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Asako sat on the edge of Yoshiki’s desk, her skirt swaying slightly as she kicked her school shoes against the wood. The late afternoon light streamed through the classroom windows, golden and heavy, catching in the strands of her hair as she leaned back on her palms and sighed.
“Dang it all,” she said, puffing out her cheeks. “It’s my turn to clean again. Feels like I just did it.”
Yoshiki, still half-buried in his textbook, didn’t look up right away. “Ain’t just you. It’s mine too. We’re cleanin’ together, remember?”
“Oh. Well, still sucks.” Her tone was playful, but there was a warmth to it—easy and familiar, the way only old friends could manage.
Across the room, Hikaru watched them from his seat, his posture deceptively relaxed, cheek pressed to his palm like he was only half-listening. But his eyes were sharp, tracking every small movement between the two—Asako’s soft laugh, the way Yoshiki’s voice dipped just slightly when he spoke to her.
Then, brightly, he sat up. “I can help too!”
The words came too quickly. Too eagerly.
Yuuta, who’d been chatting with someone near the window, turned his head. “Hikaru, ain’t it our turn to organize the rec room?”
Hikaru blinked, then let out a small whine. “Aw, can’t y’all switch with ‘em? If you and Asako trade, me and Yoshiki could do the gym instead—”
Yuuta cut him off with a good-natured tug on his sleeve. “Quit whinin’. Let’s go.”
Hikaru hesitated just long enough to be noticed. His smile faltered, eyes lingering on Yoshiki—soft at first, then sharpening when they slid to Asako.
And just for a breath, the sunlight caught something in them. A flicker of red beneath the surface, glowing faintly like embers in a dying fire. His expression twisted—not into a scowl, not quite—but something darker. Something closer to… disdain.
Yoshiki’s stomach turned. No one else saw it.
Then Hikaru blinked again, too fast, and the moment was gone. He turned on his heel with a laugh and followed Yuuta out the door, cheerful as ever, chatting like nothing had happened.
Yoshiki shivered. Just barely. Like a draft had passed through him.
Maybe it was nothing. Just one of this new version of Hikaru’s quirks. A slip of mood or a flash of something too intense behind his eyes. He didn’t want to think too hard about it.
He and Asako got to work cleaning the classroom.
Yoshiki opened the windows to let the heat out, then rolled up the blinds to let the light in. Asako moved between desks, dusting and stacking books, while Yoshiki grabbed a dry rag and wiped down the chalkboard, brushing off the faint smears of kanji from earlier lessons. The soft thump of brooms brushing across the wooden floor echoed around the room. They collected trash, tidied papers, and pushed chairs neatly into place. No one spoke for a while.
Then Asako started humming under her breath. A wandering, aimless tune.
Yoshiki glanced sideways just as she said, “Hey. Has Hikaru been actin’ weird lately?”
He froze. His rag stilled against the chalkboard, fingers curled tight.
“...What d’you mean?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound casual.
Asako shrugged, still dusting a bookshelf. “Dunno. Just… he gives me weird vibes. Ever since he came back from that mountain.”
Yoshiki turned back to the board, his expression carefully blank. “He’s been normal,” he said quickly. “Same as always.”
But inside, his stomach was twisting.
She can tell. She senses something.
“Mm,” Asako murmured. “It’s whatever. Just a feeling.”
They worked in silence again, wiping desks and sweeping stray pencil shavings from the corners of the room. The air carried the late summer heat and cicadas and the sound of farm tools being used in neighboring fields.
After a moment, Asako spoke again, her tone more thoughtful this time. “Y’know, I’ve always had kind of a knack for weird stuff. Sensing it, I mean. My grandma used to say I was ‘spirit-touched’ or whatever.”
Yoshiki gave a stiff, polite laugh. “What, like ghosts?”
She smiled faintly. “Sure. Ghosts. Spirits. Stuff that don’t belong.”
Yoshiki felt the chill return, despite the sun pouring in through the windows.
“There’s just somethin’ off about him now,” Asako continued. “Hikaru. Like… an energy. Otherworldly or somethin’. It wasn’t there before.”
Yoshiki turned, leaning slightly against a desk as he played along. “Like what? I haven’t noticed anything weird.”
