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Summary
Hanamaki pursed his lips, and his frown deepened. “You look ill.”
He reached out and placed his warm hand against Matsukawa’s forehead, brushing aside a few damp curls. He made a questioning noise, deliberating whether he deemed Matsukawa fine or not.
Matsukawa, meanwhile, couldn’t help but stare up at Hanamaki. He truly stood right there, alive and well, in front of him, exactly how he remembered him looking—from the slightly messy haircut to those grey eyes brimming with life.
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In which Hanamaki keeps dying, and Matsukawa keeps trying to prevent that from happening.