The silence between them lingered all the way across the lot. Takemichi followed a step behind Mikey, still feeling the heat of the conversation burn under his skin like a brand. He didn't look back. He didn't have to. Draken was right behind them.
They reached for their bikes. Mikey stopped in front of what he guessed was his birthday gift. He stared at it, but didn't touch it. Didn't say a word. And Takemichi shifted awkwardly on his feet. He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't know what would help. He just watched Mikey, wondering how a teen so small could carry so much fury in such stillness.
Then Draken stepped up beside him and gently placed a hand on Mikey's shoulder.
It wasn't forceful. Just solid and there.
Mikey didn't move for a beat. Then, finally, his hand came up, resting lightly over Draken's.
"I'm going to the park near the shrine," he said. Still not looking at them. Still watching his bike like it might answer him.
Draken's brow furrowed slightly. "You sure?"
"I need to think," Mikey said simply. Then he turned his head, just a little, so they could hear him clearly. "Call Keisuke and Kazutora."
Draken's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"They're the only ones who didn't show up to my birthday," Mikey added, like that explained everything. Maybe it did.
"I'll meet you and them at the shrine," he finished.
Draken didn't question it. He just gave a short nod and stepped back as Mikey swung one leg over the bike, settling onto the seat with a fluid grace that made it obvious—this bike was his.
He didn't start the engine yet. Instead, he looked at Takemichi. Eyes unreadable. He jerked his head—get on.
Takemichi blinked. "Huh?"
He received no answer. Just that look again and something inside Takemichi twisted—because he knew. Mikey didn't need a lecture. He didn't need someone to fix it. He needed someone to ride with him. Even if it wasn't far. Even if it was silent.
Takemichi stepped forward and climbed on behind him, hands hesitating for a second before settling lightly at Mikey's sides.
The moment his fingers touched the fabric of Mikey's hoodie, he felt it—the tension under his skin. Not rage. Something lonelier.
The engine rumbled to life, soft and low, as Draken stood off to the side, already pulling out his phone. He gave Takemichi a small nod—solid, understanding.
Takemichi returned it, then tightened his hold just slightly.
Mikey's not okay, he thought. But at least he's not alone.
So, as the wind whipped past his ears, sharp and constant, he remained with Mikey. He didn't wear a helmet and yeah, maybe he should have—but Mikey hadn't offered, and he hadn't asked. There hadn't been time. Not really. Not after that conversation.
He just clung lightly to Mikey's hoodie, arms loose around his waist, the scent of engine oil and faint lemon shampoo mixing in the air.
The bike rumbled beneath them, smooth and powerful and Mikey's tension was obvious. Not in his driving—his handling was steady, precise—but in the way his shoulders stayed high and stiff. In the way his grip never relaxed, not even a little. Like he was still holding onto a feeling he didn't have the words for.
Takemichi exhaled slowly, resting his forehead between Mikey's shoulder blades just for a moment. Just to be close enough.
He didn't speak, but he used his Sky Flames. He let it rise from his skin in the smallest flicker. Gentle. Warm. Not enough to activate Mickey's flames. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to soothe.
The Flame curled between them, quiet and unseen, like a shared breath of something ancient and kind. It didn't change Mikey—but it touched him. The way sunlight touches a shuttered room.
Takemichi felt the shift immediately. The slow, almost imperceptible easing of Mikey's posture. A looseness in his neck. His fingers relaxed slightly on the throttle. Still sharp. Still silent. But not alone in it anymore. And Takemichi closed his eyes, letting the wind skim across his face. He didn't try to think too hard, but his mind wandered anyway. To what he'd told Shinichiro. To what he'd lived.
His parents hadn't always known what to do with him.
Not really.
Not the way they knew what to do with Ieyasu, who had Reborn's determination. His instincts. His ruthless sense of order. Instead, Takemichi had… his dad's eyes, blue instead of hazel, yes. But he had his softness. His tears. He was too easy to break, they'd thought. Too gentle to inherit anything but their worry. And so they'd hidden things. Conversations paused when he walked into rooms. Long looks exchanged over his head. Words like not yet and he's not ready following him like shadows.
And so, like any kid who wanted to be seen—he'd tried to change. He got quieter, more careful as he trained harder and stayed up longer studying. Let Papa throw him into brutal sparring sessions that left bruises in places he didn't know how to name then.
He stopped crying even when it hurt. Even when it felt like swallowing glass. But Papa noticed. Of course he did. One night, after training, Reborn had leaned down and flicked him on the forehead hard enough to make him scowl.
"Stop trying to be someone else," he'd said and then, without giving him time to answer, he'd made a call to Aunt Yuni. The only other Sky his papa trusted to handle the soft parts of the world.
Not Uncle Xanxus—he'd just yell and give him a knife.