They had just finished straightening the last of the desks when Asako stepped closer to him, her eyes searching his face. Her hand came to rest gently but firmly on his shoulder.
“I dunno,” she said. “Just… somethin’ in the air around him. Cold. Hungry. Like it’s lookin’ for somethin’. He didn’t used to feel like that.”
Before Yoshiki could respond, movement at the doorway drew their attention.
They both looked up.
Hikaru stood there beside Yuuta. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze was locked on Asako’s hand—still resting on Yoshiki’s shoulder. His expression was wrong. Too blank. Too calm. And his eyes, just for a moment, shimmered faintly red.
Yuuta, oblivious, grinned. “We finished up the rec room!”
But Hikaru’s voice cut in before Yoshiki could respond.
“Let’s go, Yoshiki,” he said, bright and sudden. He strode across the room in quick steps and threw an arm tightly around Yoshiki’s shoulders, almost possessive. “You said you wanted to read MasterxMaster with me, right? And ya got curfew soon, don’t ya?”
Yoshiki blinked, caught off guard by the sudden pressure of Hikaru’s grip. “Y-yeah…”
“Then we gotta hurry,” Hikaru said, already steering him toward the door.
Yuuta and Asako waved from behind. “See ya tomorrow!”
“Bye,” Yoshiki said over his shoulder, raising a hand half-heartedly.
But Hikaru didn’t wave. His arm stayed locked tight around Yoshiki’s shoulders, fingers digging in just a little too firmly. He didn’t say anything else.
He just kept smiling.
Yoshiki and Hikaru walked side by side down the quiet country road, the sun long gone behind the hills and the sky tinged with a pale, lingering blue. The air buzzed with the sounds of summer—cicadas shrilling in the trees, the distant bark of a dog, the soft hum of wind rustling through tall grass.
It was getting late. Too late, really, for Hikaru to be stopping by.
At some point, Hikaru finally let go of Yoshiki’s shoulders. The weight of his arm left a strange absence behind, like something cold had been peeled off his skin.
For a few minutes, they walked in silence.
Then, voice light but cautious, Hikaru asked, “What were y’all talkin’ about? You ‘n Asako.”
Yoshiki didn’t hesitate, but his tone was a little too even. “Class stuff. Homework.”
Hikaru said nothing.
The sound of their sandals on gravel filled the space between them. The houses were spaced far apart here—fields opening around them, only the occasional porch light flickering in the dark.
“Anyone been botherin’ you lately?” Hikaru asked suddenly, eyes still forward.
Yoshiki stiffened. “No. Nothin’ like that.”
It came out too fast. Too defensive. But Hikaru didn’t comment. He just nodded once, as if that answer satisfied him.
They reached the fork in the road where they’d split—one path leading off toward Hikaru’s house, the other toward Yoshiki’s. They slowed.
With his back still turned, Hikaru murmured, “I can protect you, y’know. From anything.”
Yoshiki blinked.
Hikaru’s voice was quiet. Steady. Almost gentle. “Long as you stay by my side, I’ll keep you safe. I’ll consume whatever tries to take you from me.”
The words clung to the air, too heavy. Too sharp.
Yoshiki’s blood ran cold. “You don’t… you don’t need to do that. I’m fine.”
For a moment, Hikaru didn’t answer.
Then he turned just slightly, casting a calm, serene smile over his shoulder. “Good. That makes me real glad.”
And with that, he continued walking, steps slow and light, like he hadn’t just said something awful.
Yoshiki stood at the edge of the road, staring at the back of Hikaru’s head as it faded into the dark, heart pounding, unsure if the chill running through him was fear or something closer to grief.
Or guilt.
That night, he crawled into bed without saying a word to anyone. The fan turned lazily in the corner of his room, doing little to chase away the heat, and the sky outside was still a dark, reddish blue—long after sunset, long after he should have been asleep.
Downstairs, it started with the sound of a slammed door.
Then his father’s voice—loud, already slurring. The sharp crack of glass followed. His mother yelling back, brittle and furious. A dish hit the floor and shattered. Something thudded against the wall.
Yoshiki didn’t move.
He could hear his sister’s door creak closed across the hall. Quiet. Careful. She always hid early, always locked herself away before it got too loud.
He pulled the covers up over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel the house shaking under his skin. Didn’t want to be here at all.
