Archive of Our Own

Blood oozed from the incision, scrambling to rush toward the exit. It formed a string of droplets that trickled down to the ground, splattering into tiny red blooms.

"......"

Kindaichi’s face turned pale. He looked at Kunimi, who remained calm and unflinching, then at the wound that kept bleeding. Taking a deep breath, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed straight onto the floor.

Iwaizumi, standing nearby, quickly held him up: "Hey! Kindaichi! It’s not you who’s hurt—don’t go dying on us!"

Kunimi hung his half-severed arm—its wound gushed blood, with bones and blood vessels clearly visible—and used his other hand to pat Kindaichi casually, his tone unruffled: "Don’t die."

Hanamaki, fumbling to bandage the wound, snapped: "You should stop talking too!"

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With the other child’s silent permission, one kid unbuttoned the other’s shirt. Pale skin wrapped around a body that hadn’t yet fully developed; his small belly hadn’t turned into lean muscle, and the two spots on his chest were like the only flowers on a canvas.

Little Kindaichi leaned down, hesitated for a moment, then bit the skin next to the right nipple. His sharp baby teeth left a red mark on the tender flesh, though it faded slowly. The child being bitten said nothing the whole time, as if he wasn’t the one being bitten.

Little Kindaichi looked up: "Does it hurt?"

Little Kunimi brushed the loose hair by his temples: "No." He felt absolutely nothing.

Kindaichi puffed out his cheeks, opened his mouth wide, and "ow" bit Kunimi’s chest again—this time on the soft nipple. He bit harder than before, his teeth clutching that tiny red spot like a nursing puppy.

"Does it hurt?"

Kunimi still shook his head: "No."

Little Kindaichi let go, resting his head between Kunimi’s crossed legs and murmuring: "It’s true—you really can’t feel pain."

Kunimi looked down. The wind blowing through the window made his chest feel a little cold, but he liked watching Kindaichi lie between his legs like this. His stomach was tickled by Kindaichi’s hair, and secretly, he wished Kindaichi would get even closer—though he didn’t know what that feeling meant yet.

He stroked the lingering baby fat on Kindaichi’s cheek: "What does pain feel like?"

"Hmm......" Kindaichi thought for a moment, then answered: "Like a needle pricking your hand, or getting spanked."

Kunimi tilted his head—he didn’t understand either a needle pricking his hand or getting spanked, and besides, his parents would never spank him.

He realized asking Kindaichi this question might have been a mistake.

So he changed the subject instead. Five small fingers poked out from his overly long sleeve; he grabbed the tip of Kindaichi’s ear and pulled it up. Watching Kindaichi grimace in pain, his mood lifted. The corners of his mouth curved up, his eyes crinkled, and the loneliness he felt from being different from everyone else faded away.

Kindaichi refused to back down—he grabbed Kunimi’s cheek in return. Kunimi’s cheek, still soft with baby fat, reddened a little under his grip, but Kunimi showed no other reaction.

Kindaichi felt a twinge of disappointment. Seeing the red mark on Kunimi’s face made him awkward, so he took his sleeve to wipe it off, as if to erase the redness. But the harder he wiped, the redder it got, until Kunimi’s cheek was bright red.

Kindaichi sat up: "You really don’t react at all?"

Kunimi shook his head.

"What if you get hurt? Would you still not feel it?"

Kunimi thought for a second, then answered: "I can see it." So when he got hurt, he would go to the hospital, even though he couldn’t feel the pain.

"What if,"—kids always indulged in all sorts of wild fantasies—"what if someone cut you with a knife? Would that hurt?"

"I don’t know," Kunimi was only thinking about how to get Kindaichi to lie back down between his legs. "No one’s ever cut me before."

"Adults say it would hurt super bad, and you could even die from it."

"Yeah."

"If someone tries to cut you, I’ll protect you. I won’t let you die." Kindaichi was pressed to lie back down. "Unless you want to know what pain feels like, that is."

Kindaichi did as Kunimi wanted, lying back down. The saliva on his chest had long evaporated. Kindaichi licked his lips, rolled over, hugged Kunimi’s waist, and bit down hard on Kunimi’s slightly protruding belly.

