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There was a knock at Jyushi’s door.
“How we doin’ in there?” Kuko bellowed, his voice so thunderously loud that the whole floor of this hotel could probably hear it.
“Uh,” answered Jyushi, “I’m, uh, almost ready!”
“Bullshit! I’m coming in.”
“You really don’t have to do that!” Jyushi yelled back, although he knew nothing could stop Kuko when he was armed with the second copy of the room key—for safekeeping, or so he claimed. The door slammed shut, and Jyushi cautiously peeked out of the bathroom to see what the evening had in store for him.
There was Kuko, clad in his usual oversized jacket and another pair of impressively baggy joggers, and now squinting an eye at Jyushi. “How the hell are you still not dressed?”
The only thing Jyushi had on was an unbuttoned, semi-sheer black shirt over his boxer briefs. “I haven’t decided on my outfit yet!” he said, his voice spiked with indignation. “And besides, you’re the one barging in here uninvited.”
“At least put some fucking pants on, man.”
Grumbling a little about this interruption, Jyushi slouched over to his open suitcase. “What kind? The leather ones?”
Kuko sagely shook his head. “Nothing too fancy in case you end up puking all over ‘em.”
“I’m not planning on drinking that much.”
“Well I sure as hell am.”
“I didn’t even know you could drink,” said Jyushi as he shimmied into his favorite and most flattering pair of slim-fit black jeans. That was all for now; the remainder of his outfit could wait until he finished putting on the rest of his face.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want now. That’s what winners do,” Kuko said, propping himself up on Jyushi’s hotel bed with a throne of fluffy pillows. Reclining with the easy poise of an aristocrat, or a spoiled house cat, he broke into an even easier grin. “Same goes for you, buddy. Let’s have fun tonight, okay?”
Jyushi nodded eagerly, smiling now too. “I’m really excited!”
The occasion: a celebration after winning the first round of the tournament. It was a private party—just the three of them—but Jyushi preferred that anyway. He didn’t want to share the golden glow of victory with anyone but his two best friends. Jyushi had waged battle for them as much as for himself. In the end, it was really just another performance on another stage, so maybe he’d had nothing to worry about in the first place; he was worthy all along. Beyond that, he’d fought to make Kuko proud of the results of their training, and maybe most of all, he’d fought for Hitoya’s sake—because even if Hitoya never talked about it much, Jyushi knew about the specter of self-defeat weighing down his heart like the anchor of a ghost ship. Jyushi wanted to lighten his burden, because Hitoya was more precious to him than anyone.
Leaving Kuko to his phone, Jyushi turned his full attention to the bathroom mirror again. The task at hand was another chance to prove himself: creating something beautiful, someone worthy of adoration and desire. After showering off the sweat and stadium dust from their battle, he had blow-dried his hair, moisturized every reachable patch of skin and spritzed on his signature perfume, and thus his canvas was fully primed. He’d already shaped his brows with gel and blended his metallic-flecked gunmetal eyeshadow—strong, steely, a little aggressive—with a shimmering touch of pink at the inner corners and along the lash line.
Now he carefully inked on liquid black eyeliner, extending the wing past the point of his usual daytime look and into more daring lengths. He was going for something bold for his big night in the glittering forbidden city (or, at least its very exclusive hotel suites).
“Um,” Jyushi announced, “I think I’m gonna tell him tonight.”
Kuko didn’t even deign to look up from his phone. “Huh?”
“You know. Hitoya.”
That name was enough to turn his head, his eyes flashing with conspiracy. “Oh? You finally found your fucking nerve, lover boy?”
Jyushi blushed at the nickname. “I mean, maybe I did.” He waved the eyeliner like a conductor’s baton, trying to conjure up the right way to express himself. “I just… I feel different now.”
While Jyushi usually prided himself on his vocabulary, he was at a loss to put this new feeling into words. For one, it wasn’t a neatly definable feeling so much as an instinct—an automatic response firing up his nerves, surging through his veins, prodding deep in his gut. It was a force greater than him, like a terrifically powerful spirit possessing his mortal body, and somehow he knew that even if he stumbled and scraped himself bloody, it would impel him to rise to his feet again and keep pushing forward. It was a sign that he was ready. But there wasn’t a convenient way to capture all of that meaning.
