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The room was shrouded in a dim, golden glow, shadows dancing across the walls like phantoms in the flickering light cast by a single candle perched on the bedside table. The candle's soft flame flickered, illuminating the contours of Natsume’s face as he leaned in closer, his fingertips trailing gently along Tsumugi’s cheek. His touch was warm but tentative, sending shivers of electricity coursing through Tsumugi's skin. As they sat together, on the edge of that fragile moment, the air around them thickened with unspoken words, their breaths mingling softly, creating a symphony of warmth and hesitation in the quiet, intimate space of the night.
Neither of them dared to voice what lingered in the air. Conversations about their feelings remained locked away in the corners of their minds, crowded by the urgency of suppressed emotion. The kisses they exchanged felt like desperate pleas, bursting with an insatiable longing, yet every brush of their lips carried within it a question neither was brave enough to articulate.
Tsumugi's gaze lingered on Natsume, his heart a tempest of conflicting emotions. He was painfully aware that he loved Natsume deeply and unequivocally—but he also recognized the chaotic whirlwind of challenges that Natsume grappled with daily. Tsumugi feared his presence would only complicate Natsume’s life further, an additional thread snagging in the already frayed fabric of Natsume’s existence.
“You’re starING at mE again, TsumuGI-senpai~,” Natsume teased, an easy smile gracing his lips as he leaned even closer, his playful tone wrapping around Tsumugi like a warm blanket.
Tsumugi fought to return the smile, but the ache in his chest was a heavy weight that made it impossible to fully give in. “I just… I can’t believe you’re here,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, a tremor evident in his tone.
Natsume tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he searched Tsumugi’s expression, a hint of confusion flickering there. “Where else would I bE?” he asked, his simple question unraveling the carefully composed fabric of Tsumugi's thoughts.
In that moment, Tsumugi felt a compelling urge to believe that they could remain suspended in this timeless bubble of shared affection forever—lost in the ethereal, fleeting illusion of love that wrapped around them like a delicate web. Yet, lurking in the back of his mind, a more skeptical side cried out that such bliss could never endure. That it simply shouldn’t.
Their lips met once more, and Natsume pulled Tsumugi closer, their bodies molding together, igniting a familiar warmth that ignited Tsumugi's heart despite the chaos in his mind. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to entertain the fantasy that love was all they needed to sustain them.
But as the night wore on and Natsume slipped into a peaceful slumber, his breaths soft and rhythmic, Tsumugi found himself unable to do the same. With trembling hands, he reached for the spellbook hidden deep within the drawer of his nightstand, its pages worn and filled with incantations steeped in forbidden magic. As he recited the sorrowful words aloud, each syllable felt sharp and splintered, a feeling of betrayal clinging to his throat as tears streamed down his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his anguish as he completed the incantation. “You’ll forget me, Natsume-kun. But this is for the best.”
In an instant, the candle flared brightly before snuffing out, the abrupt darkness swallowing the room whole.
With a heavy heart, Tsumugi climbed back into bed, lying beside Natsume one final time. He didn’t dare close his eyes; instead, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling, allowing the crushing weight of his decision to settle over him like an iron shroud.
As dawn broke, casting a gentle light across the room, Natsume awoke with a soft yawn, the remnants of sleep lingering in his golden eyes. He blinked at Tsumugi, the warmth of his gaze still kind but strikingly devoid of recognition. “GoOd mornING, TsumuGI-senpai. I hope I didn’t overSTAY my welcomE?”
Tsumugi’s heart shattered at the hollowness in his words. He forced a smile, his voice steadier than the turmoil roiling inside him. “No, not at all. You were just passing by, and we had tea. That’s all.”
Natsume nodded, stretching his arms above his head before gathering his belongings with a casual grace. He waved goodbye, oblivious to the heartache he left behind, and stepped out into the world beyond Tsumugi’s reach.
Alone now, Tsumugi sank back onto the bed, clutching the sheets that still held the faint scent of Natsume—an intoxicating mix of warmth and familiarity. He buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow freely, each sob ripping through him like a cruel reminder of what he’d sacrificed.
He had done it for Natsume’s sake, to spare him the burden of loving someone as flawed and broken as Tsumugi Aoba. But now, in the stillness of the empty room, Tsumugi couldn't shake the haunting thought that maybe, just maybe, he had made an irrevocable mistake.
In the mornings that followed, each one mirrored the last. Tsumugi would watch Natsume wake, his tousled hair catching the sun’s first rays, his golden eyes blinking slowly, still heavy with sleep, as if the very light of day was reluctant to wake him.
“Ah, Tsumu-GI-senpai,” Natsume would exclaim, a charming smile playing on his lips. “GoOd mornING! Did I really fall asleep here agaiN? You should’ve kicked mE out.”
Tsumugi would laugh lightly, barely managing to hide the tremor of pain in his voice. “You looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you,” he’d reply, a hint of affection lacing his words.
Each morning was a pretense, a delicate dance that allowed Tsumugi to feign normalcy—a chance encounter between acquaintances who happened to share a moment. Every evening, without fail, Natsume would find his way back into Tsumugi’s life, weaving himself into the fabric of his days.
