Chapter Text
When it comes to abnormalities, consuming them is like playing tug of war with two strings of being—they latch onto each other, pull, and whoever snaps first loses.
It's simple…maybe even anticlimactic.
The whole endeavor is supposed to be quick and easy. Not a spectacle, but rather brute force that's rapid and fleeting.
But now…it's something more.
A performance of duty. A task to prove that he can hold true to his word—that he meant it when he said he would protect Yoshiki. That he would keep him safe.
Now he has something on the line, something important…
Something to honor…
To grant…
Consuming the entity is supposed to be easy.
It's supposed to prove something.
It's supposed to—
The monster's mind collapses as he claws it in, gripping the hair entity.
His insides wriggle like sand stuck in a flipped upside-down hourglass. Time itself encases both outworldly beings in a pool of thick molasses. Spilling and clinging. Suctioning to their 'skin', sins bearing down upon their bodies like heavy weights, encapsulated in the thick ripple that worms around them.
It's like detangling something from existence, a brush digging straight into a matted ball of hair. You have to tease it a few times before it can slip back into place—or out of place.
The entity itself isn't all that strong, but its resistance is heavily rooted in its thickening scent that fills the bathroom—as if it'd been left in an oven to bake overnight until its skin peeled and filled every crevice of the room.
He has to consume all of it, crush it up, and break it down.
His mind, taken by drive, makes 'Hikaru's' memories jumble, and his sense of presence is slow to come in, like a morning fog huffing over glass.
'Hikaru' nearly has it, sucking the creature in, but the entity struggles abruptly, and with it, causes 'Hikaru' to slip and fall somewhere.
The room itself feels more like a walled void than anything, but with the feel of water dimming his ears and clogging up his nose, he figures the bath had been where he landed…
Its full—water soaking every inch, the molasses feeling surrounding him turning to tar—and in quick succession, a collection of sounds fills the space, a creak of a sliding door, a shout of raw panic, the patter of feet and the loseness of something in his chest as it climbs up and out—and then there's a palm shoving into his mouth, a nail tearing his cheek and a weight holding him beneath the water.
A water that feels too large, too deep, too big.
And above him, in a blur of bubbles that warp around his face with odd slickness, Yoshiki's blown-out eyes. His mouth is cracked open, teeth jutting into the bottom lip. His movements are unusually aggressive, swinging and moving without human control; his body isn't his own, and it becomes obvious very quickly—especially as his hand nestles into his shirt and tugs, breaking a button loose, and popping it open.
It all happens so quickly, a blur of bubbles, of emotions that are his-and-not-quite. Something he can't fully grasp and only feels, a tightening thread stringing his insides together, a quickly thinning feeling.
'Hikaru' doesn't remember much, not the intensity of heat, nor the anger coiling in his stomach like a pot of boiling oil—sparking, hissing. He kicks Yoshiki in the stomach to push him off, bursting from the water to catch him—noting the sluggish, odd way he falls back.
He thins.
He calls out to him, but he's met with nothing—just a sightless gaze.
He tightens.
'Hikaru' curses at the entity with gritted teeth, feeling an unbearable prick of annoyance, of fury. Rage kindles within him, wanting to burst from every pore of his body.
He stretches.
The entity vibrates under Yoshiki's skin, warbling around his bright light, smothering the core of his chest.
Thins.
His soul writhes, flaps around in thin strands, bends back and forth, tries to escape like a flame fighting harsh breath—
Tightens.
The entity, using Yoshiki's body, digs its teeth into 'Hikaru's' arm.
'Hikaru' snaps.
His eyes narrow, anger creeps through his iris, everything convulses, his entire essence pumps into that tiny hole.
He sees his opportunity, the dent in his skin as the flesh caves and blood spills into Yoshiki's mouth.
'Hikaru' lets himself unwind into Yoshiki, stuffing his mouth full. He covers every inch, slinking into his gums, between his teeth, and around his tongue. Every crevice, pressed into fullness like termites, finding the most raw places.
It's fierce and cramped.
'Hikaru' can only hope Yoshiki will be able to withstand his force.
But he doesn't have to endure it for long because luckily—under his strength—the hair monster is quick to flee once 'Hikaru's' claws are deep enough to wrap around the edges of Yoshiki's skull.
With a quick pop, it jumps out the backside of his head, leaving Yoshiki's body to slump forward, sending his weight crashing against 'Hikaru's'. 'Hikaru' lets out a breath of relief and grabs his shoulders to keep him in place, but his attention remains on the fuzzy creature.
The entity. It huddles in the upper corner of the room.
'Hikaru's' glare is sharp and prickly, fueling the heat that burns across his lens. His insides warble and urge the creature forward. Chanting distortedly—come, c̸̜̠͕͒o̶̟͉̣͠m̷̛̼͙͊͌e̵͓̪̺̿͒. . . The hair over his arms raises, and the entity twists as he pulls it in.
He presses himself against it—hard. He imagines the hair bundled, strangled, looped around like thin intestines, knotted so it can't breathe, think, act, function, until it's so tightly wound that it begins to cut itself into pieces, over and over again.
His nose shrivels at the smell. The pressure makes the wet sensation inside intensify as the entity finally slips out of existence.
It implodes in his mind, something painful. Something gruesome, he imagines, and it stims a delightful feeling inside him, a rumbling beneath his skin, something akin to satisfaction.
With the hair monster gone, the world comes into focus, and everything feels better. Warmer.
The soul thrumming against him, the heat pouring in through the window, kneading with the mop of hair agaisnt his shoulder, itching the side of his face. 'Hikaru' resists the urge to lean into it, to wrap around it, to rest his cheek further into the warm, beating heat.
Even wet, Yoshiki's dark hair seems to pull in the light, gather and hold onto it.
It makes his head smell warm and stuffy in the way 'Hikaru' loves.
It makes him want to push his nose into it.
and inhale…
The water ripples around them. Yoshiki's safe now; the creature's invasion has been dealt with.
Yoshiki's all his now; nothing can take him away again. The weight against his chest, a comfort.
That feeling.
It makes his insides churn with content.
'Hikaru' lets out a breathy giggle, "That was a close one, huh?"
Yoshiki doesn't move or respond; he lies against him. Motionless.
"Yoshiki…?"
For a quick moment, panic fills him and 'Hikaru' thinks something's wrong, but he's settled by the hum of his heart, thumping softly against him, and it's enough… A hot buzzing sound akin to a warm summer day.
He's alive…
Just…maybe the hair entity took more out of him than he thought. He'll wake up soon enough; he'll be okay…
'Hikaru's' touch is soft and careful.
Entities can mess with bodies, and Yoshiki's has never taken one head on before today…well, besides the time when he'd…but that had turned out fine, hadn't it…?
The thoughts are uncomfortable, and instead, 'Hikaru' focuses on the fact that they should, at least, get out of the bath.
'Hikaru' heaves Yoshiki's body against him, an arm around his shoulder and another around his waist as he rearranges them both to their knees.
"Okay—" he half huffs, half mumbles—"let's try and get ya out."
It's sloppy and messy; 'Hikaru' only manages to get most of Yoshiki out by carrying—or rather dragging—him on his side. He isn't very heavy, but the height difference makes it a bit difficult.
"Oh, crap—almost slipped,” he chuckles, struggling over the side of the tub.
The door to the bathroom is still open, and there's water all over the floor.
They're nearly out when Yoshiki's foot catches on the edge of the tub, and the creature gurgles, "Oi, move ur leg—ACK."
He trips and falls forward, sending them both to the ground.
"Shiiiit," 'Hikaru' groans, having been taken to the floor by Yoshiki's weight. He raises his head, Yoshiki's arm still heavy over his back.
He glances at his friend…and he meets Yoshiki's still, unmoving body, his head turned away from him…
Limp…
He looks like he's sleeping, but at the same time…
"Yoshiki…" he tries, shaking him gruffly, "Wake up."
