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I DREAM OF DEATH AND ALL I FIND IS YOU.
Eijun dreams of white chrysanthemums, snow plains and icicles threatening to launch into an avalanche where he finds his feet stuck. He tries to tread through the thick layer, but his feet only sinks into more snow. Wet snow, and with his calves now wet. It’s just snow, like it’s firm earth in this universe. Cold.
White. It haunts his vision everywhere he turns. His cheeks are wet, a surprising warmth on his skin that had been fleshed out by the cold, ripped too raw, ripped to regrets. Regrets. The icicles dangerously loom over him. Why is he still talking? Thinking? He’s sorry for this blabber, sorry for this— He should be—
Blue. Out of nowhere. The cool hue of blue irises is suddenly staring right into him, and he nearly falls back from surprise. A gentle bite stops him from falling. The creature’s teeth sink into the fabric of his windbreaker. Eijun looks down at the red markings on his sleeve, but it isn’t blood.
It will never be blood.
He shoots his head back up to meet the wolf’s eyes again, and it doesn’t release its grip on Eijun’s sleeve despite him having regained his balance. Gold meets ice blue, and there’s a spark; blue now electric with a determined glint to its eyes. A different kind of warmth fans Eijun’s face and he reminds himself to relax, body having tensed up from trying to stabilise his footing. His skin isn’t burning anymore, and finally, it’s his first ray of actual warmth amidst this bitter winter. He wishes to rub his frozen hands together, but the wolf hasn’t released its grip on his windbreaker.
Instead, it nuzzles its face against Eijun’s palm, white fur soft against the calluses of his skin. The world isn’t ending yet.
But still he can’t help it.
He turns his gaze away to look at the icicles that hang dangerously over them. Cutting. Blades of ice.
Run.
The wolf tugs harder this time. Eijun tilts his head curiously, not understanding. Why won’t it let go? He looks around, and he finds that there’s no exit— no matter how much he runs, he’ll forever remain under the threat of being impaled.
Another tug. Another it will never be blood.
I won’t leave you to die alone. Choose me. Stay with me.
Freeze.
Is the wolf communicating with him? Is it feeling all his fears and inhibitions now? He balls his hand into a fist, shaking. The wolf nuzzles against his skin again, and he unclenches. Relaxes. There’s something about those watchful eyes— blue glimmering brilliantly, amidst all of the white surrounding them. The chrysanthemums sway along with the gust of cold air, but he finds himself still. Frozen. In place with the wolf before him.
Eijun doesn’t quite understand it, and he wants to ask questions, but—
BOY WHO CRIED WOLF.
His parents gaped in horror when Eijun frantically told them about his dream— white chrysanthemums are a symbol of grief. They had dragged him to a temple almost immediately, cutting his ramblings off.
He doesn’t get to mention the wolf at all.
The smell of incense is strong in the car ride home, and he can’t stop fidgeting with the omamori in his hands. He thinks of those piercing blue irises again — so determined, so captivating — and how it was a plea to stay, to first meet him and already promising to not leave him to die alone.
He thinks about burning the omamori. Less he doesn’t dream of the wolf anymore.
And so he does later that night. But he finds that he dreams of nothing and he wakes up, disappointed. He looks out of his window, eyes still heavy with sleep as the sun peeks out of the horizon, slowly rising. In the middle of his sleep ridden daze, there’s a thick fog in his head as he tries to remember how the white of the wolf’s fur felt against his left hand. Warmth. The kind that had made him want to rub his freezing hands together gratefully. And then the gentle tugs.
The fog dissipates.
What is the meaning of this? He feels a tug at his heart. It’s an ache this time round, and it burns and he finds his face wet again, but tears wet. Raw again. Ripped to regrets again.
Eijun doesn’t dream of the wolf anymore. Not even the snow plains and chrysanthemum fields.
SO THAT’S WHO YOU ARE, WOLFBOY.
Magnetised is the only way to put it. Eijun finds himself not being able to tear himself away from the gaze of a particular first year, his eyes too reminiscent of the ones that had bore a mark into him years ago in his dream.
“I’m Okumura Koushuu, from Daikyo Senior. I’d like to play catcher.”
Eijun thinks back to when he had his first taste of high school baseball. The best pitches are works of art produced by the pitcher and catcher. He notices the glare shoot towards Miyuki from the white-haired boy, who only giggles in response and he pulls Miyuki by the collar, wanting to hear more from Okumura Koushuu.
And in the middle of his yelling, he feels that glare on him, except that it’s somewhat softer— something embraced . A growl. It’s already spring, but he can still feel the same gust of cold air that enveloped him. Is this who he thinks it is?
Another growl. Pay attention to me.
Eijun’s heart races, ecstatic. Okumura Koushuu. So that’s who you are, wolfboy.
I DISAPPEAR INTO NIGHTS THAT HAVE LEARNED YOUR NAME.
Eijun starts to dream of the wolf again. There’s a grandeur to the snow plains, and the icicles don’t seem as threatening anymore. He shrugs his parents’ words off— white chrysanthemums can also represent loyalty, too. He lies on the snow, flailing his limbs around as he attempts to create snow angels. The wolf prances around him, making sure to follow his every step. His entire core is all loyalty, just like the flowers that surround them. Eijun pats at a spot beside him, and the wolf responds, laying by his side.
He meets his blue gaze again, and he brings his hand up, patting his head. Okumura responds again, nuzzling further into his palm, just like how he did when they first met in this realm, their realm.
