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The Hiiragi family was immersed in desire.
Having to deal with such an influential name, this should come as no surprise. To maintain a permanent position in a world that the divine hand has long since abandoned — or perhaps it was God himself who brought about the spreading injustice and violence that broke windows with full deliberation — desire was needed. Not just any kind, of course; if it was too weak, it would be dominated by a will of a stronger measure, better adapted to cruelty and devoid of all scruples. Opening its iron jaw, it would consume everything weak and not worth feeding. In this way, it would nourish and grow stronger at the expense of the fallen, preaching hopeless slogans about necessary evils.
The Hiiragi family's desire was not extraordinary. It was about authority and power — two inherent factors that have coexisted for thousands of years. It pushed forward the desire to get to the front of the hierarchical division to manage and rule, subordinate and command. At the same time, they bathed in all sorts of misfortune, disease and death; in everything that did not affect them, although still involved.
Children born in this overwhelming power drank lies instead of mother's milk, the taste of which was devoid of sweetness. Dry and irritating to the esophagus, it did not satisfy thirst, but only fueled to reach for more. Eventually it transformed them into dehydrated and starved beasts, created solely to feed the insatiability drilled into their stomachs.
No one said what would bring them satiety. They did not know how to calm the heat burning in their guts or stifle the overbearing desire. Then came the corruption, sown on every surface and mercilessly directed at people whose blood also flowed in their own veins.
Shinya thought for a while that he was the same. After all, what else could his destiny be if not the position he had led himself to?
However, he quickly realized that he was diametrically opposed to the environment into which he inevitably came to be mingled. He felt nothing as he listened about the role the Hiiragi family had decided to give him. No craving, no deeper desire. Only a quiet consciousness of belonging was pounding at the back of his mind. With nothing, he surrendered himself to the clutches of that deafening sound, though he didn't let it lock his body in too tight a grip.
Despite this, Shinya's bones never formed his skeleton into a leader. His heart, unchanged into a voracious ash, remained in place, uninterested in power or its benefits — and the first strong emotion that mercilessly squeezed his throat was a simple and blunt jealousy.
Not about the girl he never loved. Their paths, after all, did not come together out of love or coincidence; a miraculous twist of fate meant to seal their future with a developing feeling. Their every step, move and word had been carefully planned beforehand to ensure the welfare of the whole and to add to the ever-repeated bundle about an inevitable destiny that in reality never existed. Perhaps he even felt a little pity for her that she had to share the downfall of her own freedom with him. Or at least that's what he wanted to think when she stripped him of any residual sympathy for her person.
This jealousy had no physical basis. It manifested itself in the belief that the man who caused it in him had brazenly stolen his purpose. The only sense of life he had — and for which he had shed more blood than he would dare admit to anyone. Deprived of it, he was unable to find another. Like a released into the clouds, a domesticated bird that has spent its entire life in a cage, he did not know which way to turn. He didn't know the freedom of choice and couldn't exercise it; he didn't even feel he should. And this involved an inevitable helplessness and a stupendous confusion that he was completely unable to comprehend.
He began to be defined by destruction, which, however, he did not want to use against the people in whom he should be arousing respect. Quite the opposite; he wanted to affect the family that implanted it — his tormentors, plaintively trying to create a new organism out of him, subjected to them completely.
Along with this came competition. Fighting an invisible opponent who had no idea of his existence. It was all about honor, about—
Purpose. A purpose that ceased to matter the moment he first heard that damned name.
"How are you feeling?" a simple, polite question snapped him out of his reverie. It was then when he realized that he had been standing at the window for quite a while, with his hands clenched on the sill and an absent gaze directed far ahead. His fingertips had gone pale; only by pulling them away from the marble surface his blood flowed into them again.
After turning around, he saw a short figure with big, purple eyes and pinned-up hair of the same color. She had hands joined behind her back, and face devoid of the characteristic pleasant smile that seemed perpetually plastered to her lips. He took the time to viscerally code this expression; the way her muscles pushed against the corners of her mouth, pupils minimally contracted and eyebrows slightly raised.
He was not fond of it, to be honest. Each time he saw it, he felt as if he were staring into a mirror.
"Like shit," he replied with a wry smile. "You can rather see."
His words made the girl's eyes light up with gentle amusement for a moment. Finally, she moved away from the door and with a light, melodious step made her way toward the armchair on which she then collapsed with a deep sigh.
"We're being honest today, eh?" she chuckled, hanging her leg over the chair back. Upon closer inspection, he was able to see her tumbled, protruding strands of hair and crumpled clothing. Unusual for the put-together lady she should be playing.
