Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Out of all the new and innumerable aspects of the human experience, there were several that [Hikaru] found especially delightful. Such as: Yoshiki, ice cream, cats, movies, Yoshiki (listed twice for emphasis), trigonometry.

Football club, unfortunately, was not one such aspect.

He didn't hate it, but he sure wasn't as enamoured by it as Hikaru—the human Hikaru—apparently had been. It was loud and chaotic and involved a lot of confusing rules, for one thing. It was one less hour each week he could spend with Yoshiki, for another.

But since Hikaru had been the team's star player, by all accounts, [Hikaru] couldn't exactly just drop out. So on days like this when club ran late, he spent the entire ten minutes it took the captain to drone on about the upcoming fundraiser with no choice but to shuffle impatiently in place and distract himself with wistful thoughts of Yoshiki. He was probably waiting on [Hikaru] already, wasn't he? He was always so punctual, so dependable; it made [Hikaru] smile to himself, to think that maybe Yoshiki missed him when they were apart just as much as [Hikaru] missed him.

But when he skedaddled at the first opportunity and arrived at their usual bench, he found it empty. [Hikaru] squashed his first instinct, which was immediate and all-encompassing panic. Either that Yoshiki had been snatched away by some miscellaneous malevolent spirit, or that he's left without you because doesn't want to be with you, he don't need you no more—

—none of which were very productive thoughts to be having. So instead he closed his eyes, listened, and picked through the drone of cicadas and the hum of the air-con and the low, murmuring chatter of the students still milling about, until he found the steady, comforting rhythm of Yoshiki's heartbeat. It wasn't difficult. [Hikaru] could've found it from miles away.

(He'd done so before. Frequently. In the stillness of early mornings when he forgot to make his body sleep, and in the dark started to think less with his still-novel human brain and more with himself, with that ancient instinct that drove him to reassure himself that Yoshiki was still here, still breathing.

But that was besides the point.)

Yoshiki's heartbeat led him to the quiet stretch of concrete behind the gymnasium, where he found Yoshiki himself standing across from someone unfamiliar. Ayame, [Hikaru] identified, one of the girls from Class C.

And at the edge of the yard, melting in and out of the shadows, there was the impurity that'd been stalking Yoshiki since that morning. Yoshiki hadn't noticed yet. And it hadn't gotten close enough for [Hikaru] to take care of it. It wouldn't, if it knew what was good for it. And if not…

[Hikaru]'s fingers curled, anticipatory.

He grinned, and was about to bound over, drape himself over Yoshiki and demand—no, ask politely—who this new acquaintance was. But he caught Ayame's faint blush, the way her hands twisted in front of her, and stopped. He tore his attention away from Yoshiki's heartbeat, and listened.

"I don't have any expectations, but I thought I might as well tell you," she was saying. She laughed dryly. "It's good to get these things off your chest, right? What's the worst that could happen."

Yoshiki's face was blank, but all his attention was on Ayame. He nodded.

Ayame's own heartbeat was slightly faster than the norm for humans, but Yoshiki's wasn't, so he wasn't in any danger. Or maybe he was, because, [Hikaru] thought—not for the first time, and now with fond exasperation—Yoshiki's sense of self preservation was woefully underdeveloped.

But Ayame, from what [Hikaru] could tell about humans, didn't seem malevolent. And she definitely wasn't an impurity, so there wasn't any real reason for him to intervene. He stood back and watched as she took something from her bag and handed it to Yoshiki, a small package wrapped in neat white paper, and it was only then that he realised: oh. This was a confession.

In [Hikaru]'s defence, he had all of one similar experience to go off. And he hadn't recognized that for what it was at the time either. He had to rifle through Hikaru's memories, compared what he found there to what he was seeing now.

And he did the same with everything he'd studied, pored over, in an attempt to be better at being human. Novels from the town library, manga borrowed from both Yoshiki and Kaoru, dramas he watched on Maki's recommendation. All very illuminating.

So now he knew what was happening, and he had an idea of what would happen next: Ayame liked Yoshiki. Liked, in a way that was still not entirely comprehensible to [Hikaru]. And if Yoshiki liked her back, then they'd start—[Hikaru] took a moment to parse the term—dating.

Which would entail—what? Ayame would start spending more time with Yoshiki, he supposed. [Hikaru] once again solidly quashed his instinctive reaction to that prospect, and once again reminded himself firmly that it was not very human to want to keep Yoshiki to himself all the time, to be the one he talked to the most, the one he cared about the most. Not very human at all.

And he needed to be human for Yoshiki's sake so, he decided, if Yoshiki started dating, he wouldn't mind. Neither he nor Hikaru knew Ayame too well, but she seemed nice enough, and she was in the volleyball club with Asako, which was cool, and she liked Yoshiki, so she clearly had good taste. Hanging out with her, while she and Yoshiki dated and kissed and did all the things that humans in love did, would be good for all parties involved. And that was the end of that.

Except, if Maki's dramas were any indication, they'd be the ones who didn't want [Hikaru] hanging around.

[Hikaru] convinced himself that he'd be fine with that. Absolutely fine.

He was still convincing himself by the time he saw Yoshiki incline his head—a short, formal motion—and walk away. [Hikaru]'d forgotten to listen to the rest of the confession but Ayame was still standing in the courtyard, looking mildly crestfallen but not all that upset, which probably meant it hadn't worked out. Or maybe it had.

He sidled up to Yoshiki as soon as he rounded the corner. "So? Did you say yes to her?"

If Yoshiki was surprised that [Hikaru]'d been eavesdropping, or pissed about it, he gave no indication. "No."

"Why? She's cute, ain't she? Ya don't like her?"

"Not in that way. I barely even know her."

"O-ho! So you're a romantic!"

"What are you talking about? I'm nothing like that."

"Oh yes you are," [Hikaru] said evilly. "You gotta be courted, you're waiting for your one true love—"

"Would you quit it? What would you even know about that?" Yoshiki knuckled his head, and [Hikaru] nudged shamelessly into the touch, then looped his arm through Yoshiki's and dragged him off towards the gates.

He wondered what it would take for Yoshiki to like someone 'in that way'. Sometimes he figured Yoshiki must have liked the human Hikaru, just based on how he talked about him. The way he got all sad when remembering him.

Which in turn led [Hikaru] to wonder if maybe Yoshiki liked him. He had the same body after all, and, if he tried, the same personality. It was a prospect that made him feel almost giddy with delight. And then with guilt, which was still a novel and much less pleasant sensation. His insides twisted anxiously, roiling beneath Hikaru's skin.

Because if Yoshiki did feel that way, it would be for the corpse [Hikaru] was wearing. And even if it wasn't, it was just as he'd said: what would [Hikaru] even know?

Objectively, he was aware the concept of romance, the mechanics. But he still didn't get it. It just wasn't something he could feel. He didn't even know how to describe what he felt for Yoshiki. It was becoming increasingly, distressingly clear that whatever it was, it wasn't anything that could be described as human. He wanted Yoshiki's soul, which was a familiar, well-worn urge, but besides that—

All he knew was that he wanted to be close to Yoshiki, always. He wanted Yoshiki to always pay attention to him. To care about him the most.

Which made just his insides twist even more because sure, he might look like Yoshiki's Hikaru, but it was clear that as hard as [Hikaru] tried, Yoshiki didn't see him the same way. And that both disappointed and delighted him all over again, in a terrible kind of way, and—

"Oi. [Hikaru]."

[Hikaru] blinked. Yoshiki waved a hand in front of his face. His brow was knotted up, the way it got when he was concerned and trying to hide it. "You're totally spaced out," he said. "Did you hit your head again during practice?"

"Yup! Real hard. They put me in front of the net and used me as target practice." Never one to pass up on an opportunity when it presented itself, [Hikaru] groaned exaggeratedly, going limp and leaning his entire weight onto Yoshiki. "It hurts so bad! You gonna kiss it better?"

"Go die," Yoshiki said, without heat. He elbowed [Hikaru] away so he could shrug his backpack off and place it in his bicycle basket.

"Ah, wait!" [Hikaru] said, remembering. "What was that thing Ayame gave you?"

"Just how long were you spying?" Yoshiki unzipped his bag. "She just gave me some chocolates. And a note."

"Can I see the note?" [Hikaru] asked immediately.

"It's none of your business," Yoshiki replied, just as quickly.

Worth a shot. [Hikaru] shrugged it off and peered into Yoshiki's bag. For someone who claimed to not return Ayame's feelings, he'd packed her chocolates very neatly in there, placed them securely in the front compartment so they wouldn't get jostled around.

"You don't like sweet stuff. They make you all nauseous." [Hikaru] unchained his own bicycle. He felt strangely itchy, unsettled. If he were to confess to Yoshiki, he thought, he'd do it properly. With pickled plums, which were Yoshiki's favourite. Not that he ever would, but still. "Are you gonna toss them out?"

Yoshiki smacked him lightly on the arm. "Of course not! That'd be so cruel. I'll see if Kaoru wants them."

"You ain't gonna ask me if I want them?"

"You don't deserve them. You're too mean."

[Hikaru] laughed. Maybe he was too mean. It was okay; Yoshiki was nice enough for the both of them.

On the way back to Kubitachi they stopped at the usual konbini for ice cream. They must've restocked recently; the freezer wasn't barren, for once. They brought their purchases out to the bench in front and, for no particular reason, [Hikaru] sat even closer to Yoshiki than he normally did. Arms pressed together, knees nudging.

Out of all the aspects of the human experience, being near to Yoshiki had to rank near the top—after Yoshiki himself, of course. [Hikaru] just wished there weren't all these layers of clothes and skin and muscle and bone between them, but it was good enough. He could feel the warmth of Yoshiki's soul, even if he wasn't allowed to touch it. Not yet.

"Ugh, gross, it's way too hot for this," Yoshiki grumbled. "And you're all sweaty from practice."

[Hikaru] very nearly pointed out that Yoshiki had never complained when Hikaru sat huddled next to him like this. He'd smiled, small and private enough that Hikaru could pretend not to notice, and inched even closer, a minuscule amount. Hikaru hadn't noticed that, but [Hikaru], combing methodically through his memories for every instance of Yoshiki, did. You didn't mind then, [Hikaru] wanted to say, so what's the issue now? We've got the same body, don't we? He was just as gross and sweaty as me.

But even something like him could recognize how awful and petty this was, not to mention that Yoshiki would get all downcast and distant whenever the topic of Hikaru arose. So [Hikaru] kept all that to himself and said instead, "Things like me, you know, we can't regulate our body temperature so easy. I can't warm myself up the normal way, so I gotta share your body heat. Otherwise I might freeze to death right here."

He wriggled even closer. Just to prove a point.

"What, are you serious?" Yoshiki demanded, eyes wide. Then, darkly, "You're terrible," as [Hikaru] dissolved into cackles.

"I wasn't lying!" Not much, anyway.

