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In their first morning at the new house, Roberto’s alarm went off at five as it always did. The force of long routine carried his still-waking body through the familiar tasks of making his bed and dropping to his knees beside it. Usually, his morning prayers felt perfunctory —Roberto could admit, at least to himself, that he’d joined the priesthood out of more complacency than conviction. But this morning, his heart sang in real gratitude.
After Ryouta had retired the previous evening, Hiraga and Roberto had talked long into the night, catching up after their long separation. It felt like any other night, the two of them lingering over wine and conversation, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company. Yet as Hiraga gesticulated wildly, trying to explain some theory about Bose-Einstein condensates, Roberto caught himself watching those slim hands move through the air and thinking in wonder, He’s not going to leave at the end of the night.
His dearest friend, his anum cara, the treasure of his life, the sun around whom Roberto orbited — he spent more time than he’d like to admit searching for a way to express how much Hiraga meant to him — this beautiful, brilliant man lived with him now. He was asleep across the hall. Roberto’s childhood amnesia meant he’d never known a real home before his first apartment. He’d never lived with somebody he loved. Even at St. Bernando’s, Josef had lived upstairs with the older boys. To be sharing a house with Hiraga felt like a miracle.
“Thank you, Lord,” he prayed in every language that he knew. “Thank you for bringing him into my life. Please, let me be worthy of him.”
Prayers complete, Roberto rose and changed into workout clothes. He did the usual rounds of push ups, crunches, and squats in his bedroom before padding down the hall in his running shoes, careful not to wake Hiraga or Ryouta. Closing the front door behind him with a gentle click, he let the rhythm of his feet carry him over the cobblestones as he explored their new neighborhood. In this way he threaded his way through narrow borghi until he found the banks of the river. In only a few hours this neighborhood would be flooded by tourists and pilgrims intent on seeing the Vatican, but it was quiet now, the rosy light of dawn filtering through the leaves and illuminating the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance.
To his surprise, a light shone in the window when he returned to the house. It was early yet, and Roberto hadn’t planned to wake Hiraga for another hour or so. He let himself in quietly, smiling as he saw Ryouta in front of his bookshelves, studying the spines through the glass with fascination.
“Good morning,” he said.
Ryouta started guiltily, spinning his chair around to face him. “Good morning, Fa— Roberto. I’m sorry, I was just — I didn’t know you were awake.”
“I get up early. As do you, I see.” Roberto gave him a reassuring smile as he slipped out of his running shoes, placing them neatly beneath the bench by the front door. “And it’s okay. You can read any of my books as long as you’re careful with them and don’t lose the bookmarks. I don’t mind.”
“Really?” Ryouta asked, eyes wide.
“Books are meant to be read. And those are all good ones. Josef had excellent taste.” Even after all these years, it still hurt to say his name, but not as much as it used to. As he spoke, Roberto realized he’d never talked about Josef, not to someone who knew what they’d been to each other. Not even Hiraga knew this part of his past. But Ryouta had read Josef’s journal. He knew how much Josef had meant to him.
Ryouta hesitated a second before asking, “Do you miss him?”
“Every day,” Roberto said honestly. “But it gets easier over time. I am happy now, like he wanted me to be.”
“I’m glad,” Ryouta said with a small smile.
Roberto swallowed, and excused himself to take a shower.
When he emerged from the bathroom, dressed but with his hair still damp beneath the gel, Ryouta was in the kitchen. He’d found Hiraga’s rice cooker, the one appliance Roberto had bothered saving from his old apartment. Roberto watched Ryouta scoop rice into a bowl, topping it with something bean-like and stringy from one of the many styrofoam packets Hiraga had kept in his freezer.
“What is that?” Roberto asked, as ground the beans for his coffee.
“Natto. Do you want some?”
“No, thank you,” Roberto said at once, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the smell. He filled the bottom chamber of his coffee pot with water, carefully measuring out the freshly-ground coffee into the filter. Ryouta was studying the process with apparent fascination — he had a mug of green tea brewing on the counter. Roberto poured some milk into a small saucepan, setting it on the saucepan to steam. As the milk and coffee heated on the stove, he toasted a slice of yesterday’s bread for his own breakfast, slathering it with butter and jam. The coffee pot gurgled, and he took it from the stove. He poured half of it into a mug for himself, topping with the steamed milk. The rest he poured into an insulated thermos for Hiraga.
