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Yuuta lay in his dorm bed, eyes wide, the ceiling above him crawling with shadows that refused to settle. Sleep was a fading memory, a luxury he could no longer claim. Every time he closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids came alive: flickers of movement, fragments of sound—Inumaki’s laughter, the soft ripple of his voice behind that ever-present collar. The images looped, a fever dream of longing and regret.
He turned over, sheets bunching around his legs, cold sweat slicking his skin. Inumaki’s face haunted him—sometimes smiling, sometimes unreadable, always just out of reach. Yuuta tried to count the seconds between breaths, tried to block out the memory of that afternoon: Inumaki in the courtyard, sunlight glinting in his hair, turning toward Aoto with a smile Yuuta thought was only ever meant for him.
A prickling sensation at the base of Yuuta’s neck made him shiver. He could feel Rika, a chill presence at the edge of his consciousness, watching with hollow, jealous eyes. Sometimes she whispered to him, voice like the rustle of dead leaves, echoing the needs he couldn’t voice aloud.
He should be yours. Ours. Why is he laughing with someone else? The words curled around Yuuta’s heart, tightening until it hurt to breathe.
He tried to tell himself it wasn’t cheating; he and Inumaki weren’t together. Not yet. But it gnawed at him all the same, a slow, sickening sensation, as if invisible hands were reaching into his chest, pulling his heart apart piece by piece. He’d never known jealousy could taste so bitter, could seep so easily into his bones.
He replayed every detail: the way Aoto stood too close, the way Inumaki’s gloved hand brushed against Aoto’s sleeve, the private jokes Yuuta couldn’t decipher. Each memory sharpened and grew more monstrous in the dark. He imagined Aoto’s hands, greedy and undeserving, imagined Inumaki’s laughter growing fainter, turning away from him forever.
He sat up, unable to lie still, and stared out the window. The campus was quiet, but in the stillness, Yuuta imagined footsteps just beyond the glass, imagined shadows flickering where none should be. He wondered if Inumaki was awake, if he was thinking of Yuuta at all, or if Aoto’s smile was filling up all the places Yuuta used to occupy.
Rika’s presence pressed closer, cold and suffocating. She didn’t need to speak—her jealousy was his own, magnified, monstrous. It pooled in the hollows of his chest, electric and raw. In those moments, Yuuta didn’t know where he ended and Rika began.
He thought of Aoto’s face, the curve of his mouth, the easy way he spoke to Inumaki. The urge to erase him—to remove him from the picture, from Inumaki’s life—was sudden and overwhelming. Yuuta’s hands began to tremble. He pressed them flat against the mattress, willing the shaking to stop.
It’s not fair, he thought. He should be with me. He belongs with me.
The words echoed in the room, silent and heavy. The shadows on the ceiling seemed to shift, thickening, listening.
Yuuta squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for sleep, for respite from the gnawing ache. But the darkness only brought him closer to the edge, to the whispering voice that promised he could have what he wanted—if only he was willing to reach out and take it.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windowpanes. Inside, Yuuta remained frozen, the weight of his longing and dread pressing down like a cold hand. Morning would come, eventually. But Yuuta knew the night held him now, and it wouldn’t let go.
____
The next day dawned gray and listless, clouds hanging low over the rooftops of the campus. Yuuta forced himself through the motions—breakfast, class, the steady rhythm of training with Maki on the practice field. Sweat streaked his brow, and the sharp ache in his muscles was a welcome distraction from the thoughts gnawing at him.
Maki circled, wooden sword poised, a half-smirk curling her lips. “You’re slow today, Yuuta.”
Yuuta managed a halfhearted swing, the blade missing its mark by inches. His mind was elsewhere—adrift in a fog of unease and longing, every muscle in his body tense with the effort to keep his attention on the present moment.
