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The night air is very cold against Makoto’s lips.It’s been cold all day, starting with the crystalline bright of the dawn breaking on the other side of his curtain-shadowed windows and holding through the whole afternoon, until the heat of two living existences inside Makoto’s apartment was fogging the window with condensation to puddle and drip down to the sill. Makoto stayed inside as much as he could, glad for the break from work to give him the excuse to remain indoors where he can linger in the comfort of shorts and a t-shirt without bundling up against the bite of the wind working against the outside of the apartment building. It was only with the falling of dusk that he stirred himself to shut off the computer and push back from his side of the shared gaming space, and moved to make the effort of freeing rarely-used clothing from where it’s been folded into neat lines for storage.Fafnir looks good. Fafnir looks good all the time, whether in the butler uniform that his magically-aided transformation keeps crisp and tidy even after hours of marathon gaming behind Makoto’s own chair or in what passes for casual wear, when he spends a weekend in one of the loose jackets worn to one or another of the events that stand as signposts for the passing months since he came through the door of Makoto’s apartment and settled into the other’s life as easily as if he had always been there. This is the first time Makoto has made the effort to get the other into more traditional formality, and it proved no kind of struggle at all, except for the intricacies of getting the clothing settled into place and tied firmly enough to offer protection from the bite of the wind outside.Fafnir’s human form is near enough in height and breadth to Makoto’s own that he can wear the other’s formal kimono without any need for alterations or concerns of ill-fitting, and turned to the task of standing still his usual stoic composure makes him the perfect model for Makoto to drape the layers of fabric around. He stood still for the whole process of Makoto dressing him and tying the separate layers into place; it was only with a nod of permission that he finally shifted, and then only to slide his hands into his sleeves as Makoto suggested. The formal attire is a perfect match for the smooth dark of his hair -- the only thing Makoto never touches without direct permission -- and even the crimson of his eyes that usually adds such a devilish allure to his butler appearance is eased by the clothing he now wears, until it only adds to the regal good looks so set off by the lines of the kimono around his shoulders. Fafnir lifted his gaze to meet Makoto’s in front of him as soon as the other stepped back, and frowned as he asked if he was ready, and all Makoto could do is smile with perfect sincerity and make an excuse to step away so he can tumble himself into the layers of clothes that will keep him warm for the evening, if in more modern style than the traditional garb that so suits Fafnir’s appearance. Fafnir stands waiting, draped in eternal patience along with Makoto’s borrowed clothes, until Makoto rejoins him and takes the lead out the door so they can make their rambling way through the festival lining the streets leading to the shrine.Makoto tips his head to look at Fafnir standing next to him again. He’s been claiming glances all day, whenever he can take the opportunity without embarrassing the ever-delicate self-consciousness of his friend and roommate and partner. Fafnir has been occupied by the enticements of the festival, for the most part, his attention fixed on the shouts and laughter from the game booths or the charms set out for purchase by the more mature members of the crowd, but Makoto is more interested in what the other makes of the event than in lingering in the experience himself. Fafnir’s bright gaze is as alluring as any of the objects set out for purchase, the set of his mouth a source of interest far beyond the festival games around them, and after years of attending festivals for himself Makoto is as interested now in seeing Fafnir attend this one. Fafnir’s expression doesn’t change as he considers the variety of pursuits the festival offers for his enjoyment, but Makoto has learned how to read the tells of interest from the angle of Fafnir’s shoulders, and the lingering weight of his gaze, and the huff of his breathing clouding steam into the chill of the air around them, and all those give proof enough to keep him smiling pleasure at his own victory well before they have made their way through the last of the street stalls lining the path to the shrine courtyard.There’s something of a crowd filling the space, though the cold has had an effect on keeping the press from becoming the breath-stealing weight that Makoto knows from conventions and concerts. Comparatively they have plenty of space to move within the courtyard, and it’s easy enough to lay claim to a space at the corner of it, where the supposedly mystical arrow braced carefully between Fafnir’s hands will be safe from even accidental jostling from those brave or warm enough to take on the cold of a wintery midnight.“Is this really all you want?” Makoto asks, ducking in closer to Fafnir’s dark head while looking sideways rather than full-on at the other. He doesn’t really need to get closer to be heard, and it’s not as if there’s any kind of secrecy to his words, but as weeks have collected into months Fafnir’s discomfort with any kind of physical proximity has diminished in turn, and Makoto gains a deep-down sense of comfort from seeing the proof of Fafnir’s trust in the heat-curl of their breathing spilling up from their lips to join to a single cloud in the air before fading into the clear of the sky. “We could buy something else too, you don’t have to limit yourself.”Fafnir shakes his head without lifting his gaze from the white arrow in the base braced between both hands. “No,” he says, without any hesitation in his voice at all. Makoto has never heard him sound anything like concerned or uncertain, even when he had more than enough cause for it, even when Makoto was absolutely certain he was in truth. But Fafnir’s presentation is ever seamless, perfect enough to utterly suit the butler garb that his human transformation defaults to. Makoto admires that, although he would never embarrass Fafnir by telling him so directly. Some things he’s learned to frame according to the other’s preference and comfort; some things are just understood on an instinctive level. “I want this. If there were something else I would tell you.”