No response.
'Hikaru's' brows furrow… something is wrong.
The entity may have taken a lot out of him, but he shouldn't be knocked out enough to just lie there like that without making a noise, without any reaction…
Something tightens in his chest, his insides squirming in unease.
'Hikaru' pushes himself up, moving Yoshiki's arm to his side before laying him on his back.
'Hikaru's' hands have tremors, and he can't tell if it's his insides vibrating or the body's reaction to…
“Hey…” 'Hikaru' tries once more, nudging Yoshiki's shoulder, “Why won’t ya…?"
Nothing.
"Yoshiki…"
A tap on his cheek.
"Yoshiki…"
His hand flattens around his wet face, thumb near his mouth.
"Hey…" He taps again, his voice deepening, insides warbling around his vocal cords, lowering it inhumanly.
It sounds dark, cold, and wet. Commanding.
"Wake up."
No response, nothing.
Wake up, why won’t you…
He moves his thumb, scraping it over Yoshiki's dry, uncomfortably cool lips.
and…
He’s not…
'Hikaru's' mind creaks, and his words don't leave his tongue but rather curl inside him, run through and consumed by the oozing tendrils that slink around and soak them into oblivion.
Yoshiki isn't breathing.
That isn't…This isn't right, is it?
Humans should breathe…Shouldn't they?
The monster doesn't…he doesn't…'Hikaru' is dead—he doesn't need to breathe…but Yoshiki.
He should be breathing.
Why is he not…
He draws back and sits on his heels.
He isn't… This is…how does this—Yoshiki isn't breathing because…
Does that mean…is Yoshiki…
Something inside him tightens again.
Is he…
Dead?
No.
Dead?
d̸e̴a̶d̴.
No, Yoshiki… isn't dead…
He can't be…
What even is death? What's that even mean…
The soul flickers over his heart.
No, he's still here, his soul is here.
His chest pinches.
Something throbs inside him, like a heartbeat behind his eyes, revving beneath his skull.
But…
Something feels horribly wrong, a jab tearing through his chest.
Yet…
Why does he feel so bad?—So weird?
Why…
He isn't dead or…maybe to humans he is, but not to him.
Right?
He's just…
Dead like Hikaru was to Yoshiki?
Life or death…
Would Yoshiki be dead like that to…?
What does it matter…?
And yet, he feels like he's suffocating. A snake squeezing itself to death. He feels like he's being wrung around like a wet rag, turning so tight that he has to gasp for air he doesn't need—A harsh stab between his lungs, behind his eyes, vibrating across his head.
Because, for some reason, he can't stand the thought.
Yoshiki.
Yoshiki…
Dead.
Dead.
No.
n̷̢̄̀ó̶̭̦
Yoshiki…
Yo̷͉̿̃ş̶̛̠̀ḣ̸̖̉ì̶͖́ḱ̷̗̤i̵̖̇͠
Isń̴̺'̴͖̃ț̷̰͐ ̸̨̋̈́
dea̶̛͊̉̀̚d̷̢̝̫͎̳̲̹̺͉̬̙̓
d̸͖͈̏͛̓͋̔̌̃͊̿̌̇̕͠e̴̡̛̛̺̥̜̟̼͔̻͈̘͎̟͔̫̲̎͋̈́̈́̔̽̈́͐̀͆̊̈́̀̆͆͊͋͘̚͝͝ą̶̢̛̱̖͖̞͖͈̜͊̉̀̑͑͌̔̔͑̃͋̒̈́̚̚͜ͅd̵̡̧̩͉̩̞̲̮̬͈̥̩̖͈͇͖͂̌̈̃́̈̒̔̚.̴̡̨̧̢̛͎͍̯̺̬̘̮͚͚͚͉̫̖̖͙̫͓̲́̈́́̍̅̌͗́̓͘͜?
The concept stings like an icepick wedging through bone; his insides can't dodge the impact, they can't escape being brutally impaled. He oozes like rotten waste, like spoiled fruit, that harbors chunks of seeds, holds an ugly, dark purplish color, and draws in the annoyance of flies. A build of buzzing and a decaying smell that stings one's nose and stuffs every part of them until they begin to feel the rot.
y̴̧̨̨͔̯̗̣͎͈̞̪̙͉̖͛̊͂̾̌͊̍̈́̋̽́̇̆̐̽̾͆̄̿̈́̆̌̓́͘͝ǫ̴̧̲͈̱͓͉̦̬̤̜̝̳̣̃̎̑͆̔͊̂̾̇͊͑͗͒̕͘͜͜͝ͅs̸̡̹͎͇͚̭͇̱̟̹̪̼͇̟͍̳̍̄́͐̎̒͋̈́̎́̽̃̎̐͘͜͠͠ḩ̷̧̢̛̛̛̰̖͎̺̗̙̹̪͕͓̦̖̰̤̤̣͉̎̔͗̀̀̈̍́̎̉͛̏̉͌͗̓̐́͐͝͝ì̸̡̢̬̯̠̯͔̻̥̟̘͖̰̯̰̹͚̤̳̺̙͛̀̾̊̐͑̽̓̐̏̈́̇̈́͊͌͌͜͝͝͝͝ķ̶̢̠̯̩̰͍̤̝͎̖͖͉̠̟̠̟͑̆̀͌͋̒̈́͑͋̇̎̄̎̚̕͜͝î̸̡̢̨̧̟̜͇͖͉̙̪̟̜͇̰̝̙͕̟̬̰̣̺̘̋̋̽̉̓̔͗͌̉̾̊̀̿͌͒̕͜͝ͅ
The world morphs and the screeching sound of words, voices, Yoshiki's voice, claw at his ears, tear holes and ridges into his skin, and spill blood all over him.
Lonely.
It rips him into a void and climbs in, etching itself into his very being, his soulless presence. It fills him with the warmth of blood, a soul that he wants so bad, only for it to wither and flicker out.
A failure.
His chest constricts, and he's being squeezed so very small. He wants to tear off his skin, rip off his head, pull out his hair. He wants to pour out of this body…reposessed and stretched awkwardly around him like it knows it. He's an impostor…
A monster.
This is his fault.
He's dead because of him…
He's supposed to protect him.
He's supposed to be more … not something constantly failing to meet expectations, failing the one person, the soul, the place he would give anything to protect—his only desire.
A heartbeat mocks him. It's not a heart but rather a pulsating guilt in his stomach as the moment seems to grow slower…
and deeply punctuated.
Everything feels greater—more. It's as if the light particles slipping in have begun to vibrate—heated atoms rubbing against the rims of his eyes, making everything blur.
Every smell, every sensation, cradling him in familiarity and distance. Spotlights speckle his gaze, and make the body before him muddle out, vaporizing into the heat of the room.
His vision fluctuates in and out; the human body he wears, his 'skin', reacts to the moment naturally and frantically, even if his mind can't quite keep up with it.
He can't focus on anything. It's an odd feeling, everything all at once—nothing makes sense.
He… it. Tries to focus. The creature withering inside its enclosure. It tries to sink into the nerves, into the weight of the body. Tries to solidify itself.
Feel.
The heat pressing at its back.
The coldness of the floor.
The warmth on its face.
The red oozing around the bite on the arm… the cut on the cheek barely tangible…
Nothing hurts.
He's in a constant state of existence and nonexistence. The threat of not being able to ground himself frightens him, raw and rare.
He can feel himself warbling, his eyes shaky, threatening to tear. His insides press uncomfortably against this body's ribs, not right, as if he's trying to squeeze something, trying to make this body beat so he feels real.
What is this again…where is he…
Light catches on the body before him, limp and still.
His vision settles.