He lay there, muscles tense and chest hollow, willing the world to go quiet. Willing everything to go away. He squeezed his eyes shut and fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning, Yoshiki’s phone buzzed.
Asako: Me ‘n Yuuki are headin’ to that café a town over! We’re takin’ the train. Kinda a one-time thing. Y’all wanna come?
It was casual. Normal. But something about the distance—the idea of going to another town, being out for the day—made Yoshiki pause. Maybe it was the heat already thick in the air, maybe it was the lingering tension from yesterday, or maybe it was the simple pull of wanting something that felt briefly untouched by everything else.
He typed back quickly.
Yoshiki: yeah
Then, after a second, he opened a different thread.
Yoshiki: Hey. Wanna come to a café with me? It’s in another town.
The reply came in seconds later.
Hikaru: Who goin’?
Yoshiki: Asako. Yuuki. Me.
No delay.
Hikaru: Yes.
Yoshiki stared at the word for a moment, thumb hovering. Then he added:
Yoshiki: I’ll meet you at the bus stop.
He showered and dressed quietly, moving through the house like a ghost. The floorboards creaked only once, and he paused, breath held, before slipping past his parents’ room. He didn’t want to hear his father’s voice this morning. He didn’t want to pretend things were fine for his mother’s sake.
Outside, the morning was wet with humidity, the kind that stuck to your skin before the sun even rose fully. Yoshiki shut the front door behind him as gently as he could, bag slung over one shoulder.
But before he even reached the street, he stopped short.
Hikaru was already there.
Waiting just outside the fence, hands on his hips, breathing hard like he’d run the whole way. His white hair clung to his forehead, and his yukata was crooked at the collar, as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry. Still, his grin was bright, boyish.
“Wouldn’t it be more fun if we went together?” he said, voice light and pleased.
Yoshiki blinked. “You ran here?”
Hikaru shrugged, still catching his breath. “Didn’t wanna wait.”
He said it like it was nothing.
Yoshiki didn’t answer, just stepped through the gate and started walking. Hikaru fell into step beside him, sandals clacking cheerfully against the road. Every few steps, he skipped like a child trying to match the rhythm of cicadas in the trees, or maybe just to be closer to Yoshiki’s pace.
Yoshiki kept his hands in his pockets. He didn’t look over. It was too early for that kind of energy. Too early for anything to feel this bright.
But it wasn’t just the timing. It was the way Hikaru had known to be there. The way he’d said nothing, done nothing, just waited for Yoshiki to come outside—without knocking, without texting, like he was always meant to follow.
And maybe that was what unsettled Yoshiki the most. The quiet sense that no matter where he went, this ghostly specter of Hikaru would already be waiting to stay by his side.
The bus ride into town was only fifteen minutes, but Hikaru pressed up against Yoshiki like it was a rollercoaster. The vehicle rattled along the narrow country road, tires groaning against uneven pavement, and Hikaru clung to the metal bar above their seat with one hand while the other curled lightly around Yoshiki’s sleeve.
“Look!” he whispered, eyes wide as they passed a rice field glinting under the sun. “That house got a real satellite dish! It’s huge!”
Yoshiki muttered something under his breath, tugging his arm gently. “You’ve seen a satellite dish before.”
Hikaru turned his wide-eyed stare on him. “Not up close like that! Looks like a spaceship.”
Yoshiki sighed. His mouth twitched, unwillingly, toward a smile. It was adorable. Genuinely. He wanted to find it annoying.
But he didn’t.
And that only made it worse.
This wasn't Hikaru. Not really. That joy wasn’t his. That awe, that sparkle in his voice—Yoshiki remembered it, but this version wore it like a costume. And yet—
Yet, here he was. Sitting too close on a rattling bus, talking too loud, acting exactly like the boy Yoshiki had missed so badly it felt like something inside him had rotted.
When the bus pulled into the station, Hikaru reached for Yoshiki’s hand as they stepped down. His fingers were warm. Too warm.
The train ride was smoother, humming under their feet as they boarded a local car with bright orange seats. Hikaru all but bounced into his spot, immediately pressing his face to the window and letting out a loud, delighted gasp.
“There it goes—!” he said, pointing at a blur of houses as the train began to move. “So fast! Feels like flyin’, don’t it?”