“Did you find something to read?” he asked, sitting beside Ryouta at the kitchen table.
“Leaves of Grass,” Ryouta said, and then added, a bit ruefully, “It’s in English.”
Roberto smiled. “Have you studied Latin at all?”
“A little. I’d started it in school because Kou told me I should take it, but then I got sick.”
“I can teach you if you’d like.”
“Really?” Ryouta looked up at him with his brother’s smile. “That would be great! I still have my old textbook. I just need to unpack.”
“We can start whenever you’re ready.”
When Hiraga finally emerged from his bedroom, bleary-eyed and barefoot, it was to find the two of them reading at Roberto’s claw foot table in companionable silence. Startled happiness kindled in his eyes, and he beamed at them.
Roberto couldn’t help but smile back. “Good morning. There’s coffee.”
“And rice,” Ryouta added.
“Thank you,” Hiraga murmured around a yawn. As he started towards the kitchen, he stooped to drop an arm around Ryouta’s shoulders, pulling him into a quick sideways hug. Roberto hid a smile behind the pages of his book, wondering if Hiraga noticed how much his brother lit up at the attention.
Then he stopped thinking at all because Hiraga rose and did the exact same thing to him. For just a second, his whole world condensed to the heat of Hiraga’s arm around his shoulders, the scent of Hiraga’s body, the press of Hiraga’s cheek to his hair. Then Hiraga pulled away, wandering off into the kitchen in search of caffeine and food. Roberto blinked after him, the book he’d been reading entirely forgotten. He felt Ryouta’s eyes on him, and could only hope his face didn’t give him away.
* * *
Roberto returned from work early that evening to find Hiraga ensconsced at the dining table with his laptop, a tattered notebook and several computer print-outs surrounding him. Roberto’s eyebrows lifted a fraction at the sight. Hiraga had desks in his bedroom and his basement laboratory, after all. But then, the quality of light in the dining room was better in the afternoon. As long as he cleaned up after himself, Roberto supposed it didn’t hurt.
“Good evening,” he said, dropping his keys into the basket by the front door.
“Okaeri!” Ryouta called out from his room.
“Welcome home, Roberto,” Hiraga said, glancing up from his laptop screen with a warm smile. Then he frowned and did a double take, brows rising quizically. “What is that?”
Setting his parcel on the table, Roberto carefully unwrapped the protective paper to reveal the glass and brass beneath. “It’s a new light fixture. I thought it would look nice above the dining table. The one that came with the house is so tacky.”
“Is it?” Hiraga asked, glancing up at the fixture in question with a small frown. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Roberto hesitated a moment, wondering if he’d overstepped. He wasn’t used to consulting with others in his decorating decisions. “Do you want to keep the old one?”
Hiraga absently waved his hand, turning back to his laptop. “Do whatever you’d like. You know I don’t really pay attention to things like that.”
“Then I’ll call an electrician tomorrow.”
“What for?” Hiraga asked, momentarily turning away from his laptop screen to consult something he’d scribbled in his notebook.
“To install it,” Roberto said. Distracted as Hiraga was, Roberto thought he’d been paying attention to the conversation.
“No, I mean, why call an electrician?” Hiraga asked, even as he typed something into the laptop. “I can install it.”
`
“Are you sure?” Roberto asked dubiously.
Hiraga folded down his laptop screen, giving the light fixture a brief once-over. “Yes. It will be simple.”
“All right then,” Roberto said, but Hiraga ignored him, too caught up in his work.
* * *
He passed by Ryouta’s room to find the boy at his own desk, his frown of concentration nearly identical to his brother’s. The similarity made Roberto grin, and he paused for a moment in the open doorway. Ryouta had apparently spent the day unpacking. Rows of paperbooks and manga lined the bookshelves. A small television sat atop the low dresser, along with some kind of gaming system. A tidy stack of cardboard boxes sat in one corner, already flattened for recycling. Roberto made a note to take those out later.
“Homework?” Roberto asked, glancing at Ryouta’s open notebook.
Ryouta made a face and nodded, rubbing at his temples. “Math,” he said, and his obvious loathing for the subject dispelled any resemblance to his brother. Roberto couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.
