Chapter Text
Do you know reincarnation is real?
Then why don’t we remember our past lives?
The answer is simple. Those memories were never lost. They are merely sealed away, buried deep within the soul. Deeper than consciousness itself. Waiting to be awakened… or perhaps waiting for yet another life to be added to the lock.
So does that mean we will never remember?
Not necessarily. There is a way to unlock them.
A soul may reclaim its past only by returning to what once bound it most strongly. A place. A time. A story. A melody. Something that anchored the soul so deeply it refused to let go, even across death.
But such a return is perilous.
To remember is to reopen grief, love, regret, and longing all at once. And so most souls turn away, choosing to live forward rather than look back. often without ever realizing a choice was made.
Yet some souls are restless.
They ache.They yearn. They refuse to sever the thread.
And when a soul longs deeply enough to reconnect, the seals begin to break.
that is when the past begins to surface.
XX
“It’s quiet,” 00 said.
“Yeah,” Hoshina replied softly, his eyes still fixed on the silvered sea.
“As if we’re the only people left in the world. Don’t you think?”
“That’s… a random thought,” Hoshina murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
“Hey, just let me have this dream, okay? At least… for the last time.” 00’s voice was quiet, distant, yet full of weight. “At least tonight, let it be ours. Don’t think about tomorrow. Don’t think about me leaving.”
XX
Hoshina gasped, heart hammering as he tore himself back into consciousness.
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The remnants of the dream clung to him—salt in the air, the hush of waves under a night sky. There had been someone there. Someone close, close enough to hurt. But no matter how he reached for the memory, the figure remained blurred at the edges, their face slipping away like mist.
Only their words stayed.
It carried a weight he couldn’t name, a pull so deep it left an ache in his chest. Longing bloomed inside him.
Who are you? he thought, the question rising.
Hoshina sat up, running a hand through his hair. His skin was damp with sweat despite the cool morning air. Outside, birds chirped softly, unaware of the confusion twisting inside him.
He took a few steadying breaths, willing the strange ache to settle, until his gaze drifted to the figure beside him.
His boyfriend curled against him, arms wrapped around Hoshina’s waist like he belonged there. His face was relaxed in sleep, completely unbothered by whatever storm had just passed through Hoshina’s mind. He was smiling, whatever it is his dreams had led him to.
The longing receded, dulled by something warmer.
Hoshina exhaled, reached out to gently brush his fingers through his unruly hair.
The clock on the bedside table blinked back at him. 8:00 a.m.
He smiled faintly.
“Wake up, Gen,” Hoshina murmured, giving him a gentle shake. “You’re going to be late for class again.”
Narumi let out an indignant whine, burying his face deeper against Hoshina’s stomach. “My class cancelled today,” he mumbled. “I’m sleeping in.”
“Then go back to your own room,” Hoshina said, though there was no real bite to it. “It’s cramped in here.”
Narumi tightened his hold instead. “No. I like it better here.”
Hoshina shook his head, unable to stop the smile that tugged at his lips. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Narumi’s forehead. “Fine. But I’ve got class this morning. Meet me on campus for lunch?”
Narumi hummed in response, half-asleep, and loosened his grip just enough to let Hoshina move.
The morning passed quietly as Hoshina got ready. He gathered his things, stepped over clothes scattered across the floor from the night before, and packed his notes into his bag. Narumi’s room was directly across the his, yet he always ended up here anyway. Hoshina had stopped questioning it.
Before leaving, he paused by the bed. “I’m heading out.”
Narumi stirred, eyes barely opening as he reached out blindly. Hoshina relented immediately, kneeling beside the bed as Narumi pulled him into a loose embrace and pressed a sleepy kiss to his cheek.
“Have fun,” Narumi murmured, smiling.
Hoshina smiled back, the last traces of the dream already slipping away.