"Whatever. You reptile." Obviously giving him up as a lost cause, Yoshiki flicked him lightly with his backpack strap and slumped backwards. "Which reminds me," he said, "Mom's remodelling part of her salon, so if you're gonna be such a limpet, you might as well come over this weekend and help. Just to lift boxes and stuff. It's okay if you're busy," he added, in a rush. "You don't have to."

"Of course I'll come," [Hikaru] said. A burst of surprised pleasure; Yoshiki rarely ever asked him for anything. [Hikaru] could, and did, count the times he had. He wished Yoshiki would do it more; he wanted to give Yoshiki everything he asked for. He wanted to be the one that made Yoshiki happy. "And whaddya mean, if I'm busy? You're the most important thing to me. I'd do anything you want."

"Don't be weird," Yoshiki muttered, turning away. His ears had gone very red. He tilted his head back, closing his eyes and pressing his popsicle-cold hand to his forehead.

He didn't do too well in the heat, [Hikaru] had come to realise. Too much sun and he practically melted into a Yoshiki-shaped puddle. Hikaru hasn't been much of a fan either, but [Hikaru] didn't mind. He'd been around for a long time, a very long time, in one way or another. But he'd never before had eyes to see the hazy heat rising off the asphalt, ears to hear the frogs croaking in the ditches, skin to feel the blistering midday sun, the crisp coolness of a slice of watermelon.

Humans didn't appreciate summer enough, he thought. As June slipped into July, the weather changed minutely every day; the trees grew differently, the cicadas' song intensified, and it was all endlessly fascinating. He bit into his Papicco, and was about to tell Yoshiki as much.

"If I did…say yes." [Hikaru] snapped his head over to Yoshiki, who was staring resolutely at the half-unwrapped popsicle in his hand. "To Ayame. Would you have minded?"

"Nope. No way," [Hikaru] said quickly. Did Yoshiki know? The way he'd been feeling, as hard as he'd tried not to? Was he angry? Grossed out? "She's cool as heck. And I told you, you can hang out with whoever you want. I won't get mad anymore." He thumped his chest. "Cross my heart."

"Oh. I see," was all Yoshiki said. He licked at his popsicle and went silent and [Hikaru] got the sense—as he often did—that he'd said something wrong.

With most people, he wouldn't care. But this was Yoshiki, and the thought of Yoshiki being upset with him made him want to shrivel up and crawl into a firepit and then slink back to the mountain where he belonged, so he skimmed frantically through Hikaru's memories, the borrowed neurons, for a way to fix it.

Hikaru would play it off as a joke. Suggest that Yoshiki should've accepted the confession after all. Maybe then Yoshiki and Ayame could go on double dates with him and Saitou-san if—when—she finally gave him a chance. It'd be good for Yoshiki to get a girlfriend, lighten up a bit, quit being so gloomy all the time! Not to mention, he'd say, teasing, impish—now ya got an excuse to tell me to get lost! You don't gotta put up with me hanging around you all the time anymore like the single loser I am.

[Hikaru] shaped the words in his mouth.

But none of them sounded quite right to him. Not right at all.

A cold wind rustled through the long grass at the roadside. The hanging chimes jingled softly, like they'd been brushed aside. The rafters creaked, just once. [Hikaru] glanced up, and locked eyes with something dangling from the awning, directly above Yoshiki.

It was that impurity from before. Clearly it'd been following them from school, and now dared to come closer. All its intent was fixed right on Yoshiki: that unmistakable—and very familiar—hunger.

That wouldn't do.

[Hikaru] narrowed his eyes.

Yoshiki stood suddenly, and [Hikaru] worried he'd spotted it, but he just said, "You done? Here, gimme your wrapper. I'll throw it away."

"Hey, thanks!" [Hikaru] watched Yoshiki head off, wrappers in hand. The impurity oozed down from the rafters and started to follow. He slid up behind it soundlessly.

"It's rude to stare at what ain't yours," he whispered.

He was back on the bench, swinging his feet, when Yoshiki reappeared a few moments later. "Huh, it looks like rain," he commented. "That's strange, it was so hot a minute ago. Did something happen? I heard something weird."

"Probably my stomach grumbling," [Hikaru] said. He stood, stretched, felt his insides rearranging themselves around the crushed remains of the impurity. Now that he'd consumed something, he felt warm and lazy and contented—nothing like if it had been an actual human soul, but good enough for now. "Dang, I'm hungry! Didn't you say your mom was making grilled mackerel for dinner? I can stay over, right?"

"For someone who doesn't need to eat," Yoshiki said, "you're a real glutton." They collected their bicycles once more and started wheeling them along the downhill stretch. Their shadows stretched in front of them, long and dark in the late afternoon sun. [Hikaru]'s wavered just a bit where he forgot to make himself entirely solid.

"Just 'cuz I don't need it," he said, "doesn't mean I don't enjoy it! So is that a yes?"

"You already know it is. Besides, she's making extras since she knows it's your favourite, so you'd better be there."

[Hikaru] cheered obnoxiously, flinging an arm around Yoshiki and almost sending them both, and the bicycles, toppling down the hill. Yoshiki flailed around and yelled at him to watch it, and [Hikaru] cackled and stepped back over to his side of the road.

But first he slid his hand down, to the tender skin at the small of Yoshiki's back, and pressed it there meaningfully. Only for a second. Careful not to break him, not even hard enough to leave any marks. Just enough to demonstrate, to anything still watching, that Yoshiki was completely off limits.

Chapter Text

That day in the forest, after crushing up and eating the first impurity Yoshiki had seen, [Hikaru]'d said, They follow you when ya look at 'em. Those things're lonely, y'know? Which, funnily enough, applied to himself as well. He would argue it applied even more to himself than to any one of those other, lesser, impurities skulking around, which was why it probably hadn't been the wisest idea to preface that advice with Don't look at anything but me.

Because Yoshiki had proceeded to do just that, to a really admirable degree, and well. [Hikaru] couldn't very well be blamed for getting a little attached, could he?

He'd already been attached to Yoshiki before he even knew who Yoshiki was; had been, from the very first instant he'd woken up in Indou Hikaru's broken body, Hikaru's mind, now his, still swimming with all those strange human emotions. Yoshiki was the last thing Hikaru had ever thought about, which meant he was the first—and usually only—thing [Hikaru] ever did.

The sentiment had only intensified after actually meeting Yoshiki, that first grey day in the hospital; that gentle, dazzling soul and the human who housed it, who looked at [Hikaru] with more open tenderness than a creature like him could've ever imagined. And it had intensified even more over the subsequent months they spent together, and especially during the last few weeks, when it turned out that Yoshiki knew what he was, had known, and didn't mind. Didn't want [Hikaru] to leave. Hopefully.

And that brought [Hikaru] to the present, by which time he'd become, to use Asako's words, frankly obsessed with Yoshiki. And that was even before Yoshiki took his advice and kept looking at him, at him, like he wasn't seeing his best friend's corpse, but rather the creature that inhabited it.

So really, it was no surprise when it got to the point where [Hikaru] got antsy even letting Yoshiki out of his sight for too long.

It was for the best; left to himself, he thought, Yoshiki was bound to wander off and get himself into all sorts of trouble. Each time [Hikaru] saw the delicate curve of his bones beneath soft skin, heard the fluttering pulse, the hum of his nerves, he marvelled all over again at how breakable Yoshiki was. How fragile, even for a human. Like one of those fancy ceramic plates his grandfather collected, but much prettier, and unlike those, [Hikaru] couldn't just lock him away in a cabinet to be admired and kept safe. He'd have to be much more careful with him.

But as frail as Yoshiki's body was, his soul was strong, and warm and bright enough to attract every wandering impurity in the vicinity. They now appeared almost every day, with alarming regularity. None of them were particularly dangerous and for the most part, they knew better than to get too close when [Hikaru] was around.

(They'd avoided him just the same back up on the mountain, where it had been only [Hikaru] and other creatures like him, which had made for a rather lonely existence. Now, though, he was glad of the fact. Now, he had Yoshiki.)

As for the others, [Hikaru] made sure to let them know where they stood. Although he sometimes messed up, like with that hairy creep that managed to sneak into the Tsujinakas' bathtub, he got rid of the vast majority of them before they got too close. And since he couldn't exactly lay a claim on Yoshiki's soul, he did the next best thing, which was to stick as close as he could, for as long as he could, without Yoshiki getting snippy.

Which was surprisingly long, especially if they were in private. Around other humans, Yoshiki was more likely to fret and bat him away when he started getting particularly clingy, so [Hikaru] was forced to content himself an arm slung over Yoshiki's shoulders, fist bumps (ugh), goading Yoshiki into mussing his hair. All things Hikaru had done, so Yoshiki couldn't exactly complain.

What Hikaru hadn't done was roll over to pillow his head on Yoshiki's lap on muggy afternoons when they sit together on the verandah eating watermelon. While Yoshiki sat on his bed reading, Hikaru had never slithered up and hooked one of Yoshiki's long legs over his shoulder, gazed unblinkingly up at Yoshiki's face and tucked his silky hair behind his ears so he could see him better. Bent over homework, while Yoshiki determinedly corrected his kanji, Hikaru had never taken up Yoshiki's free hand and turned it over and over in his own. Never examined the slender fingers, the neat nails, the fine knobs of his wrist, the way the joints and tendons interlaced so perfectly.

When [Hikaru] did all these things, Yoshiki still didn't complain. Didn't even get particularly flustered anymore, which was disappointing. Not even when [Hikaru] curled his fingers around the mark on Yoshiki's arm, watching them fit perfectly into place. Like a stamp, a brand.

And still, although it worked just fine to keep sundry impurities at bay, it wasn't enough. [Hikaru] was greedy. That was the thing about creatures like him. He wanted and wanted and wanted. He took as much as he could, and then more. No matter how close Yoshiki allowed him, he wanted to be closer. As fun as it was to have a human body, it was times like this that [Hikaru] chafed against its confines. Was acutely aware of its smallness, its insufficiency. He wished he could split its skin like an overripe persimmon, pour himself out, his real self—wished that Yoshiki wouldn't flinch away again, would welcome its touch, would say—

"Oi. [Hikaru]. Are you even paying attention?"

"Sure am," [Hikaru] said easily. It was only half a lie. In any other scenario, the movie would've been entertaining enough—movies about monsters often were, because they showed [Hikaru] how not to act.

But Yoshiki was right there, and Yoshiki was automatically the most interesting thing in any room, or a five mile radius, or any radius. So.

"I can feel you staring at me," Yoshiki accused. They were lying side-by-side on the floor of his room, on their stomachs, arms folded. Kaoru had borrowed his laptop for some video game, so he'd pulled the movie up on his phone and propped that up instead. Sound continued to blare tinnily through the speakers. Someone was screaming, clearly not in actual fear. "Might I remind you, you're the one who begged me to watch this in the first place. For weeks."

