Archive of Our Own

Now, if the archangel stepped like a threat from behind the stars
and took a single stride down towards us,
our own pounding heartbeat would slaughter us. 

— The Second Elegy

Moonlight pooled over the courtyard and coated leafless branches in a faint silver sheen, for rain had poured over the same trees earlier. The night was quiet, as it always was in remote areas where those kinds of hospitals were built. Not out of isolation, but for calm to reign. 

And as the moon blinked for an instant, like a cloud had passed before it, the still air shifted. A cool breeze blew, cleaning the pavement of the stray stalks bothering its clean grid. 

A tall creature descended, dark and large wings flapping around it. It landed with the grace of a hawk as it laid foot on the ground without a single noise — not even a creak. It retracted their several pairs of wings in their back, and stood taller, revealing the looming height of a being grander than humanity. 

The feathers on its wings were long and thin, like they could be used as blades if one dared to approach and snatch one of them. The creature exuded an imposing, almost suffocating aura, its large body casting a shadow darker than the night sky on the trite pavement. Its chest was still, not heaving with any breath — the skin only taut over ripped muscles. 

The creature had a sharp jaw, long arms, large shoulders and honed claws, its body molded in a barely disguised threat that no grand steel wings could even distract from. 

The looming presence slowly approached the window its eyes had not steered away from since it had landed. Its steps were light, quiet, yet heavy with the power laying just beneath the skin of this creature. Nothing seemed to breathe around the latter.

The creature stopped when it reached the window and looked down at the room inside, dimly lit by the moon. There, on a bed that certainly was relatively small on its own but looked even more so compared to the tall creature, laid the body of a sleeping boy. Turned away from the window, shoulder rising slowly with the rhythm of his breaths — unaware of the black eyes boring holes into his back. 

The imposing being stayed there for a moment and watched the boy sleep soundly, hair dishevelled against the soft pillow. Then, it raised a hand to put it against the window — or to shatter it with a mere touch, like its claws seemed to be capable of. 

But before the creature’s long fingers could even graze the glass, a shining sword slayed its body in half. 

As the creature had been gazing through the window, a slender silhouette had appeared between the slim trees. Quiet and gracious, the newcomer had sneaked up on the creature, keeping his eyes trained on its nape. His skin reflected the moonlight, as if he was made of the same wet polished stone he was walking on.

His silver sword slashed through flesh, tendons, feathers and bones, the metal hissing with a magical glow and leaving dark spurts of blood in its wake. They coated the blade and dripped down its length as the creature’s body fell limp before the stranger. The blood pooled on the pavement, its almost black color seeping easily in the shadows of the night. Some of it had splattered on the gracious being’s pretty face. 

The latter’s eyes lingered on the corpse at his feet, and watched the way the creature was already starting to disappear. He absent-mindedly wiped the blood off his face, carelessly staining the edge of his blond hair in the process.

He glanced at the window the creature had been staring through, and his gaze found the sleeping boy. The said boy laid there, quiet and serene; unbothered by the slaughter that had happened just on the other side of his room. 

The blond stared at him with a blank expression, his red eyes glowing in the dark as they followed the breaths of the boy. The night was silent again, no hint of wind disturbing the naked tree branches or the dead stalks on the ground. 

After a while, the elegant individual walked away and disappeared into the night. 

It was a quiet day. They always were, around here. 

Some bird was even chirping outside. Unusual, at this time of the year. It was probably enjoying the rare sun rays that had dared to peak out of behind the clouds. 

“Here. All done.”

Ryo looked down at his arm and eyed the injection needle taped to his arm. 

“Thank you,” he said as he smiled warmly at his nurse. 

She made quick work of throwing her gloves away, and offered him a gentle smile. “I’ll come back in two hours to remove it. Don’t run around too much until then.” 

A laugh left Ryo’s lips. “No worries. I’ll behave.” 

She hummed, grabbed her notebook and left as soon as she had arrived. She had plenty of other patients to attend.