XX
His classes passed the same way they always did—boring. Professors went over final exams and reminders he’d already heard twice before. Hoshina took notes out of habit, though his mind was only half-present as the clock crept forward. He still had an hour before lunch.
His phone buzzed against the desk.
A message from Narumi.
— made something
— our usual place?
Hoshina smiled without thinking, thumb already moving as he replied with a heart emoji. Only then did he realize his shoulders had relaxed, the tension he hadn’t noticed easing all at once. He finally found the focus to sit through the rest of the lecture.
Our usual place, huh?
It had almost been a year now. A year since they’d ended up on the same bench simply because the cafeteria had been unbearably crowded. A year since they’d traded dry remarks and half-serious jabs, both too different to mesh. Narumi was loud where Hoshina was quiet, impulsive where he preferred order. It should have ended there.
It didn’t.
They kept coming back to that bench, day after day, as if drawn by something neither of them questioned. Somewhere along the way, they started sharing lunches—then time. It felt natural in a way Hoshina had never learned how to explain. The pull Narumi had on him was effortless, like stepping into a rhythm he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Falling for him felt less like discovering something new and more like fitting a piece back into place.
Their days had been loud since then. Teasing, disagreements that never lasted, laughter that came easily. They didn’t always understand each other, but they learned how to move around each other’s edges. It was comfortable. It was warm.
He found himself counting down the minutes until lunch, already picturing Narumi’s grin, the way he always acted far too proud of whatever he’d “made.”
Then, without warning, his thoughts drifted.
The warmth dimmed slightly, replaced by something else.
The dream.
Not the images—those slipped away the harder he tried to grasp them. He couldn’t remember where he’d been now, or who he’d been with. Only the feeling lingered, stubborn and heavy. The ache in his chest returned.
His pen stilled.
There had been a voice. He was sure of that much. Gentle, maybe. Or broken. He couldn’t tell. Just the sense that whatever had been said carried the weight of goodbye.
Longing bloomed where warmth had been.
Hoshina stared at the front of the classroom, the professor’s voice fading into background noise as he searched the fog of his memory. He’d never met that person—he was certain of it. There was no face, no name, no place he could anchor them to.
And yet his heart beat faster, reacting as if it recognized something his mind refused to give shape to.As if he had known them. As if he had loved them. Deeply. Desperately
The realization unsettled him enough that he shook his head sharply, grounding himself. His grip tightened around his pen.
No.
That’s ridiculous, he thought.
He had Narumi. He had a life he was happy in, someone who waited for him at their usual place, someone real and solid and present. Whatever that dream was, whatever ghost it carried, it didn’t get to intrude like this.
He forced his focus back to the lecture, the sound of his professor’s voice anchoring him once more.
I’m in love with someone else, he told himself firmly.
And he clung to that truth, even as the echo of longing refused to fully fade.
XX
He weaved through the crowd heading toward the cafeteria, his steps quickening. Hoshina told himself it was hunger that urged him forward, but the truth was simpler than that—he wanted to see Narumi. Wanted the familiar warmth to settle the ache he still didn’t know how to name. Wanted to forget the lingering heaviness in his chest.
And, admittedly, he was curious about what Narumi had made.
One thing Hoshina had learned over the course of their relationship was that Narumi, for all his rowdy and loud attitude, was a surprisingly good cook. There was something strangely endearing about it—the way he poured effort into domestic things.
He stopped by a vending machine, bought two drinks, then cut across the field.
Narumi was already there.
He sat on their bench, legs stretched out, phone in hand, fully absorbed in whatever game he was playing. Beside him sat two neatly packed bento boxes, placed with care that it made Hoshina’s chest tighten just a little.
“Gen!” Hoshina called.
Narumi looked up just in time to see him approach, pace quickening into something almost eager.
The moment Hoshina reached him, he wrapped his arms around Narumi from behind, holding him tight.
Narumi startled, eyes widening. Hoshina wasn’t usually this bold—especially not out in the open. “What’s with you?” he asked, though his arms came up automatically, returning the embrace. “Being affectionate all of a sudden?”