[Hikaru] had; Yoshiki'd kept telling him to watch it by himself, but his reactions were half the fun, so what was the point? "I am watching," he said. "But I like watching you even more."

Yoshiki opened his mouth. Closed it. [Hikaru] waited, but in the end he just huffed and turned back to the phone. [Hikaru] watched, fascinated, as pink spread along Yoshiki's cheeks, down to his neck. Yoshiki'd been a real easy blusher at first, but, much to [Hikaru]'s consternation, he'd gotten rather out of the habit as the months went by. So [Hikaru] filed away this instance like he did all the others. He'd study them later, figure out the commonality, what he'd done to cause them. How he could do it again.

The air-con gave a little kick. The temperature dropped, minutely. [Hikaru] shivered exaggeratedly, then took the opportunity to slide a little closer, towards Yoshiki's warmth.

Yoshiki'd called him a reptile, and that was truer than he knew—[Hikaru] felt sometimes like the long indolent rat snake in the biology lab, curling up to the heat lamp in its terrarium. Except Yoshiki was probably much nicer to cuddle with than a lamp, and his soul was definitely much warmer. Although [Hikaru] was pressed all along the length of him now, as much as he could, he wasn't moving away. So [Hikaru] tried his luck and wriggled even closer, till he was lying almost sideways, then slung one leg over Yoshiki's, draping himself nearly completely over Yoshiki's back, because that just felt like the convenient thing to do.

Yoshiki tensed, but still said nothing. His ears were very red now. Interesting.

[Hikaru] grinned, and hooked his chin over Yoshiki's shoulder.

"What're you doing now?" Yoshiki muttered, but he already sounded resigned, so [Hikaru] knew he'd get away with it.

"Just trying to see the movie better," he said anyway. "Y'know, paying attention, like you wanted."

"Paying attention to squishing me, more like."

"'Cuz you're too weak. You oughtta work out more."

"You oughtta work out less. You're heavy."

"Whoops," [Hikaru] said insincerely, and pressed down harder, eliciting a noise that was almost a squeak. Cute, cute, cute. Everything about Yoshiki was cute. "Want me to get off?"

"Just shut up and watch the movie."

[Hikaru] grinned again, right into Yoshiki's shoulder.

Of all the ways he'd touched Yoshiki, a list that grew ever longer and more delightful each day, this was rapidly becoming one of his favourites. Like this, he could feel nearly every inch of Yoshiki's body, all at once.

And, crucially, Yoshiki's soul was so effortlessly close, nearly right in [Hikaru]'s dark, hollowed out chest. Right where—although he knew he never could have it—he wanted it to be.

Hikaru, of course, had never done this. In fact, in the years just preceding his death, he'd stopped touching Yoshiki almost entirely. Once they'd turned about thirteen, the hugs and play-fights and joined hands had given way to those shorter, curter fist bumps, head rubs. Hikaru had missed it. He'd wanted to touch Yoshiki a lot, almost constantly from what [Hikaru] could tell, but for some obscure reason, he'd refrained.

[Hikaru] didn't have that kind of self-control.

He brushed his nose along the side of Yoshiki's throat. It smelled like nice shampoo and detergent and under that, more importantly, like Yoshiki. [Hikaru] couldn't describe it, but it was sweet and quintessentially him. And of course, there were moles here too. [Hikaru] touched one, out of curiosity.

"Yoshiki," he started, "I think you've got more moles than any human I've seen so far." Yoshiki stiffened; [Hikaru] knew he got unaccountably tetchy about the topic. "Y'know, I read somewhere the other day that some people believe moles are all the spots you got kissed in your past lives. Ya think that's true?"

"I think you've gotta stop reading so much of Kaoru's shoujo mangas," Yoshiki grumbled, clearly trying for nonchalance. But his heart was thudding hummingbird-quick in his chest.

"What, you don't believe it? I do." [Hikaru] reached around and touched the moles on Yoshiki's face, one by one, tracing paths between them like constellations. He couldn't see them from this angle, but he'd spent enough time studying them—studying every part of Yoshiki he could see—that he could've picked them out in the dark. He felt more than heard Yoshiki's sharp inhale. "It makes sense," [Hikaru] said, "if it's you."

If he was being honest, he still didn't see the appeal of kissing. How was it any different from the myriad other ways humans touched each other? But if they did it to show affection, it made perfect sense that some past version of Yoshiki had been kissed all over at some point. His body might have been different, but with a soul like his—how could he not have been?

[Hikaru] wondered if Yoshiki had ever wanted to kiss Hikaru. He wondered if Yoshiki wanted to kiss him. He'd let him, he thought. He'd let Yoshiki do absolutely anything to him.

He was curious, now that he thought about it. It wouldn't hurt to try.

So he did. It was easy as anything to tip forward and press his lips to Yoshiki's neck, just like he'd seen it done in dramas and mangas and movies he made Yoshiki watch with him.

Hmm.

As expected, he didn't see why this act in particular was any way special. But he did like the way it made Yoshiki react. The way he jerked beneath him, gasped, as [Hikaru] did it once more, just to make sure. Yes, he liked that very much.

And he especially liked the way Yoshiki's soul flared, radiant, towards the point of contact.

"[Hikaru]." Yoshiki's voice had gone all high and soft, like neither [Hikaru] nor Hikaru had ever heard it before. "What're you—"

He cut himself off abruptly, biting his lip. Unfair—stifling those sounds, when [Hikaru]'d only just gotten to hear them. He kissed Yoshiki's neck again, just to see if it would elicit the same reaction, and when it did, he kissed him again, and this time Yoshiki's gasp sounded like it was startled out of him and he shivered all over, but pushed up against [Hikaru] right afterwards, so [Hikaru] really had no choice but to do it one more time.

Perhaps there was something to be said for kissing, after all.

He tugged at the neckline of Yoshiki's t-shirt for better access and Yoshiki didn't even complain about it getting stretched out, so he was presumably just as amenable to this turn of events. His hands were flexing, clenching on nothing, so [Hikaru] took one, just to give him something to hold. Yoshiki did, tight enough that it might have almost hurt a human, so [Hikaru] said, going a bit cold, "This is okay, right?" Yoshiki froze then nodded, just once, terse, and held [Hikaru]'s hand even harder. The warmth came flooding back. So [Hikaru] squeezed back, happily, except it had turned more into him sort of holding Yoshiki down, pinning him in place, while he kissed his neck again—just one more time, he promised!

Except each time he did, he felt Yoshiki's soul rising up, closer and closer, till Yoshiki was practically incandescent with it. All those delicate membranes and filaments of his body gone golden and luminous. Until it was so close that [Hikaru] felt he could just reach out and take.

(He wouldn't. He couldn't.)

There was some instinct clamouring at the back of [Hikaru]'s consciousness, one all too human, and increasingly difficult to ignore. Some faded remnant of Hikaru's own consciousness—his own desires?—still lingering in his body. Mixing with [Hikaru]'s own familiar, gnawing hunger, till he could hardly discern where one ended and the other began. Hikaru wanted. He wanted—

—to kiss him. To consume him. To leave imprints of himself on Yoshiki's neck, on every part of him, inside and out, like the one on his arm. Yoshiki was breathing hard now, head hung down between his arms, and [Hikaru] mouthed absently at the nape of his neck. Maybe if he kissed hard enough. Maybe if he…

That instinct again, insistent. Well, Hikaru's memories had never led him particularly astray in the past, so [Hikaru] listened, and sank his teeth, hard, into the soft curve where Yoshiki's neck met his shoulder.

The reaction this earned was instantaneous, and not nearly as pleasant as before: Yoshiki flailed like he'd been electrocuted, elbows everywhere, which would've been pretty funny if it didn't also have the result of flinging [Hikaru] right off him and onto the floor. "Yeowch! Give a guy some warning!"

"Warning? Y—you're one to talk!" Yoshiki's voice was still curiously high, but was now tinged with that familiar horrified indignance. It was a pretty interesting effect. "What the hell was all that?"

"A bite?"

"Obviously!" Yoshiki scrambled away till his back was pressed right up against the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, hand clapped protectively over the spot where [Hikaru]'d chomped down. "Why did you bite me? And before that, you…you…"

Why indeed. "I just felt like it?" [Hikaru] tried, which didn't go over too well, judging from the stunned look on Yoshiki's face, so he made another attempt: "Your neck looked just real biteable all of a sudden," which went even worse. Yoshiki silently mouthed the word biteable to himself and looked like he might either pass out or throw his phone at [Hikaru], who hurriedly amended the mental list he'd been running. Kisses were fine, apparently, but biting was a no.

So it probably wouldn't have been a good idea to continue, honestly, I wanted to keep getting you to make those sounds. I wanted to see why your Hikaru'd been thinking about it so much. I don't know exactly why I did it, but it's the closest I can get to what I actually want to do to you, which of course I never will.

Time to lie, then. But since [Hikaru] still wasn't great at lying, he scrambled for something at least adjacent to the truth. "Plus," he said, "I figure marking you up might be a good way to keep all those creepy stuff off your back. All the creepy stuff besides me, that is," he added, and smirked at his own joke.

Yoshiki wasn't nearly so amused. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack. Why do you think I've been hanging off you so much? Impurities won't mess with folks once they sense me all over them, but these things like you a lot, so I've gotta be super thorough."

Yoshiki's lips thinned. He ducked his head. "So you're not—so that's why—"

"Well, mostly, I just like being near you," [Hikaru] found himself admitting. "But keeping all that stuff away from you, well. That's definitely a bonus."

This, finally, earned him another blush, although he couldn't imagine why. Yoshiki dropped his hand, and it turned out [Hikaru]'d been successful after all—there was a vivid, bite-shaped mark, right there on his neck.

Seeing it made something in [Hikaru] go all fizzy, like he'd just drank a whole can of soda too fast. Inside, he tumbled and roiled and pushed at the weak points of his body. He wanted to bite Yoshiki's neck again. He wanted to bite the other side. And all over. He wanted Yoshiki to bite him again, like he'd done in the bathtub, except on his own volition this time. And if he did, [Hikaru]'d keep the mark for as long as Yoshiki wanted.

"That's—fine." Yoshiki dragged his hand down his face, and for a startled second [Hikaru] thought he meant it as an answer to those furtive thoughts, but then he continued, "I believe you. Makes sense. But you can't just bite people."

"I can't just bite people," [Hikaru] confirmed. "But I can bite you?"

"Not out of nowhere!"

"What if I ask real nice first?" At the dark look Yoshiki levelled him with, he laughed. "Kidding, kidding! I won't do it no more if you don't like it."

"Good," Yoshiki snapped decisively, which should've been the end of it.