Ryo glanced at the window again. He had two empty hours to fill. He had already gotten lunch, and had a class later. 

He sighed softly. His schedule was always freed for his IV shots, because he could not move as easily when he had to carry around the whole tubing with him. But then, it was annoying for the exact same reason: he could not move easily if he had to carry around the tubing with him. 

He was about to resort to starting the boring-looking book by the side of his bed, when something outside caught his eye. Someone, specifically. 

There was a blond boy standing at the edge of the courtyard. Ryo had never seen him around. 

Before Ryo could think twice about it, he got out of bed, grabbed the metal bar of his wheeled standing IV and made his way out. It only took him a minute, since his room was on the first floor. 

“Hey,” Ryo said as he walked up to him.

The blond boy turned away from the plants he had been observing to eye the newcomer. 

The former’s skin was pale — so pale Ryo wondered if it was even safe for him to be out in the sun like that, even if it was nowhere near as aggressive as it was in summer —, and his lashes were as blond as his hair. Wow. Not bleached, then, Ryo thought. 

He looked stunning, honestly. 

“I’ve never seen you around,” Ryo continued with a warm smile. “Are you new?”

A beat passed before the other boy answered. 

“Yeah,” he said shortly. 

He did not sound cold. Just… not very talkative. It was fine. Ryo could work with that. 

“It’s pretty nice here,” he said cheerfully. “I won’t hope for you to like it, because, well… That’d be a bit misplaced, but I do hope you’ll at least feel comfortable.” 

The boy blinked. “Thank you,” he replied with a small bow of his head. 

Ryo almost laughed at the sudden politeness, especially from someone that looked around his age. “I’m Ryo, by the way.”

Something akin to a smile ghosted over the other boy’s lips. “Fujinaga Sakuya.” 

Ryo nodded. “Nice to meet you, Sakuya.” 

“Same here.”

Ryo noticed the way Sakuya’s eyes drifted to the standing IV next to him. He would have probably stiffened a while ago, but he had gotten used to curious looks thrown his way. 

“I don’t usually carry that around with me,” Ryo joked, remaining vague. 

Sakuya’s gaze found him again. In any other circumstances, Ryo would have guessed his eyes were a dark brown, like his; but here, even in the brightest day winter had dared to give them since the beginning of the season, they remained pitch black. Deep and unfathomable, like countless secrets were hiding behind. 

There probably were. Ryo had his own, too. 

“I would have guessed that,” Sakuya replied. 

And did not insist. 

Not even a single question about what was in the IV shot, why Ryo needed it, or why Ryo was in this hospital. No meeting-induced curiosity that would force Ryo to decide between dodging the topic or facing things he liked to keep in the back of his mind and only meet in his bad dreams. 

Ryo blinked, surprised, then smiled internally.

He was going to like that guy. 

He pointed at the plants in front of Sakuya with his chin. “What were you looking at?” 

Sakuya followed his gaze and looked down at the light ferns on the edge of the courtyard. “There was a butterfly.”

Ryo lit up. They were in the middle of winter; he had not seen any insects around for a good few months now. 

“Really? Did it fly away? Sorry, I probably scared it.”

Sakuya shook his head. “No. A snake ate it,” he replied flatly.

Ryo’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Aw,” he said with a pout. “That’s sad.”

Sakuya shrugged. “That’s how life is,” he said as he looked back at Ryo.

“So pragmatic,” he snickered. 

The blond boy just stared at him, not bothered the slightest by Ryo’s remark. 

Before Ryo could try to feed the conversation more, someone called his name. He turned his head to the glass doors; a nurse was standing there. 

“Ryo! Come here,” he beckoned him with a move of his hand. “Let’s get you a haircut while you have time.”

Ryo let out a groan. “Now?” he complained exaggeratedly. 

“Yes. It’s not like you have anything else to do. And you squirm less with an IV stabbed in your arm.”

Ryo just rolled his eyes. “Coming!” he yelled. He turned to Sakuya, and gave him an apologetic smile. “I have to go,” he said more quietly. “See you around.” 

