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Flea markets have never really been Mondo’s thing. Not much to do, in his opinion, unless you like spending an entire afternoon wandering aimlessly and looking at random antiques and shit. The food’s cool, but that’s about it.
And he didn’t expect them to be Kiyotaka’s thing either. Not because he thinks Taka’s personality begins and ends with Walking Rulebook (unlike some of their classmates), god no. It’s a lot simpler than that: the boy hates spending money. Especially on himself. The only thing he hates more than spending money on himself is other people spending money on him. But what the hell else is anyone supposed to do at a flea market? At any market?
Wander around and look at random shit, apparently.
Mondo isn’t going to complain about it to Kiyotaka’s face, of course; that’d be stupid. He knows Taka’s been making an effort to be social and get out more, and he’s beyond relieved to have torn him away from his textbooks for even a day. If Taka’s idea of “letting loose” is dragging them through a maze of stalls and tents to coo at shiny trinkets and leaf through old yellowed books, then maybe that isn’t so bad. There are worse fates. Fates that don’t involve holding hands, for instance.
Seriously, though, they’ve been here for at least an hour and a half and Kiyotaka hasn’t even bought anything. At all. And as amusing as it’s been to watch him unwittingly piss off the sellers by poring over their wares for ten minutes and then walking away empty-handed, it’s getting a little ridiculous. Even the weather seems to agree; a stiff breeze sweeps past, as if to hurry them along.
Suddenly Taka stops in his tracks, turning wide, questioning eyes to Mondo. “What’s that sound?”
“Hm?” He looks around, trying to pretend he didn’t zone out for a minute there. All he hears is the same market bustle that’s accompanied them this whole time. “What’s what sound?”
“You don’t hear it?” Taka tugs at Mondo’s coat sleeve, towards a gravel path off to their left. “Come on, I think it’s coming from over there.”
Well past the point of protest, Mondo submits to being led by the hand like a child, once again at the whim of his best friend’s boundless curiosity. It’s better than studying, he repeats to himself. Anything’s better than studying.
It takes another minute of wading through the crowd to figure out what sound Taka’s chasing. And his face lights up when they finally find the source.
The tent’s small, easy to miss, dwarfed by its neighbors and less populated for all the racket it’s making. Every spare inch of it is draped in an oddly specific kind of merchandise. On the little table an army of weathervanes stands at attention, every imaginable shape and size accounted for—wrought-iron roosters, horses, fish and archers and even dragons swiveling in unison with the late-autumn breeze. There’s a little terrier in the corner that Mondo is trying very hard not to stare at longingly. He’s not sure he’s succeeding, by the look on the seller’s face.
Kiyotaka doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s too mesmerized by the other type of product at this stand, the cause of all the noise: the windchimes.
They hang low from the roof of the tent, countless bits of metal and plastic and glass clicking and clacking against each other, creating a chaotic harmony that shouldn’t be as pleasant to listen to as it is. It’s a miracle the hooded lady running the stand can keep from knocking into them every two seconds. Mondo sure can’t.
He watches the lady guide Taka through this set of chimes and that—one made of seashells, another of terracotta—with well-choreographed gestures and a feathery voice that’s almost lost in the cacophony. And Taka listens, nodding along and asking questions now and then. Ever the eager student. It’s kind of adorable, really.
He quickly decides against dwelling on that thought.
It seems Taka’s found a favorite; he beckons Mondo over for a closer look at a humble set of wooden windchimes near the back.
The design itself isn’t anything special; six or so wood tubes of varying length strung up in a circle, and a disk-shaped piece in the center knocking into them. The soft, subdued sound they produce is more than enough to set them apart, though. Sort of reminds him of a wooden flute. It’s nice.
Personally, though, he prefers listening to Taka gush about how “delightful” and “whimsical” they are. Fuckin’ dork.
The seller is more than happy to regale them with the history of the wooden chimes, which Mondo doesn’t pay much attention to. Taka eats it up, of course. Seems like they’ll be here a little while longer. Mondo still has half a mind to snag that dog-shaped weathervane. The only thing stopping him is the fact that he has no clue what the hell he would do with it. Wouldn’t exactly work in his dorm room, after all.
Taka, meanwhile, is thoroughly spellbound, an unconscious grin stretched across his face. He’d probably be content to stand in that spot for the rest of the day, blocking out all the other noise of the market just to listen to the simple chimes in front of him. And hell, Mondo might be fine with it too, so long as his eyes keep sparkling like that.
