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Deep down, Yuma knows this isn't healthy. That the attachment he has to this vlogger, Asakura Jo, won't bode well for him in the end.
But, the longer Yuma keeps consuming his content and buying everything he releases, the less Yuma cares.
Yuma isn't even sure how he stumbled across Jo's channel. All he knew was that he'd been a lonely university student, unable to pursue a fine arts degree, and here Jo was, perfect and gorgeous and achieving everything Yuma had always wanted for himself.
At first, Yuma had only sought him out because they were the same age and it felt nice, being able to live out his dreams through Jo. But then, Yuma found himself indulging in more and more of Jo's videos, making sure they were the last thing he watched before he went to sleep and the first thing he checked when he woke up. Before he knew it, it'd been over two years, and Yuma felt as though he knew Jo better than Jo knew himself, even.
He understands Jo, laughs at his jokes, and kind of feels like Jo knows him too, even though they've never met in real life.
Yuma likes to think he's okay with it – the possibility of never crossing paths with Asakura Jo – but he'd be lying if he said the thought has never kept him up at night, as well as those ever recurring fantasies of the two of them having a less than platonic relationship.
It doesn't help how a vlog from Jo just talking about his day, or showing off this new painting he created, has the ability to cheer Yuma up after a long, gruelling day at his office job. Jo's virtual presence has helped Yuma get through numerous depressing nights.
He knows this crush he's developed is far from ideal, but he's already in too deep, the cardboard box in his arms that Wednesday evening heavy like the lump wedged inside his throat.
Yuma hadn't expected to get it shipped to him so quickly; the other reviewers had mentioned it taking two weeks to even a month to get theirs. There'd been a part of Yuma that still had his doubts and made him almost cancel his order, and seeing the dark, nondescript box in front of him has him almost drowning in his nerves.
It doesn't matter now, you already have it, Yuma tells himself. There's no going back.
CreateClay is scribbled across the box in red print, the very same one the website had when Yuma discovered it out of the blue weeks ago. He hadn't meant to click on the link, but it'd been the dead of night, the quiet was getting to him, and before he knew it, he was making an impulsive purchase.
Yuma opens the box on the coffee table, a large mound of gray wrapped in plastic and a clear bottle filled with golden liquid greeting him. There's a folded manual beside the materials, and Yuma, still doubtful and wondering if there's a chance he got ripped off, opens it and begins reading.
Thank you for purchasing from CreateClay. We hope you have a satisfactory experience designing who your heart desires.
The clay is for sculpting, and our special golden glue is to keep your creation from being damaged.
Please be aware that sculpting the head is mandatory, as it ensures your creation is as functional as can be. After you have sculpted all the favorite parts of your person, the ones you believe are necessary, rub our special glue over your sculptures to keep them intact, then add a full body picture of who your creation is modeled after, and cover the box.
Then, for three days, play the voice of who your creation is meant to resemble for 30 minutes, and on the fourth day, your creation should be ready.
Keep them away from water so they won't melt, and remember, your creation should never know of the person they're modeled after.
Enjoy.
"Sounds bogus," Yuma mumbles, but decides to give it a shot anyway.
Replaying one of his favorite cooking videos from Jo's channel, Yuma tears off some of the clay and gets started on the face. It's a weird consistency at first, oozing past his fingers like sand instead of clay to be honest, but as Yuma continues molding its features, shaping out the nose bridge, cheekbones and jawline, the surface smoothens, warms, almost as though it's breathing beneath his skin.
Yuma scrolls through the countless photos of Jo he has on his phone so he can get the details of his face right – like the curve of his lips, the sharpness of his eyes, the constellation of moles on his cheeks. He then works on the hands, even skipping out on dinner so he can get the anatomy correct, relieved he's still decent at sculpting after a long time of not being anywhere near a studio.
Just as Yuma's rubbing the 'golden glue' like the manual had instructed over his creations, the gray illuminates a neutral beige, becoming heated enough that Yuma yanks his hands away, startled.
"Was that supposed to happen?" Yuma asks out loud.
Something pounds at the front door, polite yet incessant. Yuma has the mind to ignore it, only for the person to knock again.
Yuma shuts the box, sets it aside and unlocks the door, making sure to hide his hands.
A familiar face grins at him, dimpled and far too enthusiastic, considering how late it is tonight.
"Hey, Yuma," Taki, his next door neighbor, greets.
"Hi." Yuma hopes it isn't obvious how nervous he is, and how much he already wants to head back inside. He's never been one to socialize a lot, and as far as he knows, Taki is the complete opposite, the guy almost always seen conversing with friends, a sunny smile on his face.
Yuma's also sure he's probably the worst neighbor ever, considering how quiet and standoffish he is, and yet Taki's always eager to talk to him, asking how he is.