He leaned hard into Yoshiki’s shoulder. His breath fogged up the glass.
Yoshiki stiffened. He kept his hands in his lap, gripping his knees, trying not to lean into him, trying not to let it feel natural.
It did.
It felt too natural.
He wanted to shove him off and scream that he wasn’t real. That Hikaru had died. That nothing about this should feel safe.
But then Hikaru would turn his head, smile wide and dumb and easy, and ask something like “Is this what it’s always like?”
And Yoshiki’s chest would twist up so tightly he thought he might be sick.
He wanted to push him away.
He also wanted to hold on tighter.
By the time they arrived, the train station near the café was buzzing with morning chatter. The streets here were a little more polished, with neatly painted crosswalks and a row of small boutique shops. The café stood near the end of the block—brick-sided, with flower boxes blooming from the windows and a chalkboard sign propped near the entrance.
And standing just in front of it, waving with both arms, were Yuuki and Asako.
Asako spotted them first, elbowed Yuuki, and grinned. “Well look who finally made it!”
Hikaru lit up at the sight, waving back with both hands, still holding Yoshiki’s wrist. His grip hadn’t let up once since they got off the train.
Yoshiki managed a nod, but his stomach twisted as they approached.
The café was small but charming, with light wood tables, hanging ivy baskets, and the scent of coffee and sugar clinging to the air. A waitress in a linen apron welcomed them at the door, then gestured toward a corner booth.
Yuuki slid in first, then Asako dropped into the seat across from her, stretching out like she owned the place. Yoshiki hesitated—just a second too long—before slipping in beside Asako.
Hikaru’s steps faltered.
He stood there for a breath, frowning, then dropped into the space next to Yuuki without saying anything. His arms folded stiffly, lips pressed into a pout that only deepened as he watched Yoshiki settle in beside someone else.
The waitress came by with menus, rattling off a list of specials, and they started ordering. Asako chose a matcha roll cake and an iced tea; Yuuki picked a custard pudding and lemon soda. Yoshiki asked for a fruit tart and hot coffee. Hikaru, eyes darting excitedly between the pictures, pointed to almost everything.
“What’s that one?” he asked, tapping the laminated menu. “And that one? That looks like mochi but it's not, right?”
“It’s a dacquoise,” Asako said slowly, squinting at him. “You don’t know that?”
Hikaru smiled sweetly, blinking wide. “Nope! Just curious!”
Asako didn’t smile back. She stared a little longer than necessary, then turned to Yoshiki. “You smell like soap today,” she said, laying a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You try a new one?”
Yoshiki blinked. “Huh?”
Yuuki snorted. “Someone tryin’ to impress us?”
“What? No—it’s just—my sister bought a new bottle. Didn’t think it was that strong.”
“It’s nice,” Asako said with a laugh, still leaning close. “Kinda fresh and citrusy.”
Hikaru’s eyes were fixed on her hand. His brow furrowed deeper. He didn’t speak, but Yoshiki saw his jaw tighten.
The food came not long after, arriving on trays with small silver forks and lace napkins. Asako’s matcha cake looked almost too pretty to eat, piped with cream and dusted with gold powder. Yuuki’s pudding jiggled when he poked it with his spoon. Yoshiki’s fruit tart gleamed with syrupy berries. Hikaru’s plate was a mess—he’d ordered a bit of everything, and now had a tower of colorful sweets in front of him.
Asako offered him a slice of her cake first. “Wanna try?”
“No thank you,” Hikaru said, cool and flat.
She raised an eyebrow, then turned to Yuuki. “You?”
Yuuki shook her head. “I’m good.”
“Yoshiki?” she offered next, holding the fork toward him.
Yoshiki paused, then leaned in and took a bite. “It’s good,” he said simply, swallowing quickly.
Asako smiled wide. “Knew it.”
Under the table, something pressed sharply into his foot. Yoshiki jolted and looked down—then across the booth at Hikaru, who was looking at his own dessert with exaggerated innocence, lips in a small pout.
Yoshiki hesitated, heart tugging and stomach flipping.
“…Do you want a bite of mine?” he asked quietly.
Hikaru’s head snapped up. His face lit up. “Yes please!”
He leaned over the table and took a bite from Yoshiki’s tart without hesitation, humming happily.
