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Tadashi would like to think that he knows Ainosuke's preferences quite well. He has to, as Ainosuke's secretary. Knowing who he works for begets efficiency; that's one of the first things Aiichiro taught him. With all the meetings and events and lunches Ainosuke has to go to, it often falls to Tadashi to run errands for him: call the airline, buy cigarettes, go to the tailor and get this suit made. It isn't a problem; he knows what Ainosuke prefers, after all.
Still, there are rare instances like this, when Ainosuke insists on shopping for summer clothes himself. A secretary must always do what they're told; that's the second thing Aiichiro taught him. So Tadashi squeezes thirty minutes into their schedule, on their way back to the office from a lunch meeting that would have drained the energy out of anyone else but Ainosuke.
When they get to the store, Ainosuke goes straight to a salesperson and graces them with his most charming smile. They play the part of the adoring public easily enough, looking back up at Ainosuke with a smile that doesn't look like it's been faked for their job. Tadashi can hardly fault them for it; he knows what it feels like, to have Ainosuke's smile aimed at him.
The salesperson leads them around the store at Ainosuke's whim, and Tadashi follows a few paces behind them. He must know his place; that's another thing Aiichiro taught him. He must know who he works for even better than they know themselves, and he must do everything that they tell him to do, and he must do both those things from a distance. He must never cross the line.
Ainosuke doesn't care much for such rules. Tadashi follows them anyway, at least in public, just as Ainosuke maintains his own picture-perfect image. When they're in private, it's a different matter. When they're in private, Tadashi is an old dog with a new master and learning new tricks. Here, now, in the presence of another person, Tadashi is merely an observer, an extension of Ainosuke's self, a preserver of the Shindo family name. He has his role, and he sticks to it. Until the salesperson leaves them, that is, and Tadashi is left on his own with Ainosuke.
“Should I get something blue? Or something red, to bring out my eyes?” Ainosuke looks over his shoulder at Tadashi, a single eyebrow raised. “What do you think?”
It isn’t a test. It isn’t an attack on his character, probing and challenging, without much expectation for Tadashi to do anything but disappoint. It’s just a confirmation, a gentle nudge, a reminder that Ainosuke wants different things from Tadashi than his father did. They’re better now.
“I have no preference,” Tadashi says. It's the truth, but he feels guilt bubbling into existence in the pit of his stomach anyway, tastes the bitterness of it from the back of his throat. He swallows it down, augments the truth with another truth. “I think you would look good in either color.”
Ainosuke smiles then, and it reminds Tadashi of the easy smiles Ainosuke used to give away so readily when they were children, awarded at every trick Tadashi taught him and every strip of skin of his that Tadashi would carefully wrap and press a kiss against. “I'll get something of both, then.”
They’re better now.
Tadashi’s arms burn at his sides as he watches Ainosuke turn away, his attention on the clothes rack once again.
They end up with three bags' worth of clothes—two too many, but Ainosuke has always been prone to overdoing things. It falls to Tadashi to try and convince Ainosuke to tone it down, particularly when his public image is at risk, but in this case, Tadashi thinks it's harmless enough. And anyway… Ainosuke seems happy. Cheered up by something as simple as their little detour in between schedules.
Tadashi lets Ainosuke keep the bags with him in the backseat of the car.
When they get home that night, Ainosuke tells him to go ahead and shower first. That isn't so unusual by itself; Ainosuke likes to take long baths after an even longer day, and Tadashi showers quickly. It only makes sense for Tadashi to go first, so he can prepare the bath for Ainosuke after.
What's unusual is the shirt that Tadashi finds hanging on the door after he's done showering. Gone is his sleep shirt—some tattered, thinning sweatshirt he's had for years—and in its place is a maroon collared shirt with short sleeves and a giant, gray floral print plastered over the front. It's not something of his, and not something he would pick out for himself either. He has a sinking feeling about who did get it though, and how it has come to take the place of his own shirt.
Tadashi gets dressed, puts on everything but the shirt, but he hesitates at the door of the bathroom, knuckles white as he grips the hanger. Ainosuke has made his apologies, his promises, and Tadashi has forgiven him and agreed to move forward together. They’ve been doing alright; they’ve been doing fine. If Ainosuke sees his—
If Ainosuke sees, it could set their progress back, so Tadashi takes his still-damp towel from the laundry basket and wraps it around his shoulders. It's cold against his back, but it'll do until he gets his shirt back.