He was about to try again when something at the edge of the field caught his eye. Inumaki was there, standing beneath the shade of a ginkgo tree, Aoto at his side. They stood close—too close. Aoto’s hand gestured animatedly as Inumaki signed a reply, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Yuuta’s world narrowed. The clatter of the practice sword fell away, replaced by a dull, sick thud in his chest. He stared, unblinking, as Aoto leaned in, brushing a fallen leaf from Inumaki’s shoulder—casual, familiar, intimate. It was as if the air between them shimmered, sealing them off behind an invisible barrier Yuuta couldn’t cross.
Maki followed his gaze, the smirk on her lips widening. “There he goes again—boyfriend number two,” she teased, voice lilting. “Gonna challenge him to a fight, or just stare him to death?”
Yuuta’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles went white. “It’s not funny,” he said, voice flat, eyes never leaving the pair beneath the tree.
Maki’s laughter faded, replaced by a searching look. “Hey. I was kidding. You look like you’re about to snap that thing in half.”
But Yuuta didn’t answer. His heart hammered, a frantic, broken rhythm. The world around him seemed to fade, colors leeching out, until only Inumaki and Aoto remained—locked in a world to which Yuuta would never belong.
A cold wind whipped across the field, stirring Maki’s hair and sending a shiver down Yuuta’s spine. The shadows beneath the trees deepened, stretching long fingers across the grass. Yuuta’s breath came shallow and uneven, his focus tunneling until the only thing that mattered was the space between Inumaki and Aoto—and the way it refused to widen.
In the pit of his stomach, something cold and ancient twisted, whispering that it didn’t have to be this way. Yuuta’s jaw clenched, the urge to intervene burning through his veins.
Maki called his name again, a note of concern threading through her voice, but he barely heard her. All he could see was Aoto’s hand, still resting on Inumaki’s shoulder, and the easy way Inumaki leaned into it, unaware of the storm brewing just a few steps away.
The wind shifted again, carrying the brittle scent of autumn. Yuuta barely noticed. Shadows clung to his feet, and the world felt smaller, darker, as if it was closing in around him. The only thing that felt real was the relentless ache of longing—and the certainty that something, or someone, would have to break.
_____
Today was the day. Yuuta could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, quickening his pulse as he made his way across campus. He’d barely slept, replaying his plan again and again—nothing extravagant, just a simple movie date, just the two of them. He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar coolness of the ring circling his finger, an anchor in the storm of his nerves.
He spotted Inumaki near the main gate, sunlight filtering through the trees, casting dappled shadows across his hair. Inumaki stood with his hands in his pockets, looking just a little lost in thought. Yuuta’s heart leapt. He rehearsed his words one last time, tongue heavy in his mouth. Do you want to go to the movies with me? Just us? It was simple. It would be perfect.
Yuuta drew closer, fidgeting with the ring, searching for Inumaki’s eyes. He opened his mouth, just as the world shifted—Aoto’s voice cut through the air, bright and unwelcome. “Inumaki! There you are—I told the others we’d meet them by the station.”
Yuuta froze. Aoto slid into the space beside Inumaki, easy and familiar, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. A group of juniors and seniors clustered a little ways down the path, laughing and calling out greetings. “C’mon, we’re late!” Aoto grinned, waving for Inumaki to follow.
Inumaki paused, glancing back at Yuuta. His eyes softened with apology, a silent sorry written in the crinkle of his brow. Yuuta tried to force a smile, but it felt brittle, barely holding together. He watched as Inumaki hesitated, then let himself be swept along in the current of voices and movement, swallowed up by the group—by Aoto.
Yuuta stood there, hands clenched at his sides, the ring digging into his palm. He watched them walk away, the distance between him and Inumaki growing with every step.
He turned, walking in the opposite direction, shadows stretching long and thin at his feet. The world around him faded, sound flattening to a dull, echoing throb.