"Ah."

Under Kindaichi’s expectant gaze, Kunimi said:

"That’s cute."

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Kindaichi had always hoped Kunimi could understand what pain felt like—he thought that was Kunimi’s wish.

But Kunimi’s wish had changed a long time ago.

He had wished to know what pain felt like, to get into the same junior high as Kindaichi, then the same high school, to be in the same club, to see Kindaichi fulfill his dream of staying in V2, to see himself get a smooth job offer...... Later, he wished Kindaichi would break up.

Break up with his girlfriend.

No wish could have been more malicious than that.

During a high school summer vacation, he was attacked by kidnappers and cut with a knife—so deep that the bone was visible. The seniors who were with him at the time were terrified, and Kindaichi passed out on the spot.

He woke up again two minutes later.

In a daze, he took over Hanamaki’s work and started treating his own wound. The smell of blood was thick; blood stained his calloused fingertips and seeped under his nails.

Kunimi’s face showed no emotion—he even told the seniors, who were on the verge of tears, not to panic.

It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived that Kindaichi sat down next to the stretcher and began to cry, tears falling one after another.

He asked Kunimi: "Does it hurt?"

Kunimi was silent for a moment, then used his other hand to weakly hold his fingertips—he had lost too much blood and had no strength left. "It hurts."

His heart ached.

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For Kunimi, who had insensitive pain nerves, physical pain was an unsolved mystery. But he knew what heartache felt like.

Every beat of his heart was like a sledgehammer pounding his skull, tearing his intestines, slicing his flesh, and sucking his blood.

Perhaps because his body was immune to physical pain, the pain in his heart felt like an overwhelming wave—unbearable.

After all, he had been the one who came first.

In junior high, he had understood what "liking" was for the first time—though he had learned it from his sister’s shojo manga. He used Kindaichi, who had been napping at his house, as an experiment.

The sleeping boy’s eyelashes trembled slightly, and his cheeks still held a hint of fading baby fat. Sunlight couldn’t reach this corner, allowing Kunimi to give in to the secret excitement and sense of transgression in his heart.

He lay down next to Kindaichi and moved closer, until he could clearly see the fine fuzz on Kindaichi’s face and count each lash. He slowed his breathing, afraid of waking Kindaichi, yet unwilling to leave this secret happiness.

Their lips touched, and he felt the softness.

His heart thumped wildly, sending a tingle through every nerve in his body. He was afraid the sound of his heart would wake Kindaichi, but he couldn’t bear to pull away.

They stayed like that, lips touching, for who knew how long. Just as the "sleeping beauty" was about to wake up, Kunimi quickly nipped Kindaichi’s lower lip.

"hiss——"

Kindaichi woke up instinctively from the pain. When he saw Kunimi "asleep" in front of him, he thought it must have been an illusion.

Unwilling to disturb the "sleeping" person, he quietly tidied up and left—even the sound of locking the door was soft.

The next day, he joked with Kunimi: "I fell asleep at your place yesterday, and some bug bit me. It hurt like hell."

Kunimi smiled without saying a word.

Just like now—staring at a photo of Kindaichi on his phone, his fingers pausing. A rose thorn pricked his skin, piercing deep into the flesh and drawing a bead of blood—like tears he couldn’t shed.

The friend with benefits beside him asked: "Does it hurt?"

"It hurts," Kunimi nodded. "It hurts so bad."

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In the end, he didn’t sleep with the friend with benefits—it was his first time arranging a hook-up. The other person was satisfied with him and gave him their contact information.

He held the card and stuffed it into his pocket, letting the sharp edge of the card press against his tender palm.

He had thought he would drift home in a daze, but when he passed Kindaichi’s house, he was pulled inside. Sitting under the warm light, a steaming hot meal was placed in front of him. He ate slowly and neatly, with excellent manners.

Kindaichi’s parents asked about Kindaichi’s recent situation, hinting and beating around the bush. Kunimi could only set aside his grievances and tell them what the elderly wanted to hear.

"He’s doing well lately. Me? I’m doing well too."

"He’s doing great at work—he even won a game last time."

