Archive of Our Own ^beta

She’s not his girlfriend . 

He doesn’t like that word, it’s too definitive. Too much commitment for a relationship that was doomed from the start. There’s no point in clinging to things that will inevitably leave you, grasping at hope like a shiny red apple just out of reach. When the apple falls, it is rotten and full of worms. The golden interior has turned the same shade of dead leaves in the winter, and if you were to bite into it, the sharp tang would spoil your tongue. The rot in your mouth tastes like a kiss from hope herself, with tongue if you’re lucky enough to catch some worms. 

Hanako knows that taste far too well, the feeling of the barrel’s bottom scratching your cheek. The light that barely misses you as you sit on the floor of a well, praying for someone to throw down a ladder. Reaching out your dirty hands like a beggar craving food, money, or the touch of flesh against your own. His own flesh is far too cold to match Yashiro’s, as though he’s been stranded in the arctic for years. His fingers would slip right past her if it hadn’t been for the curse binding their souls. He hungrily accepts the only bone that has ever been tossed his way, the ability to hold Yashiro, if only for a short amount of time. 

Hope looks different for her. She has her whole life ahead of her. Hanako never knew life as Yashiro does, born to a womb that stood at the center of a graveyard. He may not have known it at the time, but he was only born to return to that grave, to lull himself unconscious inside a coffin the same way he used to sing his brother to sleep. All he knows is rot and dirt, picking up the knife and letting the Cain instinct drive him. Yashiro’s eyes sparkle like the stars, and her hair sways like branches in the wind. Her skin is sand, waiting to feel the breath of the ocean. Her laugh sounds painfully real and human, so far from him even when she’s kissing his cheek. No matter how close they get, they will never be the same. 

He doesn’t want to ruin her. The last thing he wants is for her to waste her life mourning the supernatural she met at fifteen. Ideally, she will be able to let him go when it’s time to part ways. If he can keep her at a distance, maybe she won’t grow too attached to him. They can’t break up if he was never her boyfriend. 

Yashiro is nothing if not stubborn though, she won’t settle for having him halfway. It’s all completely nonsensical to him; they’re practically already together, what difference does it make if he calls her his girlfriend or not? Of course, when he brings that up, she calls him a hypocrite. She’s too naive to understand that their perspectives are fire and ice. Entirely incomparable, his stance is fueled by logic while her’s is fueled by emotion. If people made every decision in life based on what they felt, or what they wanted, they wouldn’t get anywhere. He knows the feeling of being stuck in one place all too well, he would never wish that on Yashiro. And so, it’s his job to knock some sense into her. 

The problem is that, naturally, Yashiro refuses to listen to him. Every word he speaks goes in one ear and out the other, it’s like she can imagine no fate worse than agreeing with him. If an apocalypse ever were to break out, Yashiro would surely get herself killed by refusing to listen to Hanako. He’d tell her to run away from the zombies, and she’d run towards them purely out of spite. That’s another thing about her he absolutely adores , she’s so opinionated. As possessive as he can get, he would never want to control Yashiro or make her feel suppressed. 

He’s not a gentleman like the Kid is, all sit back and let me handle this, he wants Yashiro to be able to stand on her own. He’s not the type to spout nonsense about how women can do everything, but they shouldn’t have to. That’s just a gentle way of encouraging women to take on the same role that has always been expected of them. Yashiro is a person just like he is, and she will have to experience hardships just like everyone does. He can’t shield her from that, but he can do everything in his power to support her. Part of that entails pushing her to take care of herself, playing the role of the magical sidekick in her hero’s journey. 

Not everyone finds the prospect of being a housewife as terrifying as he does. Kou may have had to play that role, but it was always temporary. He wasn’t taught those skills with the expectation of serving a man someday, and was never lectured about acting more ladylike. He is supported on his journey towards reclaiming masculinity more than Hanako will ever be. 

