Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Long summer nights—the type of nights that had holes punctured into the sky, stars littering the dark spread of space like knives jutting in and out. A shirt with moth-eaten holes.

The same kind of nights that left all the doors open and windows cracked, hoping the day's heat would spread back out into the valley—the early morning, cool and bearable.

Long summer nights.

The kind where Yoshiki draped a thin blanket over his legs and laid back against the floor, shoulder blades agaisnt the hardwood. Wafts of heat and dust cushioned his face as splinters lifted into his shirt. It was the kind of night where he'd lie out on the porch, wearing a worn-in T-shirt and overwashed shorts.

It was the same nights when Hikaru would sprawl out beside him with an airy snore. Drool already teased his mouth, stained with red from the watermelon they’d eaten earlier that day—sweetness dried on his lips. There was a permanent build of sweat along his hairline, short bristles clumping and sticking to his skin. His shirt was always rolled up, leaving his stomach vulnerable, and a hand snaked up underneath, fingers restlessly scratching at something. His legs stretched awkwardly, naked besides his shorts, shorts thin enough to be boxers. They'd stick to his hips and scrunch at his thighs.

His feet were also bare, and trails of bug bites litter the backside of his leg. A weird array always plastered up his calves, and he'd mindlessly itch it throughout the day. Some bites were old and others were raw and puffy, a teary shine rimming the bulbous marks.

Long summer nights.

The nights when Yoshiki would be tired from something as simple as smiling, his lungs aching with the heavy breaths he'd exhausted from laughing. Nights where Yoshiki would crack his eyes open and watch the subtle rise and fall of Hikaru’s chest. Watch his head tilt to the side, his eyes gently closed, relaxed, his usual energetic body limp and calm.

Yoshiki would spend those long summer nights watching him drift off, hoping that they could stay there forever. That they could stay in this moment, this house, no interruptions, nothing. No scolding from his mom that they’d both get sick if they lay out there any longer, or that they’d get sore and achey muscles for the rest of their lives if they made it a habit—but Yoshiki didn’t really mind.

He didn’t mind if those things became true.

On those particular nights, Hikaru always slept soundly and close—close enough he could feel his heat. He radiated like a furnace, especially in the summertime, like he was a great big ball of light that sucked in every hot surface, every sharp glare the sun set upon his head. His skin held proof of it, freckles dusted over his shoulders, up his legs, and over his arms. He often wore red smears of dry skin and burns that stuck to him like patchwork on an old stuffed bear—a scary sight at first, but after a while, it wears itself in comfort and becomes increasingly hard to let go of.

Long summer nights.

Yoshiki misses them.

But not more than he misses Hikaru…

A boy that drew him in like a pond pulled a shy drove of dragonflies—a boy that filled his pupils like light itself, sucked into his very soul, his very being. 

Hikaru. 

Yoshiki exhales, lying against the hardwood floor. 

He never wanted this moment to end, nor did he want the image to fade. Hikaru's red-splotchy face, melon seeds escaping his mouth, and sticking to his cheeks. Hair tousled and muted with sweat, muddled with the streaks of sunlight that had stained them bright, like star dust sticking to his head. His lashes were short, and his brows drawn thin and lax. His inner eyes, vibrant and red, leave the outer to mellow out like ash.

Hikaru…

Yoshiki closes his eyes with a wish, and then he wakes up.

It's never pleasant waking up.

Even less so when it's in the middle of the night.

His dreams hang on him; they're never fully tangible, never breathable.

He’s on his bed—the sheets are rumpled around his frame. The door to his room is shut, and the curtains are drawn. The space is full of shadows that grow among the darkness, building up from the ground in stacks of books and towering like shelves that leer a little too humanly.  

Yoshiki blinks and, rubbing his eyes, he pushes himself up, his mind slowly reeling from the dream.

A dream of summer. Of sweat. Of watermelon. Of night skies. And of….

Yoshiki’s gaze falls down the side of the bed, and he sees the futon spread out with a thin blanket swallowing the small frame tucked underneath.

In the shadows, his hair looks grey, and his skin looks old and blue. Yoshiki's stomach aches, twisting itself into a sickening knot. The body doesn't breathe, it doesn't move.

The memory flashes, pressing itself against the object of his attention and a flicking of red mangles in his hair, and the cold sensations rivet up Yoshiki's fingers, making his hands shake.

Yoshiki feels the turn in his stomach before it climbs his throat.

Quickly, he kicks his blankets off, and—careful not to trip on the body on the floor—rushes out of his room and pads down to the bathroom.

The house feels infinitely louder at night, and he cringes with every step, palms pressed to his mouth.

The door's open, and he slips in, the cold tile seeping through the rough skin of his feet. He grips the edge of the sink before retching. His dinner, flushing itself out as he gags on strings of spit—his throat raw, scratchy with dehydration. He coughs and waits to see if his stomach protests again, but it doesn’t. Instead, the ache seems to settle, and he spits, blinking slowly, staring down at the mush of food.

It crawls away from him, seeping down the drain, leaving brown stains in its wake. His nose curls, and he turns on the water, cleaning the mess in the sink. Leaning forward, he takes some water into his mouth, rinsing the foul, acidic sting from his tongue. 

His breaths come out slow, muted, and everything is numb. He cups his hands under the faucet and dips his head into his palms. He lets himself drown for a moment or two—feeling the sting in his chest deepen, making his heart rapidly flutter—before lifting his oozing face and shaking out his hands.

A low sigh escapes between his teeth, and it strains against his throat.

Yoshiki lifts his chin to the mirror, and he finds his slitted eyes staring back. Tired lines dig beneath his bottom lashes, sickness carved into his cheeks. Moles decorate his face in a way that makes it look like he's littered with illness.

His mouth feels rotted, from his lips to his throat to the pit of his stomach, and the sensation from yesterday swims vaguely inside him. It's something he can't recall, but… The thought of it leaves a phantom pain in his chest. As if some foreign entity had settled between his breast bones… tucked between his ribs.

Yoshiki shakes the image, afraid he'll vomit again.

After dinner, 'Hikaru' had decided to stay the night. He'd used the excuse of somethin' 'bout returnin' parts of an entity in the bathroom, or whatnot—and what was Yoshiki to do but quietly agree.

It's not like it's unusual for 'Hikaru' to sleep over, anyway.

Yoshiki doesn't stare at himself for long. He avoids doing that most of the time.

He dries his hands with a towel and cleans his face.

In the absence of his slurring heart and the pump of adrenaline, he’s hugged by the cold summer night and shivers.

In the wake of his sick spell, sleepiness crawls around his frame once more, and Yoshiki pads quickly and quietly back to bed and tucks himself in. Below him on the floor, the body shifts. Yoshiki ignores it, hoping it settles, but it doesn't—it's only wishful thinking.

“Yo…shiki?” His voice is scratchy, slow, and so much like Hikaru’s that it makes Yoshiki’s skin twitch, enough to make him subconsciously pull the sheets tighter around himself.

He hopes his silence rebuffs 'Hikaru's' prodding, but—

“Yoshiki—”

“What?” The word is rough inside his mouth and tastes like vomit.

'Hikaru' hesitates before asking, “Where’d ya go?”

“Bathroom.”

He’s quiet after his question is satisfied, and Yoshiki tries to huddle further into his mattress and prays that sleep takes him quickly.

But, with the closing of his eyes, he’s met with that face. The same face over and over again.

Yoshiki's sotmach whines, and the bedding on the floor crinkles. He knows he’s about to say something before 'Hikaru' even opens his mouth.

“Yoshiki?” He whispers, and Yoshiki attempts to ignore his pestering yet again, “Yoshiki…”

But he doesn’t stop, and with each muffle of his name, he gets louder. Yoshiki decides he’s tired of it within the fifth chime of his name, and he grumbles into his pillow, “Go ta sleep.”

“Can I sleep with ya?”

Yoshiki cracks his eye open.

“Why?”

“'Cause I'm cold,” he pouts, his lips twisting in such a way that Hikaru’s never would have, a face that so uncanny that it makes Yoshiki's stomach turn again. He looks like a begging dog, eyes hopeful, curving into crescent moons, lips pulling in a tired, lonesome smile—

“Just go back ta sleep,” Yoshiki huffs, expecting him to fight him on it. A slight draft of wind taps against the roof, making the house feel hollow.

He doesn't fight it.

“Okay…”

His voice is quiet, but ridden with an emotion that makes Yoshiki wince….. Had it been anyone else's voice, he probably wouldn’t have glanced back. Hikaru and ‘Hikaru’.  They aren’t the same. They're two completely different things, two different creatures, different people, yet his voice cracks the same way Hikaru’s always did when he was upset. His smile still pulls oddly, and his laugh holds the same pitch….but…he's someone—no something…

“‘Hikaru’,” the name settles on his tongue, a whisper. The boy on the ground makes no notice of hearing.

Yoshiki grows cold. He tries to collect the sheet around him, but the fabric seethes with ice, and he’s shivering from the inside out. His fingers curl into his shirt, and he lets his eyes return to the center of his focus—to this world that’s been carved out and refilled with something he doesn’t know or understand…but he wants to.

It’s a small frame swaddled with a blanket.

The creature is always cold.

Unlike Hikaru.

He had said before that he didn’t really feel the cold or that it didn’t affect him, because he couldn’t really feel anything at all…

Goosebumps lap Yoshiki's arms and legs, making him tremble. For some reason, a reason that isn’t as unknown as he’d like it to be, he caves rather easily and slips a cold arm over to pat the side of the bed.

The movement causes ‘Hikaru’ to blink awake, as he was clearly struggling to sleep. He looks at the hand extended toward him with a confused expression, red pupils flickering to Yoshiki’s palm, pressing into the mattress.

He doesn't know what he’s supposed to do. Possibly ridden with stupidity by sleep or because this isn’t exactly normal for Yoshiki either, not since he'd found out what he is.

“Yoshiki?” he whispers, pupils growing like a puddle of blood, or rather a blooming rose that eats at his eyes. The grey is tinted with a white glare that captures a small reflection from the small slit between the curtain flaps. His eyes look glazed over but focused as if he’s never been so serious about anything in his entire life.

Yoshiki pats the bed again, "Hurry up—"

‘Hikaru’ gapes at him, a fish blowing bubbles, before stuttering to his feet and climbing up onto his bed.

Yoshiki lifts the sheets to make it easier and scoots back to make more room.

They slowly, awkwardly, settle under the blanket.

It's cramped and uncomfortable.

‘Hikaru’s' body is weird, and there's an odd sensation whenever Yoshiki touches him. Sometimes he feels like an icepack beneath a thin blanket. The longer he stays in contact, the colder he becomes. He'll start to feel the ice slipping through the fabric, or rather, skin in this case.

‘Hikaru’ shifts and the bed squeaks, making Yoshiki snap, “Quit movin’ around so much.”

“Sorry,” ‘Hikaru’ whispers, “geez...” 

As he settles, Yoshiki lies facing away from him, waiting for the inevitable warmth to slip away and be replaced with the calm numbness that comes with ‘Hikaru’. He waits for it, eyes staring into the back of his lids, imagining anything but the thing behind him. Yoshiki waits, but it never comes. The cold never returns. It's as if 'Hikaru's' heart had melted around them and poured into the sheets, kindling warmth like a brick oven.

A slight sheen of sweat blooms on Yoshiki’s forehead, beading along his hairline, but he doesn’t mind. He prefers being hot over being cold.

They settle eventually, and just when Yoshiki thinks that ‘Hikaru’ has finally fallen asleep, there's a soft mumble from his side—so soft he nearly misses it.

“Thanks.”

His chest clenches, his stomach warbling with an unfamiliar need. 

Yoshiki's insides feel warm and hot, and so do his outsides. A summer night cradled within the small bed that holds two bodies.

Yoshiki and ‘Hikaru’ don’t touch; their limbs are far apart, yet they're closer than they’ve ever been.

Yoshiki almost doesn’t say anything back in favor of pretending to be asleep, but…

"Hikaru…” The name tastes funny, like it's filling his mouth in all the wrong ways, "Goodnight."

'Hikaru' freezes behind him, and it takes a few seconds of holding his breath before he returns it.

"Goodnight."

Turned away from him, Yoshiki can almost forget who's saying it. He latches onto that, the feeling that burns in his chest, his skin melts, and his limbs grow limp, giving in to the grilling temperature spawned between them. 

Yoshiki wakes with a numb backside.

Light seeps into the room, worming through the slit between the curtains. It's a warm line that cuts over his legs.

He shifts, moaning softly, as sleep slinks out of his frame.

He tries to move to weed out the numb tingling sensation, but he’s halted by a weight on his stomach—and something wedging between his legs.

Yoshiki murmurs, expecting it to be an odd fold in his clothes or blanket, but as he moves to push the feeling away, he's met with something heavier. Something that hangs over his skin, tickling his stomach.

It feels oddly bony and firm. His brows twinge in confusion as drowsiness leaks from his ears. He shifts his legs together, but slows, feeling the hard presence of something and—Yoshiki's eyes snap open. With a pump of blood to his cheeks, he’s awake and a little too aware of his body, or rather the body pressed up against him, arm dropped over his side, legs tangled, and a hot but soft brush of a breath fanning over his neck.

Yoshiki freezes. His heart, pulsating in his ears.

His body tenses because ‘Hikaru’…he's holding him from behind, snuggling up against him, chest to back, legs splitting his own, nose warmly pressing into the knob of his spine. His hand, lightly over his stomach under Yoshiki’s shirt.

Yoshiki's mind is fuzzy—he’s so close. It takes a moment for him to remember how and when this happened: the upset stomach, the cold, his small request, and ‘Hikaru’ slipping under the covers.

Yoshiki exhales as softly as he can.

Yoshiki doesn’t know what to do: to swat him away, crawl away, wake him up, snap at him, or stay still and hope he moves first. Yoshiki doesn’t know how long they’ve been like this; he’s not sure, but if his mom were to walk in… would that be weird? There have been times when Hikaru and he had to share a bed, but never… never like this, never touching like…at least not in the same way this feels. Nervousness and cold sweat frame his brows, and another pressing matter becomes present: the pressure on Yoshiki’s bladder, the need to pee, which becomes ever so important.

Yoshiki moves slowly, not to jostle the body behind him and…shit, he really has to pee.

Yoshiki moves, and with it, ‘Hikaru’ shifts, murmuring against his neck, making him even more uncomfortable. His abdomen throbs, and blood rushes downward. His face is hot, and he knows that he’s blazing red. His mind is wandering, feeling so many new things: ‘Hikaru’s’ cold feet rubbing against his own, the way his fingers lay against Yoshiki's stomach, and the tickle of his nose against his skin.

He coughs, feeling hot, far too hot, too hot to possibly be normal—a thick feeling of disgust bubbles in his stomach. And the feeling intensifies when ‘Hikaru’ whispers something against his neck, something that sounds like, “Stop….movin'.” 

It’s all Yoshiki needs to pull himself from 'Hikaru's' hold—thankfully, 'Hikaru' seems sleepy enough not to pull him back.

He fights the sheets before stumbling over ‘Hikaru’ and off the bed to the bathroom, leaving the boy to grasp at the empty spot beside him.

In the bathroom, Yoshiki relieves his bladder, but it doesn’t completely relieve the pressure between his legs. He turns the sink on immediately and splashes his face with cold water, hoping that if he gets his temperature down, he’ll be normal again and feel less…gross.

Instead, he's just more aware of the sweat that clings to every surface of his skin. The feeling doesn't go away.

Shower, he thinks, an embarrassingly desperate thought, he should shower. Maybe it'll help.

Thankfully, it seems no one else is awake just yet.

And so when he's safely locked away in the wetroom, he lets the shower's loudness mute his existence. Yoshiki sits on the stool and hopes the drawl of water will slip and burn away the feeling that etches itself under his glass skin—glass that’s trapped between cracking and melting into nothingness.

It's only after an insufferable amount of time that Yoshiki eventually peels himself from the wet room and gets dressed, leaving his hair sodden to drip along the towel slung around his neck.

His mom's call for breakfast had been vague vibrations agaisnt the wall while he was in the shower. And so, when he finally makes his way to the kitchen, Yoshiki holds his head down, trying to keep himself from oozing into a puddle.

