The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted Shintaro before he even opened his office door. Nine o’clock sharp. He couldn't help but smile, knowing Hokuto would already be there, precise as always. The familiar routine they’d developed over the past year settled his nerves after the hectic morning commute.
“Good morning, Morimoto-shachou.” Hokuto’s formal greeting carried through the doorway as Shintaro entered, shrugging off his coat.
The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting Hokuto in a warm glow as he stood by the coffee machine. His crisp white shirt and perfectly knotted tie embodied the professional image they maintained. But Shintaro caught the slight softening around Hokuto’s eyes that was reserved just for him.
Shintaro glanced down the empty hallway. The executive floor remained quiet this early, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. The privacy of his corner office, separated from the rest of the floor, offered a brief moment of sanctuary before the day began.
He crossed the room in quick strides, coming up behind Hokuto just as he finished preparing their morning coffee. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the rich aroma of fresh coffee. Shintaro leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Hokuto’s cheek.
“Shachou.” Hokuto’s tone carried a warning, though his lips twitched upward. “Professional distance.”
“It’s only us here,” Shintaro murmured, accepting the cup Hokuto handed him. The warm seeped through the ceramic, matching the warmth in his chest as their fingers brushed.
He took a sip and closed his eyes in appreciation. Perfect, as always — the exact ratio of coffee to cream that he preferred. After three years together (and a year together together), Hokuto knew his tastes better than he did himself.
“That’s not the point.” Hokuto straightened Shintaro’s already-straight tie, his touch lingering a fraction longer than strictly necessary. “We have rules.”
“Twenty-seven of them, if I recall correctly.” Shintaro couldn’t resist teasing. “I’ve memorized every single one.”
“Only so you can break them more efficiently.” Hokuto picked up his tablet, already shifting into full PA mode. “Your nine-thirty meeting with the development team has been moved to ten. Jesse says he has an urgent proposal to discuss first.”
The transition from private to professional happened as smoothly as it always did, though Shintaro noticed Hokuto’s ears had turned slightly pink. He took another sip of his perfectly prepared coffee, savoring both the taste and the quiet moment before their carefully maintained façade had to snap fully into place.
Shintaro settled into his leather chair, the familiar creak grounding him as he transitioned into CEO mode. Hokuto handed him a single sheet of paper, their fingers brushing again in a way that sent a subtle spark through his chest.
“Your agenda for the executive lunch meeting.” Hokuto’s professional tone didn’t quite match the fondness in his eyes. “I’ve highlighted the key points in order of priority.”
Shintaro scanned the document, a smile tugging at his lips as he saw the familiar names. Who would have thought his old college crew would end up here? Yugo, now heading HR with his endless policies and procedures. Taiga in finance, turning his sharp wit to quarterly reports instead of exam answers. Juri bringing his creative chaos to marketing. And Jesse, whose wild business proposals had evolved from dorm room schemes to actual corporate strategy.
Look how far we’ve come from cramming for finals together.
“I know that look.” Hokuto’s voice cut through his nostalgia. “Remember, you need to be firm with their proposals. Especially Jesse’s.”
“I’m always firm,” Shintaro protested, though he knew better. The slight arch of Hokuto’s eyebrow said it all.
“Last week you approved Jesse’s plan for virtual reality property tours before he even finished his presentation.”
“It was a good idea!”
“It was, but you didn’t negotiate any of the budget constraints.” Hokuto’s fingers drummed lightly on his tablet. “You can’t keep saying yes to everything just because they’re your friends.”
He’s right. Shintaro had always struggled with maintaining professional distance from his college group. The same people he’d shared instant ramen with at 3 AM now sat across from him in the boardroom. It made being strict... complicated.
“I’ll be more careful,” he promised, earning another skeptical look from Hokuto.
“About the Christmas party tonight...” Hokuto glanced at his tablet, though Shintaro suspected he wasn’t actually reading anything. “I’ll need to leave early to handle some preparations.”
The slight pink tinge returning to Hokuto’s ears told Shintaro exactly what kind of “preparations” he meant. Their private celebration in his apartment.
“Of course. Very important preparations.” Shintaro tried to keep his voice neutral, professional, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile. The thought of Hokuto decorating his apartment, making it special just for them, sent a warm flutter through his chest.
The shrill ring of the office phone cut through their comfortable silence. Hokuto moved with practiced efficiency to answer it, his voice shifting into the polished tones he used for business calls.
Shintaro watched him, mind drifting back to the PA interviews three years ago. He’d dreaded the whole process — sitting through endless candidates who looked perfect on paper but lacked that essential something he needed in an assistant. By the time Hokuto walked in, Shintaro had been ready to give up and let HR handle it.
Then Hokuto had smiled, bowed perfectly, and handed over a resume that made Shintaro’s heart skip for two very different reasons.
First, because it was exactly what they needed‚ experience, qualifications, recommendations, all impeccable.
And second, because Hokuto was absolutely stunning, with those dark eyes and that tiny beauty mark above his lip that Shintaro definitely shouldn’t have noticed during a professional interview.
He’d almost passed on hiring Hokuto despite his perfect qualifications, worried his attraction would make things awkward. But Hokuto’s quiet competence had won out over Shintaro’s concerns. He’d proven himself invaluable within weeks, anticipating needs before Shintaro voiced them, handling the chaos of the executive floor with unflappable grace.
Shintaro’s gaze traced the familiar line of Hokuto’s jaw as he spoke into the phone, remembering the first time he’d kissed it — a year ago, during yet another late-night strategy session. The tension that had been building between them finally snapped when Hokuto leaned over his shoulder to point out something in a report, his cologne making Shintaro dizzy with want.
They’d tried so hard to be professional after that first kiss. Set up rules, drawn boundaries. But one kiss led to another, and another, until they’d given up pretending they could go back to being just CEO and PA.
Now only a select few knew — Ryutaro had figured it quickly because, of course, his older brother always does. Jesse had burst into Shintaro’s office at exactly the wrong moment, though he’d just grinned and declared it “totally awesome, boss!” And Juri... well, Juri was terrible at lying but surprisingly good at keeping secrets.
“The contractor for the Shibuya project is on line two.”
Hokuto’s voice pulled him from his memories. Their eyes met, and Hokuto’s cheeks flushed as he caught Shintaro staring. He quickly looked down at his tablet, tapping the screen with slightly more force than necessary.
“Right. Okay.” Shintaro reached for the phone, and Hokuto turned back to his work, the pink still lingering on his ears.
Shintaro shifted into CEO mode, his voice taking on the polished authority he’d cultivated over years of corporate leadership. The contractor’s concerns about the Shibuya project timeline were valid but manageable. He addressed each point methodically, making mental notes of items that would need follow-up.
He watched Hokuto move around his office with practiced grace. The morning sun caught in his dark hair as he organized documents, creating neat stacks on the side table. Even such a simple task commanded his full attention — that laser focus that had first caught Shintaro’s eye during the interview.
“Yes, we can accommodate those changes,” Shintaro assured the contractor, forcing his attention back to the call. “Have your team send over the revised specifications by end of day.”
He ended the call, his mind already drifting to the conversation he’d been planning all morning. The family Christmas invitation had seemed so simple when his mother first suggested it — bring your PA, dear, you’ll probably need to work — but now his heart raced at the thought of actually asking.
“Hokuto.” His voice came out slightly rougher than intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you have a moment?”
Hokuto looked up from his tablet, eyebrow raised in that subtle way that always made Shintaro’s chest tighten. “Of course, shachou.”
Stop being nervous. It’s just a business request. Technically.
“Do you have plans for Christmas?” The words tumbled out before he could overthink them further.
“Plans?” Hokuto’s fingers stilled on his tablet. “Not particularly. My parents are touring Europe this year — Mom’s always wanted to see Paris at Christmas. And my brother’s taking his family to Osaka.”
“So you’ll be in Tokyo?”
“Yes.” Hokuto’s lips curved slightly. “I thought it best to stay close in case work required attention.”
Always so dedicated. The warmth in Shintaro’s chest spread. But there was also an ache at the thought of Hokuto spending the holiday alone, probably catching up on reports that could absolutely wait until January.
“Actually...” Shintaro tugged at his tie, suddenly feeling too warm despite the office’s perfect temperature control. “My family has a villa in Kanazawa. We spend Christmas there every year.”