It took him years to piece together exactly why all that made him so uneasy. The memories are venom in his veins, an itch beneath his skin that can never be scratched. They choke him at night, a shadow of his former self pressing a knife to his abdomen. He cannot kill that boy anymore than he already has. 

There’s no sense in reminiscing on a past that only causes pain. Things are different now, he looks much more like himself. For years he felt like half of a person, a sun doomed to shine with no rest. But, for better or worse, he has his brother back now. As much as that terrifies him, it’s also the greatest relief he’s ever known. He can rest easy now, knowing that Tsukasa is once again close within reach. Tsukasa was all he knew in life, so it makes sense that they’d be together in death as well. 

He hates Tsukasa with all of his heart but, then again, he doesn’t. Part of him will always ache when they don’t see each other, when Tsukasa is too busy with his other friends to visit him. Their interactions are hardly ever pleasant, but they soothe a part of Hanako’s soul like ointment on a wound. It’s sick and twisted, but Tsukasa’s presence makes him feel complete. 

He has friends now too, friends who aren’t Tsuchigomori and Yako. Friends who act like friends, rather than a deadbeat dad and a wine aunt. Being friends with guys his own age is weirdly reaffirming, even though Mitsuba is far from the manliest person he knows. It’s fun to gang up on him with the Kid, he always sort of envied how rough other boys were allowed to be with each other. Though he’s recently noticed that Kou and Mitsuba blur the lines between friendly roughhousing and outright sadomasochism (what’s their business is absolutely his business). He supposes roughhousing stems from sadomasochism anyways, so who is he to judge? 

Aside from friends and a brother, he also has a not-girlfriend now. To say things have been going great would be an understatement. Besides their frequent bickering, they get along well. Hanako acts more romantic than he normally would to indulge her, because while he doesn’t care about those things, Yashiro definitely does. He would lasso the moon if it made Yashiro smile, so roses and candle lit dinners are a piece of cake. She’s fond of slow dancing too, although neither of them have mastered it yet. They still step all over each other’s feet, and his hands shake every time they meet her waist. She’s taller than him, which makes it twice as awkward as it already is. 

He doesn’t mind it at all, he’ll suffer through endless makeshift dance lessons if it makes her happy. Yashiro resurrected him, reintroducing him to life after years in the grave. She pulled back the curtains in his dimly lit room and showed him the meaning of light. She took away the loneliness that had followed him for years, gave him so many things to care about to cure his numbness. He’ll never be able to repay her for that. 

They may come from very different times, but Yashiro is able to understand his experiences in a way Kou and Mitsuba can’t. She knows what it’s like to be born into a body that doesn’t match your soul, how isolating and confusing that can feel. Only she’s a lot more confident than he is, she knows who she is and she’s proud of it. It certainly took her a lot less time to come to terms with her identity, though he’s sure that wasn’t easy for her. She connects with him on a level that most people don’t, which is more than he ever could have dreamed of in a relationship. 

She gives him everything just by existing in his vicinity. They don’t always see eye to eye, but Hanako worships the ground she walks on. If Mitsuba is the Patroclus to Kou’s Achilles, then Yashiro is the Eurydice to Hanako’s Orpheus. They’re always doomed to part, but he will love her intensely until that day comes. He will love her even after that, but he really hopes the same will not be true of her. He wants Yashiro to move on and live a long and happy life with someone who will be able to give her everything she deserves. He would do anything for her, but he cannot give her the life she wants. Hanako exists in the absence of life, and Yashiro is life itself. 

“Hanako-kun!” 

The sound of her voice rings like bells throughout the small bathroom, drawing his attention away from the window. He’d gotten lost in thought while people-watching, observing Kamome students in their natural habitat. Coincidentally, this is the only habitat he’s able to observe them in. 

He immediately masks whatever solemn expression had crossed his face before she entered the room. He turns to her with his usual mischievous smile, probably less convincing due to the heart-eyes syndrome she’s given him. 