The light drizzles in and catches on the wet tiles beneath them, latching on to the hefty drops that hang from the body's head and drip down his face. That face. Yoshiki's face.
That's right, he can't be doing this… can't be getting stuck like this…
'Hikaru' blinks, and he feels real again, or as real as he can be. He's hesitant to touch Yoshiki again. His hands hover, but his voice feels stuck, like it's been swallowed and molded into his stomach.
He drills himself for answers…
His soul is still there…
His heartbeat is there…
And so why isn't he breathing?
Yoshiki's skin is tinted blue, cracked like flakes mounted atop a snow cone.
The monster stares at him. Yoshiki's eyes are closed; there is no movement.
Nothing.
If it hadn’t been Yoshiki…Would he care?
Probably not.
No, he wouldn't. He feels no remorse for killing Matsuura-san… nothing at all.
If it wasn't Yoshiki…
He wouldn't have spared them a glance…
But this is Yoshiki.
The shape of Yoshiki's soul glares at him with the same loud burst of yellow, like light spilling through foliage, the densely packed heat in the center, cradled by loose ends that leak out like cat tails. They sway back and forth with a feather-like tip. His soul isn't like anything the monster has ever felt or seen. There's kindness and openness etched in the dimmed edges, kindness that urges him to lean into and grab hold, not with his hand but with his insides. The temptation of his eye splitting, tearing until the red of his pupil pools down, slinking into and wrapping itself around the soul.
Wringing around and around until the entirety of his body consumes it, making it a part of him, unable to escape, but—no, he can't...
Yoshiki wouldn't be able to be human anymore…
He wouldn't be able to be human with 'Hikaru'.
But…
It teases him.
He can still see it. The soul flickers ever so brightly in front of him. He wants to grasp it, touch it, let his fingers weave between it. He wants to let something else touch it too—not just distant, borrowed hands but the form that hides in the crevice of his chest, snuggled beneath skin and swaddling bone. Huddled in the dead corpse of the lonely body impossibly now his own—the grotesque and revolting truth of him craves it.
He wants to consume—to pull it in.
He wants to splinter out, push himself into it, spread around it, and encase it with his everything.
But…if he consumes him…He'll be unhappy, and Yoshiki's happiness is worth more than anything in existence.
The soul is shifting, moving, diverting in a way that makes everything real… too real.
Even if a soul never dies…
The human body does, and even if that doesn’t mean much to him, he knows that means he won’t have Yoshiki next to him. That he won’t be able to do the things he loves. The reasons for tasting such a life, for even bearing such a form of existence—Yoshiki makes everything nice, and he wants that feeling to last.
Without him, he won't have someone to go to school with. Eat with. Share ice cream with. Laugh with, when their popsicles melt and turn their faces sticky and their tongues odd colors.
The idea of Yoshiki’s body dying greatly upsets him. Life and death. It doesn't matter that the monster can't understand, but maybe it's more that this body can, through memories of grief and remorse.
They're confusing—memories after Hikaru's dad had died…very quiet…blurry…punctuated with small yet vast moments that settle like dew on spades of grass. Many of those are held alone, and some of them, Yoshiki is there.
Yet…despite these memories, they aren’t the same.
He still hasn't experienced them himself.
He looks at Yoshiki.
His lips are still blue. Purple is beginning to creep in on the edges, like packed ice. He won’t break, but the ridges of his skin will slowly pull apart, and he’ll rot like all things do.
Or he won't, that is, if 'Hikaru' can find a way to fix this.
If he doesn’t find a way to bring him back…a weird sensation crawls over his arms, his chest.
He’s cold—
He snaps back into focus, and 'Hikaru' feels the world again, the puddles soaking his pants and the way his clothes stick to his skin with both water and sweat. His hair is oddly wet and limp around his brows, droplets slipping down his face.
He will fix this.
'Hikaru' rolls his hands forward, fingernails dragging along the buttons of Yoshiki's shirt.
His chest is still.
He's not breathing.
'Hikaru' doesn’t bother undoing the buttons; he just rips them down the middle, peeling the shirt open. He moves the cloth out of the way, eyes feeling hot, stinging like something's burning underneath his skin.
His face feels like it’s distorting, a tail of ooze sliding worriedly from his eye. An emotion settles upon his features, and he can’t quite understand what it is or the sharp, tangy feeling in his chest.
But the thought of this body slowly slipping through his fingers, the thought of the soul slowly leaking away. The thought of not being able to touch something so pretty, so warm... The thought of losing this human's body, the physical weight against his own, this intimacy that he’s never been able to feel before, the emotions he feels for it that harbor every inch of his being.
He feels impossibly angry at himself.
The guilt, the fear, the absolute frustration all burn into his mushy, squirming places. Rage surely filters onto his face, turns his eyes deep and foreign, wrinkles his features in a manner he knows makes people wary.
And through the distorted thoughts and feelings, 'Hikaru's' bare hands are on Yoshiki's chest.
He's still warm.
He flattens his palm and feels something gently thumping underneath the skin. The burning passion of his soul lingers there beneath his hands, and it melts against his palms, leaking around his fingers and crawling up his arm.
He almost loses himself to it, but the press of a heartbeat rapping slowly, softly against his skin keeps him focused.
He needs to fix this… But how?
He’s not dead, but why isn’t he waking up?
Is it the water?
Humans need to breathe. Is something preventing him from it?
The water? Has the water clogged something inside his body?
Is it the lungs? As much as he probably should know, 'Hikaru' isn't an expert on anatomy or the human body. But…with his own…he can vaguely gauge where everything is—he just isn't sure of all their functions. But at least he can feel where the air collects inside him when he inhales. Hikaru's memories help somewhat too…
The water. Right. Has the water clogged his lungs too much to expel on his own?
Drowning is a concept he's aware of, but he's never seen it happen before, not even the original Hikaru had.
He wriggles uncomfortably inside, itching at the interior rawness of his skin-shell, thrashing and digging at the walls. Desperation claws at him to do something, get out, help him—
But how is he supposed to do that? …his vague memories don't mention how to get water out of someone.
But if he has to guess, the easiest way would probably be through the airways, right? Like a nose or a mouth?
Maybe…?
Everything is melding together.
What is he supposed to do?
The wet body is still beside him, the one with a slow beating heart and purple lips that have water and spit clinging to the edges and dripping down.
Think.
Pull yourself together.
The hair monster had entered him and stopped him from breathing. Had it stopped his human functions or just caused him to inhale water? Maybe it clogged his lungs…? That would make sense.
He can work with that.
'Hikaru' unravels his thoughts; maybe he can get the water out manually? If he uses himself, the itching tar squashed inside his frame, rumbling around like slime stuffed into a hamster wheel.
He thinks that might work. It’s better than nothing, ain’t it?
'Hikaru's' insides clench, restless and gross.
The part of him that quarrels around his bones, around the organs that still linger and harbor the space of 'Hikaru's' body. It squeezes at his heart, and there’s a stark pang that ripples down his body and shakes his hands.
He's shaking?
Why is he shaking…
He won’t stop shaking.
These emotions, raw, tangible…
Human emotions… is that it…?
He needs to focus; he's already wasted enough time. How long has it been? How long can bodies go without air, how long?
'Hikaru' slides his hands up Yoshiki's chest to his neck, feeling for the lingering soft beat tapping against the pads of his fingers. It's reassuring. There's still time. He's not gone yet. He's quick and moves to Yoshiki's face. His palms catch no air when he hovers them over his mouth and nose. His finger traces over his chin before gently pulling down and easing his jaw open.
He doesn't know exactly where the lungs are, but they're probably connected to the mouth and the nose, ending somewhere in the chest, and so if he just goes through those… He'll eventually find the water, right?
Hopefully, that'll also keep him from straying away and consuming any other liquids that he doesn’t want to drain out, like blood.