Their nights together sparked with fleeting bursts of passion—moments that were electric and intoxicating. Like stars flaring to life, they would sneak away from the agency, meeting under the vast canopy of the night sky, whispering confessions and dreams that only they could hear. Natsume’s teasing laughter echoed through the darkness, drawing Tsumugi close and kissing him with a ferocity that suggested the world might crumble at any moment.
And for Tsumugi, with each kiss, every fleeting second spent wrapped in Natsume’s embrace, it felt like a world both beautiful and heartbreakingly ephemeral.
It was after one particularly perfect night that Tsumugi first realized just how precarious his heart had become. They had spent the evening nestled in a small, cozy café that Natsume cherished. Tsumugi watched him, completely entranced as he sipped his coffee, his eyes shimmering with excitement while he rambled about a new magic trick he couldn't wait to try.
“You’re NOT listening to me, are yoU, senpai?” Natsume teased, leaning in closer, his presence intoxicating.
Tsumugi jolted back to reality, a flush painting his cheeks. “No, I am! I was just… distracted,” he stammered, attempting to mask the tempest of thoughts swirling within him.
“By mE?” Natsume smirked, tilting his head playfully, his expression a mix of charm and mischief.
Tsumugi chuckled, attempting to ignore the ache deep within his heart. “Always.”
That night, when the two returned to Tsumugi’s room, the atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension. Their kisses intensified, growing more fervent and desperate, as if trying to consume the very essence of one another. Tsumugi desperately tried to etch every exquisite moment into his memory—the way Natsume’s fingers intertwined in his hair, the warmth of his breath cascading over Tsumugi’s neck, and the soft murmurs of his name that felt like music serenading his soul.
As the clock approached midnight, the allure of the spellbook drew close.
“I’m so sorry,” Tsumugi murmured, glancing at Natsume, who slept peacefully beside him, illuminated by the moonlight. His hands quaked as he began to recite the incantation, barely able to hold back his emotion. “Please forgive me, Natsume-kun… I care for you too deeply to let you endure this pain.”
Initially, Tsumugi reassured himself that this was the right decision. But as days turned into endless cycles, he started noticing things that he couldn’t simply overlook.
It began innocently. Natsume had always had a flirtatious streak, yet when he casually leaned against Anzu’s desk, his smile too alluring, Tsumugi felt as if a blade were piercing his heart.
“Kitten~,” Natsume teased, presenting Anzu with a bouquet after a performance. “THIS is for yoU—a token of my appreciatiON.”
Tsumugi averted his gaze, burying himself in his paperwork, though the ache didn’t subside.
“Why does this hurt so much?” he questioned himself later that night, staring into his own reflection. “I chose this. I shouldn’t feel this way.”
Yet it wasn’t only jealousy that tormented him; it was the crushing guilt of what he was robbing Natsume of—the memories, the love, the honesty.
One evening during another secret date, Natsume seemed different. Their day spent wandering through a tranquil park, the crunch of autumn leaves beneath their feet felt oddly serene. Natsume was quieter than usual, his expression thoughtful.
As they rested on a bench overlooking a glimmering lake, he turned to Tsumugi. “Have yoU ever felt like yoU’ve relived a moment before?”
Tsumugi’s heart raced. “What do you mean?”
Natsume shrugged, eyes closed and leaning back. “It’s stranGE. Lately, I’ve been experiencing these flashes—like déjà VU, but intense. Sometimes, when I look at yoU, it feels familiar, as if I’ve been here before.”
Tsumugi fought to maintain a smile, though panic surged in his chest. “Maybe it’s just your imagination.”
“MayBE,” Natsume replied quietly, his gaze lingering on Tsumugi, searching for an unidentifiable truth.
Tsumugi’s heart ached. The spell was intended to protect Natsume from a love that could cause them both pain. But witnessing Natsume's closeness with Anzu, observing the confusion and yearning in his eyes, made Tsumugi question if he had made a grave mistake.
One night, after another heart-wrenching evening, Tsumugi stood over Natsume’s sleeping figure, the spellbook open and trembling in his hands.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “But I refuse to let you go.”
For the first time, Tsumugi hesitated, his voice caught in his throat as he hovered over the spell’s words. The clock chimed midnight, yet the spell went unspoken.
When Natsume stirred and blinked awake, Tsumugi recognized that he might not possess the strength to erase their love once again.
Yet somehow, the spell continued its relentless grip. Natsume remained oblivious to the events of the previous night.
Days turned into a precarious dance. Each moment spent with Natsume tested Tsumugi's willpower.
Initially, Tsumugi sought to avoid Natsume entirely, drowning himself in paperwork and meetings to keep busy. But Natsume’s presence was impossible to disregard—his charisma, his effervescent energy, his undeniable magnetism.
“GoOd mornING, Tsumu-GI-senpai~!” Natsume’s cheerful voice echoed in the practice room one afternoon. Leaning in the doorway, his golden eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are yoU tryING to avoid me? YoU usually stick around more than this!”
Tsumugi stiffened, gripping the clipboard tightly as if it were a lifeline. He forced a laugh. “Avoiding you? No, no! I've just been... busy. You know how it goes.”