“Yashiro,” he greets. “What brings you h-”

The words die on his tongue when Yashiro throws her arms around him, effectively scattering all of his thoughts. A burst of energy hits him, and he lets his hands shake excitedly. His mother used to reprimand him every time he did that, so it took him awhile to grow comfortable with stimming again. He had to stop viewing it as an embarrassment or an interference, but rather something that can be good for him. 

“What did I do?” He laughs, flustered. “Is it my birthday or something?” 

She pulls away, huffing. “Can’t I just hug you?” 

“I wasn’t complaining,” he takes a step back anyways, because Yashiro initiating affection makes his heart do funny things. “I don’t see how this is necessary though. If you want to make out, you can just ask.” 

She lightly smacks him on the head and he bats her hand away, laughing. “That’s not why I’m here.” 

“Aw,” he frowns. “What’s the occasion then? I thought you were eating lunch with Aoi today.” 

Lately, Yashiro’s been struggling to balance her ghostly friendships with her human ones. Apparently, Hanako and Aoi are both needy for attention, and she doesn’t want to make either of them feel neglected. He fails to see the problem, as her not-boyfriend he should receive the majority of Yashiro’s attention. Part of him doesn’t understand why Yashiro needs people outside of him, but his more logical side doesn’t want to pull her away from her human life. 

Her cheeks turn pink. “I was, but I need your help with something.” 

He’s been around Yashiro long enough to tell when she’s nervous, and right now she’s showing all the signs. Avoiding eye-contact, cheeks flushed, head lowered. Her hands are hidden behind her back, concealing a mystery object. He likes to see her flustered, but he hopes she’s not seriously worried about something. He hates when she’s upset, especially when it’s something out of his control. If Hanako had it his way, Yashiro would never frown. 

“Sounds kinky.” 

She slaps him again. “Be serious.” 

“Fine, fine,” he throws his hands up defensively. “What is it?” 

She gives him a hesitant look. “Promise you won’t laugh?” 

“You know I can’t promise that.” 

“Hanako.” 

“Kidding,” he says. “I won’t laugh, promise.” 

She doesn’t look very convinced, but she relents anyway. She holds her arms out, revealing the aforementioned mystery object. It turns out to be a small white leather bag, adorned with pink polkadots. It’s cute, but too tacky for his tastes. It looks like something Mitsuba would own, which is throwing him off. Moreover, it doesn’t answer any of his questions, nor give any insight as to why Yashiro wanted to see him. 

His eyes dart between Yashiro and the bag, trying to make sense of her request. She still isn’t looking him in the eye, expression unreadable. 

“What am I looking at?” 

Yashiro sputters. “It’s a makeup bag.” 

“Okay,” he says, slowly. “What’s inside the makeup bag?”

“Take a wild guess.”

He places a finger on his chin, pretending to think. “Baseballs? Are you thinking about trying out for the team?” 

“I hate you,” she deadpans, unzipping the bag. “It’s lipstick. I bought some with Aoi yesterday but I haven’t tried them on yet.” 

He eyes the contents curiously. Lipstick isn’t entirely new to him, he’s tried some before. When he was ten years old, he asked his mother if he could wear some of hers to test it out. It was warm and sticky and it made his skin itch. The taste was bland too, and he didn’t like the way it made him look. He doesn’t think he’s ever hated something so suddenly and intensely. As soon as it was on, he wanted it off, running to the sink to scrub his lips until they were swollen. His mother only laughed, assuring him that he would grow to love it someday. He hated when she did that, acting like she knew his future anymore than he did. 

Of course, he and Yashiro have very different experiences with femininity. What Hanako views as a cage, Yashiro views as freedom. He would never fault her for belonging in a place he feels disconnected from; on the contrary, he’s happy she can find joy in those things. It suits her too, in a way it never did for him. She looks good in sundresses, ruffles, lace, and her endless supply of hairclips. Just because he wouldn’t wear those things himself doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate them on other people- he and the Kid share an affinity for miniskirts. 