"Have I ever not been honest?" he asked, continuing to stand still. The window wasn't fully closed — or maybe it was, but it had long been fit only for replacement — which he felt on his back in the form of a cool breeze teasing his skin through the thin material of clothes. "This is a serious accusation, you know. You're calling me a liar."
The girl momentarily burst out laughing, clutching her stomach and clenching eyelids. She looked happy — sincerely, without forcing any of the sounds. This sight brought a smile to Shinya's face. Eventually he lowered his gaze and burst into laughter himself, shaking his head.
Shinoa was his sister. Although they were never particularly close, she was the only person in this messed-up family that he actually had affection for. She was the only one he was able to call his sibling without an ironic smile pressing to his lips.
She was specific. Although he couldn't always read her thoughts, she seemed to be an open card to him — unfortunately not with a clean, pristine surface. Perhaps it was their similarity in this aspect that made her so dear to him.
She was born with a demon in her heart and a weapon in her hand. Just like him, Kureto, Mahiru and even Seishiro, she was only playing one of many assigned roles. And although her act has only just begun, Shinya has come to the conclusion that she will have a decisive role in the near future.
He didn't want that. He didn't want her to lose a sense of self-identity for a goal imposed on her from above; for a path hollowed out by dirt and vile rascality. He didn't want her to be left with nothing after the failure. He didn't want her to completely become a reflection of him.
Maybe it was already too late for such thoughts — maybe, maybe. He could only speculate, ponder. And that's exactly what he was doing, deliberating too much about the situation in which they found themselves.
In more friendly circumstances, could he be a good big brother to her? Would he be an example she would look up to? Would she come to him for advice, ask for help with homework?
He didn't know. The only thing he could teach her in this world was to pull the trigger at the right moment. That was their game, that was their role — and they had to stick to it.
"What did I actually do to honor your presence today, if you don't mind my asking?" he spoke up at one point, sitting down on the edge of the bed. It was left unmade. He had not yet left the room that day.
"It's not possible to come visit for no reason at all anymore? Such a busy schedule?" Shinoa still didn’t change her position and played with a strand of her hair without looking in his direction.
"I'm not saying it’s not," he started, placing his hands on his lap. "It just doesn't sound very believable."
A mischievous grin formed on her face. The one she used whenever she wanted to tease somebody.
"That sounds like your problem. I came here out of the pure, free will of my heart," she replied, touching her chest for a moment. "Someone has to check if you're still alive, you know. It would be kind of lame if you died. Well, and you don't look too good lately, so..."
Shinya raised his eyebrows, poking a slightly amused look at her. Directness was also something they apparently shared.
"Thank you for your... concern?" he laughed. "You worry too much. Worse days, as they say."
The girl finally changed her position. She sat up straight in her chair, albeit with a slightly hunched posture. She looked at her hands, with a grimace forming on her face.
"Yeah. You don't have to lie to me, Shinya. I'm not a little child who doesn't understand anything," she said, closing her eyes and sighing quietly. Shinya knew that she was right. But at the same time, he didn't want her to be; he didn't want her to be forced to witness events in which he had actively participated all his life. "We all saw what happened. Me, Yuu, you and the rest. I know it must be hard..."
Shinya felt a huge gulp forming in his throat. It increased every time he recalled that memorable day in his mind. It wasn't very distant, and yet it seemed to him to be nothing more than a bad dream.
He clenched his eyelids and breathed deeply, calming overwhelming thoughts. Wallowing in them once again, especially at this moment, was the last thing he needed.
"You're not the one who should be telling me such things," he shook his head, wrinkling the forehead slightly and feeling a marred smile pressing to his lips. "You are a child. Not small, not inexperienced by life, but still a child."
"You used to be such a child, too," she stated. "But did anyone care?”
Shinya fell silent. What he particularly liked about conversations with Shinoa was that between jokes and sarcastic bundles he actually had time to stop and think about things he couldn't discuss with anyone else.
"That doesn't mean I can't be different."
"Well, it's true. You can. But it won't change our environment. It won't give me back my childhood. You didn't take it away from me, so you don't have to try to fix it now."
Listening to her, he came to the conclusion that no matter whether she smiled or kept a serious expression, nothing was different. Shinoa wasn’t wrong; their reality could not be changed. At least he alone was unable to do it.
But he could’ve protected her. He could’ve kept her safe. He could‘ve given her the seed of normalcy they never experienced.