Natsume tilted his head, scrutinizing Tsumugi in that disconcerting manner he always had. “Mm-HmM. SurE~.”
Their conversation remained lighthearted, yet Tsumugi’s heart raced. Natsume was every bit the charming, unpredictable person he’d always been, but there wasn’t a trace of their previous closeness—no hint of shared memories behind his teasing smile.
And therein lay the problem.
Tsumugi’s heart throbbed as he watched Natsume rehearse, his movements graceful and captivating. Loving him from a distance felt safer, Tsumugi insisted to himself.
But simplicity was fleeting.
It all began with a dream.
One restless night, Natsume awoke, drenched in sweat, his heart racing. He dreamt of holding someone—warm and familiar. The sensation hung in the air, an echo in his mind.
“What does THIS mean?” he puzzled, staring at the ceiling.
Over the next few days, Natsume found himself engulfed in unexplained emotions. The aroma of chamomile tea, the melody from a piano, even the color of Tsumugi's hair—all evoked feelings deep within him.
He couldn’t fathom why his heart raced when Tsumugi entered the room, or why his gaze lingered on him far longer than anyone else’s.
“You’re actING strange,” Natsume muttered, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror. His usual confidence felt tenuous, as if something vital lay just beyond his grasp.
It was a quiet evening when everything began to unravel. Tsumugi was diligently finishing paperwork in the agency office when Natsume entered, carrying two steaming cups of tea.
“You’vE been workING too hard, senpai~,” Natsume remarked, placing a cup in front of Tsumugi. “You’ll get wrinkles if yoU keep scowling like THAT.”
Startled, Tsumugi looked up but offered a weak smile. “Thank you, Natsume-kun. That’s so thoughtful.”
They enjoyed a moment of comfortable silence while sipping tea. Tsumugi felt Natsume’s eyes on him, igniting a mix of warmth and guilt within him.
“Senpai,” Natsume said, a sudden seriousness inflecting his tone.
“Yes?”
“Have we ever been… closer than THIS?”
Tsumugi froze, his cup poised mid-air. He met Natsume’s intense gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t knOW,” Natsume confessed, brow furrowing. “SomeTIMES, it feels like I’m forgetting something signifiCANT.”
Tsumugi's hands trembled as he set his cup down, avoiding Natsume’s probing eyes. “I really don’t think so. We’ve always been… colleagues. Friends, I suppose.”
Natsume leaned back, crossing his arms. “Hmm. MayBE you’re right. Back then, I thought you were nothING but a traitor, but now…” His expression shifted. “...you seem okay now.”
When Natsume exited the room, Tsumugi released a shaky breath, his heart racing with dread. The spell should have obliterated all memories—how could Natsume be recalling fragments?
That night, Tsumugi remained awake, gripping the spellbook tightly. The incantation couldn’t possibly fail… could it?
Natsume’s dreams intensifying, the gaps in his memory gnawed at him incessantly. He began journaling every fleeting sensation and image he couldn’t decode.
Senpai’s smile… he wrote one night. Why does it make my heart ache?
Confronting Tsumugi more frequently, Natsume's playful demeanor evolved into quiet intensity. “Why do yoU always look at mE like THAT?” he asked one evening post-practice.
“Like what?” Tsumugi managed to whisper.
“Like you’re carryING the weight of the world,” Natsume replied. “And that I MIGHT be part of IT.”
Tsumugi had no response. He couldn’t.
As Natsume’s resolve to uncover the truth intensified, Tsumugi felt himself nearing a breaking point.
With each passing day, Natsume's determination grew, and Tsumugi felt the walls closing in around him. Their interactions became increasingly charged, with Natsume pressing for clarity and Tsumugi retreating deeper into the shadows of his own choices.
One afternoon, Natsume caught Tsumugi alone after practice. “Senpai,” he said, his voice low, “Can I ask yoU somethING important?”
Tsumugi’s heart raced as he braced himself. “Of course, Natsume-kun. What’s on your mind?”
“Why do I feel this way about yoU? Why does it seem like there’s more between us than I rememBER?” Natsume’s golden eyes gleamed with earnestness, searching for answers that Tsumugi was terrified to provide.
Tsumugi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his own guilt suffocating him. “I… I think you’re just getting a little too attached as we work together. It’s natural to feel a connection with someone you spend time with.”
Natsume frowned, unconvinced. “It’s not just THAT. I know a connection is there, something deeper. It’s frustraTING not being able to pinpoint IT.”
The tension hung thick in the air, and Tsumugi fought against the urge to confess everything. “Natsume-kun, some things are best left buried,” he cautioned, his voice barely a whisper.
“Buried?” Natsume echoed, eyes narrowing. “But what if I want to DIG them UP? I need to underSTAND!”
That plea pierced straight through Tsumugi, the desperation in Natsume’s voice resonating within him. It took everything in his power to hold back the truth, faced with the haunting memory of the spellbook still looming in his thoughts.
Later that night, Tsumugi found himself replaying the day’s conversation over and over in his mind. He lay in bed, the spellbook resting uneasily beside him. His thoughts spiraled: Was he really protecting Natsume, or was he simply being selfish?