She doesn’t wear much makeup though, which is why he didn’t know what to make of the bag. She wears it sometimes, but it takes a lot of effort to do a full face. Most days, she wears lip gloss, but never lipstick. He doesn’t know why she bought so many if she never wears it, it seems like a waste. 

“Since when do you wear lipstick?” 

Her face goes red. “I’m trying something new.” 

He still doesn’t get it, but he’s been with Yashiro long enough to know it’s best to sometimes just go along with what she says. His dad used to live by the phrase “happy wife, happy life,” which is a sentiment he’s starting to understand more and more. 

“Where do I fit into this?”

“Well…” she starts. “I was hoping you could help me test them out.” 

“Test them out?” 

“I want to see which shade looks best on you.” 

His shoulders tense. “I don’t really wear lipstick.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she smiles. “I want to see how it looks on your face.”

He wishes she wasn’t being so vague. Doesn’t lipstick usually go on your face? She can’t be asking to give him a makeover, Yashiro wouldn’t do that. She’s a little dense, but she’s not malicious. But how else would she get lipstick on his face? Unless…

His brain short-circuits. 

“Do you get it now?”

“Yeah,” he says, quickly. “Yeah, you can definitely do that.” 

She giggles, moving him to sit on the floor. She sits across from him, propped up on her knees for better access. It’s his turn to avoid eye contact, memorizing every crack in the floor like he’s studying for a pop quiz. 

It never fails to catch him off guard when Yashiro decides to be bold. He’s used to being the flirty one, so he doesn’t know what to make of it when the roles are reversed. It’s not unpleasant, but he never knows how to react other than teasing her. 

Her hand cups his cheek, and he nearly chokes. Her skin is so smooth, like pearls running down his face. Her nails are painted a pale shade of blue, lightly scratching his cheekbone. He leans into the touch, eyes moving up to meet hers. 

There is no goddess, star, or planet he could compare Yashiro to that would accurately describe her. She is beyond anything he’s ever seen, and anyone he’s ever met. No one will ever live up to her, not in his eyes. She means more to him than he will ever be able to say. 

She smiles at him, reassuringly. “I have seven shades.” 

“ Seven ?” 

“Are you complaining?” 

“No,” he says. “But you could’ve bought more.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I’m only kissing your face, don’t get too excited.” 

Normally he would make some remark about how she’s welcome to kiss anywhere else too, but the words die in his throat. He’s been thirteen for fifty-two years, so he can’t really be blamed for not knowing as much as he claims to. The thought of Yashiro covering him in kisses is enough to drain all the witty comebacks from his head. He can’t bring himself to be mad about it though, he gets to kiss a pretty girl. He’d have to be an idiot to complain about that. 

She pulls out a small blue packet from the bag. “I brought makeup-remover wipes to make this easier.”

His shoulders relax a little, knowing he doesn’t have to let the itchy texture linger for longer than necessary. He knows the wipes are more for her, but it’s still nice to know he has a fast out if this becomes overwhelming. Hopefully he won’t mind the stains as much as the actual thing. 

Her slim fingers close around the first tube of lipstick, holding it up and slipping the cap off. It reveals a peachy pink shade, close to the color of her lips. She twists the bottom of the tupe, causing the lipstick to rise. He watches, mesmerized, as she holds it up to her lips, painting them with intent. He may not know much about makeup, but the shade compliments her skin tone perfectly. She smacks her lips together, rubbing it in. 

He freezes when her hand clasps down on his shoulder, using it as leverage to pull herself forward. She uses her other hand to lift up his bangs, pressing her lips to the center of his forehead. 

The euphoric feeling of Yashiro’s lips outweighs that of the lipstick. It doesn’t itch as much as he remembers, possibly because he’s not putting it on directly. It’s still not something he would want on his face all the time, and the smell is a little gross, but it’s bearable. Anything is bearable for Yashiro. 

She pulls away, admiring her work. 

“So far, so good.” 

“You won’t be able to see it unless I clip my hair back.” 

“Exactly,” she winks. “It’s discreet.” 

He narrows his eyes. “I’m beginning to question your intentions.” 