Or—is this what courage feels like? Jyushi thought as he lined the other eye. (It was usually hidden by his hair, but he couldn’t leave anything half-finished once he’d started.) For the first time in his life, he felt like Hitoya’s equal—like someone Hitoya could rely on, too, rather than just the boy clinging to him for support, or maybe even like someone who could fight for Hitoya. Jyushi wasn’t the same person who’d fallen in love with the man who saved him four years ago, what sometimes seemed like a lifetime ago. Each year he grew closer to catching up to Hitoya, someone so impossibly cool, intoxicatingly adult and intriguingly human. And so very out of reach—until now.
He swiped on waterproof mascara. “But I’m still a little worried, Kuko. What if he really doesn’t feel the same after all?”
“Then you can finally move on to someone better,” came Kuko’s usual flippant response.
“There’s no one better than him,” Jyushi insisted softly.
Kuko’s mouth curled into a sly little smile. “So tell him that. He’ll be putty in your hands.”
At first, Jyushi had been absolutely mortified that Kuko sussed out his biggest secret. Was it really that obvious? (No shit, Sherlock, confirmed Kuko.) But he’d come to appreciate having a trusted confidant—someone his own age, even, with a keen eye for the inner workings of the human heart and insight beyond his years and experience, at least as far as Jyushi could tell.
Besides, Jyushi always liked chatting while he applied his makeup. It was one of his favorite pre-concert rituals.
“What’s up with your shirt, anyway?” asked Kuko.
“It’s chiffon.” Jyushi glanced down at himself, his eyes drawn to the suggestion of his nipples through the gauzy fabric. “Is it too much?”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t wear anything that needs dry cleaning. Who knows what fluids you’ll—” Kuko managed to duck out of the way when Jyushi lobbed an empty water bottle at him. “Insubordination!” he barked. “I’ll remember this when we start training again. Just you wait! You’ll regret ever laying a hand on your master!”
“It is too much!” cried Jyushi, ignoring Kuko’s bluster to rifle through his luggage again. “Oh, I knew I should have packed more options!” But at Hitoya’s insistence, he had to work within a strict one-suitcase limit. That was all very convenient for a seasoned traveler like Hitoya, sure, but Jyushi was struggling here without so much as a duffel bag to pad his wardrobe. He fished out the next-best alternatives: a flowing, artfully shredded tunic (black), or a sleek shirt that framed his silhouette and let a little skin peek out from the cutouts along the sleeves (also black).
“Wear something that shows off your ass,” offered Kuko.
“My ass?” Jyushi squeaked, whirling around. “What ass? There’s barely anything back there!” He patted one little cheek for emphasis.
“You really think that’ll stop him from checking you out?”
“Yeah? Maybe?”
Kuko rolled his eyes. “I know you’re totally deluded about the guy, but when you get down to it, he’s just a man, and he’s just as horny as the rest of us.”
“Horny?!”
“Dude, he’s single in his thirties, of course he’s fucking horny.”
“Horny,” Jyushi muttered, and sucked on his lower lip. It wasn’t a word he used often—at least aloud, anyway. It evoked his velvety bedtime visions of the man he adored above all else, carnal and needy and dripping with desire. A sight Jyushi could only feverishly dream of: gorgeous Hitoya in all his mouth-wateringly well-endowed glory. While Jyushi wasn’t sure on that part entirely—there was a limit to what could be gleaned from stolen glances at the onsen—he just knew it was true in his heart of hearts, the same way he knew that Hitoya was a good kisser and a gentle lover and the perfect match. How could he not be?
“He probably hasn’t been doing much fucking lately either with how hard I’ve been working him,” Kuko continued, rousing Jyushi from his boudoir fantasies. “So the time is right to jump on it. I’m done riding him. You’re up now.”
Jyushi felt every inch of him burn with embarrassment and a little rush of spine-tingling excitement. “I-I can’t believe you sometimes!” he said shrilly, then cleared his throat to drop down an octave. “This is not language befitting a monk.”
Kuko only shrugged. “Like I said, I’m off duty tonight.”
Well, Jyushi figured he might as well go with the shorter, tighter shirt after all. At least it can’t hurt, he thought as he carefully fit his half-finished face through the neckhole. With his outfit finally decided, he began applying his foundation. It was lightweight, cushiony and nearly invisible even upon close inspection; he certainly hoped that selling point would come in handy tonight.
“So if he’s as frustrated as you say, how come he hasn’t done anything about it yet?” Jyushi wondered aloud.