Except he didn't lower his knees, and he was still surveying [Hikaru] with something that [Hikaru] recognized, with a sickening lurch, as wariness. And it wasn't amusing at all anymore, because the way Yoshiki looked now was similar to that day in the classroom, slumped on the ground heaving, betrayed, after [Hikaru] had lost control and—

"I meant it, ya know?" [Hikaru] blurted. "I'll knock it off. You don't gotta tell me twice. I'll pull out all my teeth if you want."

Yoshiki uncurled a bit, mildly panicked. "What? No!"

"It's fine, I can grow 'em back. Probably. Who needs teeth, anyway?"

"You do, and that's not the problem!"

"Well, whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Anything for you. And if you really hate it that much, I'll quit sticking so close to you. Sorry," [Hikaru] repeated, wretchedly, "I seriously didn't know. I'll be better from now on. Just don't hate me."

"Idiot. Keep your teeth, I already said it's fine." Yoshiki uncurled further, and it reminded [Hikaru] of a documentary he'd watched, flowers unfurling after the winter. "I don't mind. When you do…all of that. Just don't use me as a chew toy."

"Okay." [Hikaru] nodded eagerly. He'd meant to give Yoshiki space, he really did, but now he'd gotten a taste of Yoshiki's open attention he was absolutely starving for more, so he crawled forward till he was right up in front of him, arms on either side of his knees. Yoshiki's eyes were still averted, so [Hikaru] took him gently by the chin and turned his head. He needed to see. "Okay! I can do that. No more biting." And then, because he clearly hadn't learnt his lesson: "Can I still kiss you, though?"

Yoshiki's eyes widened. His lower lip was plush and and slightly chapped where [Hikaru]'s thumb dug into it, breath warm and dry. He was still very pink. "Why did you ki—do that?" he said, muffled slightly.

[Hikaru] shrugged, best as he could. "It's what humans do when they like each other, ain't it?"

Something in Yoshiki's face shuttered. "You shouldn't do it, then. Not if you don't really know what it means."

Hikaru thought he had a fairly good idea, but he wasn't going to press the issue. "I won't," he promised again, and before Yoshiki could change his mind on the rest, he crawled right into his lap.

"I give you an inch, and you take a mile," Yoshiki muttered, but didn't try to dislodge him. He might have even lowered his legs a little more, to give [Hikaru] space.

"I'll take anything you give me, you know." [Hikaru] shoved his face into his shoulder. He wanted to bite him again, but he couldn't, so he settled for sliding his hands down, cupping Yoshiki's neck. Thumbing at the mark he'd left. "You sure you don't hate me?"

"I don't think I could, even if I tried," Yoshiki said, low, under his breath, like it wasn't meant for [Hikaru] to hear.

Much to [Hikaru]'s satisfaction and Yoshiki's apparent mortification, the mark persisted into the next day. Yoshiki's body was working to heal it, [Hikaru] could sense, but it wouldn't be that easy.

It was the weekend, so they headed to Mion Mall to meet with Yoshiki's friends. Yoshiki'd shown up at [Hikaru]'s place wearing the shirt with the highest collar he owned, but even so it was loose enough—thanks in no small part to [Hikaru] thoroughly and methodically stretching all his clothes out—that he had to keep tugging it back up as it slipped down.

"Quit messing with your collar," [Hikaru] told him, as they milled around the entrance waiting for the others to arrive. "You're like Mincemeat scratching his neck when he's got fleas."

"You're even worse than a flea," Yoshiki said grimly.

"Heh! I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you." A rather formidable scowl. "Aw, come on, it's not that bad! Betcha no one will even notice."

Maki, when he arrived a few minutes later, got as far as, "Yo, last night I saw the hugest toad in my front yard—" before his eyes locked onto Yoshiki's neck with all the speed and accuracy of a missile. He pointed and whistled loud enough that the two other people in the alley turned to stare. "God-dayum! Yoshiki, you dog! Where'd you get that from?"

Yoshiki's gaze darted around frantically, and he dragged them off to a more secluded corner. "From nowhere," he said, at the same time [Hikaru] said, "From me, of course."

Maki's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He stared at Yoshiki, then at [Hikaru], then back to Yoshiki, and turned an interesting shade of fuchsia. "From—from—!"

Yoshiki slapped a hand over [Hikaru]'s mouth. [Hikaru] licked it, which went summarily ignored. Yoshiki must be growing immune, he thought gloomily. "He's joking," Yoshiki bit out. "It was—um—a mosquito."

"A mosquito," Maki repeated doubtfully. "With teeth?"

"It was. A really big one. More of a wasp. And a lot of them. A swarm. Now that I think about it." Yoshiki was getting all squirmy, the way he did whenever he had to lie. [Hikaru] snickered against his palm, and Yoshiki clamped his other arm tight around his chest, which felt nice enough that [Hikaru] instantly went limp against him.

Maki was, mercifully, a deeply trusting soul, so he only had to think about it for a few more moments before shrugging. "Hm. Sounds about right. The bugs this time of year are freakin' gigantic, man."

"Verily," Yoshiki said weakly. [Hikaru] reached his leg back and slid their ankles together. Just for reassurance's sake.

Although Maki seemed convinced, Yoshiki still heaved a profoundly relieved sigh when Yuuki and Asako arrived to distract him. He released [Hikaru] and glowered at him.

[Hikaru] grinned back. "Yo-shi-ki," he singsonged, reaching out to poke at the bite mark. It was cute that Yoshiki still imagined glaring was any deterrent. Any way Yoshiki looked at him was a good way, as far as [Hikaru] was concerned. "Are ya that embarrassed?"

"Leave me alone," Yoshiki snapped, and spun around so his back was to [Hikaru], who immediately followed. Yoshiki was flushed bright red, head lowered, his bangs nearly obscuring his furious expression. When [Hikaru] brushed them out of the way to see it better, Yoshiki slapped his hand away. "You menace. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"I am," [Hikaru] said honestly. "I think I did a pretty good job. You sure I can't give it a try on the other side too?"

Maki and Yuuki wandered back over, mired in heated debate about the upcoming choir competition, before Yoshiki had a chance to fully throttle him. Asako followed at a distance, having apparently decided, wisely, to stay out of it. Her eyes landed on the bite mark, then flicked to [Hikaru], but she said nothing about it. "You guys wanna catch a movie? Or the arcade?"

[Hikaru] bounded over. "Arcade, hell yeah! Asako, I demand an air hockey rematch. I'm gonna beat you this time for sure."

"That's what you said the last five rematches," Yuuki pointed out.

"And sixth time will be the charm. It's my lucky number, y'know. Besides, now I've got Yoshiki to cheer for me!" He grabbed Yoshiki by the arm, ignoring his halfhearted protests. His fingers curled automatically around the mark they'd left, like they were meant to be there.

[Hikaru] lost miserably to Asako, of course, but that was just to be expected, so it didn't even phase him. But Yoshiki was weirdly distant for the rest of the day—even when [Hikaru] finagled the claw machine to snag him the stuffed weevil he'd been surreptitiously eyeing, he only accepted it with a muttered thanks and zipped it up inside his bag, then went back to being terse and inscrutable. Which was horrifying, because weevils never failed to get at least a smile out of him.

But he kept touching the bite mark, intermittently, like he couldn't help it. It got to the point where [Hikaru] started to worry that he really did hate [Hikaru] for it, despite what he'd said. The prospect was terrifying enough that [Hikaru] nearly did rip out his teeth after all, but that might have been upsetting for the others, so he just resolved himself to grovel exhaustively for Yoshiki's forgiveness the first chance he got.

He thought that chance came on the way back, after they'd said their goodbyes and made plans for the sleepover at Hikaru's place the next weekend. But before he could fling himself to the ground and properly kowtow like he meant to, Yoshiki said, "Here, this is for you," and handed him a little box.

"Whoa! Neat!" It was Ron and Tsumo minifigures in their outfits from the Sloth Island arc—the ultra-rare versions. "When'd you get this?"

"While Asako was kicking your ass at air hockey." Yoshiki still wasn't meeting his eyes, but this had to mean he wasn't all that mad, right?

"You're the best, Yoshiki," [Hikaru] said, completely sincerely. "When you do stuff like this for me, I like you so much I could burst."

"Sap," Yoshiki muttered, kicking at a loose pebble near his feet. A moment of silence, punctuated only by the crunch of asphalt and the faint tinkling of the loose bell on [Hikaru]'s bicycle. Then: "You told me earlier that all…this…will keep impurities away from me. Are there really that many of them?"

"Yeah." Even now, [Hikaru] could sense them skulking around, but keeping a much wider berth than usual. A sliver of satisfaction curled through him. "Around this whole town, really. But especially you."

Yoshiki looked a bit queasy at this. "I've only seen two, though. That thing in the woods, and…whatever was in the bathroom last week."

[Hikaru] considered his next words. While he'd prefer Yoshiki not have to deal with the impurities, or even think about them, it was probably better that he at least knew the scope of the issue. "There's been loads more. They come crawling out nearly every day. But don't worry—" he added, reassuringly— "I get rid of most of 'em before they can get too close to you! It's fun. Like snacking."

"What—since when?" Yoshiki didn't seem especially reassured. "How long have you been doing this? How long have these things been—drawn to me?"

"Pretty much since I met you." It'd been longer than that, if [Hikaru] was being honest. Even when he was up on the mountain, a drifting, unthinking consciousness, he'd been aware of that one soul, far away in the indistinct distance, that shone brighter, more brilliantly, than all the rest. And so had everything else on the mountain. But they hadn't dared go down. Not until now. "You're a real magnet for 'em."

"I still don't understand," Yoshiki said. In the fading afternoon light, the wavering glow of his soul between his ribs, he appeared remarkably small and fragile. A startlingly powerful wave of protectiveness washed over [Hikaru]. He'd do anything, he thought, to keep him safe. "Why me?"

"I already told you," [Hikaru] said. He moved closer, shifting his bicycle so he could bump their shoulders together. "It's because you're nice."

"That still doesn't make sense." Yoshiki's fingers tightened on the handlebars. "I mean, I'm not particularly nice compared to anyone else. I don't go out of my way to do stuff for people. I'm not friendly. Y'all are always calling me gloomy."

"'Cuz you are! But that don't mean you're not nice too. You're probably the nicest human I know."

Yoshiki laughed, but it was harsh and sharp. Nothing at all like the ones [Hikaru] tried so hard to earn. "No way."

"You calling me a liar?"

"No," Yoshiki said. "I just think you might not have the best grasp of what nice is."

That stung, and Yoshiki must've seen it on [Hikaru]'s face, because his voice softened. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. But you get what I mean. It's just 'cuz you hang out with me all the time. You don't have a frame of reference."

"I don't need a frame of reference. I might not be human, but I know what nice looks like. And it's you. It's like…"

How could [Hikaru] begin to describe it? How could Yoshiki not know?

Even in the beginning, when [Hikaru] had only known the concept of him, when all he'd had were Hikaru's inherited memories—it was the facet that'd shone the brightest in them. Yoshiki, Yoshiki, Yoshiki. His kindness, his gentleness.