“I thought I made my intentions obvious, I want to leave kiss marks on your face.” 

“What’s the point of doing that if you’re just gonna hide them?” 

“Fine,” she takes a wipe to clean her mouth. “I’ll make sure the next one is impossible to miss.” 

He gulps, wondering what she could possibly mean by that. It sounds like a threat. 

The next shade is hot pink, a stark contrast to the subtle shade of the first. So loud and unlike Yashiro, the mental image of her wearing it makes him laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Sorry,” he tries to catch his breath. “It’s just- that doesn’t look like you at all.” 

Her face scrunches up angrily, making him laugh even harder. She’s so cute when she’s mad. 

“Do you want a kiss or not?” 

“I want a kiss,” he says, definitively. “Just give me a minute.” 

She glares at him as he settles down, motivated by the threat of losing a kiss. He pointedly does not look at Yashiro’s glare, if he did then they’d be here all day. He can’t help it if he finds amusement in tormenting people- he is Tsukasa’s brother, after all. 

When his laugh has cooled down to a smirk, he gives her the go-ahead. 

“I’m good.” 

“I don’t want to kiss you anymore.” 

“C’mon, baby,” she hates that pet name, so he uses it all the time. “You know you love me.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Nah, you don’t.” 

“You’re so mean .” 

“I won’t make fun of you anymore,” he takes her hand. “I promise.” 

“If I hadn’t spent so much money on these, I would leave right now.” 

“You bought them just to kiss me?” 

She yanks her hand away, face resembling Kou’s traffic earring. “Shut up.” 

“That’s so sweet,” he coos. 

“Let’s move on,” she quickly applies the lipstick, hand trembling. “We still have six of these to get through.” 

Hanako smiles like the cat that just caught the canary, watching in amusement as she takes way too long applying a single stick of lipstick. 

It doesn’t look as vibrant once it’s on, but it still doesn’t look like her. As much as he likes to push her buttons, he doesn’t want to genuinely make her feel bad, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

Her hand shakes this time when it lands on his shoulder, but she stays determined. She lifts his bangs again, pressing a kiss right next to the first one. She keeps it brief, pulling away to quickly clean her mouth. 

He frowns. “I thought you were gonna make this one noticeable?” 

“That was before you started picking on me.” 

“You’re not really mad about that, are you?” He keeps his voice light to disguise the undertone of concern. 

“I’m not,” she says. “But you deserved to be punished.” 

“There’s lots of other ways to punish me…” 

“You’re right,” she hums. “I could always leave right now. Or I could steal one of your brother’s things and blame it on you. Ooh, or I could tell Kou about that time you called Mitsuba hot.” 

His face pales. “You’re evil.” 

“I could tell Teru about all the times you’ve put me in danger, or tell Akane what you said about Aoi that one time-”

“Okay, message received,” he cringes. “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, and for turning you into a sadist.” 

“Are we gonna start acting like Kou and Mitsuba?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Do you think he would lend me some of his exorcist tools if I asked?” 

“Yashiro.” 

“Are you gonna be nice now?” 

“I’ll be a total gentleman, just never threaten to call Teru on me again.” 

“Deal.” 

She applies the next shade- rose pink, one of his favorites so far. It suits her well, and stands out more than the first shade. She looks breathtaking, almost pretty enough to make him forget about her cruel threats. 

The kiss lands firmly on his right cheek, impossible to miss. He may have asked for this, but the thought of such a visible mark still makes him blush. He feels proud to have such an obvious sign of Yashiro’s love, though he knows Mitsuba would tease the hell out of him if he ever saw him like this. Mitsuba isn’t covered in kiss marks though, so his opinion has no credibility here. 

“I like that one,” he says, quietly. “You look nice.” 

Yashiro pauses, lips parting softly. “You’re just trying to flatter me.” 

He shrugs. “Maybe.” 