Losing the gentle touch, 'Hikaru' grips Yoshiki's face to keep it still, nails digging in to the side of his head.
'Hikaru' meets Yoshiki's lips with a wide open mouth—kinda like a kiss, he registers distantly—and presses against him as if he were eating him. His teeth, jagged, dig in and around the parted lips, denting the skin enough to make them grow pale and white.
From within 'Hikaru' he lets himself out, insides spilling, unleashing and crawling in a very disorganized manner as he stuffs himself into Yoshiki, pouring down his throat.
Parts of him wire out from his eyes and slip up Yoshiki's nose, wriggling through nasal passages to join the main force in his throat as he moves further in.
The airways are joined together.
He pries up a flap the goes easily, reaches a split, and carefully slithers down hundreds of branching, hair-thin passages until at last he mixes with something, something like a clash of oil, and he feels it dragging against him.
This liquid.
The body doesn’t move below him.
Yoshiki doesn’t immediately taste like anything but coldness and water. However, there's a sharp salty tang to his body, and a rough feeling to the chapped lips that scratch against him.
'Hikaru's' not sure what he’s feeling, but it makes him nervous, and he’s not usually nervous.
He tries to focus, to suck up the water and drag it out, but it slips away like oil.
Okay, new plan.
He coils his tendrils around the water, lets his ooze cup and corkscrew like a cat's tongue, and pulls it up. His body, acting as a sort of transmitter, pulls the unwanted fluid out like a water wheel, cutting it and sliding it into himself and spitting it out before repeating over and over again.
His tendrils fill and constrict the lungs, and with the final drag of water, the body connected to his lips suddenly revolts and sputters. 'Hikaru' quickly recalls himself, giving Yoshiki the chance to lurch forward.
He's alive.
Alive.
'Hikaru' feels a burst of relief well up inside him as Yoshiki coughs, heaving as a hand rises to his throat. His chest caves, back arching over each and every breath that comes out of him.
'Hikaru' watches him. His insides quarrel and slowly suck back inside, sluggishly tucking and stuffing himself into his frame except—no, he can't, not completley. He's too watery, too slippery to mold back just yet.
The tendril from his eye slithers a bit, outstretched towards Yoshiki, the tip trembling…
Alive…
He's alive.
Yoshiki is alive.
"Yoshi…ki…"
His voice sounds distant and tastes foreign. It sounds wobbly.
'Hikaru' stares, hands frozen in the air from having fallen from Yoshiki's face so suddenly. His teeth feel oddly squishy, and there's a sharp taste stuck in his mouth.
He can't tear himself away from Yoshiki—his shoulders are still shaking, but he's done coughing now. His burst of energy seems to fade, and the weakness in Yoshiki's limbs becomes immediately noticeable as he slumps and tilts over.
'Hikaru' catches him, though, and holds him to his chest, his shoulder knudging in between his ribs. There's an odd blurriness that fills his view, and he can't stop the overwhelmingness of the situation.
The soul, thrumming against him, and the heartbeat that is fast and thumping against his chest. Yoshiki's weight, completely dependent on him.
He's warm.
So warm.
'Hikaru' tastes something wet roll around his lips, and he isn't sure when or how long he's been crying, but suddenly his blurred vision makes more sense. His sobs feel miles heavier than anything he's ever felt before, and he isn't sure why…
This is a good thing, Yoshiki is alive…he shouldn't be crying, and yet...
The sobs wrack his body just as hard as Yoshiki's coughs had his own.
'Hikaru' unapologetically leans forward, latching his arms tighter around Yoshiki's, gripping at his clothes, his tattered shirt—and he's still a bit cold, but the heat inside is growing warmer.
Yoshiki is mumbling something, but he can't quite hear it.
He just holds him, his name quietly leaving his mouth, over and over again.
Yoshiki…
Yoshiki…
Yoshiki.
'Hikaru' can’t quite understand why he’s feeling this way…He doesn't get it, but he also doesn't have the energy to try to understand it right now.
Yoshiki's slow, tired movements match his hoarse breaths. 'Hikaru' can't see his face through the hair hanging around his eyes, but he gets the message when he feels a slight tug on his shirt, and he looks down to see Yoshiki's weak attempt to grab his attention.
A light hold on his equally soaked clothes, unspoken words, as if to say he is okay.
'Hikaru' sniffs, streaks of tears and a runny nose, his breath weeding out in warbles. He's okay.
The buzzing heat of his heart rivets between their bodies and makes them both shiver with the compulsion to be closer, a need for intimacy. He needs to wrap around and protect this body, this soul, this person—Yoshiki.
Yoshiki is still shaking in his hold, his soul pressing against his chest…From the cold or the fact that he hadn't been breathing, 'Hikaru' doesn't know; he just hates how frigid and small he feels.
Tiny. He feels so tiny, the spawn of his life, a little thing. Something so small it fits into the crevices of his palm.
He holds him tighter and they sit there for a while until he has the sudden urge to see his face.
'Hikaru' moves a hand to Yoshiki's cheek to lift his head and brush the wet strands away from his eyes.
Yoshiki has a tired look clinging to him, and 'Hikaru' can't help but smile, his thumb gently moving over the mole on the side of his face—the tendril still oozing from his eye tremors and curls down with the slight bow of his head.
They sit there for a moment before Yoshiki's head shifts back against 'Hikaru's' shoulder, moving to rest his back agaisnt 'Hikaru's' chest.
He lets out a low exhale.
'Hikaru's' eyes cling to his features, feeling his body expand with his breath and gauging every little twitch of his expression, looking for anything…
Yoshiki meets his gaze, and there's a slow, weary twist to his mouth. Pained or uncomfortable, a half-hearted attempt at a smile. His eyes are droopy. Water weighs his lashes down, and a heavy red tint is slowly filling onto his face.
Around his mouth, the faint marks of teeth linger, and 'Hikaru' feels something twitch inside him—an odd sense of pleasure.
Yoshiki's eyes muddle with…something. His weight is fully against 'Hikaru', and the pressure makes him want to hold him even tighter, arms secure around him.
'Hikaru's sobs have grown even and turned into slow, ragged breaths—sniffs and tears that silently spill.
They sit there for another moment…nothing but the loud charring of insects buzzing from outside pressing against the window. A fan whirs from the other room, accompanied by the soft tap of water dripping from the shower head.
Yoshiki's eyes slowly shift back into focus, and 'Hikaru' catches his dark slitted pupils. Cat eyes. They have this enchanting feature that lures 'Hikaru' in—a low, cautious look that tears him up inside.
Yoshiki blinks at him.
His chest squirms with something gooey; this odd purring sensation rivets against the inside of his skin.
He doesn’t wanna let go. He doesn’t wanna move from his spot or move his hands wrapped around Yoshiki's sluggish body.
Instead, 'Hikaru' turns his nose into the side of his neck and inhales him. The scent is close to nothing, like water, but there's something foul lingering; the spirit that had entered him has left something, like a bitter aftertaste.
Low, raw, un-diffusible annoyance soaks into his chest, warm and untampered in his belly. It'll take a few hours, maybe, but eventually the scent will leave. Still, it's a grating sensation. The fact that anything can just linger on him. He fumes, fingers gripping possessively around Yoshiki.
It isn't until Yoshiki brings a slow hand up over his chest to grip the arm wrapped around him that 'Hikaru' loosens his hold slightly. His fingers are weak, but the intent is firm.
Yoshiki's head is tipped back, hair slipping from his eyes…and his mouth, open by the incline of his head.
It's enough to give 'Hikaru' a good, close view of his face.
His lips are cracked and a little plump and red. The outside area is bitten and puffy, but colors have already returned to his face, and it makes 'Hikaru' smile. He can't help but pull him back in, closer to his chest, where he can rest his head against Yoshiki's, his nose in his jaw.