His mom's greeting is snippy: "About time."

Kaoru sits across from her, next to 'Hikaru'.

'Hikaru's' gaze is already settled on him, and he gives him an easy smile—like this is normal.

And it kinda is normal…if he can forget about the last 24 hours.

The sun is up, but the mountains cushion its heat and hide it from view. It leaves the sky empty in the mornings with nothing but the press of hot orange leaking into blue, shoving itself into every crevice of the sky.

Mornings are always chillier, nicer—the roll of birds' songs and the swarm of insects, danty and less suffocating.

"Eat fast before it gets cold," His mother gestures across the table, and Yoshiki sits down.

"Thanks for the food…" He mumbles and begins to eat.

His mom's gaze lingers on his head, and she sighs, "All that time, and you didn't even dry your hair properly."

"I'll dry it after breakfast." He huffs, shoving rice into his mouth, and it seems to satisfy her.

They eat, and there's an easy chatter between his mom and his sister, 'Hikaru' joining in to ask random things, but not without him rubbing his toes agaisnt Yoshiki's foot. Yoshiki ignores it.

He feels a bit disheveled still, a slight ache in his stomach that rotates every time he tries to swallow. He's not exactly hungry, but he knows if he doesn't eat, he'll be hungry later.

It's not hot yet, but the fan's already on, whirring across the room.

His skin feels oddly sticky despite having just taken a shower. And his clothes feel almost too big and too tight at the same time, like he just can't fit into anything. Everything feels wrong, his skin wrung out, and scrubbed so hard he's sure most of his belly and legs are red and raw.

He feels foreign, like he shouldn't be here, not after this morning, not after everything that's been going on.

He feels eyes, like there's dozens of them, pricking at his skin, tryna crawl inside and dig out of the gross and disgusting parts of him. Wring him out like a rag and toss the remains.

His heart thumps, and guilt lingers in every action—every move, drawing jagged and a little uneasy. He feels like he's shaking, but he can't tell if he is. Or maybe the blood in his ears is just too loud, and it's making his veins pulse unnaturally.

The only thing he can do is focus on eating, one bite after another—even if it all sits flat on his tongue…even if it all turns to ash, as if the heat of what he's done festers there, and melts away anything good.

"I have to head in to work today… " The words prick his ears and worm in oddly, pulling him from the thoughts, "I had someone reschedule an appointment."

His mom's voice is grungy, and he clings to it, focusing on the way Kaoru perks up at the statement.

"Is it Tachibana-san?" Kaoru asks, pitching their mother's attention, who's busy cleaning up.

Yoshiki glances at her as she hums, washing out her rice bowl.

"Can I come?"

"If you finish your breakfast," She sends her half-eaten bowl a side eye, and Kaoru pouts, but eventually caves and begins to work on her food.

Across from him, Yoshiki spies 'Hikaru's' dishes, and he's nearly done. He's always been a fast eater, and even in this form…it still surprises him, even if it shouldn't.

"Is Tachibana-san having troubles with her parents again—?" Kaoru piques, mouth full, earning a small scolding.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth—and you're not supposed to know that."

"How am I not?" Kaoru huffs, "You all talk so loud."

Instead of rebutting or denying it, their mom redirects her to her food again, "Well, I'm leaving in 10 minutes, so you better hurry."

And she does.

Kaoru finished almost all her rice and some pickled vegetables. She only eats some fish, but their mom doesn't fight her on it too much. His mom cleans most of the table, but leaves some out for Yoshiki to finish.

"You boys have fun," she chimes, a click of keys and shuffle of her bag. "and Yoshiki—"

"I'll dry my hair." He finishes, and she smiles at him. He catches it, and it feels weird on his skin, like he isn't supposed to see it.

"Use the blow dryer," she messes with his hair, cringing when the strands are a bit bitter. "It's better for it."

Kaoru and his mom finally leave, and it makes the room—the house—feel a lot larger. It makes the person across from him feel more present, more baring…and it becomes increasingly hard to ignore him.

Yoshiki wonders how long he can go without saying anything, and 'Hikaru' lasts about ten seconds.

"What's up with Tachibana-san?"

It's a light enough question that Yoshiki almost feels grateful for the distraction. Almost.

"I don't know," he shrugs, taking some pickled vegetable from the table, the last bit of it.

The thought of gossip rolls over him like a heat flash.

"Is she the real tall lady who works down at that fancy shop?" His face scrunches in thought, tapping the table, "The um…hmm, I forgot the name…"

Yoshiki knows what he's referring to and lets him fumble around for a moment before muttering, "She works at the flower shop by Mion."

'Hikaru' lets out an awed noise, "Right…Wonder what's up with her…"

Maybe he's expecting an answer from Yoshiki because of how his eyes burrow into him. But instead of prying, his gaze shifts into something resembling concern.

"What's wrong?" He asks quietly, eyes flickering around like he's watching something worth such care, "You seem…mad."

"'m not." Yoshiki stuffs his face full of rice… the bowl's practically empty, he's running out of excuses to be quiet.

"Ya' are." 'Hikaru' argues, pouting. He squints his eyes like he's trying to take a closer look, "your mouth always does that thing, makes ya look like ya gotta take a dump."

Yoshiki's head snaps up, "It does not—"

Annoyance immediately ranges his gut, but instead of being met with a sturdy face, 'Hikaru' leans back, pointing at him with a laugh bellowing out, "Yer making it right now," and Yoshiki grumbles, finding himself unable to eat anymore…

"No, but really, what's got ya worked up, huh?" 'Hikaru' winds down, words stuffing between breaths, "Yah don't like Tachibana-san or somethin'?"

Yoshiki opens his mouth to answer, but the turmoil bubbling inside is thick and strong, and he doesn't like the weight of it on his tongue. Instead, he closes it, sighing—more irritated than anything else.

"No, not that…" and that's true. He doesn't really care for anything that has to do with anyone. Yoshiki's never understand the pleasure in gossip; it's always just settled in his stomach poorly. Under 'Hikaru's' scrutiny, he eventually fits the feeling into words, "I just don't see why people gotta get all up in her business…"

"Why not?" He asks, "I think it's fun." 'Hikaru's' tone seems light, but there's this odd emptiness to it that makes Yoshiki think that maybe he doesn't fully grasp what it means.

And maybe that comment makes Yoshiki's words come out a little harsher than he intends.

"Would you like people all up in yer business…?"

He stumbles for a moment, before mumbling, "…I…guess not."

His voice is quiet in contrast to the way he breathes, his nose twitching a bit, lifting a little weird, almost animalistically—like something's caught his attention.

It's peculiar, watching his features shift for a brief moment into something dark and dense. But it's gone in an instant, and replaced with a rather dry and irritated look.

He sniffs again, and it drags through his nose, whistling. It almost sounds like it's clogged. Weird. As far as Yoshiki knows, 'Hikaru' doesn't even need to breathe at all.

"Ya got a cold or sumthin'?"

"Nah," 'Hikaru's' faces morphs like he's trying to hide an expression, "just somethin's botherin me."

There's nothing wrong with the answer, but it doesn't feel entirely honest. It doesn't sit right with him, leaving a cool thin layer of ice to settle under his skin.….it's unnerving, and makes Yoshiki want to leave.

He does.

He's practically done eating anyway, and so he grabs his rice bowl and the few remaining dishes to wash them off in the sink.

"Yer done?" 'Hikaru' follows, leaning against the table, watching him finish.

Yoshiki hums, feeling his gaze slink down his back, from his head to his feet—or maybe it's his imagination; he can't exactly see his gaze, nor does he want to.

"What are we doing today?" 'Hikaru' asks. There's still something tense in his voice, something strained—just a tad.

The whirl of a faint sniff juts in—between the breaths he shouldn't be taking right now.

"I don't know," Yoshiki shrugs, "I'm gonna dry my hair first."

"I can help!" 'Hikaru' bounces as Yoshiki wipes his hands dry. He gives him a screwed look, wondering what he could possibly do to actually help.

"Don't need it," He slides past him towards the bathroom, and 'Hikaru' trails after him and whines.

"Come on…"

In the tiny little room, Yoshiki doesn't tell him to leave, nor does he tell him to stay. The weird part of him that craves loneliness also fears it, and it seems as though any option right now is just as painful as the other.

The bathroom is split into two, the wet room with the shower head and the tub, and then the sink and the laundry bin in the other. The counter's a bit messy, but not disorganized, and the whole room sits in a warm teal tone that reflects off the walls and makes it feel as though it's submerged in water.

The light is on, but it's dim, and most of the heat filters in from the wet room, pressing against the fogged glass.

The blow dryer is in the top cabinet; it's new, the cables are not knotted or worn thin, and the paint is all one clean coat. It hasn't had the chance to be ruined yet.

Yoshiki doesn't usually blow-dry his hair, but with his mother's more recent nagging about how straw-like and dried out it feels, he's been more tempted to. She's been tellin' that he's going to have it all broken by the time he's thirty if he keeps letting the summer heat dry it out. It had eventually irritated him enough to make him cave… besides, it's too early in the day to air dry it anyway.

The silence is long and loud, nothing but the shuffle of cable and Yoshiki ruffling his hair a little bit more with the towel to get most of the water out…

There's a lot that goes unsaid.

This room, stuffed and dense with memories of yesterday. At least they aren't in the wet room where it'd happened, but the thought of it sticks in an uncomfortable way. 'Hikaru's' gaze drifts over to the closed door, and he stares at it—as if something's inside.

He doesn't say anything, though, and when Yoshiki turns on the blow dryer, the suffocating sound fills the room. 'Hikaru's' attention zaps to him, and all of a sudden, he's too close, all up in Yoshiki's personal space, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Oh, yer mama's got one of them fancy ones—"

"She got it last month… from Tokyo," he turns the pressure down, making it easier to talk over—it'll take a moment to heat up anyway, "it was a birthday present from Grandma."

"Can I try it?" 'Hikaru' asks, hands already reaching for it, only to get swatted away.

"No."

He frowns, "Please…"

"You'll break it."

"I'll be careful."

'Hokaru's eyes grow, as if they bulge with excitement, and his lips curl with hope. There's a sparkle in his eyes, and it nearly looks animated by the way they shake. And, Yoshiki looks at the dryer…it wouldn't hurt to just let him try it out.

"Just…" He exhales and hands it to him. "Don't pull on the cord… and don't break it—"

"Yes!" He snatches it with his greedy hands, and it's so fast and abrupt that Yoshiki doubts he heard a single thing he said. He fiddles with it, turning it around so that the end blowing out air slaps him in the face, "WHOA— " his voice is cut and muffled by the air, "It feels like one of those fans but extra fast and hot—Whoooooo," He sings into, bouncing happily…

Yoshiki starts regretting his decision, and reaches for it, "If yer just gonna mess around, give it back."

"No, no," He holds it away from Yoshiki's grasping hand, "I'll help—what do I do?"

Yoshiki considers his options, and as appealing as taking it back sounds, the grip 'Hikaru' has on the dryer isn't loosening any time soon. And to be honest, Yoshiki is already tired, done, and exhausted by a day that's barely even begun…He gives in, ignoring the fact that maybe a small part of him twinges at the idea. But the feeling is small, nearly nonexistent, and shoved so deeply inside himself it's better off just lying there untouched.

"Just use it to dry my hair," he grumbles, turning around and sitting on the floor. He's too tall to even hope to give 'Hikaru' a chance at properly drying it standing.

"So I just aim it at ya—Oh, it's like those water guns—"

"Sure…" he agrees, and in a way, it kind of is…if you didn't think about it too hard.

Once settled, 'Hikaru' kneels behind him too, and Yoshiki feels his shadow loom in the dimly lit room. The floor is cool, and there's a slowly growing buzz from outside that mingles with the growing press of the dryer. It's still on a lower setting, though, so at least it isn't impossible to hear each other over.

Yoshiki guides him.

"Ok, face the air toward me and—ACK," he jumps, feeling something sear into the back of his head, "not so close. It's hot," he scowls, hand coming to palm over the stinging skin. From this position, looking back at him, 'Hikaru' is slightly angled above and it makes it easy to see the way his expression shifts.

"This is hot?"

His eyes seem to gleam at it, and he moves the dryer to blow in his face again, only this time putting his own palm agaisnt the air, nearly sealing it shut. Yoshiki watches him uneasily. By now, the dryer is more than hot, scalding if it's that close to his skin, but 'Hikaru' doesn't flinch. He, if anything, seems rather relaxed by it.

Pain isn't really something 'Hikaru' feels, something he can't really recognize. At least that's what he's told him. In fact, he also seems really enamored with warm things. Yoshiki's mind bubbles, and there's something so unsettling, so foreign about it. A reminder that this 'Hikaru' is something else, something beyond human comprehension, and yet…

There's an odd desire to ask.

"What's it feel like?" The sound of hot air nearly drowns his voice, but 'Hikaru' still hears him.

"Warm…" He hums, eyes closing, "it's nice…"

Yoshiki watches his features relax, a boyish, calm expression—something rare on him nowadays.

The outer skin of 'Hikaru's' palm seems a bit red, and even if he doesn't feel anything, Yoshiki feels obligated to warn him before his skin begins to peel in ways that look like old wallpaper.

"Don't keep yer hand there too long."

"Oh," 'Hikaru' pulls away and looks at his palm. It seems fine by his expression, and he doesn't pay it any attention, and rather turns it to face Yoshiki again, "Okay, Ready?" He smiles, and there's something so suffocating, so pressing about it that Yoshiki can help but shift, turning his back to 'Hikaru' and keeping his legs crossed.

"Yeah, just be careful."

"I know, I know." He giddily hums and begins to dry his hair. It's a bit unnatural at first, unpracticed, but he gets the hang of it. Yoshiki tells him how to turn up the dial to make the air faster, and he messes with it a bit. As he works around the wet hair 'Hikaru' picks up some sections for better angles, shifting his position. He starts at the back, then moves around to shuffle in front of him to dry his bangs.

Yoshiki jumps when the wind blasts his eyes, and he curses 'Hikaru' out, clamping them shut. "Turn it down," He snaps, and 'Hikaru' fumbles with it, mumbling a quiet apology.

There's a certain angle you need to dry bangs at or else they always come out looking a little too big and bushy, but Yoshiki doesn't really care to lecture 'Hikaru' on it right now; besides, he'll be sweaty by the end of the day, and his hair will naturally flatten again.

He's nearly done when 'Hikaru' asks, voice a little loud over the dryer.

"Why don'tcha use this kinda thing more often? It's really fun!"

"The summer's hot enough," Yoshiki shrugs, "…but Ma's been buggin' me about it too…says it's too dry'n all…"

'Hikaru' scoffs, "It's not that dry. Look," He puts the dryer on the ground, and it spins like a pinwheel as the air hits the wall. 'Hikaru' takes Yoshiki's bangs and slicks them between his hands to make them stick up. His hair is thin and just barely damp enough to shoot up a little, although it drips unequally like a wilting flower at the tips. Still, 'Hikaru' laughs at it, "It can stand up by itself, haha—"

"Quit it—"Yoshiki groans, flattening his hand over it, forcing it back down—He decides his hair's dry enough. It gives him an excuse to move, and he grabs the dryer from the floor, turning it off as 'Hikaru' bounds forward, nearly crashing their faces together. It's only saved by Yoshiki's jerked reaction to pull back.

"Can you do me next?"

"Huh…" Yoshiki pauses, "What?"

"Use the blowy thing on me?"

"You mean the blow dryer?"

Yoshiki blinks.

"Yeah, that!"

"No…" he drags, confused, staring at his dry hair, "yer hair needs to be wet."

"Then I'll get it wet, wait—" He stands abruptly, and slides the wet room door open, practically darting to the shower head. Yoshiki barely has time to get any words out.

"Hey—that's my shirt, don't—"

"Oh, right—"As if the shirt was the only problem with this, he pulls it off and throws it at Yoshiki, hitting him in the face. It nearly knocks him over out of surprise, and he sputters and tosses it to the floor. But by the time he's gotten it out of his face, 'Hikaru's' head is already under the shower head as he holds it up and moves it around to get everything wet.

It's quick, impulsive, messy, and he barely hooks the shower back onto the wall before turning around.

"There….do me now."