However, he wasn't sure if it would fit into the category of things she would want.
"I just— I want you to know that even if you feel alone, that's not true," she mouthed, perhaps even a little shyly. Again, she opened a side to him that she usually didn't show to anyone; a side that would be considered weak by the rest of their family. He didn't know what he had earned her trust with, but he wasn't about to let it down. "We never really talked about it. You know, at first you weren't family to me. That concept was always so distant, because instead of a bond I felt... obligation. But you showed me empathy, even though you didn't have to. It's such a... human and simple thing, but it meant a lot to me. That's why you need to know that you are not alone. You have the support of this stupid, loud girl, and I don't give a damn whether you need it or not."
“Shinoa, you’re not stupid—”
The girl sat with her head lowered, nervously biting on her lower lip. It was... an unusual sight. So much that Shinya didn't quite know how to react, especially after receiving such an elaborate description of the feelings she held inside.
It was nice to hear that he was dear to her as well. Even if she didn't say it directly, he fully understood the message.
"Don't lie. Don't lie to me. My irrationality is a stupid thing. Whether in its approach to individual situations or specific relationships..."
While the girl continued her talk, Shinya lifted himself from the seat. After just a moment, he squatted right in front of her without a second thought and silently placed hands on her shoulders.
Shinoa fell silent. But then it occurred to him that he didn't know what to do next. He didn't know what words to use, what next step to take. In his case, this was undeniably rare.
Apparently, they were both full of surprises.
He swallowed saliva silently and rolled eyes downward, letting his hands take up the same track. He grasped her hands in his own; gently, without undue pressure.
"Thank you," he muttered. "For everything. It was better than getting slapped in the face."
Shinoa blinked a few times, confused by the perspective from which she had come to view Shinya. He was below her — he gave her the space and time to let out all the trepidation lying on her heart, while at the same time he mutely showed her support. It was strange. Unknown.
She smiled nonetheless, squeezing his fingers for a moment. Then she let them go only to slide off the chair and put her arms around his body. He, in return, wasted no time in hugging her tightly.
"You don't need a slap in the face," she whispered at one point. "But I know someone who definitely does."
Shinya only snorted.
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Over time, the line between jealousy and simple interest began to blur in his mind. He had always believed that curiosity was like a pernicious abyss whose truths remained unknowable even to the daredevils who braved to crawl into it. Few succeeded in illuminating its walls and obtaining reliable answers. Still, there was something alluring about the darkness in which no human face was ever reflected.
Jealousy was different. Jealousy overwhelmed, crushed the heart and twisted the insides. Jealousy didn't just stop at a plain curiosity, turning into a sick obsession.
And Shinya was jealous. He was jealous in that sick, howling way, because he didn't comprehend why he lost. More to that, with someone who hadn't even earned his victory.
But he understood when he met him. At first he didn't know why, didn't know how — but he understood. And he trusted that feeling. He trusted him.
That's why it didn't matter much anymore. Not when he held his sister in his arms. Not when he listened to her stories while ironing his own clothes, occasionally interjecting with some light question. Not when he said goodbye to her with a smile on his lips, hair fixed and refreshed. Not when he was free.
Freedom still represented something unknown to him. It was surreal, perhaps a bit strange — but he was getting used to it.
When he thought about it deeper, maybe it tasted a little like rain. Actually, everything in his life tasted a little like rain. That's why he eventually came to the conclusion that freedom couldn't have that taste — it had to be special. It had to teach him to live with the past, not obliterate the traces behind it.
So he stopped thinking about its taste and focused on its appearance. On a space wrapped in moisture, fresh after the storm. He waited it out in a safe, sheltered place. His hands continued to be covered in blood.
Perhaps freedom also faintly resembled a young man who stood on the veranda, with his hands resting on an old wooden structure. He was looking into the distance, and his hair seemed drenched — quite as if the rain had found him on the road.
It was already getting dark outside, but he was still bathed in lights. Shinya found this ironic.
"Hey." he said plaintively, standing next to him. He didn't comment on the cigarette placed between Guren's fingers or the strange tension between them. He merely greeted him, in an everyday and pleasant tone.
Shinya often wondered if he ever got enough of it.
"Hey." came the reply. Equally simple, devoid of any embellishment. They both knew there was no time for that.
Despite this, he was irritated by Guren's attitude. It irritated him that he didn’t look at him. Even though he understood his shame and felt every concern that lay in his heart. Sometimes he laughed in his mind, thinking about what an empath he was to him. Because it was funny — empathy was never a factor in his life. Not as long as he met him.