Determined to settle the confusion, Tsumugi made a decision. He needed to come clean; it was time to end the cycle of lies. If he couldn’t bear to lift the spell, maybe he could reveal the truth instead.
The next day, Tsumugi faced Natsume with resolve. “Natsume-kun, we need to talk,” he said, his voice steady but tight.
Natsume, always eager and bright, nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What is IT, senpai?”
Tsumugi inhaled deeply, gathering the strength to confide in him. “I’ve been… hiding something important from you. It touches on our past.”
Natsume’s expression shifted to one of concern. “WHAT do YOU mean?”
“I feared you would suffer if you knew. So I cast a spell to erase your memories of our love. I thought it would protect you from the pain,” Tsumugi admitted, each word feeling heavier than the last.
The silence that followed felt endless. Natsume’s eyes widened, shock etched into his features. “YoU… US… yoU did whAT? Why would YOU think THAT was OKAY?”
“I thought it was for the best!” Tsumugi pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice. “I couldn’t let you remember the hurt, the heartache. I wanted to shield you from that anguish. So I removed every memory tied to our relationship.”
Natsume shook his head, disbelief and hurt flashing across his face. “YOU took MY memories withOUT my consent? YOU had nO right to make THAT decision for mE!”
“I was trying to protect you!” Tsumugi cried, feeling the weight of his own regret. “But now I realize how selfish that was. I can’t keep you in the dark any longer.”
Natsume stepped back, shaking his head. “Do YOU even understand how painful THIS is? To know that YOU’ve been erasING the best parts of my life? OUR moments together, my loVE for YOU—it’s all been taken away.”
The emotional turmoil was a tidal wave crashing over Tsumugi, washing away any comfort he once had. “I—I never meant to hurt you. Please, I only wanted you to be free from pain.”
“Free?” Natsume’s voice trembled, raw and pained. “YOU think this makes me free? It only chains mE to a past that isn’t even mine ANYmore.”
The realization hit Tsumugi with force: in his attempt to shield Natsume, he had robbed him of everything that mattered. “I’m so sorry, Natsume-kun. I don’t know how to fix this.”
Natsume’s gaze hardened, his expression shifting to one of resolution. “Then help me remember. If that loVE is gone, I WANT IT back—every momENT, every feeling.”
Tsumugi hesitated, fear creeping back in. “But the pain… It will come back too.”
The tension in the room thickened as Natsume’s anger surged, his golden eyes ablaze with fury. “YOU think YOU can just take aWAY my memories, my loVE, and then come back like noTHING happened? Like it's all OKAY? That you can just erase the past and it will magically FIX everything?”
Tsumugi flinched at the intensity of Natsume’s words. “I thought I was protecting you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, remorse pouring from him.
“ProtecTING me?” Natsume spat, ire coloring his tone. “YOU took away the best parts of my life! My memories! You took away us ! It’s like YOU wielded a knife and cut away the pieces of ME that YOU couldn’t stand.”
The hurt in Natsume's voice resonated deeply within Tsumugi, each word like a dagger driving home the weight of his betrayal. “I never wanted to hurt you, Natsume-kun! I thought erasing the pain would help you heal!”
“Heal?” Natsume echoed, his voice rising in rage. “YOU have nO idea what yOU're talking about! YOU think keeping me in the dark was the solution? Make me forget you FUCKED me? You betrayed me! Just like you betrayed ME during the WAR.”
Tsumugi's heart dropped at the mention of the war, the very reminder of his past sins twisting in his chest. “I made mistakes, yes—”
“MIStakes?!” Natsume interjected, stepping closer, his expression a hurricane of emotions. “THIS isn’t a simple MIStake! This is betrayal! It’s as if you spit on everything WE had!”
“Please, just listen to me—” Tsumugi pleaded, but before he could finish, Natsume closed the distance between them, his face mere inches away.
“Listen?” Natsume hissed, a challenge in his tone. “YOU don’t get to demand MY understanDING after what YOU’ve done, YOU sTUpid coward! YOU robbed me of my feelings—the loVE I had for YOU! MY firST tiME…”
And then, with blazing fury and desperation intertwining, Natsume captured Tsumugi’s face in his hands and kissed him roughly. It was a collision of emotions—anger mixed with an undeniable longing, a pulsating reminder of everything they had lost.
Tsumugi’s heart raced, a fusion of shock and something that felt almost like hope igniting within him. He kissed back, allowing himself to feel the rush of feelings he had blocked out for so long.
Natsume pulled away, breathless, and desperation flickered in his gaze. “Make ME remember, YOU STUpid jerk.” His voice trembled with intensity. “How did I ever loVE someone as nAsTy and horrible as YOU?”
Tsumugi’s chest constricted, guilt washing over him again. “Natsume-kun, I—”
“NO!” Natsume shouted, frustration boiling over. “I wANT to know! I wANT to remember all of it—the pain, the joy, even the anger! I want to remember US! Make me recall every moment, every kiss, the loVE YOU tried so hard to erase!”
With a deep breath, Tsumugi nodded with a broken smile.