But then the lady has to go and name a price.
Taka blinks, brought out of his head and back down to earth, smile faltering at the reminder that things cost money. It’s damn near enough to make Mondo jump in and pay for it himself, just to wipe that barely-hidden disappointment off Taka’s face (and to see that joyful sparkle return to his eyes, where it belongs, dammit). That wouldn’t end so well, though. God knows Mondo’s tried to buy him a dozen other things here, with precisely fuck-all to show for it.
Then again…Taka really wants those chimes. For a moment Mondo thinks he might actually go for it, with the way his hand’s hovering over his jacket pocket. It’s the closest he’s come to taking out his money all day.
But, in the end, his stinginess wins out. The hand drops; he still looks conflicted as he replies with a nod and an upbeat “I’ll think about it!”
“Of course.” The seller bows, studying them both with a beguiling smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I’ll think about it. Oldest trick in the book. Mondo’s sure he picked it up from the other patrons here. Except instead of simply using the phrase as a polite getaway tactic, Kiyotaka does actually look like he’ll think about it. He thinks too much.
Their hands are linked again, and Taka’s pulling them away almost urgently, as if it’s his last line of defense against the temptation of—god forbid—spending money on something he likes. Mondo steals just one more glance back at the terrier, and another at the wooden chimes, still clicking away, unbothered. The sight almost pisses him off a little.
Well, maybe it’s for the best. They’re probably overpriced anyway, just like everything else at this market. Nothing so special about them, either. Hell, what’s stopping Mondo from making Taka his own damn chimes if he wants them so badly?
…Huh. He thinks he just had an idea.
---
Mondo had no clue what he was getting himself into.
A “simple project,” the website called it. If this is simple, then he’s got a long way to go if he’s serious about this whole carpentry thing.
To be fair, he hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make it easier for himself. He considered using bamboo like the instructions recommended, but he felt he’d be able to do more with real wood. Make it a little nicer. And he wasn’t about to take any shortcuts here. If it were some shitty little practice project, something for his eyes only, sure. But not something like this.
He’s decided on a dark walnut wood for the base, to make it stand out a bit. Should look good when varnished. He’s even carving a little cherry blossom pattern into the edge, just because he can. Just to one-up those lame-ass flea market chimes. It’s petty, but it’s a productive kind of petty.
And as for the chimes themselves…that’s been the hardest part, to be honest. He’s happy with his choice of maple wood; it contrasts well with the walnut base, and it makes a nice, clear sound when struck. But he’s been struggling to get the tube shapes just right. The rest isn’t even that difficult—making the base, stringing everything up, varnishing, polishing—because those steps all have some acceptable margin of error. But the chimes…one imperfection, a millimeter or two off, and the whole damn thing sounds wrong. So much wood wasted. He thinks he owes an apology to trees in general after this.
Genuinely, the only reason he’s even bothering with this shit in the first place is because of Kiyotaka. It’s a little like the recent uptick in his grades, that way. There really is no better motivator than the chance to make Taka happy and proud of him.
He’d never admit that out loud, obviously.
“Wow, Mondo! That’s so cool!”
Chihiro plucks the unfinished base from the woodshop table, turning it over in her hands like it’s a particularly interesting rock. “You’ve really put a lot of thought into this.”
An oddly sincere remark for someone who just bullied Mondo into explaining his whole process in painstaking detail. “No shit. I told ya, this ain’t somethin’ I wanna half-ass.”
She nods in immediate understanding. “’Cause it’s for Taka, right?”
“W-Well, yeah, sure.” Mondo crosses his arms over his chest. Sometimes he really wishes he didn’t blush so readily. “So what?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Chihiro seems to like tracing the crude cherry blossoms with her small fingers. “I just think it’s really sweet.”
Even with her head ducked and her gaze trained on the wooden disk, Mondo’s pretty sure he spots a knowing smile on Chihiro’s face. Goddammit. “We’ve been over this, Chi.”
“Been over what?” She doesn’t look up.
“Y’know, playin’ dumb only works if you’re actually dumb. Doesn't apply to programming geniuses.”
She gasps and places her hand over her heart, eyes wide with mock horror. “Mondo! Did you just call me the g-word? What would Taka say?!”
“He’d say you should stop fuckin’ pestering me about the two of us already. And he’d be right.”