He ruins everything. Every time I try—every time I’m almost there—he appears. Always there, always in the way, always taking Inumaki’s attention, his laughter, his time. Why does Inumaki let him? Why does he look at him like that? He’s supposed to be with me. He was mine first. Aoto is just a parasite, feeding on what doesn’t belong to him. I was finally going to ask. I was finally going to make it real. He took that from me.
Yuuta’s breath came sharp and shallow, anger and hurt tangling in his chest.
He doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t understand. He’ll never love Inumaki the way I do. The way I could. The way I will. If he would just disappear, everything would fall into place. If he were gone, Inumaki would see me. He’d have no choice but to see me. Maybe he’d even thank me for it. Maybe he’d finally be mine.
As Yuuta disappeared into the deepening shadows, the ring cold and sharp against his skin, the thought echoed, dark and certain, in the hollow of his mind.
____
Yuuta tried to act casual as he watched Inumaki hold the pot of flowers. They were shopping around the gardening store, and Inumaki’s eyes had lingered on the pot—a bright blue ceramic, home to a bundle of small, white, star-shaped blooms. The price tag had made both of them pause. Inumaki had shrugged, lips pulled into a thin line. ‘It’s fine,’ he sighed. Yuuta knew he was disappointed.
But Yuuta had doubled back, feigning a need to look at another aisle. In truth, he’d sent Gojo a hurried message: Can you send me some money? Emergency. Gojo’s reply had come with a string of unnecessary winking emojis, but the transfer processed instantly.
Inumaki waited outside the shop, relaxed and unhurried, watching the gentle flow of people passing by. He stood with his single arm resting at his side, perfectly content in the mild afternoon air. There was no urgency in his posture—just a quiet patience, a subtle confidence that Yuuta would return when he was ready.
The bell above the shop’s door chimed softly. Yuuta stepped out, his face flushed and the pot of flowers awkwardly hidden behind his back. He lingered for a moment, looking at Inumaki—his pulse quickened, hands slick with nervous sweat, but he couldn’t help smiling just a little.
Inumaki turned at the sound of Yuuta’s footsteps. As their eyes met, Yuuta brought the flowers out from behind his back and offered them forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “I got you something,” he said, a hopeful tremor in his words.
Surprise flickered across Inumaki’s face, his eyes growing wide and bright. He looked at the flowers, then at Yuuta, a small smile tugging at his lips. Tilting his head, he raised an eyebrow with quiet curiosity, silently asking about the money with a gentle, questioning glance.
Yuuta just shook his head, his smile turning softer, more earnest. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a gift. I wanted to do this for you.” His words came out a little shaky, but the affection in his gaze was unmistakable.
A gentle flush crept over Inumaki’s cheeks, the pink blooming just beneath his skin. Carefully, he reached out with his one arm, cradling the pot of flowers as if it were something fragile and precious. He lingered there for a moment, taking in the unexpected gift, the care behind it.
Then, without a word, Inumaki stepped closer. He leaned quietly against Yuuta’s chest, resting his head just beneath Yuuta’s chin, letting his body relax into the warmth of Yuuta’s embrace. For a moment, the world felt very small—just the two of them, the scent of fresh petals, and the soft thud of Yuuta’s racing heart.
“…Tuna mayo,” Inumaki murmured, voice low but full of gratitude, the simple phrase carrying all the meaning it needed to.
Yuuta’s arms circled Inumaki in a gentle, trembling hug. His hands were still sweaty, but he pressed on, holding Inumaki close, feeling the steadiness and quiet joy between them. Surrounded by the soft afternoon light and the delicate fragrance of the flowers, both of them allowed themselves to just be—together, in this rare pocket of peace.
Just them, like it should be.
____
This was the last straw.
The afternoon sun filtered through the tangled branches behind the old school, dust motes drifting in the golden light. Yuuta moved quietly, careful not to disturb the pattern he and Inumaki had built over the years. The gentle clink of watering cans, the soft press of knees against damp earth, the low, familiar rhythm of Inumaki’s humming—this was their ritual. Their garden. Their time. It had always been, from before Shibuya, before everything was broken and stitched back together wrong, before Yuuta had gone away and come back to find the world off-kilter.
