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Yoshiki couldn't help the laugh that rippled through his body because this felt right. It felt normal. For once, he wasn’t trembling in the face of a monster of unspeakable horror. For once, he wasn’t fighting with the person he became in the presence of Hikaru.
The moon was hanging high in the sky, its silvery glow casting light in the darkest alleyways of Kubitachi. His friends were having fun, smiles plastered on their faces as they swung the sparklers in their hands. Maki was throwing his head back and forth, shouting as he sporadically whipped around a handful of sparklers. Yuuki was watching him with an outwardly judgmental expression, but a smile would creep on her face every once in a while when she wasn't guarded. Asako stood by her side, her laugh warm and light like the breeze at a sea shore.
Hikaru was here. Sitting next to him. Not lost in the middle of a cursed mountain all by himself. Not bleeding out and painfully waiting for death to take him. He was here— basking in the moonlight, staring at a sparkler with an almost child-like curiosity.
“Yoshiki, ya know, I just thought of this,” Hikaru began. The sparkler’s flame reflected in his eyes, as if that was all he could see, as if that was his entire world at that moment. “Yer like this sparkler.” He smiled, waving it around, and drawing waves in the air.
Yoshiki paused, looking down at his own sparkler, which had died in his hands. Like a firefly losing its light. The remaining stick looked ashen and gray, stripped of all its life source. In that sense, he was like a sparkler: dull and lifeless, providing little to no entertainment —little to no value. He dropped the stick to the ground, covering it with his shoes before asking, “How?”
Hikaru grinned, his snaggletooth peeking out. “Yer wouldn't like it if I told ya.” It was meant to be a mischievous comment, but Yoshiki’s curiosity ate at him.
Why wouldn't he like the answer?
“Just say it.”
Hikaru’s smile faded and replacing it was a wistful expression. The sparkler he held was nearing the end of its life, yet he was glued to it, as if he wanted to engrave the light into his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak.
“We’re all out! Was that all of ‘em?” Maki asked, cutting between their conversation.
Yuuki kicked at the leftover metallic sticks sprawled across the ground. “It’s ‘cuz you, stupid. You lit four at once just now.”
Maki was quick to defend himself, hands up in the air as he shouted, “It looked cool, didn’t it?” It was a terrible excuse, but it was enough to draw a snort from Yuuki.
“I can go get more.” Hikaru raised his hand, volunteering himself. “Maki gonna have to pay for it though.” A quiet chuckle slipped from him, crescendoing to a wild laughter as Maki emptied his pockets to reveal nothing but a half-eaten bag of chips and a used tissue.
“I’ll come with. Wouldn't want you feeling lonely,” Asako chimed in, laughter lacing her words. The two of them waved bye before walking off, their smiles disappearing into the distance.
Yoshiki leaned onto the wall behind him, looking up at the stars. The summer breeze kissed his cheek and raked its fingers through his hair, and for the first time in a long time, he was at peace. The boulders that were sitting on his shoulders had rolled off because there was hope. Hope that maybe Hikaru wasn’t really gone. Hope that maybe—with time—the monster living within Hikaru’s flesh would hatch into something else. Something human.
Yoshiki stood up abruptly, causing Maki and Yuuki to turn towards him, directing him their attention.
“I’m gonna go catch up with ‘em to get water.”
Paranoia, Yoshiki blamed. It was probably just excessive and unwarranted paranoia because the night was calm, the moon was bright, and the cicadas were humming a lullaby. This pit in his stomach was wrong. There was no basis, no evidence to support his feeling, and yet, his steps quickened, his heart racing in his chest. An irrational fear. An inexplicable instinct.
Hikaru was human. His face, his voice, his memories. Everything. Except…
Except him.
Asako dropped to the floor. Hikaru was standing over her, a red hue shrouding his eyes. Yoshiki couldn't move. He couldn’t breathe. The contrast was too stark. The same eyes that stared in awe at the small miracles of life. The same eyes that looked at him like it was impossible to see anything else. The same eyes that belonged to Hikaru. They leered at Asako like she was nothing, like she wasn't even there, even smaller and even more insignificant than the ants crawling on the ground.
“H-Hikaru?” A question. Maybe he wanted to make sure it was still Hikaru —still the beast that resembled him.
Hikaru looked at him then turned away, rubbing the back of his neck.
Was he embarrassed?
Was he ashamed?
“You wouldn’t like that.” Hikaru contemplated. That was the extent of his moral compass, like he based his every action on whether Yoshiki would like it or not. “If I killed her, I mean.”
