Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It started with something small; a faint, nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was off. 

It was the kind of thing that probably wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone else besides him, and otherwise would have been brushed off as nothing, because it was just too ordinary to care about. 

Whatever it was, it got buried under all the noise that filled the classroom: the scrape of chair legs against tile, the shuffling of papers, and the steady hum of conversation that enthusiastically bounced from one desk to another. 

A few of the female students had even started laughing a little too loudly at an unfunny joke a few rows away, the kind of high and overly exaggerated laughter that made Hikaru’s head ache. 

The clock ticked steadily from its place above the blackboard, loud enough to make him aware of just how slow time could move when nothing was happening.

It was the kind of background noise that made up every day of human life, all those sounds blurring together until you stopped hearing them at all, sounds that most people would naturally tune out. 

Though, Hikaru wasn’t most people. He never had been, considering he wasn’t even human. And lately, he’d been watching Yoshiki a little too closely for his own good.

He could hear everything if he paid close enough attention; the faint scuff of a shoe against the tile, the whisper of chalk dragging across the board, even the uneven breathing of one of the boys that sat near the window. 

And lately, he’d found himself focusing on that one sound more than he should have. Watching Yoshiki had become an unintentional habit, one he kept catching himself falling into before he could think to stop it.

It wasn’t even for any real reason, not one he understood, anyway. Human emotions weren’t exactly something he was proficient in, no matter how hard he tried to understand them. 

There was just something about Yoshiki that caught his attention, something in the way he carried himself that was slightly different from how he used to be. 

At first, it had been almost easy to ignore. A glance here and there, a passing thought. But the feeling had lingered, sinking deeper every time Hikaru noticed another small, human detail that didn’t make sense to him—like the way Yoshiki smiled at people even when his eyes seemed to be weary, or how his hands trembled just a little when he was tired. 

Hikaru didn’t know why those things stood out to him so much. He only knew that they did, and it wouldn’t stop gnawing at him every time he noticed something new about how his best friend was acting lately. 

The day dragged on around him, hours melting together as the sun started to sink further into the Earth. It was one of those long, late afternoons where the heat seemed to cling to everyone and everything. The air inside the classroom was humid and thick, enough that every breath carried the faint taste of summer dust and chalk.

The windows were open, but the breeze outside wasn’t doing much to help. The breeze was weak, barely strong enough to make the curtains move. Every now and then, the corners of the fabric would lift and flutter before falling still again. 

Most of the class had already stopped pretending to care about whatever the teacher was saying up front. A few students had their heads buried in their arms, half-asleep on their desks, while others leaned close to whisper about weekend plans or inside jokes that earned quiet yet scattered bursts of laughter, fading in and out with the hum of the ceiling fan that clicked every few rotations. 

Though the fan barely even worked anymore, all it did was push the warm air around without actually cooling anything down around them. 

Someone near the back had given up completely, waving a folded worksheet back and forth to fan themselves. “Too damn hot,” they muttered under their breath. 

Hikaru sat somewhere in the middle of the room, slouched in his seat with his chin propped on one hand. He wasn’t really listening anymore either, not that he’d tried all that hard to begin with. The teacher’s voice had turned into background noise somewhere between the second and third worksheet, fading into the same dull rhythm as the ceiling fan.

Every few minutes, he would shift in his seat, pretending to write something down, but his pen barely touched the page. His handwriting trailed off into nothing, ink dots marking where his attention had wandered. 

His eyes kept drifting toward the window instead, tracing the slow crawl of sunlight as it stretched across the floorboards. It crept up the wall inch by inch, the way it always did when the day felt like it was never going to end.

Outside, everything looked a little too hazy. The rooftops shimmered under the glare of the sun. The trees down by the river swayed in and out of focus, their leaves flickering in the sunlight. Even the grass in the distance seemed to move faintly in the wind. The whole world beyond the window looked far away and strangely quiet, washed out by the light.

For a long while, Hikaru’s mind wandered. The usual unfocused, slow kind of thinking that only showed up during long afternoons like this, when the classroom felt too humid and his body felt like it was stuck between being awake and asleep. 

Then his eyes landed on Yoshiki.

He was sitting by the back window, the same spot he always claimed every day since the start of term. His head was bent over his notebook, pencil moving in slow, steady lines that filled the page with neat rows of numbers and equations. The kind of thing only someone like Yoshiki would bother doing after the bell was about to ring. 

The sunlight coming through the window hit him at just the right angle. It caught the side of his face, grazing along his jawline and turning the edges of his silky black hair into a soft gold where it touched. 

He didn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in whatever formula he was trying to finish. His brows were drawn together in that quiet, serious way they always did when he was thinking too hard or when he thought no one was looking.

It wasn’t a new expression, but there was something about it lately that made Hikaru stop and stare longer than he meant to. 

That look had been showing up more often lately, and it didn’t sit right with him.

Maybe it was because Yoshiki hadn’t smiled as much these past few weeks. Or maybe it was just the way his shoulders never seemed to relax anymore, like he was holding onto something heavy even when he was just sitting still.

Hikaru started noticing these small things at first. The little details that most people probably wouldn’t notice.

Yoshiki’s handwriting, for one—normally so neat to the point of being annoying—had started getting messier near the edges of his notebook. Not enough for anyone else to care, but enough for Hikaru to notice and worry.

Even the way some mornings his voice came out rough and scratchy, and Hikaru caught himself wondering if he’d even slept the night before. He didn’t know why that question kept coming up, or why it bothered him when it didn’t have an answer.

Every now and then, Yoshiki would even lean back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head until his joints cracked. Then he’d let out this small, frustrated sigh before leaning forward again and diving right back into whatever pile of worksheets or notes had been in front of him. 

He wasn’t the kind of person who complained, not even when he should’ve. That was just how he was. Hikaru had seen it a hundred times by now: how he would stay late after school to help Maki cram for tests, or run through notes with Yuuki until the classroom had emptied out and everyone had gone home. 

Sometimes he’d catch him helping Asako with student committee stuff, even though he wasn’t actually part of it.

It didn’t matter who asked or what they needed, if someone said, “Yoshiki, can you—”, he always said yes. Every single time, no hesitation. 

It didn’t seem to matter whether he was busy or tired or halfway through his own work; he’d still set his pencil down, still give that same small smile, and say, “Yeah, sure.” 

And Hikaru didn’t know if that made him kind…or just really, really tired.

He started noticing more once he realized what he was looking for. The faint dark circles that had started forming under Yoshiki’s eyes, the way his smile didn’t quite reach them anymore. The lunches that went half-eaten because someone always asked him for help halfway through. The way he’d yawn into his sleeve, pretending he wasn’t tired whenever someone pointed it out.

Even the way he’d still laugh when Asako teased him, but never quite had enough energy to throw a comment back like he used to. It was like all the color had been drained from him little by little, and no one had noticed.