Not Uncle Byakuran—he'd laugh and suggest baking explosives into birthday cakes.
No.
It was Aunt Yuni, the one who had come the next day, and within an hour, his dad had cried. His papa had sulked. And Takemichi had finally told someone the truth: I don't want to be stronger. I just want to be trusted.
She listened and then she told his parents that trust goes both ways.
He'd never forgotten that. He didn't think he would ever forget it. Especially not now, as the teen in front of him drove them into the fading afternoon sun, still too proud to ask for anything—but not rejecting the comfort either.
Mikey didn't know what Sky Flames were. Didn't need to. Sometimes, you didn't need to understand something to be healed by it. Takemichi pressed his forehead more firmly against Mikey's back and let the wind carry away the weight of what they'd all said.
For now, it was enough just to be here.
For both of them.
.
The bike coasted into a quiet park just outside the city. The sun was starting to dip, dragging golden streaks across the pavement as the bike rolled to a smooth, purring stop beneath a long stretch of sakura trees not yet in bloom.
Mikey didn't get off.
Didn't turn the key.
Just sat there with the engine cooling beneath them, letting the stillness settle in.
Takemichi's hands were still lightly resting at his sides, loose now—like he didn't need to hold on anymore, like the ride itself had done something neither of them could say out loud.
Mikey exhaled, tilting his head toward the horizon.
"You and your parents," he asked, voice low, like he didn't want to ruin the calm they'd built, "you on good terms now?"
A pause.
"Or is that why you came to Japan?" he added after a beat. "To get away?"
Takemichi was quiet for a moment. Then—softly, his grip loosening even more—he shook his head.
"No," he said. "Not to escape from them."
He leaned back a little, still sitting behind Mikey, but no longer clutching. Just there.
"My papa noticed," he continued, voice slow and reflective. "That I was acting different. Pushing harder. Being quieter."
Mikey listened, unmoving.
"He said I was trying so hard to stop flinching when he yelled while on training," Takemichi added with a faint, wry smile. "That was his clue something was wrong."
Mikey didn't laugh, but his lips twitched.
"Instead of yelling about it," Takemichi went on, "he called my Aunt Yuni."
Mikey turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. "She the one you mentioned back there?"
Takemichi nodded. "She's the only one my papa trusts with… emotional stuff. Other than Dad, I guess."
There was a pause. The wind stirred the branches overhead.
"She sat me down," Takemichi said, voice even. "And for the first time, I said it out loud. That I felt like my parents didn't trust me. That I wasn't enough. That they were hiding things because I was too soft. Too different from my brother."
Mikey didn't speak. But he wasn't tense anymore. He was listening like Takemichi was saying something that mattered in a way he didn't know how to name yet.
"My brother's sharp," Takemichi said. "He's got Papa's instincts. Everyone always knew he'd take over someday. And I guess I thought… maybe I had to change. Be harder. Be more like him if I wanted to be trusted."
He paused. Then, softer, "I didn't want to be the weak one."
Mikey looked down at his hands on the handlebars. He didn't say it, but Takemichi could feel it.
Me too.
"My aunt talked to them," Takemichi continued. "She told them they couldn't ask me to trust them while keeping me in the dark. That if they didn't start opening up, I'd start pulling away. Lying. Hiding things."
He smiled faintly, eyes down.
"They listened. Slowly. Especially my dad. He was the most scared, I think. Because he saw too much of himself in me." Another breath. "He didn't want to drag me into that world. The one he was forced into."
Mikey's jaw clenched slightly, like he knew what that meant. Like he understood it perfectly.
Takemichi looked up at the sky—now streaked in amber and rose gold.
"But I told them," he said, softly but firmly. "It's not just their decision."
"They were scared," he added. "But they tried. They still try. Every day."
He smiled—small but real. "I didn't come to Japan to escape them. I came here because they trusted me enough to let me choose my own path."
He looked down at his hands again. "Even if it scared them."
Mikey finally turned the key and killed the engine.
The silence that followed was full—but peaceful.
"…Must be nice," he said, voice quiet. "To have parents who learned how to listen."
Takemichi didn't respond right away, but after a moment, he slid off the back of the bike and walked around slowly—until he stood beside Mikey who was still sitting on the bike, arms loose at his sides.
"They weren't perfect," he said. "But they loved me enough to try."
He looked at Mikey—not pushing, not prying. Just offering the thought.
"And if it helps," Takemichi added, "you're not weak."
Mikey raised a brow. "You sure? Shin-nii thinks I can't handle anything."
Takemichi gave a quiet little shrug. "I think he's scared you'll get hurt. That he'll mess up and lose you too."
Mikey looked away and Takemichi didn't say anything else. He just sat down on the edge of the curb, the sunset painting gold across his face, and waited for Mikey to decide what came next.
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