When he was alone, one of his favourite pastimes was sifting through those memories, the glimpses into a life he would never have. He would go carefully, marvel over new ones, fondly caress old ones, polish them all like glimmering stones from the river. And every day, he managed to add new memories to this collection. All of his own.

Yoshiki, spending nearly all his allowance at the claw machine just to get that one stuffed triceratops he'd seen Kaoru eyeing. Hurrying home from school to get dinner set up on days he knew his mother would be held up at the salon. Helping old Yamato-san with her groceries, even when she pinched his arm and told him his bangs were creepy. Carefully collecting bugs with a paper cup, then taking them out into the garden and gently situating them in a particularly lush plant. Letting Maki copy his maths homework, and Yuuki practice braiding on his hair, and buying an extra Pokka for Asako on days she had volleyball practice. The way he didn't mind gross things like weevils and earthworms and beetles.

The way he didn't mind [Hikaru].

"Never mind," Yoshiki said, and [Hikaru] realized he'd been silent for too long, trying to find the words to encompass all this. Speaking was so terribly inefficient, he thought mournfully. "It doesn't matter. But if it's true that this'll keep those things away from me—from Mom and Kaoru and Dad—it's fine. I trust you." He gingerly touched the bite mark again. It suddenly seemed upsettingly stark against his skin. Like an open wound.

"I can get rid of it," [Hikaru] found himself saying. "I can find some other way of keeping those things off. If ya hate it that much. Do you?" he added, and was startled by how plaintive he sounded. "Is it that bad?"

"It's not bad," Yoshiki said, staring straight ahead, at the dim hazy mountains in the distance. "But it's not a good idea for people to see—people other than our friends. Especially if they know you gave it to me."

"Why not?"

"You don't need to understand. It just won't go well if they do."

[Hikaru] didn't understand, not at all. There was a vague sort of perception, conclusions he could draw from what remained of Hikaru's thought processes; he had a feeling Hikaru had thought about this too, many times. How it might appear, Yoshiki bearing his mark on his neck, to humans who didn't know anything about what existed between them.

What it might imply to them, which was something [Hikaru] had over time come to realize was generally frowned upon, if it happened between two guys. He had no idea why; as soon as he'd stumbled upon that realization, he'd immediately discarded it. Humans really were so strange.

But Yoshiki had tried so hard to understand him, over and over again. [Hikaru] owed it to him to do the same.

"Y'know, I think I do get it," he said. "It's like how I don't want people finding out about me, right? About what I am. It'd be dangerous if they did."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes," [Hikaru] said, a bit uncomfortably. He hadn't told Yoshiki yet about what he'd done to Matsuura-san—not that he'd seen anything wrong with it, but there was a nebulous, unpleasant sense that if Yoshiki were to find out, it would be. Not great. "I know people won't be all too happy to see me, the monster—and I know it'd look bad for you too, to be hanging out with something like me. So I'm trying my best to be human instead. I really am."

He flinched slightly when Yoshiki grabbed his wrist. "You don't have to be." There was something intent, almost desperate in his gaze, which [Hikaru] couldn't decipher at all. But he met it, stared back, helplessly. Don't look at anything but me. "I don't want you to be something you're not," Yoshiki said. "I want you to be…you."

Want. Yoshiki wanted.

"Is that a request?" [Hikaru] breathed. He had to make sure.

Yoshiki looked mildly nonplussed but said, "Sure? I guess."

"Okay." [Hikaru] felt shivery, nearly incandescent with it. Yoshiki's wish, a whole wish—just for him. "I will. But you gotta do the same."

Chapter Text

Really, [Hikaru] thought dismally, if anything, the problem was that Yoshiki was too nice. All those chances he had to get rid of [Hikaru], and he'd only taken one of them.

He'd had the right idea trying to kill [Hikaru] after what he'd done to Asako—not that [Hikaru] could have died then, or even now—but afterwards, halfed, it wouldn't have been difficult to at least incapacitate him. When his head got chopped off, Yoshiki could've just just tossed it out somewhere and the rest of [Hikaru] would've had no choice but to flop around uselessly trying to follow. That's what Yoshiki should have done. Especially given what happened afterwards in the stairwell, and knowing that [Hikaru] was the reason for all the impurities, he was the reason Yoshiki was in danger—

On the beach, [Hikaru] had been ready to return to the mountain. He really had; he'd thought it through, as much as he'd been able to, and the benefits of that course of action (Yoshiki would be safe from impurities, Yoshiki would be safe from him, Mincemeat would probably be happier too without [Hikaru] around to bug him) far outweighed the costs (spending the rest of his existence without Yoshiki which, it went without saying, was an unimaginably abhorrent prospect).

But those arguments were all rendered moot when Yoshiki wanted him to stay, since [Hikaru] would give Yoshiki absolutely anything he asked for, even when that thing was utterly inadvisable.

And afterwards, on the train back, Yoshiki had said I wanna go somewhere far away with you. And see lotsa things together, which was even less advisable but also sounded so lovely [Hikaru] could barely let himself believe it, even as he desperately wished for it to be true.

He'd meant what he said outside the drugstore: Yoshiki ought to be more afraid of him.

And yet, inexplicably, Yoshiki wasn't.

For the rest of the drive back to Kubitachi, [Hikaru] didn't speak much. He didn't think he could. His head swam, and so did the rest of him; he felt like a coiled spring, insides tumbling over each other like clothes in a washer. He was incredibly aware of Yoshiki's presence, inches from him in the backseat.

He was still hanging on to [Hikaru]'s other half, although [Hikaru] had no idea where he was keeping it. Wherever it was, it was somewhere close to his soul: hands or neck or heart. If [Hikaru] focused just enough, he could almost feel it, like a caress.

When the turn to [Hikaru]'s street approached, Yoshiki leaned forward and said, "Could you please drop us both at my place, instead?"

[Hikaru] glanced over, startled, but Yoshiki was staring out the window at the dark fields passing by, face shadowed and unreadable. Kurebayashi-san's fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. But she just said, "Of course," and kept on the main road.

Yoshiki's mother greeted them at the door, and Kurebayashi-san spoke with her a bit before getting back in her car and leaving. "That was kind of her to drive you two back so late," she said. "Hikaru, are you staying over for the night?"

"Uh," [Hikaru] started, but Yoshiki said, easily, "Yes, he is," like there was no question to it at all.

"All right," Yoshiki's mother said. "Since you're both here, I'm heading out for a little while—something urgent came up at the salon. Some issue with the plumbing, ugh." She collected her keys from a bowl near the door. "Your father and Kaoru are still out. They're done at the aquarium, just stayed back to watch the fireworks."

She and Yoshiki exchanged a look that [Hikaru] couldn't parse. They were a lot alike, he thought: equally inscrutable when they wanted to be. Then she left, and Yoshiki started heading upstairs to his room, wordlessly, and [Hikaru] trailed helplessly behind.

"We gotta call Maki," Yoshiki said. Oh. Right. Of course, that was what he needed [Hikaru] to stick around for. "See what's going on with those creepy pictures he's been posting."

They did that, and subsequently arranged to visit Ashidori the next day. Then Yoshiki hung up and turned to [Hikaru], something almost expectant about him, and [Hikaru] realised abruptly that this was the first time they'd been alone—really alone—since they'd gotten back from the beach.

Thinking too much about that made [Hikaru] go all squirmy, that fizzy-pop sensation again, so he said quickly, "Well, since that's taken care of, what d'you wanna do now? Read manga? Talk strategy?"

Yoshiki shook his head, no and no. He was still looking at [Hikaru], who still couldn't decipher his expression one bit, and was seized by a sudden, wild fear.

What if Yoshiki had changed his mind, after all? What if he'd finally come to his senses? It'd only been a couple of hours, sure, but a lot had happened in that time. Now, he knew exactly what [Hikaru] was. Now, he'd had time to reconsider just what kind of creature he was allowing to stay with him.

[Hikaru]'d been anticipating this more or less constantly since that hazy afternoon when Yoshiki had confronted him—since he'd first come down from the mountain, really—but it didn't make him any more prepared for it now than he'd been back then.

"Ack, it's pretty late, huh?" Hikaru's hands, oddly enough, were a bit clammy. [Hikaru] wiped them discretely on his pants. Most likely, Yoshiki was just too polite to outright tell him to leave, so he should give him an out. "I should probably get going, let you rest. If you want?"

For a long moment, Yoshiki didn't answer. Something in the vicinity of [Hikaru]'s heart sank. Again, he got the impression Yoshiki had been asking some wordless question, and [Hikaru]'d answered wrong. And again, Hikaru's memories offered no solution.

"Okay," he said waveringly, standing, "okay, I'll see you tomorrow, then—" and then Yoshiki was stepping forward and grasping his sleeve, keeping him in place.

"Don't go," Yoshiki said quietly. His eyes were very dark. "Just. Can you just stay here a bit longer?"

Like he even had to ask. Like [Hikaru] wouldn't climb into his chest and curl up there forever, if he could. He nodded, a bit too hard. "Course I will." Then, because he'd probably do something inadvisable if Yoshiki kept looking at him like that— "Hey, are you hungry? I'm hungry. You feel like cup ramen?"

"You're hungry? Now?"

"Starving. I always am." It was true, in more ways than one. Despite bursting at this body's seams, [Hikaru] felt much like a black hole. Dark and cold and empty. Nothing but yawning hunger. "Especially for ramen."

"You've got terrible taste, but fine." Yoshiki released his shirt, stepping backwards. "I'll go downstairs and make some. You stay here."

He was gone before [Hikaru] could offer to help. The door clicked shut. [Hikaru] slumped against it, arm still hovering uselessly, and all of a sudden he simply couldn't keep his body intact any longer: it caved in, ruptured, and he came spilling out. Through the weakest parts: eyes, mouth, neck, heart.

It'd always been somewhat difficult to maintain Hikaru's form, but lately, it had required near-constant, conscious effort. Especially when he thought too long about what Yoshiki had said. When he thought about Yoshiki.

The thing was, [Hikaru] wasn't a good—well, he wasn't a person, but even if he were, he was willing to bet he wouldn't be a good one. He was selfish and greedy and covetous. He'd hurt humans, not just Matsuura-san and Asako, but a lot more than Yoshiki could even imagine. It hadn't bothered him at first. Life and death, good and evil; those concepts seemed so petty and foreign and human. They still did. Why should they matter to something like him?

But Yoshiki cared, so he did too. He didn't want Yoshiki to hate him. Everything was contingent on that—on keeping Yoshiki safe, happy.

He should leave. He should have left long ago. He was very aware of that.