They kept eating after that. Asako and Yuuki fell into a loud, animated conversation about some ridiculous reality show—something about trapped contestants on a desert island trying to date and survive at the same time. Yoshiki half-listened, picking at the crust of his tart, while Hikaru leaned close beside him, idly poking at a mochi with his fork.
Then Asako turned suddenly, attention on Hikaru. “You been watchin’ anything lately?”
Hikaru shook his head brightly. “Nope.”
“What about books?” she pressed.
“Nope,” he said again, just as cheerfully. “I only read the ones Yoshiki lends me when I’m at his place.”
She leaned back, letting her spoon rest in her empty glass. “Y’all are real close, huh.”
“Of course,” Hikaru said, his smile sharp now. “Ain’t we always been?”
They stared at each other, the space between them shrinking despite the table.
Then Asako tilted her head. “Ever read anything scary?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a book on possession?”
The entire table went still.
Yuuki blinked, then let out a nervous laugh. “Geez, Asako, way to change the mood.”
But she wasn’t looking at Yuuki.
She was watching Hikaru.
“Like, where someone dies, and somethin’ else slips into their body,” she said slowly. “Or where a soul gets stuck, and something else starts wearin’ their skin.”
Hikaru’s fork stilled in his hand. His eyes glowed faintly—not warm, not playful. Just red. Just steady.
“No,” he said softly. “I’ve never read anythin’ like that.”
The silence hung too long.
Yoshiki swallowed, throat dry. He could feel the sweat sticking to the back of his neck.
Asako smiled, like nothing was wrong. “Mmm. Just wonderin’.”
They went back to eating, or pretending to.
But Yoshiki could feel Hikaru across from him—colder, shoulders stiff. And when he glanced down at the table, he realized Hikaru hadn’t touched another bite of food.
His glowing eyes were fixed only on Asako.
The café doors swung closed behind them with a soft jingle of the bell overhead, and the four of them drifted out onto the sunlit sidewalk, the air thick with summer heat and the scent of warm pavement.
Yuuki stretched with a yawn. “Gonna hit the restroom before we head out,” she said, slinking off toward a nearby convenience store.
Asako, glancing over her shoulder, pointed across the street. “I’ll be right back. That field behind the fence—there’s wildflowers bloomin’ like crazy. I wanna take a look.”
Yoshiki nodded absently, sitting down on the wooden bench under the shade of a tree. Hikaru dropped beside him, hands in his lap, legs swinging slightly over the gravel. He didn’t say anything. His eyes were fixed on Asako’s retreating back as she stepped toward the edge of the woods.
Yoshiki noticed the glow right away.
“Stop it,” he hissed, leaning in, keeping his voice low. “Your eyes. They’re doin’ it again.”
Hikaru didn’t blink. “She already knows.”
“No, she don’t,” Yoshiki whispered fiercely. “And even if she suspects somethin’, she won’t tell anyone.”
“She’ll tell someone,” Hikaru murmured, voice flatter now, colder. “And then they’ll come. They’ll take you away from me.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Yoshiki snapped. “She’s not like that.”
Hikaru’s jaw clenched, and he turned to look at him fully. “Then why’s she so close to you all of a sudden?”
Yoshiki stared. “She’s always been like that. We’ve always been friends.”
“But now she touches you,” Hikaru said, voice brittle. “Now she looks at you like she could take you away.”
Yoshiki’s pulse jumped. “That’s not true.”
“I’m not gonna let that happen,” Hikaru said, firmer now. “I’m not gonna let anyone take you away from me.”
Yoshiki opened his mouth to say something else—something rational, something calming—but the words died on his tongue.
Hikaru’s form was changing.
Black tendrils started to unfurl from the corners of his eyes, sliding down his cheekbones. More pushed from his mouth, curling past his lips like smoke made solid, and something pulsed under the skin around his ear, shifting and writhing.
His silhouette blurred. His shape pulsed like it couldn’t quite hold itself together. And his red eyes glowed, deeper now, casting a faint red shimmer against Yoshiki’s chest.
Yoshiki’s blood turned to ice.
He lunged forward and threw his arms around him.
“Stop,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please—don’t. Don’t do this.”
Hikaru went still.