Sakuya smiled at him. “See you, Ryo.”

Ryo hurried back inside and followed the nurse’s footsteps, his standing IV rolling noisily next to him as it bumped on the irregular tiles of the courtyard. Sakuya’s gaze stayed trained on him until he was out of sight. 

And as soon as Ryo left, the bright sun got covered by a blanket of clouds. 

“Did anyone show you around?” Ryo asked Sakuya the next time they met in the courtyard.

He knew no one had. Not only because the medical staff was too busy to offer a visit to every newcomer, but also because there was not much to show. They probably had only indicated to Sakuya his room, the courtyard and the canteen. 

“No,” Sakuya said, as expected. 

“Come on,” Ryo smiled. “I’ll make you visit.” 

They went back inside. 

The corridors were clean; like it always was in any hospital, but no permanent disinfectant smell or gloomy atmosphere lingered here. Everything felt so calm. Ryo would not dare calling it comforting — at least not for everyone. But, as for himself, he had come to find solace between the walls of this small hospital and the whispered jokes with the staff he now knew by heart. 

They went past several rooms Ryo absent-mindedly explained the role of. Sakuya listened quietly, sometimes even giving him a nod of acknowledgement. As they passed in front of Ryo’s room, the latter tapped on the plate on the door that read Hirose Ryo.

“That’s my room,” he indicated with a smile. “If you ever want to come and find me.” 

Sakuya gave him a hum. “I saw you before.”

Ryo raised a brow. “In my room?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense, but—” Ryo squinted his eyes in an exaggerated wary expression. “Are you stalking me?”

Sakuya gauged him with an unimpressed look. “I know you came to find me because you saw me through your window, Ryo.”

A laugh left Ryo’s lips. “Touché.”

He showed Sakuya the second floor next. There were less operation rooms there — more space for a lively environment. He continued to explain briefly what was around them, not lingering anywhere for too long because nothing seemed to pique Sakuya’s interest. He did not look bored either, so Ryo was not worried about being a bother. 

Sakuya was just a quiet person. 

“And here’s the kids’ playground,” Ryo indicated as he opened the last door of the corridor. 

It was one of Ryo’s favorite places here. It probably was his favorite place, all things considered, because there were not that many to be fond of in a hospital — even in one as nice as this one. 

The room was wide, and the whole floor was covered by colorful squares of carpet. The windows had been built large enough to let the sun bathe the whole room in a yellow warmth, even during this season. Poufs of various forms laid scattered here and there, and the lack of any sort of fancy adjustment betrayed the regular childish plays and laughters that filled this room. 

Before they could even fully penetrate into the room, someone bumped into Ryo’s leg. 

“Ouch!” he said reflexively, more out of empathy than of actual pain. “Are you okay?”

He bent down to check the kid's face, but she was already running away, unbothered. 

“I’m fine, Ryo!” she grinned with a heartfelt giggle. 

He let out a relieved sigh. “Mind where you’re going, Kimiko!” he yelled at her retreating back. 

She just turned around and stuck his tongue out at him. 

Ryo stood back up with a laugh and glanced at Sakuya. “That’s Kimiko. She’s been here only for a week. She’s one of the youngest here, but one of the most diabolical. She never runs out of energy.” He looked at the little girl again. “That’s Sayuri with her.” A fond smile tugged at his lips. “They’re so cute.”

The two girls were trying to jump from square to square while staying on the same color, giggles slipping out of their mouths as they tried to make each other fall. 

“Yeah,” Sakuya said. “They are.”

Ryo had not noticed Sakuya had only glanced at the girls once, and had been looking at him the whole time. He was wearing a gentle expression on his face, a soft smile stretching his lips.  

“Ryo,” said the nurse with a frown as she looked down at the printed graph in her hands. “You’re going to need another IV infusion.”

Ryo’s head snapped up from where he was seated on his bed. 

“What? Already?” he said, stunned. A groan left his lips when the nurse’s serious gaze did not waver from her notes. “It hasn’t even been two weeks since the last one,” he complained. “Plus, I have to exercise right now.”