When he walks out of the bathroom, he finds Ainosuke in front of the closet. There's a mess of clothes on the floor that Tadashi will likely have to clean up later while Ainosuke is in the bath, but he ignores it for now. Instead, he walks up to Ainosuke, shirt in hand. “What's this?”
Ainosuke turns to him, seemingly unfazed. “It's for our trip. Try it on, won't you?”
Tadashi realizes what he must have done. Two bags too many.
“I have plenty of shirts already,” Tadashi says, but he knows it's futile.
As expected, Ainosuke merely waves him off. “You have plenty of dress shirts. We're going on vacation, puppy.”
They have one day sandwiched in between their last meeting and their flight back home. Hardly a vacation, but with how packed Ainosuke's schedule usually is, even one free day can feel like an eternity. Still, “We're going on a business trip.”
Ainosuke raises an eyebrow, and Tadashi knows it's over. “Try it on.”
A secretary must always do what they’re told. Tadashi turns away, folds his towel and lays it over the foot of Ainosuke's bed, and then he puts on the shirt. He feels it sticking to his back just a little bit, and he knows it will only take a while before the collar starts getting damp from his hair. But it's the cool air against his forearms that's uncomfortable, unfamiliar.
He keeps his arms at his sides when he faces Ainosuke.
“It looks good on you,” Ainosuke says. Tadashi doubts it; not with his arms out. But Ainosuke’s smile is gentle, his touch kind when he curls his hands around Tadashi's shoulders. “You'll wear it on our trip?”
“I have other shirts,” Tadashi says. He does not tense up, does not purse his lips nor pretend he didn't hear Ainosuke's question. He doesn't do anything that betrays the anxiety growing in his chest, and yet Ainosuke seems to see it anyway.
Ainosuke's grip is gentle when he takes Tadashi's arms and exposes his scars to the cool air between them. Immediately, Tadashi wants to pull away, to take his arms back and spare Ainosuke the reminder, but Ainosuke doesn’t let him.
“Do you hate me for it?” Ainosuke asks. He sounds like he's already expecting what the answer is, like a man awaiting his sentence. But—
“No,” Tadashi says. An easy answer to an easy question. Tadashi has never had any right to hate Ainosuke, not when he was the one who doomed Ainosuke in the first place. So he doesn't. He can't; he won't, not ever. He didn't hate Ainosuke when they were barely speaking at all, or when Ainosuke would test him and test him and test him, with words mostly, but blood too, and scars on his skin. And now that things are better between them… Now, even more so, hatred is the farthest thing from what Tadashi feels for Ainosuke.
“No,” he repeats, just to be sure, just so Ainosuke really hears it, really knows it. “I don't hate you.”
“Sometimes, I think I hate my aunts,” Ainosuke says. Whispers, really, as if it's a confession, a sin to be forgiven for. But there's nothing for Tadashi to forgive. Maybe to anyone else, it is a sin, a betrayal of the family, a show of rebellion when he should only be what the family wants him to be. The family name comes first before the individual; that's another thing that Aiichiro taught Tadashi. The most important thing. It's why he thought Ainosuke would be better off without skating. That first time, with Ainosuke's board burnt and the rift between them starting to form, and then the second time, with Ainosuke's hand gripping his hair and guilt overflowing in his chest.
But not all of the things Aiichiro taught him are right; Tadashi only learned that recently. Ainosuke comes first, always.
Tadashi takes Ainosuke's hand, pulls it close so he can press a kiss to Ainosuke's knuckles, then his wrist, then his arms, blemish-free despite surviving so many lashings in his childhood. It's a little bit maddening, that there's no evidence of what was done to Ainosuke while Tadashi's arms are littered with scars he'd forgiven Ainosuke for even as they were being burnt into existence. Maddening.
“Sometimes,” Tadashi confesses into the wrinkles of Ainosuke's sleeve, “I think I hate your aunts too.”
Ainosuke leans in closer, shifts in Tadashi's hold until his arms are wrapped around Tadashi's shoulders and his cheek is pressed against Tadashi's. “I'm sorry. You don't have to wear it. I'll get you something else.”
“I'll wear it,” he says. If it will help Ainosuke see that he's forgiven, that Tadashi thinks of him first and foremost, that they are better now, Tadashi will wear it.
Ainosuke sighs into Tadashi's ear, melts further in Tadashi's hold. “Thank you.”