“I remember approving the maintenance contracts.” Hokuto’s professional mask slipped just slightly, a hint of amusement showing through. “And arranging the catering schedule.”
“Right.” Shintaro ran a hand through his hair, probably ruining its careful styling. “Well, mother suggested — that is, given the end-of-year reports and the new development proposals...” He took a breath. “Would you consider joining us? For work purposes, officially.”
The tablet lowered slowly as Hokuto processed this. His expression remained carefully neutral, but Shintaro caught the slight widening of his eyes.
“Your family’s villa?” Hokuto’s voice held a note of caution. “For Christmas?”
“Mom specifically asked me to invite you.” Though she doesn’t know exactly why I want you there. “She said I’d probably need my PA with all the year-end business matters.”
“Your mother.” Hokuto’s ears had turned that telling shade of pink again. “Asked for me specifically.”
“Yes.” Shintaro resisted the urge to loosen his tie further. “Though obviously if you’d rather stay in Tokyo...”
“No, I...” Hokuto set the tablet down entirely, a rare break in his professional routine. “Are you sure this is wise? Your whole family will be there.”
The unspoken concern hung between them. A week at the family villa meant navigating countless potential complications. Maintaining their professional façade under his mother’s shrewd gaze. Sharing space with the entire Morimoto clan. Trying to keep their relationship hidden while living under the same roof.
“I want you there,” Shintaro said softly. “Even if we have to be careful. Even if it’s complicated.” He glanced at the door before adding, “I don’t want to spend Christmas pretending you don’t exist outside this office.”
A shadow crossed Hokuto’s face. “Will Haru-san be…” He hesitated. “Arranging any special meetings during the holidays?”
Damn. Shintaro’s stomach clenched. The memory of last New Year’s surfaced — his mother’s carefully orchestrated “accidental” encounters with eligible daughters of business partners. And there was Hokuto, trapped in his role as the perfect PA, helping arrange these meetings while maintaining his professional mask.
“I’m not sure.” Shintaro’s throat felt tight. “She hasn’t mentioned anything specific.”
“Last time she had me coordinate three separate tea ceremonies.” Hokuto’s voice remained carefully neutral, but Shintaro caught the slight tension in his shoulders. “The daughter of the Iino Group’s CEO was particularly interested in real estate development.”
And you had to sit there taking notes while she flirted with me across the table. Shintaro remembered how Hokuto’s handwriting had grown progressively sharper on the page, though his face never betrayed a thing.
“She was interested in the property valuations,” Shintaro muttered. “Nothing else.”
Hokuto’s eyebrow rose slightly. “She asked about your favorite restaurant six times.”
“You counted?”
“It’s my job to track important details.” A hint of dry humor crept into Hokuto’s tone. “Just like it’s my job to help Haru-san arrange these... networking opportunities.”
The word choice made Shintaro wince. His mother had been intensifying her matchmaking efforts lately, dropping hints about grandchildren and family legacy. Just last month, she’d called Hokuto directly to discuss potential meeting arrangements, praising his organizational skills while completely unaware of how each carefully planned omiai felt like a twist of the knife to them both.
“I’ll try to head her off,” Shintaro promised. “Make excuses about end-of-year reports being a priority.”
“That won’t stop her.” Hokuto’s fingers drummed lightly on his tablet. “Remember when she scheduled that lunch with the pharmaceutical heiress during last quarter’s board meeting? She said, and I quote, ‘Hokuto-kun, surely you can move some things around. A man shouldn’t work through every meal.’”
The irony of having you arrange dates with women while we’re secretly together. Shintaro rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building. His mother meant well, he knew that. She just wanted him settled, happy, continuing the family line.
If only she knew he was already settled and happy — just not in the way she imagined.
“I’ll handle it,” Shintaro insisted, though they both knew how skilled his mother was at orchestrating these things. She had a way of making them happen regardless of his protests, and Hokuto’s position meant he’d be caught in the middle again, maintaining his professional façade while watching Shintaro dodge marriage prospects.
“Of course, shachou.” Hokuto’s formal tone carried a hint of resignation. “Should I prepare the usual meeting templates? Just in case?”
The quiet acceptance in Hokuto's voice made something in Shintaro’s chest ache. How many more omiai would they have to endure? How many more times would Hokuto have to help plan meetings with potential wives, all while hiding his own feelings behind that perfect professional mask?
“No templates,” Shintaro said firmly. “I’ll find a way to avoid it this time.”
The phone’s shrill ring broke through the tension. Hokuto answered with his usual efficiency, but Shintaro caught the slight strain around his eyes.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right down.” Hokuto ended the call, his fingers lingering on the phone. “They need help with the Christmas party setup. I should be back before the executive lunch meeting.”
Don’t go. The words caught in Shintaro’s throat.
Instead, he rose from his chair, catching Hokuto’s wrist before he could step away. The familiar warmth of his skin made Shintaro’s chest tighten.
“I’m sorry.” His voice came out rough. “About the omiai, about the hiding, about all of it.”
Hokuto’s expression softened, that rare unguarded look that made Shintaro fall for him all over again. “Don’t apologize. Coming out should be your choice, not something forced by circumstances.”
“But watching you arrange those meetings...” Shintaro’s grip tightened slightly. “It kills me every time.”
“I knew what I was getting into.” Hokuto stepped closer, his free hand coming up to straighten Shintaro’s tie again. “The rules, the secrecy, all of it. I chose this. I chose you.”
The simple honesty in those words made Shintaro’s heart clench. He pulled Hokuto closer, grateful for his office’s privacy screens as he pressed their lips together. The kiss tasted of coffee and longing and things they couldn’t say in the light of day.
Hokuto returned the kiss for a moment before pulling back, his ears pink. “I need to go help with the party.” But he leaned in for one more quick kiss, a silent reassurance.
Shintaro watched him leave, the empty doorway echoing with unspoken words. His hand pressed against his chest, trying to ease the ache building there. I don’t want to hide anymore. Not you, not us, not who I am.
The Christmas tree in the corner of his office caught his eye — a small thing Hokuto had set up last week, decorated in the company’s colors. Professional, appropriate, perfect. Just like their carefully maintained façade.
Maybe this Christmas... He touched his lips where Hokuto’s warmth still lingered. Maybe I’ll finally find the courage.
🎄
Red and gold tinsel sparkled under the function room’s chandeliers, matching the company colors that adorned every surface. Shintaro adjusted his cuffs, surveying the party from his position near the window. The speech had gone well — brief thanks for everyone’s hard work, wishes for the holiday season, the expected platitudes of a CEO. Now he could breathe easier, watching his employees enjoy themselves.
His eyes drifted inevitably to where Hokuto stood with the HR group, gesturing as he explained something to a junior staffer. The soft lighting caught the angles of his face, highlighting that tiny furrow of concentration between his brows. Even at a party, he maintained that air of quiet competence that had first drawn Shintaro’s attention.
“You’re staring again, shachou.”
Shintaro managed not to jump at Yugo’s sudden appearance beside him. The HR director clutched a glass of sparkling cider, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern.
“I’m observing the party,” Shintaro countered, though he knew his eyes had lingered too long in one direction.
“Mhm.” Yugo took a pointed sip. “Just like you were ‘observing’ during the quarterly review when Hokuto was presenting the efficiency reports. And during last week’s budget meeting. And—”
“I get the point.” Shintaro’s collar felt too tight. Trust Yugo to keep a mental catalog of every HR violation.
“Look.” Yugo lowered his voice. “I understand your... situation. And while I choose to temporarily overlook certain policy infractions due to our friendship, you can’t be this obvious in front of the whole company.”
Shintaro’s jaw clenched. As if he needed reminding of the rules he broke daily, of the careful dance they performed to maintain appearances. Of how even now, at a celebration, he couldn’t stand beside the person he wanted to share it with.
“The handbook specifically states—” Yugo began, but a hand clapped his shoulder.
“Give it a rest, Yugo.” Juri appeared with his own drink, rescue written in his easy smile. “It’s a party. No one’s thinking about handbooks right now.”
“Section 3.7 clearly outlines appropriate behavior at company functions—”
“Did you see the dessert table?” Juri cut in smoothly. “They have those little cakes you like. The ones with the gold leaf?”
Yugo’s eyes lit up despite his attempt to maintain his serious expression. “The ones from last year’s supplier?”