“I was going to see if you needed help, but math is beyond me, I’m afraid. That’s a job for Hiraga.”
“Sure, if I want to learn 18 different ways to solve the same problem,” Ryouta said with a grin. Then, with a curious glance at Roberto, “You do know I’m a Hiraga too, right?”
“Yes. Of course.” Roberto rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Long habit.”
* * *
Distracted with dinner preparation, Roberto nearly forgot about his conversation with Hiraga. But as he was washing the dishes later, the overhead light went dark and the background rumble of the refrigerator stuttered to a close.
“What the —” he heard Ryouta say from his room. Peering into the hallway, Roberto saw that all of the house’s lights were off.
A moment later, Hiraga emerged from the basement carrying a flashlight and a shopping bag bulging with tools. “Sorry,” he said cheerfully. “I should have warned you both. I shut the main electricity off.”
“Why?” Roberto asked.
Hiraga gave him a baffled expression. “So I can install your light fixture, naturally. I told you I would. Would you help me move the table, please?”
Still a bit nonplussed, Roberto caught hold of one end of the table. Together they moved it against the far wall. Placing a dining chair beneath the light fixture, Hiraga clambered onto it — and frowned. Even on tiptoe, he couldn’t reach the ceiling.
“The table is taller,” Hiraga said, glancing speculatively at it. “Perhaps I should stand on it instead.”
“That’s an antique!” Roberto protested. “It can wait until I buy a ladder.” He grinned. “Unless you want to sit on my shoulders.’
He’d meant it as a joke, but Hiraga, of course, took it seriously. “That’s a wonderful idea! Come closer, please, Roberto.”
The sensible thing would be to refuse. After all, there was no reason the light fixture needed to go up tonight. The very idea of lifting a grown man on his shoulders was ridiculous. From his perch on the chair, Hiraga smiled down at him, as if his request were only natural. Before he had even made up his mind, Roberto crossed the distance between them. Hiraga gazed speculatively at his shoulders, and then nodded.
“It might be easiest if you kneel.”
He was glad the low light of the living room didn’t show his blush. It felt unsettlingly right to kneel on the ground before Hiraga, and he laughed self-consciously. Strangely hesitant to look up at his face, Roberto found himself studying his friend’s feet and ankles. For the first time, he noticed that Hiraga’s trousers were slightly too long for him. Roberto ought to find his sewing kit, bring them up for him. No need to consult a tailor for such as simple fix. His left socks had a hole near the toe. Roberto didn’t know how to darn, but he would remember to buy him new ones the next time he was out.
“Are you ready?” Hiraga asked, crouching low on the chair.
Roberto barely nodded before his friend shifted forward, slinging his leg around the back of Roberto’s neck like a stole. Carefully, he seated himself atop Roberto’s shoulders, legs dangling down his chest. Roberto curled his hands protectively around Hiraga’s ankles, and his friend touched the top of his head as though in blessing.
“Go ahead.”
He forced himself not to grab onto the chair for support as he rose, though his abdominal muscles protested. Hiraga was, after all, a full grown man, however slight.
Laughing, Hiraga exclaimed, “You’re so strong!”
Roberto’s cheeks burned, but he tried to keep his voice casual. “You don’t weigh much.”
He peered upward a bit dizzily, taking in the odd angle of Hiraga’s delighted face peering down at him. Hiraga’s supple thighs were braced on either side of Roberto’s face. Even through his slacks, Roberto could feel the heat of his groin against the back of his neck. Swallowing, he focused on holding himself still and steady. Hiraga’s weight shifted as he reached upward. From this new perch, he could reach the light fixture easily.
A burst of startled laughter from behind them nearly startled Roberto into dropping his precious burden. He’d been so distracted by Hiraga on his shoulders that Roberto hadn’t even heard Ryouta’s approach.
“What are you two doing?” Ryouta demanded.
Roberto felt his blush deepen. The two of them must look ridiculous. But Hiraga seemed completely unbothered by his brother’s scrutiny.
“I’m changing the light fixture,” Hiraga explained casually. “I’m glad you’re here, Ryouta. I forgot to bring my tools up with me. Would you please hand the screwdriver up to Roberto?” He pointed to the bulging bag of tools on the floor.