Natsume’s gaze softened slightly, vulnerability breaking through the wall of anger. “Fine,” he said, determination mixed with lingering hurt in his tone. “Just be sure YOU’re ready for the consequences. I won’t forgive THIS easily.”
Tsumugi felt the piercing weight of Natsume’s challenge, but in that moment, something shifted. He was prepared to face whatever came next.
As he began the incantation, the air around them thickened, swirling with energy. Fragments of memories flashed through his mind—their laughter, the stolen glances, the quiet moments in between.
“Please,” he breathed, focusing on the essence of their past. “Let him remember.”
And as the words fell from his lips, a brilliant light enveloped them, stretching the boundaries of reality. Tsumugi sensed the memories flooding back into Natsume’s consciousness—moments of joy, laughter, arguments, and love, all colliding with the weight of their shared history.
Natsume gasped, his eyes widening, emotions cascading through him as he began to piece together the lost fragments of their love. The storm within him was undeniable, a tempest that Tsumugi was ready to face, no matter how tumultuous it grew.
In that moment, Tsumugi knew that love wasn’t easy. It was messy and painful, filled with both light and darkness. But true love demanded authenticity, even in the face of betrayal, and he was ready to embrace every consequence that came their way.
Natsume’s body trembled as he pushed Tsumugi onto the bed, his golden eyes darkened with a chaotic mix of emotions—desire, fury, and desperation. His lips crashed against Tsumugi’s, rough and unyielding, tasting the metallic tang of blood from their shared fervor.
Tsumugi barely had time to react, his head spinning from the force of Natsume’s kiss. He gasped as Natsume’s hands gripped his wrists, pinning him firmly against the mattress.
“THIS is what YOU wanted, isn’t it?” Natsume growled, his voice low and raw. “To erase everyTHING and leave ME empty, while YOU held onto all of it? Tell me, senpai. Do I feel the same as I did before? Or did you erase that too?”
Tsumugi’s breath hitched. “Natsume-kun, I—”
“ShUt uP!” Natsume hissed, his lips finding Tsumugi’s again, demanding, punishing. Yet, beneath the aggression, there was something unmistakably fragile—a need to reclaim what was stolen, to feel the love he had lost.
Tsumugi didn’t fight back. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Every kiss, every bite, every breathless gasp was a reminder of the love he had hoarded for himself, the memories he had selfishly guarded.
“I hate YOU,” Natsume murmured against Tsumugi’s lips, though the words cracked as they left his mouth. “I hate YOU for taking this away from ME. For making ME forget how much I—”
His voice broke, and for a moment, the anger dissolved. Natsume buried his face in Tsumugi’s neck, his breaths ragged and uneven. “How much I loved you,” he finished, his voice trembling.
Tsumugi’s heart shattered. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered, his voice heavy with guilt. “I thought I was sparing you from the pain.”
“Don’t YOU see?” Natsume whispered back, lifting his head to meet Tsumugi’s tear-filled gaze. “The pain is part of it. The loVE, the hurt, the arguMENTS—it’s all part of WHAT makes US reAL. YoU took that from mE, and I can’t forgive yoU for it.”
Tsumugi’s lips trembled as tears slid down his cheeks. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, Natsume-kun. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this, to give us a second chance.”
Natsume’s grip on Tsumugi’s wrists loosened, and for the first time since the spell was undone, his eyes softened. “You can’t just fix this. You don’t get to play goD with my memories and expect thingS to go back to the way they were.”
“I don’t expect anything,” Tsumugi said earnestly, his voice barely audible. “I just want you to know I love you. Even if it’s messy, even if it’s broken, I’ll love you for as long as you’ll let me.”
Natsume searched Tsumugi’s face, his expression conflicted. Slowly, he released Tsumugi’s wrists and sat back, straddling him.
“You’re so STUpid, Tsumu-GI-senpai,” Natsume said, his voice quieter now but still edged with frustration. “But maybe I’m even stupider for wanting YOU back after all this.”
Tsumugi reached up hesitantly, brushing a hand against Natsume’s cheek. “I don’t deserve it. But if there’s even the smallest part of you that still loves me…” His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes. “I’ll wait. For as long as it takes.”
Natsume stared at him for a long moment before leaning down, pressing a gentler kiss to Tsumugi’s lips. It wasn’t an apology, nor was it forgiveness—it was a tentative beginning, a step toward rebuilding what had been shattered.
“We’ll see,” Natsume said softly as he pulled back, his golden eyes still holding the storm of their shared history. “But don’t think for a second that I’ll make this easy for YOU.”
Tsumugi nodded, a small, bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The room fell into silence, but it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating kind that had plagued them before. It was a quiet filled with possibility, fragile and uncertain but undeniably present.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Tsumugi allowed himself to hope.
Natsume’s expression shifted, his golden eyes still alight with frustration but underpinned by a flicker of something else—desire, raw and unfiltered. Without a word, he leaned down again, capturing Tsumugi’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was demanding, fiery, a clash of teeth and tongues as if trying to reclaim every moment that had been taken from him.
Tsumugi gasped against Natsume’s mouth, his hands trembling as they came to rest on the younger man’s shoulders. The weight of Natsume’s body pressing against his own sent a rush of heat coursing through him, mingling with the guilt and longing that burned in his chest.