“Even better. Come on, I’ll show you.” Juri steered Yugo away with practiced ease, throwing Shintaro a wink over his shoulder.
Shintaro released a breath, grateful for the intervention.
Across the room, Hokuto glanced his way, a question in the slight tilt of his head.
Shintaro gave a tiny nod — I’m fine — watching as Hokuto returned to his conversation without missing a beat.
Perfect, appropriate, professional. The words echoed in Shintaro’s mind as he observed the careful distance Hokuto maintained, the way he angled his body just so, never too familiar with anyone. Every movement calculated to deflect suspicion, to maintain their careful façade.
“There’s my favorite CEO.”
The familiar drawl made Shintaro turn. Ryutaro approached with his characteristic easy grace, designer suit impeccable despite the late hour. His brother had always moved through corporate events like he owned them, even when visiting other companies.
“I thought you had a client dinner,” Shintaro said.
“Wrapped early. Couldn’t miss the famous Morimoto Corp Christmas party.” Ryutaro snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, offering one to Shintaro. “Besides, I come bearing good news. Finally got Mom and Dad’s gift sorted.”
“Really?” Shintaro straightened. They’d been brainstorming for weeks, trading increasingly desperate texts about what to get parents who could buy anything they wanted.
“Remember that vintage tea ceremony set Hokuto mentioned? The one from that small artisan in Kanazawa?” Ryutaro’s eyes sparkled. “Turns out the craftsman was delighted to do a custom piece when I dropped the Morimoto name. Mom’s going to lose it.”
Of course Hokuto would know the perfect gift. Warmth spread through Shintaro’s chest. His PA had listened to countless conversations about his mother’s tea ceremony obsession, filing away details neither brother had thought significant.
“That’s... actually perfect.” Shintaro took a sip of champagne to hide his smile. “When did he suggest it?”
“Last week when we had lunch. You know, the day you were ‘stuck in meetings.’” Ryutaro’s air quotes made Shintaro wince. “He’s good for you, you know. Notices things we miss.”
Shintaro’s eyes found Hokuto across the room again. Jesse had him cornered by the dessert table, gesturing wildly about something that had Hokuto fighting back laughter. The sight made something twist in Shintaro’s chest — that rare, unguarded smile he usually only saw in private moments.
“I’m thinking of telling them,” Shintaro said quietly. “During Christmas.”
Ryutaro’s champagne glass froze halfway to his lips. “About…?”
“Everything. Him. Us.” The words felt strange in the open air of the party, even whispered. “I’m tired of pretending he’s just my PA when he’s so much more.”
I want him beside me at family dinners. Want to see him laugh like that at our table. Want to stop calculating every glance, every word, every movement.
“That’s…” Ryutaro set his glass down carefully. “Are you sure? Mom and Dad are…”
“Traditional? Set in their ways? Expecting grandchildren and a proper marriage?” The familiar weight of expectations settled on Shintaro’s shoulders. “Trust me, I know.”
“Does Hokuto know?”
“He doesn’t know yet.” Shintaro watched Hokuto’s profile, the way he politely covered his mouth to hide that laugh from Jesse’s antics. “I’ll tell him tonight.”
“And if things go badly with Mom and Dad?” Ryutaro’s voice held no judgment, just the practical concern of an older brother. “Do you have a backup plan?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Shintaro had spent countless hours imagining the moment of telling his parents, but never what came after if it went wrong. The thought of contingencies felt like admitting defeat before he’d begun.
“Shin.” Ryutaro’s tone softened. “You know I’ve got your back either way. But this isn’t just about you anymore.”
He’s right. The realization settled cold in Shintaro’s stomach. He’d been so focused on his own need to stop hiding that he hadn't considered how it might affect Hokuto’s position at the company, his career, his life.
“Morimoto-shachou.” Hokuto’s voice cut through his spiral of thoughts. He approached with perfect professional distance, bowing slightly to both brothers. “Ryutaro-san.”
“Matsumura.” Ryutaro’s eyes crinkled with barely suppressed amusement at the formality. “Enjoying the party?”
“Yes, thank you.” Hokuto’s posture remained impeccable. “I apologize, but I need to head home early. The quarterly reports need final review before tomorrow’s meeting.”
The reports were finished yesterday. Shintaro recognized their coded excuse — Hokuto using work as a cover to retreat to Shintaro’s apartment.
“Of course.” Ryutaro’s knowing look made heat creep up Shintaro’s neck. “Those reports are very important.”
“You have my permission to leave early, Matsumura.” Shintaro kept his voice steady, professional. “Please message me when you’ve finished the report.”
“Thank you, shachou.” Hokuto bowed again, the movement precise. “Ryutaro-san, please enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Shintaro watched him weave through the crowd toward the exit, maintaining that careful distance from everyone he passed. Even his departure was a masterclass in professional behavior — no lingering looks, no hesitation, nothing to suggest he was heading anywhere but his own apartment.
🎄
The key turned in the lock with a familiar click. Christmas music drifted through the door before Shintaro even opened it, the soft melody of “White Christmas” making him pause.
Warm light spilled into the hallway as he pushed the door open. His sleek, minimalist apartment had transformed. Twinkling lights draped the windows, casting a soft glow across his modern furniture. A small but elegant Christmas tree perched on the coffee table, decorated in silver and blue ornaments that caught the light.
“You’re early.” Hokuto emerged from the kitchen, champagne bottle in hand. The Santa hat perched on his dark hair should have looked ridiculous. Instead, paired with those gray silk pajamas that hit just right at his hips, the effect was devastating.
“So are you.” Shintaro barely got his shoes off before Hokuto crossed the room to kiss him hello. He tried to deepen it, to pull Hokuto closer, but his boyfriend danced away with a teasing smile.
“Presents first.” Hokuto tugged him toward the couch. “What do you think?”
Shintaro let himself be led, taking in the subtle touches that had softened his bachelor pad. Crystal bowls filled with silver ornaments caught the light from strategically placed lamps. Garland wound elegantly around his entertainment center. Even his usual throw pillows had been swapped for festive ones in deep reds and silvers.
“It’s perfect.” He reached for Hokuto again, but got handed a champagne flute instead. “How did you manage all this?”
“I had help.” Hokuto settled beside him, tucking his feet under himself in that casual way that always made Shintaro’s chest tight. Here, away from work, he could finally be comfortable. “From Ryutaro-san.”
“Ryu-nii knows everything.” Shintaro took a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles dance on his tongue. “The tea set was a brilliant suggestion, by the way.”
“Haru-san mentioned her interest in traditional crafts last time I arranged her schedule.” Hokuto’s smile turned shy. “I just remembered the artisan’s name.”
“You always notice the details everyone else misses.” Shintaro reached out to adjust the Santa hat that had slipped slightly askew. The silk of Hokuto’s hair slid through his fingers. “It’s one of the thousand things I love about you.”
Pink crept across Hokuto’s cheeks at the compliment, but his eyes sparkled with determination as he leaned forward to grab something from under the coffee table. Two wrapped packages emerged — one in tasteful silver paper, the other in deep blue with snowflakes.
“The silver one is for tomorrow at the office,” Hokuto explained, holding out the blue package. “This one is... just from me. Not your PA.”
Shintaro’s heart skipped as he took the gift, the weight substantial in his hands. The paper fell away to reveal a sleek bike computer, top of the line with all the features he’d been eyeing for months. He’d mentioned wanting to track his routes better exactly once, during a late night when they were both punch-drunk from overtime.
“How did you—” He turned the box over, still processing. “I barely talked about this.”
“You get this look when you’re planning weekend rides.” Hokuto’s fingers fidgeted with his champagne glass. “Like you're mapping routes in your head. And you always check your phone for distance.”
The careful observation, the attention to detail that made Hokuto exceptional at his job, but directed at him– at his happiness – overwhelmed Shintaro. He set the bike computer down and cupped Hokuto’s face, kissing him deeply. Hokuto melted into it, tasting of champagne and something sweet he must have been sampling in the kitchen.
“Wait here.” Shintaro pulled back reluctantly. “My turn.”
He headed for his bedroom, where he’d hidden his own gifts. As he reached for the packages in his closet, he had to laugh. There, wrapped in understated black paper with a gold ribbon, sat the professional gift he’d selected for tomorrow. Beside it, in bright red paper decorated with golden stars, was his real gift – the one that had made him think only of Hokuto.