Yoshiki gapes, eyes struggling to stay in one place. He looks like a drenched rat, hair sticking to his forehead, a few shades darker than normal. Droplets cascade down his face, teasing the edge of his jaw. They spill in individual lines like tears, some even moving to his neck and sliding down his bare chest. Over his collar bones and towards the slight dips between his— "Wathca lookin' at?"

Yoshiki's eyes snap back up.

'Hikaru's' grinning. It's smug. And Yoshiki might as well stuff his face in the floor; maybe that would numb the flare in his cheeks and the twinge of something roasting along his nape. He frowns and grits out, trying to hide his face with his bangs.

"Nothin'."

It's not convincing to either of them.

He's such an idiot.

Yoshiki sighs, sneaking a glance at his drenched head, "If you're gonna dry your hair, at least actually wash it first."

"Ah, but I don't—" Yoshiki's face must have settled back becasue 'Hikaru' just huffs and agrees, "fine."

He quickly washes his hair, using Yoshiki's shampoo, or rather the stuff his mom had bought and they all just use. Yoshiki has to make him shampoo twice, because he tries to wash it off without even rubbing it in, but eventually they're seated back to how they were, only now 'Hikaru' has Yoshiki's towel around his neck—his hair, after being tousled with the towel, is spiky and thin.

'Hikaru' has closed the wet room door. The shower was cold enough to avoid a build-up of thick steam; there isn't a reason to keep it open, but Yoshiki thinks the action is more so because of everything else that had occurred inside that room.

To be honest, he prefers it closed, too.

"Okay, ready." 'Hikaru' sits on the ground, despite not really needing to. Yoshiki doesn't question it and joins him on the floor.

"Turn around."

He obeys quickly, excitedly sitting criss-cross and holding his legs, rocking a bit, unable to sit still. Yoshiki turns the blow dryer back on. His back is facing the door to the wet room, and Hikaru is turned away from him.

"Ahhh, that's nice…" He hums. The sound of his voice melds with the dryer—a sound that fills the space like bugs churring at night, and scorching the summer sky with blistering heat.

As he dries his hair, 'Hikaru' teeters a bit too frequently and when Yoshiki tells him to stop moving he only drags out a long vowel in response.

Once it dries it also lifts a little more than usual. Usually, sweat makes it sleek and weighs it down, but now it's a bit puffy and soft. Yoshiki moves the hair around to direct the heat to specific areas. It's pillowy against his hands, and it feels super light.

'Hikaru' shifts under his touch and leans into his hand. He follows it as if the heat from Yoshiki's palm is more satisfying than the warmth spit out by the artificial air pressing into his skull.

Maybe it is—to him at least.

Yoshiki is careful, not sure if it's because he's scared or because he's never done this before, at least with him—with his sister, yeah, but not 'Hikaru'….not with Hikaru either.

Eventually, the job's practically done, and both their heads are freshly dry, with a slightly more shiny, light bounce to them.

Yoshiki finally shifts back and reaches up to place the dryer on the messy counter, and the towel slinks off 'Hikaru's' shoudlers and onto the floor. Yoshiki glances at it and asks for 'Hikaru' to hand it to him, but he doesn't move. Yoshiki puffs, leaning over to pick it up and sling it over the sink to dry.

He's about to stand up, when a faint scratch itches his ears, and he looks closer at 'Hikaru's' back, his head now bent, a wilting plant.

The silence is more noticeable now, harder to ignore. Yoshiki sits back on the floor.

Watching. Waiting for 'Hikaru' to move, to say anything, but he doesn't.

'Hikaru' instead, is quiet, picking at the ground, although there's nothing but small pellets of water.

He doesn't say anything for a while, as if he's deep in thought, or just somewhere else entirely.

It grows unnerving quickly, even with the warming orange light that hovers at the wet room door; he can't fight the feeling that settles on his shoulders. It nips at Yoshiki's skin and pricks lightly down his spine like pops of cracking oil.

Subconsciously, like an instinct woven through years, Yoshiki follows the impulse to reach out, "'Hikaru'?"

He doesn't respond, so he tries again.

"'Hikaru'?"

"Hmm?" He eventually hums, "Wha—? Oh," His hand moves to his hair, and he tousles it, as if he's suprised to find it dry. "Right, thanks."

The previous enthusiasm is now absent from his body, something sitting oddly on his shoulders in a way that makes him look smaller, somehow.

Yoshiki wonders if he should get up off the floor, get closer, anything. He's anxious, unsure how to approach him. The switch in his deamour isn't something he knows how to handle, not that he really knows how to handle him at all.

He's only eased a little when 'Hikaru' finally mumbles.

"Yoshiki?"

The name's spoken softly, and it's not a completely foreign tone, but it's something Yoshiki has yet to get used to. He can't fight the sick, nervous feeling racking his stomach. But he also can't exactly leave, or just walk away.

"What is it…?" He encourages, hoping that maybe whatever weight lays over his shoulders will be easy meat to pry.

'Hikaru' turns a bit, facing Yoshiki, although keeping his head bowed.

"You'll get mad." A guilty tone weaves through his words, distorting them.

It makes Yoshiki's more curious than he should be, and he has a gut feeling he knows where this is going. His memories are still fresh, the sensation under his skin still tight and hot.

"Well then, don't say it."

'Hikaru' has more of a reaction to that.

"But—I…" he groans, more expression returning to his actions, yet the weight remains, as if it's clinging to his face, his features, making him twitch, "just…it's… it's bothering me a whole lot…" He inhales, sharply, almost whiny, "'an I just don't know why."

Yoshiki gets the feeling he shouldn't have asked, but part of him thinks that maybe knowing is a good thing.

"Then just tell me."

And, with a guilty expression, "It's about…yesterday…"

He holds onto the words, hesitant to let them go.

Yoshiki's not surprised at them either, with his insistence yesterday, it didn't seem like something that would get swept up under the rug like that.

"Is it about the whole kissing thing?" It feels weird to say it out loud, not that he's acknowledging it as a kiss, but because it wasn't. It shouldn't be. It should be completely unrealistic to even consider it that and yet…It's not like 'Hikaru' understood it at all…

"It's not like I can help it…" 'Hikaru' laments, and Yoshiki can't help but feel sorry for him.

Maybe he just needs to ask more questions, understand him better. Maybe that'll help him weed out the discomforts, figure him out, and piece him back together or…something like that. Yoshiki isn't really sure what he's doing either.

He's gripping onto something he doesn't understand, and he's too high up to just let go.

"Why are you so hung up on that?" He ends up asking, and 'Hikaru' looks at him. There's this nervous, self-conscious look that makes his eyes squirm inhumanely.

"I don't know…" His mouth twist, "I…Ugh," He holds his head in his hands, "I just…" he exhales, dropping them back to his lap, staring at them as if they'll tell him what to say. "There are just… a few things that are botherin' me—what ya said…"

His wording is confusing, Yoshiki watches him, careful but, ready to plunge, "What I said?"

"What ya said yesterday," He continues, pursing his lips as if trying to consider whether or not he should say it. Although, in the end, he always seems to turn to honesty…no matter what he wants, "…about not likin' ya… I—ya said I didn't…and that ain't true." His gaze snaps up, and Yoshiki feels the point of his words, "I like ya a lot ya know…I…was just tryna understand yesterday, I didn't mean to go and…"

Yoshiki recoils, at first, he wants to argue with him—that it's just how it needs to be, that if he hears those words spoken aloud, or if anyone else does…

And yet, there's this lingering, haunting, soul-grasping feeling that he can't look away, that he has to address this, because if he doesn't, something worse will happen. Guilt or fear, he doesn't know, but there's this itch infesting his chest, and he can't help but scratch it and make it worse.

"I'm sorry…"

"Yer…" 'Hikaru' pauses, and confusion clouds his features.

Yoshikis's stomach churns. His hands feel sticky, and there's an invisible residue that lies there, and the gnawing twinge of guilt that twists his intestines.

'Hikaru's feelings… they are weird, not really something he understands, but, at the same time…

"I didn't think about how that mighta felt…" He mumbles, burning under 'Hikaru's' gaze. "…But, ya really can't—shouldn't go around sayin' those things, especially when it's about…things like that…"

"Why?"

It's not entirely annoying, surprisingly, that he asks it—he understands that these concepts must be weird and contradicting to someone like him.

Yoshiki takes a breath.

"Because ya just can't," and heaves it out, "it's not…normal."

"I'm not really normal though…" 'Hikaru' scoffs, and Yoshiki finds the little red gem in his eyes, and they seem oddly sour. Something switches in his tone, no malice, just genuine, soft words that feel like leakage from somewhere inside, "Do ya want me to be? …Normal?"

The words strike him oddly.

Normal…

What does that even mean anymore, to him it's different than what it is to 'Hikaru'.

Sure, Yoshiki wants everything to be normal again, for Hikaru to be here, for everything to just slot perfectly back into place, and yet…that kind of normal is impossible now.

Unachievable, because Hikaru is never coming back…that life is already lost.

Yoshiki's stomach grows heavy; he'd prefer it if things could just be—but that isn't the case, and ultimately, "I don't know…"

'Hikaru's' eyes twitch, and there's a slight glint across his lens, good or bad, he doesn't know. Yoshiki doesn't understand his habits enough to be able to tell, but he seems somehow brighter, even by just a little.

And maybe because of that, he gains some confidence.

"Hey, Yoshiki…?"

'Hikaru' teeters ever so closer, shifting onto his knees.

"Can I ask ya somethin' else?"

And at this point in time, the situation isn't any better than any other.

Might as well.

"What…?" He drags skeptically.

"It's…" 'Hikaru' starts fast enough for it to get stuck in his throat, and he has that wild, conflicted look on his face, that would be a bit funny if it was on anyone else. He groans, "I just can't stop thinkin' about it… the kiss—I know you said it wasn't but I…" Yoshiki has to fight from sighing and walking out the door. "It's making me feel weird…thinkin' about it 'n all…I… it was weird… probably not somethin' you'd get but being inside ya…it was…real relaxin', you know…made me feel real nice and I can't—"

"Don't say it like that—"

And although there's bite in Yoshiki's words, he still registers that something in 'Hikaru's' voice suggests that he just wants to understand—and even if it's taxing on Yoshiki, there is some guilt in leaving him in this type of distress.

"But I can't help it…I just…I just feel this way!"

And he should move on, or maybe he shouldn't. To be honest, Yoshiki feels like he's constantly walking around a thawing lake. One wrong step and he's through.

"We really shouldn't be talking about this stuff," he mumbles to himself.

"What stuff?"

Yoshiki exhales. He'll just do what feels right.

That's all he can do, right?

Maybe he just needs to understand him better. Understand why those thoughts stuff his head with so much nonsense.

It's a little embarrassing, saying it out loud, but it's sure as hell a lot better than possibly having it happen in front of someone else later—Yoshiki bites the bullet.

"If it really bothers ya…" He starts, hesitating, "Maybe if I understood ya better I could, explain it ta ya. The—thing—that happened yesterday…was it like… the other day when I…when you," his eyes flicker to 'Hikaru's' chest, his hand feeling phantom sensations, something heavy and wet.

"Um kinda," 'Hikaru' shrugs, "it just…feels real nice."

"Like a pat on the head?"

'Hikaru's face winds up, and his eyes hone in on something on the ground.

"I don't know, ya just feel good ya know… real warm too."

There's a lick of fondness on his tongue, Yoshiki ignores how soft his voice turns. His mind flashing back to the moment, his hand plunged into his chest, being swaddled and sucked—grabbed by the large, gummy mass inside him. The feeling of it crawling up his arms, under his skin—he shivers.

"Ya sure it really feels like that…?" His face, the harsh pants huffing past his ears, and the long, dragged-out sound that strung itself from 'Hikaru's' throat, a low beated sound of something akin to pleasure, "Is it…the same as what you mean when ya touched me back?"

"That feels nice too… It's just, I don't know." He says, rather deflated, unsure, "I just…really want to be close to ya, all the time…"

And although Yoshiki thinks he understands what he means, he also doesn't because his mind doesn't line up with anything 'Hikaru' says, and it pulls him in different directions constantly.

"I don't understand…" He admits, and yesterday washes behind his eyes, the memories, a faint, barely-there feeling, something he can't remember, but it lingers somewhere in his throat. Yoshiki fears that maybe he, "Wait—Are ya tryna say…"

"I want to do it again…" 'Hikaru' spits out, and Yoshiki can only stare, eyes a bit wide, and lips parting enough to make his expression dumb and slack.

'Hikaru' seems to realize his mistake, his forwardness, and he tries to backtrack, or explain it better.

"You dont have ta! I just…The kiss—not kiss. It feels like ummm, how do ya explain' it? Like I took a bite of something—not that yer food—nah, that's not right…I just…It's all I can think about, and after that hair monster went inside ya and left that stench all over ya… It's drivin' me insane."

"Stench?"

"Yeah, Ya smell real bad…still," 'Hikaru' grimaces, eyes lowering nastily, "it shoulda gone away by now…" his voice growing cool like stones, "It's pissing me off."

Yoshiki's not really sure what to say to that; he smells?

But again, 'Hikaru' has been breathing weirdly, or at all, which he had thought was kind of odd, but was it because of the way he smelt? …he doesn't smell like anything, though. He raises his arm, sniffing his sleeve, it's nothing but the flowery laundry smell his mother uses, and a bit of the sweet scented shampoo.

It smells normal, but—

"Ya can't smell it," 'Hikaru' tells him, voice still disgruntled, annoyed, like something had slipped into his shoe and he'd been forced to walk on rocks all day. "It's all over ya… I was tryna ignore it but with all that air 'n stuff."

He puts a hand over his nose, eyes lingering behind Yoshiki to the wet room.

"The bathroom still smells, too, not as bad as yesterday though."

His expression furrows and smothers out and his voice is a bit muffled behind his hand.

"Maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about it…." He sighs, "I don't know…I'm sorry."

He's seemed to have pick up this habbit of appolgizing ever since he'd lost control, pushed the boundaries…He keeps throwing that word around, sorry…

But again, "It's not like you can help it…" 'Hikaru' drops his hand and smiles, its slanted, slight, hardly there.

It does bug him, though, what 'Hikaru' had said the other day, about entities sticking to him and all…Is this similar, is this what he meant, what Kurebayashi-san meant….Although he's not at all sure he believes everything she said, it's not like she'd lie for nothing, though…

Even then…not like he can stop.

They keep on mixin. Whatever she called it…maybe it is bad, maybe he isn't supposed to be doing all these things, but there's a weird part inside him that doesn't really care all that much. Mixin', not mixin'—what does it matter? Yoshiki doesn't care what happens to him.

Even now, he feels ghoulish.

But, on the other hand, he supposes if the ties he has to this—thing—somehow affects others like Kurebayashi-san had mentioned…then maybe this is something to worry about. The thought of his mom, Kaoru, or even his dad—despite the strain, he doesn't want them to get hurt because of him. He can't live with that.

And so naturally, "Is there a way ta get rid of it?"

"Huh?" They lock eyes.

"The smell," Yoshiki clarifies.

"Oh, well—I mean.. .I could try somethin'…" He hesitates, face twitching, "but it'd be…kinda like before…"

Before…

The slick feeling crawling up his arm, lapping around his hand, slithering into his mouth.

"Is it…bad that I smell?"

"Yes."

But then 'Hikaru'pauses as if that answer had been mostly instinucal.

"Well, actually I'm not sure. It might cause more of them' things to grab onto ya—that's why I didn't wanna leave ya last night just in case, but…there might be something still in ya if it's still this bad. Or maybe it's jsut stronger than I thought…"

He won't be mixing, or will he—does he even care? Maybe, no? yes?'Hikaru' had said he'd build resistance to it the more familiar he got, but Kurebayashi-san had said something else. It's all too confusing, too contradictory. Who is he supposed to believe?

Yoshiki doesn't really trust either of them, if he's being completely honest.

"Would it put the house more at risk of attractin' those things?" Yoshiki asks, hoping it'll satisfy some of his unease, help him figure out what he should do.

"I guess," 'Hikaru' answers, "Though they already follow ya around anyway. Yer real nice."

Yoshiki frowns, he ain't nice, "But… if the smell was gone, would it make it less likely?"