Hoshina pressed his forehead briefly against Narumi’s shoulder. He didn’t trust himself with the truth, so he chose the easier answer. “Class was boring,” he murmured. “And I missed you.”
Narumi laughed softly. He shifted aside to make room for him. “Come sit, then.”
He reached for one of the bento boxes and opened it with obvious pride. Inside were simple onigiri—but the seaweed had been carefully cut and wrapped to mimic Hoshina’s hair.
“A bowl-cut onigiri,” Narumi announced, grinning.
Hoshina stared. Then scoffed. “Really?”
“It’s cute,” Narumi insisted, his smile grew wider with a teasing lilt.
Despite himself, Hoshina couldn’t stay annoyed. Narumi passed him the box, watching his reaction like it mattered more than he’d ever admit.
But…
Maybe he moved too fast—too eager.
The box slipped out from his hands.
Rice spilled onto the grass, the carefully shaped onigiri collapsing on impact.
Hoshina froze.
The smile left his face instantly, breath catching in his throat. “Oh no…”
For a moment he just stared, as if looking might undo it. Guilt washed over him, heavier than it had any right to be. Narumi had made this for him—had taken the time, the care.
Narumi blinked, surprise flickering across his face. Then he laughed lightly, waving it off. “It’s fine,” he said. “We still have mine. We can just share.”
“But you—” Hoshina dropped into a crouch without thinking, reaching for the fallen box. His fingers hovered uselessly over the ruined rice. “You spent time on this. I’m sorry, Gen. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Narumi scratched the back of his head. “It’s really not a big deal. I can make more next time. Seriously.”
And then—
Something twisted sharply in Hoshina’s chest.
A sudden sense of déjà vu struck him so hard it made him dizzy. The sight of something slipped past his hand. The ringing sound echoed as it made impact to the ground.
It felt wrong. And familiar.
Like he’d knelt like this before.
Like there had once been a moment where something small had broken.
“I can make more,” Narumi said again, gently this time. “Come on, Soushiro.”
Hoshina didn’t move. His chest tightened, heart racing for reasons he couldn’t name.
“Soushiro?” Narumi called, quieter now, concern slipping into his voice. His hand reached his shoulder, shaking him lightly.
That was what snapped him back.
Hoshina inhaled sharply and forced the feeling down. “Ah—sorry,” he said quickly. “I spaced out.”
He stood and sat back down beside Narumi, shoulders brushing. Narumi hesitated for only a second before scooting closer, their knees touching for comfort.
Narumi pressed an onigiri into his hand, making sure Hoshina properly held it before letting go.“Eat,” he said. “Before you overthink yourself into starvation.”
Hoshina let out a small, breathless laugh. “…Thank you. And I really am sorry.”
Narumi shrugged, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Told you. It’s fine.”
Their fingers brushed as Hoshina took a bite.
The warmth lingered. Comforting him more than he expected. Hoshina chewed it slowly, savouring the taste as much as possible. A soft smile lingered. “It's really good,Gen. As expected.”
“Of course it is.” Narumi leaned and took a big bite straight from Hoshina's hand.
They sit there, forgetting the earlier chaos. And Hoshina felt cherished, in a way almost familiar as Narumi's weight on his shoulder grounded him. Yes, this is where he should be, where he wanted to be.
Even though Hoshina had bought two drinks, they ended up sharing just one, passing the can back and forth as they watched a sports club gather on the field, laughter and whistles drifting through the air.
Hoshina leaned more fully into Narumi, eyes following the movement on the field, content settling over him like a thin blanket. “We have a meeting later, by the way.”
He felt Narumi groan, the vibration traveling through. “What do they want now? I’ve done a perfect job all term,” Narumi complained. “They should be looking for replacements already.”
“That’s exactly what they’re going to discuss,” Hoshina said, nudging him lightly. “Ashiro-san said we need to start pushing student representative recruitment. Interviews and all that.”