Ryouta’s shoulders shook with laughter as he wheeled himself over to the bag and lifted it onto his lap. His eyes twinkled as he handed the screwdriver up to Roberto. Laughing himself at the ridiculousness of the situation, Roberto obediently passed it onto Hiraga, who easily unscrewed the old light fixture, hadning it down to Roberto.
“Wire stripper,” Hiraga said like a doctor in a surgery, holding out his hand.
Roberto had no idea what a wire stripper looked like, but Ryouta found it easily. “Wire stripper!”
As he handed it up, Roberto realized that the two of them must have spent countless like this, Ryouta assisting Hiraga with his various projects and experiments. The ease in which they worked together made something twist in Roberto’s chest. It was one thing to know that they were brothers, but quite another to see the two of them like this. He’d never seen Hiraga this comfortable in anyone else’s company. As they worked, Roberto felt selfishly glad that his height at least gave him something to contribute to the project.
“A bit to the left please, Roberto,” Hiraga instructed. Carefully gripping his ankles, Roberto obeyed.
At last it was done.
Hiraga scrambled down with surprising ease, and Roberto stretched his aching shoulders.
“I’ll turn on the power and we’ll see if it works,” Hiraga said, gathering up the bag of tools Ryouta handed him and disappearing back down to the basement. A few moments later, the lights came on and the refrigerator resumed its humming. Roberto stepped back to admire the new light fixture, the glass sparkling in its brass cage.
“I like it,” Ryouta offered. “It looks like something you’d find on a pirate ship.”
“It’s hand blown Murano glass!” Roberto protested, laughing despite himself.
* * *
The second morning in their new house, Roberto emerged from the shower after his run to find a cup of cafe au lait already waiting for him.
“Did I do it right?” Ryouta asked, anxiously watching as Roberto took his first sip.
Roberto closed his eyes, savoring the rich taste of espresso and steamed milk. He remembered how closely Ryouta had watched him make it the day before, and felt a rush of affection even warmer than the coffee.
“It’s perfect.” He squeezed Ryouta’s bony shoulder. “Thank you.”
* * *
It was Roberto’s day off, so instead of dressing for work, he brewed a second pot of coffee and enjoyed a leisurely morning reading on the couch. He wasn’t surprised when Ryouta joined him, rolling his wheelchair a companionable distance away and opening his own book. Hiraga wandered out of his bedroom around 9, the dark circles under his eyes hinting at a late night in the laboratory, though his bereavment leave didn’t end for a few more days. Of course, only a fraction of Hiraga’s experiments were actually commissioned by the Vatican. He always seemed to be conducting research of one kind or another.
“Good morning,” Hiraga said around a yawn. He looked so sleepy and confused that Roberto didn’t entirely trust him to make his way to the kitchen without calamity. Besides, he could use another cup himself. Marking his page, Roberto set his book on the end table and rose, placing a hand on Hiraga’s shoulder.
“Go ahead and sit down,” he said, giving him a gentle shove towards the sofa. Hiraga nodded agreeably, shuffling towards it. When Roberto returned a few moments later, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, Hiraga was curled up in the corner of sofa, his bare feet tucked beneath him.
“Thank you,” he murmured, taking the coffee cup and bowing his head over it to deeply inhale the fragrant steam rising over the ceramic rim. Hiraga’s eyes were so fond when he looked up at him that Roberto felt a lump rising in his throat.
“You’re welcome,” he said, taking a steadying sip of his own coffee to ground himself. He felt eyes on him, and glanced over to see Ryouta watching him. Self consciously, Roberto smiled at him.
“What are you two planning to do today?”
“Nii-san said he’d show me around!” Ryouta said happily.
Roberto felt his smile grow warmer. “That’s a wonderful idea! Make sure he brings you to our favorite gelato shop.”
“It’s your day off, isn’t it, Roberto?” Hiraga asked over the rim of his coffee mug. “You should join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude—” Roberto started.
But at the same time, Ryouta said, “Yes! Please come with us.”
So an hour later, Roberto found himself walking side-by-side with Hiraga as he pushed Ryouta’s wheelchair through the busy streets of the Vatican. As always, tourists packed the streets. When they drew to a stop before a fountain, Ryouta’s eyes were wide with overwhelm.