"Probably, I might be able to try somethin' else though…" His eyes spiral when he says it, this weird, creepy sensation pricking at his voice, "givin' ya something might help."

"Givin' me somethin'?"

'Hikaru" nods, "It might not work…but I could try it, and getting rid of the stench can't hurt—it'll bug me less at least."

"If it makes it safer…I guess…"

Maybe it is still a good idea. Little risk, large reward…or was it the other way around? 'Hikaru' seems unsure—he's honest about it, but there's a gleam in his eyes, this desire rolling around his pupil in a way that lulls Yoshiki in. Hypnotising.

'Hikaru' grins, "Only one way to find out."

"That's reassurin'," Yoshikis mutters, "How would you do it? Get rid of the stench."

"Well… like I said, it's a little somethin' like yesterday."

"Like….when you…"

"yeah…like a kiss."

"I told ya it's not a kiss."

'Hikaru' just shrugs, making Yoshiki hold his breath…

It doesn't feel like a horrible idea, even if it makes him want to wring his stomach out. It won't be bad…

"It's quick, right?" He asks, and 'Hikaru'perks up.

"Wait, are ya actually considerin' it?"

The sudden excitement makes Yoshiki ease back a little, bowing his head.

"No…" is the immediate response, which then gets dragged to a hesitant, "well...if it gets rid of the smell…I don't want my family to be at risk…"

Because that's the reason, isn't it?

The cool lick of something wet in his gut.

"Better to try than not..." Yoshiki reasons, "I mean, there's nothing that can…seriously go wrong, right?"

"Not really, well as long as I keep myself together, ya don't gotta worry about a thing."

Yoshiki forces out a flat laugh, "Right…"

As long as he keeps himself together.

Trust might be a strong word, but after yesterday, at the very least, 'Hikaru' had kept true to his word. He'd saved him… And if he'd saved him, well…

It's more of a mumble, something Yoshiki doesn't want to hear himself say. Still, his voice drips like spit, and it leaves traces in his mouth. An eerie, sinking feeling slowly balls itself in his lungs…

"Then I guess it's fine…" 'Hikaru' gapes at him, eyes blown out in surprise. Yoshiki feels himself lean back, sweat beading nervously on his brow, "What?"

"Nothin', I just didn't think—" He stops himself, sliding closer on his knees, "Ok… let's do this."

Yoshiki feels clammy at 'Hikaru's' sudden closeness. It makes him dip backwards, only to bound slightly forward when his shoulders hit the wet room door.

Yoshiki hesitates, his hands finding his shorts. He's sitting with his legs crossed out in front of him, and 'Hikaru's' close enough for his knees to graze his shins.

"What do I do?" Yoshiki asks.

"Nothing," 'Hikaru' leans forward, "just stay still, I'll take care of everything."

"Ok…" Yoshiki's heart throbs, making his entire chest ache.

'Hikaru's' eyes are drawn to his lips, and he has to fight the urge to move away.

Everything feels tighter, the way his pulse clumps in his throat, the way his arms strain and fingers bend into his legs, clawing at his shorts. His face feels hot, and 'Hikaru's' still looking at him, eyes squinted, inquisitive, looking for something—temple's ticking, as if a thought is whittling its way between his ears.

The light is more tangible all of a sudden, and Yoshiki is more aware of the cold floor and how his skin lightly sticks to the tile. He's more aware of how thick the air packs itself into the room, not too hot, but not too cold. It feels humid, unsavory, leaving a build-up of sweat in uncomfortable places. Along his brow, behind his ear, over the ridges of his ribs, in his armpits.

This is just to get rid of the smell…whatever residue the monster had left on him. He doesn't want to put his family at risk…he doesn't want to be either. Those creatures, entities—the sensations of thin strands, oily and sharp, jutting up his arm, tangling around the inside of his elbow, and running up his neck in a quick, deeply sickening way.

He doesn't want that to happen again…but…

It's better to try isn't it…This is a good thing, right? Trying to avoid later trouble?

This is the right thing to do…right?

This isn't a kiss, he assures himself, replaying it over and over again.

"Ya, I know," the breath is so loud, so concentrated, it feels like dense fog that hugs him. His words send chips of ice into Yoshiki's skin, jabbing like pin pricks—because maybe the thought hadn't been as quiet as he believed it to be. Whether or not he was heard, Yoshiki doesn't have time to linger because in the next second, 'Hikaru' is suddenly a lick away. Close enough to consume his entire view, obsecuring it—forcing Yoshiki's pupils to eat away at the red flick buried in the center of his eye.

He places a burning hand on the side of Yoshiki's cheek, and he's not sure if it's cold because he's way too hot or if 'Hikaru's' just way too cool—stony. 'Hikaru' offers him a smile, snaggle tooth poking out in a way that has Yoshiki's mind trying to possess what the press of it will feel like.

'Hikaru' runs a thumb over Yoshiki's lips, and he jitters, skin jumping minusculely as if the touch is foreign. And maybe it is—the slide of something inhuman, warbling, splitting, crystallized into a goopy substance, cramped and shoved harshly beneath the folds of his skin. The feeling of something that seeps through the thin barrier between human and monster.

A tremor shakes him, a string plucked by something as small as a nail, and a flurry of goosebumps rise along his legs, the back of his arms, his neck. His face feels like it'll burst.

"Ease up a little…" 'Hikaru' murmurs, edging his chin down—Yoshiki hadn't even realized he'd been clenching. His breath fans over his face; it's oddly cool, like an autumn breeze, but it does little to make him feel cooler. His voice isn't playful, although maybe slightly sympathetic, but there is a looming sense of unease when it comes to 'Hikaru's' "empathetic-ness." There's a concentrated look that winds his face up, or rather, crinkles it into more densely packed lines, "I'll try'n be quick."

And then 'Hikaru's' lips are on his…

Yoshiki's eyes clamp shut, and his shoulders hike up, as he shies back. It's not as light as he'd imagined—rather, it's a quick press of molten skin that's uncomfortable and bare. A vague, ravaging heat blisters down Yoshiki's chest. Each small shift back has 'Hikaru' leaning further and further forward, hand firmly placed on his cheek.

'Hikaru's lips seem less like they're trying to kiss him, and more like he's trying to capture something. His stray tooth prods the side of his mouth and nearly juts into his cheek, pinching his skin. Yoshiki tries to keep himself loose, but it's hard, and he nearly bites 'Hikaru' when his tongue slides between his lips. Whether he nips his tongue or not, 'Hikaru' makes no reaction and wedges Yoshiki's mouth open until he's able to lock their lips together—a weird slotting of skin, and heat. His tongue is wet and warm in contrast to the rest of his body, and it makes Yoshik squirm, an impulsive hitch revving up from his lungs. He makes a muffled sound agaisnt him, and he stutters back.

It feels weird, and sloppy—more like he's being invaded.

Then there's a feeling that turns in his stomach, and stuffs his gut with so much visceral discomfort, he can't help but think—

This is gross.

'Hikaru' takes his other hand, and grips him by the shoulder as Yoshiki's head hits the fogged door behind him. The glass is warm, and it makes his back feel even more sticky.

'Hikaru's' tongue grazes the roof of Yoshiki's mouth, and the palate tingles in a way that makes a noise squeeze out of him. His face flushes, heart pounding in more than one place, as it rivets around his ears—jumping from his toes to the back of his eyeballs.

Wax, it feels like wax. There's a thick heat that melds between their lips, melting skin and crushing them slowly together like two candles mixing in texture and flesh. It sparks something in the back of Yoshiki's head. A sharp, tense sensation that feels like the tight clamp of muscles, sending an odd, painful jab of something not all that bad through him.

Something that makes his jaw widen every so slightly as he gasps, sounds trying to worm their way out.

There's something horrifying about it.

About being taken over, crushed against, and consumed.

But somehow, between the fear and the foreign press of something human and not, there's an even more unavoidable feeling that clings to him, a shadow looming along his underside. It feels awful to even admit it to himself, to even question.

Then, with a trail of 'Hikaru's tongue, and the claim of his lips sliding harder against Yoshiki's, something else joins—a slow, gradual slink of something wet and cold. A mucusy feeling like the one that clumps up in his throat in the winter, although this is more solid, colder, and definitely isn't his.

Yoshiki's whole body is frenetic, and his stomach coils—the urge to puke is pugnant.

'Hikaru' doesn't let up, and if anything, it feels like he's trying to be quick with it—one sliver, a coiled presence that moves like a snake, but its skin tremors constantly rolling over itself like waves on a beach, sliding and receding, rubbing over the jagged dents of his taste buds.

It doesn't taste like anything, it's more a texture, a slimy, inappetizing touch, than anything else.

It feels gross.

Another tendril joins, curling around the back of his teeth, and another, swishing inside his lips, and teasing his gums. Another and another until his mouth is stretched just past the comfort point, where the sides pinch and his jaw hurts.

'Hikaru's' hands tangle themselves further into his shirt, and the hand on his face becomes a bit rougher as the monster forces itself in, sliding everywhere. The sensation, moist and thick, slips into his tongue, through his gums, and small tendrils slink down his throat.

It makes Yoshiki choke, and he nearly vomits. The bile sits heavily in his belly as the cool sensation swabs his throat—his insides, making everything slick and damp.

His breaths feel short, and Yoshiki's body starts to tremble, struggling to catch any sort of breath; all he gets are quick, small whiffs through his nose.

The monster flicks against Yoshiki's insides, cupping the underside of skin, filling him in ways that make it feel as though he's trying to bury himself inside. Like he's trying to ravish Yoshiki's body from the innermost point—his core—claiming and leaving its slimy traces along each crevice of his skin, every instance, every little nook—in his mind, around bones, and in between the folds of his brain.

A sharp sting pangs in the back of his head, and Yoshiki jerks, leg kicking out, knocking something in the process, but the weight over him remains. 'Hikaru's' practically leaning fully against him, shoving his shoulder blades hard agaisnt the door, against a world that has long faded behind Yoshiki's clenching eyes.

It shouldn't feel like this.

Why does it feel like this…

Why does it feel so…good?

So good…

The static of the room feels more pronounced.

It's grating against his skin, clogging his ears, and swaddling him in a tangible fuzziness that makes his body feel numb. His mind is loopy, loose except for the jarring pain that picks behind his eyes, a sharp, deeply punctuated stab of pleasure that jitters down through every limb.

Yoshiki's fantly aware of noises stuttering from his throat, but it's completely washed away with the weave of 'Hikaru's' insides squirming around, wriggling beneath his skin. Yoshiki's fingers begin to grow lax, and his fists loosen, falling from his shorts.

Completely over taken by the sensation inside, like millions of small kitten licks—rolls of ants that nibble, and trail over every meter, every little space that harbours his body.

It feels never-ending, like he just goes deeper and deeper, and with it, there's a subconscious roll of anxiety and grossness in his stomach, filtering into his lungs, his mind, that this is vulgar and disgusting, and yet…

Yoshiki's body slackens, his weight slowly shifting down and down, cranking his neck to a hard, uncomfortable angle. He wants to sit up, or stay up rather, but his body feels numb, unresponsive. His thoughts slur into a mix of everything and nothing, the feeling of being completely full, stuffed in every place, every inch of his body.

He can't stop himself from falling, as a stabbing sensation becomes slightly more prevalent in his chest. His lungs squeeze, and widdle like dried fruits, and each struggling breath drags him further into listlessness and…just as a dull sense of relaxation holds him in soft whispers and Yoshiki's mind begins to slip away—everything retracts.

Instantly, every crevice is evacuated and sucked upward toward Hikaru's bearing weight, skidding up so fast that it feels like thick rocks skipping over the surface of his skin.

And then, Yoshiki can suddenly breathe again, and he chokes, coughing as 'Hikaru' finally pulls back, his lips slotting off his with a pop and something wet snapping between.

Yoshiki's eyes burst open, and his breaths come out in panted gasps as he falls onto his side—'Hikaru's' touch is absent from his body now, in every way, inside and out. He hacks. As the numb feeling intensifies, making it feel as though every inch of him has fallen asleep, every movement becomes more jarring. Every limb trembles, a flutter of pain jutting up and down his frame.

Yoshiki grits his teeth, feeling spit drip out of the corner of his mouth and snot running from his nose. His eyes sting lightly—he hadn't realized they had begun to water.

"Are ya okay?"

In front of him, hesitant arms sit in the air, not knowing where to go, and 'Hikaru's' voice is thick with concern—worry, plaguing his features.

Yoshiki folds his lips. They're sore, every inch of him feels weird, stretched, and oddly empty.

"I…" he coughs, and—speaking between heavy lungfuls—all he musters is a troubled, "that..was…not…quick."

"I'm sorry…" he hurries, voice hanging dejectedly, and Yoshiki even wonders if he knows what he's sorry for. "I was tryin' real hard though, to make it quick'n stuff, it's just there was more of it than I thought—I…"

Yoshsiki coughs again and finds a little bit of strength, enough to push himself up to rest his back against the door to the wet room.

He wants to scold him, tell him off for pushing past such obvious boundaries, but…He'd given him permission, hadn't he? It was Yoshiki's fault for not asking more questions, for just letting him have his way…For not setting the parameters more strictly.

He should've done better.

"It's…" he struggles, "It's fine."

'Hikaru' hesistantly perks up, and he has that face again, where his eyes are oddly intense, and his pupils are slightly blown out, the edges of it distorting into a weird warble that makes his eyes look like marbles.

It makes it hard to keep eye contact, and Yoshiki fights the urge to tear them off him. Under his gaze, there is a strain, something that ripples over his skin and nibbles at the underside.

His heaves slowly dissipate with each heavy rise and fall of his shoulders. But with each breath, a peculiar feeling becomes more prominent, and he remembers why he'd even let this happen in the first place.

"…Did it work, at least?" Yoshiki asks, subconsciously raising a hand to his throat, feeling the tightness inside despite his airways being nearly empty. The only thing that lingers now is the wet, salvia-like substances coating the inside. It's cold when he inhales.

"I..er… I think so, I can't smell it from here at least," 'Hikaru' shifts forward a little, eyes cautious of Yoshiki's expression, "Let me just make sure though—I promise I won't do nuthin''."

"It's fine…" Yoshiki hums, lacking any real strength to object, both physically and mentally, "Just check."

That had to have been worth something… something other than—

'Hikaru' closes the distance, lowering his head and shifting his face closer to Yoshiki's neck. He smells him. It feels weird, not so much the actual feeling, but having someone sniff him makes his skin crawl and his body shrink. Or he would have shrunken away had his body been working properly. Instead, it leaves him with a hauntingly heavy feeling, telling him to move.

Luckily, 'Hikaru' doesn't stay there for long, and within a few seconds, he's already sitting back on his heels.

"Yeah." 'Hikaru' nods, scratching the back of his neck. His face is flushed, and his words grow even deeper as his eyes scrape along Yoshiki's face, "Ya smell a lot better now. Hopefully, lesser things won't be taggin' on ta ya anytime soon."

Yoshiki blinks, dipping his head in a silent agreement with the statement. His eyes linger over 'Hikaru', relishing in the comfort of his bangs covering all the places his eyes flicker. And 'Hikaru' looks normal, except for the odd turn in his eyes and the slight reddish tint to his lips, that smoothers out over and around.

Yoshiki dully wonders if he looks the same.

"So…I'm good?"

'Hikaru' shrugs, "Hope so, but 'm already feelin' a lot better ya know, so thanks." He grins, his eyes bending into moons; the heat in his pupils seems to radiate out.

"Yeah…" Yoshiki's drawls, his strength slowly returning to him, and so daringly he tries to sit a little more upright. But when he does, the sound of movement vibrates between the walls, and there's a brrisk sound of a sliding door.

The sound makes Yoshiki's heart drop—a cold claw of ice, weeding up from his stomach.

He's suddenly more aware of the space and how disheveled he probably looks, how unkempt and uncleanly—an ungliness growing in the pit of his stomach, and the urge to puke teases him.

Kaoru and his mom were gone already…so it must be his dad. Was it lunch already? Was he off work today?

At the sound, 'Hikaru's' head had perked up too and swiveled to it; he kinda looks like a dog, blinking at the door.

"It's… my dad, probably." Yoshiki answers for him, although he's sure he had come to the same conclusion: "We should clean up," he motions to the blow dryer, but he mostly means them. Their faces hold stains all over—something prickly and red.