“He’s a fucking idiot is why.”
“I’m serious, Kuko,” whined Jyushi. “We’ve been spending all our free time training together lately, but it seems like he still hasn’t gotten the hint that I’m interested.”
Kuko took his time re-fluffing the pillows before replying. “Look, it’s pretty obvious that at this point, he’s not gonna make the first move here. He’s playing it safe like he always does when there’s a chance of fucking up. That’s just how he is, and you already know that.”
“Mm.” He had to admit that Kuko was right. For as strong and decisively powerful as Hitoya could be, he had a dogged unwillingness to try if there was a chance of failure.
“So you wanna know what’s stopping him?” said Kuko. “Besides the age thing, and the once-in-a-lifetime friendship thing you got going on? Hell if I know, man. But maybe it’s got nothing to do with you and everything to do with himself.”
“But—” Jyushi stopped dabbing on concealer as he pondered the implication: Hitoya, his brave Hitoya, gripped by a paralyzing insecurity that mirrored Jyushi’s own. “Huh? Why would he ever feel that way? I’m the one that should be worried here!”
“Like I said, he’s a fucking idiot.”
With a slightly furrowed brow, Jyushi studied his reflection in the mirror, reminding himself that the bathroom lighting was terrible—not a gentle glow but a spotlight to cast all of his flaws into sharp relief. Beyond that, his makeup was some of his best work yet—bolder than usual, striking and shimmering with possibility. But in the end, would Hitoya even notice a difference? Beneath his makeup, Jyushi could still see the insecurity plain on his face, and suddenly felt foolish for trying to disguise it. He was the same shy boy after all.
“But if it’s not that, then… what if he doesn’t think I’m…” he said haltingly.
“Huh?” Kuko grunted.
“Attractive enough. Like, really, really attractive.” He paused. “Like, in a s-sexy way.”
Kuko gave him a look withering enough to strip the bark off a tree. “C’mon, Jyushi, give the man a little credit. He might be dense as fuck but he’s not immune to a cute young piece of ass either.”
Jyushi giddily bit his lip to stop himself from giggling. Again with the ass!
“Besides, it’s not like he’s gonna jump you all of a sudden.”
“It’s not like I’d mind if he did,” Jyushi replied breezily.
Kuko hooted like a ridiculously oversized owl. “You’re the horniest out of all of us!”
Jyushi, outraged at the accusation, had already opened his mouth to disagree before giving it some thought. And maybe it was true, after all, between Kuko’s keenly honed self-discipline, Hitoya’s years of experience in mastering his libido, and his own very enthusiastic, regularly-occurring onanistic pursuits. He could feel his face turning red with the realization.
“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore!” he said and distracted himself by brushing on the powder veil.
“Whatever,” said Kuko. They were both quiet for a moment, floating in their own heads, until he opened his big mouth again. “But I’m telling you, dude, I’ve caught him checking you out before.”
Jyushi spun around and demanded, “When?”
“I don’t know, a couple times.”
“Think! Please!”
Kuko sucked his teeth in annoyance. “When you wore those silver tight things under that skirt thing you kept hiking up like a hussy.”
The desired effect—Jyushi nodded, urging him on.
“And sometimes when you talk about your music, he just stares at you like he’s trying to decide on the nearest love hotel to ravish you.”
“Kuko!” Jyushi shrieked, so overwhelmed at the mental image that he had to shake his hair to wring it out of his brain. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Pah,” Kuko uttered.
As a finishing touch, Jyushi applied peachy-pink tinted lip balm—no need for lipstick if he was spending tonight drinking.
(It tasted as succulently fruity as it looked, too. Just in case.)
“Hey, I know the perfect way to tell him. Write him a song.”
“I have,” mumbled Jyushi.
“You have?” Kuko looked appropriately incredulous for once.
“Well, I’ve been trying to. I just haven’t finished any of them yet.” He began with a single pretty phrase, crafted line-by-line into verses, glued together with a chorus and turned inside-out by a bridge. Wrangling the lyrics into fully-realized songs was one thing; it was quite another to imbue them with meaning worthy of Hitoya.
Kuko scratched his chin. “That’s pretty damn cool, actually.”
Once Jyushi swept on the last coat of hairspray, he was complete; he was a vision, or so he dared to believe. “Okay, I’m done!” he announced triumphantly.