The nurse gave him a tired look. “Ryo,” she said flatly. 

Sport was important for him to stay healthy, but they both knew it did not matter compared to the urgency of his treatment. Ryo shut his mouth when he saw her jaw tighten as she eyed the paper again. 

His shoulders drooped slightly. She was clearly trying to keep her worries to herself not to alarm him, but he could read the tense line of her shoulders. 

“We’ll do another X-ray next week. I’ll ask Ms. Shizuki if we need to change up your diet again.” She glanced at the still unopened small box on his bedside table. She pointed at it with her pen. “Think about taking those whenever it gets too intense, okay?” 

Ryo nodded docilely. She looked worried enough, her brows drawn in a frown he knew would not disappear until the end of the day. 

“Okay,” he confirmed. 

She gave him a soft smile. “Perfect. I’ll come back later.”

Ryo just blinked as she left his room and closed the door behind her. 

He looked outside his window, like he often did when the hollow in him started to feel a bit too real. His gaze found the grey sky and got lost in the contrast of the dark trees and pale clouds. 

He slipped a hand under his shirt and pressed it to his heart. He felt its rhythm pulse gently under his fingertips, and his skin was warm against his palm — like any other teenager his age. 

But he knew his heart was not the problem. 

There were times where it caught up to him.

He could ignore it — not pretend it did not exist, but simply push it in the back of his mind —, because peace was easier to live with than dread. But it never liked to lay forgotten for too long. 

Ryo had to be reminded of the incurable ache in his brain. 

He woke up with a start, fists tense and heartbeat stumbling. He blinked a few times as he crossed the bridge between dream and reality, slowly finding his way back to his bed. He could hear his labored breathing and feel the sweat drenching his back.

He exhaled shakily and relaxed on the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut as the familiar headache appeared behind his closed lids. The fragments of his dream were already slipping away, but he did not hold them back. It left enough fear and apprehension in its wake for Ryo not to bother to try remember it. 

He hated it. 

It always went that way. 

He knew he would not be able to calm his hurried heartbeat for at least a good moment now, and would just have to wait until the anxiety dissolved for his body to leave its flight-or-fight mode. And in the meantime, a drilling migraine would pound behind his temples, relentless, merciless, permanent. 

It was always there. It just got louder — unbearable — in times like this. 

A groan escaped Ryo’s lips as he curled on his side and pressed his hands to his temples. He wished he could crack his skull open to make everything stop — the thoughts, the anxiety and the pain. 

He glanced at his bedside table and blinked to will away his bleary vision. 

The pills. 

He did not want to take any. Despite easing down his fear and his heartbeat, they always made him want to throw up and heightened his headaches. The nurses would be angry again if they learned he had let himself drown in a near anxiety attack instead of taking any, though. 

With a heavy sigh, Ryo decided that, today, the pulse behind his eyes was not strong enough to excuse him from taking a pill. He reached out, heart still frantic in his chest. He realized it when his hand failed to get a hold of the package because of how much it was trembling. 

He cursed under his breath when he knocked down both his book and the pills. They crashed to the ground, and Ryo winced at the noise. 

He was looking down at the box of pills, feeling the least willing he had ever been to pick something up, when someone entered his room. 

Ryo glanced up, surprised, and met Sakuya’s gaze. 

Strangely, he had not been startled. 

“Sakuya?”

For an instant, the said boy stayed still in the doorframe. He stared at Ryo, then looked down at the pills he had knocked down. Ryo did not move either, stuck in that weird perched position that betrayed the fact that he was about to bend down. 

Sakuya looked at him again. 

“I heard a noise.” 

Ryo stared at him. “Yeah.”

Sakuya entered the room further, leaving the door ajar behind him. Ryo did not mind; actually, the room felt less suffocating that way. He leaned back slightly as Sakuya approached. 

None of them reached for the pills. 