And he feels like he's able to speak again…like the words have finally grown solid on his tongue.
The tendril leaking from his eye finds itself soaking back into his pupil.
He wants to hold Yoshiki even closer, press him tightly enough agaisnt him so that he'll slip through and be inside him.
He doesn't, but he wants to.
"Thank god yer okay," he whispers, his words soft against his neck.
His legs are bent, framing Yoshiki as he tightens them. It looks as if he's trying to fully wrap himself around him.
Yoshiki's breaths come out a bit scratchy. It's hard to catch at first, but when he does, it makes something warm boil inside him.
"Hikaru…" his name oozes from Yoshiki's lips, "Wha' happened ta my shirt?"
'Hikaru' can't help but giggle agaisnt him, sniffing as his chest shakes, "Really? That's what yer worried about?"
All he gets is a muffled hum from Yoshiki, and it's enough to ease him into normalcy.
Or this normalcy, at least.
Whatever it is, it's enough…
Yoshiki is enough.
It's cold.
and…
Something's wrapped around him.
The weight of heavy arms.
Where is he…
What happened…
What's that sound…
It's his name…
Who—Hikaru, that's Hikaru's voice…
Yoshiki's thoughts come to him slowly—his throat sore and his body heavy with each breath. Each cough feels like something is being torn out of him. Sandpaper grating against each and every lungful of air, turning his insides raw and unbearable.
His body hurts internally, but his outsides feel oddly numb, unfocused, and blurred.
He feels loopy, like he's fading in and out of sleep.
His lungs and throat feel wet, like he has a snot lodged all the way into his stomach. Each inhale feels like a plea, the air slipping down and pressing agaisnt the slickness, making his insides icy and frigid.
The wetness around him doesn't help either.
He feels cold.
So cold…and yet, there's something warm burning in each beat of his heart; the contrast brings a sharp pang, a sizzling, burning sensation like hot oil flicking from pan to skin. But, there's also a more subtle warmth in the weight behind him.
The arms, sturdy, holding him tight.
There's friction beneath the hold, and it sparks something in his chest.
What's happened…
Right…
The hair monster is here…or was
It'd gone inside him…but where was it now…?
Something slimy taps agaisnt his face, and Yoshiki slowly shifts, eyes finding Hikaru—no, 'Hikaru's'…
His face is a mess; one eye oozes out in a reddish-green, surrounded by black moss that makes the void of his existence somehow more tangible. The tendril curls like a tail from his eye socket, and the other, more human-like eye is scrunching with tears, his face streaked and snot running out both nostrils.
He's a mess…
And Yoshiki's heart hurts at the sight.
Why is he crying so hard?
What happened?
He slides his hand over his chest; it's difficult. His limbs are shaky, and his movements don't feel real, like they're delayed.
However, he eventually finds himself able to lift his fingers to the arms wrapped around him.
And…
He's oddly bare.
Yoshiki's bare.
Shirt wrapping around his arms but gone from his chest.
Where's it…
The feeling of 'Hikaru's' skin on his own.
It should feel weird, or uncomfortable, but he thinks that maybe he's too tired to tell if it is or not. Just that something stirs inside him, and it's a feeling he can't quite name, although it makes him queasy, anxious.
Followed by a desire to take something to ease himself.
But he keeps moving, scared that if he stops, he'll lose all his strength. His nails scrape past his ribs and…As Yoshiki's finger crawls to curl around the other's wrists, he feels a gentle quiver over his heart…
He's trembling.
'Hikaru's' trembling, and it feels weird.
Hikaru never really shook before, unless it was out of excitement, but this doesn't feel like one of those moments.
Yoshiki's heart feels so loud, throbbing, like it echoes throughout his body, lingering in all the places it should and shouldn't…but again, the weight of tight arms around him makes his mind fuzzy and everything feel okay…
His fingers hold his wrist as tightly as possible.
It makes everything feel oddly normal…
Even if he knows it's probably not true, that the tiredness in his mind is to blame for everything sluggish…
Still, he can't help but like the way nothing feels real.
Nothing in the world matters right now.
Yoshiki feels the words formulate without thought on his tongue.
He doesn't know why he asks it, only that the thought is grating on his mind, and the heated mass around his heart grows impossible.
"Wha' happened ta my shirt?"
He can't hear the response well, ears clogged and still a bit drowned, but he can feel the laugh rumbling agaisnt his back.
It's nice.
So nice, he thinks he will stay here for a bit…
Lavish in the warmth.
'Hikaru' mumbles his name against his neck, and his lips shift on his pulse.
It's oddly soothing, although for some reason, he thinks it should pull uneasily in his belly.
But he's too lax to really care.
Too tired…
Too focused on his heart vibrating beneath his skin, and the air sucking into his body.
He lies there for a while, hoping the world could feel less real more often.
It's dark out.
The air is thick, stuffed to the brim, with buzzing insects and humidity.
The stars are the only thing worth indulging in, and even they seem harsh, like cuts in the sky.
The porch is cold in contrast to the hot press of the air that fails to scare the goosebumps from his arms.
His lips hurt.
There's a slight ache around his mouth, small jagged indents lapping like a dotted bee trail. He rolls a finger over them. They had looked a bit red in the mirror, but they shouldn’t sting like this—Like something had bitten him right on the mouth.
'Hikaru' had mentioned how he'd brought him back—how he'd almost drowned—and how he'd heroically saved him… or something. Which he should be grateful for, but Yoshiki can't help but feel a sense of guilt weighing tons in the pit of his stomach. He can't help but linger on the fact that a creature had suffocated him due to his own faults, his own mistakes—he had let it invade him…
But despite how nerve-wracking those things make him, nothing compares to the nauseating thought of how 'Hikaru' had managed to save him.
Because…to get water out of someone—
His face feels a bit numb, and his insides are sore—the discomfort is mostly around his chest, pinching with each breath.
How to get water out of someone…
It makes him anxiously tease his lips, feeling their swell.
It should be the least of his worries, really, but he can't stop thinking about it. Any of it.
The feeling in his hands, the memory of his warm skin beneath the aggressive scrunch of his fingers. His palm jamming into his mouth, and his nail digging into his cheek. The bite, the release of something filling his mouth, filling him. A thick condensed substance, something chunky and oily, like spoiled milk that drags itself around like a slow caterpillar.
The sensation lingers, disgustingly, but the aftertaste isn't so bad…in some spaces between his teeth, Yoshiki can still feel its caress, teasing every nerve, every—He shouldn't be thinking about this.
He should be feeling guilty.
But instead, he's thinking of his mouth and the aftertaste of bitter desperation and fear.
His hands are shaking, and the thought turns his stomach.
He wants to hide, but he doubts that would do anything to rid him of this feeling.
So he stays on the porch, curled up, knees tucked into his shirt, trying to make himself look as small as he feels.
'Hikaru' is beside him, a towel still around his neck, hair slightly damp from both the humidity and the previous events of the day. They'd changed out of their wet uniforms, which are now hanging outside to dry.
Every now and then, 'Hikaru' glances over at him, each look making his insides hiss. Yoshiki wants to disappear—as if hiding could protect him from the shame and disappointment of it all.
His mind stings with each brief recall, each memory. His shirtless chest and their hands wrapped together over it.
Skin to skin…
Heart pounding…
Words scraping across his skin—
Yoshiki shoves his face into his knees.
A nauseous, grotesque feeling squirming in the pit of his stomach.
A feeling that spreads under his skin and inhabits, a self-damaging, self-inflicting suit of armor.
His heart is pounding agaisnt his back, and it's so heavy he feels like he's going to fall over.
It's fine; everything is fine now. 'Hikaru's' okay…
Subconsciously, as if to reassure himself of that fact, Yoshiki peeks over at his "friend," hiding most of his face with the cushioning of his arms.