Yoshiki’s stomach twisted. He wanted to vomit. Hikaru —the monster who pretended to be him— would’ve killed Asako if he had been even a second —even a step— late.
“You can’t…” Yoshiki began, breathless and at a loss for words. “just kill people.”
Hikaru’s gaze flickered down at Asako’s unmoving body, then returned to meet Yoshiki’s. “Why not?” He tilted his head to the side, his curiosity evident.
It wasn’t a child-like curiosity because even children understood murder was wrong. It was like an animal. Unable to understand the morality behind his kill because to him, it was a matter of survival, and there was nothing wrong with eliminating a threat; Nothing wrong with following his instincts.
“You’d kill me?” Yoshiki couldn’t stop the hurt in his voice. “It’d be that easy?”
The monster might’ve given a reply, but he couldn't hear it. Every sound was drowned out, and all that was left was the suffocating cicadas. Noisy. Screaming cicadas.
It was cold. Yoshiki wrapped his arms around himself. He realized belatedly that Hikaru must’ve been cold that night on the mountain because a flimsy orange jacket couldn’t have been enough, and in his last moments, all he probably wanted was a touch of warmth.
Yet, Yoshiki had abandoned him.
Maybe this was his punishment. Maybe the coldness in the height of the summer and this creature that used Hikaru’s flesh was all his fault.
Yoshiki walked past it, nudging on its shoulder in passing.
How could this ever be his Hikaru?
***
Yoshiki threw himself on his bed, burying his face against the pillow. It was past midnight, and although his body sank heavy with an unfathomable weight, he couldn't sleep because to sleep meant to close his eyes, and every time he did, the same image —the same scene—would flash in his mind: Hikaru standing over Asako. Ready to kill as if there was nothing more natural in the world.
Hikaru was no longer human. It was so easy to think it, to say it, but it was another story to believe it. Because even though the very essence of him was gone, Hikaru was still here: his flesh, his heart, his mind, his memories. All the pieces of him were still here. But he was gone.
Yoshiki clawed his pillow, threatening to rip the covering. It felt so hollow. Missing someone who was physically here. It was all so useless. All so cruel.
How could he try to replace him?
Tears streamed down his face, staining the pillow sheet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop it, and the more he thought about his situation, the louder his sobs ripped through the night.
What was he going to do?
What was he meant to do?
He had thought about it hundreds, if not thousands, of times, and he knew Kurebayashi was right. Humans and monsters weren’t meant to mix. It was too senseless. Too unnatural. But, he had no choice but to give in because there was nothing senseless about the way Hikaru embraced him and pleaded with him to stay. Nothing unnatural about the way Hikaru confessed in words he would've never used when he was alive.
Yoshiki pulled away from his pillow, gasping for air. The moonlight peered from the window, and its light cast his shadow against the wall of his room. A festering and brewing shadow. It hovered underneath his every step during the daytime, keeping watch, and lying dormant until it found prey. He hugged himself, shrinking into a ball, hoping the shadow would do the same. It didn't. It never did when Hikaru lingered in his thoughts.
Yoshiki couldn't help it. He couldn’t help but ooze with desire because he was a creature of darkness —drawn to the shade under the overhang of buildings, drawn to the depths within crevices of broken walls— , and Hikaru was everything pure and bright and golden. Light.
Even though it wasn't his Hikaru anymore, his light persisted, a radiant and powerful glow that Yoshiki’s shadow couldn't resist feeding on.
He couldn’t hate him. It terrified him to realize he couldn't muster any hatred for this monster because even if all his friend's corpses were splattered on the ground, he still had it in him to follow this light. This damn artificial light.
It felt so good to be wanted —needed—, and the real Hikaru didn’t need him. Light had no need for a shadow to exist, but the Hikaru now did—for only with one could artificial light pass as real.
“I like you. I like you so damn much, Yoshiki.”
Those words tormented him. It stabbed him in his most vulnerable moments. Hikaru had never said anything like that before. Not a word. It was fake, manufactured by their circumstances, yet he held onto it. Hoping that with his grip, it would materialize into something tangible, something real because he had been waiting an eternity for those words. Fake or not, he would let the pain comfort him.
Yoshiki peeled at the skin of his neck, sweat and dirt clinging to his fingernails. He looked at his hand. Dirty. He had a rabid habit of washing it, but it never seemed to be enough. There was always something. Always a stain. Peeking out from underneath his fingernails was residual dirt and blood. Red and violent blood.