No one except Hikaru.

He couldn’t help it. Once he started paying attention, it was all he could see.

It was strange, though. Strange because Hikaru didn’t really get tired himself, not the way humans did. He didn’t know what it felt like to have his body slow down at the end of the day, or to feel that ache behind his eyes after staying up too late. His thoughts didn’t fog over, his limbs didn’t get heavy, and he didn’t understand what people meant when they said they were “running on empty.”

But watching Yoshiki like this—slumped forward over his desk, blinking too slowly, still forcing that polite little smile when someone called his name—it made something twist uncomfortably in Hikaru’s chest. A small, quiet reminder that something wasn’t right, and that he needed to fix it somehow.

The only problem was, he had no idea what that meant either.

Still, the thought stuck with him. Even after the bell rang and the class emptied out, even when Yoshiki smiled at him on the way out and said, “See you outside,” in that same calm voice he always used.

Hikaru said it back without thinking, though the words didn’t feel right on his tongue. 

Because now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t unsee it. 

Yoshiki was tired. And Hikaru didn’t know why, or how to fix it, but he wanted to.

He just didn’t know what wanting meant yet.

It was sometime the next day after their lunch period when Hikaru first overheard it. It was one of those half-bored, half-gossipy conversations that drifted through the summer air when class was technically still in session, though no one was really trying to keep quiet at this point. 

This was the kind of afternoon in which everyone pretended to work just enough to look busy if the teacher happened to glance their way, and it was the same for Hikaru as well, scribbling mindlessly in his notebook every few minutes even if he wasn’t actually paying any attention. 

By now, the sun had settled low enough in the sky to hit the windows directly, spilling familiar golden light across the classroom once again. The long stripes of sunlight stretched across the floor and climbed up the desks, catching little specks of dust that were drifting in the air.

A few students were still halfheartedly working through their worksheets, pencils dragging across their notebook paper at an almost reluctant pace. But most of the class had already given up by now, chatting quietly or leaning back in their chairs like they were counting the minutes until the bell rang. Surely it wasn’t long until then.

The hum of the ceiling fan blended with the faint buzz of cicadas outside, both sounds so steady and quiet and constant that they almost disappeared into the background as they usually did.

Hikaru eventually glanced to his side, quickly noticing that Asako and Yuuki had pulled their desks together near one of the windows, their lunch boxes long since packed away for the day. The afternoon light hit the corner of their little setup, wrapping the two of them in a warm, golden glow as their giggles and mindless chatter floated through the air. 

Asako was leaning forward over her notebook, her elbows resting on the desk as she lazily spun her pen between her fingers like she was doing it just to stay awake. 

The half-page in front of her was covered in uneven lines and curves that looked more like doodles than anything school-related: circles, stars, a messy spiral or heart or two. Hikaru figured there was probably a reason she was the best at art in their group.

Yuuki, meanwhile, had almost completely surrendered to the summer heat. She was slouched back in her chair with her chin propped in her hand, eyelids heavy and looking about seconds away from dozing off entirely.

The two of them spoke in low voices, quiet enough to blend into the steady whir of the ceiling fan above them.

Hikaru wasn’t paying attention at first. His eyes had soon wandered toward Yoshiki again, like they always did when the world around him started to blur. And lately, Yoshiki has been on his mind a lot more often.  

The sunlight had shifted just enough to touch Yoshiki’s desk, tracing along his fingers and the slope of his wrist, so delicate and gentle that it almost looked intentional. The way the light hit his skin made Hikaru’s chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t name. 

Then Yuuki’s voice cut through the soft hum of the room, snapping his attention back towards the two girls. 

“I swear, I’m gonna lose it if Maki asks me to check his homework one more time,” she said, her tone somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Like, I ain’t his tutor. He can figure it out himself.”

Asako hummed a little without looking up, twisting the pen cap back on with a soft click. “He probably just wants help,” she said in a perfectly calm tone, the way it always was when she was trying to sound like the reasonable one of the two, which usually was often. “You know how he is. He acts helpless, but it ain’t that deep.”

Yuuki let out a long, exaggerated groan, slouching even further in her chair until her back nearly hit the edge of the window. “Yeah, but it’s always the same,” she said, throwing her head back dramatically. “He acts like I’m savin’ his life or somethin’.” 

She sighed, running her fingers through her bangs before adding, “I’m telling ya, if he’d just do one nice thing in return—like, I dunno, carry my stuff or buy me lunch, I’d probably let it slide.”

There was a short pause as she stared up at the ceiling fan spinning above them, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. “I’d at least stop complainin’ about it,” she muttered.

Asako finally glanced up, smirking in the process. “That’s called an act of service,” she said, tapping her pen against the desk. “It’s one of the love languages.”

Yuuki turned her head slowly to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “The what now?”

“The love languages,” Asako repeated, sounding faintly amused. “Y’know, that thing people talk about online. How everyone has a different way of showin’ they care. Like, some people say nice things—that’s ‘words of affirmation.’ Some people give gifts. Some people do things for others, like chores or helpin’ out. That’s acts of service.”

Yuuki blinked at her, looking unimpressed. “So...doin’ someone’s laundry counts as love?”

Asako laughed, leaning back in her chair, the legs of it creaking against the tiled floor below. “If it’s for the right person, yeah. Apparently it means ya care enough to make their life easier or somethin’.”

Yuuki groaned again, dragging it out dramatically in the process. “That’s so dumb. If someone tried to carry my bag, I’d just assume they were about to steal it.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s you,” Asako said with a smile. “If it was someone you actually liked, it’d be different.”

Yuuki squinted at her, trying not to smile back. “Would it, though?”

“Yeah,” Asako said confidently, sitting up a little straighter now that she had her attention. “You’d roll yer eyes an’ act all annoyed, but secretly you’d be happy ‘bout it. You’d tell me later and pretend you weren’t.”

Yuuki let out a soft laugh despite herself, her gaze drifting toward the window, where the sunlight had turned everything golden. The light caught on her hair, turning the strands almost amber. “Guess I wouldn’t complain,” she admitted after a moment, a reluctant smile finally tugging at the corners of her lips.

Asako smirked knowingly, twirling her pen between her fingers again. “Knew it.”

Their conversation soon drifted into different topics after that, something about who Asako liked, and who was going to get stuck cleaning the blackboard after homeroom today. Stupid things like that, things Hikaru didn’t much care about.

Though, Hikaru still found himself stuck on their previous conversation. The words acts of service and love language stayed caught somewhere in Hikaru’s mind. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop necessarily, nor had he even been listening on purpose. But those words were unfamiliar to something like him, and the way Asako and Yuuki had said them made him even more curious. 

It wasn’t the words themselves, really. It was the way the two had said them so casually, like they were common sense. As if everyone else already understood, and he was left behind in the know how. 

But he didn’t, not even a little bit. It seems he still had a lot left to learn about humans after all. 

To him, they had sounded like the kind of words humans threw around easily, words that must’ve meant something significant to them but didn’t make much sense to him or monsters like him. 

Maybe it was something humans needed to do, or perhaps it was something they needed to feel, in which he was at a loss for. 

Hikaru couldn’t tell which, and it frustrated him to no end.

The thought followed him through the rest of the day. It stuck around after the final bell rang, through the quiet chatter of students packing up and emptying out of the classroom, and even through the hour-long bike ride home with Yoshiki.

By the time night rolled in and the sky outside had gone a deep blue, Hikaru was sitting cross-legged on his futon with his phone in hand. The room was dim except for the faint blue glow of the screen reflecting off his face. 

His school bag was still by the door, his uniform shirt carelessly tossed on top of it, wrinkled from where he’d pulled it off without thinking before changing into a t-shirt. 

He hesitated for a second before typing, his thumbs hovering above the screen. Then, slowly, he entered the words: love language meaning.

The results popped up rather fast, there were multiple rows of bright, friendly-looking websites with colorful banners and obvious clickbait titles. He didn’t know which one to start with, though, so he just stared at his phone screen for a while, scrolling down with his thumb as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“10 Ways to Show Someone You Love Them!”

“Small Gestures That Mean the World!”

“Expressing Affection Through Acts of Service (Even if You’re Not Good With Words!)”

“5 Everyday Things That Say ‘I Care About You’ Without Saying a Word!”

The phrases felt almost too dramatic for what they were describing, but he still read through them carefully anyway, like there might be something in there worth learning that he might have missed otherwise.

He clicked on one of the articles at random.

The page loaded to a photo of two people sitting on a park bench, smiling warmly at each other. The text underneath was bright and full of exclamation points, like whoever wrote it was trying really hard to sound encouraging.

“Everyone has a love language! For some people, it’s words of affirmation—compliments and encouragement. For others, it’s acts of service—doing thoughtful favors for the person you care about. It might even be physical touch, like holding hands or light affection!”

Hikaru found himself pausing at that as he read through. His eyes narrowed slightly, skimming over the words again. 

Compliments. Favors. Touch.

They didn’t seem like complicated ideas on a base level, but Hikaru frowned anyway. It was the way the words sat on the screen made him feel like he was missing something obvious, almost like everyone else already knew what this was supposed to mean, and he was the only one who didn’t. 

Like he was missing something human.

He stared for a while longer, the brightness of the screen reflecting faintly in his eyes. The world outside his window was dark except for the small orange glow of a streetlight. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, then everything went quiet again.

He scrolled further down.

“If you’re not sure where to start, here are some easy gestures! Bring them flowers. Offer to carry their bag. Give a small surprise. Tell them something kind. Even the simplest things can mean the most.”

Hikaru read it once, then again. And again after that. His thumb stayed frozen on the screen, eyes catching on the first one: Bring them flowers.

That one specifically stood out to him.

It felt right somehow, or at least, familiar to him. Flowers were something simple, something alive and colorful. Yoshiki liked those kinds of things. He liked the quiet places where they grew, the stretch of grass near the riverbank where they used to skip stones as kids, the small wildflowers that poked up through cracks in the dirt. 

Hikaru remembered the way Yoshiki would crouch down sometimes just to look at them closer, brushing the petals with the back of his finger like he didn’t want to crush them.

Maybe that would count.

Maybe this was something he could do.

He didn’t really understand what this ‘love language’ thing was supposed to teach him, but if the internet said that flowers were a way humans showed they cared, then that was something he could certainly try. If it was for Yoshiki. 

Hikaru let the phone screen dim a little, the glow softening until his reflection appeared faintly in the glass. His expression didn’t change much, only the slight furrow in his brow as he thought.

“Flowers,” he murmured quietly to himself, as if he were testing the words before fully committing to the idea. “Compliments. Touch.”

He sat there a while longer, scrolling back through the list, reading and rereading the same sentences as if they might mean something new if he looked hard enough.  

Eventually, Hikaru set the phone down beside him and leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. The dim blue light from the screen still flickered faintly across his hands. 

He didn’t know if this was really what people did, or if it even mattered. Maybe Yoshiki wouldn’t care at all, maybe he was already overthinking something simple again.

Still, it felt like something he could do.

After all, that was what humans did, right? They tried.

He reached for the phone again, half out of curiosity, half because the last article hadn’t really explained anything to him. The new page loaded to a bright, filtered photo of a couple standing in front of a sunset, the kind of picture that looked too perfect to be real. They were holding hands, smiling at each other. 

The light behind them turned everything golden, the kind of fake perfect glow you only saw in advertisements. Hikaru stared at it for a long moment, trying to figure out what exactly he was supposed to be learning from a picture like that.

He scrolled down to the first few lines.

“Physical touch helps release oxytocin—the bonding hormone! Try gestures like a pat on the shoulder or holding hands when you walk. It strengthens emotional connection.”

The words were simple enough. Holding hands.

He tilted his head just a little, reading the sentence again, slower this time around. The idea didn’t sound complicated in the long run. It was just contact, a small connection; fingers brushing, palms pressed together, fingers interlocking.

He’d seen people do it before, of course. Couples walking home after school, parents holding onto their kids’ hands when they crossed the street. It was normal, human nature, he figured. 

But now that he was thinking about it, it stuck in his mind the same way ‘flowers’ had earlier. Something about it lingered in the back of his mind, mostly about what the act was supposed to mean and feel. 

His thoughts drifted back to Yoshiki.

He thought about the way Yoshiki’s hands always looked busy, always doing something. Writing. Carrying books. Fixing his bangs slightly when it fell into his eyes. Resting against his cheek when he was too tired to keep his head up. Hikaru couldn’t quite imagine what it would feel like to reach out and hold that same hand, but for some reason, it made his chest squeeze and do little flips anyway. 

If this was the kind of thing humans did to show affection, then maybe doing it would help him understand it better. Maybe if he tried, he’d figure out what it meant when people said they ‘cared’.

Maybe it would make Yoshiki’s face soften again, make that tired expression disappear for a bit. Or maybe it would even make him smile, the real one that Hikaru hadn’t seen much lately, which hurt to think about. 

He didn’t know if that was what ‘love’ was supposed to look or feel like, but it seemed like a start.

The phone screen dimmed, the light fading into a pale blue glow before finally going dark. Hikaru’s reflection blinked back at him in the glass, and he could just barely make out the shape of his eyes and the line of his mouth, even the small crease between his brows as he thought about the articles he read through. 

“Flowers…” he murmured once again, barely loud enough to hear himself. 

He hesitated for a moment, then breathed in, as if trying to decide something. “...I can do that,” he said finally, the words almost a whisper. It wasn’t much of a smile that followed, mostly just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth as his decision was finally set in stone. 