“Fuckin’ finally.”
“I’d have finished a lot sooner if you weren’t here distracting me, you know.”
Jyushi tucked his essentials into a little bag: a makeup pouch, a packet of tissues, his phone and most importantly his darling Amanda. Impatient, Kuko ushered him forward.
But Jyushi stopped at the door, frozen before the future that awaited him—that he now had to start shaping himself—and all that lay just beyond his grasp. Suddenly overcome with doubt, he shrunk away, turned back to Kuko, and asked, “Do you really think I can do it?”
Kuko considered him levely for a moment. “That’s the thing about you, Jyushi,” he said, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “You can do fuckin’ anything once you get your heart set on it.”
It was plainspoken and sincere—just the thing Jyushi needed to hear from his friend. He felt heartened again. “Thanks for everything, Kuko.”
Kuko gave him a smile and a squeeze of reassurance. “Now let’s go pay your man a visit before he bursts a blood vessel.”
And there he was—Hitoya!—with his handsome face set in an adorably sour grimace as soon as he answered the door. He was wearing a sleek sport shirt Jyushi had never seen him in before. Surely Jyushi would have remembered such a masterfully flattering shirt on Hitoya; it was perfectly cut for his figure, in crisp fabric that managed to stretch across his broad shoulders and taper down to hug his narrow waist at the same time. It was unbuttoned a little lower than Hitoya usually wore it, too. Jyushi valiantly fought every impulse to ogle that enticing valley of smooth, kissable skin; he mostly succeeded.
Oh, he just had to tell Hitoya how he felt!
“I like that shirt,” was how he began.
Hitoya’s crooked smile was somehow both effortlessly dashing and sweetly self-effacing as it played around his pale grey eyes. It was the kind of smile that made Jyushi’s pulse quicken and every piece of his heart ache, and most of all, it filled him with certainty. He knew now and forever: yes, he would do anything for Hitoya.
“I couldn’t do it!” Jyushi wailed the next afternoon.
Morning was hours ago. After sleeping off the most punishing phase of his hangover, Jyushi awoke nearly naked in his satiny hotel bed. That wasn’t as alarming as it could have been; he vaguely remembered Kuko helping peel off his shirt and pants before he crumpled into unconsciousness. Now huddled with the sheets pulled up to his bare shoulders, Jyushi felt bleary-eyed and a little fragile. There was a delicate throbbing in his head and the slightest twinge in his neck from using Hitoya’s lap as a pillow the night before. Otherwise he was rested and nourished by Kuko’s steady supply of electrolyte-infused water and vending machine fare, however unappetizing to Jyushi’s stomach—“it’s for your own good,” Kuko explained, and when that didn’t work: “Hitoya’s gonna bitch if you haven’t eaten anything yet.”
Hitoya. Jyushi could deal with the physical regrets of last night, but in the end, what hurt most was his failure to confess. He’d suffered an ignominious defeat and was now stripped bare of all his carefully constructed artifice. The clothes had made the man, but the man had not been enough in the end.
Sprawling across the chair he’d dragged to Jyushi’s bedside, as if resigned to keeping watch over an ailing patient, Kuko shook his head. “What the hell happened, anyway? You were never gonna get a more perfect moment than that to tell him.”
“He just looked so happy for once. I-I didn’t wanna make it weird!” said Jyushi.
“He was happy because you were hugging him, dipshit.”
Jyushi threw his hand over his eyes and groaned. As it had happened, Hitoya was in unusually high spirits after three glasses of whiskey, jovial and tender-hearted enough to kiss the top of Jyushi’s head, so of course Jyushi could only return the affection! He’d seized the chance to hold Hitoya in his arms, and dared to kiss his marble-smooth cheek. He had been so close, but—
“Even after I went through the trouble of giving you two space, you still choked,” chuckled Kuko.
“I am awash in romantic despair and you’re not making it any better.”
“This is all on you, man.”
“Leave me to die,” Jyushi moaned into the pillow. Some eyeshadow had managed to cling on long enough to smudge silver and pink glitter on the fabric, and now it only served as a reminder of his folly. “There’s nothing left for me now.” He blindly fumbled for Amanda and buried them both beneath the sheets.