When did I start organizing my gift-giving like my PA? The thought was fond as he gathered both packages. A year of Hokuto’s influence had him color-coding his personal life just like his work calendar. Somehow, that realization felt more intimate than sharing his bed.
Shintaro returned to the living room, where Hokuto had topped off their champagne glasses. The sight of him curled on the couch, Santa hat slightly crooked and silk pajamas reflecting the twinkling lights, made his heart race. He’d rehearsed this moment on the drive home, but now that it was here, his carefully planned words evaporated.
“The black one is for tomorrow,” he said, echoing Hokuto’s earlier explanation as he held out the red and gold package. “This is just from me. Not your CEO.”
Hokuto’s fingers traced the golden stars before carefully loosening the tape. Unlike Shintaro’s eager unwrapping earlier, he took his time, preserving the paper as if it were precious.
When he finally revealed the leather-bound volume of classical poetry he’d been admiring in the bookstore window for months, his intake of breath was soft but audible.
“Open it,” Shintaro urged, perching on the edge of the couch. His heart hammered against his ribs as Hokuto carefully lifted the cover.
A simple silver bracelet slid from between the pages, landing in Hokuto’s lap. The metal caught the Christmas lights as Hokuto lifted it, examining the subtle pattern etched into its surface — a continuous wave design that wrapped the entire circumference.
“I’ve been thinking,” Shintaro said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact despite the nervous energy coursing through him. “About Christmas with my family. About all the hiding and pretending.” He took a steadying breath. “I’m going to tell them. About us.”
Hokuto’s eyes widened, the bracelet trembling slightly in his fingers. “Shintaro...”
“I know I can’t announce it to the world. The board, the shareholders – that’s complicated. But my family...” Shintaro reached out to steady Hokuto’s hand, feeling the slight tremor in it. “I want them to know who makes me happy. Who keeps me sane through endless meetings and actually remembers to feed me during deadlines.”
“Are you sure?” Hokuto’s voice was barely above a whisper, his fingers tracing the wave pattern. “Your family... their expectations...”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Shintaro touched the bracelet, aligning the pattern. “Except hiring you. And kissing you that first time in the conference room after everyone left.”
“You could lose everything.” Hokuto’s fingers stilled on the bracelet. “The board might force you to step down. Your parents... they’ve sacrificed so much for the company. For you.”
Shintaro’s stomach clenched. He’d run these scenarios in his head countless times over the past weeks. The thought of disappointing his father, of undoing decades of careful reputation building, made him feel physically ill.
But the alternative — continuing this exhausting dance of personas — felt impossible.
“I don’t have it all figured out yet,” he admitted. “But I'm tired. Tired of scheduling my happiness around other people’s expectations. Of watching every word, every gesture, in case someone notices how I look at you during meetings.”
“Your mother already suspects.” Hokuto’s voice was gentle but firm. “She watches us at work functions. And your lifestyle... the apartment, the cars, the freedom to pursue what you want...”
“None of it matters if I can’t be myself.” The words came out sharper than he intended. Shintaro softened his tone, lifting Hokuto's hand to press a kiss to his palm. “I’ve spent my whole life being the perfect son. The youngest who had to prove himself worthy of the Morimoto name. And I’m good at it — the meetings, the negotiations, the careful politics of it all. But I’m tired of that being all I am.”
Hokuto set the book carefully on the coffee table, the leather binding gleaming in the Christmas lights. For a long moment, he just studied Shintaro’s face. Whatever he saw there made something shift in his expression.
“Then we’ll face it together.” Hokuto held out his wrist. “Put it on properly?”
The simple acceptance, the quiet strength in those words, made Shintaro’s throat tight. His fingers trembled slightly as he fastened the bracelet, adjusting it until the wave pattern aligned perfectly.
Before he could pull away, Hokuto caught his hand.
“But promise me something.” Hokuto’s grip was firm, grounding. “We plan this carefully. No impulsive announcements at Christmas dinner because your mother makes one too many comments about marriage prospects.”
A startled laugh escaped Shintaro. Trust Hokuto to know exactly what he’d been tempted to do. “I promise. Though I can’t guarantee I won't break something if she shows me one more omiai profile.”
Hokuto kissed him then, slow and deep, tasting of champagne and certainty.
🎄
The empty champagne flutes clinked in Shintaro’s hands as he carried them to the kitchen. Behind him, Hokuto gathered the wrapping paper with his usual precise movements. The bracelet caught the light as he folded the paper, and Shintaro’s chest tightened at the sight. He’d spent weeks agonizing over that gift — something meaningful but subtle enough for daily wear. Something that marked Hokuto as his while still maintaining their professional façade.
In the bedroom, Shintaro stripped off his tie and jacket, watching Hokuto settle onto the bed with his new book. The silk pajamas Shintaro had given him last month draped perfectly over his slender frame, highlighting the elegant line of his waist. As Hokuto turned a page, the bracelet glinted against the dark fabric.
Shintaro’s fingers stilled on his shirt buttons. Hokuto looked utterly at home there, lounging against the headboard, long legs stretched out on the sheets. The sight made something possessive stir in Shintaro’s chest. This brilliant, composed man who kept his entire life running smoothly was his.
Instead of reaching for his own pajamas, Shintaro left his shirt hanging open and climbed onto the bed.
Hokuto glanced up at the movement, his eyes darkening as he took in Shintaro’s state of undress. The book lowered slowly to his lap. “I thought you were tired,” he said, but his voice had gone husky.
“Not that tired.” Shintaro prowled closer on his hands and knees, watching heat bloom in Hokuto’s cheeks. When he reached him, he plucked the book from unresisting fingers and set it carefully on the nightstand.
Hokuto’s lips parted on an inhale as Shintaro bracketed him with his arms. “The poetry—”
“Will still be there tomorrow.” Shintaro ducked his head to brush their lips together, feeling Hokuto’s sharp intake of breath. “Right now, I want to appreciate my other gift.”
He caught Hokuto’s mouth properly then, swallowing his soft sound of surrender. The kiss deepened instantly, Hokuto’s fingers sliding into his hair as Shintaro pressed him back against the pillows. They shifted together until Shintaro settled between Hokuto’s thighs, the silk of his pajamas cool against Shintaro’s bare chest.
Shintaro trailed his lips down Hokuto’s jaw to his neck, breathing in the clean scent of his skin. His fingers fumbled with the small buttons of the silk pajamas, distracted by the way Hokuto tilted his head to give better access. When Shintaro found a particularly sensitive spot, Hokuto’s breath hitched deliciously.
Finally getting the buttons undone, Shintaro pushed the fabric aside to reveal pale skin. He took his time exploring with lips and tongue, savoring each gasp and shiver.
When he reached a pink nipple, he circled it teasingly before taking it into his mouth. Hokuto’s back arched, a broken moan escaping his throat. The sound shot straight through Shintaro, making him suck harder.
Hokuto’s hands weren’t idle, pushing impatiently at his silk pants. Shintaro helped, tugging them down along with his underwear.
He sat back on his heels to drink in the sight — Hokuto sprawled naked against the dark sheets, skin flushed and gleaming in the low light. The silver bracelet at his wrist caught Shintaro’s eye, marking him as claimed. As his.
“Beautiful,” Shintaro murmured, leaning down to capture those parted lips again
The kiss turned deep and hungry as he reached blindly for the nightstand, fumbling for supplies. He coated his fingers liberally with lube, trailing them down between Hokuto’s spread thighs.
When he pressed one inside, he found little resistance — Hokuto was still loose from the night before.
“Fuck,” Shintaro groaned against Hokuto’s mouth, arousal spiking hot in his veins at the discovery. His finger slid deeper, drawing a whimper from Hokuto that made Shintaro’s blood burn.
He worked a second, then a third, finger inside, watching Hokuto’s face contort with pleasure. His dark eyes fluttered shut, those perfect lips parting on a soft moan that made Shintaro’s remaining clothes feel impossibly tight. Seeing his composed PA come undone like this, knowing he was the only one who got to witness it, sent possessive heat coursing through him.
“Ready?” he asked, voice rough with need.
At Hokuto’s eager nod, he quickly shed his remaining clothes and settled between those long legs. The first push inside drew twin groans from their throats. Hokuto was hot and tight around him, legs wrapping instinctively around Shintaro’s waist to draw him deeper.