She avoids his eyes again while she cleans off the rose shade, replacing it with an ivory color. Her self-esteem is unfortunately very low, so she doesn’t know how to take compliments. Kind words still mean a lot to her, but she struggles to believe them. Hanako wishes he were better with words, so he could make her believe every sweet thing he’s ever said to her. He knows he’s nothing like the guys she usually falls for, but he hopes it still means something. He hopes that when he calls her beautiful, she stays up all night thinking about it the way she would with Teru or Fuji. 

She holds his face this time, pressing an ivory kiss to his left cheek. It feels strange to be covered in lipstick, but not emasculating like a small part of him anticipated. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s reaffirming for reasons he can’t quite place, his girlfriend gets to enjoy feminine things while he still feels removed from them. He recalls seeing his father covered in lipstick stains from his mother a few times, and it had always been something his father looked proud of. Maybe acting like his father makes him feel more masculine? He still can’t wrap his head around the science of it. Getting kissed hardly makes you a man, and neither does having a (not) girlfriend. 

Gender has no tangible meaning, Hanako could wear lipstick every day and as long as he continued to call himself a man, he’d still be a man. He’s spent decades trying to figure out where that line is drawn, why he feels uncomfortable wearing things some men wear with pride. It could be that he grew up during a time when gender roles were heavily enforced, so his idea of a man is far more traditional than the popular definition. He supposes it comes down to personal experience. 

That’s part of why he feels so comfortable with Yashiro, she never judges him for his complicated feelings on things like gender and sexuality. She empathizes with his experiences, even though they’ve taken very different journeys. She encourages him to take the lead in their relationship, reaffirming him in ways he hadn’t considered before. She looks out for him in small ways, and she’s always willing to listen when he needs to talk. It’s hardly surprising that she didn’t even offer to put some of the lipstick on him. He didn’t have to tell her he wouldn’t want that, she just knew. 

“This next color is a little strange,” she warns. “But I wanted to test it out.” 

It’s a fuchsia pink shade, similar to the hot pink. A pang of guilt hits his stomach when he realizes his teasing is what warranted the warning. He needs to be more careful with what he says around her. 

“It looks pretty,” is all he can muster as reassurance. 

She smiles, still looking unsure. This time, she presses her lips to the tip of his nose, giggling at the surprised look on his face. He hadn’t been expecting that. 

“As pretty as me?” She teases. 

“Not even close.” 

If possible, her face turns even redder. 

“Stop being a flirt.” 

“That only makes me want to bother you more.” 

“You’re relentless.” 

“Am I pretty too?” 

She exhales. “The prettiest.” 

Somehow, it doesn’t sound bad when Yashiro says it. He used to hate being called pretty, until he started to give the word a new meaning. Boys can be pretty too, and being called pretty by Yashiro is the highest compliment he could ever receive. He’ll be her pretty boy if that’s what she wants. 

She exchanges fuschia for bubblegum, another automatic favorite. She lifts his bangs again to press a third kiss to his forehead, adding to the misshapen row of kiss stains. 

“What is your deal with my forehead?” 

“I like it,” she says, defensively. “Who doesn’t love forehead kisses?” 

“I didn’t say I dislike them, I just think you have a fixation.” 

“You just want to be able to show them off.” 

“Duh.” 

She punches his arm, which only makes him laugh. “Don’t make me regret this.” 

“It’s a little late for that.” 

Now that the kiss marks have piled up, he can safely say he doesn’t mind them. The sensations only tickle, making him feel light and careless. He wants more, if only to feel Yashiro’s face brush against his own. 

They’re down to the last tube, a crimson red color that looks so unlike Yashiro, but somehow still compliments her. He supposes a classic red look was necessary, especially for a task like this. 

“Are you gonna kiss my forehead again?” 

“Nope,” she grins. “I saved the best spot for last.” 

“Wha-”

She cuts him off with a kiss, smudging red against his lips. It takes him a moment to respond, hands lagging before finding her waist. He kisses back as though he can transfer every ounce of love and praise he feels for her through this single exchange. 