Sakuya went around Ryo’s bed, and the faint moonlight caught in his pale hair when he got close enough to the window for it to reach him. He glanced outside, and — for a fleeting second — Ryo saw his face harden in a cold expression.

Colder than he had ever seen on his features. 

Sakuya looked away, and it was gone as soon as it appeared. It had been so short-lived Ryo wondered if he had not just imagined it. His mind was not the clearest at the moment, after all. 

“You’re not sleeping?” Sakuya asked, peering down at him. 

Ryo had not noticed how calm he actually felt — not until he cracked a teasing smile at Sakuya, and realized his body was more relaxed than it should have been. 

“Yes, dumbass. I am right now, can't you see?”

Sakuya smiled back. 

“And you?” Ryo added. 

“I am, too,” Sakuya played along. 

“So you sleepwalked into my room, huh?”

Sakuya just shrugged. “I heard a noise,” he repeated, like it was enough of a justification. 

“Who’s letting you wander in the corridors of the hospital in the middle of the night?” 

“My door isn’t locked.” Sakuya then pointed at Ryo’s door with his chin. “Yours isn’t either.”

Ryo smiled. “Okay,” he laughed, because Sakuya was funny. He did not insist. 

Sakuya’s presence had done him more good in the last few minutes than any pill would have. He was not about to complain and make his healing go away as soon as it came. 

“What’s this book?” 

Ryo glanced at the pitifully forgotten item on the floor. 

“It’s boring.” 

“Is it?” Sakuya said with a laugh. 

“Don’t know. I actually haven’t started it yet.”

Sakuya hummed thoughtfully. Silence stretched between them for a moment, warm and comfortable. 

“How do you feel?” Sakuya asked softly.

Ryo met his attentive eyes. 

For a second, Ryo wondered if he knew. That Ryo had just had a nightmare, and that his heart was drowning in anxiety. And if he knew, even before Ryo did, that his presence would calm him down. 

“Good,” Ryo replied carefully, letting his sincerity show through the slow syllable. “Better,” he corrected. 

Sakuya gazed at him, his eyes on the edge of something gentle, but somehow still withdrawn. “Good.”

They talked for a bit. Their sentences were slow, softened at the edges by Ryo’s sleepiness and the quietness of the night. Ryo found as much comfort in the pauses punctuating their unimportant talk as in the words he exchanged with Sakuya. 

Ryo’s headache still pulsed faintly behind his eyes, but his hands were not shaking anymore, nor was his heart beating like fear would swallow it whole. He sat there, relaxed, bathing in the moonlight Sakuya’s body was not hiding. 

The latter looked almost inhuman, silver light seeping around him like he was exuding it himself. Ryo let his mind drift into the fantasy of Sakuya’s surreal nature, entertaining the thought of some divine being coming to mend the pieces of his broken soul together. 

After a while, once their conversation had died down in a gentle quietness again, Sakuya glanced at the door. 

“I should probably go,” he said as he stood up straighter. 

Ryo’s hands reflexively clamped down on his sheets as a lump formed in his throat. His stomach twisted at the fear of his anxiety coming back. 

“Wait…”

Sakuya paused, and looked at him. 

As calm as ever.  

“Can you stay a little longer?” Ryo asked in a small voice, his determination dying at the end of his sentence. 

Sakuya gazed at him, the hint of a smile barely brushing his lips. He did not say anything, and let silence find its way back between them; let it fill the cracks they could not mend with words or answers, because asking could deepen them. 

Sakuya reached out slowly; and, as the air seemed to still, he laid the softest stroke on Ryo’s hair. 

He did not press, just grazed it. He slipped a single finger under an unruly lock to brush it back into place. The gesture was soft, tender — and suffocating in the way Sakuya still stayed out of reach. He did not touch Ryo, but the latter could feel the heat of his palm as he carded lightly through his hair. 

After a moment, Sakuya let his hand fall on the bed in favor of leaning down. Ryo’s eyes stayed locked to Sakuya’s, even when he felt the mattress dip where the other had put his hand. 

Sakuya got closer. Closer. He went slowly, like to give room and time for Ryo to back away. 