He finds that 'Hikaru' is already looking at him, and an unfamiliar gaze settles over him. A look that's far too different than Hikaru's but close enough to give him this uncanny feeling that makes his heart stutter. A skip that's accompanied by a phatonom worm, thick in his throat, shoving deep into his chest.
"How's yer head?" 'Hikaru's' question breaks the silence, cutting through the buzzing insects and the hot air that stuffs between them.
Yoshiki stares for a moment, caught on the way 'Hikaru's' snaggle tooth catches his lip.
It's only when 'Hikaru's brows furrow that Yoshiki forces himself to answer.
"It's fine…" and it is.
There is a dull throb in the back of Yoshiki's skull…but it's not painful. It only hurts enough to make him squint at the light inside, pressing from behind and spilling around his face.
In fact, there is something achingly satisfying about the feeling. Like he deserves it or something.
His gaze burns into the curve of Yoshiki's face, reviving the sting in his lips.
"You should take something if it hurts, ya know…" His eyes drip over him like something slimy, thick—a honey-coated texture that clings to every inch and more.
"I said I'm fine…"
Yoshiki drags his eyes away, focusing on something else, something beyond the reach of the porch.
"Sheesh…" 'Hikaru' hisses, kicking his feet out, heels hanging over the edge.
The night sky is bright, too bright and too large and vast, leaving the ground in shadows. Everything below the tree line is hidden by a dark blanket that swallows the mountains, the trees, and the flat surrounding areas between.
There's a soft, flapping sound amidst the noisy atmosphere, as moths tap at the bulb inside the house. It's small frame bouncing back at every light touch… burning itself over and over again, drawn to an impulse, a desire it can't recall…
Yoshiki can't see the moths, but it happens enough for him to recognize the sound.
It makes his gut hurt like he's eaten something spoiled.
'Hikaru' starts humming something, tapping his fingers on the wooden floor, nodding his head. It's their choir song again, something that's been regularly trapped in his throat and spat out like a need.
Usually, it doesn't bother him, but right now, after everything, the normalcy 'Hikaru' displays itches oddly under Yoshiki's skin. It makes him want to strip himself bare, escape this feeling.
'Hikaru' doesn't say anything, and he's grateful for it.
But in the dim silence, courted by 'Hikaru's' light tongue—the guilt returns, the worry, coiling up in a thick ball. A cat that's licked itself sick.
Yoshiki groans into his knees, half hoping the words never reach 'Hikaru' and half hoping they do.
"Aren't ya mad or sumtin?"
"Huh?" 'Hikaru' turns, face furrowing, "Why would I be?"
Why would I be?
Why would I be?
Why wouldn't he be?
It was his fault; it was his own mistake for going into the bathroom and making such a mess.
His hand still tingles, the pressure of his palm on his mouth, forcing bubbles to burst. He can still feel the slick sensation of the skin breaking underneath his nail, and the swell of blood that licks out.
"I hurt you…"
Because he did.
"Hurt me…?" 'Hikaru' drawls, seeming to consider the claim, before batting it away, "nah, it's just a scratch." He says, leaning back, popping himself up with his arms.
The words rub Yoshiki the wrong way.
But, it is his fault…and the fact that 'Hikaru' seems so unbothered, so unfrigthened, makes Yoshiki squirm in ways he can't express. Because he hurt him, what if he did it again? Shouldn't he be afraid of him doing it again? Shouldn't he be more on edge…? The thoughts wrap around his skull, edging against the bone, trying to escape.
"Hey, it's not that big of a deal," 'Hikaru' tries to reassure again, "look at me, I'm right as rain."
Yoshiki glances at him, eyes running from the patch on his arm to the cut on his cheek. He hasn't put a bandaid on it; it wasn't bleeding, but the thought of leaving it exposed still made Yoshiki worry. A worry that probably isn't warranted for such a creature.
A creature.
He'd saved him, no thanks to Yoshiki. He could have just let him die, he could have just let the hair monster stay, but he didn't…he swore to keep him safe.
Why?
"Why'd you do it?" The words slip out, and it's a bit rougher-sounding than he means.
"Hm?" 'Hikaru' straightens a bit, moving to face his body towards Yoshiki, "Do what?"
Yoshiki shrugs, shoulders hunching by his ears, "Just…all that…"
It seems to take 'Hikaru' a second to grasp what he's referring to. Yoshiki watches him think, watches the way his brows push together and his snaggle tooth dips into his bottom lip—the way he shifts and drags his gaze somewhere else as if to focus.
It was so like Hikaru, and yet so wrong.
"I dunno," He finally says, "I just moved, I guess."
The cicadas intensify and then settle, and 'Hikaru' rubs a hand around the back of his neck, scratching.
"I want to protect ya, I told ya that, didn't I?"
He did, but, "Still …"
A beat, a flick of bugs, and the weight of the light inside spilling out and running around their two bodies in a ring of yellow, leaving the shadows to grip at Yoshiki's face.
There's a tense and awkward moment, one that's trapped in time, one that should feel as unnerving as the self-destructing moths above, but it's not…
As if agreeing, as if also feeling the unease, Yoshiki hears 'Hikaru' open his mouth before he even says anything.
"You held it off, though… That's impressive, ain't it?"
"Still got ya hurt though." He responds dully, making 'Hikaru' sigh even louder, as if the tight awkwardness of the conversation had etched itself under his skin, and he, too, needs to break free.
'Hikaru' pulls at his shirt, the shirt Yoshiki let him borrow, and tugs on the front, batting it back and forth to cool off.
"Man, Yoshiki," he drags, a very heavy tang to his voice, "yer too hard on yerself."
Yoshiki can't even combat that—it's something he's been told time and time again.
"Maybe…"
Maybe…perhaps he is the problem. The issue…the thing out of place.
"Ugh, how is it still hot—" 'Hikaru' whines, pulling Yoshiki's attention to the way he fans himself, holding his mouth open as if he can suck in the few and far in between drafts of wind that nuzzle into the village.
A bead of sweat slips around his cheek like a caress.
Eventually, when 'Hikaru' notices Yoshiki looking at him, his eyelids lower in a brief, critical way, that quickly bounces back to a smile. A grin that tears across his face. His snaggle tooth juts out and makes his grin even wider, and his cheeks lift enough to make his narrow eyes even smaller.
"Hey, but," He laughs, wiggling his eyebrows, "at least yer lips lookin' like ya had a good time though."
"My…what?" He mouths, mind going fuzzy. It takes a second for Yoshiki to register what the hell had even come out of his mouth. But when the words sink into his skin, his chest clenches and he feels himself tense up, mouth tingling in a hot, burning way that makes him want to rip it off.
Yoshiki impulsively rubs at his face, dragging his palm hard across his lips, as if he could do just that, rub them off.
His face feels warm, and it makes his nerves prickly.
"Don't go coverin' them now, comon." 'Hikaru' teases, and the uneasy, nauseous feeling shimmers in his gut.
"Shut up," He mumbles, hiding his lips behind his hand. He can feel it growing hot, and it's making him look even worse, even more disgusting.
"Ey, man," 'Hikaru' moves, scootting closer on his knees, towards him, "yer looking real red—"
"I said ta—" Yoshiki shrinks away, but not far enough to avoid the hand coming up to brush the ends of his bangs.
Yoshiki's stomach drops.
"Nah, it's kinda cute—"
"I said, knock it off," Yoshiki twitches abruptly, pushing 'Hikaru' away, but the motion itself fails to do that. The shoulder he'd aimed for sends 'Hikaru' back, making him flail his arms to keep himself up. But, he overcorrects and ends up going too far forward.
He crashes into Yoshiki, making him lose his balance as his legs slip from his shirt, and he doesn't have a quick enough arm to catch himself as he falls back. His head taps the floor again in a way that reminds him of the pain that was still bubbling beneath his skull.