He watched Inumaki kneel beside the lilies, fingers brushing dirt from the petals with practiced care. Yuuta’s chest ached with something desperate, a fragile hope that maybe, here, things could still be the same. Just for a while.
Yuuta poured water at the base of the hydrangeas, glancing over. “You missed a spot,” he said softly.
Inumaki glanced up, eyes crinkling with a smile above his collar. He signed, ‘I’ll get it.’
Yuuta smiled back, small and secret. They didn’t need many words for this. This quiet, this closeness—it was enough.
Until the sound of footsteps crushed the hush. Yuuta’s body tensed, a cold chill snaking up his spine.
“Need any help?” called Aoto, his voice jagged and too loud for the garden’s tender silence. He stood at the edge of their sanctuary, hands in his pockets, smile wide and oblivious.
Yuuta froze. He waited for Inumaki to say something, to gently turn Aoto away, but Inumaki only looked up in surprise. Before he could even sign a reply, Aoto strode forward, grabbing a spare watering can and sloshing water over the neat rows of marigolds. “I’ll get these over here,” Aoto announced, trampling their careful order, breaking the silent rhythm that made this place theirs.
No. No, no, no. No. The word pounded in Yuuta’s skull, a frantic drumbeat drowning out the birds and breeze. He stared at Aoto, gaze hollow and unblinking, every muscle in his body wound tight as wire. This was their time, theirs
Inumaki, sensing the tension, glanced at Yuuta. He signed, ‘It’s okay, right?’
Yuuta’s voice was thin and strained. “It’s…fine,” he lied, watching Aoto stomp through the flower beds, talking as if he belonged. “He’s just—he doesn’t know how we do things here, is all.”
Inumaki’s brow furrowed, his fingers pausing mid-sign. “Bonito flakes?” He asked gently, a question and an apology in one.
Yuuta shook his head, eyes fixed on Aoto’s back. “No, it’s not your fault.” His words tasted like ash. “I just… This was supposed to be our time.”
Inumaki’s gaze softened with understanding, but before he could say more, Aoto called out, “Hey, Inumaki, look at this weird bug I found!” He knelt, holding a beetle aloft, grinning as if he’d discovered buried treasure.
Yuuta’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his skin. The garden felt smaller, the air colder, as if even the sun had turned its face away.
He ruins everything. He doesn’t understand what he’s ruining. He just barges in, takes and takes, like nothing ever belonged to anyone but him. He can’t have this. He can’t have you. He needs to go. He needs to disappear.
Inumaki tapped Yuuta’s sleeve, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. He signed softly, “Tuna mayo”.
‘Don’t be upset. We’ll do this again. Just us.’
Yuuta forced a smile, but his eyes never left Aoto. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Just us.”
But as Aoto’s laughter echoed harshly through the garden, Yuuta felt something cold and poisonous blooming in his chest—a promise that he would not let anything, or anyone, steal this from him again.
It’ll be them just again soon.
____
The sun had vanished behind a thick veil of clouds by the time Yuuta and Aoto reached the abandoned apartment complex. The world outside had dulled to a palette of bruised grays, and the building itself loomed over them, its windows gaping and hollow, a silent witness to things best left unspoken. The air was thick, heavy with the metallic tang of old curses. Yuuta slipped inside without a word, his movements slow and deliberate, his face a mask of unnatural calm. Inside his mind, something feverish twisted—his own thoughts overlapping, getting darker, obsessive. Inumaki’s name pulsed through him, a mantra, a curse, a claim.
Aoto trailed behind, trying to break the suffocating silence with nervous humming. “Man, this place creeps me out,” he joked, forcing a laugh as he fiddled with his bag. “Glad you’re here, Yuuta. You always make this stuff look easy.”