"I talked with Shinoa today, you know," he began to say, unwilling to let silence fall between them. Not when he finally decided to talk to him. "We talked a lot. And we had a good time together."
“That’s great.”
Shinya parted his lips, then closed them again. It didn't make sense. He wished it did, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Finally, he turned his back to the construction and leaned on it with his elbows. He ran his eyes over the wall spread before him and the curtained windows, lost in thought.
He was thinking about Guren. He had been thinking about him more than he should have, ever since he first heard of him — from the moment he first felt the center of his chest being consumed by a destructive jealousy.
And although it had passed, he still associated Guren with strong emotions. Less destructive, admittedly, but still seeming to want his downfall.
"Do you think about me sometimes?"
"What?"
He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to say those words out loud. But it happened — and now he was staring into Guren's face with a troubled look and the corners of his mouth left in a horizontal line.
"You heard me," he stated. "I'm just curious."
Guren also stared at him. He looked beaten down. Confusion on his face made it seem like he was trying to choose his next words carefully — but it didn't end unusually. He snarled, shaking his head with a wrinkled nose, as always.
"I won't play any of your games, Shinya."
A small smile crossed the white-haired man's face for a moment. The answer he received apparently amused him somewhat.
However, he didn’t let this state of affairs last too long. He looked away for a while, tightening his lips and squinting eyes.
"Listen, I hate it when it's like this."
"When it’s like what?"
Shinya snorted under his breath, not believing that the man continued to go on in denial. His ignorance really should be investigated by someone.
"Don't pretend to be dumber than you are," he sputtered out, having already been pouring a piercing gaze into him again for quite some time. "We're not talking. You are distancing yourself from us. Not only from me, but also from the rest. Do you think no one sees this? You don't even know how upset Mito was when you didn't show up those few days ago."
Hit in a sensitive spot, Guren finally fell silent. They were no longer surrounded by anything but darkness and the faint light of one of the nearby lamps. Even so, Shinya easily read his expression. He was never good with hiding what lay on his heart. That's why he so often dabbled in corners, trying to remain invisible.
To his misfortune, Shinya always noticed him. He always had eyes directed wherever he was.
"What are you so afraid of, huh?" he raised his voice. Maybe not entirely intentionally, but he couldn't take it back anymore. He didn't even think it was necessary in any way.
Guren continued to remain silent. With his eyes lowered and lips clenched nervously, he looked almost like Shinoa, situated comfortably in her chair, confused and full of trepidation. Except that Guren wasn’t her. Even now, he seemed to refuse to open his heart.
He was embracing a martyr's attitude — at least that's how Shinya perceived it. What he was repenting for and what he was trying to achieve with it; that is something not even God himself is likely to know, if he deigned to cast his gracious eye on them at all.
Guren was born with a knife in his heart. And every move he made seemed to drive the blade deeper and deeper. Shinya wanted to rip it out. He longed to show him that he could live without it. However, he was afraid. He was afraid that the wound left behind would never heal.
Oh, the irony. He didn't feel fear either, until he met Guren on his path.
"Whatever it is, I can help you," he announced much more gently, though he didn’t shed his smooth firmness. "Just let yourself be selfish."
Guren finally snorted a short laugh. With his hands clenched on the railing, he once again shook his head. This sight made Shinya raise his eyebrows unconsciously.
He too had been assigned a role in their little, unfunny drama. All that remained was to wonder in which act it would be revealed.
"Yeah? You want me to be selfish?" he asked. Shinya tried to find something mocking in his tone, but nothing of the sort happened. He was asking seriously, and his words were genuine.
"I want to." he declared before he had time to think about it any longer. Not that he wanted to dwell on it more at all.
Guren smiled at him.
"You may regret it later."
Shinya regretted many things, but none of them involved Guren.
"I know."
Guren then cautiously inched closer to him. Shinya saw hesitation in the way he slipped his fingers between the white strands of his hair.
And then he brought their lips together.
Shinya didn’t close his eyes at first, unable to determine what he actually felt at that moment. Eventually, however, his eyelids drooped on their own, and his brain didn't even try to exert itself to function usefully at that moment.
He pulled away rather quickly. More than a kiss, Shinya felt as if this gesture was equivalent to plunging a hand into his heart. Not in a possessive, vulgar way, but in an understandable — and somehow soothing.
Maybe Guren had more surprises in him than Shinya would’ve ever imagined. Or maybe it was just the exception from the rule.