Like he was testing just how far Ryo would let him go. 

Ryo did not move. He still felt the way his heart skipped a beat, then ran a bit faster despite the healing effect Sakuya had on him. Yet this thrill had nothing to do with his choking, suffocating anxiety. So he stared at Sakuya’s black eyes, watching them get closer as Sakuya leaned down. 

Like he was testing just how far Sakuya would go. 

When Sakuya stopped, Ryo could feel his breath fan over his lips. 

They stood there, still. On the edge of a challenge — and something else. 

Only a second later, Sakuya smirked and pulled back. Ryo blinked, surprised. 

Sakuya sat down on the stool next to Ryo’s bed. He crossed his arms on the edge of the mattress. “Go to sleep, Ryo.” He laid his head on his arms, his sly smile now also bearing a hint of fondness. He tilted his head, as if to observe Ryo better. “I’m watching over you.”

Strangely, it warmed Ryo’s heart. He smiled at Sakuya, glad that he had accepted to stay. 

“Okay,” he whispered. 

He laid down on the mattress, and went back to sleep — probably the calmest he had ever been after a bad dream. 

Maybe the calmest he had ever been at all. 

When he woke in the morning, Sakuya was nowhere to be seen. His book and his pills were back on his bedside table, and the door of his room was closed. 

They did not talk much. 

“Have you ever travelled?” Ryo asked one sunny afternoon.

They usually hung around the courtyard, lingering at the edge of the garden. The hospital was pleasant and welcoming enough for them to spend time there if they wanted to, but they somehow always found their way back here, surrounded by the soft hum of the wind in the naked branches. Where they had met for the first time.

“You could say that,” Sakuya said as he gazed at Ryo.

He often did that. Staring at Ryo. 

Ryo had noticed. 

He closed his eyes, inhaling a breath fresh of the sharp smell of nature. Something prior to the rebirth of spring, of its heady scent and bright flowers, but still keen by the purity of its premises.  

“Where have you been?”

Sakuya shifted next to him. Ryo caught a whiff of that particular scent he had come to associate with him.

“A lot of places.”

Ryo opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, his eyes getting used to the sunlight again. 

“I would go everywhere, if I could.” He glanced at the sky. “Anywhere, actually. Probably somewhere in the mountains, far from any city. So I could see the stars.”

“We can see them pretty well from here, too.” 

Ryo looked at Sakuya. As expected, he was already looking at him. 

“I know,” Ryo admitted. “But you’d probably see them even better if there was no light at all.” 

Sakuya tilted his head, an almost pensive look on his face. “They don’t look that different. If it’s a worry of yours, I mean.”

Ryo smiled. Sakuya was just trying to make him feel better — make him find comfort in the simple existence they had, here.

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Sakuya shrugged. “Kind of. I don’t pay them that much attention, to be honest.”

Ryo just hummed. He looked away to gaze at the sky again, enjoying the sun’s warmth as a soft breeze grazed his skin. Sakuya stayed there, quiet, and they both fell back into the silence they were now used to. 

They did not talk much. 

They only shared glimpses of dreams — never of what their life had been. Sometimes of what their life could be. Most of the words they shared only settled in the present, insignificant testimonies of the passing of time. 

One could have thought it was shallow. 

But the way they never dug too deep, only shared what could be seen and felt, remained close enough to the surface to take a breath, betrayed a joint sincerity. There was no illusion, no emotional stories, no grandiose journey, no heartbreaking situation, no confessed secrets, no pity and compassion. 

They allowed themselves to build a bond and nurture affection for each other out of simple moments, important in their unimportance, for they revealed the both of them without any artifice. Moments that did not mean anything, yet only belonged to them. Not yesterday’s them, or tomorrow’s. Just the ones they allowed themselves to be in each other’s presence. 

That was what Ryo liked about Sakuya. 

He never asked. Never tried to pry him open, never tried to find out what was wrong with him only to reassure him afterwards and make promises he could not keep, never cared about himself enough to try to play the role of someone’s savior and bathe in the self-satisfaction of a good action. 

Ryo never did either. 

He did not ask why Sakuya came here, because it did not matter. He did not ask if Sakuya would leave, because he would. He never asked when, because it was unimportant. He liked Sakuya for the small giggle he got out of him, not for the memories he had given him or for the ones he could give him in the future. He did not like Sakuya for possibilities that might not happen. 

So he never asked. He knew the solace of ignorance. 

Ryo’s health was worsening, too. He knew it was getting serious when he did not only catch nurses whispering it among themselves, but when they also said it to his face. 

It had been a while since he had taken any pill. 

He was growing tired of it, honestly. Not annoyed, or fed up: just tired. It was the kind of exhaustion that infiltrated his bones, his brain and his heart. He did not feel numb, but he was getting closer to it. 

He did not tell Sakuya, because it did not matter.

But also, deep down, because he knew it could drive him away. There was no need in Sakuya hurting because of something that had not happened yet.

He knew the solace of ignorance. 

Time was lenient with them. 

The days were slow and quiet, passing by like a flowing river that lazily danced around tree roots and thick stones. 

When, one night, Ryo found Sakuya at his door, a raised brow and a “wanna walk?” on his lips, he did not ask any question and followed him. He did not ask why Sakuya was awake, or how he knew Ryo was too. He had half a mind to wonder if they were leaving too many unsaid things between them, but he could not bring himself to shatter the comfort they had built.

They walked out in the courtyard, like they always did. 

“It’s not too cold tonight,” Ryo said. 

Sakuya stood next to him, but somehow still felt distant. It was as if he always kept a safe length between them; one that Ryo could not quite find meaning to. That night Ryo had had a nightmare was the only time Sakuya had bridged it. 

For some reason, the air felt heavier between them today. 

“Spring is coming,” Sakuya muttered. 

Ryo hummed. Not for me, he thought.

Even when Sakuya kept him at arm’s length, he emitted some kind of warmth that wrapped around Ryo; and the latter found himself drawn to it once again. Like an invisible string was pulling him to Sakuya, guiding all of his senses towards him. Like he was turning deaf, blind and numb to anything that was not him. 

The air was crisp, the sky clear and the night quiet. There was nowhere for the truth to hide. And here, basking in the moonlight, overlooked by the stars he cherished so much, Ryo understood. 

He had to listen to his heart.

He glanced one last time at the sky before turning to Sakuya. 

The smallest, quietest breeze was playing with his hair, caressing the blond strands like the hand of a lover instead of randomly tangling it. It shone golden under the moonlight, like the core of a star had been shattered for one of its fragments to be weaved into hair strands. Sakuya’s white skin exuded the same kind of ethereal, cosmic energy. It was so pale one would have thought Sakuya spent his days hiding from the sun, and would burn the second his fragile flesh would be exposed to it; yet his skin had never reddened under the warm sun rays, and seemed to drink their light instead of shying away. Here, even while the sun was absent, Sakuya glowed — like the energy he had absorbed was now oozing out. 

He looked perfect. 

For the first time since they had met, Ryo asked a question about Sakuya. 

Really about Sakuya.

“You’re not real, are you?” 

His voice was soft, but clear. 

The eyes he had trained on Sakuya were an open book. Ryo would look away, or at least squint if he had things to hide; if he was scared. But his warm gaze remained unwavering as it observed the other boy. Nothing but trust and raw honesty laid in Ryo’s brown eyes, starkly contrasting with Sakuya’s unreadable gaze. And Ryo’s lips were stretched in a soft smile. 

Because, despite his question, he had no doubt. 

Sakuya did not even blink as another blond lock brushed his lashes, and only stared at Ryo. It was the kind of little things that made him look inhuman. 

“No,” Sakuya finally replied. He did not look surprised that Ryo had seen right through him.

Ryo’s smile only grew larger, satisfied. Like none of this worried him. 