Shintaro braced himself on his forearms, pressing their foreheads together as he bottomed out. He could feel Hokuto’s rapid breaths against his lips, see the flutter of dark lashes as pleasure overwhelmed him. That bracelet caught the light again as Hokuto gripped his shoulders, the sight making Shintaro’s hips snap forward involuntarily.
The steady rhythm he tried to set quickly dissolved into something more desperate. Hokuto met each thrust eagerly, back arching to take him deeper. His usual composure had completely shattered, replaced by breathy moans and whispered pleas that made Shintaro’s blood burn.
Shintaro shifted his weight to one arm so he could slide his other hand between them, wrapping around Hokuto’s length. The touch made Hokuto cry out, head thrown back against the pillows. His neck was an irresistible target, and Shintaro latched onto the sensitive skin there as he stroked in time with his thrusts.
“Shin,” Hokuto gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.
The way Hokuto said his name sent electricity down Shintaro's spine. He picked up his pace, driving deeper as Hokuto writhed beneath him. Those long legs tightened around his waist, changing the angle until Hokuto was sobbing with pleasure.
Shintaro could feel himself getting close, heat building at the base of his spine. He worked his hand faster, determined to bring Hokuto over the edge first.
When he felt those inner muscles start to clench around him, he captured Hokuto’s mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing his cry of completion. The sight and feel of Hokuto coming undone beneath him pushed Shintaro over the edge moments later, pleasure whiting out his vision as he spilled deep inside.
Afterglow settled over them like a warm blanket as they traded languid kisses. Hokuto’s lips were soft and pliant against his, moving with less coordination as exhaustion crept in.
Shintaro smiled against his mouth, recognizing the telltale signs. Like clockwork, Hokuto always drifted off after sex, his usual sharp focus melting into peaceful drowsiness.
Sure enough, Hokuto’s kisses grew slower, more unfocused. His hand, which had been lazily stroking Shintaro’s shoulder, fell limply to the sheets.
Shintaro pressed one last gentle kiss to those parted lips before carefully withdrawing from Hokuto’s body. A small sound of discomfort escaped Hokuto’s throat, but his eyes remained closed, dark lashes fanned against his flushed cheeks.
Shintaro padded to the en suite bathroom, his legs still a bit unsteady. The cool tile beneath his feet helped ground him as he reached for a washcloth. As he ran the warm water, his gaze landed on the neat toiletries bag perched on the vanity — the one Hokuto always packed and unpacked with military precision.
The sight of it made something in his chest constrict painfully. That bag represented everything wrong with their situation — how Hokuto had to carefully gather every trace of his presence whenever he left, ensuring nothing remained that might raise questions if Shintaro’s parents dropped by unannounced. No extra toothbrush in the holder, no favorite shampoo in the shower, no comfortable robe hanging on the hook.
The warm water ran over his fingers unnoticed as he stared at that innocuous bag. Inside would be travel-sized versions of everything — designed to be easily packed away, easily hidden.
Just like their relationship.
Even the drawer Shintaro had cleared for Hokuto’s clothes remained empty between visits, waiting for the next careful unpacking of a weekend bag.
His throat felt tight as he wrung out the washcloth. In the bedroom, Hokuto lay exactly as he’d left him, beautiful and vulnerable in sleep. The silver bracelet glinted on his wrist — the only thing of Shintaro’s he could safely keep with him. The only visible mark of their relationship, and even that had to be explained away if anyone asked.
He’d have to wake Hokuto early enough to erase all evidence of this night. The toiletries bag would be repacked, the drawer emptied, the sheets changed to remove any lingering scent of intimacy. By the time the sun rose, his apartment would look as pristine and impersonal as his office — no trace of the man who made both spaces feel like home.
Shintaro gently cleaned Hokuto’s skin with the warm washcloth, his touch reverent. Hokuto barely stirred, only making a soft sound of contentment when Shintaro’s hand brushed his thigh.
Even unconscious, he trusted Shintaro completely. The thought made his chest ache.
He tossed the washcloth in the general direction of the hamper, too reluctant to leave Hokuto’s warmth again. Sliding under the covers, he gathered Hokuto close, smiling when his lover immediately curled into him.
Hokuto’s head tucked perfectly under his chin, dark hair tickling Shintaro’s nose. The familiar weight of him settled something in Shintaro’s soul.
His fingers traced idle patterns on Hokuto’s bare shoulder as drowsiness crept in. The bracelet caught his eye again, silver gleaming against pale skin. Such a small thing to represent something so vast. His love for this man had become as essential as breathing, yet he kept it hidden away like something shameful.
No more, he thought fiercely, tightening his arms around Hokuto. He was tired of watching Hokuto pack away pieces of himself, tired of pretending their relationship was nothing more than professional convenience. His parents deserved to know the truth — that their youngest son had found someone who made him better in every way. Someone who supported him, challenged him, completed him.
Christmas at the family villa suddenly felt less like a minefield and more like an opportunity. Yes, maintaining their secret would be harder with his mother’s sharp eyes on them.
But maybe... maybe that wasn't such a terrible thing.
Hokuto shifted in his arms, pressing closer with a contented sigh. The simple gesture of trust made Shintaro’s heart clench. He pressed a kiss to those dark strands, breathing in the familiar scent. He’d face whatever came, he decided as sleep pulled at him.
For this — for them — he’d find the courage.
“… beginning our descent into Komatsu Airport. The local time is 8:28 AM, with clear skies and a temperature of six degrees Celsius.”
Shintaro blinked awake at the pilot’s announcement, his neck stiff from dozing off at an awkward angle. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across the first-class cabin.
A soft exhale drew his attention to the seat beside him. Hokuto is asleep, his usual perfect posture abandoned as he slumped against the window. His reading glasses sat crooked on his nose, a half-reviewed document still clutched in one hand.
The sight made Shintaro’s chest tighten. Hokuto had spent the first hour after takeoff obsessively reviewing their schedule for the week, rechecking every detail despite having memorized it days ago. His fingers had drummed an anxious rhythm on the armrest until Shintaro covered them with his own, away from the flight attendant’s view.
Now though, exhaustion had finally won out. The worried crease between Hokuto’s brows had smoothed away, making him look younger, more vulnerable. His lips were slightly parted, soft breaths fogging the window beside him.
Shintaro indulged himself in these stolen moments of observation. At work, he had to carefully ration his glances, conscious of the glass walls and curious eyes. But here, separated from the rest of the cabin by privacy screens, he could look his fill.
The silver bracelet caught the sunlight as Hokuto shifted in his sleep, the document slipping from his grasp. Shintaro caught it before it could fall, his fingers brushing Hokuto’s. Even that small contact sent warmth spreading through his chest.
The plane banked slightly, beginning its descent. Much as Shintaro hated to disturb Hokuto’s rest, they needed to prepare for landing. He reached over, gently squeezing his shoulder.
“Hokuto,” he murmured, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond their seats. “We’re almost there.”
Dark eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding them for a moment before awareness returned. Hokuto straightened immediately, reaching up to adjust his glasses with an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said, already reaching for his tablet to check the time. “Did I miss anything important?”
“Just me drooling on my shoulder,” Shintaro teased, hoping to ease some of the tension he could see creeping back into Hokuto’s shoulder. “You needed the rest. You’ve barely slept this week.”
“There was too much to prepare.” Hokuto’s fingers found the bracelet, twisting it in what Shintaro recognized as a nervous gesture. “The end-of-year reports, the holiday schedule adjustments, the property development proposals—”
“All of which you handled perfectly,” Shintaro interrupted gently. He wanted to reach for Hokuto's hand again, to still those restless fingers, but the flight attendant was making her final rounds. Instead, he pitched his voice lower, meant for Hokuto’s ears alone. “You don’t have to prove anything to my family.”
Hokuto’s laugh held a edge of anxiety. “I have to prove I'm a competent PA, at least. Your mother’s standards are legendary in the company.”
“You’re much more than—” Shintaro cut himself off as the flight attendant approached their seats, switching smoothly to a more professional tone. “The Q4 projections you prepared were exactly what we needed. The board was impressed.”
Hokuto picked up the shift instantly, years of practice making it seamless. “Thank you, sir. I’ll have the year-end summary ready for review tomorrow morning.”
The flight attendant smiled politely as she collected their empty glasses, none the wiser to the current of tension running beneath their exchange. As soon as she moved on, Hokuto’s shoulders slumped slightly.