Sins on full display…

But it wasn't one, was it…?

There had been a reason for it, regardless of how it felt…

'Hikaru' pushes himself up and offers a hand to Yoshiki, which he takes. His legs are weak, but they support him. It's fine. He's fine. Yoshiki's eyes slither back to 'Hikaru' and to the shirt crumpled on the ground.

"Put your shirt back on…" He nags, and 'Hikaru' bounces toward it with newfound excitement like he'd forgotten the fabric completely.

Yoshiki uses the countertop for support; they should clean up…

Standing, he feels lightheaded, exposed, and bare despite being fully clothed.

He feels too tall. Too big. Yoshiki much prefers sitting back down, but that isn't going to do anything but drag this whole thing out.

His face feels scorched, hot, a crime scene splattered all over—skin splotchy and red.

Yoshiki doesn't want to see his face, but he has to—needs to. Anxiety strings between his veins, and he eventually gathers the courage to look. To see the damage.

But when he finds the mirror, he only sees his face. His lips, swollen, a little too pink, but not deformed. It's still him. Yet, somehow, the reflection makes his stomach twist, as if what he's seeing is wrong. Yoshiki isn't sure what he was expecting, but there's something hollow about it—seeing his own face after that—it's almost like he expected himself to turn into a monster too.

To bear the physical trace of the thing that was so deeply wrong with him.

He drags a finger over his lips.

The kiss…His eyes shake a little, and his stomach squeezes. Right…

Yoshiki's tongue drips, and he turns to 'Hikaru', who is fumbling with the wire connected to the blow dryer.

"'Hikaru'," with the single utter of his name, his attention darts back to Yoshiki.

Yoshiki takes a deep breath, his words shake a little when he speaks—unpracticed on his tongue.

"That wasn't… just so ya know," his voice gets stuck, and it's harder to say out loud than he thought it'd be. Like it's turned thick and sour halfway up. "This…that wasn't a—"

"A kiss. I know." 'Hikaru' chimes, finishing Yoshiki's stammer. He offers him a peace sign. It's childish.

Yoshiki stares at him, feeling a little too vulnerable, a little too close in this small bathroom. The light slowly slinks in, filling the room with the stuffy linger of dust.

He wants to double check, to say it once more—it wasn't a kiss— as if speaking the words would make them more real. As if hearing 'Hikaru' say it wasn't enough, but he can't get them out.

In the silence, 'Hikaru' leaves the room with a light beat, and Yoshiki feels faint and woozy in his absence.

It wasn't a kiss…

The thought will have to be enough for now—The words trace against his tongue, voice thickening in his throat.

Yoshiki takes the words, folds them up, and swallows them, trying to let 'Hikaru's words ooze him into content. Because if he believes that they're true, then maybe they will be just that. True.

“And with every step I took it became more impossible for me to turn back.

And my mind was empty—or it was as though my mind had become one enormous,

anaesthetized wound.

I thought only,  One day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry. ”

―  James Baldwin,  Giovanni’s Room

Chapter Text

He reckons school wasn't Hikaru's thing—

Memories splatter the walls of his head, and he pushes them around like forgotten food on a plate.

It's a pretty easy assumption to come to.

In math, the numbers don't make much sense; they jumble around when the page is full of them, and it's frustrating—as if they have a mind of their own, mocking him.

And although math is, well, he's not great at it—but when he does land on the right answer, there's this satisfying feeling of accomplishment that goes with it. It's not sweet like soda or savoury like stir fry, but something akin to enjoyment, a good feeling—it rolls over him like the sun and soaks into his skin. He likes it. It makes him want to understand more, learn more.

'Hikaru' enjoys nearly everything; he enjoys lectures, even if they're a bit boring, he likes talking about books and watching films, and he enjoys P.E. and lunch…

But he especially enjoys all those things because he experiences them with Yoshiki.

However, he's still a little upset about the seat changes made earlier this month. A common occurrence, but every time he moved further away from Yoshiki, it always left him sour for a few days after.

Currently, 'Hikaru' is closer to the door, leaving Yoshiki seated behind him. It makes it difficult to watch him whenever boredom inevitably overrules. He doesn't care about getting in trouble, but Yoshiki seems to get irritated whenever he stares at him for too long. Especially with everything that's happened recently…

'Hikaru' itches to watch him.

They've tried to forget it, or at least Yoshiki does, he seems like he's trying to.

They don't talk about it, and 'Hikaru' doesn't bring up the kissing again, or whatever it was. He tries to stifle his annoyance with it altogether—whatever, as long as it makes Yoshiki happy, it isn't that serious.

Yoshiki's uniform hadn't been ruined, just a few popped buttons that his mama had to sew back into place, and then it was good as new.

The week has been relatively lackluster, with school continuing on as summer break creeps closer and closer. The weekend shimmers away in the background, although not entirely gone…it lingers there, scratching like something out of place.

He hasn't said anything about it, not sure if it was real or just some concoction of his fixation.

But…

Something weird had spurred from that weekend, something that has 'Hikaru' wanting to itch something unitchable.

He feels…odd.

He doesn't usually stray far from Yoshiki to begin with—but after cleaning out that stench from him, there's been this, draw…

Something stronger.

It's like there's this insistent need to be near him, see him…

It makes nights difficult; he just stares at his ceiling, feeling the empty air, and trying not to cave in and text him.

His legs keep jittering, even his mama's asked if he's nervous.

He doesn't think he is, but…

Who's he to say?

He barely understands half the things he's feeling.

In class, all he can think about is Yoshiki, and it's usually followed by the reminder that he has a club after school, too.

'Hikaru' slumps agaisnt his desk, watching the teacher scribble something onto the board.

Usually this stuff is somewhat interesting, but right now….His skin tingles…

He glances back at Yoshiki, and to no one's surprise, he's taking notes, head bent over his paper. Or maybe he's drawing something.

'Hikaru' wishes he could just watch him, and when the desire to touch him becomes too strong, maybe he could pop him with his foot. Annoy him with constant pokes until Yoshiki glares at him—his irritation, part of the fun…

Light streams against Yoshiki's face, rolls around his head, makes the dust around him more solid and fluttery—shiny like gold.

He wishes he didn't have club today, not that Yoshiki doesn't wait behind anyway, but…still…

His chest itches, a desire withering again.

He tries to push it down, but the thought of Yoshiki stirs up things he doesn't quite understand…

After that weekend, things have been sitting on his mind more heavily. Refusing to go away.

Things Yoshiki probably wouldn't like him thinking about.

Things that are…a bit hard to explain in human words.

Touching him and being touched... his mind lulls on it.

The thought and desire is simple.

It's been floating around for days, ever since the last time they'd touched.

He wants to do it again.

'Hikaru' lays his head on his folded arms and doesn't look away from Yoshiki. Not until the teacher scolds him, making Yoshiki's head pop up. He frowns at 'Hikaru' as he drags himself back to face the front.

Something weird curls inside him—movement—energy that needs to be let out in some way.

And the thought sits there, propped up in the middle of all the loose memories, as if it's the beginning and ending to everything to ever exist.

Man…

He really wants to feel him again.

Club starts right after school. He would have ditched if Yoshiki hadn't told him to go, but at least it's decently distracting—the game, quick movements, and the sheer ease of just kicking a ball around is nice—it releases something in him.

It doesn't take away all the tension, but it does enough to shove the thought of Yoshiki back a bit as he tries to settle the energetic spur of his mind.

They do scrimmages on Thursdays, and so they split in two with pennies to mark the secondary team. 'Hikaru' gets one, and he likes how bright it is; they're always so colorful compared to their school uniforms.

It's about halfway through the first hour when 'Hikaru' feels something wriggle inside his head, and he turns instinctively towards its throb. It's like his insides are trying to leak out of his ear.

The sun's still out, making it hard to see very far, but it's not exactly challenging to recognize the tall frame slinking into the shadows, a few paces off from the edge of the field.

A smile naturally bursts into his face, and 'Hikaru' waves largely, calling his name.

Yoshiki sits down, slinging his backpack off as he looks toward the sound. His overall demeanor is quiet, but he still offers a small wave back.

'Hikaru' nearly forgets he's playing soccer, about to skip towards his friend, when someone yells his name, and a ball is coming straight for him. He turns, nearly missing it, but keeps playing.

He doesn't hate it at all. Soccer. It's enjoyable. The heat is nice, although when days aren't cloudy, he gets a bit too hot too quickly when they play out too long. Edging the time the sun starts to set, leaving the sky super warm and yellow.

It's only a little past five, and the nice swell of the air has 'Hikaru' practically dripping all over. He could really go for some ice cream right now, ahhhh, the thought of the sugary treat on his tongue is enough... It's only after the score evens out, two to two, that 'Hikaru' finds himself peaking back at Yoshiki, who's still sitting there, leaning against the railing. He's got that dead look to him, like the heat's about to lull him to sleep.

It isn't uncommon for him to show up; in fact, it's almost regular. He'd done it for Hikaru, too, although sometimes he'd stay in the photography room for longer—he spends most of the club time studying anyway.

The guys in the club are familiar with Yoshiki, but not close; they know his name and say hi to him, but it's never anything beyond that.

But still, why is he out here so early?

Usually, he stays inside to avoid the heat, but…he's out here now, watching.

'Hikaru' tries to ignore him and focus on the game, but it's damn near impossible. And with the next goal, 'Hikaru' scores, and he lets out a wiry cheer as the guys clap him on the back.

He looks over at Yoshiki again, hoping maybe he'd seen it.

And it seems he has, only…

There's this distant look on his face, that even 'Hikaru's' frantic waving can't catch.

Yoshiki doesn't do anything, his gaze drifting off.

It makes something uneasy crawl under his skin, and it's something he can't shake.

"I'm taking a water break," he calls out to the guys and heads over to Yoshiki.

As he gets closer, Yoshiki seems to finally break out of his trance, eyes flickering back and forth between him and the field. A bit confused.

"Are ya done?" He asks, and 'Hikaru' shakes his head.

"Nah, just a water break."

He slowly settles beside him and spreads his legs open, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Where's yer water then?" Yoshiki asks, sweat dribbling down his face.

It draws faint memories of him hiding his eyes in the heat, some water being thrown or squeezed onto him. Laugher. It's flitters through like glitter, shiny and bright, but far apart and dissipating as it falls from his thoughts. `

He thinks about going to get his water bottle, but he'd have to walk back across the field. He also doesn't feel like finding a fountain.

He doesn't necessarily need it, but the feel of water is nice. Either way, 'Hikaru' finds himself content in Yoshiki's presence, and he turns his head, resting it against one of his arms.

"M' not thirsty." He hums—Yoshiki looks at him like he doesn't believe him.

"Ya need sumthin' else then?" he asks, and 'Hikaru' just grins.

Eyes wiring around Yoshiki's frame. There's some kind of feeling pricking beneath his skin.

He isn't sure what it is, only that the sensation feels like him… his own insides. He can trace himself shimmering in Yoshiki's body, and a need to draw him in deeper….

It that what it is…what he's been feeling…?

Yoshiki shifts, eyes wearily jumping up and down 'Hikaru's' frame. Judgement presses into every line, every crease.

It doesn't bother him, though. 'Hikaru' just stares at him, and the slight glimmer of heat sweeps over Yoshiki's pale skin.

The thought returns. A spotlight drowning it in the center of his being.

He wants him closer.

He wants to feel him again.

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?" 'Hikaru' blinks, and Yoshiki's giving him this worrying look, and it makes something inside him waver.

"Ya look a little…off…"

His eyes are a brighter, lighter outside—grey swarming around his slitted, cat-like pupils. 'Hikaru's' gaze shifts from his lashes to the mole beneath, down the light flush of his cheeks, to his mouth, up and around.

Yoshiki's legs are hiked up enough for him to wrap his arms around them, chin resting atop.

Yoshiki is pretty tall and gangly—all stretched out like an old shirt, but there's something nice about it, in the way those same shirts are always the most comfortable. Or at least they are to him.

'Hikaru' can't help but smile; it's slow and soft, making his eyes curl.

"Ya look nice."

Yoshiki looks taken aback, and his head snaps up like he'd gotten stung by something.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" He snips, face a bit redder now.

His reaction makes 'Hikaru's' mind spin, the memory swimming back to him. His own—the one of him pushing Yoshiki's bangs back and his gruff but bashful reaction, knocking his hand away… he's always seemed to hate the way he looks.

'Hikaru' doesn't get why.

There isn't anything to hate…maybe the lines under his eyes or the small hairs that prick his chin every now and then—but even those things he finds oddly…nice, in different ways he can't understand…

"Why don't ya like yer face?"

"This again?" Yoshiki tears himself away, looking back at the field. "Why won't ya just drop that…I told ya already, didn't I?"

"I know, I just—I was tryna say you looked good," 'Hikaru' shrugs. It's true, some things he just likes saying out loud.

He keeps his smile on his face and looks over at his team. They're still drinking water and chatting with each other. He has more time.

'Hikaru' starts humming, and he can feel that strong presence of Yoshiki's eyes return and rumble along his skin, prying into him.

There's something he wants to say, but it ain't coming out.

It's only after a generous amount of silence that he tries to egg him on.

"I won't bite, ya know," 'Hikaru' drawls, peaking at him in his peripheral, "What ya wanna say?"

Yoshiki opens his mouth but doesn't say anything —yet obviously something's bothering him.

"Come on—" 'Hikaru' leans toward him, tipping over to collapse agaisnt his wiry frame, but he's quickly shoved back into place.

"Not so close—I'll die from the heat."

His roughness doesn't deter 'Hikaru'—and instead, he brightens at an idea.

"Oh, why don't we get somethin' cold then?"

"Go on without me."

And his excitement deflates.

Yoshiki tugs himself in tighter, leaning his head back down enough for the knob of his spine to jut out.

"Hmmm," 'Hikaru' drags, feeling the vibration in his teeth and lips.

Why is he so determined to huddle up? He'd come all the way out here, hadn't he? He was lookin' for him, right? Ain't no other reason to be out here.

Watching Yoshiki intently, he asks bluntly, a little loud, "Why?"

Yoshiki side eyes him and shrugs, "I don't wanna move."

"Ya pooped out?" 'Hikaru' laughs, but he doesn't get so much as a twitch from Yoshiki.

It makes him frown, but he's determined to figure it out. 'Hikaru' waits for him to say something else, but Yoshiki just keeps staring out at the field.

It's normal for him to be this quiet, especially at school and even more so after a long day, but there's something about his demeanor today that's off. He's a little jumpy, maybe not in a noticeable way but definitely one that 'Hikaru' can feel. Everything from the little skips in his heart to the flutter of his goosebumps… his rocking feet and the way he phases in and out of the moment.

Somethin' ain't right.

"Yer actin' weird." He says, and Yoshiki responds robotically.

"I just want to be alone right now."

Yoshiki shifts, and there's this weird ripple that jitters down 'Hikaru's' arm. It's like something's tugging at him, drawing him closer to Yoshiki, a faint desire…

The same one from before, spurring up again…

He's confused… what the hell is this…

Why's he so drawn to him—more than before…

And suddenly, an idea forms.

Maybe Yoshiki's acting weird, because…maybe he's feeling weird too?

The idea plagues him.

Is this just him? Is this weird sensation a new quirk he's developed, or is Yoshiki struggling with something like it too?

He glances at Yoshiki to see if he feels the same way, and he finds a close expression to his own.

He blurts it out.

"Do you feel it too?"

Yoshiki doesn't say anything, but his eyes flicker over 'Hikaru's' face in a way that makes him almost positive he knows the answer.

"Ya feel it too, dontcha…"

Yoshiki's lips fold, and he looks at the ground as he mumbles, "It's been making me anxious all day..."

'Hikaru' stalls…

So that's it, that feeling from earlier, the one that's been sitting there for the past few days…

Yoshiki can feel it too. 'Hikaru's' thoughts thrum—what is happening to them? There's nothing off about him, nor his insides. Everything's in it's place, he thinks.

He feels more than fine; in fact, it's not that there's something wrong with him—it's more so Yoshiki, like a residue of him is stuck to his insides.