"Sorry, I hope this doesn't sound weird, but I noticed you haven't left your place for a while," Taki says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, you always get something around this time and – damn, I'm rambling aren't I?"
Yuma shrugs, laughing a little. Though he had no idea Taki paid that much attention to him. "You aren't, don't worry."
Taki laughs as well, before lifting a takeout bag from Yuma's favorite chicken restaurant. "This is fine, right?"
Yuma's eyes widen. "Taki –"
"I wanted to do this. You don't have to pay me back." Taki grins, passing Yuma the bag. Yuma's stomach twists the moment Taki's eyes fall on his palms, his brows knotting.
"Got into a new hobby," Yuma swiftly lies.
Taki's expression relaxes. "Oh. That's cool." He playfully punches Yuma's shoulder and walks to his door. "See you later, then."
"Yeah," Yuma answers, his throat feeling like sandpaper. "See you."
Despite his instincts reminding him how bizarre this entire thing is, Yuma obeys every instruction on the manual, making sure he plays Jo's voice to the box loud and clear for the next three days.
Then, on Sunday, Yuma spends the entire morning anxiously arranging and rearranging the new clothes he bought, pacing around his apartment and being unable to keep anything down with his stomach perpetually in knots.
Yuma's about to call it quits, about to consider this experience a waste of time when he hears a thump from his bedroom. Frozen, he wonders if he'd imagined it until he hears something else, one that sounds like shuffling of feet.
On edge, Yuma strides to his room, his breath catching in his throat when he sees a lithe, pale body crawling out of the CreateClay box.
And, Yuma can't believe his eyes. He looks just like Jo.
Like he'd heard Yuma's thoughts, the body glances at him, his eyes dark, round, and so lifelike.
Yuma walks up to the body, amazed at the resemblance. The moles even match Jo's own. "...Hey."
His creation smiles as though he recognizes him. "Hello."
Yuma knows he can't name him Jo, so he chooses the next best thing. "I'll call you Jyo, okay? My name is Yuma."
'Jyo' nods. "Okay, Yuma."
It's a little torturous, how fascinated Jyo is with water – even when he knows he can't get near it. It doesn't mean he doesn't try to anyway, especially when he helps Yuma out in the kitchen (one of his favorite things to do), or steps across a puddle when he and Yuma take an evening walk, or sits by the window with a book, striking a pose while Yuma paints him.
He can tell Yuma gets annoyed by it at times – but not for long though – his glare easily replaced by an endeared grin.
"I just can't get mad at you," Yuma himself admits that morning. It's Monday, sunlight streaming through the bedroom curtains, illuminating Yuma's frame. Jyo smiles into Yuma's hair, hugging him close, but then Yuma has to leave to get ready for work.
Jyo sticks close as Yuma prepares some eggs and toast, Yuma gently slapping his hand away when he gets too close to the faucet.
"You know what'll happen if water touches you," Yuma scolds him.
The thing is, Jyo isn't sure exactly what would happen if he touches water. All he knows is that he can't go near it, but that doesn't stop him from being curious. It keeps him up sometimes, makes him wonder what it is about him that makes him so different from Yuma.
"See you later." Yuma tiptoes and kisses Jyo on the mouth before heading out. Like always, the stillness Yuma's absence leaves slashes into Jyo like a knife, squeezing at the left side of his chest until he's left lightheaded.
It worsens tenfold when Jyo heads for the balcony and sees Yuma talking to Taki, the neighbor, at the parking lot. Taki stands close, leaning in and laughing whenever Yuma so much as looks at him. Jyo can see his desire clear as day, but whenever he voices out his discomfort concerning Taki, Yuma doesn't take him seriously, so Jyo has learned to keep his mouth shut.
It doesn't stop Jyo from stewing in insecurities and hatred whenever he sees Taki, however. He notices the way the man waits by the entrance before Yuma goes to and arrives home from work, always ready to strike up a conversation with him. And once it rains, Taki would rush to Yuma's side with an umbrella, the both of them running for cover while Taki tries to pretend like he isn't staring.
Fortunately, Yuma keeps the conversation short for today, but Taki still lingers before heading back inside. Jyo's hands clench, but he knows he can't do anything; Yuma and Taki are friends, after all.
Around five, Jyo steps into the balcony once more. Like clockwork, Taki is waiting at the parking lot, a purple umbrella clutched in his grip as brooding clouds paint the sky, and Jyo can't take it anymore.
He storms out the front door, taking the stairs two at a time. He can hear his thoughts, and they're yelling at him to stop, because Yuma will be mad, and he hadn't bothered to conceal his face. But he can't stop, not now.