“Natsume-kun,” Tsumugi managed to murmur between kisses, his voice shaky. “Are you sure…?”
“Don’t ask me STUpid questions,” Natsume growled, his hands sliding down Tsumugi’s sides, rough but deliberate. “I’ve lost too MUCH time already. I’m taking back what’s MINE.”
His lips trailed from Tsumugi’s mouth to his jawline, then lower, leaving a trail of bruising kisses down his neck. Tsumugi shuddered under the intensity, his body arching slightly as Natsume’s hands roamed over him, pulling away layers of clothing with an almost frantic urgency.
Tsumugi reached out hesitantly, his fingers tracing over Natsume’s exposed skin. It was as if he were trying to memorize every inch of him, afraid that this moment might slip away like the memories he had erased.
“You’re still so STUpid,” Natsume muttered against Tsumugi’s skin, his breath hot and uneven. “ThinKING yOU could take THIS from me, that yOU could make ME forget what it feels like to be with yOU.”
Tsumugi closed his eyes, tears slipping free even as he gave in to the rush of sensation. “I didn’t know how else to protect you,” he admitted, his voice breaking.
Natsume’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “YOU’re a bigger idiot than I thought if yOU think this is how yOU protect someone.”
Yet despite his words, there was no hesitation in Natsume’s touch, no restraint as he pressed Tsumugi further into the bed. The room was filled with the sound of their breaths, heavy and uneven, mingling with the rustle of sheets and the creak of the mattress beneath them.
Natsume’s movements were rough, almost punishing, but beneath the aggression was a desperate need—a yearning to reclaim what he had lost, to feel connected to Tsumugi again even as anger and betrayal still simmered in his chest.
Tsumugi responded with equal fervor, his own hands gripping at Natsume’s back, his nails leaving faint trails along his skin. It was messy, passionate, and overwhelming, their bodies moving together as if trying to drown out the pain with the sheer intensity of their connection.
When they finally stilled, the room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their labored breathing. Natsume rolled off Tsumugi, lying beside him as he stared at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.
Tsumugi turned his head, his gaze searching Natsume’s face. “Do you regret this?” he asked softly, his voice trembling with uncertainty.
Natsume closed his eyes briefly before turning to look at Tsumugi, his golden gaze still blazing but softer now, laced with exhaustion. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, his tone flat but honest. “But I’m NOT done with YOU. Not by a long shot.”
Tsumugi nodded, swallowing hard as he reached out tentatively to brush a strand of Natsume’s hair from his face. “I’ll wait,” he whispered.
Natsume’s eyes flickered with something undefinable, but he didn’t push Tsumugi’s hand away. Instead, he let out a soft huff, closing his eyes as the tension between them settled into a fragile truce.
For now, it was enough.
The room was cloaked in heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their labored breathing. Natsume sat up slightly, leaning on one elbow as he stared down at Tsumugi, his golden eyes piercing through the dim light. There was a rawness in his gaze—a mix of anger, desperation, and something more vulnerable that he tried to bury beneath his fiery exterior.
Tsumugi swallowed hard, guilt and love warring within him. “I will,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling. “I promise, Natsume-kun. I’ll fix this.”
But Natsume’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his eyes narrowing. “You promise? After everything, yOU think I’ll just believe THAT?”
Tsumugi reached for him, but Natsume caught his wrist, pinning it against the mattress. “YOU don’t get to make empty promises anymore,” Natsume growled. “If YOU’re serious, then prove IT.”
Before Tsumugi could respond, Natsume leaned down, his lips capturing Tsumugi’s neck. He kissed and bit down with enough force to make Tsumugi gasp, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure. When Natsume pulled back, there was a dark, unmistakable mark left in his wake.
“I’ll make sure you CAN’t just brush tHIS off,” Natsume murmured, his breath hot against Tsumugi’s skin. “YOU’ll see IT every time YOU look in the mirror and remember that YOU belong to mE.”
Tsumugi shuddered beneath him, his body trembling as Natsume continued, leaving a trail of marks along his collarbone and shoulders. Each one felt like a declaration, a reminder of the passion and pain that bound them together.
When Natsume finally paused, he looked down at Tsumugi, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. “Now,” he said, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Do the same to me.”
Tsumugi’s eyes widened. “What? Natsume-kun, I—”
“Do it,” Natsume demanded, his gaze unwavering. “If you’re going to keep promiSING ME thingS, then leave YOUR mark too. Make ME remember YOU, even if YOU try to make ME forgET again.”
Tsumugi hesitated, his hands trembling as he reached out. His fingers brushed against Natsume’s skin, lingering on the curve of his neck. “Are you sure about this?”
Natsume’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his eyes betrayed the vulnerability beneath. “I’ve never been more sure of anyTHING.”
With a deep breath, Tsumugi leaned forward, pressing his lips to Natsume’s neck. He kissed the spot softly at first, then bit down gently, leaving a faint bruise behind. As he pulled back, his fingers traced the mark, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him—love, guilt, and an overwhelming ache for the man in front of him.