But Yuuta barely registered Aoto’s voice. In his head, the only voice that mattered was Inumaki’s—soft, fleeting, echoing in a way that made it hard to tell where memory ended and obsession began. Sometimes, Yuuta thought he could hear himself speaking back, two voices tangled together, indistinguishable and desperate. Inumaki was his. The thought repeated, circling, tightening. Only his.
They moved through the building in silence, Yuuta dispatching curses with mechanical efficiency, the motions rote and hollow. Every time a curse screamed and dissolved, he imagined erasing every obstacle that stood between him and Inumaki. His hand shook at his side, violence blistering beneath his skin, just barely contained.
Aoto broke the silence again, this time more hesitantly. “Inumaki talks about you a lot. I get why—”
Yuuta’s grip tightened. The sound of Inumaki’s name from Aoto’s mouth was an affront, a theft. Wasn’t Inumaki his? Wasn’t it obvious? His jaw clenched until he tasted blood, using the sting to anchor himself. They finished the last room in silence, the curse residue hanging like an accusation.
In the ruined corridor, Yuuta finally stopped. The silence pressed down, thick and electric. He turned to face Aoto, eyes dark and cold, his expression unreadable. In that moment, Yuuta looked at Aoto as if he were nothing. Or worse—a shadow that needed to be banished.
“Stop hanging around Inumaki,” Yuuta said, his voice barely above a whisper, but sharp as a blade.
Aoto blinked, startled, searching Yuuta’s face for a joke. “What? Dude, what are you—?”
Yuuta almost smiled, a twisted flicker crossing his face. “You act like you have a right to him. But you don’t. You never did, No one does, no one but me.” His voice wavered, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a snarl. “He’s mine. He always has been.”
He stepped closer, the corridor seeming to shrink around them. “You’re always there. Always taking his time. Our time. You’re not supposed to be part of it.” His voice slipped, the words sometimes meant for Aoto, sometimes for himself, as if he was arguing with the last fragment of reason left in him.
Aoto tried to back away, but Yuuta’s next words rooted him in place. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you just, vanished? I do. All the time.”
The last shards of restraint slipped away. Yuuta lunged—fast, but not to kill. Not yet. He wanted Aoto to run, to feel every cut and every moment of terror, to know that escape was a lie. The hallway filled with the echo of Aoto’s panicked footsteps and Yuuta’s slow, methodical advance. He didn’t chase. He walked, each step deliberate, savoring the widening gap, knowing it would never be enough.
“Go on,” Yuuta called, voice eerily gentle. “Run. That’s what you do best, isn’t it? It hurts more when you try.”
Every time Aoto faltered, Yuuta caught up, his blade flashing—another slow, shallow cut, never fatal. He talked as he moved, sometimes softly, sometimes as if he was talking to himself in a fevered mirror. “Do you know what it’s like to need someone until you feel like you can't breathe? Until you can’t tell if you’re protecting them, or just protecting yourself from being alone?”
Another slice. Another gasp. Yuuta’s face was calm, almost serene, as if he was somewhere else, talking to someone else entirely.
“Inumaki belongs with me. He makes me whole. You’re just noise—static I need to silence. Every step you take, every breath you steal, could be his. Should be his.”
Aoto’s cries grew weaker, his movements slower, his world shrinking to the pain that Yuuta dealt out in careful increments. Yuuta let him crawl, stumble, drag himself down the hall, always close enough to remind him that there was no escape.
“Sometimes,” Yuuta whispered, the words creeping out like smoke, “I imagine me and Inumaki getting married. A spring wedding. All those flowers—white, red—blooming, blooming, blooming, until you can’t see the earth beneath them. The sun overhead, wide and staring, scorching through the clouds just to watch us. I see it, smell the petals, so, so sweet, I wouldn’t if he would stand beside me, smile for me, if you were gone, if he knew it was my fault you were gone.”