“Mm,” Makoto hums. “Fighting the hoarding instinct, huh?” Fafnir cuts his scarlet gaze at Makoto’s face, his forehead tightening on strain like he thinks Makoto might be mocking him, but Makoto meets him with the most sincere smile he has and doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash at the force of Fafnir’s suspicious glare. “Then again I guess I have that instinct too. Maybe figures are more fun to collect than curses?”Fafnir goes on looking at Makoto for a long moment before he snorts and turns his head away, moving sharply enough that the weight of his hair swings around his face in a curtain. “You know nothing of hoarding, human.”Makoto laughs. “I guess it’s something else I can learn from you,” he says. Fafnir huffs a breath that clouds to steam in front of his face but he doesn’t turn his back entirely, and that’s enough to prove his response more the show of the thing than the reality of it. Makoto straightens from his lean, claiming his balance over his own two feet again as he lifts his gaze from the profile hard-hidden by dark hair and to the sky overhead, where he can just make out the brightest of stars past the glow of the festival lights filling the shrine courtyard around them.Silence wraps itself around them like the warmth of a blanket holding off the wintry chill. There are other conversations, of course, between strangers and their friends alike; Makoto could listen in to any of them if he wanted, if he spared the attention to linger over Tohru’s chirping enthusiasm or the purring seduction Lucoa manages to fit into even the most innocuous statements. But he lets them drift past him, rising to fog the air around his head along with the heat of his breathing spilling from his lungs, and when he turns his attention to anything it’s to note the ease in Fafnir’s shoulders next to him, the position of the other standing perhaps a half-inch closer than he once would have when he first stepped through the door of Makoto’s apartment. It’s a pleasant thought, as if that tiny shift is enough to let them meld the heat of their isolated existences into a shared unity, and it’s enough to leave a smile curving Makoto’s lips by the time the disparate voices around them begin to align themselves into the rising chant of the countdown to the start of the new year.Makoto doesn’t join in, although he feels the rhythm of the seconds sliding by in time with the beat of his heart, and Fafnir doesn’t speak either. The only concession the other makes to the impending passing of one year for another is to shift his weight as if he’s uncomfortable leaning on the support of one leg and trying to balance himself better against the cold of the courtyard stones underfoot. He slides the weight of his new purchase to his side, framing the shaft of the arrow in the protection of one arm as he presses it against his hip with one hand; his other arm he lets hang heavy at his side in counterweight. Makoto glances sideways at Fafnir without turning his head to give away the attention but Fafnir isn’t looking at him; he’s staring straight ahead, his expression as entirely fixed as if he’s deeply invested in the scattered crowd of the humanity he has never had any use for before now. Makoto might even believe his show of attention if not for the subject, but without the glow of a computer screen illuminating his face Fafnir’s intent stare just says that his attention is too utterly caught up in something else for him to even realize his eyes are still open.Makoto doesn’t look down. The motion of his head would be clearly visible in Fafnir’s periphery, and he doesn’t want to startle away the careful sketch of an offer formed in the space between them. He turns back to the crowd instead, smiling with somewhat more sincere interest in his gaze than the stoic stare Fafnir is offering. The voices are melding together, joining into a single overlaid sound as the seconds of the old year slip away, until by the time the last “One!” rings out to fill the courtyard it sounds like a single speaker, one voice made resonant on the force of the component parts. The courtyard erupts into cheers, shouts and laughter rising in a brief explosion of happiness, and in their blanket of silence Makoto draws a breath to speak.“Happy New Year, Faf-kun.”Fafnir clears his throat. “Happy New Year.”Makoto doesn’t look at Fafnir next to him, doesn’t turn his head and doesn’t let his smile flicker. He just draws his hand free of the warmth of his jacket pocket so he can let his arm hang heavy at his side, closing in on the space between himself and Fafnir alongside him. His wrist bumps the sleeve of Fafnir’s kimono, his jacket crinkling gently against the weight of the fabric; for a moment Fafnir holds very still, without shifting for so much as a breath. Makoto keeps looking out at the crowd, keeps his smile soft and easy at his lips, and he doesn’t let his expression so much as flicker when there’s a touch against his hand and the press of knuckles bumping gently against his own. They linger for a moment, skin-to-skin as if by accident, and then Makoto angles his wrist to the side, and Fafnir’s arm pulls back, and the heat of Fafnir’s palm presses warm against the span of Makoto’s own. Makoto curls his fingers into a hold around the other’s hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if he holds Fafnir’s hand all the time, and if Fafnir’s grip is a little slower to tighten the force of it is enough to make up for any delay.It’s impossible for anyone to see the fit of their hands together, between the long sleeves of Fafnir’s kimono and the way Makoto has positioned himself in relation to the crowd, but Makoto is sure the warmth of his smile is enough to glow against the cool of the air, and he finds he doesn’t mind the thought at all.