He'd left a bit of himself—although most of it was in energy and essence to scare off things, and to slick off the lingering hair entity's scent—but this… this is more than that.

Maybe he'd made a mistake. Humans tend to act weirdly when he messes with them, although he'd been careful with Yoshiki.

He's never tried to hurt him before.

Well…

'Hikaru' puts a hand over his chest, pressing down and making his heart beat against it. With the contractions of his insides, there's a faint wiggling presence beside him.

"It feels funny, huh?" He mumbles out loud—and it's true, but it's not really what he wants to say.

Yoshiki's looking at him with dull, tired eyes, and when 'Hikaru' meets them, he can't help but melt into them, excited, bundling in his chest.

It feels funny, weird, but in a good way. It's like he's licking something from afar, and it tastes good enough to draw him in.

And…

The thought never truly left…

He's dying to ask it…

He's been dying to ask it all day—

"Ya wanna to feel it again?"

Yoshiki takes a second to react before he seemingly catches on to the words, and his eyes widen, jaw slacking, making him look like one of those fish, gasping for air.

It makes 'Hikaru' laugh.

"Haha—ya do, dontcha…"

Yoshiki's expression smoothers out quickly, and he grumbles, trying to hide his eyes again, "Ya ain't gonna quit it, will ya?"

"Nope," 'Hikaru' chirps, and Yoshiki shakes his head.

"Man, yer real weird ya know."

"—'m no more weird than you."

It's not necessarily true per say, technically, from a human standpoint point—but to 'Hikaru,' Yoshiki sure as hell is weird.

The thought nudges him like a hungry cat.

Maybe he is a little "weirder".

"Heh……," 'Hikaru's' unable to drop it now, not without an answer, not after being so pent up for so long, "…so you wanna?"

"I—um," Yoshiki's voice gets trapped.

But he is actually considering it…that alone is enough to make him bristle with energy.

Yoshiki just needs some prodding; he's always like this.

"I mean…. It's not weird, ya know…" 'Hikaru' encourages, trying to look calm, kicking his legs out, "it seemed to help last time—yer resistance got better, didn't it?" A heavy pause, and he scratches the back of his head, face feeling oddly warm, "An' well, I want to too, so…"

It takes a moment, but eventually…

"Idiot," Yoshiki curses under his breath as he turns to him, "I don't know, it still feels a bit weird... I don't know if I like it."

'Hikaru's' stomach clenches.

"It'll get better the more ya do it," he tries, "it'll startin' feelin' normal for ya."

"Right…" Yoshiki follows with a nod.

"It ain't all that hard to do, and we can be quick—try ta figure out whatever happened ta ya 'n me…an' I uh, know a place…" 'Hikaru' grins, words oozing out.

Yoshiki's eyes shift nervously, but the way he holds himself…'Hikaru' can see the consideration, feel, hear the little jump in his pulse.

He wants to, too.

He thought he'd have to be here for a while longer, working to ease him into trying it again, but no. This time, it doesn't take much for Yoshiki to cave, and all he mumbles is a quick, "Then we can do it after ya finish."

But…

Hikaru's insides quiver.

After he's finished? After club?

Maybe it's childish, but he's never claimed he isn't. He's impatient, and the heat already has his shirt sticking to him in all the wrong places.

He doesn't want to wait, not while Yoshiki's right here.

So…

"Nah, let's leave early—" 'Hikaru' jumps up and drags Yoshiki by his arm, making him stumble to his feet.

"Wait, but—"

"Come on, I'll show ya the spot."

"Ya can't just leave in the middle of yer game—" Yoshiki protests, and 'Hikaru' supposes he's right, but instead of walking back over, he just yells to the guys on the field. He says he's gotta go home early, nothing else.

There's no resistance. They just wave and tell him they'll see him tomorrow.

And it's that simple. That easy.

'Hikaru's face is burning with glee, and he leads them to the secret spot, tugging Yoshiki after him.

The back side of the school is partially deluded in shadow, with the sun setting in the west. The few windows on this side of the gym building are high up, and a trail of bushes sits and collects in the back corner, a few lean trees planted along the fences—creating a tiny, hidden area.

A secret.

It's a notorious spot, for reasons 'Hikaru' isn't quite sure he grasps, but all the stories had been interesting, had driven his curiosity to a frenzy. He's excited, especially because he has the opportunity to explore the place, and with Yoshiki no less…

He's practically bursting at the seams.

Yoshiki tails him, having torn his hand from his grasp not long after they set out. It leaves his shadow framing 'Hikaru's' and his eyes pressing along his back. When he speaks, his voice is small, kinda like when Yoshiki whispers something to him in a crowded room—only now they're not close together, and it makes him seem smaller.

"Isn't this…the spot Maki won't shut up about?"

Maybe he's just afraid his voice'll carry over to prying ears, but nonetheless, 'Hikaru' is bouncing with each step.

"Yep! I've been wantin' ta check it out forever—since Hayashi told me 'bout how he swapped spit with some chick over 'ere, says everyone does it…"

Hayashi's a dude in his soccer club: a bit loud, but funny, and he sure as hell knows how to block a goal. He'd spread stories about sneaking to the space behind the gym with a girl, talked about some raunchy things—takin' her shirt off, kissin' her in places that he says ain't supposed to. Mouth, chest, 'n all that.

It makes him think of what he and Yoshiki had done the other day, although he assumes it's probably for different reasons—besides, what Yoshiki and he had done wasn't a kiss. But perhaps if it's with a girl, then it is, or at least that's how it's seemin' to be.

Maybe it's only a romantic thing?

And although he didn't understand sexual desire, 'Hikaru's' insides press heavily against the underlayer of his skin at the thought of taking Yoshiki here. It feels like somethin' only he gets the chance to share with him, a way to get closer…a way to feel his heat more intensely.

It makes him excited.

'Hikaru' pulls his shirt, trying to free it from the sweat on his back… Man, he really wants ta do it.

"There're no cameras back here, ain't that neat—heh," he grins over his shoulder, looking back at Yoshiki. Pebbles of sweat lick around his jaw, and his posture's a bit more nervous than usual—back hunched, hand gripping his wrist, dragging his feet.

It oddly excites 'Hikaru', the prospect of breaking the rules, a very human experience. He eases his voice, "We can do whatever we want back 'ere."

Yoshiki meets him with a straight face, but his cheeks grow ever so redder, and it elevates this feeling withering around 'Hikaru's' body.

They reach the back corner and have to step over a few bushes—the prickly mass rubs at 'Hikaru's' thighs under his shorts and catches his socks, but it doesn't itch at all.

Yoshiki has an easier time with his full pants and longer legs and steps over, although one of the low-hanging limbs snags in his hair and makes him flinch. 'Hikaru's snorts, watching him flick his eyes at him in distaste.

"Ya sure this's a good idea…?" Yoshiki looks around. The hand that had been on his wrist is now clutching his elbow, pulling himself tighter, "This doesn't feel very secret..."

"It's fine," 'Hikaru' bats the air, "no one ever comes back 'ere."

He isn't quite sure if that's true, but Hayashi and Maki were insistent that it's the best, most secret place on the school grounds.

Yoshiki, however, still looks off-puttingly anxious, and 'Hikaru' wants to try and fix it. The trees aren't short enough to engulf them from view, but the bushes are if they're crouched.

"We can sit?" He says, gesturing to the space beside him. Yoshiki hesitates but nods, slips his backpack off to the other side, drags himself over, and slides to his knees. The grass behind him ruffles against his pants, loose spades sticking to them.

It smells like dirt and heat, damp in the shade. Small wisps of light strike through the leaves—one in particular fans over the crown of Yoshiki's head. It spills over his bangs, making his eyes seem darker and further away.

He sits in front of him, leaving Yoshiki with his back towards the fence and clutter of bushes, while his own faces a tree—he's close enough to rest against it.

'Hikaru' doesn't waste time, rather ambitious as he starts to undress. He grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it off—it's a bit damp with sweat, but it slides from his skin with relative ease—and then he tosses it aside.

He faces Yoshiki, who has lifted his head a bit so that 'Hikaru' can see his eyes, and they're hard as stone. His mouth is a little shaky, like he wants to say something, but doesn't. Instead, it presses into a hard, thin line, and his eyes stick to 'Hikaru's' bare chest.

Yoshiki's focus on him makes him jittery, and everything inside him wants to rupture.

He can't stop the grin tugging his lips, and he lets himself split, a tear that slips in the middle of his chest and parts down past his ribs right before his belly button. It makes a wet snapping sound.

Yoshiki just stares at him, hands gripping his knees. He doesn't do anything but stare.

"Ya want help?" 'Hikaru' teases, luring out a deeper flush.

"No, just…" Yoshiki's eyes narrow in a way he knows all too well; he wants 'Hikaru' to shut up, "give me a sec."

"Psychin' yerself up again?"

He gives him the same look, and 'Hikaru' laughs.

The air is rather quiet, ignorning the incessant fry of bugs and the distant-but-present call of voices on the other side of the gym building. Maybe that's what's got Yoshiki all in knots.

But—whether it's truly an issue or not—it doesn't seem to matter, and after a few moments, Yoshiki takes a deep breath, "ok…"

He shifts forward. 'Hikaru's' legs are crossed, but he considers opening them to allow him even nearer. He doesn't, but the thought sits there.

Yoshiki wipes his hands, front and back, on his pants before touching him.

They're close. Yoshiki's head dips down a tad as he leans forward, hand hesitantly drifting closer. Heat bundles between them, as if their bodies collect the humid air and share it. His slowness makes 'Hikaru' feel tight and wormy, like he just wants to reach out and hurry him up, pull Yoshiki inside—but he doesn't. He needs to be patient, to let him go at his own pace. He doesn't want to scare him again.

He doesn't have to wait much longer, though, and…

This touch is different, or rather it feels different. Stronger. It's as if something rivets beneath Yoshiki's skin and connects to his, something that makes his senses unravel and combust, like goosebumps popping along his arms.

He slips a finger in, just two knuckles, teasing the inside of the slit.

It's not a lot. He's been deeper in him, and yet, 'Hikaru' can't help but notice the way his breaths slow just a little—the airy exhale that escapes, a slight tremor edging the corners.

Yoshiki makes a noise, and 'Hikaru's' red, dilated pupils flick from his hand to his face, watching the weird twirl of his features. His mouth, slightly ajar, as a shaky, unsure sound ripples between his lips.

"ehhh…" Yoshiki's face cringes as he adds another finger. His shoulders hitch.

It feels so gentle, so warm, so hesitant. It's a slow, gradual press that makes his insides spark and ooze with anticipation.

'Hikaru' wants to yank him in; the slow entrance teases his entire being. He pushes his insides to meet him gently instead, goop thick as he tangles against Yoshikis's fingers.

He lets him split through and winds himself around, slithering to the base of his fingers.

He doesn't tug, and finally Yoshiki's features soothe out.

'Hikaru' really likes watching him.

"Yeah, getting used to it?" 'Hikaru' notes that his reaction is much more tame than before.

"A little," Yoshiki mumbles, and wedges the rest of his hand in, but not without a grimace. His fingers flex inside, making 'Hikaru' squirm as he weaves and cups against each digit's bend. The sensations skitter inside him, a mix of sharp sparks that roll in, a heat that gradually spills inside and swells underneath the weird stuff.

He pushes his wrist in, and 'Hikaru' slides up his palm, following the creases, taking him in, curling around his arm, and spreading his slit open. It makes a sticky, gummy sound as it opens up wider.

Yoshiki's arm is deep enough to shift around, the movement like a whitering bug trapped in his palm. It makes him squelch, licking against his sensitive arms, and he wants to relax, melt, decompress into nothing against Yoshikis touch. It's so gentle, so kind…

"Oh," He exhales, brows lax as he leans forward, resting his head against Yoshiki's shoulder, "…that's nice."

Yoshiki trembles beneath him, and there's a small thrill under his skin, like his bones are vibrating.

"It feels different." He murmurs, and 'Hikaru' can only hum in agreement; it is different. His tendrils slick around his limb, and his fingers thread easily inside, splitting and contorting his mass in indistinctive ways.

"Hmm, ya kinda feel different too…like, it's more…" The arm inside him feels like it's bleeding light, like a sun spooning his back, or the gush of a heater in wintertime—especially the floors that warm up and stick to the soles of his feet.

He's so warm, a light buzzing, dazzling, pouring.

'Hikaru' wants to grab it, the faint whisps of his soul sitting in his chest. He wants to be closer to it. Take hold and never let go.

He wants to swallow him whole.

An animal-like instinct, those docmenturies had called it… But he has enough control not to literally do that…he's capable of restraint….yet he feels the undeniable urge to lick into Yoshiki's palm.

To feel him, touch him, crawl around inside and feel the warmth of his skin, the hot pump of blood.

"It feels… weirder, like yer—" Yoshiki's huffing, his words becoming a bit more breathy, and 'Hikaru' can't help but press his tendrils into his palm, cupping him back— "Ahhhh!"

Yoshikis's voice pitches, and he makes a startled sound. It mixes with his hot breath, and there's something raunchy about it—

It does little to deter 'Hikaru' from his fingertips. He slides against them, wriggling, hugging, seeping inside like a pool of dripping water.

Yoshiki chokes on a breath, which only drives 'Hikaru' further. His essence turns Yoshiki's fingers cool as he tongues them, embedding and crawling in under his skin. 'Hikaru' laps at his veins, feeling them fluctuate in size and beat. Panicked throbbing under his touch.

The action makes Yoshiki jump, and his skin jitters—it makes 'Hikaru' excited.

"Hehe, what? Ya sensitive?"

His words are hot, and Yoshiki makes a disgruntled sound. Almost as if to say 'shut up,' he digs further in, and fully slips his elbow inside; another searing warmth pricks at the folds and evens out amidst his entanglement.

His hand bends upward towards his neck, and his slit doesn't grow or split, but part of him slithers out over his bare chest, coiling around Yoshiki's arms, keeping him in place.

His fingers curl and jut into him, and it feels like something hot is prodding the coolest part of his insides. There's satisfaction with it, like a forceful, neck-jutting pat on the head, or like the pop of sizzling oil on a pan, flicking against his skin.

There's pleasure and comfort in each little twist, each little movement of Yoshiki's hand, scrunching in such a concentrated area—neck feeling full and thick.

'Hikaru's' jaw wedges open around the sound leaking from his throat. It's a sharp trembling, "Ahhh—"

"I told ya to ask before ya do that." Yoshiki grits, although he doesn't tell him to stop.

'Hikaru's' body trembles, and his hand snatches Yoshiki's shoulder for support, nails digging into him.

The feeling is even more elated with his own mass seeping into Yoshiki's palm, under his skin, slinking around his fluttering veins.

"Ah, right," He pants, "my bad."

'Hikaru's' obsessed with the way his body pulsates, quivers inside and around him.

He tightens around his arm, the slit pressing together like it's trying to seal him inside, hold him right there, stuck halfway in.

Yet the need for more ravages him.

Yoshiki grunts as the tear tightens, and he tries to wedge their bodies apart, but by now, Yoshiki is leaning over Hikaru, and their arms are touching, and their chests are centimeters apart.

"Ha, that feels really nice…havin' ya right there."

Their panting mingles, and Yoshiki's body is still shaking, although it's muted with the coil of his insides warped around him, consuming his heat.

"Yer real warm Yoshiki," he drawls, tongue slow, "feels so good…"

He wants more—his insides fidget and scrunch as if to bite down. He doesn't want to lick at him anymore; he wants to pull him in entirely.

He wants the entirety of his arm, he wants to feel Yoshiki agaisnt him—his insides—feeling his heart ribbit right between their sweaty bodies. Yoshiki's shirt is soaked through in spots, making the spaces where it sticks lighter and almost transparent.

"Reach in further…" He huffs, and Yoshiki's voice teeters out.

"Huh, but I'm already—"

"It's fine, I can help ya." He tightens his hold and slowly begins to drag him in. Yoshiki squeaks, but the sound disperses into a wide, low noise that widdles out of him—like a long string growing thinner and thinner.

He's deep enough that his arm moves up, and 'Hikaru's' body can't help but split further, until the line tears just under his jaw and cracks at his chin.