Aoto tried to gasp out a reply—something desperate, a plea, a denial—but Yuuta’s hand moved faster than thought. Cold steel slid between Aoto’s ribs, silencing him with a wet, shuddering gasp. Yuuta’s eyes never left his; the smile on his lips didn’t falter. He pressed a finger to Aoto’s trembling mouth, as if shushing a child.
“Shh,” Yuuta breathed, almost tender. “Don’t interrupt. You’ll ruin the moment.”
He twisted his sword, gentle as a lover. “You know, I wonder if Inumaki would even notice you were gone.” Yuuta’s voice grew softer, almost sing-song. “Or maybe—finally—he’d see me. Really see me. The way I see him. Every piece of him, every secret, every shadow. Maybe he’d realize there’s no one left but me. Maybe he’d understand that’s the way it was always meant to be. No one else. No one ever was—except me.”
Blood pooled, warm and sticky, but Yuuta only leaned closer, his breath cold against Aoto’s ear. “Wouldn’t that be beautiful? Just us, forever. No more interruptions.”
Yuuta knelt beside him, almost gentle, brushing blood from his cheek. “You should have stayed away,” he whispered, as if confiding in himself and the corpse.
And then, slowly, deliberately, Yuuta finished it—each movement unhurried, every final silence claimed as his own. Only then did the world quiet, the last obstacle between him and Inumaki gone, leaving Yuuta alone with the echo of his own possessive devotion, and a hush that felt almost like peace.
_____
Inumaki and Yuuta were at the garden again—just the two of them, as if the universe had quietly rearranged itself to make this moment possible. The sun was gentle and golden, weaving through a patchwork of perfect clouds, warming the earth without burning it. The garden glowed with the freshness of last night’s rain; every stem and petal was touched with dew, shimmering like tiny jewels in the morning light.
Yuuta knelt by the old metal spigot, listening to the clear water rush into the watering can. The sound was soothing, almost meditative, and for a moment Yuuta let himself get lost in it, watching the sunlight dance on the rippling surface. He ran his fingers through the cold water, feeling it slip between them like a promise.
He glanced over his shoulder at Inumaki, who was crouched in the soft, dark earth a few feet away. Inumaki’s hair fell forward as he worked, hiding his expression as he pressed new seeds into the ground with practiced, gentle hands. Occasionally, he’d pause to brush loose soil from his fingers or tuck a stray stem back into place. The garden was hushed except for the distant drone of bees and the birds singing in the hedges.
Yuuta’s heart beat faster, nerves and hope building in his chest. He stood and walked over, the watering can heavy but grounding in his grip. He watched Inumaki for a moment longer, taking in the way the light caught in his hair, the curve of his shoulders, the quiet focus on his face. It felt like something fragile and precious—something Yuuta didn’t want to break.
Taking a steadying breath, Yuuta set the watering can down and knelt beside Inumaki, close enough that their knees brushed in the damp grass. He reached out, gently, to take Inumaki’s free hand in his own, feeling the warmth and the faint tremor in his fingers. His own hand was shaking slightly, but he didn’t let go.
“Um, Inumaki…” Yuuta’s voice was small, a little breathless, a little apologetic. “Would you… Maybe want to go on a date with me? Somewhere—a-anywhere, really. A movie, a café, a walk, I don’t care. I just… I want to be with you.”
Inumaki’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. A slow, beautiful blush crept up his cheeks, and for a moment he just stared at Yuuta, as if searching his face for some sign that this was real. Then, shyly, he nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He squeezed Yuuta’s hand in silent agreement, his blush deepening as he ducked his head.
Yuuta felt his own face flush hot, a sweet, giddy happiness bubbling up inside him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, grinning at Inumaki, unable to hide his relief.
They sat together in the garden, surrounded by the fresh scent of soil and flowers, the warmth of the sun, and the promise of something new. In that perfect, fragile moment, it was just the two of them—like it always should have been.
Just the two of them.