And lying there, Yoshiki can feel 'Hikaru's' weight draped across him.
"Ah, shit—" 'Hikaru' curses, "ya didn't have to trip me, ya know. Or were ya tryna get me down here, ha."
He finds his eyes accidentally.
'Hikaru's' on his thighs, with his arms propping himself up, harboring a playful, suggestive look, one that Hikaru had always worn…one he'd use to lighten a mood, ease a moment…
Yoshiki's burning, he can feel it at the base of his neck, on the tip of his ears, along the bridge of his nose—it stings like a fever, like an infection gnawing away at his flesh.
Despite his insides heating like a sauna, his skin feels oddly chilly; the body atop him settles like cold ice against his skin. His legs feel like wires, thin and yet, they're not breaking under the weight. The weight of so much mass, the weight that'd swam inside him, the weight he'd touched not long ago, the weight that had touched him back—
He pulls himself together, forces his face to relax into a broodish expression.
"…I'd rather die," Yoshiki grits, kicking his legs to make his position unsteady, "Get off."
Something in 'Hikaru's' expression shifts, as though he's caught the way Yoshiki's burning a little too bright and his features twisting a little too much, and he stumbles over his words.
"What—seriously, I was just jokin—"
"I said, get off." Yoshiki yanks his leg out from under him, as much as he could at least. 'Hikaru's' weight is hard to move, and it's more of a jerk, but he boy gets the signal well enough, and he eases off him.
Yoshiki pushes himself up. The floor is cold against his palms, and he feels like he's on fire. His heart beat-booms in his chest and it shakes his ribs, his bones, and his muscles; it vibrates out to his skin, making him feel shaky and unsteady.
He feels like he's suffocating.
His head hurts.
"Yer mad…" 'Hikaru' notes audibly beside him, seated on his knees, eyes wearily tracing his features. He looks guilty, like a dog sneaking into trash and making a mess. The weight makes Yoshiki's skin crawl. He's looking at him, he can see it all, the skin melting, the guilt throbbing heavy in his neck.
Yoshiki needs to get away, out, distance.
Everything is too hot, too loud.
He gets up and shuffles over to the kitchen.
"Where ya goin?" 'Hikaru' moves too, like a dog, always following his wet nose.
"To get ibuprofen." Yoshiki murmurs, pulling open a cabinet and feeling around for the pill box.
"So yer head is hurt! I knew it…" His voice fades out, a dying flame.
Yoshiki sighs, his head throbbing painfully. He finds the box, which is already open, and he slides out one of the sheets, poking out two of the holes, and swallows them without water.
It stings a bit when it goes down, and the urge to throw up teases the back of his throat. He caustiously puts the medicine back and closes the cabinet, bracing himself over the sink, just in case. He stares at the drain, partially wishing he could just hide and stuff himself down it.
The unease swirls in his stomach, and the heat at his nape seems to intensify.
The weight of 'Hikaru's' body over his legs.
The press of his chest against his back.
The cold heat between them.
Something unfoils in his gut, and tighens, making him nearly vomit at the thought, but he manages to swallow. He then grabs a cup to fill it with water, and chokes it down, forcing everything away, deep into his stomach, deep where no one can see his discomfort—determined to keep everything inside.
There's a light shift of feet, careful movement as 'Hikaru' settles behind, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting in it.
He clicks his tongue, and Yoshiki doesn't need to turn around to know his eyes are on him. When he speaks again, 'Hikaru's voice is firmer, less teasing and more serious…more curious.
"Ya ever kiss anyone before?"
He taps the table. It echoes, as if the walls are closer, more narrow around them.
The question makes Yoshiki freeze, and he wants to avoid acknowledging why 'Hikaru' may have brought it up. But his body does it for him, and his lips tingle again, the ring around them, more pugnant than ever. The taste of 'Hikaru's goop, thick and heavy in his mouth, a slimy residue in his throat.
"Yoshikiii…"
"What?"
"I said, have yah ever kissed anyone?"
Yoshiki sets his cup down on the counter. The answer itches a weird spot in the back of his neck. He can't meet 'Hikaru's' gaze.
"Why're ya even askin'?" He doesn't even attempt to smooth out his tone, "Why does it matter?"
"I'm just curious…" He eggs on, and his voice is starting to drag along his ears.
Yoshiki gains the courage to glance at him, and 'Hikaru's' expecting face meets him with curiosity, confusion, and this mindless sort of look only a child would wear.
"Please…" He begs, pouting.
He won't stop, will he?
Maybe it's the annoyance or nervousness, the idea of dismissing the question altogether would be an answer in itself, and that scares him. Still, Yoshiki stays half-turned toward the sink, feeling somewhat protected by the angle.
"Nah," he forces out, gut swirling, "I ain't got time for that stuff."
"Really?" 'Hikaru' snorts, "so…" He muffles his voice with his lips, pursing them in thought. His eyes twinkle with something, confusion or excitement or something inhuman. Yoshiki is at a loss for what it is, only that when the words finally make their way out, he finds himself wanting to shove them back down 'Hikaru's' throat. "So then…was I yer first?"
Yoshiki parrots lightly on his tongue, before his jaw slackens, so daring, so wrong, so gross—
"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" He snaps, body now fully facing him.
"Ya know," 'Hikaru' vaguely gestures between them, "from before…earlier today when I—"
"You idiot—" Yoshiki's red. Very red. He can feel the heat emanating off himself when he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, stumbling out a quick, gutted, "That…that doesn't count."
"But doesn't it?" 'Hikaru' chimes back, "It's still a kiss, ain't it?"
"It's not," Yoshiki grits. His heart thumps loudly in his chest—suddenly, his gums feel slimy and raw—he hates it.
"Well, it felt like one…" 'Hikaru' drawls, sounding somewhat upset, or maybe irritated.
"What would you know?"
"I just do," He pouts, childishly.
Yoshiki wants to blend this conversation into bits and toss it outside, hoping the next rainfall sends it six meters underground, but…
The picking feeling is back, the one scratching at the edges of his skull, accompanying the headache growing at his temple. He shouldn't ask it, but the topic leers…
It doesn't matter—it's private stuff, but…
His heart feels like it's filling his head, an echo chamber of thoughts, words, and demands… He can't stop himself; it's nearly a whisper, but it doesn't matter, 'Hikaru' still hears him.
"Did Hikaru…ya know…" the words feel wrong, and gross and thick, and he just wants to get them out, "…Did he do that kinda stuff?"
Yoshiki watches 'Hikaru's' reaction, gauging the slight shifts in his position as he cards through whatever memories he has. It takes him a moment to answer before he shakes his head.
"Nah…" he drags, "but he thought about it though…a lot."
A lot.
A weird sense of relief fills his chest before being swallowed by guilt as something else lingers.
Amidst his feelings, Yoshiki can only scoff, mumbling to himself, "Of course he did."
'Hikaru' makes a noise, like he's thinking out loud, "Wait, does that mean yer my first kiss—Aren't those important?"
"I told ya it wasn't a kiss…" Yoshiki groans, kneading his fingers into his temple.
"Wasn't it, though? It's just like—puttin yer lips together, right?"
With the trail of his words, Yoshiki picks it up like an ant, moving it around, dragging it until something comes and clicks and…
This 'Hikaru' doesn't understand.
Was that what this was about…? Recently, he's been on his damn phone so much; had he seen something about kissing? Is that why he won't drop it? And because of earlier…?
These human concepts don't make sense to him. He just can't fit the words right, nor does he understand exactly what's happening around him. Maybe 'Hikaru's' memories aren't helpful at all in that way…or…
Either way, Yoshiki had promised to teach him right…? Even if the conversation isn't something he particularly likes discussing, he should at least explain it to him. Help him understand.
And if not just for him, for the fear of later embarrassment when it inevitably comes back up...