"Like I said,"
"Next time brush your teeth before you decide to do something like that," he interjected instantly. "You stink a lot."
Guren looked at him with hope.
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If he had to name one thing that the Hiiragi family irrevocably injected under his skin, it would be devotion. At first, his body perceived it as poison; an unwanted intruder, painfully pressing on his arteries. It ravaged him, pulsing dangerously in his veins and obstructing his movements. It represented nothing good — nothing he wanted to keep in his body. That's why he tried to get rid of it, freeing his mind of the tormenting thoughts.
When his muscles refused to obey, he finally accepted it. Then it became a drug — and he got addicted to the bitter sweetness it brought with itself.
Shinoa was right when she said that they didn't care. He had become an outcast to them; an unnecessary factor whom they could infuse with anything that fell into their hands.
At first he didn’t accept the thought that he had lost. He didn’t recognize it as a loss. He didn't consider it to have any meaning.
He had lost only once in his life. And the second was repeated every time he looked into Guren's eyes.
"I should kill you."
Guren was lying on the ground. With his back pressed hard into the rough floor, eyes not fully closed and the air calmly letting out through his nose. Shinya wasn't sure if he hated or loved the way he looked at him then.
His face was bruised. Blood stained the corners of his mouth, splattered on his skin and spread in larger stains over the fabric of his uniform. It was fresh, ripped from his veins by the man who was currently above him.
"Do it."
"No."
Raindrops enveloped their miserable bodies. Coldness, raw and silent coldness.
Ever since he could remember, it had always rained in his heart. That's why when he looked at Guren's wet hair and the dampness washing the blood off his face, he wondered if he was actually real.
Was it really him, or was it just the rain in his heart?
The rain that washed away Guren's crimes, while Shinya's hands remained red.
Because it was his heart. His imagination, his perceptions. A desire to which even he was not immune.
After all, he wasn’t so different from the people he promised himself he would never become like.
"Why?"
"Because that's what you want," he replied, maintaining a stern, unmoving gaze. "You want to die, so I won't let you."
Guren smiled at his words. Shinya found this to be a rather predictable reaction.
A moment later, he started chuckling. Not too loudly, apparently putting a lot of effort into it. The injuries he received didn’t want to cooperate; that's why his giggle turned into a cough quite quickly.
Shinya dared to grab the knife, located deep in Guren's heart. And he was pulling — he was pulling, with no intention of letting go.
"Do you hate me that much?"
"Yes."
He lied, and they both knew.
Guren's eyes lit up for a moment as Shinya grabbed his wrists. He could easily have stopped him, taken control of the situation between them. But he didn't want to. He wanted to be defeated.
"Why did you kiss me?"
They didn't even have a chance to talk about it. They had actually rarely talked lately, lost in the track their lives had taken.
"Because you wanted me to."
Shinya snorted. He squeezed Guren’s skin between his fingers, leaning over him even more. He was so drenched that drops sprang from strands of his hair, falling on Guren's face. One of them hit his eyelid, but he just blinked a few times, not wanting to break eye contact.
"No. Why did you kiss me?"
There was a brief pause. Neither of them wanted to look aside, so they scanned each other's faces in almost total silence, broken only by the rain hitting the concrete.
"Stop fucking around," he hissed, and the vulnerability written on his face made Shinya's facial features soften. "You know why, and you know that was the only reason. I just wanted it."
Shinya smiled — and this time he was the one who pushed against Guren's lips with his own.
There was something different about this kiss. Instead of an uncertain concern, it represented hunger. It reigned with a sloppiness and passion that was just a step away from utter brutality, but still with such unique intimacy. Because it was intimate — the way Guren tightened his hands on Shinya's shoulders, at a moment when he couldn't think of anything that wasn't the warmth of his tongue. In contrast to the ongoing downpour, it almost burned him.
Shinya held Guren’s face in his hands. He stained it with the color of the still bleeding wound, while feeling a metallic aftertaste in his mouth. That blood didn’t belong to him, of that he was sure.
"Cigarettes aren't your thing, but blood somehow doesn't bother you," an indistinct mumble at one point escaped from between Guren's lips as he grabbed Shinya's collar hard enough to get his attention. "What are you? A vampire in disguise?"
Shinya smiled wider, though without showing his teeth. He tilted his head minimally, tracing the bloody trail that originated on Guren's bottom lip. Their kiss must have triggered the bleeding again.
"Yes. It's nice of you to notice," he replied, with a characteristic hint of mockery in the voice. "You shouldn't let vampires get so close. What are you going to do now? Kill me?"