His memories clashed, and two disjointed scenes played in his mind simultaneously. One with Hikaru. One with the fake.
It was a hot summer day by the pond. The air was humid to the point of being palpable. Yoshiki sat idly by the water while Hikaru—
It was musty in the storage room. The voices and laughter of his classmates sounded outside. The monster giggled, making sly remarks, and watching him as he tried to muster the courage—
“What are ya pouting about?”
“Any day now, Yoshiki.”
Their voices merged into one.
Hikaru wiped at the sweat trickling down his forehead, his face stretched with a blissful expression. Whether it was the pond’s water or his own sweat, it made his white shirt stick to his skin, outlining the curve of his lean muscles, outlining what Yoshiki had only ever imagined. His fingers tingled.
Hikaru —the monster—doubled over him, hand clutching his arm as he led the way, showing where to touch him, showing how to make him feel good.
It was so stupidly hot. Hikaru had no choice but to lift his shirt to wipe his face, and it wasn't a big deal anyway because they were both boys. Hikaru had trust in him, trusting he would oblige to the unspoken rule in all friendships. To not steal glances at his friend’s body, to not store the image in the back of his brain, to not relish in it on lonely nights. Dirty. He was rotten to the core.
Hikaru moaned in his ears, and Yoshiki prayed. He prayed to a god that had always failed him to make this moment last. To make it real. With his arm stretched into the oblivion of Hikaru’s stomach, Yoshiki focused on Hikaru’s voice as he panted, breath hitching into broken pleads.
“Do I feel the same to ya?”
Yoshiki opened his eyes, waking up from his trance. His hand was in front of him. The same hand that had reached inside Hikaru’s body. The blood under his fingernails seemed to ooze, almost as if it was alive. It was the evidence of his crime, and the more he tried to pick at it, it continued to spread, spreading from one fingernail to another and then another and then another. It was going to consume him if he resisted.
Hikaru was no longer human, and Yoshiki wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the one to teach him how to be one. He didn’t know the answer to the question either. A question that lived in his shadow, following him through every moment of life: What did it mean to be a human being?
***
Yoshiki woke up the next morning and got ready for school as usual. It was a monotonous routine where his mind could wander, and as he buttoned up his school shirt and slipped into his school pants, he wondered if you could feel nostalgic for something that still existed. Still there in the present.
“Yoshiki! Come eat yer breakfast!”
His mother’s shout, which would usually irk him this early in the morning, was nice to hear. It broke the pattern of the throbbing cicadas. He came downstairs to find his dad already at the dinning table, while Kaoru was in the bathroom, humming a soft melody.
He took a seat. His dad offered a curt greeting, but he pretended he couldn't hear it, opting to scroll on his phone as he ate his breakfast. He didn’t notice the video playing loudly from his phone until Kaoru paused it.
“Yer not watching it,” Kaoru said, plainly. She then took a seat at the table, water dripping from her wet hair to the towel that hung around her small shoulders. Kaoru would grow up fine. She was already taking on responsibilities and helping their mother at her work. Even if she wasn’t in school, even if the village’s gossip couldn't thrive without her name, she would grow up fine.
Yoshiki patted her head, her damp hair making his hand wet. He didn't know how to properly say goodbye. He never thought he would have to. No one ever thought about the ending. Everyone prepared for beginnings, but who was ever ready for the end? If he had prepared, would his voice have sunk in his throat when he found Hikaru’s half-breathing body? Would he have done what he did—stumbling home in a dazed, dreamlike state, as though his body didn’t belong to him?
“Stop it.” Kaoru moved away from his reach. She never liked the physical touch. It was as simple as that, but the rejection set heavy on his heart. He wanted to get angry because this could be the last time, the last time she could ever see him, and she wouldn't even allow him even a moment of nostalgia.
Yoshiki finished his breakfast and made a beeline to the exit. Stepping outside to the morning breeze, he inhaled a deep breath, the scent of petrichor and morning dew filling his lungs. He began walking to Hikaru’s place, feeling lighter than ever. Although he knew how this would end, he wasn’t upset. He should've done this long ago.
He knocked. It was Hikaru’s mother who answered the door. Upon seeing him, she was quick to call for Hikaru, her voice as endearing as it was nagging. If only she knew who it was she called her son.
Hikaru stepped out, taking slow and reluctant steps towards him. A beaten puppy. He looked like he had his tail between his legs.