“I didn’t expect it to be so busy.”
Roberto mentally compared the bustling street to the quiet, almost tomb-like atmosphere of Baden Children’s Hospital, and patted Ryouta’s shoulder sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it.”
“It’s true,” Hiraga piped in. “Though I still try to avoid the touristy areas.”
Ryouta nodded, still looking a bit stunned. “Well, the fountain is pretty, anyway.”
Hiraga brightened. “We should get a picture!”
Smiling, Roberto reached for his cell phone. “Here, lean in together,” he said, nearly colliding with a trio of nuns as he backed up to get them both in the frame. But when he glanced back after making his apologies, Hiraga was chatting animatedly with an American tourist, and Ryouta was staring at Roberto in disbelief.
“What are you doing?” Ryouta asked.
Before he could answer, Hiraga turned back to them with a wide smile. “Roberto, get back here! Alicia is going to take a photo for us.”
Stunned, Roberto allowed himself to be gathered in behind Ryouta’s wheelchair. He and Hiraga each put a hand on the boy’s shoulders, and Roberto used the excuse of leaning in close to wrap his arm around Hiraga’s waist.
“Say ‘cheese,’” Alicia instructed, holding up Hiraga’s phone.
“Cheese!” Hiraga and Ryouta chorused. Roberto said nothing. He was already smiling.
* * *
Ryouta emerged from his room after dinner with a a dog-eared copy of the Cambridge Latin Course, volume 1. When Roberto flipped through it, he grinned to discover that several of the pages were already studiously highlighted and annotated in Hiraga’s neat handwriting. They settled in at the dining table to discuss the adventures of Quintus, a teenager living in Pompeii. Even out of practice, twelve-year-old Ryouta was sharper than most of the undergraduates Roberto had tutored in Latin. He blushed when Ryouta told him so, ducking his head with a shy smile.
“Naturally, Ryouta’s ahead of most students his age,” Hiraga said from the living room.
“Naturally,” Roberto agreed, smiling at Ryouta's discomfort.
Ryouta shook his head firmly. “Kou is the smart one. I'm the creative one."
Grinning, Roberto patted his shoulder. "Well, I think you're both smart and creative."
They all ended up in the living room after dinner, Hiraga on his laptop, Roberto with a book, and Ryouta flipping through a manga.
“I’m bored,” Ryouta announced, after an hour had passed in this way. “Do you guys want to play a game?”
Predictably, Hiraga closed his laptop at once. “We can play the Game of Angels and Demons!” he suggested, oblivious to Ryouta and Roberto’s matching grimaces.
“Nobody likes that game, Nii-san,” Ryouta said, with the kind, but firm air of someone who had explained so many times before.
“Lauren likes it,” Hiraga protested.
Roberto bit back his automatic response that Lauren Di Luca’s favor wasn’t exactly a selling point. From Ryouta’s slightly dubious expression, he could tell the boy was thinking the same thing. If they had a deck of cards, Roberto could teach the two of them to play Scopa. He was about to suggest that when Ryouta spoke up, a competitive gleam coming into his eyes.
“How about Mario Cart?”
Hiraga frowned, making a show of thinking about it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ryouta. Do you remember how badly I beat you last time?”
Ryouta’s chin lifted, his face setting in the stubborn expression Roberto knew so well from Hiraga. “Yeah? Well you can remember that when you’re crying in your bed tonight.”
That’s how Roberto found himself perched next to Hiraga on Ryouta’s narrow bed, watching the brothers frantically turn their plastic steering wheel controllers, laughing and taunting each other in a way that Roberto, as an only child, found fascinating.
“Die, Nii-san!” Ryouta yelled, seconds before yet another red turtle shell smashed into Hiraga’s car, bringing him skidding to a stop. Was this the same sweet kid Roberto had met in the hospital?
“When did you get good at this?” Hiraga laughed. Onscreen, his dinosaur — Yoshi, he’d called it — landed on an accelerating strip that sent him flying ahead. “You never used to be able to keep up with me.”
“You moved out and stopped playing,” Ryouta said smugly. “And all this time, I’ve been practicing, waiting for my sweet revenge.” As if to punctuate his words, his car transformed into a missile, zipping over the finish line mere seconds before Hiraga.