“Hmmm…” The knowing smile is back, sweet but infuriatingly smug. “Okay, I’ll consider it. Once you ask him out already, that is.”
“Chi, I swear to god—"
“So when are you giving this to him?” she chirps, setting down the base in favor of one of the smaller chimes. “Is it gonna be a Christmas present?”
Mondo blinks uselessly at the sudden subject change. She’s doing this on purpose, he fucking knows she is. Because now he’s well and trapped: either he pursues the subject of Taka and potentially embarrasses himself even more, or he lets it go and effectively concedes that Chihiro’s right. That she’s run mental rings around his one-track mind.
He sighs, reluctantly figuring he shouldn't take the bait. It’s not like he wants to keep talking about it anyway, even if dropping the subject bruises his poor ego.
You win this one, you little shit.
His face still feels like it’s on fire when he responds, “I dunno. Maybe if I finish it in time.”
---
He doesn’t. Between studying with Taka for midterms, making sure the Diamonds are situated for the harsh winter months, and failing over and over to whittle down or string up a chime just right, Christmas slips through his fingers. Mondo has no choice but to grab a different present at the last minute, but that’s okay. Taka ends up loving the knitted crimson scarf, and it brings out his eyes wonderfully, so it’s okay.
By the time Mondo feels comfortable calling the windchimes a finished product, it’s closer to Valentine’s Day. A complete, honest-to-god coincidence, even if Chihiro doesn’t believe it for a second. It’s not a Valentine’s gift, and he refuses to call it one. It’s…well, it’s a just-because gift. Nothing wrong with that. Why should he need an occasion anyway?
On the twentieth of February, Mondo finally works up the courage to actually give the gift. Maybe he should’ve aimed for an occasion after all, if only so he didn’t have an excuse to keep putting it off. But if he waits any longer, the anticipation might very well kill him.
Kiyotaka insists they both bundle up before venturing outside, despite having no idea where they’re headed. Mondo can only hope he isn’t noticeably shaking as he grabs his hand. Especially not after all the time he just spent grumbling about “running warm” and “not needing gloves, dammit, it’s not even gonna take that long.”
The woodshop would be a pretty anticlimactic place for the reveal, he thought, so he’s hung up the windchimes outside the dorms, on a tree branch laden with fresh snow. The quiet blanket of white on the ground makes them easy to hear in the biting wind. Taka perks up at the gentle tune the moment he opens the door, and Mondo watches his face slowly brighten with recognition and surprise.
He turns to Mondo, just like he did that day at the market. “Is that…?”
Mondo grins, nods, and this time he’s the one guiding them toward the sound, toward the low-hanging branch, following the snow-prints he left during his prep work.
He decides that all the effort that went into this, every single second of frustration and self-doubt, was worth it when he sees Taka smile excitedly at the polished wooden chimes. It’s a pretty easy decision to make. He wouldn’t mind looking at that smile for the rest of his life. Not one bit.
Mondo doesn’t have a well-practiced speech like the chime seller did, so it’s a good thing Taka only has one question for him: “Did you make this?”
“Y-Yeah.” Any speech he could possibly have prepared would disintegrate under that intense red gaze, anyway. How’d that lady manage it so well?
Taka beams (oh my god he’s so fucking cute) and squeezes his hand. “It’s wonderful. Mondo, I’m so proud of you.”
“Uh…th-thanks.” Despite the freezing cold Mondo thinks he’s going to melt. “I’m…really glad ya like it. ‘Specially ‘cause I, uh…”
Taka tilts his head in question as Mondo starts to trip over his words, the nerves catching up to him. Those puppy-dog eyes don’t help matters in the slightest.
Finally he gives up trying to explain, and instead reaches to take the chimes down from the branch. They jostle noisily as he holds them out to Kiyotaka, his best friend, who means the entire goddamn universe to him and so much more, so much more than he could ever express with a tiny, insignificant, amateur gift like this.
But it’s all he has to offer, so he might as well give it a shot.
“Here. ‘S for you.”
That seems to confuse Taka; for a second or two he’s silent, processing. Slowly he takes the chimes from Mondo, handling them like they’re something fragile, something priceless. His eyes are shining, though whether that’s from wonder or gratitude or unfallen tears or some combination of all three Mondo can’t tell.
“Mondo, I can’t accept this,” he murmurs, as if trying to convince himself of it. “You made it. It’s yours.”
He’s still staring holes into the gift, a familiar conflict drawing down his brow. But he can’t I’ll think about it his way out of this one. Mondo’s made sure of that.