"I haven’t heard of him arguing with anyone. He’s still on good terms with Kageyama too." He paused, his spoon stopping mid-air. "He also has a girlfriend now."

"A girlfriend?" Kindaichi’s parents looked a little strange, repeating: "A girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"A girl?"

Kunimi frowned slightly, confused: "Yeah."

"I thought he liked......" The father’s unfinished words were cut off by his wife’s silent reminder.

"Stay the night here," his mother said. "Yuutarou hasn’t come back either, and it’s lonely just the two of us. Keep us company."

Kunimi curled up in the corner of the sofa, just like he did when he was a kid, watching TV with Kindaichi’s parents. The TV was replaying Kindaichi’s game, along with a post-match interview. The young and promising middle blocker had caught the attention of many girls and sparked a trend online—even the number of people supporting the team had increased.

He stepped onto the edge of the sofa with bare feet, curling himself into a ball.

Kindaichi’s mother redressed his wound; the medicine on his fingers was cool, and the warm ceiling light made him feel like he was back home—his body felt heavy with drowsiness, his head dizzy and fuzzy, and he didn’t want to think about anything.

His eyelids grew heavy, finally narrowing to a slit. His breathing slowed and deepened, leaving only a faint tear at the corner of his eye—which the thoughtful woman gently wiped away with the corner of her clothes.

Her husband placed an extra pair of slippers by the door, just in case it rained in the middle of the night. There were also extra clothes on the sofa, ready to be taken at any time.

No need to worry—someone would come straight for the person on the sofa, and they would naturally notice the clothes on the other side.

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In his drowsiness, it felt like someone was watching him—crouching in front of him, like a huge bear.

It must have been a dream. Otherwise, why would this bear be so docile?

He grabbed the bear’s collar and demanded: "Do you still like me?"

The bear reached out to cover his mouth, but he bit down hard on the bear’s tiger’s mouth (the fleshy part between the thumb and index finger), making it grimace in pain.

He then grabbed the bear’s ear and pulled it, making the bear suck in a sharp breath.

He must have been really sleepy—this bear was starting to look more and more like Kindaichi.

Kunimi bit his lower lip, feeling even more unwilling, and asked over and over again.

Do you like me or not?

There was no answer, because he had missed the best time to ask.

He should have asked when they first slept together. But he had hesitated and been scared—an 18-year-old kid, just an adult, too afraid to hear the answer he didn’t want. No one had ever told them what to do if they heard such an answer: give up? Accept it? Or just never ask at all? If there was no beginning, there would be no heartbreak.

So he did everything he could to kiss the other’s lips, swirling his tongue inside their mouth, drawing out silver threads, feeling the bed frame shake and his own heart throb.

Moans escaped his lips—he couldn’t believe that was his own voice. He wanted to stop, so he bit down on his wrist to muffle the sounds in his throat. Kindaichi pulled his hand away, saying the sounds were nice, that he didn’t need to bite down—it would hurt.

Kindaichi had forgotten he couldn’t feel pain.

He couldn’t feel pain.

The secret joy of being with the person he had a crush on was almost drowning him; that little bit of pain was negligible.

"Kindaichi." Now, just like back then, he kissed the tired big bear who had rushed home, murmuring that name: "Kindaichi."

He wrapped his arms around the bear’s waist, pulling him into a tight hug.

"I hurt so bad, Kindaichi."

He hurt because his youth was fading away, and he hurt because his feelings had no solution.

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He must have been really sleepy.

He hadn’t drunk any alcohol, but now he felt drunk.

Kindaichi had posted on Twitter saying he was going to propose to the person he loved. That same night, Kunimi was asked to come over to Kindaichi’s house for dinner again. He had just sat down when the eldest son of the family (referring to Kindaichi) knelt down on one knee and held out a ring.

Hmm.

Kunimi looked at the ring on his finger, then silently took it off and handed it back.

He must have been out of his mind from pain. The scars from his attempt to slit his wrist that morning were still there. Even though he couldn’t feel the pain, he had lost a lot of blood, and now his head felt dizzy.

He should just sleep.

