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The morning was a quiet, golden thing, spilling softly through the tiny cracks in the blinds.
Pale light washed over the bed and bathed the room in a glow that felt almost dreamlike, fragile and distant, like it might slip away if Ash reached for it.
It was strange—how something so simple as sunlight could feel like a luxury. How something as small as waking up beside Eiji, warm and safe, felt like a gift he hadn’t earned.
The bed beneath him was small, the mattress firmer than what they had back in New York, but it was enough. More than enough.
Eiji lay half-draped across him, his cheek pressed to Ash’s bare chest, the rise and fall of his slow, even breaths syncing with Ash’s.
Every inhale was deep, calm, and comforting, like the rhythm of the ocean; every exhale whispered through the air, a gentle reassurance that this was real. They were here.
Ash’s fingers idly traced the curve of Eiji’s shoulder, slipping down his arm and back again, the motion slow and aimless.
He could spend hours like this—wanted to spend hours like this—just feeling the quiet pulse of Eiji’s life beneath his skin.
There was something so grounding about it, so utterly different from the chaos of everything he’d left behind.
Here, with Eiji curled against him, there was no danger. No darkness creeping in. Just the soft rustle of the blankets, the faint birdsong outside, and the warmth of Eiji’s body pressed to his.
He wanted this to last forever.
Eiji stirred, his fingers brushing against Ash’s stomach, featherlight. Ash swallowed, his throat tight.
It was strange, how even now—especially now—Eiji’s touch could disarm him so completely. No one had ever touched him like this before. No one had ever wanted to. Not without violence, or hunger, or cold, sharp intent.
But Eiji—Eiji’s touch was different. It was always gentle, always kind. Like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. Like Ash wasn't broken already.
Ash turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Eiji’s head, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of him.
His lips lingered there for a moment before drifting lower, tracing a soft path down to Eiji’s forehead. Eiji made a small, content noise, a sound like a quiet hum, and Ash’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he kissed the delicate skin at Eiji’s temple once more.
He could stay like this all day, lying in bed with Eiji, letting the rest of the world fall away. In these moments, Ash allowed himself to bask in this new life—a life where this kind of peace wasn’t fleeting.
Where he didn’t wake up expecting to fight or flee. Where he wasn’t always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He kissed Eiji again, this time dragging his mouth lower, pressing his lips gently to the corner of Eiji’s mouth, tasting the softness there, savoring the sweetness of it.
Eiji responded with a lazy murmur, tilting his head to meet Ash’s kiss more fully.
Their mouths met in slow, unhurried warmth, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. Ash could feel Eiji’s breath against his lips, could hear the faint hitch in it as their kiss deepened, but remained tender.
Then it happened. A soft, unconscious whine slipped from Eiji’s throat—quiet, barely more than a breath. But it was enough.
The moment was shattered.
Ash froze, his body going rigid, triggered by something he thought he had a better handle of, especially in wake of this new intimacy he shared with Eiji.
The sound cut through him, sharp and sudden, like a knife dragging across a raw nerve.
In an instant, the room disappeared. The warmth of Eiji’s body was gone, replaced by something colder, heavier—phantom hands, ghostly and invasive.
The apartment melted away, and Ash wasn’t in Japan anymore. He wasn’t anywhere safe, not anymore.
His chest constricted painfully, and his mind spiraled, tumbling into the dark recesses where all his old wounds lay festering.
That sound—it wasn’t Eiji anymore.
It belonged to someone else. Them. The men who had taken so much from Ash. The men who had made sounds like that a weapon, a mockery.
Ash felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air in the room suddenly too thick, suffocating. He could taste blood, feel cold fingers clawing at him, and his body reacted before his mind could catch up. Every muscle tensed, every instinct screamed at him to fight or flee.
“Ash?”
The voice pierced through the haze, quiet and unsure. Ash’s heart pounded in his ears, deafening, but he forced his eyes to focus.
He blinked, disoriented, and slowly the fog began to lift. The room came back into view, and the weight on his chest eased enough for him to remember where he was.
Japan. He was in Japan.
With Eiji.
He was safe. Eiji was safe. No one could hurt them, not anymore.
Eiji’s face hovered just inches away, eyes wide with concern, his hand hovering concernedly near Ash’s arm.
He hadn’t touched him yet, hadn’t forced any kind of reaction, and Ash was grateful for it. His heart still hammered painfully in his chest, but the sight of Eiji’s worried expression grounded him, pulled him back from the brink.
“I’m… I’m okay,” Ash managed, though the words came out rough, strained. His throat felt tight, like he had been choking.
He swallowed hard, trying to push the remnants of the panic back down, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His skin felt too tight, too hot, and the ghosts were still there, lingering at the edges of his vision.
Eiji didn’t move, didn’t push, didn’t ask. He just waited, his presence calm and steady, a tether that kept Ash from slipping any further.
“It’s okay,” Eiji whispered, his voice soft, careful. His hand moved then, slowly, inching closer until his fingers brushed lightly against Ash’s arm. The touch was so gentle, so tentative, that Ash almost didn’t feel it. But it was enough to remind him that this was real. That Eiji was real.
Ash exhaled shakily, letting his eyes fall shut as he tried to steady his breathing. He felt Eiji shift beside him, moving closer but still not pressing too much. The warmth of him was a comfort Ash couldn’t fully describe—a warmth that reminded him of what he had here. What he didn’t have to run from.
“I’m sorry,” Ash said, his voice barely above a whisper. It felt like a confession, like an apology for everything he couldn’t fix, everything he couldn’t control. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Eiji’s voice was quiet but firm, his hand now resting fully on Ash’s arm, a solid presence, grounding and gentle. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”
Ash opened his eyes again, and the soft light filtering through the room seemed warmer now. Eiji’s face was calm, his worry still there but tempered by the quiet reassurance that had always been his strength.
Ash felt the tension in his body slowly, agonizingly, begin to ease. His fingers twitched, and he hesitated for a moment before reaching up and threading them through Eiji’s hair again, the familiar softness of it beneath his palm helping to push the lingering shadows away.
Eiji nestled back against his chest, his head resting over Ash’s heart like before.
Ash let out a long, slow breath, his body sinking back into the mattress as Eiji’s warmth cocooned him, a quiet reminder that he wasn’t alone. That the demons couldn’t reach him here.
“I’m here,” Eiji whispered, his breath brushing against Ash’s skin.
Ash swallowed the tightness in his throat, his hand still shaking slightly as it moved gently through Eiji’s hair.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, his voice barely audible. “You are.”
And that, for now, was enough to calm the panic and fear Ash felt inside. He was safe; Eiji was safe—Ash was in Japan, laying in bed with his ridiculously adorable boyfriend who had sleep mussed hair and dried drool stuck to his cheek. Nothing about this screamed danger anymore; for Ash, this was the safest place in the entire world.