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Summary
There’s no answer, only the wet sounds of limbs cutting through water as Yuuji swims to the shore. It’s a large lake, but Yuuji crosses the distance in the blink of an eye, and then Satoru’s drinking in the behemoth figure hauling himself onto dry land, water sluicing off an overabundance of limbs and muscles and mouths.
And dicks. Yuuji’s naked.
“You’ve turned into some kind of exhibitionist too,” Satoru says, sighing like he’s not fully aware that no living soul except himself would dare enter these lands.
They couldn’t even if they wanted to, and that’s a blessing through and through.
Yuuji straightens up—a slow, leisurely motion that’s a little to the left of human. Four arms dangle limply for a moment, and then he straightens up to his full height, shoulders broadening and arms crossing. It’s a good body, objectively—powerful, beautiful.
But it’s not Yuuji’s.
Half a decade, and Satoru’s still clinging to his ghosts. Never say he’s not faithful.
Yuuji says, “You’re late.”
In a faraway forest enclosed in Brahmic barriers, there’s a boy who loves and hates the world in equal measure.