When she pulls away, his lips tingle with the taste of bland makeup and Yashiro. A thousand times more palatable than the first time he tasted lipstick. 

He expects her to stop there, but she dives right back in, this time kissing right below the mark on his left cheek. She goes to his forehead next, then the space between his eyes, then his chin, then his neck, then his right cheek, then back to his lips…and eventually, he loses track. 

“You sure it’s not my birthday?” He asks in-between kisses. 

“Positive,” she pecks his lips. “Your birthday isn’t until November.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

“Your brother told me.” 

“You two need to stop talking.” 

“If we got married, he’d be my brother too.” 

“I’m not sure that’s how that works.” 

“Sure it is,” she kisses his ear. “Which is why I need to get along with him.” 

“It’s not like we’re gonna get married anyway.” 

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out, feeling Yashiro freeze in his arms. Solemnly, she pulls away, lips smudges and eyes downcast. 

Why did he say that? 

It’s true, marriage isn’t an option for them. Hanako is a ghost, and Yashiro is human. Yashiro will continue to grow, and Hanako will stay eternally thirteen. He doesn’t know of any way to change that, not unless Yashiro died, which is absolutely not an option. He feels bad that he can’t give her everything she wants, but those circumstances are out of his control. 

He shifts closer, enveloping her in his arms. She resists at first, but eventually lets herself be pulled against his chest. He rubs her back, kissing the top of her head reassuringly. Physical touch is really the only way he knows how to comfort people, he’s never been good with words. 

Yashiro does not cry, but she holds onto his shirt like she’s terrified to let go. She hates being reminded that they’ll have to part someday, hates knowing she’ll lose the love she spent years searching for. She doesn’t know how lovable she is, that someday someone will give her everything she deserves. They will never love her as much as Hanako does, and he already hates them even though they’ll never meet. But he puts his own bitterness aside when it comes to Yashiro’s happiness. The urge to chain her down, to keep the only thing that has ever brought him such unbridled happiness. It’s an ugly thing, and he’s too mature to succumb to it. His misery is worth Yashiro’s joy. 

“You’ve granted all my other wishes,” she speaks quietly. “Why is this one any different?”

“Every wish comes with a price,” he responds. “I can’t even imagine what fate would take for something like this.” 

The universe has a twisted sense of humor, Hanako doesn’t like to tangle with it. He’s done it too many times before, been killed time and time again by curiosity. He doesn’t want to drag Yashiro into that anymore than he already has. 

“But Kou says-”

“The Kid is an idiot,” he says, firmly. “He thinks he can do everything for everyone, he doesn’t think about who gets hurt in the process. I can’t afford to be that careless.” 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you,” his voice drips with desperation. “I’m not going to let you get hurt out of my own selfish desire.” 

“Your selfish desire to do what?” 

“To give you everything,” he holds her tighter. “To be with you for as long as humanly possible. To keep you all to myself.” 

“...You want to be with me?”

“Of course I do,” he’s never wanted anything more. “That's all I want.” 

Hanako’s never been allowed to want things. Every good thing he’s ever had has been conditional, and he’s too stuck in his ways to strive towards change. He’s lonely, and flighty, and hopeless, and he can’t sleep without his brother nearby. He can’t go on without the light Yashiro provides him, can’t breathe without the oxygen his friends feed him. He can’t hope, because hope is a rotten, diseased thing. He’s not going anywhere. 

“Then why don’t you take it?” She demands. “There has to be a way.” 

“I don’t want to take anything from you. All I want is to make you happy.” 

“That’s not true,” she’s getting angry. “You want many things, you just won’t admit it.” 

“I’m not a good person,” he says, gently. “If I were selfish on top of everything else, you’d hate me.” 

“I could never hate you.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I’d rather you be selfish than stubborn,” she decides. “You’re impossible to argue with.” 

“Imagine how I feel,” he laughs. “You’re selfish and stubborn.” 

Maybe if he can make her hate him, she won’t be hurt when he leaves. Maybe he can get her to leave first. 