He coils and fills, sucking, sinking him inside his body, forcing Yoshiki's frame to slip until his shoulder is inside and his face is forced against Hikaru's chest, his rapid breaths skipping over his skin, hair damp and messy agaisnt flesh.

He wants more, but he stops himself.

"Wait—I…." his eyes scrunch desperately, "…how deep are you?" The question trickles out of Yoshiki's breath, fanning over 'Hikaru's collarbone. He nestles right in the crook of his neck.

"I don't know," He heaves, brows pinching as he lets out another. "Ahh, yeah…"

He feels so warm inside.

So goooood.

He never wants him to go—to leave.

'Hikaru 's' arm sneaks around, hand curling into Yoshiki's hair. He holds his cheek to his sternum—it's sweaty, and glides easily over his bare chest. His slit trembles, and the closeness—he wants to open wider and take him in. Deeper, deeper, deeper until he's full, until his soul is blistering inside him.

He wants more.

His huffs become heavier—this isn't like anything he's felt before.

Even the few times with Yoshiki—this is different. Deeper.

It feels so good, so nice, so—

"Yoshiki…"

"Hmm?" His voice rumbles over his skin.

"Can I touch ya?"

There's a second of silence.

In the distance, there's evidence of life, cars, people, but it's not close—hell, 'Hikaru' doubts Yoshiks's even aware of the sounds—so far out of reach. No, Yoshiki's attention is only on him.

They mush together as the heat melts their skin, and sometime between the beats of his heart, Yoshiki murmurs.

"…ok…"

It's all 'Hikaru' needs.

His tendrils leak out, and the tear in his chest and neck stretches, and he flows in and around, feeling each and every one of Yoshiki's nerves ripple in fear and pleasure. He spills into him, soaking around every little nook, every cranny until Yoshiki's twitching and jittering agaisnt him. In sync with the slither of his mass—overstimualting, consuming.

He wants more.

Diving in, he craddles the limbs and deeply embeds his mass. Yoshiki makes a choked noise, his lips dragged open by an indescribable sound as their bodies slick together. His tendrils stick and prod around every inch, teasing every beat in his body.

So warm.

So alive.

Yoshiki's soul trembles under his invasion. It makes his breath hitch as his nose drags against 'Hikaru's collar, a sound wriggling out as he twists and hugs around Yoshiki's insides.

'Hikaru' tightens around the arm plunged into him and pulls him even deeper, suctioning the limb completely inside him, over the shoulder. Yoshiki's pulse hums; it's almost like the soft buzzing noise Mincemeat makes when he cuddles next to Yoshiki.

A purr. Yeah—that's what it feels like.

His arm is vibrating like a pur inside him.

And it takes a lot to keep himself contained.

It's difficult, his goopy insides trying to slip out and completely wrap around Yoshiki's sweaty, disheveled frame.

His body, so hot agaisnt him, the rough rub of his shirt agaisnt his skin.

It feels so good—'Hikaru's' aware of the way his body is quivering, his back arching further as if he's trying to swallow more of him. Yoshiki's other arm is holding himself up. Palm, clawing at the dirt beside 'Hikaru'. It's shaky—wavering.

'Hikaru' can't help but look down at the crown of his head, feeling the wetness from his face smear across his chest. His tendrils seep out and curl around the wet strands of hair.

He takes him in a little more, and Yoshiki's arm finally gives out. He falls agaisnt him, knocking 'Hikaru' against the tree.

Yoshiki's arm curls, slipping between their chests as if trying to wedge them apart, or push him back up, but the hand on the back of his head stops it from happening.

The arm inside him moves, and Yoshiki stretches his fingers into a fist around a thick snake-like wade of himself, and it feels like a sparkler drenching his coolness.

'Hikaru' lets out a loud, contorted sound and grips Yoshiki's arm inside him harder. He curls inside the folds of Yoshiki's skin and prods around his neck—the space behind his ear.

It makes Yoshiki open his mouth agaisnt him, teeth digging lightly in as he lets out a ragged noise. It's a bit pitchy, louder than before, like a cracked voice shooting out, and he's quick to try and push himself up and shove his own fist in his mouth.

But the idea of Yoshiki's mouth being anywhere but him is upsetting—He grabs his wrist and pulls the free arm from between them.

"I wanna hear ya…" he murmurs, beady eyes glancing over to Yoshiki's fist. There's a blanket of saliva coating his fingers.

Yoshiki looks up, chin jutting into his chest, and his lips have a line of spit between them when he mumbles, face so red he's practically one of those juicy red things—a tomato.

'Hikaru' can hear the grind of his teeth.

"We're bein' too loud."

Maybe they are, but 'Hikaru' doubts anyone is near enough to hear.

"No one is here," He leers.

There's no one who can interrupt this.

They're alone.

Yoshiki moves his arm like he's trying to pull it back, but 'Hikaru' already has a firm hold on it. It doesn't budge; instead, it shifts more comfortably inside him, making him groan.

"nngghh…" he can feel his eyes rolling back, hair ruffling against the tree, "You feel so good…." a wet pant, "Yo… shiki."

It's so warm—and for the first time, he feels unbearably hot, like the sun's heating his whole frame from the inside out and Yoshiki's all up inside, making the cold inwards blister and sear like every little inch of his creation is bubbling into a melting pot of soup. His hand is still on Yoshiki's wrist, and he feels his pulse jamming in giant hiccups, quick and hard. His insides edge under his skull, tracing towards the white in the back of his mind. A breath, hot and sticky, weaves out of Yoshiki's mouth…

"'Hi…karu'…" his words are soggy, dripping with something that makes 'Hikaru's' insides shudder…his voice—fire along his flesh…

He's heard his name hundreds of thousands of times and yet… he has no memories like this, he can't even prepare for the ripple of excitement that grips his frame.

Is that a…

It's something that sounds so unlike Yoshiki…

It's a sound that revves up his throat, this intense sort of… good feeling.

Does Yoshiki feel good?

Is he making him feel good?

The thought makes him want to lunge forward and bury himself inside—to pull him in deeper, as far as possible until he's crammed into his body—He wants to consume, fill, force Yoshiki to crumple and stiffen and curl in odd ways, as if his entire being is itching with this goodness.

He wants to make Yoshiki feel the same way he does.

He wants to make him feel good.

Yoshiki's breath comes out equally puffy and thick as his own.

Then he leans forward, pushing Yoshiki with the hand on his wrist until he's on his back.

He gasps as 'Hikaru' flips the scene and pins his arm on the ground beside them, grass stabbing around it—Yoshiki's hand fists, and 'Hikaru' doesn't waste a moment, the hunger deeply embedded inside, a need for him, his warmth, his soul.

It enaoumours him, and his thoughts deepen as some instinct-like sensation shoves forward—he moves without thinking, pressing his lips agaisnt Yoshiki's.

It's not like the other day. No, this is much different. It's hotter, and his insides squeeze tightly around Yoshiki's arm, the one he is tangled around, inside—a part of.

Yoshiki makes a disgruntled sound, moving his head to the side, and 'Hikaru' follows, keeping their lips together.

His movements become more panicked, and Yoshiki starts withering, jerking, spasming beneath him.

It's slick—mouths, wide open as he flows inside. He feels Yoshiki's face stretched up under his.

He uses his other hand to hold his face, and Yoshiki's first wriggles, struggling like a trapped animal—it's short-lived as his movements slow, and his mouth complies, shifting and moving agaisnt his. He flinches, twitches with each tendril that slides inside his cheek, around and between his teeth—holding his tongue.

It's so moist, sweaty and goopy, contrasted with the cool press of himself.

He's moving and touching everything, stimulating every surface and sucking him in.

Yoshiki's even warmer inside. He feels closer, nearer to his soul. The yellow flaking heat that burrows right in his center…

So pretty…

Yoshiki is so pretty.

He wants it. He wants him.

His eyes seep from his being, and he feels his pupil pop and melt as his lower face joins it. He leaks out, mass slowly shuffling onto and over Yoshiki's chest, sliding through his shirt, around the buttons, and lacing over his ribs, hugging him from the inside out.

'Hikaru' wants it…

He wants to hear it, to feel it.

He wants to consume him, this feeling—this need that bristles and spreads throughout every little part of him.

He's licking around, slipping further out, further in, reaching the back of Yoshiki's head, and as he nudges the white spark, Yoshiki's leg struggles beneath them—a knee jams into the stomach—causing 'Hikaru' to gasp and flinch back.

Finally, Yoshiki struggles free, pulling his wrist out of 'Hikaru's hold.

"I hav'ta breathe." He gasps and the shock startles 'Hikaru' back, and suddenly he's aware of where he his, outside, behind the gym—Yoshiki's here, he's here. His expression makes him stutter, eyes narrowed with forecfulness, yet his mouth drips with spit, and his body's all red and messy.

"Oh," 'Hikaru' draws back, feeling his face retract, until it's just his eye warbling, "Sorry."

Yoshikis shakes his head, spit dripping from his mouth. He's beyond red, with his bangs sticking to his forehead, and he's weaving around his eyes.

He forces himself to soften his hold, loosening his grip on the arm inside.

Yoshiki is still trapped by it though, and he chokes, "Get off…"

He looks sick now, his lips curling and his cheeks puffing a little.

'Hikaru' feels everything go cold.

Even the arm inside him, though warm, feels like it's been iced.

"I said 'm sorry—"

"I heard ya," Yoshiki shoves at his chest, "I said…get off."

'Hikaru' blinks, his mouth gapes before he just moves and starts to ease back, his goop slowly slipping up, as Yoshiki's arm slides out.

"Ya shoulda asked to do all that." Yoshiki grits, face twinging, and 'Hikaru' feels weird again, like he's done something really wrong.

"I…I thought ya liked it—"

"Doesn't matter."

And maybe that's just it. The boundaries and rules Yoshiki had tried to set up, he'd ignored—he'd tried to uphold them, but… everything had seemed to slip through his control, his grasp..

And the thought lingers, a haunting, cold idea.

He could have killed him…

Without Yoshiki…

None of this would be fun.

He's not sure what to think…to feel, other than this weirdly heavy sensation inside.

He eases back, and Yoshiki struggles to sit up.

They peel off each other, and everything pulls back, sizzling and snapping like melting plastic.

Yoshiki sits there, catching his breath for a moment before staring at him. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes say he wants to.

Eventually, he tries to stand.

His unsteadiness has 'Hikaru' nearly jumping to his side, but his legs don't move…

He isn't all the way in. He looks at his chest and goop is still withering around, licking his ribs….

Ah, how did he not…notice—He contracts and forces everything together, only relaxing and turning back to Yoshiki once his skin knits itself with a zip.

Yoshiki's movements are unstable, and 'Hikaru' watches him gain balance, using the fence as a brace; his legs wobble.

'Hikaru' almost asks if he needs help, but he shuts himself up.

Is he mad? Is he going to leave him here?

It's just—he only wanted to make him—them feel good, to help him mix in a comfortable, enjoyable, and even fun way.

Yoshiki pops the top button of his shirt; it must have undone itself at some point. His shirt is wet with sweat, and something else. The sunlight doesn't quite catch it, though, and it just looks like he'd fallen into a river. He's quick to leave, and 'Hikaru' watches, his own shirt discarded beside him, a flaming orange that stings his retinas.

He's messed up again.

Nearly lost control, not nearly…he did…

It's his fault; he needs more control—how is Yoshiki supposed to trust him if he can't do that?

The thought eats away at him. He fights the urge to bundle himself up. He wants to go home and curl up under his blanket. He doesn't want to be here, he's upset Yoshiki and—

"Ya comin'?"

'Hikaru's' head snaps up, blinking widely.

Yoshiki had only made it a few paces before halting and calling over his shoulder.

The shadows drape over him, but he somehow still looks so bright.

He isn't…mad?

He stares at him, and 'Hikaru' registers rather quickly that if he doesn't get up now, Yoshiki will leave without him and so…

"Oh, yeah," He fumbles to yank his shirt back on and nearly trips trying to step over the bush.

He falls in step beside, or maybe half a step behind, Yoshiki—scared to really see his face but needing the closeness, the reassurance…

'Hikaru' has to stop by the locker room to change and grab his things, so that takes some time. The rest of the guys haven't finished yet, so it's quick. He leaves his jersey on the bench.

They head home, retrieving their bikes from the rack and trailing beside each other, wheels clicking as they leave the school grounds.

It's quiet, the space between them awkward and eerie.

But once they mount their bikes, 'Hikaru' takes a chance and asks—with as much ease and cheer as he can muster, hoping somewhere in his voice, Yoshiki can't tell how nervous he is—

"Hey, can we stop by Yamahisa on the way home?"

Yoshiki looks at him, foot on the ground. His face seems blanker than usual, and the wind rustles through his hair.

He isn't mad.

He doesn't look mad; if anything, he looks—oddly okay.

"Ya got money?"

'Hikaru' doesn't hesitate and throws himself into Yoshiki's words, jumping on his bike, rocks crunching below—"Hell yah I got money. I'll buy us a whole load of stuff—"

Yoshiki lets out a low laugh, and it sounds warm and hopeful. It's a feeling that has 'Hikaru' standing up on his bike and pedaling as he reaches for the sun, enjoying the sensation of it draped over his face.

They ride home together, and the scared feeling slowly drains away.

It's okay, because Yoshiki isn't mad at him, and that's all that matters.

It's all he needs.

Chapter Text

A tear in time.

A void ripping through skin and bone, no blood, no gore, just the absence of light, of anything and everything.

There's an odd draw within it, an outstretched vine worming around his arm, sprouting leaves of doubt and warning.

He shouldn't be drawn to it so much, but he is. Maybe it's only natural to want to understand the unknown—human curiosity. Desire.

To find some way to understand the incomprehensible.

A logic that follows suit, because his eyes can't understand, so maybe his hands will—or perhaps something inside him will if he slips his fingers through the slit.

The skin opens around his hand, met with heavy masses of liquid that squish and swirl under his touch. It feels like raw chicken drenched in a tar-like brothy substance that smells of rotten eggs and fish, and the underside of an old, rusted nail. It's a thicker substance, like molasses, twinging around his fingers, weaving through and filling. It's like sticking his hand inside a ball pit, only tighter, heavier, and greater in mass.

His arm swims in the polluted liquid, fingers itching odd spots, shifting in and out, curiously exploring the deepest of holes—the desire of being the first to see, to find, to traverse the unexplored cavern.

Things man has never seen, nor should.

It feels endless, eating away at him.

The monsters' insides climb up around his fingers and slot in under his nails. They dig their way under his skin, inside and out. The underside of his flesh feels cold, in contrast to the heat built up in his epidermis and the muscles beneath. It's a contradiction, like firecrackers bouncing around his nerves, flesh fluttering as if a mound of ants had washed up in his arm, hooked together in a tidal wave.

He's consumed, buried deep within the creature.

It holds him, grabbing his elbow and plunging him further in, forcing him inside as if the void can't stand being apart from him.

It wiggles around Yoshiki's arm, and there's the weird sensation beginning to prick inside his mind.

His head itches, and there's this stinging—this loud buzzing sensation ramming agaisnt the backside of his skull. It feels odd…not bad, but weird. A pleasure that keeps spiking, growing painful, and yet, good—this feeling that makes his nerves scream and his features melt with uncontrollable rapture.

And suddenly…

It's everywhere, everything's sticky, everything's messy, and his clothes are soaked with a slimy coat rubbing over his skin, up his arm, over his neck. It's climbing on him, into him, filling him up, from the inside and out, cradling him in its sublime mass of something that feels…

Feels so incomprehensible …

He's faintly aware of his own panting, and the hoarse way his voice sounds when he mumbles words that don't exist. He's faintly aware of how hot, how red his face is, and the way tears brim at the corners of his eyes. Aware of how his mouth opens and he gapes like a drowned fish as the tendrils crawl in there too, sliding around his tongue, and pulling at the muscle.

The monster's insides taste oddly like nothing, except for a slight metallic whir, but Yoshiki can't tell if it's his own saliva, the creature's reaction to it, or the creature itself. Whatever it is, it tastes like rust, a sharp, bitter thing that has the same tang as a lost tooth.

The monster's insides hold Yoshiki.