"Nah," Yoshiki evens his tone, "it's different than that, it's something you do with someone ya like…like a girlfriend or somethin'…"
'Hikaru' looks as though he's folding his answer over in his mind before exasperatedly sighing and flopping back in his chair.
"Man, humans are weird…" Yoshiki watches him lean back, tilting the chair's front legs off the floor, "I thought it was just like a hug or somethin'."
"A hug?" Yoshiki chokes, almost laughing. "What even gave ya that idea?"
"Well…" his lip quirrels with itself, and he scratches his neck, "it's supposed to comfort someone, ain't it?"
Yoshiki blinks at him…
"Not exactly…" He eases out, eyes rolling over 'Hikaru', who's just as incapable of sitting still as the old him. The chair legs are already back on the ground, and he's slumped forward over the table, heavily resting his head in his palm.
He's distracted by the table, picking at something in the wood, a splinter maybe…
Yoshiki takes advantage of the lack of eye contact as his gaze more comfortably fits itself to 'Hikaru's' cheek.
The cut lingers; his nail feels heavy on his thumb. An itch, it's all it takes, and he's releasing breath as he removes himself from the sink and goes back to the medicine cabinet to find a small bandaid.
"Ugh, what's it even mean…" 'Hikaru' whines to himself, still fumbling over whatever it is he's tossing around in his head. A thump follows the noise as he lets his head fall onto the table, "So why ain't it a kiss…" He groans into the wood, frustrated.
Yoshikis huffs, but it sounds more like a laugh. 'Hikaru' hears it either way.
"I'm serious, Yoshiki," His tone comes more clearly, and they turn to each other as Yoshiki closes the cabinet, "I just don't get it."
Kissing…
His stomach rolls and his mouth stings. He's trying to forget about it, push it away.
Yoshiki scans 'Hikaru's' face for something, he doesn't know what, but…all he finds is his own discomfort, and a sickening throb in the back of his head.
He groans, "Yer stressin me out."
'Hikaru' peeks up at him, and Yoshiki fiddles with the bandaid in his hand, feeling too big for the space.
He doesn't want to have this conversation again…and even if it's a bit hard to explain…
"It's just something you do when you're dating someone…okay?" he tries, watching 'Hikaru's eyes swirl. "Ya do it with someone ya like."
'Hikaru' frowns, tapping his heel on the floor as his voice gets quieter, "…But I like you."
Instantly, Yoshiki's chest constricts, and his stomach turns upside down. It's hard to breathe.
"Not like that, though."
"But I like ya like that."
He meets 'Hikaru's gaze, brows set, intention and warning in his voice, "No, ya don't."
The bugs outside seem louder suddenly, as if they've slowly filled the room and stuffed it full. Yoshiki takes a step toward 'Hikaru', eyes falling to his fingers, as his voice grows lower, but remains firm.
"This kinda 'like', it's different, okay?"
The wooden floorboards creak under his foot. It makes him feel off balance.
"You shouldn't go around saying that," he hesitates, "people will get the wrong idea."
"But it's true…" 'Hikaru' argues, and Yoshiki comes up beside him, looking down at him—at his slumped, lazy form on the table, head tilting to the side, eyes staring up.
"doesn't matter…" Yoshiki says, handing him the bandaid, "Here."
'Hikaru' looks confused but takes it from him anyway.
Yoshiki vaguely gestures with his eyes, "For yer face."
'Hikaru' doesn't say anything for a moment, and it's enough to let Yoshiki slip away. Enough to let the desire to leave again fill him, to get out of this house, get out of the town, this place…He feels cramped and—he snags his wrist.
"Yoshiki…"
The room is thick, both in sound and density—tension and heat.
"What…?" Yoshiki doesn't face him. 'Hikaru's' hold feels a little desperate, his own pulse fluttering under his touch. His skin feels thin, and his veins, bulbous. It makes him want to pull away, to hide the intrinsic reaction.
"I…I'm sorry for earlier," His words are soft, "the bath, everything…I didn't mean fer it ta—"
"Don't worry about it…" Yoshiki finds 'Hikaru's' eyes.
He sounds sad, genuinely upset at the whole situation, and Yoshiki just wants to shrug it off. What's there to be sorry for…it's not like he knew any better. But that's not what he says—his mouth finds the words before his mind does, "Ya protected me did n'tcha…like you promised you would."
"I mean the..." 'Hikaru's' eyes lower. "Sorry for pushin' ya, I mean, I'm still piecing things together. Hell, I don't even get what I'm feelin' most of the time."
Yoshiki watches 'Hikaru's' features twist. His lips folding slightly, and his eyes pinching like he wants to cry about something, but there's no tears, just discomfort.
Briefly, Yoshiki wonders if he, the monster, feels just as uncomfortable in Hikaru's skin as he does in his own.
The thought lingers, and the next words are easy to say.
"It's okay…"
Something shifts in 'Hikaru's' features, something that makes Yoshiki think he might not believe him but as 'Hikaru' is about to say something the gradual crunch of gravel and the huff of a car engine sizzles in the air. And then there's the bright red hue of a car's tailgate lights slipping in through the open door, and they both turn to watch the car pull into the driveway.
There's a beat or two that passes before 'Hikaru' finally spits something out.
"Yer mamas home."
It probably wasn't what he had wanted to say, but it's what comes out instead. Yoshiki doesn't push, he only hums in acknowledgment, pulling his wrist from his hold.
'Hikaru' lets go easily, and bounces up out of the chair.
"I wonder what's for dinner…" he smiles softly, heading for the door.
He chatters with his mom and sister, livening the space while Yoshiki is stuck in place, staring listlessly at the table.
He hears his mom ask about 'Hikaru's' face, to which he responds that they'd fallen into the stream earlier that day. An easy lie, but it still makes Yoshiki nervous. His mom nags him to put the Band-Aid on it.
And everything about his voice, about the way he fills the space…
It's so warm, so alive…
Yoshiki finds it ironic.
He's the one that's supposed to be alive, and yet he's constantly falling through the folds of existence, struggling to find ground that isn't slowly eating away at his feet. Alive, but withering, like a wilted plant.
This world, a place Yoshiki can't stand, and yet, 'Hikaru' seems excited to nuzzle himself right in the middle of it…
It's something he can't understand.
"Yoshiki…?"
He blinks, turning to find the house suddenly full, his mom and sister behind him in the kitchen, and 'Hikaru' in the chair across from him now, looking up at him with a smile.
"Ya gonna sit, or ya just gonna stand there?" he asks, a playful song on his tongue.
Yoshiki nods slowly, pulling out a chair.
When he sits, 'Hikaru' kicks him under the table, and his foot runs up along his calf, and it makes his muscles instinctively clench. But by the time he settles, 'Hikaru's' already moved on to teasing Kaoru and rambling off about something they'd done earlier at school that day.
Yoshiki can't bring himself to speak. Not that he does often, but…
He's just so…
Maybe it isn't crazy that he stands out like this…Or rather, melting in between it all, while Yoshiki always struggles to stay afloat.
Maybe it isn't crazy.
He dares to feel comfort in the thought.
It makes it easier to believe that it's okay for him to stay…
That it's okay for this moment to last.
His lips feel prickly, as if they'd been numb for a long time.
Yoshiki lets it last.
He finds 'Hikaru's' gaze, a charcoal rim around his iris that bleeds into ash. His pupil holds a dark seed of red that only shimmers against the light if you look long enough to see it bloom open like a bead of blood, sprouting from a small cut. 'Hikaru' smiles at him. Toothy and big. So familiar.
Guilt muddles along the seams of his existence, and Yoshiki turns to the table—hiding.
He will let it last.
“He feels himself buried in those two infinities, the ocean and the sky,
at one and the same time: the one is a tomb; the other is a shroud.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables