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This is the second time Yoshiki looks at ‘Hikaru’ in that way. The first time, it was in the peak heat of summer, ice melting on their hands, cicadas buzzing in the background. Yoshiki had asked him a simple question—yer not Hikaru, are ya?—and ‘Hikaru’ confessed. The confession started with a gasp, filled with unwavering fear and ended with his eyes leaking, both tears and the endless swirling thing, like oil spilling into a bottomless space. When their hug ended, Yoshiki’s gaze clung to him. It was this look. A look of frantic fear, as if ‘Hikaru’ might vanish the moment he blinks.
The rumble from the train is filling the silence between them. ‘Hikaru’ purses his lips, trying to get the boy beside him to say something. Anything. It has not been an hour since his confession at the beach, it has not been half an hour since Yoshiki spent what felt like forever on his knees, in the middle of the seaside with his head leaning on his stomach, begging him to stay. Begging ‘Hikaru’ to understand that he is not a replacement.
“Hey.” ‘Hikaru’ sniffs. “Did I hurt ya a lot?”
Yoshiki does not even blink. He keeps staring at ‘Hikaru’, unmoving, as if his words are hugging Yoshiki’s neck like a barbed wire. When seconds turn into minutes, Yoshiki finally moves. He scoots closer to where ‘Hikaru’ is sitting, and he says. “Ya did, but I forgive ya.”
“Ya always do that. Forgive me, I mean. That must be why yer soul is warm. I like that about ya.”
Yoshiki stares at the faint line on his neck. “If ya go, I will go with ya. I wanna go far, far away with ya.”
“To Tokyo?”
“Anywhere but the mountain.”
“Mm.” ‘Hikaru’ watches the scenery pass by. Anywhere they go, ‘Hikaru’ will be ready to protect Yoshiki.
“Did ya mean it? What ya said on the beach? That,” Yoshiki’s gaze falters for a moment. “That ya love me.”
Yes. “I think I love ya, in my own way.”
‘Hikaru’ wants. He wants Yoshiki’s soul. His skin. His bones. His heart. His blood. He wants to keep Yoshiki in him forever, hides him and shelters him from the bad, bad world.
🫀🫀🫀
“Ya need to let go of my hand, or I can’t go home.”
‘Hikaru’s palm looks slightly red, not from the heat, but from how tight Yoshiki is holding it. They are in front of Yoshiki’s house, the presence of it feels almost mocking because not even a day before, Yoshiki was inside it, strangled by words from his own flesh and blood.
“Stay with me.” Yoshiki pleads, his eyes hiding behind his overgrown bangs. “How would I know ya won’t disappear to the mountain if I let go of ya?”
“Yoshiki—”
“I don’t—” Yoshiki takes a shaky breath. “I’m selfish. I don’t wanna let go of ya.”
‘Hikaru’ moves forward, his other hand slowly takes Yoshiki’s cheek. It is warm, and slightly wet. “I can sleep with ya tonight.” And forever, is what ‘Hikaru’ says to himself. Yoshiki leads him inside, up the stairs to his room, never once letting go of his hand.
They take turns showering. ‘Hikaru’ jokes about how he can braid Yoshiki’s bangs with how long it has grown, even making funny faces in the mirror when he is drying Yoshiki’s hair with a towel, but not once his friend cracks a smile. ‘Hikaru’ scratches his neck, seeming unsure of what to do. “Uhh, Yoshiki.. Did I do something wrong again? Yer seems mad at me still.”
Yoshiki stares. His gaze is fixed on ‘Hikaru’s reflection, stretching through the mirror. Then, his head suddenly dips, casting that shadow on his face. Wordlessly, he reaches out, his fingers closing in ‘Hikaru’s for countless times that evening. Yoshiki guides him to his bed after shutting off the lamp and eases them down, their faces inches apart on the pillow.
Like this, ‘Hikaru’ can feel Yoshiki’s warm soul even stronger. He puts his hand on Yoshiki’s chest, feeling that thump, thump, thump rhythm while the fire-like soul dances. “I will not go to the mountain, Yoshiki. I promised ya.”
Their legs shift, tangling in the space between them. Where ‘Hikaru's hand rests over his heart, Yoshiki's own fingers slowly thread through his, capturing them in a gentle lock. “I love ya too.” Yoshiki whispers. “I don’t know if it’s romantic... But that does not matter. I love ya. I love ya, I love ya.”
A wide, toothy grin spreads across ‘Hikaru’s face. Some kind of jolt, sharp and strange rattles through his ribcage, a feeling akin to when he tried shiitake manju for the first time. He moves closer, then closer, until Yoshiki’s breath is a warm puff against his skin, and the tips of their noses gently touch. That small touch leaves a lingering warmth on their cheeks. A soft silence settles as sleep slowly consumes them, and they drift off without letting go, hands clasp together in the dark.