But if what Yoshiki said was true, and leaving wouldn't make him happy, after all…

Ugh. It was all too confusing. When would Yoshiki be back? Surely cup ramen didn't take this long to make, even when Yoshiki insisted on adding all kinds of fancy garnishes for nutrition purposes and the like. Restlessly, he considered heading down to investigate, but if Yoshiki wanted space, he'd have to give it to him. So [Hikaru], as was his habit, listened. He latched onto the reassuring thread of Yoshiki's heartbeat. His even breaths. The rustle of his clothes, the soft clinking of utensils. His footsteps as he padded around the kitchen.

And then Yoshiki stopped. A moment of stillness. His heartbeat lurched.

Every part of [Hikaru] ran hot, then cold. He was already surging to his feet when he heard Yoshiki gasp.

He was downstairs in the blink of an eye, and in the kitchen in another. Yoshiki's eyes went wide and startled when [Hikaru] crowded him up against the counter. "What's wrong? What happened?" Yoshiki was in pain; [Hikaru] could taste his distress on the air, hear the singing of his nerves. [Hikaru] gripped his arms, did a quick, frantic once-over. Yoshiki's soul was intact: wavering uncertainly towards [Hikaru] even as Yoshiki pressed away, but it was still whole. Perfect.

"[Hikaru]," Yoshiki said slowly. "I'm fine."

"You're not! You're hurt somewhere, I can feel it." Not his soul, so his body then. It was difficult to check from the outside, but [Hikaru] did what he could: bones unbroken, ligaments untorn, no internal bleeding. His heartbeat was rapid, but not syncopated. Then what—

"Idiot, it's just a cut." Yoshiki shook him off. "I was careless with the foil." He held up his finger, showing a laceration on the end. Small but deep. The blood that seeped languidly from it was bright red, almost garish under the fluorescent kitchen light. [Hikaru] stared, uncomprehending. He'd thought…he'd thought…

"What're you so worked up for?" Yoshiki was saying. "It's not like—ah. Ah?! What are you doing?"

[Hikaru] really couldn't say. It was like his limbs were moving on autopilot: taking Yoshiki's hand in his own, pressing his own fingertip gently to Yoshiki's injured one. He split his skin, from the point where their fingers met all the way down the direct centre of the fingernail, and let a tendril of himself go snaking out, towards the wound.

At the first contact, Yoshiki made a small, startled noise and flinched away, but [Hikaru] held him in place and concentrated. He eased the most minute trace of himself in, just enough to coalesce with Yoshiki's own blood. He thickened it, slowed the bleeding; drew the platelets to the exposed surface, made them clot, urged Yoshiki's skin to knit itself back together. When he was satisfied with his work, he somewhat reluctantly disentangled himself from the delicate mesh of Yoshiki's tissue, and when he retreated, it was like the wound had never been there at all.

But Yoshiki's heart was still pounding. "Are you hurt somewhere else?" [Hikaru] demanded. He grasped Yoshiki's wrists, tugging him closer. "You gotta tell me if you are. You gotta let me fix it."

Yoshiki didn't answer. He'd gone rather pale and was staring down at [Hikaru]'s hands which, [Hikaru] realised, weren't hands at all. He dropped them instantly, recoiling and taking two hurried steps back.

"Or not. Um. Sorry 'bout that." As if apologizing would fix anything. "I just figured—it would be faster than putting on a band-aid, and—"

He was still oozing everywhere, all over the kitchen floor. Darkness coiling out inexorably towards Yoshiki's warmth. Crap, crap, crap. No wonder Yoshiki was looking at him like that—he was probably too grossed out to even speak.

And [Hikaru] had just gone and mixed with him again, even when he knew Yoshiki didn't want him to, even after Kurebayashi-san had told him the consequences. He cringed away from Yoshiki's gaze, tried to cram all of himself back into his body, but it felt like he was just making a bigger mess. Putting himself back together all wrong.

As a result, he still wasn't quite solid when Yoshiki grabbed his arm, so his fingers nearly went straight through. Yoshiki's brow furrowed. Then his grip tightened, and he dragged [Hikaru] decisively off in the direction of the front door.

"I'm sorry!" [Hikaru] wailed again.

But Yoshiki didn't toss him out into the night. Instead, he took a right at the entryway and hauled him back upstairs, to his room. [Hikaru] kept trying to apologize even as Yoshiki pulled him inside, closed the door behind them, and then released him. He headed over to his bed and slumped down onto the edge. [Hikaru] stood a safe distance away, having more or less reshaped himself into something appropriately human, but unsure whether he was welcome to go closer or not.

"If you want me to leave—" he began, and promptly shut up when Yoshiki's eyes narrowed.

"Stop apologizing," Yoshiki was still pale, but now he looked exasperated, which, [Hikaru] thought miserably, was at least an improvement over abject horror. "What did you even do?"

"Nothing bad," [Hikaru] said weakly. He looked away, except that meant his eyes landed on the stuffed weevil on Yoshiki's desk. So he stared down at his socks, clearly the only part of this entire room that was safe to look at. "I only mixed with your blood a little. Only to heal your cut, nothing else. I just got so worried, seeing you hurt. Yoshiki, you can't be hurt."

"It was basically a paper cut!"

"You were bleeding!"

"Sure, and I've bled even worse when I was seven and Hikaru tripped me up and sent me rolling down the hill!" If Hikaru weren't already dead, [Hikaru] thought absently, he might've killed him just for that, but— "And what do you mean, I can't be hurt? Are you gonna stop me?"

"Yes!" [Hikaru] nearly shouted, and was shocked by how much he meant it. How much he wanted it to be true. Which made no sense, really; even if Yoshiki's body was injured, his soul—the core of him, the real him—would still remain intact. Yoshiki could die and he wouldn't be gone at all, and even if he did, [Hikaru] would just find him a new body easy as anything.

But he quickly detailed that train of thought, because the image of Yoshiki's lifeless body brought with it a wave of nausea so strong it nearly bowled him over. It made no sense.

"Yes," he repeated, quieter, "I will. Because I can't even protect you from those impurities anymore. Look what happened in the restaurant, and with old man Takeda. So if I can't protect your soul, I gotta protect your body, because if not, then I ain't nothing but a—a parasite. All I've done is cause you trouble. Those impurities are here because of me, you keep getting into trouble because of me, and now I can't even keep them away no more, it's all my fault—"

"[Hikaru], breathe." [Hikaru]'d forgotten to. Not that it mattered one way or another, but he usually liked to keep up appearances. "Even if it is your fault, I don't blame you."

"You should."

"Well, too bad. And you did protect me," Yoshiki added, quieter. "Over and over."

"Not well enough. And then I went and mixed with you, again. If not for me, you wouldn't even have to worry about these impurities, about these holes, about—"

"If not for you," Yoshiki snapped, "I'd probably be dead already."

This shocked [Hikaru] into silence. Yoshiki inhaled raggedly, dragged a hand down his face. Then he looked at his arm, at the mark that had somehow grown even darker, coiling up all the way to his elbow. "And I think," he murmured, "we're plenty mixed already. No point in trying to avoid it anymore. Whatever you did just now couldn't exactly make it worse. If it healed me, then it can't be all that bad."

"Aurgh! Yoshiki! You're not taking this seriously!" Why was it falling to [Hikaru] to be the reasonable one here? That was Yoshiki's job! "Of course it's that bad! It's nothing but bad news. I'm—" His mouth snapped shut.

"What," Yoshiki said dangerously. "What were you gonna say? That you're bad news?"

"No," [Hikaru] lied.

"Don't lie."

"Okay. Yes. But it's the truth! I–"

Yoshiki grabbed his shirt—he'd really been doing a lot of that lately, [Hikaru] thought, mildly hysterically. There was a wild look in his eyes. He yanked [Hikaru] close; caught off guard, [Hikaru] stumbled a bit, caught Yoshiki's shoulder to steady himself, then let go as if scalded.

"You ain't listening to me. What will it take to convince you that I don't care?" Yoshiki said. "That I want to do this with you? Can I…should we…"

His fingers uncurled. He laid his palm flat against [Hikaru]'s sternum. The intent was clear.

[Hikaru]'s eyes burned. Twice now, he'd all but dragged Yoshiki into mixing with him. Just as often, he'd done it without even asking. Yoshiki probably saw him as a pitiful, clawing creature, desperate for any scraps of his warmth, which was the truth, but still. Of course Yoshiki would feel—obliged.

"I believe you, don't worry." He took Yoshiki's wrist, meaning to move his hand away, but couldn't bring himself to do more than just hold it. "You don't gotta do all that, just for me."

"I want to," Yoshiki said simply. Then, "Look. I don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow. We don't even know what closing the holes will entail, but it sounds real dangerous. So before that…I want to do it again. One more time."

"But Kurebayashi-san said—if you keep on mixing with me—"

"I know what she said. But she doesn't know you. Not really."

Yoshiki was being entirely too nonchalant about this. Run-of-the-mill impurities frightened him out of his mind and yet here he was, coolly suggesting that he mix with [Hikaru], who was a hundred times more dangerous. There was some crucial piece of the puzzle [Hikaru] was missing. "But you hated it so much the last time," he felt obliged to point out. "And I dunno if I can keep control of myself like this. I nearly killed you, remember. Last week!"

"As I said, I'm used to that by now."

"That's not a good thing!"

"Sure, but it's the truth. And I—" Yoshiki hesitated, then said, voice low, "I didn't hate it. Not entirely. And I trust you not to hurt me again."

You shouldn't, [Hikaru] thought desperately. His neck throbbed. His abdomen, too, where Yoshiki had stabbed him. [Hikaru] really should've let him finish the job. Maybe he could, now. Maybe Yoshiki had another knife in here somewhere. [Hikaru] could give it to him, wrap his fingers around the handle, guide Yoshiki into driving the blade back into him. He could—

He must've stayed silent for too long, because Yoshiki's face dimmed. He shrunk in on himself and said, voice small, "Or, nevermind. If you don't want to, then we can—"

"Of course I want to," [Hikaru] said immediately, because as terrible an idea as this was, the alternative—allowing Yoshiki to believe that there was any part of him [Hikaru] didn't want—was even worse. "Yoshiki," he pressed, with all the urgency he could muster, because his willpower was rapidly crumbling, and if Yoshiki didn't stop him, he would— "You really don't need to do this for me."

Yoshiki laughed. That same harsh scrape of a sound. "Who said I'm doing it for you? I told you. I'm selfish." Which made no sense at all. [Hikaru] was the selfish one. "So if you really wanna do it," Yoshiki said, "then c'mere," and shuffled backwards on the bed. His knees parted, and it was so reminiscent of all the other times they'd spent in here together that [Hikaru] found himself stepping between them, reflexively.

Yoshiki's hand returned to his chest, a question. The emptiness inside [Hikaru] was already swelling, surging towards it; he bridled it, with great effort. He craved Yoshiki's touch at the best of times, but now—when it had been so long since he'd had something warm and living inside him—he was fairly ravenous for it. Already, his awareness was narrowing to nothing but Yoshiki before him, open and trusting. His soul, so dazzlingly lovely it shouldn't have been possible.

This was such a bad idea. Catastrophic, really.

[Hikaru] shrugged off his shirt.

Unlike the last time, Yoshiki didn't blush and look away. Instead, [Hikaru] found himself fidgeting; he didn't get shy about his body like humans did, but when subjected to Yoshiki's intent, undivided attention, he really couldn't help it. His insides writhed agitatedly, nearly spilling back out, but he focused and kept them contained as he split himself down the middle, sternum to navel.

Yoshiki's hand hovered an inch away. Even at that distance, [Hikaru] could feel his warmth. "Can I?" he asked, and when [Hikaru] nodded helplessly, he traced around the edges, softly, bottom to top.

Then he nudged the very tip of his finger into the slit, drawing it slowly upwards so it widened, all the way to [Hikaru]'s collarbone, the hollow of his throat, the severance of his neck held together by nothing more than willpower. His finger slipped into what had been Hikaru's trachea.

[Hikaru] gasped, more out of surprise than anything, and Yoshiki flinched away. "Sorry! Sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No!" [Hikaru] said instantly. "Nah. No worries at all. Do it again?" He shot a double thumbs up for emphasis, aiming for casual, chill, and not embarrassingly eager, definitely not ready to beg for it. "Go ahead and put it in wherever you want."

Yoshiki flushed, inexplicably. "Okay," he said, inhaling, "okay," and then he…did nothing. Just kept his fingers at the very edge of the slit, so close to where [Hikaru] wanted them. Stroking lightly back and forth, till [Hikaru] was squirming in impatience, till he wanted to take Yoshiki's hand and guide it into himself like he'd imagined doing with the knife, to push forward and engulf every part of him—

Which was absolutely out of the question, so begging it was. "Yoshiki," he said, except it came out more like a whine, "quit teasin' already and get in me! I'm gonna catch a cold just standing here with my shirt off."

Another flush. "You really gotta stop saying stuff like that," Yoshiki mumbled, but he finally, finally, slid his fingers back in. Up to the first knuckle, then the second, and then his entire hand, and [Hikaru] let his head tip back, and felt.

He had consumed humans before, and impurities too, and many things in between. So many that he'd lost count. It was just instinct for him, natural, like how humans ate and slept and breathed. [Hikaru] didn't need to do any of those things to keep this body working, but he did anyway, because they were fun.

He'd never imagined that this could be fun too. He'd never imagined a lot of things, until Yoshiki.

Yoshiki, who was biting his lip, focused, as he twisted his hand in minute increments. His eyes were fixed on where his wrist disappeared into [Hikaru]'s chest. [Hikaru] watched it too. "Yoshiki," he breathed, "what're you concentrating so hard for? You look like you're doing heart surgery in there. My heart's not beating, y'know, so you can do whatever you want with it."

Yoshiki scowled up at him. "Shut up. I don't wanna hurt you, 's all."

He was so sweet. "I wouldn't worry about that," [Hikaru] said, an understatement. If anything, it was the other way around; every part of him was clamouring towards Yoshiki, the reticula and filaments and spicules all falling over themselves in an effort to get closer, to envelop him completely, to pull him deep inside and keep him.

Which had understandably freaked Yoshiki out the last time, so [Hikaru] swatted them back, urged them to stay loose and relaxed. He wrapped them around Yoshiki's fingertips instead, pressed along his knuckles. He squeezed each finger in turn, curled them, felt the joints work.

When he brushed along the tender skin of his wrist, Yoshiki shivered, almost imperceptibly. [Hikaru] froze, expecting him to yank his hand back out. "Was that bad? Too weird?"

"You're really cold inside," Yoshiki said, which wasn't exactly a no. "I'd forgotten how much."

"Sorry?" [Hikaru] tried. Yoshiki was so warm—having him inside was like sinking into a hot bath, but a hundred times better—so something like [Hikaru] must have seemed sickeningly frigid in comparison. "I can try and warm myself up?"

"I think that would make it even weirder, honestly. It's fine like this. It's…nice," Yoshiki said, considering. Then, "Can I, ah, put more in?"

You could crawl all the way inside me, [Hikaru] thought deliriously, and said instead, "Yeah, if you want."

Yoshiki evidently did want, because he pressed his hand in further—and at the same time his other hand curled around [Hikaru]'s waist and pulled.

Not even hard, but since [Hikaru]'d long stopped paying attention to his legs—or any part of him besides those Yoshiki was touching—he found himself stumbling forward, right between the V of Yoshiki's legs. Yoshiki's arm sank right in, past the elbow, deeper inside than [Hikaru] had ever had any human, any living thing. Anything but Yoshiki.

It was all so much more than he'd ever thought he'd have again, all at once. He moaned—a high, tremulous sound that came more from himself than from Hikaru's vocal cords—and latched greedily onto Yoshiki. Drew him close both inside and out, and barely remembered to let go. But Yoshiki wasn't trying to get away. He was—he was—

"Is it good for you?" he rasped. His fingers curled, weaving into those deep parts of [Hikaru] that he kept at the vulnerable nape of his neck.

"It's the best thing I've ever felt," [Hikaru] managed to reply, too out of it for anything but complete honesty. Yoshiki ducked his head. "It's not…it ain't gross for you, is it?"

"No," Yoshiki said, and [Hikaru] watched him carefully, for any indication that he was uncomfortable, forcing himself to do this. But Yoshiki didn't look grossed out. Not at all. He looked, in fact, like…

"No," [Hikaru] murmured, agreeing. "No, I don't think it is."

Experimentally, he gave Yoshiki's arm another squeeze, sliding sinuously along the length. This time, he made a concerted effort to study Yoshiki's reactions. Now that he knew what he was searching for, it was so evident: when he dragged himself flush against Yoshiki's wrist, he felt his heartbeat kick, quicken. The infinitesimal pressure of his arteries dilating beneath the delicate skin. When he cupped Yoshiki's face, his cheeks were warm beneath his palms. He placed his thumbs on Yoshiki's lips to feel his ragged breaths and watched, entranced, as they parted, as though on instinct.

"I want," Yoshiki said, the words hushed, bitten off. "[Hikaru], you should…"

"What do you want?" [Hikaru] twined along his upper arm now, urged him deeper inside. He didn't even have to pull; Yoshiki went willingly at the touch. He wrapped Hikaru's arms around Yoshiki's shoulders as well, because it just felt like the right thing to do. They were chest to chest now, and [Hikaru] pushed even closer, spilling unabashedly out from the slit, teeming over every bit of Yoshiki he could; he'd forgotten, at some point, exactly why that was inadvisable. "Tell me. Anything at all, I'll give it to you."

"Can you. Touch me back? Not just like this. Like…" Yoshiki trailed off, clearly embarrassed. But [Hikaru] knew what he meant.

"Like this?" He found the tip of Yoshiki's index finger, the one he'd healed earlier. With exquisite care, he slipped the barest tendril of himself back inside, a question. Yoshiki bit his lip and nodded. "Are you sure?" Shivery excitement, coursing through [Hikaru]'s cells, his borrowed veins. "You won't freak out on me like the last time?"

In a true testament to his grouchiness, Yoshiki managed to glower at him even then. "Idiot, that was only because you took me by surprise. I'm expecting it now, so I'm not gonna–Oh–" And then he sighed, trembling, when [Hikaru] threaded more of himself beneath his skin. "That's…"

"Yeah," [Hikaru] said absently. It was taking every ounce of concentration to hold back from surging through Yoshiki's veins, flooding the spaces between his cells. Marking him as [Hikaru]'s, inside and out.

His hands, he thought. I won't go any further up than that. Then, it should be safe.

And after all, Yoshiki's hands were so nice that that [Hikaru] could entertain himself for a lifetime, just examining them. He wanted to know everything there was to know about them, about Yoshiki. As much as Hikaru'd known, and more. Inside and out. Through his veins, the twitching fibres of his muscles. Along his bones. All the way to the very core of him. As deep as could be, and there it was—

When he brushed against the spark of Yoshiki's soul—only a wisp of the whole, but even more mesmerizing up close—[Hikaru] shrunk back instinctively.

There was no way something like him would be allowed to touch something so bright. So lovely. He retreated, stepping backwards at the same time he dragged himself unwillingly away from Yoshiki's soul, back to the safety of his skin.

But Yoshiki slumped forward, tipping his head onto his shoulder. His breath was coming in short, hot pants. "Don't leave," he gasped, hand clawing at [Hikaru]'s arm, keeping him in place, "just, whatever you're doing, keep doing it, please—"

"You don't know what you're asking for," [Hikaru] warned, clearly alarmed enough for the both of them, because Yoshiki actually rolled his eyes. "If I keep going, it might leave a mark on you. Inside."

"Wasn't that the whole point of doing this?"

Was it? [Hikaru] was finding it difficult to think of anything beyond Yoshiki, at the moment. "If I keep going, I could hurt you," he forced himself to say.

"You haven't yet, have you?" Then, as [Hikaru] hesitated further, "What was that you said before? I needed to build up resistance against impurities, so I might as well practise with you?"

[Hikaru] winced—he had said that, but it'd been mostly a blatantly transparent ploy to get Yoshiki to touch him again.

Then again, as he let himself be drawn close once more, he rather got the feeling Yoshiki was perfectly aware of that fact.

"If I hurt you at all, you gotta stop me right away," he warned, even as he sank happily back in. Yoshiki wouldn't need to; he'd destroy himself before harming him. Despite the endless yawning hunger, he'd take nothing. Just one touch. Just one touch couldn't hurt, and the memory of it would sustain [Hikaru] for the rest of his miserable existence. "You can rip my head off again pretty easily, I think. Just throw it out the window, and I'll be down for the count."

"I'll throw all of you out the window if you don't hurry up and—" Yoshiki's words dissolved into a gasp at the first brush of [Hikaru] against his soul.

[Hikaru] felt much like gasping himself, or perhaps spontaneously combusting; just the barest contact and he felt lit up like a bulb, a livewire. When he gently, tenderly wrapped himself around it, barely skirting the edges, it didn't cower from his touch like he'd expected. It actually fluttered curiously, then flickered towards him, and [Hikaru] could only hold himself motionless, utterly enthralled.

He'd been captivated by this soul for so long, and to now finally be so close, to be allowed to touch…

Dull pain filtered through—Yoshiki's nails, digging into his shoulder, he realized—and he was aware only then of the other sensations coming from outside his body. Yoshiki was still gasping, voice gone high and soft again like that time weeks ago, like [Hikaru]'d been dying to hear ever since. Shuddering, writhing beneath him, almost echoing the movements of his soul. Then tipping backwards, pulling [Hikaru] down with him, till he was sprawled flat on top of Yoshiki on the bed, still chest to chest, and Yoshiki's arm was buried even deeper.

Yoshiki tossed his head back. His eyes, so focused before, had gone half lidded, hazy. His mouth dropped open in a sweet little 'o', that [Hikaru], for some reason, wanted to kiss.

He didn't. It wasn't allowed, after all. Instead, he dragged a sliver of himself away from Yoshiki's soul and pushed it back into his body, behind his eyes, voraciously, because this was all so new and interesting and he wanted to see everything.

Yet, there was something vaguely familiar about the sight. But [Hikaru] would have definitely remembered seeing it before, as he remembered everything about Yoshiki. One of Hikaru's memories, then. Except it didn't have the faded quality of a memory, rather more of a…thought. A conjured image. Hikaru had imagined Yoshiki, he realized, just like this. Furtively, never for too long, always with an distinct tinge of guilt, and had always tried to forget it immediately afterwards. But the image remained.

Well, too bad, [Hikaru] thought viciously. He'd had his chance, and he hadn't taken it. And even if he were still here, he'd have lost it anyway—[Hikaru] refused to let anyone else see Yoshiki like this. Anyone at all.

"[Hikaru]." Yoshiki touched his cheek, stroked beneath his eyes. [Hikaru] realized too late that they probably weren't eyes anymore, exactly. But Yoshiki didn't seem to mind. "You gotta stop looking at me like that. It's—it's embarrassing."

"But I can't help it," [Hikaru] replied honestly. "You're just so fascinating."

Yoshiki immediately screwed up his face and turned away, like he always did when [Hikaru] told him nice things. "I mean it," [Hikaru] continued, and grasped Yoshiki's chin, tilting it back; he wanted to see. He wanted Yoshiki to keep looking at him always. And it was true: look at an impurity for too long and it would grow irreversibly attached, because now, like this, [Hikaru] knew for sure: he'd never leave Yoshiki. Not if he had a choice. "I have existed for longer than you can imagine," he said, "and in all that time, I've never seen anything so fascinating as you."

Yoshiki's soul leapt eagerly towards [Hikaru]. Yoshiki grabbed his hair ineffectually and said, "It's not like you had eyes to see, did you?"

"I don't need eyes to see you, Yoshiki." He leaned down, pressing closer and closer, gently parting Yoshiki's legs to make room. "But they're nice to have anyway. It's one of my favourite parts of having a human body, you know—getting to sense you, as a human would. Everything you do, all the ways you react." He nuzzled Yoshiki's neck and licked it, right over the spot where he'd bitten before. The mark was long gone, but he relished the way it made Yoshiki startle, then melt sweetly against him. "When I came down from the mountain, everything was so new and fun and interesting, I could barely keep track. I was so overwhelmed. But then I saw you, and you were the most interesting of all, and nothing else since has come close to comparing. For as long as I'm in this world, I could do nothing but look at you, learn everything about you, and it'd be enough for me."

"Stop talking," Yoshiki warned, voice shaking, legs digging into [Hikaru]'s side, "or I really will yank your head off."

But his hands were still twined in [Hikaru]'s hair, and he hadn't made good on his threat yet, so [Hikaru] didn't see the harm in continuing. Except Yoshiki didn't seem especially inclined to listening to his words, so [Hikaru] gave up on those, and instead told him the way he knew best.

He pressed the truth of it into Yoshiki's blood, into his nerves, so he'd just know: the way [Hikaru] saw him, thought about little besides him. The way [Hikaru] would do anything for him. He pressed it straight into Yoshiki's soul.

Of all these new reactions he'd encountered so far, [Hikaru] thought, watching raptly—this was by far one of the most compelling.

Yoshiki cried out wordlessly. His eyes flew wide open, pupils blown, glassy with tears. One hand gripped [Hikaru]'s shoulder so hard it hurt; the other, inside, clenching down on him, like—[Hikaru] imagined dizzily—like he wanted to pull a piece of [Hikaru] out and keep it for himself.

When he told Yoshiki as much, he stiffened, arching up against [Hikaru]. And as he did, his soul flared, licking against the dark tendrils still keeping it ensconced. Just on the edge of painful, like holding his human hand over an open flame. [Hikaru] could barely bring himself to pull away.

When he did, there was a mark left. Dark flecks staining the insides of Yoshiki's veins, swirling along his bones. [Hikaru] stared, horrified. Guilty.

But beneath it all, there was that familiar sick glide of covetous satisfaction. Hikaru had never done this. He never could have. No human could. Nothing but [Hikaru].

Yoshiki had gone completely limp beneath him now, pliant. His chest heaved. "Yoshiki?" [Hikaru] tried, to no response.

He disentangled himself as quickly as he could without hurting him. First, unmeshing himself from Yoshiki's soul—it wavered towards him almost longingly, and Yoshiki made a small, wanting sound, which [Hikaru] steadfastly ignored as he continued. He drew himself slowly back out, through bone and innervated muscles which had gone curiously quiet, almost sated. Up through the skin, very gently, so as not to leave any of himself tangled behind. And then he reluctantly slid Yoshiki's arm from his chest, and finally withdrew all of himself from where it'd been coiled lovingly around Yoshiki's body, into the tight confines of his own.

He felt so cold already. So empty.

Yoshiki remained sprawled on the bed. The longer he went without saying anything, the more frantic [Hikaru] grew. "Was it too much? Did I hurt you? Sorry, sorry, I'm—"

"You really apologize too much," Yoshiki said, finally. "When did you get into that habit?"

[Hikaru] nearly hugged him, he was so relieved. "You ain't mad?"

"That's not exactly the word I would use," Yoshiki said, staring straight up at the ceiling. "Was that my soul you were messing around with?"

"I wasn't messing around," [Hikaru] said, almost too indignant to focus on the crux of the question. "But, uh. Yeah."

"Oh." Yoshiki's expression was inscrutable again. "What was it you said earlier on the beach? You get thirsty for souls?" When [Hikaru] nodded he continued, slowly, like he was working out a complicated calculus problem, "And what you said, way before. About impurities being particularly…drawn to me? Does that apply to you too?"

[Hikaru] resisted the urge to flinch away. Another foreign sensation: like standing on the edge of a precipice. It made no sense; if [Hikaru] were to fall, nothing would happen to him, besides the trivial pain of some broken bones. But he thought if Yoshiki to find out the extent to which [Hikaru] was drawn to him—if he were to look at [Hikaru] with hatred, with revulsion—it might feel worse. Far, far worse.

But he did owe Yoshiki the truth. And Yoshiki probably knew by now, anyway. "I mean, yeah. I know Kurebayashi-san and that hamster guy said I'm not exactly an impurity, but I feel like one, most of the time. Creatures like me, we're drawn to souls, and yours especially is—warm, and bright, and pretty. Just like the rest of ya." He managed a wink, then hurried to add, "But don't worry! I'm being super careful—I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm gonna control myself. I won't go anywhere near it again, if you don't want me to."

Yoshiki looked at him, and [Hikaru] got the sense that he was the complicated calculus problem. Then Yoshiki said, "Well, I don't really want you to eat my soul, so there's that. But I think having you near it won't hurt. Felt pretty nice just now, actually."

And then he turned fully to [Hikaru] and smiled. Small and lopsided, almost blinding in its tenderness.

[Hikaru] had to look away. "You know, you really oughtta be more scared of me. You let me get away with too much."

"I could say the same for you," Yoshiki said, confusingly. Then, "Your head is a bit, ah. Off-centre?"

"Huh? Oh." [Hikaru] must've put it back together wrong. He twisted it, trying to align the vertebrae correctly. "Okay now?"

"Not really. Hang on, lemme just—" And then Yoshiki's hand was cupping his jaw, twisting very gently, and [Hikaru] felt it slot back into place. "There you go."

"Human again?"

"Well, no," Yoshiki said. "But you shouldn't have to be." Then without even giving [Hikaru] a chance to recover, he added almost shyly, "Your eyes look cool like this."

Hikaru blinked rapidly, both against the sudden rush of heat that flooded his eyes, and to hopefully get them back to normal. "That better?"

"I guess," Yoshiki said, and did he look…disappointed?

"Sorry," [Hikaru] said. "Must've freaked you out back there, not seeing your Hikaru's eyes."

Yoshiki definitely looked sad now. "Hikaru never would've looked at me like that anyway," he said, and [Hikaru] almost jumped in with, He would have, if he'd allowed himself to or He might not have, but he sure thought about you a lot or Did you want to do that with Hikaru? Did you wish it was him instead?

But he kept it all to himself because he was, after all, an exceedingly selfish creature, and very much did not want to hear the answer to that last question.

Then Yoshiki said, "And besides, if those are your eyes, they're real pretty."

"Ah?" [Hikaru] said articulately. Pretty was the last word he'd use to describe any part of himself. Perhaps Yoshiki's nerves were still all turned around? "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Lately, you've been having trouble looking human, haven't you? Well, you could look more like…yourself. If you want."

All [Hikaru] could manage to say to this was, "I think we might freak Maki out a bit if I show up tomorrow without my skin. And then Kurebayashi-san might have to exorcise me, and that'll definitely freak him out."

"You might be surprised. But I meant, when you're alone with me. After all this is over."

"You really do want me to stay?" [Hikaru] found himself saying, with more disbelief than he intented. He regretted it instantly, watching Yoshiki's face cloud with hurt. "No, I just meant, I thought—"

"I told you, didn't I?" Yoshiki muttered. "Ages ago. You're still not listening." He sounded mad, but as he twisted away, [Hikaru] caught his lip trembling. "Don't leave. Don't you dare leave me again."

Another wish, [Hikaru] thought wonderingly. So many of them. Did Yoshiki know what they meant to a creature like him?

[Hikaru] knew, now, that this was what he was made for. All those years he'd spent in the mountain, unthinking, unfeeling, given purpose by nothing more than the wishes he received. He'd relished them, then, even without knowing what the feeling was. But Yoshiki's wishes were the sweetest he'd ever known.

He didn't know how much longer Yoshiki would feel this way. How much longer he'd want [Hikaru] around. But for as long as he did, [Hikaru] would grant his wish. He'd grant any wish he asked for.

He'd meant what he said earlier on the beach. He still didn't know whether the love he felt for Yoshiki was romantic or platonic or even anything human at all.

But maybe, he thought, with a dangerous surge of hope, Yoshiki didn't need it to be.

He hoped Yoshiki understood now. If not, perhaps he could write him a note of his own. And deliver it, alongside a gift of pickled plums.

Yoshiki was still facing away, knees drawn up to his chest, tension evident in all the lines of his body. [Hikaru] wormed his way behind him regardless. "You should be careful, saying stuff like that," he murmured, and felt Yoshiki relax slightly, unfurl. He could grow addicted to the feeling. "Once you let something creepy latch onto you, it'll never want to let go."

"Good," Yoshiki said. "I don't want you to. No matter what, come back to me."

"I will," [Hikaru] said, and closed his hand gently around Yoshiki's. Beneath his skin, within his bones, his soul flared, beckoning. "I promise."