“Let’s go,” Yoshiki said, beginning to walk off. Hikaru trailed after him, lingering behind his shadow, as if he was undeserving of standing by his side. They walked in silence for a few minutes. The vast blue sky above them. The shallow creak flowing as usual. The tall grass bristling with the wind’s caresses.
It was peaceful.
“Yoshiki, I'm sorry,” Hikaru began.
Yoshiki stopped. He didn't turn around to face him. Not until a smile was on his lips. “It’s fine.” Hikaru was no idiot. He knew him too well to be fooled. He had stolen too many memories to not understand there was no genuineness behind his eyes. “Wanna skip class?”
Hikaru hesitated, eyes averting when he met his gaze. Today was the day of their choir concert. Their friends must be waiting for them, wondering why their seats were both vacant.
Hikaru nodded, agreeing.
***
Yoshiki stared out the train window as the world slipped past: high schoolers pedaling toward class, farmers bent over rows of crops, and, for an instant, women spinning through a meadow of wildflowers. He caught only a fleeting glimpse, yet in that moment he saw them twirl into each other’s arms, faces radiant with such joy that he could almost hear their laughter rising above the train’s steady rumble. They were the very shape of freedom—seeing nothing, knowing nothing, but the girl before then.
“Do ya like the flowers?” Hikaru asked.
“Hmm,” Yoshiki hummed. It wasn’t really an answer, but it wasn’t one either. He kept his eyes steady on the meadows, but he could see from the reflection of the glass that Hikaru didn’t like his answer.
“Yoshiki.” Hikaru called for him, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. Yoshiki finally turned to face him. “Yer mad at me, ain’t you?” Short and clear. He wore his heart on his sleeves, unable to hide his intentions because deceit and lies were human’s creation, and he—despite his flesh and blood— was not.
“Nah,” Yoshiki said. It was the truth. He harbored no spite nor hatred for the creature wearing his best friend’s face. Lord knew he tried to hate him, tried to react the way one ought to when a demonic entity possessed their loved one, but he was weak. Regardless of what lied beyond the physical, it was Hikaru’s smile that brightened his darkest days; it was Hikaru’s voice that he dreamed about; it was Hikaru —always him.
“I won’t do it again,” Hikaru said. He sat on the seat across from him. The leg space was cramped, and their knees would occasionally graze against each other. Yet, as if unable to notice his surroundings, Hikaru drew closer. “I ain’t lying.” Their knees interlocked and Hikaru’s hand hovered over his thigh, almost as if he was too afraid to touch him but wanted to be close nevertheless. “I’d neva lie to you.”
Yoshiki lingered on those words. Hikaru could lie. Not to him but to others. “I’m not mad. Just—” He paused, his words dying in his throat. He met Hikaru’s gaze, meeting those eager eyes that threatened to eat him up if he wasn’t careful, “don’t kill people. Human lives are precious.”
Hikaru nodded along, much like how a kid would when listening to a lecture. He rested his hand on his thigh, treading slowly as he closed what little space was left between them.
“Yer really not mad?”
Yoshiki shook his head, and this time, Hikaru believed him, relief washing over his expression. Their legs were still hugging each other, but neither of them cared to point it out.
“I like ‘em. The flowers,” Yoshiki gave a proper answer, which drew a smile to Hikaru’s face. There were few things in the world that could leave him speechless from its sheer beauty alone, but Hikaru’s smile was one of them. No matter how many times he saw it, he would always stop in his tracks to stare.
“Do ya have a favorite?” Hikaru moved even closer, beaming with a snaggletoothed smile.
Yoshiki’s smile dropped because his Hikaru had once asked him the same thing. It was a few summers ago, when the heat was slightly more bearable and the sun’s rays fell short in a competition with Hikaru’s beams. They had derailed from the main road coming home from school because, of course, with Yoshiki’s luck, a nail had lodged in his bike's tire. While he was crouched over his bike, inspecting the blown tire, Hikaru stood behind him, complaining about anything and everything: from the burning sun to the sweat staining his armpits to the wind blowing dust and pollen onto his face.
“Complainin’ ain’t gonna make this any faster,” Yoshiki said. He ran his hand across the surface of the tire, trying to locate the nail. The action left his hand dirty from the tire’s smear and filth. “Ya’ know, you could at least pretend like you wanna help.”
There was no response. Maybe Hikaru ran off home without him. Yoshiki turned around to find a sunflower shoved in his face.
“Ta-dah~!” Hikaru chirped. “Ain’t it pretty?”