Thunder rumbles, a bolt of lightning ignites the late afternoon sky, and Taki's now a few feet away, his back facing Jyo, none the wiser.
But then Yuma emerges from the corner, his eyes locking with Jyo's almost instantly. Color drains from his face. Rain starts pouring over the pavement.
Before Taki can turn around, Jyo disappears into the shadows, not wanting to anger Yuma.
That's the last thing he wants.
Yuma is mad when he returns, understandably so.
"You were so close, Jyo," he tells Jyo, pacing around the living room. He does that a lot when he's anxious, when he's trying to get a hold of his emotions. When Jyo attempts to hug him, provide some comfort, he stiffens.
"I'm sorry, but you need to listen to me," Yuma says. "What if the rain touched you?"
At that, Jyo's frustration gets the best of him.
"It's Taki's fault," Jyo confesses. "I want to be the one who waits for you. I want to be the one who keeps you safe from the rain. But he's always there! Because he –"
"Because what?" asks Yuma.
"Because he's in love with you."
Yuma sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jyo, please, let's not do this right now."
"Taki likes you, Yuma," Jyo repeats, upset. "Why can't you see that?"
But Yuma just steps past him, ignoring him completely. "I'm gonna take a shower, order something."
"Yuma."
"You're just needlessly jealous, okay?" Yuma snaps. At the way Jyo's face falls, he exhales, exasperated. "The manual mentioned something about it, I think. I don't want to argue anymore about this, Jyo, please. Let's just call it a night."
Yuma stretches out his hand, and Jyo can't help but entwine their fingers. There's nothing he loves more than being close to Yuma.
"I'm sorry I made you angry," Jyo says.
Yuma smiles at him, and just like that, everything is okay again.
Yuma takes a nap after buying some groceries that Friday afternoon, and Jyo hadn't been able to contain his disappointment when he wasn't allowed to tag along, even though Yuma made a reasonable excuse about how the weather's been iffy all week.
It seems that's all Yuma has been giving him lately: excuses. Like how Jyo isn't allowed to leave the apartment without a mask on and how he can't even step out on his own without Yuma's permission. Yuma behaves the worst whenever it concerns his phone, never letting Jyo near it even after he told Jyo that he trusts him.
To trust someone is to believe that they are good and safe. That they are honest. And, while Yuma might enjoy his company, Jyo believes there is a chance Yuma's hiding something from him.
He's here because of Yuma. He trusts Yuma, loves him, and tells him everything – but Yuma doesn't seem to want to do the same.
And, Jyo is finding the silence and Yuma's persistence in keeping him locked away less comforting.
He should feel ashamed, rummaging through Yuma's things while Yuma's asleep, but whatever guilt he might have felt is quickly replaced by a scorching fury when he grabs a hold of Yuma's phone, the lock screen showcasing a picture of someone who looks like him, but isn't.
Yuma wakes up and is immediately greeted by a dreary, eerie kind of darkness, the lack of sound getting to him.
"Jyo?" Yuma steps out of his bed and searches the area, panicked and his heart thumping in his throat. "Jyo, are you there?"
He hears something right then, faint and muffled, a voice so familiar that his heart quickly sinks at the realization.
No, no, no. Rushing into the living room, Yuma's knees nearly give way when Jo's grinning face greets him from his shimmering phone screen, the man talking about this upcoming fan meeting he's having, and how lovely Hyogo has been so far. His enthusiasm is like a taunt. Thunder booms outside the windows, foreboding.
Yuma doesn't waste any time heading out. Jyo, far too curious and intelligent for his own good like always, had ransacked the drawers and confiscated his wallet, but he couldn't have made it far. He couldn't have made it to where Jo's staying.
Rain slams into Yuma the second he makes it to the sidewalk, soaking through his sweater and chilling him from within. He doesn't stop running, however, surveying the dim streets for Jyo. It's a terrible thought, but a part of him hopes the rainfall slows Jyo down – or at least deters and brings him back home.
Yuma doesn't want anything happening to Jo – doesn't want anything happening to either of them.
"Jyo?" His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it, not wanting to miss the chance of finding Jyo.
Yuma pushes his fingers through his hair to get the strands out of his face. Despite the street lamps around, the rainfall makes it difficult to see properly. "Jyo, please! Please, come back!"
All of a sudden, footsteps race at Yuma from behind. A voice screams his name, but it's too far off for Yuma to know just who it belongs to. Something icy yanks at his shoulder, and he stumbles, peering into a melting pair of enraged eyes that look exactly like his.
Metal gleams against the moonlight, and Yuma staggers, trembling as crimson hurriedly spills across the now gaping wound in his chest.
"What..." Yuma's vision swims, darkens, and he falls, gray sand falling in clumps at his feet while Taki dashes for him, his features contorted in terror.