“I hate this,” he whispered, so quietly Shintaro almost missed it.
The words struck like a physical blow. Before he could respond, the plane tilted forward more sharply, beginning its final approach. Hokuto grabbed his tablet, using the excuse of stowing it to avoid Shintaro’s gaze.
Through the window behind him, the coastline of Ishikawa Prefecture spread out in winter colors, the Sea of Japan a steely gray against the shore. Somewhere ahead lay the Morimoto family villa, with its traditional architecture and carefully maintained gardens. A week of watching every word, every gesture, every glance.
A week of watching Hokuto pack himself away piece by piece, just like that damn toiletries bag.
🎄
The shift happened as soon as they stepped into the terminal. Hokuto smoothly slipped two steps behind Shintaro, tablet already in hand, every movement precise and professional. Even his walk changed—the subtle sway of his hips replaced by measured strides that spoke of efficiency rather than grace.
Shintaro’s fingers itched to reach back, to grab Hokuto’s hand and pull him forward where he belonged. Instead, he kept his own pace steady, leading them through the airport with practiced ease. The click of their dress shoes on the polished floor echoed in perfect rhythm, a corporate waltz they’d perfected over the years.
“The bags should be at Carousel 3,” Hokuto said, his voice pitched to carry just far enough to be heard. No trace remained of the vulnerable whisper from the plane.
They waited at baggage claim, maintaining a careful distance. Shintaro watched their reflections in the dark window—two businessmen, nothing more. His throat tightened at how easily they slipped into these roles, like well-worn masks.
“Shintaro-sama!”
The familiar voice cut through his thoughts. Junichi stood near the arrival gates, his silver hair neatly combed, his uniform crisp despite the late hour. The old chauffeur’s face lit up with genuine warmth as he bowed.
“Junichi!” Shintaro returned the greeting, letting real affection seep into his voice. The man had driven him to school since kindergarten. “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting long.”
“Not at all, young master.” Junichi’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, then shifted to Hokuto. “And Matsumura-san, welcome. The madam mentioned you would be joining us.”
Hokuto bowed perfectly—not too deep, not too shallow. “Thank you for having me. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Nonsense! Come, let me help with those bags.”
The walk to the parking lot passed in pleasant small talk, mostly between Shintaro and Junichi. Hokuto contributed only when directly addressed, his responses unfailingly polite and professional.
The familiar black Mercedes waited in a reserved spot. Junichi loaded their luggage while Shintaro settled into the back seat, Hokuto following with his tablet already open to their schedule.
“Traffic looks clear, young master,” Junichi said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “We should reach the villa in about forty minutes.”
“Perfect. Actually, Junichi, would you mind raising the partition? I need to review some sensitive documents with Matsumura-kun before we arrive.”
“Of course, sir.”
The opaque barrier rose silently between them. As soon as it clicked into place, Shintaro reached over and plucked the tablet from Hokuto’s hands, ignoring his startled protest.
“Shachou—”
“Just stop,” Shintaro whispered, setting the tablet aside. “Just for a moment, please. Stop being my PA.”
Hokuto’s carefully constructed façade cracked, uncertainty bleeding through. “We shouldn’t—”
“Forty minutes,” Shintaro said, his voice still low but firm. “Give me forty minutes with just you before we have to pretend again.”
The car pulled smoothly onto the highway as Hokuto wavered, his professional mask slipping further. Finally, with a shaky exhale, he let his head fall onto Shintaro’s shoulder.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted into the fabric of Shintaro’s suit jacket.
The raw vulnerability in Hokuto’s voice made Shintaro’s chest ache. He slid his arm around Hokuto’s shoulders, drawing him closer. The familiar scent of his cologne—the one Shintaro had given him last Christmas—filled his lungs.
“You can,” he murmured into Hokuto’s hair. “You’re the most capable person I know.”
“At work, yes. I know how to be your PA.” Hokuto’s fingers found Shintaro's tie, fidgeting with the silk. “But this... meeting your family, staying in your home, pretending we’re just—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I keep thinking about all the ways I could slip up.”
Shintaro caught Hokuto’s restless hand, threading their fingers together. Through the tinted windows, winter-bare trees flashed past, their shadows dancing across their joined hands. He thought of his mother’s sharp eyes, his father’s quiet scrutiny, the weight of generations of tradition hanging in every room of the villa.
“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” he said softly. “Just be—”
“Professional?” Hokuto’s laugh held no humor. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I know exactly how to be professional. I’ve spent three years perfecting it. But a whole week of maintaining that distance, watching every word, every gesture...” He pressed closer, as if trying to store up enough contact to last through the coming days. “What if your mother notices how I look at you?”
The question hit too close to Shintaro’s own fears. He’d caught his mother's knowing looks across conference tables, felt her studying him during family dinners. Sometimes he wondered if she’d known even before he did, reading something in the way his eyes followed Hokuto around rooms.
“My mother notices everything,” he admitted, stroking his thumb across Hokuto’s knuckles. “But she also understands discretion. And Ryu-nii will run interference if needed.”
“I still can’t believe he figured it out from one business lunch.”
“To be fair, you did spend that entire lunch staring at my mouth.”
Hokuto lifted his head to glare, though the effect was somewhat undermined by his pink cheeks. “You kept licking your spoon unnecessarily.”
“I was eating soup!”
“You were being deliberately distracting.” Hokuto’s mock outrage faded into something softer, more vulnerable. “Like you always are. Do you know how hard it is to maintain a professional façade when you smile at me like that across meeting tables? When you brush against me in hallways? When you look at me like... like you’re looking at me now?”
Shintaro realized he was indeed smiling, helplessly fond. He lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss to Hokuto’s fingers. “Like what?”
“Like I’m something precious you want to keep.”
“You are.” The words came easily in the privacy of the car, wrapped in the cocoon of tinted windows and privacy screens. “You’re everything I want to keep.”
Hokuto’s breath hitched at Shintaro’s words. Before Shintaro could say more, soft lips pressed against his own. The kiss was gentle, almost reverent, carrying none of their usual heated urgency. Hokuto’s free hand came up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek with tender strokes.
Shintaro melted into it, his chest tight with an ache that was equal parts sweetness and pain. He kissed back just as softly, trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into the careful press of his lips. His fingers tangled in Hokuto’s hair, not to deepen the kiss but simply to hold him close, to prolong this fragile moment.
The winter sun slanted through the windows, warming patches of their skin as the car wound through the mountains. Hokuto tasted of the mint tea he’d sipped on the plane, familiar and dear. His lips moved with delicate precision, each kiss its own quiet declaration.
Their joined hands remained locked between them, neither willing to let go. Shintaro brushed his nose against Hokuto’s cheek between kisses, breathing in the subtle notes of his cologne. The scent had become home to him over the past year -—more than his apartment, more than even the family villa they approached.
Another kiss, equally tender. Hokuto’s thumb traced the line of his jaw with such care that Shintaro’s heart clenched. He returned the gesture with a kiss to the corner of Hokuto’s mouth, then another to his upper lip, cataloging each subtle reaction. The slight tremor in Hokuto’s fingers against his face. The almost inaudible catch in his breath.
They traded slow, sweet kisses as the shadows of bare trees flickered across their faces. No heat, no urgency — just the gentle press of lips speaking volumes in their shared language of touch. Shintaro tried to memorize every detail: the warmth of Hokuto’s palm against his cheek, the soft brush of his eyelashes, the way he leaned into each kiss like he was coming home.
The intercom crackled softly. “Young master, we’re approaching the villa gates.”
Reality crashed back like a bucket of cold water. Shintaro pulled away from Hokuto’s lips with painful reluctance, his chest tight. Already he could see the mask sliding back into place behind Hokuto’s eyes, professional distance replacing the tender vulnerability of moments before.
“Wait,” he whispered, squeezing their still-joined hands. He used his free hand to smooth Hokuto’s slightly rumpled hair, letting his fingers linger against the nape of his neck. “Your tie is crooked.”
Hokuto allowed the touch, but Shintaro could feel tension creeping back into his shoulders. “We should fix our appearances before—”
“I know.” Shintaro straightened Hokuto’s blue silk tie with practiced movements, his knuckles brushing the warm skin of his throat. “But not yet. Just... one more minute.”