Narumi scoffed. “All this nonsense. But, why am I the only one getting dragged into it?"
“You’re a special case, Gen,” Hoshina said fondly. “Isao-sensei speaks highly of you. Good grades, good at sports—it’s not surprising.”
“And yet I still get dragged into it.” Narumi pouted. “Not even a normal member. The damn vice prez.” He mumbled in discontent.
“But you still do it.”Hoshina chuckled. “They’re also planning a farewell party for this term’s members. Apparently it’s an overnight thing.”
Narumi grimaced. “Great. Even more unnecessary obligations.”
“I’ll be there too,” Hoshina said easily. “So it won’t be that bad. We get to go somewhere together for once.”
Narumi reached for his hand, fingers threading through his. “…Yeah,” he hummed. “I guess I can go anywhere with you.”
The ache stirred again—quiet, persistent—but Hoshina squeezed Narumi’s hand, grounding himself in the warmth. He let the feeling sink back down. “Me too,” he said softly. “Let’s get the meeting over with. Then we can go back and play games, yeah?”
Narumi smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “You really know how to lift someone up, Soushiro.”
Hoshina smiled back, steady. “Only for you.”
XX
00 had been watching Hoshina make coffee again—his usual quiet routine every morning, hair still mussed from sleep.
Then Hoshina reached for a mug. Not just any mug—his. Then, the sound came.
A sharp crack.
The mug slipped from Hoshina’s hand, shattered against the floor. Porcelain and hot coffee splattered across his bare feet. Hoshina stumbled back, breath catching as pain hit him, and 00’s body moved before his mind did.
“Soushiro—!”
Hoshina straightened slowly, trying to act fine even as he hissed under his breath. “It’s fine,” he muttered, voice low. “Just hot water. I’ll survive.”
Hoshina looked up. He didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t need to. 00’s eyes drifted toward the broken mug again. That stupid, old, beloved mug.
“What a waste,” Hoshina murmured quietly, picking up the largest piece with a rag. As if knowing the turmoil in 00's heart. “You really liked that mug.”
00 forced a small exhale through his nose. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Not when you’re hurt because of it.”
“It’s fine. Because you’re still here.”
XX
Hoshina jolted awake, his body shuddering. The dream clung to him. It felt cruel in its timing—almost mocking the warmth of the afternoon they shared, the easy comfort of lunch with Narumi nearly ruined by this… this feeling. Mocking the life he was supposed to be content with.
An unpleasant tremor lingered beneath his skin, spreading through his chest and down his spine. His heart ached. Longing pressed heavy against his ribs, deep and unrelenting.
He knew the feeling by now.
There was someone in the dream. Always. A presence rather than a face. He could never quite see them, never remember the sound of their voice, only the weight they carried inside his chest. Someone who had taken his heart somewhere beyond reach and left him with fragments—images that refused to line up into anything whole.
Hoshina swallowed and shook his head, trying to dislodge the remnants of it. Only then did he realize how damp his skin felt, sweat clinging to him despite the cool morning air.
He turned his head.
Narumi was there.
Curled comfortably beside him, half tangled in the sheets, his face soft and unguarded. There was a faint smile on his lips, as if whatever dream he was having was kind to him—nothing like the storm Hoshina had just woken from.
Hoshina lifted a hand and brushed Narumi’s hair back gently, fingers threading through dark strands with practiced care. The familiarity of the motion steadied him, grounding him in something solid and real.
“At least you’re having a better dream than I am,” he murmured quietly.
Narumi only shifted in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent, the smile never leaving his face.
Hoshina glanced toward the clock on the bedside table.
6:00 a.m.
Too early. Normally, he would have welcomed the extra time, pulled Narumi closer, drifted back into sleep without a second thought.
But the idea made his chest tighten.
What if the dream came back?
What if he was pulled once more into that half-remembered place, into someone he couldn’t name but somehow missed? The familiarity of it frightened him more than its mystery. It felt both intimately known yet completely foreign. But it’s also a betrayal to what he had now.
Who are you?
The question echoed silently.
Why do you haunt me like this? Why does my heart react as if it knows you, even when my mind doesn’t?
His gaze drifted back to Narumi’s sleeping face.
I have you, he reminded himself, the thought firm but fragile. I’m here.
Still, as he lay there staring at the ceiling, the ache refused to fade. It settled quietly—waiting. His hand sought out Narumi’s, tightening his grip as he let out a sigh.
And Hoshina wondered, with a growing sense of unease, how long he could keep pretending it didn’t matter. How long until the peace he had built shatters.
XX
“Reincarnation?” Hoshina repeated.
Ashiro nodded lightly. “It’s a popular belief,” she said. “That we once lived entirely different lives before this one.”
Hoshina let out a small, uncertain laugh, eyes dropping back to the paperwork spread across the table. He was helping finalize details for the upcoming campus event. “I didn’t peg you as someone interested in that kind of topic, Ashiro-san,” he admitted. “It feels… a bit out of character.”
Ashiro’s lips curved into a rare, soft smile. “I’m not, really. But Kafka-kun is,” she said, amusement coloring her tone. “He’s always been the romantic type. He likes to tell me that maybe we were together in a past life too.”
Hoshina glanced up in surprise—and caught the faintest flush brushing her cheeks.
“He says it like a joke,” Ashiro continued, clearing her throat. “But… I suppose it’s not entirely uninteresting. The idea that we could be bound to someone without realizing it. Maybe you and I worked together like this before too, somewhere else. Don’t you think so?”
Hoshina smiled, the expression coming easily even as something inside him stirred.
“Maybe,” he said. “I'm not even surprised if we do.”
The word barely left his mouth before something shifted.
A sudden, crushing jolt slammed into his chest. The air felt too thick, pressing in on him from all sides. His heart stuttered, then raced, pounding so loudly he was sure Ashiro could hear it. The ache surged again—violent this time, as if something deep inside him had been stirred too abruptly.
Hoshina sucked in a breath that didn’t feel like enough. His fingers tightened around the pen, knuckles whitening as his pulse thundered in his ears. Not now. He lowered his head, willing the room to stop spinning.
“Hoshina?” Ashiro’s voice cut through, sharper now. “Are you okay?”
He blinked, slow and deliberate, forcing the sensation down the way he always did, locking it away before it could spill out. “O–oh. Yes,” he said, a beat too late. “Sorry. I just… spaced out.”
Ashiro studied him for a moment longer. Then she shifted the conversation. “I was saying—what would you think of Miura Beach as a location for our farewell party?”
His heart jumped at the word, the ache flared again, but this time, he was ready. He latched onto Ashiro’s voice, onto the sound of paper rustling, onto the solid weight of the chair beneath him.
“Sure,” he said, quicker than necessary. “That sounds fine.”
Ashiro nodded, satisfied, already jotting something down. “I’ll add it to the proposal, then.”
Hoshina looked back at the paperwork, pen steady once more.
But beneath the calm, beneath the practiced composure, something inside him trembled.
XX
Hoshina realized he was spacing out more often when Ashiro had to call his name twice during the meeting.
“Hoshina.”
No response.
“Hoshina.”
He startled, pen slipping from his fingers. “Ah—sorry.”
A few heads turned. Ashiro paused, studying him with faint concern before continuing the discussion. Hoshina bowed his head, pretending to scribble notes he would barely remember writing.
It wasn’t the first time.
Lately, his thoughts drifted without warning—snagged by half-formed images and sensations that didn’t belong to him. It never came with clarity, only that familiar ache tightening around his heart, making it difficult to breathe properly.
Across the room, he felt it.
Narumi’s gaze.
He didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. There was a pressure there, like Narumi was checking in without saying anything. Hoshina kept his eyes fixed on the table, afraid that if he met that look, something would give.
The meeting ended without incident, but the unease followed him out of the room, trailing close at his heels.
He avoided Narumi afterward. Not intentionally—he told himself that much—but every time their paths nearly crossed, Hoshina found an excuse to turn away. He couldn’t explain it, and he couldn’t bear to see the question forming in Narumi’s eyes.
That night, instead of going back to his room, Hoshina wandered into the campus library.
The place was nearly empty. He didn’t know what he was looking for at first. He just knew he couldn’t keep carrying this weight without understanding it—something, anything, to give shape to the ache that refused to leave him alone.
He searched the archive with stiff fingers.
Reincarnation.Past lives. Memory of the soul.
The words felt ridiculous even as he typed them.
He pulled a book from the shelf and sat down, flipping through pages filled with myths, beliefs, and speculative theories. Some spoke of memories locked deep within the soul, buried beyond consciousnessl. Others described familiar places acting as anchors—locations tied so tightly to emotion that the soul recognized them even when the mind could not.
Hoshina closed the book, fingers pressing into the cover.
“This is stupid,” he muttered.
And yet, his heart was still racing.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, head lowered. The ache pulsed in his chest,relentless. He thought of Narumi’s laugh, his warmth, the way he always reached out without thinking.
I love him, Hoshina told himself firmly. That doesn’t change.
So why did it feel like something else was calling to him?
He squeezed his eyes shut, breath uneven. “I can’t ignore this anymore,” he whispered into the quiet library. The admission felt heavier than any belief he could have voiced.
His phone buzzed with a message he didn’t open right away.
He already knew who it was from. He answered half heartedly, yet his body still seeks his warmth, only to find Narumi sleeping on his bed, as if waiting for him. His heart ached as he pulled him closer, willing the tremor in his heart to ease.
Another meeting followed the next day. Hoshina sat through it with practiced calm, but the tension coiled tighter with every passing minute. He could feel Narumi’s gaze again, steady across the room, concerned in a way that twisted painfully in Hoshina’s chest.
Hoshina asked him to have lunch together.
Narumi agreed without hesitation.
They ended up at their usual bench, the one tucked away from the crowded cafeteria. It was still warm from the sun, still familiar in shape and place—but it no longer felt like theirs alone.
They ate food bought hastily from the cafeteria. Plastic containers. Lukewarm rice. Nothing handmade. Nothing thoughtful. They didn't talk much that what they had discussed in meeting.
Hoshina sat on one end of the bench. Narumi on the other.
Not touching.
Their shoulders never brushed. Their knees never knocked together like they used t.
Hoshina lowered his gaze to the food, appetite fading.
Narumi ate quietly, eyes occasionally drifting toward the field, then back to his container. He didn’t steal bites from Hoshina’s tray. Didn’t comment on the taste. Didn’t tease him for eating slowly.
They finished at different times.
When they stood, neither waited for the other.
The bench remained behind them—unchanged, silent.
What used to be comfort had turned into a bridge neither of them knew how to cross anymore.
And yet Narumi still quietly slept beside him.
XX
The night sea returned to him.
The air was cool, salt clinging to his skin, the sky above stretched wide and dark.
He was sitting on the sand again.
“I love you, 00,” Hoshina said, the words breaking through the careful calm he tried so desperately to maintain. His voice trembled despite himself. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice your struggle. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more for you.” His breath hitched. “Thank you… for these wonderful years. Thank you for loving me.”
00 laughed softly—a sound warm and fragile. He lifted a hand, fingers reaching as if to cup Hoshina’s cheek.
Hoshina leaned instinctively into the gesture—
—and felt nothing.
Who are you? Why can’t I see your face? Why can’t I know your name?
“Don’t apologize,” 00 whispered. His voice was gentle. “If anything… I’m the lucky one.”
The waves surged, then softened again.
“You changed everything for me,” 00 continued. “You put up with me. Loved me. You met me halfway even when I didn’t deserve it.” His smile wavered, tender and unbearably fond. “You gave me a life I never thought someone like me could have.”
Hoshina’s chest tightened painfully.
Then why does this feel like goodbye?
Why do you sound like you’re leaving?
00’s gaze softened further, as if he could hear the thoughts Hoshina couldn’t voice. “You taught me what love is,” he said. “What it feels like to be loved—and to love someone so deeply.”
His voice dropped, fragile and devastating.
“I love you too, Soushiro. More than this life… or the next.”
“No—” Hoshina stepped forward, reaching for him, fingers desperate to hold on. His hand passed straight through empty air.
Why?
He reached again. And again.
Nothing.
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who are you?
The question echoed, louder each time, spiraling until it drowned out the sound of the sea.
Yet his mouth spoke, as if scripted.
“I’ll live,” Hoshina whispered, the vow tearing itself from his chest. “And when the time comes… I’ll find you.”
00 smiled then—soft, bright, heartbreakingly familiar. A smile that felt like it had always belonged to him.
“I’ll be right there,” he said. “No matter how long it takes.”
The waves surged.
The night blurred.
“Soushiro.”
XX
“Soushiro!”
Hoshina felt his body being shaken awake.
His eyes flew open to Narumi hovering over him, worry etched plainly across his face. The ceiling above blurred as breath punched itself out of Hoshina’s lungs, his chest rising too fast. Sweat clung to his shirt, damp and cold against his skin—grounding him back to reality.
That it had only been a dream.
But something about it was different this time.
This time, he hadn’t been watching from a distance. He hadn’t been a spectator, replaying fragments like an outsider peering into someone else’s memory. He had been there. Sitting on the shore. Speaking the words. Feeling the weight of love in his chest so real it nearly broke him apart.
And yet—
He couldn’t touch him.
The name that had slipped from his mouth in the dream never reached his ears. The face before him remained blurred, like it was being erased even as he tried to remember it. All that remained was the feeling.
Love.
And loss.
“Soushiro. Hey, Soushiro,” Narumi said again, insistent this time. “Are you okay?”
Hoshina’s gaze finally focused on him.
Narumi.
And suddenly Hoshina didn’t know what he was feeling anymore.
He had chosen to confront the ache in his chest. But now that he had stepped closer to it… what did that mean for the man in front of him?
He loved Narumi. That much was fact.
And yet his heart still yearned for someone who didn’t exist in this life.
“I’m… fine,” Hoshina said quietly.
The lie tasted wrong the moment it left his mouth.
Narumi frowned,confused. Hurt. Hoshina had never lied to him like that before. Never so plainly, never with eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his.
Narumi had woken because of the sound Hoshina made in his sleep. And now, seeing him pale and disoriented, it only made the unease settle deeper.
Weeks.
It had been weeks like this.
The distance. Meals eaten apart. Conversations that never went past surface-level exchanges. Narumi still came to his room, still slept beside him, but it felt like sharing space with someone standing behind a wall.
Narumi had waited.
He had told himself Hoshina would come to him when he was ready. That whatever was troubling him, he would share it—like he always did.
But he never did.
And Narumi was tired of pretending he didn’t notice.
Not because he was angry.
But because Hoshina didn’t seem well.
Narumi lowered his voice. He reached out, resting a hand on Hoshina’s arm.
“No, you’re not,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s been going on with you lately.” His thumb pressed lightly, grounding. “We haven’t been eating together. We haven’t hung out. You barely look at me anymore.”
Hoshina finally met his eyes.
And the hurt there made his chest ache in a different way.
Narumi swallowed. “Did I do something wrong?”
Hoshina shook his head immediately. “No. Never.” His voice cracked despite himself. “This isn’t… it’s not you. Its me.”
Narumi let out a slow breath, one hand tightening slightly in the sheets. “Then tell me,” he said. “Please.”
Silence stretched between them.
Hoshina looked away.
He didn’t know how to explain that his heart felt torn between two truths—that he loved the man beside him, yet mourned someone he could not remember. That there was a presence clinging to him, familiar and distant all at once, pulling at him no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
He had tried to bury it. He couldn’t anymore.
“I love you,” Hoshina said finally, voice low, steady despite the tremor beneath it. “I really do.”
Narumi’s breath caught—but Hoshina continued, before doubt could take root.
“But something’s wrong with me,” he admitted, fingers curling into the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him anchored. “There’s this feeling I can’t name. I don’t understand it. I don’t even know who it belongs to.” His voice faltered. “I just know it hurts. And I hate that it does.”
Narumi didn’t look away.
Hoshina swallowed, forcing himself to keep going, because keeping this to himself felt worse. Unfair.
“I’ve been having dreams,” he said quietly. “Over and over. About someone who shouldn’t exist. Someone I can’t remember, can’t see clearly—but the ache is real. The love. The loss.” He shook his head, frustrated, almost ashamed. “I don’t want it. I don’t understand why it’s there. His throat tightened. “I just… I don’t want it to hurt you.”
His hands clenched. “If I can love you and still feel this towards someone else… then what does that make me?”
Hoshina hesitated, then exhaled, as if surrendering. He owed him honesty. Anything less would be unfair.
Narumi listened without interrupting, even when his chest felt too tight to breathe properly. Not because he doubted Hoshina’s words—but because he believed every single one of them.
He let out a slow breath. “I never thought you were choosing someone else,” he said softly. “If anything… I know you well enough to know you’re not running toward something. You’re trying to understand it.”
Hoshina looked up, startled by the certainty in his voice.
Narumi met his gaze, honest and open, even as his eyes wavered. “And I don’t think that makes you shallow. Or disloyal. Or broken.”
He paused, fingers curling into the sheets. “But I can feel it. When you’re here with me, part of you is somewhere else—trying to reach something.”
The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t an accusation. Just the truth.
Narumi looked down, then spoke again, quieter.
I’ve dreamed too,you know” he admitted. “Someone I don’t recognize. Someone I..probably loved.” A faint, almost embarrassed smile tugged at his lips. “It was a happy dream. We went on dates. We laughed. I woke up feeling… full.”
Hoshina stiffened.
“But when I wake up,” Narumi continued, voice softening, “I open my eyes and you’re here.” He glanced down, fingers twisting together. “And I know who I love. I know where I belong.”
“I’m not asking you to stop feeling things,” he said gently. “I know hearts don’t work that way.” His voice wavered, just slightly. “I just don’t know how to help you when you’re hurting in a way I can’t ease."
Hoshina’s fingers tightened around the sheets. Narumi’s hand rested on his, warm and steady, but the weight between them was heavier than any touch could carry.
“I… think we need some space,” Hoshina said finally, trembling slightly. He looked down, ashamed. “It’s not you. It’s… me. I can’t… I can’t be all here right now. I’m sorry.”
Narumi’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his expression. He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I… understand. Finals are coming anyway. We can focus on that for now.”
Hoshina blinked, caught off guard by how calm his voice sounded despite the heartbreak beneath it. He swallowed hard, forcing a nod. “Right. Finals.”
They lingered for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, the silence heavy with everything left unsaid. Finally, Narumi squeezed his hand once— and let go.
Hoshina watched him leave, the door clicking softly behind him.
Alone, the room felt impossibly large. Hoshina slid into his blanket, knees pulled to his chest, and finally let the tears fall. He buried his face into his arms, sobs shaking his body.
Across the hall, Narumi paused outside his own door, hand lingering on the knob. His chest ached, heavy. When he stepped inside, he allowed himself a single, silent tear, letting it fall for the boy he loved—and the distance that had quietly grown between them.
The dorm was quiet again. But the echo of their shared heartbreak lingered.