It's squirming, burrowing, and wriggling inside, making Yoshiki huff out oxygen, his energy spurred by the rush of adrenaline pumping through his body. He's faintly aware of the way his back arches up and the monster curls beneath him there, too, how it sucks him around inch by inch, pulling him deeper and deeper.

A pleasure settles at the bottom of his gut, and it's followed by a nauseating need to vomit and spit it out—a need to get rid of it. The heat growing near his groin, he faces the urge, the feeling vibrating through his body, the sparking of pure bliss in his mind, and—He needs it to stop.

But he also doesn't want it, too.

It pulls him in, dragging him deeper and deeper. Consumed by the dark backside of his eyelids, everything feels so much more potent, so much more vivid than the first few times.

As if his skin holds memories of his touch, and each touch urges a shutter out of him, the memory cemented and punctuated under his skin like a photograph.

He could lie there forever, lost in the pooling waste that cradles him, holds him.

And then the ease disenigrates beneath him, as the tendrils curling around his face, gently pull apart and split, revealing a large eye.

A large red eye.

It clicks, and with a loud echoing clap, like stadium lights burning out, red flashes through the pupil of his eye and spills over his face—bathing him in blood.

The scrutiny of the eye, jagged edges and an emotionless, empty stare that makes Yoshiki squirm, wanting to pull away to run to escape, but he finds the tendrils tightening around his limbs, and the comforting feeling falls away as bliss turns to fear and his breathy pants turn into gasps, lungfuls of desperation.

The eye pulls back. It's far and then close, the tendrils providing a type of foliage around him, hiding him inside this monstrous cave until…lurking somewhere deep in the muddied darkness, a face blurs into focus, a face sun-kissed, with a tooth jutting out at the corner of his lax mouth— red eyes and white hair.

It nears him, its ghoulish frame ghosting out from the cave, feet gliding over the floor.

Then a distorted hand grabs him—

It takes Yoshiki by the face, palm rough against his cheek. It presses and confines him into a smaller, more condensed being—his lips forcibly puckering as it leans down and opens its mouth, hovering just above him—small, snake-like strands of its being slither out and roll around his jaw, slitting in between his raw, puffed lips. It slinks down, stuffing his throat—he's losing air—he can't breathe, he struggles, but nothing moves, nothing happens, he's trapped wriggling. He tries to scream, but it's muffled, sweat drenching every inch of his body. His lungs are burning, and his heart pounds through his chest. The air slowly leaves him, rotting as the tendrils of the monster find themselves in his stomach and begin to squeeze, making everything inside him hurt.

He feels cramped and stretched in such an insufferable, painful way—his lungs shriveling and his body caving, he can't take it anymore, his vision blurring, dotting with black and—he inhales, eyes snapping open as his struggles for air become present and loud.

He lurches forward.

His throat thrums with an overbearing pulse that echoes between his ears…

It takes him a second before Yoshiki realises he's in bed.

It had all been—a dream—a nightmare…

His heart hammers, and somehow the idea of it being just a nightmare doesn't quite express the tremor behind his eyes. It's too small a word to describe the uneasy stomach or the cool burn just below it.

It's too dark to confirm his own suspicions, and so he reaches to drag a finger over the cool spot on his shorts…

It's damp, and in his grogginess, it takes a second to process why and how this has happened…not that it hasn't happened before, but rather the dream that'd brought him to the point of…

His hand pulls back with ignition.

He's so gross.

Around his waist, his shorts itch, and he quickly stumbles out of bed to tug them off, fetching new boxers.

He tries to ignore it, but it's nearly impossible. The phantom sensation still tingles, and he feels like he's being swallowed whole.

He tries to ignore it, but the nightmare filters back as he closes his eyes, and Yoshiki's not sure what he'd rather face.

The entanglement of his sins or the clump of his filthy clothes on the ground.

In the morning, he wakes with the aftertaste of the faded dream lingering in his veins and the reminder of his soiled shorts and boxers crumpled in the middle of the room.

He glares at it, as if it could burn away and stop existing altogether.

He still feels gross, and he doubts this weird coat of shame and disgust will go away at all. He presumes the only way to do that would be to burn his skin off entirely…and even then…

His stomach squeezes, and naturally, out of habit, he turns to grasp the pills by his head, breaks a seal, and swallows them. His throat is dry, and it doesn't go down all the way; it scratches and makes him cough, forcing him to sit up and drink a near-empty water bottle at his side.

He feels oddly hollow, empty.

And he sits there watching as life slowly reveals itself, the morning seeping in through the window, warm light on his legs, and pouring over the floor. He can hear the muted chatter of the TV from the other room and the slight sizzle of something, food being made, a smell that has yet to hit his room, and a smell that's sure to turn his stomach even more out of favor.

His fan whirls quietly, thunking each time it swings around, a solid, constant beat Yoshiki can hone in on and draw himself in.

That… nightmare…

'Hikaru'.

He tries to ignore what it means, what it says…he tries to cool himself off with well-deserved thoughts. Thoughts about Hikaru, his best friend, the boy he had grown up with.

The boy whose body is no longer his own.

He's disgusting.

The sensation lingers around him, strong and entwining his fingers, loose but hugging him—like a worn-in sock. There's remembrance of a feeling, a touch like a phantom, wriggling around him…

A similar sensation around his mouth, one he has to forget or else the unease in his stomach might actually make him puke.

It's fine.

It had only been a dream, nothing more.

A dream… he almost wants to laugh.

Months of dreaming of Hikaru's dead corpse, and this is the first break he gets.

He should be happy, but the dream was somehow worse than anything he'd imagined. Something so soul-shaking, his chest aches as though something had been inside him. His arms hold a faint chill, a slimy substance that ain't there.

From the other room, his mom calls his name. It doesn't move him; it doesn't earn a reaction.

Yoshiki sits there and buries his head in his hands.

He hates the comfort—the coolness—of his dark palms.

He hates it even more because it reminds him of that dream.

School.

He's at school again.

He has to remind himself again and again.

He feels like time is thickening around him, like he's shimmering in a pot of sugar, and it's growing denser, warmer.

He's finding it hard to focus…for what reason, he's not sure.

Everything ticks louder, his hands feel heavier, and he lays them sprawled out on his desk, scared his fingers might touch because if they do he's convinced they'll stick together.

He can't shake it.

The dream, spun of rotten fruit and torn from old, ragged cloth—dreary and disgusting and…

He can't stop thinking about it. And it inevitably leads to other thoughts that linger in areas he doesn't want to think about…

He'd made a mistake…

Doing all that with 'Hikaru' again.

Ever since they did it behind the gym—heck, even before, when he'd "kissed" him.

He's been shakier, unerved, like he's missing something, longing for it. Like he's a wandering child who only feels nice locked in their mama's arms.

Only his safety isn't his home, and it isn't even his mama…

No, his safety comes from some creature. This thing that's crept into a dead corpse and pretends to be his best friend…

His mama's arms are in the form of a two-faced monster, with eyes that bleed like sprouting spider lilies, and hold enough dark matter that it can become a black hole and consume anything and everything.

No, his mama's arms are in the form of a crevice, a cavern carved into the cavity of a boy's chest, strung between ribs, and splitting his heart in two. His mama's arms come in the vastness of oblivion and the obsidian glare that stares back…and dare he pluck it, tease the string—it wouldn't play a sweet lullaby—it would snap. Suddenly, his mama's arms would be drowning him, crushing him, and depriving him of anything and everything.

His mama's arms are him.

Him.

And that terrifies Yoshiki.

It terrifies him because everything seems out of place until he's there; his pulse doesn't slow until he's near him. It doesn't slow until his breath fuses into his skin—it's not until he's buried inside, with a hand drenched in uncertainty—It's not until he's suffocating in guilt and disgust, wanting to molt out of his flesh—out of his entire being.

No, Yoshiki's comfort isn't in the form of his mama's arms.

It comes from a hollowed-out body and the monster that hides inside.

"Yoshiki….?"

He stirs.

"Yoshiki."

His eyes break open with a light knock on his desk. Lifting his face, his cheek feels particularly hot where it'd been pressed agaisnt his arm.

"Huh?" he wipes at the small wet patch at the corner of his lips. Had he drooled?

"Damn," Maki laughs, leaning against the chair in front of him, "what's got ya sleepin through fifth?"

Memories slowly filter back—right, school.

Half of the class is gone, and the other is buddied up around the room, softly chattering with each other. There's a louder group in the far back, and Yoshiki grinds his teeth when their cheers at some mobile game carry over.

He's dully aware Maki's saying something, but the room's a little loud, a whirring fan, and the sound of shoes lingering outside in the hall.

"Ya ain't ever fallen asleep in class before—" Maki shifts, and the chair before him makes a plastic, squeaking noise, which is weird. It's made of wood and metal. Everything seems off, like perception itself has ghosted away from him, becoming sharper and more blurred at the same time. "But seriously, ya stay up all night reading something special?"

Maki wiggles his brows suggestively as Yoshiki sits up, eyes squinting under the sunlight.

Something special…

"Don't be ridiculous." He huffs and stretches his legs out. His knees ache, and he raises his arms. The dark mark on his right glistens under the sun like it's wet. When he touches it, though, there's nothing there, or rather, there's a lack of anything. It's numb.

"That's gotta be it." Maki chuckles, kicking his legs under the table, as if there's some sort of secret. And maybe there is…maybe he isn't all that wrong.

"It's not," Yoshiki groggily drawls, feeling his face heat up.

"Sure," Maki scoffs, "if that ain't it, 'n yer sleepin in class just cause, then the world might as well be endin."

Yoshiki looks at him with a pinched expression, "I highly doubt the world depends on whether or not I sleep during class."

"Well, for me it does, I still need yer notes for math."

"Again?" He sighs.

Maki scurries to the edge of his desk, raising a single meek finger as if it'll gain him any sort of sympathy.

"Last time, please."

He claps his hands together, and Yoshiki shakes his head, "Yer just lyin'."

And yet he still reaches for his notebook, digging for his journal, "just take a picture of 'em"

"You're the best!" Maki scrambles for his phone and shuffles through the notebook.

Yoshiki numbly watches him, noticing the odd absence of something that should be near… he looks over at 'Hikaru's' desk, and it's empty, chair pulled out, and some paper messily scattered over it.

Musta stepped out. Yoshiki thinks, and it shouldn't be weird, it shouldn't put him on edge, but for some reason, his skin feels like it's about to wiggle out and slither towards the absent space. As if his body is subconsciously reaching out and trying to find itself.

But that's not right…

It's all itchy, itchy in the way a burn pricks and pops, itchy like scabs. He can't scratch it, but the need lingers far too temptingly.

Maki pushes the journal back, thanking him.

"You forgot to take notes again?" Yuuki snorts as she and Asako walk up, and Maki turns defensively.

"I didn't forget! It just didn't seem important at the time."

"Wow," Yuuki laughs dryly, "That's a pretty dumb excuse."

"Well, it's not like I'm the only one who doesn't take any—"

"That's even lamer—"

Yoshiki tunes out their bickering pretty quickly; it's common, familiar, and it should ease him, but all it does is make his skin crawl.

A shadow shifts on the ground, causing Yoshiki to look up, finding Asako at his side. She's smiling softly, eyes on Yuuki and Maki, before she seems to realize she'd grabbed his attention.

She hesitates, a little figety—shakey in the way Yoshiki feels, and he's not too keen on this conversation even before it begins.

"They're always pickin' fights with each other, aren't they?" she giggles, "Takes a lot to rile Yuuki up like that."

Yoshiki doesn't say anything… and turns his eyes back to his desk.

There's a weird weight in her tone, and it's heavy over his back. "Hey, I…" Asako fumbles, and she lowers her voice a bit more, "Are you okay?"

No.

But he isn't about to say that out loud.

Yoshiki tries to keep his voice steady, "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

Asako shrugs, "Ya just look…real bad."

The words are harsh enough to make him huff without thought, "Gee, thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm fine Asako." He exhales, and he casts a look at her. Her face is twisted weirdly, in a way that says something it shouldn't, in a way that makes Yoshiki subconsciously glance around for 'Hikaru' again, but he ain't here. It's just them.

"If ya sure," she says, a smile marring her lips. Asako's nice, she's always been nice, a little loud, but it's comforting because it's her…

And yet this smile in particular feels like it's tainted with something sharp, something that leaves him rotting under her gaze.

"Ya can always talk ta me about it…" She continues, "Seriously…if there's anything at all—even if it sounds a bit crazy."

"Crazy?" He parrots, not quite sure they're definitions are all that similar.

But she only laughs, "Ya never get monsters under yer bed?"

A joke.

"No, I'm not five."

"Still…" she bumps his shoulder with a fist, making him pull closer into himself, "If ya get 'em….I'm here."

It's sincere, and a little more intense than the rest of her questions. Yoshiki struggles to figure out if it's his own unease or if there's something buried beneath her words.

"—Hey, ya guys doing anything this weekend?"

Maki pops back, and Asako easily turns to the conversation, "Free as a bird, why?"

Maki leans against the desk behind him, as they make a struggling circle.

"I was just thinkin' it'd be fun to hang out…we could go to an amusement park or sumthin'"

Something curls in Yoshiki's stomach and…

"An amusement park!" The voice sends a shiver down Yoshiki's skin, and his neck feels cold.

His head snaps to 'Hikaru' who's practically prancing over to them, leaning over a desk with an ecstatic, blown face. Eyebrows raised so high they scratch his bangs, and a smile so large his tooth pokes out in an awfully uncomfortable-looking way.

"Oh, you're back," Maki grins, malicious look forming on his face, "what'd Hara-sensei want?"

'Hikaru' huffs exasperatedly, "I'm just failin' a class or sumthin' it ain't important—Are we goin' to an amusement park?!" 'Hikaru' lights up again, and there's a slow slink of ease into Yoshiki's chest.

"If we wanna—"

"I'd rather not." Yuuki objects, arms crossed.

"Come onnn," Maki drags.

And Yoshiki shies at the idea. Amusement parks… at the thought, he can already feel his stomach rolling, and the burn of acid in his throat.

"I'm with Yuuki."

"What—" Maki gapes, "not you too, Yoshiki…"

But Asako interrupts, "Yoshiki's right, why not do somethin' easier, it'll be just as fun—"

"Oh!" 'Hikaru' perks up, "What about my place? We can light some fireworks, watch movies, and do anythin'."

Maki rebounds quickly and lights up at the idea, "Wait, really?"

"Are you sure your mama's okay with that?" Asako asks, and 'Hikaru' hums.

"Yeah, she likes havin' company—Yoshiki?"

He turns to him, and Yoshiki is a bit taken aback by the direct question, but he just shrugs.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Maki claps his hands together, making Yuuki flinch, and she scolds him for being too loud, whacking his arm. He hisses, but keeps going.

"Ow, sorry—Okay, so we need a plan." he lists them on his fingers. "Fireworks—the biggest, best ones we can find, and we can play some games—"

"Nah, pass on the games, let's watch a movie," Yuuki argues, and Asako also perks at the idea.

"Hey Maki, you got any movies at home? Hikaru doesn't have much, most of it's old rom-coms his mama likes."

"I mean yeah, I do…but it depends on what kinda movie, I guess."

"I don't care, as long as it's good." Yuuki huffs making Askao laugh, adding on.

"Try something spooky, hehe, that sounds fun. See y'all pee yer pants."

"I will not!" Maki's face turns a bit red.

Yuuki chuckles drily, "Says the guy who couldn't even walk home because widdle ol' him was scared of this big dark forest—"

"I wasn't scared! Not anymore, I mean—hey, stop laughing, I ain't that funny. Ugh…anyway—" he starts desperately trying to pivot the conversation—"movies, movies, well, my daddy's got a buncha oldies and my brother's a real film junky, especially with the weird shit. I've got…let me think—Onibaba, Godzilla—"

Yoshiki's happy just listening to the conversation, nodding along when he notices 'Hikaru' move closer to him.

He doesn't say anything at first.

Maybe Yoshiki's tired, or there's just something that ain't right with him still, but he doesn't realise what 'Hikaru's doing until his fingers are in his bangs and he's pressing the back side of his palm to his forehead. Yoshiki blinks for a second before leaning back, a troubled line on his lips.

"What are ya doin'?"

"Ya look off." 'Hikaru' frowns, and his hands fall back to his side, "Thought ya might be sick or sumthin'."