Their foreheads pressed together, sharing breath in the dimming afternoon light. Through the windows, familiar trees lined the private road leading to the villa. Each one brought them closer to a week of careful distance, of watching Hokuto fold himself into sharp creases and perfect angles.
Hokuto’s thumb stroked across his knuckles one last time before slowly untangling their fingers. The loss of contact felt like a physical ache. Shintaro watched as Hokuto retrieved his tablet, his movements precise and efficient once more.
Junichi’s voice came through the intercom again. “Two minutes to arrival, young master.”
The car crunched onto the gravel driveway. Through the windshield, Shintaro caught glimpses of the villa’s sloping roof between the trees, winter sunlight gleaming on the dark tiles. His childhood home, filled with tradition and expectations heavy as the wooden beams that held up its eaves.
“Your collar,” Hokuto murmured, reaching over to adjust it with clinical precision. His fingers were cool and impersonal against Shintaro’s neck, nothing like the tender touches of minutes before.
The car slowed to a stop. In the front seat, Junichi shifted to open his door. Shintaro caught Hokuto’s hand as it withdrew, pressing one last desperate kiss to his palm.
“Ready?” he whispered against Hokuto’s skin.
Hokuto’s breath hitched, but his voice came out steady. “Yes, shachou.”
🎄
The living room doors slid open to reveal his family gathered around the breakfast table. The scene could have been plucked from any morning of his childhood: father reading financial reports, mother arranging fruit on plates with artistic precision, Ryutaro slouched over his coffee.
“Shin-chan!” His mother’s face lit up. She abandoned her careful arrangement of orange slices, rushing over to envelop him in a hug that smelled of jasmine and home. Her hands immediately went to his face, thumbs smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his cheeks. “You’re too thin! Have you been skipping meals again?”
“Mom, please.” He caught her fussing hands, fighting both embarrassment and the treacherous warmth in his chest. “I’m thirty-three, not thirteen. I can take care of myself.”
“Thirty-three or not, you’re still my baby.” Haru patted his cheek one last time before turning to Hokuto with a shrewd look that made Shintaro’s pulse jump. “Matsumura-kun, thank you for taking such good care of our Shin-chan at the office. I hope he’s not too much trouble?”
“Not at all, madam.” Hokuto’s bow was flawless. “Shachou is an excellent employer.”
“So formal!” Haru laughed. “Please, call me Haru-san. You’re practically family, looking after Shin-chan so well.”
Shintaro’s heart stuttered. Behind him, he heard Hokuto's carefully controlled intake of breath.
“Leave them be, dear,” Koji interjected without looking up from his papers. “Let them at least sit down before you start interrogating them.”
“I’m not interrogating! I’m being welcoming.” Haru steered Shintaro toward the table with the same gentle determination she’d used when he was a child. “Sit, sit. Have you eaten? Of course you haven’t. I’ll have the kitchen bring more breakfast.”
“Mom—” Shintaro started to protest, but Ryutaro kicked him under the table.
“Just let her feed you,” his brother muttered into his coffee cup. “You know resistance is futile.”
Shintaro subsided, watching helplessly as his mother bustled around, directing servants to bring fresh place settings. She positioned Hokuto at the far end of the table – close enough to be included, far enough to maintain proper distance between employer and employee. The precise calculation in the seating arrangement made Shintaro’s jaw clench.
The aroma of breakfast filled the air as servants glided in with laden trays. Shintaro focused intently on his rice bowl, fighting the magnetic pull to watch Hokuto’s elegant hands lifting his chopsticks. He’d spent enough mornings watching those fingers wrapped around coffee cups and pens to have their every movement memorized.
“How was your flight?” His mother’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Smooth enough,” Shintaro managed, carefully not looking up as Hokuto reached for his tea. “We caught an early flight to avoid the worst of the turbulence.”
“Such dedication!” Haru beamed at Hokuto. “Though I must say, Matsumura-kun, I was quite surprised when Shin-chan said you’d be joining us. Surely a young man like yourself has family waiting for Christmas? Or perhaps...” Her pause carried weight. “Someone special?”
“My parents are touring Europe this month,” Hokuto replied smoothly. His voice carried the perfect note of polite deference. “And my brother’s family is celebrating in Osaka this year. I wanted to ensure I would be available if Shachou required assistance during the holidays.”
“So conscientious!” Haru’s approval carried an undertone that made Shintaro’s neck heat. “Though surely not all personal assistants give up their family Christmas?”
“The best ones do.” Hokuto's smile remained professionally pleasant as he accepted more fish from a hovering servant. “Supporting Shachou’s work is my priority.”
“You’re fortunate to have found such a dedicated assistant, Shin-chan.” His mother’s shrewd gaze flickered between them. “Though I hope you’re not working him too hard?”
Shintaro nearly choked on his rice. Across the table, Ryutaro suddenly developed a suspicious coughing fit.
“Matsumura’s schedule is entirely reasonable,” Shintaro managed, proud of how steady his voice remained. “I would never take advantage of his dedication.”
Unless you count last night’s “overtime” in my apartment, his treacherous mind supplied. He took a large gulp of tea to hide his flush, painfully aware of his mother’s calculating observation.
“Though speaking of dedication...” His mother dabbed her lips with a napkin, eyes twinkling. “Surely someone as capable as Matsumura-kun has better things to do than spend all his time at the office? A girlfriend, perhaps?”
Here we go. Shintaro gripped his chopsticks tighter, keeping his face carefully neutral. He’d expected this line of questioning – his mother never could resist playing matchmaker – but that didn’t make it any less excruciating.
“As I mentioned, work is my priority.” Hokuto’s voice remained perfectly modulated, professional. Only someone who knew him intimately would catch the slight tension in his shoulders.
“Such dedication! But you’re young – there should be balance in life.” Haru leaned forward, warming to her topic. “And so handsome too! I simply cannot believe no one has snatched you up yet.”
Shintaro stared fixedly at his miso soup, fighting the urge to point out that someone very much had snatched Hokuto up. His mother wasn’t wrong about the handsome part though. Even now, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit that emphasized his lean build, Hokuto drew the eye.
Not that Shintaro was looking. Much.
“Actually,” his mother continued, brightening, “I know several lovely young ladies who would be perfect for you! There’s Mio-chan – you remember her, Shin-chan? The one you were too busy for? She’s from an excellent family, very accomplished...”
Perfect Mio with her perfect pedigree and her complete lack of interest in men, Shintaro thought wryly. He caught Hokuto’s minute flinch at the mention of matchmaking and had to suppress a surge of possessive irritation.
“And Haruna-chan from the Kawaguchi family – she just finished her master’s degree. Oh! Or Yuki-chan, she’s a doctor now...”
“Mom.” Ryutaro’s amused voice cut through the litany of eligible women. “It’s Christmas morning. Maybe save the matchmaking for after New Year’s at least?”
“I’m simply being helpful!” Haru protested. “These young men work too hard. They need someone to take care of them.”
If she only knew. Shintaro bit back a hysterical laugh, remembering how thoroughly Hokuto had “taken care” of him just last night.
“I appreciate your concern, Haru-san.” Hokuto’s tone remained perfectly respectful, though Shintaro caught the slight crinkle around his eyes that meant he was suppressing amusement. “But I assure you, I’m quite content focusing on my career at present.”
“That’s exactly what Shin-chan always says!” His mother sighed dramatically. “You two are too alike – all work and no play. At this rate, I’ll never have grandchildren.”
Ryutaro snorted into his coffee. “Mom, you’re going to scare them both into hiding in the office until New Year’s.”
“Well.” His mother sighed, setting down her chopsticks with practiced grace. “I suppose I’ll have to be patient. But don’t think this discussion is over, Shin-chan. As CEO, you have certain responsibilities to the family name.”
Shintaro’s stomach clenched. He'd heard this speech before – the weight of legacy, the importance of continuing the Morimoto line. Each word felt like another brick in the wall between his public and private life.
“The company has been in our family for three generations.” Haru’s voice took on the tone she used for important pronouncements. “Your father built it from what your grandfather started, and you’ve taken it even further. But a legacy isn’t just about business, Shin-chan. It’s about family.”
Family. The word echoed in his chest, heavy with meaning. His gaze drifted to Hokuto, who maintained his perfect PA posture while delicately finishing his rice. The distance between them at the table felt vast and microscopic all at once.