Outside, the cicadas kept singing, their song spilling through the open window and mixing with the faint buzz of his phone. He stayed there for a while, just sitting in the silence of his room with the phone still warm in his hand.

Yeah, he could do that.

Maybe now he will be able to understand what it means to love something human.  

By the time dawn slipped in through the curtains the next morning, the thought was still there. It had settled in overnight, lingering somewhere between his mind and his chest, refusing to fade the way dreams usually did throughout the day. 

Flowers. Compliments. Touch. 

He’d gone to bed repeating those few words in his head on a continuous loop, refusing to let go of his decision even a little bit. Now, in the quiet of early morning, they were the first thing that came back to him. 

The words themselves didn’t seem to feel the same to him anymore, losing the meaning they did have during his slumber. Though, the idea behind them stayed, the intent. The simple urge to do something for Yoshiki, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

He sat there for a while on the edge of his futon, letting his eyes adjust to the pale light leaking through his curtains. The air still had that cool feeling mornings had before the day really started, before the sun came out and made everything unbearably hot. 

Somewhere outside, a bird called out once in the distance, and the sound broke the silence enough to make him move and start getting ready for school.

Hikaru left early that day, earlier than he usually did. Normally, Yoshiki would stop by to walk with him, but today he didn’t wait. The air was cool and damp, heavy with dew that clung to the grass and made everything smell fresh for once. The bottom of his sneakers left faint imprints on the dirt road as he walked. 

The sky above was washed out, that soft gray color right before sunrise, and the edges of the clouds were starting to glow.

He didn’t really have a plan if he were being honest, he just let his feet carry him along the familiar path just out of town and closer toward the school, to the place where the river curved behind the trees. 

Hikaru had heard it before he saw it, the steady sound of running water rushing over stone. When he finally reached the river, the sunlight had grown just enough in order to catch on the water’s surface, turning it a glimmering silver. 

The river ran slow this time of year, shallow enough that he could see the rocks underneath, their sharp edges and shapes softened by the current.

That’s where he saw them—the wildflowers.

They certainly weren’t anything special, not the fancy kind you bought in bundles from a shop. These ones grew in small uneven patches along the slope near the water, a fair mix of pale purples, soft whites, and yellows that looked brighter against the green. 

Their stems were thin, slightly tangled together with grass, some already had managed to bend due to the weight of dew. They weren’t neat or well put together like the pictures online, but to Hikaru, he still thought they managed to stand out. 

Maybe it was because they were the kind of flowers that kept growing no matter how wild the ground was, the kind that lived even if everything was stacked up against them. 

He figured maybe that was why Yoshiki always liked things like that, things that stayed alive despite their unfortunate circumstances. That lived in spite of everything around them. 

Hikaru crouched down, brushing his fingers through the cool blades of grass before gently picking a few. He was careful, more careful than he usually was when it came to living things, holding the stems between his fingers like he might crush or hurt them if he wasn’t. 

Each time he chose one, he thought about those words from the article: thoughtful gestures, careful attention, meaningful intent. He didn’t know if he was doing it right, but he really, truly wanted to.

When he stood up again, his hands were full of colors and lengths that didn’t quite match. Some of the flowers were too short, others too long, and one of them had a petal that was already half gone by the time he stood up. 

The bouquet looked uneven, leaning awkwardly to one side. He tilted his head, squinting a little as he adjusted the stems, rearranging them until they sat in some kind of order that didn’t entirely look terrible. It definitely wasn’t perfect, not even close.

But as he took another look at them, the small and mismatched bunch of wildflowers he picked for the human he cares about, he decided they really didn’t need to be. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

By the time Hikaru made it to school, the halls were already filled with all sorts of noises. The morning crowd had started to spill in, clusters of students passing through each other, exchanging tired greetings and half-finished conversations as they moved toward their classrooms for the day. The sun was fully up now, the warm light it brought pouring in through the tall windows and bouncing off the polished floors.

The humidity had quickly followed him inside, clinging to the air around him and seeping into his skin. The hallways smelled the way they always did when too many high school students were packed too tightly in the same space: that faint, stale scent of dust and body heat mixed with floor polish and old paper.

Hikaru slipped through the surrounding chaos quietly, making a few small steps at a time as he weaved between students and teachers. He kept one hand cupped carefully around the small bunch of flowers he’d picked that morning, holding them close to his chest like they were something fragile and delicate. 

A few petals had already wrinkled at the edges from the walk over, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much. The vibrant colors from the small bouquet stood out sharply against the white of his uniform. It made him look almost out of place, but Hikaru didn’t seem to notice. 

He didn’t think there was anything strange about carrying flowers through a hallway full of people. He had something to give to someone very special, and that was that.

A couple of students slowed down as he passed by, their eyes darting to the wildflowers in his hand. He could hear the low murmur of curious whispers behind him, but he didn’t pay much attention to their words. 

He didn’t look back, and continued forward to his homeroom. To him, there was nothing to explain, nothing to be confused for. It wasn’t a secret. He just walked the same way he always did, head tilted slightly down, careful not to bump into anyone as he made his way toward the classroom. 

The flowers shifted in his hand with each step, brushing lightly against his collar, leaving faint yellow smudges of pollen against the fabric.

When he stepped into the classroom, the noise from the hallway dipped momentarily before starting back up again. Most of the seats were already filled, students chatting to whoever was closest.

The sunlight had already seeped in through the windows, sliding across the room in wide, golden slants. Tiny specs of dust floated slowly in the air, catching on the light whenever someone moved or shifted in their seats. 

Yoshiki was at his usual spot near the back window, the same seat he’d sat in since the start of the year. His head rested in one hand, elbow propped on the desk, while his other hand absently tapped a pen against the edge of a notebook. 

His hair was a little messy this morning, the way it would get from time to time when he didn’t bother to fix it, and his uniform looked like he’d ironed it half-heartedly at best. He looked tired again, and Hikaru found himself frowning when he noticed.

He couldn’t quite explain why it bothered him this much, but it certainly did. He figured maybe it was because he didn’t understand what it meant to feel that way, because he himself lacked that human aspect.

Because after all, he was just a monster pretending to be human. 

Yuuki and Asako were sitting across from Yoshiki, their desks pushed close together, as they usually were before class started. Yuuki was half-leaning over hers, gesturing with one hand as she talked, while Asako was absently flipping through a notebook, nodding along in that polite yet distracted way she did when she wasn’t really listening. 

Hikaru took a few more steps into the room, making his way quietly between the rows of desks. The squeak of his shoes against the tile was faint, each step just enough to draw attention without meaning to. 

At first, nothing really changed as he moved. The room carried on the way it always did in those first few minutes before class: multiple voices overlapping, chairs scraping against the floor, the dull tick of the clock filling the pauses in between. 

Someone near the front of the room laughed at something that probably wasn’t funny, the sound echoing briefly before dying out. Someone else yawned, the kind that made their shoulders rise and fall as they slouched deeper into their chair.

But then, he noticed how Yuuki’s words trailed off mid-sentence, her eyes flicking toward the doorway and locking onto him. 

Beside her, Asako noticed the pause and followed her gaze a second later. Her pen stopped moving mid-tap against her notebook, and for a moment, neither of them said anything at all. 

Hikaru’s shadow stretched long across the floor, cast by the sunlight pouring through the windows. The flowers in his hand stood out against the muted classroom colors, bright against the dull wood, the greens and yellows catching the sunlight. Every step made them shift slightly, the stems brushing against each other in a soft rustle.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to at least make people look up from their desks. Heads began to turn one after another, small pauses rippling through the rows of desks as various conversations paused mid-sentence. 

No one really said anything at first, all they could do was watch the scene play out. A few students leaned forward in their seats, their eyes tracking him as he came closer. 

Some looked curious, others confused—and maybe one or two of them looked just a little uneasy, as if they weren’t sure if this was something they were supposed to be witnessing.

There was something strange about it, after all. Hikaru wasn’t acting like himself. He was usually full of energy and life, the kind of person who laughed too loud and smiled too easily. 

But right now, that version of him was gone. The sight of him moving so calmly through the room felt almost unreal.

He didn’t say anything either. He didn’t bother to greet anyone or nod in acknowledgment, the way he sometimes did when he first walked in. Instead, he just kept calmly moving forward, each step making it seem like he knew exactly where he was going.

His gaze didn’t wander once, either. It stayed fixed on Yoshiki, like there was nothing else in the room that mattered more to him. His face didn’t give much away, it was calm, almost expressionless, but it wasn’t cold. Hikaru was focused, more composed than he usually was. 

He didn’t fidget, and he didn’t look away when the whispers started at the back of the class. 

A few students exchanged looks, their voices dropping to a hush, but Hikaru didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

With each step, more of the usual morning noise seemed to fade. The shuffle of papers stopped first, then the scrape of chair legs, even the tick of the clock felt duller somehow. Someone whispered his name like they weren’t sure they were supposed to say it, and the sound barely carried before it disappeared again. A few desks creaked as people shifted, looking to see what all the commotion was about. 

The only sound left was the faint hum of the ceiling fan turning overhead, stirring the warm air just enough to make the light shimmer. Sunlight pooled across the desks, catching the edge of the flowers in Hikaru’s hand, the colors glowing faintly in the haze. And finally, he had stopped in front of Yoshiki’s desk.

Yoshiki heard the footsteps before he really registered them. They were quiet at first, neatly blending in with the low hum of the classroom, until they didn’t. At first, he really didn’t think much of it. 

Rather, he was still half-focused on the page in front of him, pencil tapping lightly against the margin as he tried to remember where he’d left off in his notes. 

The numbers in front of him were starting to blur together along with his vision, it was the kind of slow haze that came from too many late nights and not nearly enough sleep.

But suddenly, a long shadow stretched across his desk, and the footsteps from earlier had stopped. The sound was close now, close enough to feel, and that alone was strange enough to make him look up.

He blinked once, then a second time, like he was shaking off a thought before he froze.

Hikaru was standing right there, right in front of his desk. 

The sunlight from the windows caught his back, outlining him in pale gold, and in his hands, he was holding something Yoshiki didn’t quite process at first. A small bouquet of wildflowers. 

For those few seconds, Yoshiki couldn’t find himself moving at all. His pencil had hovered above the page, the faintest crease forming between his brows as his brain scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing. 

There was a pause—two, maybe three seconds at most—but it was long enough for everyone sitting nearby to pick up on it. 

Then Hikaru held out the flowers.

There wasn’t any warning, or any explanation as to why, just the quiet scrape of his sneakers against the tile as he shifted his weight. His movements were slow, careful as to not crush the delicate petals that were already starting to wilt around the edges. 

Yoshiki’s gaze flicked down to the flowers, then back up to Hikaru’s face, then down again, like maybe looking twice would make it make sense. But it most certainly did not.

His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out right away. The silence between them continued to stretch just long enough to make it even more noticeable. Just long enough for a few students nearby to shift in their seats, pretending not to stare but failing miserably at that.

“…What’s that?” he finally asked, his voice low and cautious, like he already knew he wasn’t going to get a normal answer from the boy.

“Flowers,” Hikaru stated simply, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Yoshiki stared at him for a second longer, shoulders tensing slightly. “Yeah,” he said slowly, his tone walking a fine line between confusion and disbelief. “I can see that.” 

The corners of his mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. His hand lifted slightly, hovering awkwardly over his desk. “Why are ya—”

“You like living things, don’t ya?” Hikaru interrupted, giving him the same steady tone from before. 

It wasn’t phrased like a question, it sounded more like a statement, a fact. 

That’s what made it stranger. 

For a second, Yoshiki just stared at him, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. And around them, the room seemed to grow silent again.

Yuuki’s eyebrows shot up so fast it looked like they might fly off her face. Her pencil froze halfway through the doodle she’d been working on. 

Across from her, Asako turned her head a little slower. She blinked once, mouth parting like she was about to say something, but no words came out. And for a moment, all she managed was a blank stare. Then, slowly, the corners of her mouth tugged upward into the faintest, disbelieving grin. 

And just as Maki walked into the room, still talking about something to a classmate behind him, he stopped dead in his tracks. His sentence cut off halfway. His gaze jumped from Hikaru, to the flowers, to Yoshiki, then back again like his brain was refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. 

Then, his pen slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a loud clack that made a few students flinch. One of the students near the windows stifled a laugh that came out more like a cough.

Still, no one said a word.

The only sound left was the faint creak of a chair as someone shifted for a better view, the soft scrape of a shoe against tile, and the quiet rustle of flower stems as Hikaru adjusted his grip. 

“Uh…” Yuuki started, blinking a few times like she wasn’t entirely sure her eyes were working right. Her pencil was still in her hand, but it had stopped moving completely. 

She leaned forward a little, squinting across the desks as if the extra distance might somehow explain what she was seeing. “Hikaru? Are those for—”

“Yes,” Hikaru said before she could even finish. He didn’t hesitate even for a single second, because why would he? “You’ve been doin’ well lately. I wanted to show appreciation.”

There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment in his face. No nervous laugh, no awkward shifting from foot to foot. He just stood there, posture straight and completely sincere, as if giving flowers to Yoshiki in front of the entire class was a perfectly normal and average thing to do. 

For him, it was simple, straightforward. A gesture that made perfect sense.

Yoshiki, meanwhile, looked like his brain had completely stopped working. His mouth opened slightly, like words were trying to form but kept getting lost in the process. Whatever words he meant to say never made it past his throat, caught somewhere between shock and utter disbelief.

His hand lifted from the desk on instinct, hovering in midair, fingers twitching like they couldn’t decide what to do. For a moment, it looked like he might reach out for the flowers, but then he froze again, his hand suspended awkwardly between them. He wasn’t sure if taking them would make this situation better or infinitely worse.

For a few seconds, the room stayed dead quiet. Then, from the row behind him, Asako made something halfway between a snort and a laugh that she tried (and failed) to smother. 

She pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking slightly, eyes already glinting with amusement. “Appreciation,” she repeated slowly, the word stretching like she couldn’t believe she was saying it. “Right.”

Yuuki leaned forward, elbows on her desk, lowering her voice but not nearly enough to make a difference. “Oh my god,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “Is he confessin’ right now?”

Across the aisle, Maki, who had finally sat down, blinked up from his desk, expression blank. His pen was still lying on the floor where he’d dropped it earlier, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Dude,” he muttered, glancing between Hikaru and Yoshiki like he was watching a slow-motion car crash he couldn’t look away from. “What are you doin’.”

After a moment, Hikaru tilted his head slightly, eyes steady and curious. “Do ya not like ‘em?” he asked softly. 

That was what finally shook Yoshiki out of his frozen state. His brain managed to start working again, but only in small fragments, the words coming out in fits. “It’s not— I mean— yeah, they’re fine, but why are ya—”

“I heard that givin’ flowers makes people happy,” Hikaru said, cutting in smoothly before Yoshiki could finish. “I wanted to show I care about ya.”

A wave of muffled gasps, sharp exhales, and the squeak of desks shifting rolled through the room in an instant, students leaning toward each other to whisper and gossip. 

Yuuki made a noise that could only be described as a strangled gasp, slipping out before she could stop it. She immediately slapped both hands over her face, shoulders trembling as she tried to smother the sound. 

Asako, on the other hand, had completely given up on pretending to be subtle. She’d propped her notebook up in front of her mouth, like it might somehow hide the grin that was already spreading too wide to contain. 

Her eyes were glinting with pure amusement, and every few seconds, her shoulders shook with quiet, stifled laughter that she clearly wasn’t trying very hard to suppress.

Even Maki had turned halfway around in his seat, staring at them with wide eyes. His hand was half-covering his mouth, however, it didn’t do much to hide the smile creeping across his face as well.

“He actually said that out loud?” he whispered, voice full of disbelief and yet reluctant admiration.

Yoshiki, meanwhile, looked seconds away from spontaneous combustion. His face was red to the tips of his ears, his hand dragging over it like he could somehow hide there.

He muttered something under his breath, but it came out so quiet that no one caught more than a few broken syllables. Whatever it was, it definitely didn’t sound like a thanks.

For a moment, he just sat there like that: half-buried in his hand, looking like he was debating whether or not to crawl under the desk and never come out again. 

Then, finally, he exhaled, the sound coming out as a low groan that bordered on a laugh, though it was too strangled to count as one.

When he finally lifted his head again, he looked exhausted. “You’re—unbelievable,” he managed, dragging a hand through his hair. 

The words came out somewhere between exasperation and surrender, like he wanted to be angry, but figured it wouldn't be worth the effort.

Hikaru only tilted his head at that, as if trying to figure out whether that was supposed to be a compliment or not.

Still, after a long second, he reached out and took the flowers—mostly, it seemed, just to make Hikaru stop standing there like a statue. His hand lingered halfway for a second too long, fingers twitching before they finally closed around the stems. 

The faintest brush of skin against Hikaru’s happened in the process, but it was enough to make the flush creeping across Yoshiki’s face deepen to a shade that definitely wasn’t healthy. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a mumble, the sound caught somewhere between his teeth. “...Thanks.”

The tension in the room broke after that. People slowly started pretending to go back to what they were doing, though the whispering didn’t really stop. Hikaru, apparently satisfied, gave a small nod before turning and walking back to his seat like nothing unusual had happened. He didn’t look back, didn’t seem to notice that every pair of eyes in the room followed him.

Yoshiki stayed frozen for another moment, the uneven bunch of wildflowers clutched awkwardly in his hand. The petals were a little bent now, the stems slightly crushed from the grip he didn’t realize he was keeping. 

His eyes stayed on them, his expression hovering somewhere between shock, why me, and I can’t believe this just happened.

Asako leaned toward Yuuki, her voice low but not nearly quiet enough to go unheard. “He seriously just said that,” she whispered, the corners of her mouth twitching. 

Yuuki let out a groan that turned into a laugh halfway through. She dragged a hand down her face, shaking her head. “Yoshiki’s never gonna live this down,” she said under her breath, though she was definitely smiling now as well.

By the time homeroom started, the noise in the classroom had mostly died down. The teacher came in with their usual stack of papers, everyone scrambled to sit up straight, and the shuffle of books and greetings filled the silence that had been sitting since that morning. Within minutes, it all felt like any other day again, or at least, it tried to.

Yoshiki kept the flowers beside his desk. He didn’t mention them, didn’t look Hikaru’s way, didn’t even move them to hide them. They just sat there on the corner of the desk, petals already starting to wilt from the summer heat. 

Every once in a while, though, his eyes would flicker toward them. They weren’t anything special. The stems were different lengths, the colors didn’t match, and a few of the petals had tiny tears at the edges. But they smelled faintly like the riverbank, like sunlight and damp grass and the cool air that lingered before noon.

For some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw them out.

The rest of the day moved slowly after that, making every class period feel longer than it should have. It wasn’t that anything had really changed. The lessons were the same, the bell rang in the same shrill tone, and people still joked and complained about homework. 

But even after the laughter faded and the day dragged on, some things didn’t quite go back to normal. On the surface, everyone pretended it had—students went back to talking, scribbling half-heartedly through their assignments, and acting as if nothing had happened that morning. 

But there was something underneath it all that made Yoshiki painfully aware of every glance that drifted his way.

Word had gotten around already, way faster than it ever should have. By lunch, it was everywhere, and practically everyone had known about it. 

It was the kind of rumor that slipped through the halls, spreading from one class to another, until even the third-years in the next building apparently knew.

“Have ya heard? Hikaru brought Yoshiki flowers.”

The words followed him like a ghost, clinging to him no matter how hard he tried to shake it off. He could hear it in passing—bits and pieces of conversation floating through the hallways.

Near the shoe lockers: a whisper that broke into muffled laughter almost as soon as he walked by.

By the vending machines: a half-hushed “No way, seriously?” followed by the sound of someone nearly choking on their drink.

Even at the classroom door, someone had leaned in just long enough to snicker, “They’re seriously dating?” before vanishing down the hall, probably thinking he couldn’t hear them. 

It was stupid. Yoshiki knew it was stupid. Hikaru was...well, Hikaru. Of course he didn’t mean it like that. Of course it wasn’t what people thought it was, but trying to think logically didn’t make it any better. 

It didn’t stop the heat from crawling up his neck every time he caught someone’s knowing smile, or the way he had to keep his head down when he passed a group of second-years whispering behind their hands.

Hikaru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Though, it was more likely that he did and just didn’t care, but it was always hard to tell with him.

He followed Yoshiki around the way he always did, keeping that same steady pace a few steps behind, moving through the crowded hallways like none of the staring or whispering existed.

His expression never wavered—same calmness, same faintly curious tone that made it impossible to tell what he was actually thinking.

By the time lunch rolled around, Hikaru had already fallen into his usual routine, like nothing that morning had happened at all.

Hikaru slid right into the desk right across from Yoshiki in his usual spot by the windows. The sunlight slanted in through the glass, spilling across the desks in thin, bright strips that caught on the edge of his tray. 

The metal of his spoon glinted, and for some reason, even that tiny detail irritated Yoshiki in a way he couldn’t explain.

“The curry tastes sweeter today,” Hikaru said between bites, his tone perfectly casual in that annoying way of his. He paused, looked down at the carton of milk sitting untouched by his tray, then back up. “Do ya want the rest of my milk?”

Yoshiki stared at him for a long moment. His chopsticks hovered in midair, noodles slipping loose and falling back into his bowl as his brain struggled to process the audacity of this boy. 

His expression twitched, a vein of disbelief running across his face before he finally managed to exhale. “…No,” he said at last, dragging out the word to make a point. Though, it didn’t seem to get across.

Hikaru just nodded once, a simple, unbothered hum escaping him, before going right back to eating his food. 

There was no trace of awkwardness in his tone, no hesitation, no sign that the entire school had spent the morning whispering about them potentially being together. 

It was like the whole thing didn’t exist, or at least, wasn’t anything worth worrying about. 

And that made it entirely worse.

Yoshiki tried to act normal too. He kept his head down, focused on his food, and pretended not to notice the curious looks coming from across the room.

He told himself that if he stayed quiet long enough, everyone would forget about it. (They wouldn’t, but denial was all he had left at this point.)

On the other hand, Yuuki’s teasing from beside him sliced right through his focus every single time he thought he had a grip on it. “You sure you don’t want to save one of those flowers for your desk, Yoshiki?” she said, almost too innocently. “It’d really brighten the place up.” 

Each word made his shoulders tighten just a little more, his chopsticks pausing midair. She pretended to go back to her food after that, but the grin tugging at her mouth gave him a hint that she wasn’t quite done with him yet. 

Asako, meanwhile, didn’t bother pretending to mind her own business. She hadn’t said much since they sat down, really, but the smirk she kept throwing at him was somehow worse than anything she could’ve said out loud. 

Every time he glanced up to meet her gaze, a little spark of amusement danced behind her eyes that made him want to sink under his desk and never come back out. 

He did his best to ignore it, he honestly did. He stabbed half-heartedly at his rice, chewing slower than usual, mostly just to give his mouth something to do that didn’t involve snapping at anyone. But the faint red clinging to the tips of his ears gave him away anyway.

It felt like it was burning there, pulsing with every laugh that came from nearby. Every time someone’s voice rose too high for his liking, or when he heard Hikaru’s careless laughter, Yoshiki could feel the heat crawl higher until it reached his neck again. 

Every so often, his gaze would drift down to his bag by his feet. The wildflowers were still shoved awkwardly into the side pocket, just visible enough that the bright greens and yellows peeked through the fabric. The petals had bent from being stuffed in so quickly that morning, some already curling at the edges. But somehow, they were still holding together. They were messy and a little wilted, kind of like how Yoshiki felt right now.

Every time Yoshiki caught sight of them, his stomach twisted up in knots, and did small flips. It wasn’t exactly embarrassment, though that was definitely part of it. 

The sight of them made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t quite name. Not because it was bad, it wasn’t. But every time his eyes landed on the bent petals poking out from the side of his bag, that morning replayed in his head on a loop. 

He remembered the weight of the bouquet in his hands, and the sincere way Hikaru had looked at him when presenting them…that was what threw him off most.

So he didn’t say anything about it. Not even when Hikaru’s eyes had followed his down to the bag. When that happened, Yoshiki let out a soft, quiet sigh. It wasn’t really out of frustration so much as resignation—it was more like a silent plea of “please don’t start” that he’d perfected over the years.

Hikaru, of course, didn’t push it, he never did when it mattered. Instead, he just sat there across from him, perfectly at ease. When Yoshiki finally glanced up again, Hikaru met his eyes briefly: that same soft, absent sort of smile tugging at his mouth before turning his attention back to his food, completely content.

It was so utterly, infuriatingly calm. 

By the time the last bell rang, the light outside had softened into a soft, golden-orange that filled out the classroom. It seeped in through the windows, spilling over the wooden desks and pooled across the floor in long stripes.

One by one, people started packing up, chairs scraping against tile as the students stood. The noise of zippers and laughter filled the room before the voices drifted out into the hallway, until it was just a soft hum behind the doorway. 

Within minutes, the room had mostly emptied out. A few of them stayed behind to talk, but even that died off soon enough. 

Yoshiki was still at his desk, moving slower than usual. He stacked his notebooks neatly, capped his pen, and zipped his pencil case shut. 

His bag hung off the side of his chair, half-open, the edge of the wildflower bouquet just barely visible from where it was tucked in the side pocket. He’d thought about throwing it away once or twice throughout the day, but every time, something had stopped him.

He waited until the hallway noise had mostly faded before he finally slung his bag over his shoulder. His hand lingered on the strap for a moment as he straightened his uniform, ready to leave.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A shadow stretched across the desk in front of him, cutting through the sunlight that pooled there.

“You still have the flowers,” Hikaru said.

Yoshiki froze mid-motion, caught halfway between standing and turning. His hand stayed wrapped around the strap of his bag as he exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Yeah, well,” he muttered after a second, keeping his gaze down on the zipper instead of meeting the other’s eyes. “You picked ’em, didn’t ya? Would be rude to throw ’em out.”

Hikaru made a sound, a small, quiet hum that could have meant anything. But there was still something of note that Yoshiki couldn’t quite ignore once he noticed it. 

“You liked them, then,” Hikaru said simply.

Yoshiki clicked his tongue, a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, half-annoyed, half trying not to let the small laugh bubbling up escape. He didn’t quite succeed, the faintest trace of a smile tugged through anyway.

“Don’t push yer luck,” he said finally, voice low and a little rough, though it wasn’t unkind.

For a second, Hikaru didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, his mouth curved into a small smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes in the way he’d expect, but it was genuine in its own way. It was gentle, and almost human. Yoshiki didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Hikaru turned slightly, glancing toward the window where the sunlight spilled across the desks. It caught on his face just right, warm along his jaw before fading into the soft shadow beneath his eyes. 