Yoshiki pressed closer, arms trembling around the boy’s collapsing shape. “If you hurt her, they’ll find out. Someone will see. I can’t lose you again. I—can’t—”
Hikaru didn’t move. The tendrils quivered against Yoshiki’s shoulder, then slowly, almost reluctantly, began to retreat. The shadows shrank back into him like they’d never been there. The red faded from his eyes.
And then, suddenly, he was solid again.
Human.
Hikaru.
Yoshiki pulled back just in time to see Asako glance over from the flower field. Her eyes lingered on them. On Hikaru, more specifically.
“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Hikaru forced a smile—small, tight. “Yeah. Just… hot out.”
She looked at him for a beat longer, then shrugged. “Alright.”
Yuuki reappeared a second later, waving her arms. “Let’s go! I’m tryna hit the record shop before we catch the train!”
“I’m comin’,” Asako said, already turning back down the road.
Yoshiki stood slowly. His heart was still pounding, skin clammy with cold sweat. He wanted to say something—to anyone—but no words came.
Hikaru moved closer, slipping an arm around his.
Yoshiki let it happen.
The two of them watched Asako and Yuuki disappear into the shopping street, laughing like nothing had ever gone wrong.
And Yoshiki walked the other way, arm looped tightly through Hikaru’s, not trusting a single part of him—but not ready to let go either.
Yoshiki didn’t let go of Hikaru once during the ride home—not on the train, not on the bus. Let the town gossip, let them whisper. Better they talked than ended up in pieces.
And Hikaru was more than pleased. He leaned in close the whole way, head tucked against Yoshiki’s shoulder, arms brushing every time the bus bumped along the narrow country roads. He held onto him like it was natural—like he belonged there. Every so often, he’d glance up with a bright, pleased smile, completely unaware of how tightly Yoshiki’s chest ached from the weight of it all.
By the time they reached Yoshiki’s front gate, the sky had turned gold. They slipped inside as quietly as they could—avoiding the kitchen where his mother stood with clenched hands and a wine glass—and climbed the stairs to Yoshiki’s room.
They didn’t say much. Just kicked off their shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed across from each other, trading the newest volume of Master x Master back and forth. It was easy, for a moment. Almost normal.
Then the shouting started again.
Yoshiki stiffened at the first crash downstairs. His father’s slurred yelling, his mother’s shrill responses, his sister’s door slamming shut across the hall. The noise rattled through the thin walls of the house like thunder.
Yoshiki froze mid-page. His fingers trembled.
Across from him, Hikaru watched silently. Then, slowly, he lowered his manga onto the blanket. Reached out. Took Yoshiki’s book, too, and placed it beside his own.
“You don’t wanna hear that, do you?” he asked softly.
Yoshiki shook his head. His jaw was tight, eyes glassy. “I hate it,” he whispered.
Hikaru didn’t answer. He crawled across the bed, quiet and sure, and placed both hands gently over Yoshiki’s ears. Then he leaned in.
And kissed him.
Yoshiki gasped against it, breath catching as his back hit the bed. The world dropped away—no voices, no crashing dishes, no flickering hallway lights. Just Hikaru. The weight of him. The warmth of him. The mouth that pressed so carefully, so desperately against his own.
When they pulled apart, they were both breathless.
“I meant it,” Hikaru whispered, still hovering over him. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. I’ll protect you from everythin’. I won’t let nobody make you cry again.”
Yoshiki stared up at him, his eyes wide, a soft tremble in his chest. He could feel tears at the edges—just enough to sting.
“If you behave,” he whispered, “and don’t hurt anyone… then you can stay.”
Hikaru’s face split into a smile—wide, wild, bright with something too big to be joy.
Then another crash echoed through the floorboards. Both boys looked toward the bedroom door.
Yoshiki’s face tightened.
But before he could say anything, Hikaru reached forward again. Plugged his ears with warm fingers.
And kissed him.
Harder this time. Deeper. Like he meant to drown out the world itself.
Yoshiki kissed back.
He arched into the touch, clung to the warmth, let his eyes flutter closed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something screamed that this wasn’t Hikaru—that it never could be. But the rest of him was tired. Lonely. Hollowed out from too many sleepless nights and too many memories with nowhere to go.
So he kissed the thing that wore Hikaru’s face.
And let it hold him like it never planned to let go.