’t move. His voice was even, but his words cut clean. “Don’t use him as an excuse. I’m not rude because of him—I’m rude because you deserve nothing else.”
Ash’s lips curved, sharp and amused despite himself. He leaned in just slightly, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Hear that? Guess you’re not as charming as you thought.”
The man’s nose flared, huffing out a breath of air in humiliation and frustration. His cool mask cracked, jealousy bleeding through. “And what exactly do you give him, hm? You stand here looking like trouble, glaring at anyone who breathes too close. You don’t belong in this world, and everyone here knows it. You’ll only hold him back.”
Ash’s expression hardened, the humor vanishing. His reply was precise, each word deliberate. “You think you know what he needs? Who the fuck do you think you are? And Eiji—” he glanced at him, the faintest softness in the steel, “—he belongs wherever the hell he wants. With me, without me, anywhere. But don’t ever think you get a say in it.”
The man’s mouth twitched, half sneer, half flustered silence. He looked at Eiji as if expecting him to disagree, to smooth it over, to apologize for the foreigner’s brashness.
Instead, Eiji said quietly, firmly, “We’re leaving.”
Ash raised a brow. “You sure? We could stay until the exhibit ends, you’ve been looking forward to it.”
Eiji met his eyes, and something in that look made Ash pause. Not fear—never fear—but resolve, drawn tight as wire. Eiji’s hand brushed against Ash’s, subtle, hidden by the drape of his sleeve. The gesture was small, almost invisible, yet the warmth of it grounded Ash more than he’d admit.
He let out a breath, half a laugh. “Alright,” he murmured. “Your call.”
The man opened his mouth again, but Eiji didn’t give him the chance. He inclined his head with a politeness sharp enough to sting, then turned, guiding Ash with him toward the exit.
Ash followed without resistance, though his eyes lingered a second longer on the man—a look that promised unfinished business, if it ever came to that.
The night air hit cool against their skin as they stepped outside. The noise of the city wrapped around them—cars passing, neon buzzing faintly, distant voices on the crowded street.
For a while, neither spoke. They walked side by side, headed to their car, close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then, as if the movement tethered them.
Finally, Ash let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You didn’t let me finish. I was about to tear him apart.”
Eiji’s lips pressed into a line, but his hand brushed Ash’s wrist again, deliberate this time. “You didn’t need to.”
Ash studied him from the corner of his eye, and the grin came slow, reluctant. “Since when are you the scary one?”
Eiji’s voice dropped, low and certain, the faintest smile dancing on his lips. “Since you’re mine.”
The words lodged somewhere in Ash’s chest, sharp and startling. For a second, he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse or kiss him right there on the sidewalk. Instead, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, hiding the sudden warmth prickling under his skin.
“Careful,” Ash muttered, his smirk returning, though softer now. “Keep that up and people are gonna start thinking you’re the dangerous one.”
Eiji glanced at him, and Ash wanted to kiss the curve at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”
They walked in silence again, the city stretching wide before them. But the tension that had coiled in Ash’s muscles at the gallery was gone, replaced with something steadier, something that came only when Eiji was beside him.
And for once, Ash didn’t feel like he didn’t belong.