He was unwashed, unadorned, pale-faced and alone, wilting without the glimmering, gossamer husk of bravado from the night before. The promise of dreams come true had withered and all that remained now was a slowly unfolding fear that he’d never get another chance. It would be safer to hide away in the hopelessness of his bed. But of course Kuko wouldn’t allow that; he ripped the covers away from Jyushi, who flinched at the sudden chill of the air conditioning.
“Cut it out!” he whined and clung desperately to the sheet, his last remaining defense.
“You cut it out,” Kuko commanded. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself because all that’s doing is pissin’ me off.”
“Then why are you still here?” Jyushi asked petulantly.
“If you’re not gonna make yourself get up and try again, then I will. That’s what winners do, Jyushi. They keep fighting.”
“Oh, what’s the point, Kuko? It’s never gonna happen.”
“Bullshit,” said Kuko, his voice rough and scratchy but not unkind. “You won’t know that until you actually try.”
“But my feelings obviously haven’t been enough. I haven’t been enough, and there’s nothing else I can do to make him notice me.” Jyushi was sinking into despair. Maybe he would be swallowed up by the mattress, his body never recovered and his unfulfilled soul doomed to haunt this single room.
“You haven’t even told him yet!” said Kuko. “You gotta be proactive about these kinds of things, Jyushi, or you’ll never get what you want. So confront him with your feelings. Show him what being more than friends means, and he won’t stand a chance.”
“You don’t know that either,” muttered Jyushi.
“That’s true, I’m not gonna fucking lie. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He doesn’t hide it as well as he thinks he does. The way he smiles at you—he never smiles like that at anyone else.”
Jyushi turned away from Kuko, squeezing the familiar shape of Amanda’s soft little body to his bare chest. “I don’t think I believe you.”
“And why the fuck not?” Kuko asked indignantly.
“You could be lying after all. You could be making it all up, just to make me look stupid when I fail.” Jyushi spoke before he could stop himself. It was utterly unfair, but he still wasn’t able to fully trust Kuko. “I don’t know why you even care about this anyway.”
“Oh, knock it off. What the hell are you talking about? Don’t say something that fucking stupid.”
Jyushi couldn’t answer. His sadness was lodged in his throat; his lungs seized up with horribly familiar pressure. He didn’t want to cry anymore, especially not in front of Kuko, but he was so overwhelmed with unhappiness that the only thing left to do was tear it out of his chest himself. And so he sobbed. But before he plummeted any lower into the chasm of his rib cage and burst apart in the crystal-spired inner landscape of his dead hopes and dreams, he felt the mattress dip at his back. It was Kuko perched by his side. He patted Jyushi’s arm in a slow, steady rhythm, and that light touch was enough to tether Jyushi back to reality. It’s only a moment, Jyushi remembered Kuko telling him before. It was only a feeling, and it would inevitably pass.
Kuko sighed softly. “Jyushi, I care about this because I care about my friends. I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just don’t want you to miss out on the one thing you really want, not when you’re so close. Alright?”
Sniffling, Jyushi gave a small nod.
“But you gotta trust me a little here. You really think I’m setting you up to fail?”
“I-I dunno.” Jyushi shamefully blinked out the rest of his tears. “It could be some really cruel form of training,” he mumbled, which admittedly sounded ridiculous as soon as he voiced it.
“Training? Not everything I do with you is for training. C’mon, Jyushi.” Kuko lightly ruffled his greasy hair. “I might not understand the way you feel about this guy myself, but I don’t have to, and it’s not my style to fuck around with something this important.”
Jyushi wiped his watery eyes with the back of his hand. “Important? This?”
“Well, yeah. This is your heart we’re talking about.” Pausing for a moment, Kuko thoughtfully gathered his next words. “You want him with every fiber of your being, don’t you? That’s true passion. That’s love, and that’s a hell of a good reason to keep trying.”
“B-but I’m scared,” said Jyushi, and another teardrop trickled down his cheek. “I’m so scared.”
“You can be scared, sure, but now your faith’s gotta be greater than your fear. Aren't your feelings worth fighting for? Isn’t he worth fighting for?”
Hitoya’s face appeared before him. It was never very far from his thoughts, and yet Jyushi still felt warm affection bloom and bleed in his chest like Eros’ arrow was piercing him all over again. Oh, how he longed to openly adore the beauty carved into that face over the years; to coax out a quiet smile and smooth out any wrinkle of unhappiness that befell it; to cover it with a million more kisses.
“Yeah…” Jyushi exhaled.