“That’s NOT enough,” Natsume muttered, his voice low and demanding. “Do it like yOU mean IT.”
Tsumugi steeled himself, leaning in again. This time, his kisses were more fervent, more desperate, each mark he left a silent apology and a plea for forgiveness.
By the time they pulled away from each other, their bodies were littered with the evidence of their connection—physical proof of the bond neither of them could deny, no matter how broken it had become.
Natsume sat back, his fingers brushing over the marks on his neck. He looked at Tsumugi, his golden eyes softer now but still guarded. “So, yOU break the spell,” he said, his tone quieter but no less firm. “Don’t make ME regret believING in YOU, senpai.”
Tsumugi nodded, his chest tight with emotion. “I won’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
But as Natsume lay down beside him, his back turned, Tsumugi couldn’t help but wonder if he truly had the strength to keep that promise—or if his love for Natsume would doom them both to this endless cycle of pain and longing.
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the room, casting a golden glow on the tangled sheets and the two figures resting within them. Tsumugi lay awake, his arm draped lightly over Natsume’s waist, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and dread. He had done it. The spell was broken.
Or at least, he thought it was.
Natsume stirred beside him, a soft groan escaping his lips as he shifted and blinked his golden eyes open. Tsumugi's breath caught as he watched, waiting for the recognition, the flood of emotions, the anger—or perhaps even the relief—that would come with remembering everything.
Instead, Natsume sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair, glancing at Tsumugi with a neutral expression. "MornING," he said, his tone light and casual, as if they were nothing more than acquaintances sharing a room by coincidence.
Tsumugi’s heart plummeted. “Natsume-kun?” he whispered, his voice trembling.
“HmM?” Natsume tilted his head, his lips curling into his signature smirk. “What’s with THAT face? Did YOU have a weird dream or something?”
Tsumugi’s chest tightened. This couldn’t be happening. He had undone the spell—he was sure of it. But the way Natsume looked at him now, with no trace of the intensity, the love, or even the anger from the night before, shattered his fragile hope.
“You... don’t remember?” Tsumugi asked, his voice barely audible.
Natsume blinked at him, confused. “Remember whAT? Did something happen last night?”
Tsumugi swallowed hard, his throat dry as panic began to set in. He forced a smile, shaking his head. “No, it’s nothing. I just... I thought maybe you’d had a strange dream, too.”
Natsume shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “Well, if yoU say so. I should get goING—lots to do toDAY.” He stretched, the marks Tsumugi had left on him stark against his pale skin, unnoticed by the boy they belonged to.
As Natsume got up and began to gather his things, Tsumugi sat frozen on the bed, his mind racing. How could this be happening? The spell was gone—he had felt it unravel, had seen the light of its magic dissipate. And yet, the cruel cycle continued.
By the time Natsume left with a casual wave and a "See yoU around," Tsumugi felt like he was suffocating. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as the weight of his despair crashed over him.
For hours, he stayed there, replaying the events of the past night in his mind, searching for some explanation, some flaw in the spell’s undoing. He had poured everything into breaking it, had given up the one thing he clung to—the fragile safety of their erased past—for a chance to make things right.
And yet, it wasn’t enough.
When night fell again, Natsume returned, greeting Tsumugi with the same casual friendliness, completely unaware of the anguish in Tsumugi’s heart. They spent the evening together, as they often did, and once again, Natsume’s natural charm and teasing drew Tsumugi in, despite the torment he felt.
By the time they ended up in bed together, Tsumugi could barely keep himself from breaking down. The intimacy felt both precious and hollow, knowing that come morning, Natsume would forget it all over again.
As Natsume drifted off to sleep, Tsumugi lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with questions and fears. Had he failed in some way? Was the spell too deeply rooted to undo? Or was fate punishing him for daring to tamper with something as sacred as love?
“I’m sorry, Natsume-kun,” Tsumugi whispered into the darkness, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t know how to fix this... but I’ll find a way. I promise.”
The weight of his vow pressed heavily on him as the night stretched on, and Tsumugi realized that this time, it wasn’t Natsume who had forgotten—it was he who couldn’t let go.
Tsumugi found himself in a dimly lit, incense-filled room, the scent of sandalwood and faint whispers of the unknown hanging heavy in the air. Across from him sat an enigmatic woman, her eyes sharp and piercing despite the layers of gauzy fabric that framed her face. She shuffled a deck of cards with practiced ease, her expression unreadable.
“You seek answers,” the fortune teller said, her voice low and resonant. “But I warn you—answers do not always bring solace.”
Tsumugi nodded, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “I need to know why. I broke the spell, but my friend still... he doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember us.” His voice wavered with desperation. “I need to fix this.”
The woman paused, her gaze settling on him with an unnerving weight. She began laying out cards on the table, their vibrant illustrations casting shadows that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.
“You said you broke the spell,” she murmured, studying the arrangement before her. “But spells like the one you cast do not unravel so easily. When it is performed repeatedly, it takes root, becoming a part of the one it binds. Undoing such magic is like unweaving a tapestry thread by thread. It is not impossible, but the damage it leaves behind... may be irreparable.”
Tsumugi’s chest tightened. “Irreparable?” he echoed, his voice trembling.