“I need grandchildren to spoil.” His mother's declaration snapped his attention back. “The Morimoto name must continue. And since your brother seems determined to remain married to his career—”
“Hey!” Ryutaro protested weakly.
“—you’re my best hope, Shin-chan. You’re both not getting any younger, you know.”
The irony of her words made his chest tight. Here he sat, deeply in love, in a committed relationship, and he couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t tell her how happy he was. Couldn’t explain that her dreams of grandchildren might need some adjustment.
“Mom, please.” He pushed his empty bowl away, needing something to do with his hands. “It’s Christmas morning.”
“And what better time to think about family?” She stood, gathering her dignity around her like a cloak. “But you’re right – we have all week for such discussions.” Her smile turned gracious as she looked at Hokuto. “You must be tired from your flight. Shin-chan, why don’t you show Matsumura-kun to the guest room? We’ve prepared the one next to yours.”
Of course they had. His mother never did anything without calculation. The guest room next to his childhood bedroom – close enough for convenience, far enough for propriety.
If she only knew how many nights Hokuto had spent much closer.
“Your father and I are going for our morning walk in the garden.” Haru linked her arm through Koji’s as he finally set aside his newspaper. “The winter camellias are particularly lovely this year.”
Safe. Shintaro’s shoulders relaxed fractionally as his parents headed for the door.
They’d survived the first encounter. Only four days of such performances to go.
🎄
Shintaro slid open the shoji screen, revealing the guest room with its pristine tatami mats and neatly folded futon. His heart pounded as Hokuto stepped past him into the space, their shoulders brushing in the narrow doorway.
“Well, this is cozy.” Ryutaro leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Mom's garden walks usually last about forty-five minutes, in case you were wondering.”
“Ryu-nii.” Shintaro shot his brother a warning look.
“What? I’m being helpful.” Ryutaro pushed off from the wall with a lazy shrug. “Just like when we were kids and I’d cover for you sneaking extra desserts. Though I guess your tastes have changed.”
Heat crept up Shintaro’s neck. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Always so serious, little brother.” Ryutaro’s grin widened. “But yes, I do have some calls to make. I’ll see you at lunch.” He gave a mock salute and disappeared down the hallway toward his own room.
Shintaro watched until his brother’s door slid shut, then stepped into the guest room, closing their own door with a soft click. The familiar scent of tatami and old wood wrapped around him, mingling with Hokuto’s subtle cologne.
“Your brother is...” Hokuto paused, setting his laptop bag carefully beside the low writing desk.
“A menace?” Shintaro offered.
“I was going to say surprisingly supportive.”
“He’s enjoying this way too much.” Shintaro moved closer, drawn by the way morning light from the garden window caught in Hokuto’s hair. “I’ve never seen him so entertained.”
“At least someone finds your mother’s matchmaking attempts amusing.” Hokuto’s professional mask slipped slightly, revealing the strain beneath. “Though I admit, pretending not to be affected when she started listing eligible women was... challenging.”
“I wanted to tell her right then.” The confession slipped out before Shintaro could stop it. He reached for Hokuto’s hand, needing the contact. “When she talked about legacy and family, I almost—”
“Shin.” Hokuto’s fingers tightened around his. “We agreed. We read the room before we—”
“I know.” Shintaro tugged him closer, until their foreheads nearly touched. “But watching her try to set you up too...”
“Jealous?” A hint of teasing crept into Hokuto’s voice.
“Terrified,” Shintaro admitted. “That one day you’ll decide this is too complicated. That hiding and pretending isn’t worth—”
Hokuto silenced him with a kiss, soft but insistent. Shintaro melted into it, his free hand coming up to cup Hokuto’s jaw. The familiar taste of green tea lingered on his lips, grounding him in the moment.
When they parted, Hokuto’s eyes were warm with affection. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Even with my mother playing matchmaker over breakfast?”
“Even then.” Hokuto straightened Shintaro’s collar with practiced ease. “Though I could do without the grandchildren hints.”
Shintaro groaned, letting his head fall forward onto Hokuto’s shoulder. “God, I’m sorry about that. She’s relentless when she gets an idea in her head.”
“Like mother, like son,” Hokuto murmured, fingers threading through Shintaro’s hair.
A creak from somewhere in the house made Hokuto tense and step back, his warmth vanishing as quickly as it had come. Shintaro’s hands fell empty to his sides as Hokuto moved to inspect the room with careful, measured steps.
The familiar space struck Shintaro differently through Hokuto’s eyes — the hand-painted scrolls that had always hung on the walls, the delicate ceramic vase filled with winter branches, the subtle pattern in the shoji screens that filtered the morning light. Things he’d grown up with but now saw fresh through his lover’s quiet appreciation.
Hokuto gravitated toward the window overlooking the garden, and Shintaro’s chest tightened at how perfectly he fit into this space – this piece of Shintaro’s past he'd never shared before. He moved to stand beside Hokuto, careful to maintain the proper distance that habit and necessity had ingrained. Anyone walking the garden paths could glance up and see them.
“That maple tree,” Shintaro said, nodding toward the gnarled trunk visible through the glass. “When I was seven, I decided it would make the perfect secret base. Spent three days trying to drag boards and blankets up there to build a fort.”
“Tried?” Hokuto’s lips quirked.
“Ryu-nii caught me on day four. Instead of telling our parents, he helped me redesign it with proper support beams and a pulley system for snacks.” Shintaro smiled at the memory. “We spent that whole summer up there, reading manga and plotting elaborate pranks we never actually pulled off.”
“I can picture it.” Hokuto’s voice held that soft note that always made Shintaro want to pull him close.
“The fort lasted three years before a typhoon took it down. Dad helped us salvage what we could, then taught us about proper architectural support systems over dinner.”
“Turning it into a learning opportunity?”
“Everything was a learning opportunity. Still is.” Shintaro caught movement in the garden — his mother’s favorite gardener trimming the winter bushes. He shifted half a step away from Hokuto. “Though I think this might be the biggest test yet.”
“We’ve managed worse.” Hokuto's hands clasped behind his back, his pose a perfect mirror of their office dynamics. “Remember the dinner when an investor almost caught us in your office?”
“Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe you managed to convince him you were just adjusting my tie.”
“Years of practice maintaining a professional image.” Hokuto’s tone was light, but Shintaro caught the underlying tension.
I’m sorry, Shintaro wanted to say. Sorry for the hiding, for the constant performance, for not being brave enough to—
A sharp rap on the door made them both jump.
“Shin-chan!” His mother’s voice carried clearly through the paper screen. “Are you showing Hokuto-kun around? Come help me plan the Christmas menu before your afternoon meetings.”
“I should really show Matsumura the grounds first,” Shintaro protested, his hand instinctively reaching for the door. “The villa can be confusing for first-time visitors.”
“Nonsense.” His mother's voice carried that particular tone — the one that had sent him scurrying to piano lessons and cram school as a child. “Ryutaro knows every corner of this house. He can handle the tour while we discuss the menu.”
Shintaro glanced at Hokuto, searching his face for any sign of discomfort. But his PA maintained that perfect professional mask, only the slight softening around his eyes betraying his true feelings.
“I’ll be fine, Morimoto-shachou. Please don’t let me interrupt your family planning.”
“See? Matsumura-kun understands.” The door slid open, revealing his mother’s elegant figure. She wore that smile that always preceded getting exactly what she wanted. “Ryu! Come show our guest around while Shin-chan helps me with Christmas preparations.”
Ryutaro materialized from his room with suspicious speed. “Happy to help.” His grin promised mischief. “I know all the best stories about this place. Especially Shin-chan’s embarrassing childhood moments.”
Don’t you dare, Shintaro tried to convey through his glare, but his brother’s smirk only widened.
“Perfect.” His mother’s hand found Shintaro’s elbow with deceptive gentleness. Her grip, however, left no room for argument as she steered him toward the living room. “Now, about the Christmas Eve dinner. I’m thinking of inviting the Imada family...”
Shintaro threw one last desperate look over his shoulder. Hokuto stood framed in the doorway, morning light casting a soft halo around his figure.
Their eyes met briefly — a thousand unspoken words passing between them — before Ryutaro stepped into view.
His mother’s grip tightened, drawing his attention forward. The familiar scent of her perfume wrapped around him as she guided him down the hallway.
And all Shintaro could do is follow.