“Do you want to get creamed again, Nii-san?”
“I’m done!” Hiraga said, a little weakly. His face had taken on a familiar, greenish cast. “Here,” he said, handing his controller to Roberto. “Show him how it’s done.”
Roberto took the controller dubiously. It felt nothing like a real steering wheel. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It hardly seems fair. Remember, I’m the only one in this house who can actually drive.”
“I’ll go easy on you,” Ryouta said, as Hiraga settled back against the wall, his shoulder bumping companionably against Roberto’s.
Five minutes later, Roberto groaned as his car once more careened off the side of the track.
“He’s normally an excellent driver,” Hiraga said to Ryouta, as a little cloud with a fishing pole emerged to tow Roberto’s car back to safety. Roberto was coming to hate that cloud.
“This is nothing like real driving!” Roberto protested.
Ryouta gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll get better with practice.”
* * *
Later that first week, Roberto lingered up long after his bedtime, unable to tear himself away from the pages of a rare volume that he’d scanned earlier that day at the Vatican library. There was a message hidden in the seemingly innocuous lines of Latin poetry. He could feel it taunting him. He stared at the laptop screen until his head ached, wishing he’d been allowed to take the book itself home. The texture of the vellum and the scent of the ink would have helped him decipher the message; he was sure of it. The pixelated rendering of the calligraphy didn’t do it justice.
“You’re up late,” a soft voice said, and Roberto jumped, looking up to see Hiraga leaning in his bedroom doorway, an open lab coat over his cassock.
“So are you,” he countered, and Hiraga laughed.
“Yes, but that’s normal for me.” Hiraga stepped into Roberto’s bedroom, leaning in close to read the screen over his shoulder. He’d been with Roberto earlier when he’d scanned these pages, had listened patiently as Roberto described his theory over dinner. “Have you had any luck yet?”
“No,” Roberto admitted, barely stopping himself from leaning back into the heat of Hiraga’s body. “I feel like I’m so close, but I can’t find it.”
Hiraga made a quiet noise of sympathy. His hand landed on Roberto’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Some of the tension in Roberto’s body drained away at the touch. “Perhaps you should take a break. You might find the answer easier after sleep.”
“Maybe,” Roberto conceded.
“Have you done your nightly prayers yet? I was about to. We can pray together if you’d like.”
“That sounds nice,” Roberto said, closing the laptop.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, Hiraga emerged with a mug of coffee and a bowl of the same rice and natto mixture that Ryouta was eating, though he seemed to have cracked a raw egg over his. Roberto gave him a sympathetic smile over his coffee. He was exhausted from his late night pouring over his manuscript scans, and suspected Hiraga had stayed awake even after their evening prayers.
Hiraga returned the smile warmly. He settled at the table across from them, eyes fluttering shut in apparent bliss as he sipped the coffee.
“What are your plans for the day, Hiraga?” Roberto asked.
Ryouta answered before his brother could. “I have to finish my history essay, and then I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”
“Hush,” Hiraga said, flicking a grain of rice at his brother. “You know he was talking to me.”
Ryouta laughed, grinning impishly at Roberto. “Why do you call him by our last name, anyway? It’s kind of weird.”
“Ryouta!” Hiraga protested.
“I suppose it’s just a habit,” Roberto said with a thin smile. He remembered the first time he’d met Hiraga, seeing the flash of dark hair and calling out, “Josef!” in disbelief, only to have Hiraga turn and smile at him in confusion. Afterwards, Roberto had apologized for the mistake, and Hiraga had introduced himself properly. Since then, he’d always been just Hiraga.
“But you’re friends! You live together! He doesn’t call you Nicholas.”
“That’s enough,” Hiraga said. His voice was calm as ever, but he leveled a warning look in Ryouta’s direction. “Roberto can call me whatever he wants.”
“Ryouta does have a point,” Roberto said thoughtfully. “With two Hiragas living here, things might get confusing.” It would be proper, he knew, for one priest to call another by his confirmation name. But his stomach went heavy at the thought of calling Hiraga Josef, of mixing the two cherished people in his life like that. “Would you mind if I call you Kou?”
Hiraga’s eyes went soft and he beamed at Roberto over his coffee cup. “My family has always called me Kou. I would like it if you did as well.”
The End