Yoshiki gulped. The flower was so vividly yellow. It was like it had invented the color itself. “It’s alright.” A lie. It was beautiful, the most beautiful flower he had ever seen, but not because of its striking colors but because Hikaru was smiling beside it.
“What?? Ya don’t like it? I ran in this stupid heat to get this.” Hikaru’s shoulder drooped, the flower seemingly drooping with him. “What d’ya favorite, then? There’s a whole bunch of flowers down there.” Hikaru gestured towards the meadows in the distance. He was sweating like he had just taken a shower, his panting audible despite the surrounding cicadas.
“Don't need ‘em,” Yoshiki said, returning his attention to his tire. It was an act. If he was honest, he would've asked Hikaru to pluck all the flowers in the world because it wasn't the flowers that he craved.
Hikaru pouted. He was too old to be acting like that. “Yer not even gonna take this one? That’s so ungentlemanly, Yoshiki. If I was a girl, I'd be real hurt, ya know?”
Yoshiki paused. A small and invisible pause.
He pushed himself up from the ground, giving up on finding the damn nail. It was too stupid hot for this. His cheeks were already flushed red from the heat. It was the heat, he blamed. “Yer not a girl though.” He grabbed the bike’s handlebar, his dirty hands staining the grip, tainting it with an ashen charcoal color. Good thing he didn’t take the sunflower. He would've ruined it with his filth.
“Yer right,” Hikaru mumbled. “I’m not.”
Yoshiki snapped to the present, Hikaru’s face inches away from his.
“We’re here.” Hikaru grinned.
Yoshiki looked outside. They had escaped from the confines of the Kubitachi village.
It wouldn’t be for long, but —at least for now— Yoshiki could breathe freely.
The theater’s speakers boomed around them. Hikaru sat on the edge of his seat, eyes glimmering with a child-like excitement. He had been eagerly waiting for the release of this movie, bringing it up between their school discussions any time he had the chance.
Yoshiki had thought about it before, but he wondered what it was like to inherit another person’s likes, dislikes, and even personality.
How much of Hikaru remained?
How much of him would be replaced with time?
Yoshiki hugged his backpack. Stripped of his books and pencils, it should have been almost empty, but the last item pressed down with an inexplicable heaviness, as though the bag carried more than it held.
When the movie ended, they left the theater together. Hikaru walked by his side, gushing over every detail of the film, imitating the fight scenes like a kid. Although they had fled far from Kubitachi village—far enough for it to become a distant memory—the relentless heat clung to them, and each moment spent outdoors pushed Yoshiki closer to the brink of heat exhaustion.
“Wanna popsicle?”
Hikaru nodded, pressing his lip into a cheeky smile.
***
“Waaaah! Yoshiki, yer too good at this!” Hikaru cheered. Normally, his loud voice would draw the attention of bystanders, but amidst the cacophony of video game sounds in the arcade, no one seemed to care.
Yoshiki retrieved the box he had just won from the claw machine. It was a toy box of Ron and Tsumo, characters from the movie they had just watched. He handed it to Hikaru.
“For me?” Hikaru asked, surprised. His lips were tinted red from the artificial coloring of the popsicle they had eaten. “Yer really the sweetest guy, Yoshiki.” The words slipped from his mouth as gently as morning dew drifting from the petals of a flower, but no matter how softly they landed, it couldn’t sugarcoat a lie into a truth because Yoshiki wasn’t sweet. He was harsh, distant, and cold, and Hikaru would realize his misjudgment soon enough.
“Yer the only one who’ll think that.”
Hikaru beamed. Bright yet artificial. “ ‘Cus, I’m the one who knows ya the best~”
Yoshiki looked away from the light, fearing his shadow would react because even if it was fake, when there was light, he would be there, festering in the depths of darkness.
***
The sun’s rays had softened to a shimmering glow. They were back on the train. This time, Hikaru sat beside him, and instead of hovering his hand over his skin like he did before, unsure if he was allowed to touch, he leaned comfortably on his shoulder, having drifted off into a deep sleep.
Yoshiki caught a whiff of honeydew shampoo. The same one the real Hikaru used to use.
The day was nearing its end, and in his moment of lethargy, he reasoned a final act of selfishness was forgivable because even death row inmates were allowed one last meal before their execution. He leaned his head against Hikaru’s and prayed to a god that never answered his calls for the train to miss their stop.
***
“I got a video of today’s choir concert,” Yoshiki said, tapping to start the recording. He sat on the floor, drinking up what little coolness resided within his bedroom’s wooden panes. Hikaru perked up from his bed, energy at a high after the nap he had on the trip back.