Every fiber, every single little thing strung beneath his skin to form him from the tiniest particles, yearned for Hitoya. He wanted nothing more than to give Hitoya every last piece of himself: his aching body, his fluttering heart, his glowing, incandescent soul. In return, he would love all of Hitoya: the little lines beginning to frame his smile, the peppery bite of his sharp tongue, the lingering smell of his cigarettes, the undercurrent of despair he held at bay. Jyushi would love him like no one ever had or ever could, and he would try forever until Hitoya was ready to accept that.
Galvanized by that resolve, Jyushi slowly but surely reeled himself in again. Rolling on his back, his long hair strewn across the pillows, he looked at Kuko. Here was one of the best friends Jyushi had ever had, his fiery presence like a single beacon to guide him away from languishing in gloom, and his loyalty offered unconditionally even when Jyushi didn’t want to accept it. Now Jyushi felt less like a cadaver laid out in an open casket and more like a person again with a bravely beating heart—sometimes it skipped with uncertainty, but it wouldn’t give up on him yet.
“Shit, you’ve gotten me all invested in your little love story. You can’t leave me hanging here!” Kuko said and playfully shook Jyushi’s arm. “Besides, it’ll be good for you. Personal growth and all that.”
“Even though it’s all for Hitoya?” Jyushi asked in a small voice.
Kuko’s grin flashed across his face like lightning. “Even if it’s for that bastard.”
(Until now, Jyushi would have never thought of “bastard” as a pet name, or whatever you’d call this. But the way Kuko said it suggested a certain fondness, rough-hewn but intensely genuine, just like Kuko himself.)
“You need to be the one stepping up now,” Kuko continued. “You can’t rely on Hitoya forever, especially when he still can’t get it together—whatever the hell his damage is. But I bet you a hundred million yen that he’s just as unsure about it as you are. Maybe even more.”
“B-bullshit,” Jyushi forced out.
Kuko cackled gleefully, scrubbing Jyushi’s hair like he was rewarding a dog that finally mastered an impressive trick. “I’m not bullshitting you! What do I look like, a lawyer?”
Jyushi smiled for the first time since he’d woken up with his head in Hitoya’s lap. “No way. Definitely not.”
“And thank fuck for that.” Kuko thumped him on the shoulder before sliding off the bed and onto his feet. As he began collecting the empty bottles and half-eaten protein bars from the little hotel table, he turned and said, “I have faith in you, Jyushi. All you gotta do now is have faith too. Just don’t wait until it’s too late.” There was an undertone of sadness that Jyushi filed away for another time: regret.
As he brushed his mussed bangs out of his face, Jyushi remembered how gently Hitoya had stroked his hair last night, with a degree of tenderness he hadn’t shown for a very long time; how his eyes held so much unspoken affection, softly shimmering in their drunken haze. And Jyushi was sure he hadn’t imagined that. He would do anything to feel Hitoya’s hands on him again, both thrillingly strong and reassuringly gentle as he explored more and more of Jyushi’s body, until Hitoya knew him more fully than he did himself. He wanted to feel Hitoya’s gaze drinking in the sight of Jyushi growing up before his eyes.
So maybe Jyushi could wait—after their next battle, or after his next concert, or after his next birthday—but he didn’t want to wait anymore, not another day, not another night dreaming of Hitoya before he fell asleep. No longer satisfied keeping it to himself, he ached to reveal the secrets of his molten heart. He carried a love so ardent it sometimes seemed like it would suddenly burst through his chest and pour out of him like lava. And in that vein, it might destroy everything in its path too, but Jyushi couldn’t go back to the way things used to be. The only way now was forward.
“I do want to tell him,” said Jyushi. “I really, really do.”
He heard Kuko laugh again, this time with quiet, resonant satisfaction. “Attaboy. Are you up for lunch?”
“Yeah, after I shower.” With a bit of extra effort, Jyushi pulled himself into a sitting position. The sheets pooled around his lap as he stretched his long arms and straightened the column of his spine. Once again, he was a bare, unprimed canvas, but he was determined to remake himself, reshape himself into someone they could all be proud of.
“Show him what you’re made of,” said Kuko.
“I will,” Jyushi nodded. “Soon.”
“Today?” Kuko asked with knife-pointed expectancy.
Jyushi’s gaze travelled to the window, its curtains drawn back to show off the blindingly bright blue afternoon sky. “I think it's finally today.”