“Really?” He smirks and steps closer, tilts the base upward in Taka’s hands, reveals the words carved into the underside: For Taka. “But it’s got your name on it.”
Taka’s eyes widen. “Wh…b-but, Mondo…”
“None ‘a that, Kiyo. It’s a gift. Do whatever ya want with it, but don’t try an’ give it back to me, okay? I made it for you.”
He looks down at the chimes again, then back up at Mondo, with that overwhelmed look he gets when he’s about to cry. But he’s smiling, and his cheeks and nose are flushed pink with the cold, and he’s just so pretty it’s not even fair.
“Okay.” The tears slide down his face; he doesn’t wipe them away. He doesn’t look away. “Thank you, Mondo, thank you s-so much, this is…y-you’re amazing…”
Taka’s trembling a little, and sniffling into his soft red scarf, and their hands are still sort of touching and they’re standing so close to each other and in that moment Mondo swears he could kiss him. He’s this fucking close to grabbing his best friend by his stupidly squishable face and smushing their lips together and just kissing him until he can’t breathe.
But Taka beats him to it.
---
It’s late. The weather’s nice. The house is dead silent; Kiyotaka’s nowhere to be seen. But on days like these, he’s not very hard to find.
Mondo steps onto the back porch in his socks, the swish of the sliding door the only noise announcing his presence. It’s not enough to wake the man lying on the wicker couch, who’s snoring quietly and hugging an open paperback book to his chest. One of Toko’s latest novels, if Mondo remembers correctly.
Kiyotaka’s still in his work slacks, the top button of his shirt undone, his reading glasses halfway down his nose. The lone porch light casts gold stripes and long velvet shadows over his face and the folds in his clothes. The band on his finger catches one of the warm rays, gleaming.
And completing the picture, of course, is the wandering backdrop tune of the maple-wood windchimes hanging over their heads.
It’s become something of a routine for Taka. His own little way of unwinding after a stressful day at work. He’ll sit out on the porch, take in the fresh air, read a book, and more often than not let the chirping crickets and the melodic wooden clicking lull him to sleep. Sometimes Mondo will join him, even read him a chapter or two, only to find himself being used as a pillow.
Mondo sighs through his nose. Were it up to him, he’d have gotten rid of those shoddy chimes years ago. Replaced them with something higher quality, at least—he kind of can’t believe they’ve even held up this long. And those clumsy cherry-blossom carvings make him cringe every time he looks too close. It’s weird to think that that was the best he could do at one point, now that he can carve roses and vines and fleurs-de-lis with his eyes closed. He’s built an entire house, for god’s sake. And he still has this ghost of his clueless teenage years haunting him. Bullshit.
But the chimes aren’t his to throw away. They’ve got Taka’s name on them, after all.
Mondo gently slides the glasses off Taka’s face and the book out of his hands. He smooths out a rumple in one of the pages; thankfully, it hasn’t creased. There’s a bookmark on the little table by the couch that Taka’s taken to leaving there after Mondo once made the grave mistake of dog-earing one of his books. If he cares that much about the condition of a flimsy paperback, then why does he keep falling asleep with the pages squashed to his chest?
Mondo tries not to grumble about it as he marks the page and sets the book on the table, glasses folded atop. He’d just be talking to himself, anyway.
A chilly nighttime breeze weaves its way through the chimes, a reminder that the months are getting colder yet again. Strange that Taka hasn’t woken up with it. He must be exhausted.
Better get him to bed, then. Sleeping on that couch isn’t gonna do his back any favors.
Carefully, Mondo gathers Taka up in his arms, resting his head against his shoulder. Taka stirs a little and mumbles in his sleep before relaxing into the hold, arms curled like he’s still clutching the book. He already looks cozier than he did on the couch. Brings a stupid smile to Mondo’s face. It always does.
For a moment he forgets his task completely, just standing there in the middle of the porch, watching the shadows of the chimes play across his husband’s features. It’s comforting, familiar. And it’s not lost on him just how lucky he is, for this sight, this feeling to be familiar. To know that this isn’t the first time they’ve done this song and dance, and that it won’t be anywhere near the last.
God, when did he become such a sap?
The wind in Mondo’s hair breaks him out of his reverie.
“Alright, I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” he mutters against the curls whipped into his eyes. Nudging the sliding door open with his foot, he slips inside, the music of the chimes following as if to bid them good night.