Just then, something flickered behind his eyes. Something quiet and warm, and it only lingered there for a second before it faded again and got swallowed up by the light.

Yoshiki’s gaze stayed on him for a moment longer, curiosity pressing faintly at the back of his mind, before he looked away. 

Hikaru then watched as the sunlight started to slowly move across the floor, tracing thin lines of gold that reached toward his sneakers before slipping away again. 

The air still carried the faint scent of the flowers he’d picked that morning, clinging to his fingertips like something that didn’t want to fade.

He’d done what the article had said. He’d brought flowers, shown appreciation, and tried to make someone feel cared for.

And Yoshiki hadn’t pushed him away.

That had to count for something. It had to mean he was doing it right.

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. It lingered through the rest of the evening, sitting quietly in the back of his mind no matter what else was happening around him.

Even by the time the two of them were walking home together, the thought still remained. It came and went between the sound of their footsteps and the quiet rush of the river beside the road. 

They were walking with their bikes in hand, not quite ready to ride them yet. The air had cooled since the afternoon, carrying the faint smell of damp grass and water. 

Yoshiki was talking about something; school, he thought, or maybe what flavor of ice cream they should grab at the corner shop before heading home. 

Hikaru listened at first. He nodded when it felt right to, even offered a quiet hum in response every now and then when the situation called for it. But after a while, his focus began to drift. 

Eventually, Yoshiki’s voice blurred into background noise, a quiet hum of noise that filled the space between them as his mind circled back to the same thought that had been following him all day.

Was that enough? 

Did that make him human, or at least closer to it?

He didn’t know.

But then he thought back about what had happened that morning, the look on Yoshiki’s face when he’d handed over the flowers: the startled blink, the flush of red creeping up his ears, and especially the way his fingers had hesitated before taking them.

When Hikaru remembered that, something inside his chest tightened, stomach fluttering in the process. It had felt warm, like the sun on his skin during a long summer’s day. It spread through his chest, different and unfamiliar from the cool numbness he’d grown used to feeling. 

He didn’t know what that feeling was supposed to be, or if it even had a name. He didn’t understand what made it rise, or why it only seemed to appear when Yoshiki smiled, or sighed, or simply existed near him. 

And, without really meaning to, he realized he wanted to feel it again.

By the time they reached town, the sky had already started to fade. The sun hung low over the rooftops, melting into a deep orange haze that painted everything in gold. Long shadows stretched across the pavement, moving slowly as the two continued their way back to their houses. 

Yoshiki slowed his steps first, like he always did. It was the spot where the road split, where Hikaru usually turned right toward his home, and Yoshiki went left. Their footsteps faded as they stopped, and for a second, the only sound left was the low murmur of the river behind them and the faint creak of Hikaru’s bike chain shifting as he came to a halt.

Yoshiki turned toward him, the fading light catching across his face, and he squinted a little against it. He adjusted the strap of his bag with a quiet sigh, his lips pursing a bit before speaking. 

“Next time,” he said, voice low and a little rough from the long day, “maybe don’t bring me somethin’ that looks like you yanked it outta a ditch.”

Still, Hikaru didn’t miss the way Yoshiki’s fingers brushed the edge of his bag as he said it, where the flowers were still tucked inside. He hadn’t thrown them away.

Hikaru blinked at him, taking the words in like he always did, quietly processing. Then his mouth curved into a small smile, and this time it actually reached his eyes. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll find better ones.”

Yoshiki exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping like someone had just let all the air out of him. A sound escaped him in that moment, something halfway between a groan and a laugh.

“That’s not—” he started before stopping himself, dragging a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. 

“Forget it,” he muttered, his words muffled against his palm. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he just shook his head and let out a short breath, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in quiet defeat.

Hikaru didn’t move for a second. He stood there, watching Yoshiki with the same steady eyes, that faint, half-formed smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. 

Yoshiki had noticed the way the sunlight caught the side of his face, glinting across the bridge of his nose and catching on the faint red ring around his pupils. The way the color seemed to shift with the light, like something alive beneath the surface. 

For a moment, it made Yoshiki pause, though he couldn’t have said exactly why. 

It was just a reminder that the boy standing in front of him, pretending to be his childhood best friend, wasn’t human.

Though, maybe, he really didn’t need to be. 

As the two stood there in silence, the world around them seemed to fade out. The only sounds left were the steady buzz of cicadas and the low rush of the river nearby, its current glinting faintly in the dying light. 

When Hikaru finally spoke, his voice broke softly through the quiet. “I’ll keep tryin’.”

It wasn’t said like a promise, but it felt like one. 

Yoshiki let out a long, quiet breath. His shoulders lifted, then fell again as he rolled his eyes, though there wasn’t any real annoyance in it. If anything, it sounded more like surrender. 

“Yer an idiot,” he muttered, but the words came out soft, almost fond if you looked close enough. 

He lifted a hand in half a wave before shoving it back into his pocket, turning down his side of the road. The light caught on his hair as he walked, turning it a faint gold for just a moment before the shadows swallowed him up again.

But even as he walked away, Hikaru didn’t move. He stayed where he was, the fading light washing over him, that faint smile still lingering. His hands hung loosely at his sides, the faint scent of crushed wildflowers still clinging to his fingers. 

He didn’t call out or follow, just watched until Yoshiki disappeared around the corner. 

He lifted one hand and turned it over, studying the various colors from the petals that had brushed off on his skin earlier this morning. 

There were faint, uneven streaks of yellow and green that were almost gone by now. He rubbed his thumb against them and watched the last bit smear away, fading into nothing.

He thought about the way Yoshiki’s voice had sounded when he said his name earlier. It was quiet, and a little tired, sure, but it was softer than it usually had been lately. 

Hikaru could still hear it in his head if he focused, that small shift in tone that meant more than anything else could’ve.

Even if only a little, he’d managed to get a real smile out of him today. It hadn’t been much, just a faint curve of his mouth here and there that slipped out before he could stop it. Though, it was more than enough to make Hikaru feel like he was doing something right. 

He stayed there for a while longer, standing in the soft light, letting the silence settle around him. The sky had gone dusky now, the blue deepening with each passing minute. 

Streetlights flickered to life down the road, one by one, their glow faint and yellow against the fading day. The smell of grass carried on the wind, mixing with the faint scent of water from the river. 

His gaze dropped back to his hand, to where the last traces of color from the petals had already faded from his skin. He didn’t know if that meant the moment was gone, or if it was supposed to stay with him some other way. 

But either way, it didn’t feel bad. 

Maybe this was what it meant to start understanding. 

To try something, to care, to keep trying again even if he didn’t fully get it yet, and to reach out and see what would happen.

It was a small thing. Almost nothing at all.

But for him, it was a start.