Guren swallowed saliva, wiping the lower lip with his finger, though it was not of much use.
"No."
Shinya leaned over him once again.
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The fist hit Guren's shoulder in the dark, though with an accurately aimed momentum.
He grunted under his breath through the received impact. Although not much force was put into it, it was enough to make him start writhing on the bed with furrowed brows.
"Stop fucking snoring," muttered Shinya with displeasure, lying with his back to the other man. He clenched his eyelids, having been trying to fall asleep for a long time, which Guren successfully prevented him from doing. He really tried to do it without violence, but since no words were completely getting through, he just saw no other way. "You are so damn noisy ."
This was not the first time they had shared a bed together. Guren often came to Shinya's bedroom when it was late — and although he usually fell asleep on the small couch located by the window, the white-haired man dragged him to his bed every time. They had enough space to not touch each other in sleep, and if it happened, they didn't talk about it during the day.
But something had changed. And they both knew what.
As silence once again blended into the night glow enveloping his room, Shinya finally began to fall asleep. He felt sleepy enough that he didn't think it would take him much longer to lose consciousness completely — but then he felt a soft touch on his stomach, and quickly came to the conclusion that he had slightly miscalculated this whole situation.
The next thing he felt was the warmth of Guren's body and his nose pressed against his neck. However, he decided not to pay much attention to this and relax again, actually finding this position quite pleasant.
What he didn't expect was that Guren's next move would be to press his lips against his shoulder. It didn't end up with a single kiss, laboriously muscling toward his neck — and when he reached it, Shinya audibly let the air out through his nose.
"Guren " this time it was he who groaned, yawning immediately afterwards. And although it sounded rather threatening, a moment later he tucked his fingers between the black strands of hair and blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness around him. Only the moon peeking out from behind the window made it possible to see anything inside.
"You woke me up," Guren muttered, with his arms encompassing Shinya’s waist. "And you hit me. I'm in pain now, you know?"
"It's like you've been letting me sleep for the last two hours, asshole," Shinya huffed, wrinkling his nose as Guren kissed him on the cheek. As if that would make him feel any better. "And don't act like a baby, it wasn't even that hard."
Guren continued to look at Shinya with eyes that were hazy from exhaustion, but still didn’t stop to fawn all over him.
“It hurts.”
"Oh, fuck you." Shinya couldn't hide the amusement in his voice, because, yes, the sight of Guren making puppy eyes at him in order to be kissed was really funny.
However, he decided not to refuse him — and it wasn't long before they ended up in each other's arms, engulfed in a gentle, slow kiss.
It was a good feeling. To have him, even if it couldn't last forever.
Not much time passed, and Guren ended up on his back, with hands on Shinya's hips, who was increasingly invading his body. They still didn't force a faster rhythm on one another; they just enjoyed what they had. And at the moment, all they had was each other.
The spell broke when Shinya unintentionally pressed his hands against Guren's torso, which made him hiss due to the pressure, automatically grabbing onto his wrists. With slight concern in the eyes, the white-haired man instantly pulled his hands back.
"Oh, fuck. Sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Yes, yes. I know." Guren sighed, with a grimace on his face as he touched the violated area.
Shinya lay down next to him. With abashment, he ran his eyes over Guren's bandaged chest, not knowing how he couldn’t remember about it.
It was a bit ironic, considering how much he wanted to forget. That day haunted him in dreams, nightmares and even while he was awake — just as it did now as he stared numbly at the bandage. A memento of what had happened; if it could be called that at all.
He hesitantly reached forward and then placed his hand on Guren's chest. He didn’t protest, which meant that Shinya could feel it floating comfortably; not to mention his heart, which also seemed to be in a blissful state.
When Shinya parted his lips, he noticed the trembling of his breath.
But he pulled out the knife. And the wound was healing.
"She’s safe." he whispered, without taking his eyes off the spot where he kept his hand. He seemed to recall a moment, also related to that day; he may not have even noticed that he said it out loud.
Guren immediately placed his hand on Shinya’s cheek, wanting to comfort him.
"Yes, she is," he said carefully, directing Shinya's head upward. Just so they would catch eye contact. "So am I. And you."
He closed his eyes, and Guren stroked his skin with a thumb. They lay in silence for a long moment, but neither of them seemed to mind.
"When I told you to be selfish... why me?"
Guren's touch was more tender than ever.
Shinya looked into his eyes, and even when the answer didn't come, he understood.