The fortune teller nodded solemnly. “The forgetting is no longer entirely your doing. His mind clings to the void where those memories should be, as if it knows that remembering would cause more harm than good.”
“That’s not true!” Tsumugi protested, his voice breaking. “Natsume-kun deserves to remember everything—the love we shared, even the pain. It’s not right to take that away from him.”
The woman’s gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “And yet, perhaps it is what he needs. Have you considered that forgetting is not just a curse, but a mercy? That this cycle persists because, deep down, it is what is best for him?”
Tsumugi recoiled as if struck, the words cutting deeper than he thought possible. “No,” he whispered. “No, that can’t be. I promised…”
The fortune teller sighed, her fingers brushing lightly over the final card she placed on the table. “I see your devotion, your love,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “But I also see the truth you cannot accept. You and he... you are not meant to be. Not now. Perhaps not ever.”
The words hit Tsumugi like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of disbelief and anguish. “You’re wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t accept that.”
“And yet, you must,” the woman replied gently. “His forgetting is his heart’s way of protecting itself. He was hurt, and the pain runs deeper than you know. To keep forcing your way into his life now will only deepen that wound.”
Tsumugi’s breath hitched, his tears threatening to spill over. “So what am I supposed to do? Just... disappear? Leave him alone and pretend none of this ever happened?”
The fortune teller nodded slowly. “For now, yes. Step away, give him time and space to heal. If your bond is as strong as you believe, fate will bring you together again. But if it is not...” She trailed off, her gaze heavy with meaning.
Tsumugi sat in silence, his mind reeling. Every fiber of his being screamed against the idea of walking away from Natsume, of abandoning the love he had fought so hard to preserve. But deep down, a small, reluctant part of him knew the fortune teller’s words carried a truth he could not ignore.
“I understand,” he finally said, his voice hollow. “I’ll... leave him alone. If it’s really what’s best for him.”
The woman gave a faint smile, one that was neither triumphant nor pitying. “You carry great love in your heart, Tsumugi Aoba. But love, too, must learn to let go.”
As he stepped out into the cold night air, Tsumugi felt a strange emptiness settle over him, mingling with the aching pain in his chest. For the first time, he truly wondered if letting go of Natsume was the only way to set them both free.
The evening air was cool and still as Tsumugi and Natsume walked side by side, their laughter echoing softly in the dim light of the quiet city streets. Tsumugi had orchestrated every detail of their date to perfection—Natsume’s favorite café, a stroll through the park under a canopy of stars, and finally, an intimate dinner at a cozy, candlelit restaurant. Natsume was radiant, his golden eyes alight with warmth and a smile that made Tsumugi’s chest ache.
He had memorized every part of this moment—the sound of Natsume’s laughter, the way his hand felt when their fingers brushed, the way he leaned in close, teasing Tsumugi with that mischievous smirk. Every detail was burned into his mind because Tsumugi knew this would be the last time he ever saw it.
When they reached Tsumugi’s room, the evening didn’t end. Natsume’s lips were on his before the door even closed, a fervent kiss that sent shivers down Tsumugi’s spine. They stumbled into the room, shedding layers of clothing as they went, their passion igniting like a wildfire.
Every kiss, every touch, every whispered word felt like a prayer—a desperate plea to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. Tsumugi’s hands mapped Natsume’s body with reverence, memorizing every curve, every scar, every inch of the person he loved more than life itself.
“You’re so beautiful,” Tsumugi whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed kisses along Natsume’s collarbone. “You don’t even realize how much.”
Natsume chuckled softly, his fingers tangling in Tsumugi’s hair. “YOU’re such a sap, fUZzy hair,” he teased, though his tone was tender. “But I guess... I don’t mind when it’s YOU.”
Tsumugi swallowed hard, his heart breaking a little more with every second that passed. He held Natsume closer, as if the strength of his embrace could somehow imprint this moment into eternity.
When their passion subsided and they lay tangled in each other’s arms, Natsume’s breathing slowed, his body growing heavy with sleep. Tsumugi ran his fingers through Natsume’s hair, watching him with a bittersweet smile. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, as if untouched by the burdens of their love.
“Goodnight, Natsume-kun,” Tsumugi murmured, his voice barely audible over the silence of the room. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Natsume’s lips—a kiss filled with every ounce of love, regret, and longing he had ever felt.
“And goodbye,” he whispered against his skin, his tears finally spilling over as he pulled away.
Tsumugi sat there for a long moment, his hand lingering on Natsume’s cheek, memorizing the warmth of his skin. Then, with a trembling breath, he rose from the bed, gathering his clothes and slipping quietly out of the room.
As he closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressed down on him like a crushing wave. He knew he would never see Natsume like this again, never feel his touch, never hear him laugh. But if leaving was what it took to give Natsume peace, then Tsumugi would endure the pain of separation.
Outside, the first light of dawn began to break, painting the sky in hues of soft pink and gold. Tsumugi looked up, his heart heavy but resolute.
If only we could have stayed like that forever…
If only we could have died in each other’s arms.
But there was no forever, no perfect ending for us. Only the hope that someday, in some other life, our paths might cross again.