His curtains were drawn, but the orange light of the sunset managed to creep inside, slicing the darkness in the room with its presence. The choir began to sing.
Without a sound
Keep dreaming that dream
“They sound good, huh?” Hikaru smiled. “Maybe we should’ve gone.”
This pounding in my heart
Now…
Hikaru bobbed his head, singing along as if he really was there.
Joy, dear friend
See that gleaming shadow on our days
And chase after it
Hikaru’s singing was beautiful. Not because of Mr. Hara’s teaching. Not because of the song’s lyrics. But for the simple fact that it was his —his voice, his lips, his singing. And, while the rest of their friends were celebrating a successful concert, while the rest of the world was living out normal human lives, Yoshiki reached into the depths of his backpack.
Woe, dear frien—
His phone dropped, cracking on impact.
Yoshiki had driven the knife into Hikaru. The vulgar squelch. The naked blood.
…that wandering soul
Never forget, keep chasing onward
He didn’t move. Didn’t know how to. Hikaru’s ragged breathing heaved in his ear, and it was like he was in the mountains again, running until his legs nearly gave out, searching, hoping, to find the best friend he grew up with. But he misremembered because Hikaru was already dead when he found him. There was no ragged breathing. There was nothing. Nothing but a rigid and cold corpse.
Yoshiki coughed with his lungs. He doubled over, falling to his knees. Blood. There was so much blood, and it wasn’t just underneath his fingernails. It was everywhere. His hands and his shirt and his bed and the floor and—Hikaru.
“I knew it. You won’t die.” He wanted to yank out his hair.
The sound of his classmates cheering cut off abruptly. The video had ended.
“You hung out with me all day ‘cus you were plotting to kill me?”
A few strands of hair fell onto the ground. They, too, were bloody. “I wanted your last memory to be a fun one.” His voice broke under the pressure. Inhaling a sharp breath, he tried to regain his composure. “Since you won’t die—” He paused. The sunlight peeking between his curtains cast a dim glow on his skin, highlighting the fizzling darkness of his silhouette. “Kill me.”
A primal, guttural sound escaped from Hikaru. Like he was a wounded animal.
“No—” Hikaru gasped. “No, no, no.” He mumbled, the open wound in his stomach pulsating with his every word, while his iris smeared further and further until it no longer resembled a regular human eye.
“I can’t grant that.” Tears fell from where his eyes should be, while a tendril of black and red swam out from the gape of his stab wound. “You can’t die, Yoshiki. That’s too—”
Then, as if something clicked within him, Hikaru stopped. His true form retreated within himself, and he wiped away his tears. Then, as if he had no other choice, he offered a reassuring smile before using his arm to split open his chest cavity, digging his way inside. The squelching rang in Yoshiki’s ears. Filthy. Disgusting. Hikaru slowly pulled his hand back out, a line of vermin trailing his movement. He was removing it, removing the filth, the dirt, the components that made him, him.
Hikaru ground his teeth to muffle himself, but when the line of darkness snapped, he shouted in excruciating agony. He was breathing, gasping for air as if he had just gone to hell and back.
“Yoshiki, take this,” Hikaru said, breathless. “It’s half of my insides.”
Yoshiki stared at the bone Hikaru had just ripped from his body. He ought to say something. Anything. But, what was he supposed to say? He had never tried to kill anyone before, and he definitely never had anyone he tried to kill offer a piece of themselves to him like some kind of peace offering.
“I can’t really comprehend how much life is worth. But I made myself smaller—” Hikaru slipped down from the bed and sat on the floor, meeting his eye level. “So, I won’t be able to kill people as easily.”
Yoshiki opened his lips, but still, no words would come out.
Hikaru had made himself smaller. Weaker. More susceptible to danger, even though an animal’s first and only instinct was to survive. Hikaru had fought against his nature. What for?
A promise.
Hikaru took his hand and placed the piece of himself into his palm.
Yoshiki couldn’t bring himself to meet Hikaru’s eyes.
Because even after everything —an attempt on his life, a betrayal from his closest confidant—, Hikaru looked at him with the same gaze, eyes aglow with wonder, as if clinging to the last flicker of light in a world swallowed by darkness. He could see his own reflection in Hikaru’s eyes. A sparkler’s flame.
Hikaru was no longer human.
He was a monster, capable of killing without batting an eye. He was an animal, unable to understand the morality of his kill. He was Hikaru, willing to tear himself apart to prevent himself from killing further.