So he skillfully went upstairs, slipped into Kindaichi’s room, and buried himself under the covers, sleeping for a full day and night. In his dream, he saw the day he had stolen that kiss from Kindaichi. Someone had walked out of his house with a red face. He had watched that person for a long time, thinking they looked so cute and wanting to tease them. Then it had started to rain—dripping and dropping—but only around that person.

He had felt a little angry, wanting to punish that dark cloud. He reached out, trying to grab it. But when the cloud saw the shoddily bandaged wound on his wrist, it took a deep breath, its eyes rolled back, and it collapsed straight to the ground.

The falling raindrops splashed onto Kunimi’s wrist.

It was cool—just for a moment—and Kunimi woke up.

Beside him, Kindaichi’s shoulders were shaking. His eyes were downcast, like a dejected lion—one who had lost his mate.

The scent of the medicine on his wrist was the same as the day before—so cool that it made his heart ache.

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In the end, he still didn’t put on the ring. He even felt a little resistant to it. Was it because, in his eyes, it didn’t belong to him? He didn’t know.

Anyway, he had taken a lot of medicine—most of it bitter. He still preferred the medicine Kindaichi’s mother had applied to his wounds: cool and refreshing, even able to soothe the pain in his heart.

The doctor said he was sick. He had been sick since the day he was cut by the kidnapper’s knife. Because he couldn’t feel any pain at all—he had even stayed calm during the stitching.

People whispered about him behind his back, calling him a freak. Some even joked that you could cut a piece of flesh off Kunimi and he wouldn’t even flinch.

Of course, he had chased those people away. But being unable to feel pain was like a thorn rooted in Kunimi’s heart, piercing deep into his most fragile brain nerves and leaving a secret seed.

Scars began to appear on his body from time to time—on the crook of his thigh, his arms, his chest, or his lower back.

He stopped taking showers with his teammates. His terrifying body, hidden in the hazy steam, revealed his self-loathing.

If Kindaichi hadn’t forgotten his soap, this secret would have stayed hidden until they graduated and went their separate ways.

Every night, when Kindaichi comforted him, he felt like he was falling apart. His palms brushed over those scars—each one cleaner, sharper, and more dependent on bandages than the last.

He was so heartbroken that he couldn’t speak. Tears pooled in the small of Kunimi’s back.

He asked: "Does it hurt?"

Kunimi said: "No."

"But Kunimi," he hugged Kunimi, just like when they were kids, lying on the bed and burying his face in Kunimi’s lower back. "I’m in so much pain......"

——————————————————
"Kindaichi, you don’t feel pain in dreams."

Kunimi’s condition got worse and worse. Even his parents were helpless—unwilling to give up, but too exhausted to keep going. Kindaichi took the initiative to offer to take care of him, shocking his own parents: "Do you know what you’re saying?"

"I know," Kindaichi nodded.

He knew better than anyone else.

Kunimi’s condition had improved in college. They had thought he would finally be able to live a normal life—until a scandal dragged Kindaichi into a storm of public opinion.

The other party involved had a prominent background, leaving Kindaichi swamped with work. It wasn’t until he finally caught a breath that he realized Kunimi hadn’t reached out at all.

He rushed home, worn out. He put on the slippers his father had prepared and the clothes his mother had laid out, then spotted Kunimi sleeping soundly on the sofa. Kunimi was wrapped in a thin blanket—outside, it was drizzling and a little chilly, so he’d curled up into a tight ball.

He should have woken him up earlier.

Or he should have come back earlier.

He should have called him.

Asked how he’d been lately.

If he’d been eating well.

If he’d been dressing warmly enough.

Then he wouldn’t have faced that look of disbelief when he proposed. Kunimi hadn’t even been willing to put on the ring; Kindaichi had cajoled and tricked him into wearing it around his neck, like chaining a dog. The chain was too short to let Kunimi leave easily, yet too loose to keep him from slipping away.

Occasionally, he’d recall the oath they’d made as kids: “I won’t let you die—unless you agree to it.”

Kunimi had agreed, but Kindaichi couldn’t bring himself to let go.

He couldn’t accept it.

Even if Kunimi thought this was all a dream, there must be moments when he realized it wasn’t.

He clung to that hope, praying Kunimi would turn back.

No matter how long it took.

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