And it becomes a ritual.
Eijun starts to sleep in his Seidou windbreaker every night without fail after noticing the red that outlines the sleeves, the one where Okumura had tugged on. It feels like a thread, a string of his heart, and Okumura will bite, but there will never be blood. Always so gentle.
He thinks that he’s content like this.
Them, in this universe where no one can pry.
Although sometimes when he strokes Okumura’s fur, he pouts when he doesn’t get much of a response except for a nuzzle. Eijun never really says anything in his dreams, but maybe; just maybe, he wishes for the courage to find Okumura.
He continues to keep his silence, though. Taking the moment in, he never wants to let this go.
But of course, it’ll always end by sunrise.
OF SUNRISES AND SUNSETS, HOW MANY DO WE HAVE LEFT?
Eijun frowns as Okumura takes another break for the sixth time, turning his face away to cough.
“Okumura, are you—”
Okumura lifts his hand up to stop Eijun’s question, the other covering his mouth.
“Sorry, senpai. I think we’ll have to stop tonight.”
Eijun squints his eyes at Okumura, and he notices how dull his gaze has become— the brilliance from when they first met now completely diminished. “Do you need anything?”
Another cough; so violent that Eijun winces. He runs over to where Okumura is, squatting beside him as he pats his back, wishing he could just do something for the boy, for his wolfboy. But Okumura waves him off, “I need to use the washroom.”
Just before he gets pushed away, Eijun undos the strings of his catching gear, and he feels yet another painful tug at his chest when Okumura lets out another cough. He pushes through, continuing to help remove his gear.
“At least remove your gear first, wolfboy,” Eijun whispers, and his fingers are nimble, quick, as they work through the tied ends, loosening his gear so Okumura can at least slip out of it.
Which he does, and he runs off to the washroom immediately before Eijun can even put his gear aside neatly to accompany him.
Eijun’s chest feels stuffy, and he wonders if he may have caught whatever Okumura has. He thumps at his chest once, and then twice, before he’s finally coughing up the stuffiness that has been settling in there.
He finds a white petal in his palm. Eijun barks out a forced laughter, remembering when his parents were panicking over his dream. White chrysanthemums are a symbol of grief.
FLOWERS WILT. PETALS DIE. I HOLD GRIEF IN MY HANDS.
That night Eijun dreams again, but it’s stained with red, having none of that pure white field anymore. The chrysanthemums that surround them are wilted: petals are everywhere on the ground, now red, bleeding. The icicles look more deadly than ever— some have fallen, stabbing through the snow, stabbing through petals. No signs of life. All signs of violence. An uprootal.
Then, he hears a faint whimper.
Eijun finally speaks. His voice echoes loudly. “Okumura?”
He manages to make out a set of blue eyes, and he runs over, only to find that he’s not in wolf form. Okumura is fragile, weak, with blood all over his chin as he lays weakly in the snow.
It will never be blood.
Eijun wants to cry, wants to berate Okumura— you said you won’t leave me to die alone, that there will never be blood. But he bites back those words — because he is guilty of never actively choosing Okumura — and tries to get him to sit up. Eijun sits beside him, embracing him. Okumura weakly climbs into his lap.
“Am I not enough for you?”
Eijun furiously shakes his head, it’s not like that.
“Do you not desire me?”
I’ve been yearning to dream of you for years.
But the words are stuck in his throat for some reason, shards of ice and petals lodged in there.
“I can and will be everything and anything you want. Please want me, Sawamura senpai.”
Eijun can’t. Eijun can’t allow for that to be Okumura’s last words. And so he cups Okumura’s cheeks — oh, how painfully cold it is — to lean in to press a kiss to his nose. He tries to speak, resisting the urge to cough up a petal. He swallows, and it’s painful, but Okumura is here before him, vulnerable, and the pain is a tiny price to pay for taking things for granted.
“Okumura. I’ll find you. I promise that I’ll find you.”
It’s his— their 21st sunrise.
OKUMURA KOUSHUU. I’VE FINALLY FOUND YOU.
Eijun wakes up to a jolt, and he immediately jumps off his bunk bed, in search of Okumura. He runs along the corridor of the dorms, ignoring the tightness in his chest as he coughs, white petals dribbling down his chin. He remembers the red that was on Okumura’s face, and his pace becomes quicker.
Barging through the door, he finds Okumura, sickly, pale. Crumbs of yellow petals on his bed. He takes a deep breath, and his throat is finally clear, finally not choked with icicles and wilted petals. “I’ve been having dreams about you, Okumura.”
Okumura only looks at him in disbelief, his fist still clutching tightly at his chest. Eijun takes that fist in his, just like how Okumura did in his very first dream, stroking gently and getting him to relax. Okumura’s palms are sweaty, and he’s almost unresponsive as Eijun takes his hand in his, but he can feel his pulse, alive.
His other hand pulls Okumura’s chin towards him, pressing a kiss against cracked lips. He tastes blood, but it’s not cold lips that he’s kissing and he lets go, but it’s to wrap his arms tightly around the boy.
“I’ve finally found you,” Eijun whispers, his voice shaking. He doesn’t know what would have happened if he had dragged on any further. He tries not to think anymore.
A kiss on his right eyelid.
“You’re everything to me.”
A kiss against his Adam’s apple. Eijun prays that this can help clear his throat.
“I desire you.”
Then he holds Okumura’s hands.
You’re all I’ve ever dreamt of.