“At least I want to change.” 

That was low, but he can’t blame her. He went low first. 

“We don’t have to talk about this.” 

“I want to,” she insists. “I don’t want to keep avoiding it.” 

“You’re not gonna like the confrontation.” 

“It’s better than acting like everything’s fine when it’s not.” 

“What’s your solution then?” 

To his dismay, she answers immediately. 

“If Kou finds a way to make Mitsuba human, then maybe he can make you human too.”

He snorts. “Great, so we’re putting all our hope in Kou . That makes me feel a lot better.” 

“You don’t think he can do it?”

“No, I really don’t,” he meets her eyes. “I already told you, he’s an idiot.” 

“He’s our friend.”

“That doesn’t make him any less of an idiot. He’s only doing what I’m too selfish to do.” 

“Meaning…?”

“He’s trying to keep someone he can’t have,” he answers. “And Mitsuba’s selfish enough to go along with it. They’re fine watching each other suffer as long as they get to be together, I could never do that.” 

Yashiro sits up, looking at him. “What if I want you to?”

“You want me to make you suffer?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I want you to suffer. Feel something, do something. Anything to move forward, to make yourself happy.” 

She sounds so ridiculous, it almost makes him angry. He’s never going to move forward, he made that decision years ago. He’s going to stay right here and carry out his repentance even if it ruins him, even if he wants nothing more than to fade into nonexistence. As for happiness, that’s only temporary. Why wish for something only to end up losing it? 

“You’re just as awful as they are then.” 

“Are you going to leave me?”

“...No.”

“Then endure it.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re evil.” 

“And you’re hopeless.”

“You’ve got me there.” 

She looks close to slapping him, until something lights up in her eyes and her expression changes. She huffs out a laugh, looking away. 

“I can’t take you seriously with kiss marks all over your face.” 

In all honesty, he’d forgotten about that during their argument. He stands, making his way over to the mirror so he can get a good look at himself. Yashiro follows suit, standing behind him to admire her work. 

She really did a number on him, he’s covered in kiss marks from his forehead down to the collar of his shirt. Peach, hot pink, rose, ivory, fuschia, bubblegum, and crimson. He can’t help but smile at the sight, heart softening at the visible reminder of Yashiro’s love. He wants to drown in it, to fill his lungs with Yashiro’s love until nothing is left but her. Yashiro is an ocean, and Hanako is merely a sailor lucky enough to be thrown overboard. 

She leans against the sink, facing him. Guilt hangs heavy in the air, both of them quickly coming to regret the things they said. He doesn’t like being mean to her, not in a way that hurts. He can’t stand to see her cry, especially knowing he’s the one that caused it. 

She’s the first one to speak, hands twisting together nervously. 

“I’m sorry. 

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh.” 

“I said some horrible things.”

“We both did.” 

He pulls her close again, connecting their lips. He hates that she’s taller than him, but she only has to tilt her head a little for them to kiss. She tastes like rot and worms, like apple cider that’s been left out in the sun for too long. She is the mold that dries up his tongue, the water that burns his lungs. He wants to bite into her, to eat her whole so they can become one. He wants Yashiro to always be a part of him, to drag her down with him so she can never leave. 

He would never do that though. He loves her too much to see her suffer, even if she wants it more than anything. She would smile and thank him as he slowly killed her, never realizing that someone perfect like herself shouldn’t be with someone horrible like him. She deserves so much more than he’ll ever be able to give her. 

Yashiro tastes like hope, and Hanako clings to her like a man starved enough to eat a rotten apple. 

She’s crying when he pulls away. Every tear makes his heart shatter, so he wipes them away with his thumb as he whispers reassurances into her ear. 

“I have to get to class.” 

“You’re upset,” he kisses her face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t make me cry,” she tries to dry her eyes, but the tears keep coming. “I just wish things were different.” 

“I know, I do too,” he presses her head to his shoulder. “Stay here as long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere.” 

And so she stays, rotting away with him until the sun sets.