That was how he always was; gentle, warm and reassuring. Like he had exceeded the amount of pain he could feel during his lifetime and could never be disappointed anymore. He welcomed everything like a gift, shared his affection like a blessing, gave away his trust like a pledge instead of something worth breaking.

Even the cold, silver moonlight could not tint his face with a melancholic hue. 

“Am I imagining you?” Ryo asked, keeping his eyes on Sakuya. Not out of paranoïa, not because he was scared of him disappearing; but to enjoy his presence while it lasted. He may be only the fruit of Ryo’s imagination, such a beautiful sight was rare to witness even in the confines of one’s mind. 

And Ryo had noticed it.

The way no medical staff ever talked to Sakuya, or even looked in his direction. The way Sakuya only seemed to be focused on him, and could not be bothered by the world revolving around them. The way Ryo had never seen Sakuya’s room, never seen his name on the board of patients, never heard any nurse mention him. 

The way Sakuya had never touched him. 

As if doing so would shatter an illusion. 

“No.”

Ryo blinked. Sakuya leaned forward. 

“I’m your angel,” he said softly. 

And when Sakuya uttered those words, it was as if his skin started glowing — more than it already was. It was not obvious, just more visible; more honest. Like he had finally stripped the bland veil he wore to disguise himself as a human. 

Now, everything felt sharper: the light reflecting on Sakuya’s hair, the elegance he moved with, the power oozing out of him, the natural perfume that tickled Ryo’s nose every time Sakuya was nearby. His ethereal beauty, now in its rawest and unrestrained form, could not be mistaken for a human one.

Ryo took in the sight — took in Sakuya’s trust to truthfully reveal himself before Ryo’s eyes. 

“Why are you here?” 

Sakuya stayed silent for a moment. Like he was taking his time to read Ryo.

“I think you know why,” he finally said. 

The wind was singing between the tree branches, the garden was humming with the melody of nocturnal wildlife, the moon was painting streaks of platinum on Ryo and Sakuya’s bodies — and Ryo understood. A calm, serene feeling washed over him. 

He was not scared.

He had never been. 

“Why aren’t you doing it?” 

Sakuya tilted his head. Pondered.

“I think you also know why,” he said with a gentle gaze, his lips on the edge of curving around a smile. 

And Ryo’s heart, for the first time in years, found itself wrapped in a tight, comfortable embrace. The kind of warmth that could make one forget loneliness — the kind of warmth that only came with the absence of loneliness. 

Oh, how much of a kind and pure soul to have for an angel to start loving you.

But before being blessed by someone else’s heart, Ryo had been blessed with an honest one. 

“It’s time, though, isn’t it?”

His words were soft, like the wind could muffle them in a quiet harmony if it dared to sing a bit louder around them. 

But Sakuya heard them loud and clear. He eyed Ryo with an almost surprised expression. 

He slowly crossed the remaining distance between him and Ryo, and stopped right in front of him; closer than he usually allowed it. Now that Ryo knew Sakuya was not just a fragment of his imagination, his fingers tingled with the urge to reach out. 

Sakuya looked down at him, his face wearing the most tender expression Ryo had ever seen on him; as if the weight of his duty had been lessened solely by Ryo’s consent.   

“It is,” Sakuya said gently. 

Ryo smiled. His heart was at peace — cherished by the hands of an angel, too. 

“You made everything softer,” he said. 

Sakuya gazed at him, and slowly raised his hands to reach for Ryo’s face. He did not touch him, just let them hover above Ryo’s cheeks, like he was a fragile gemstone. Ryo did not move, did not even look at Sakuya’s hands; he kept his eyes locked to Sakuya’s, admiring the soul that had kept him company for the last few weeks. For his last few weeks. 

“I know,” Sakuya whispered. 

The world got quieter. Like it was leaving room for Ryo’s final words.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

He closed his eyes when Sakuya finally lowered his hands to cup Ryo’s face. He cradled it tenderly, like Ryo could break beneath his fingers. 

And the second Ryo’s skin came in contact with Sakuya’s for the first time, life left his body. 

His tired soul finally let go, and his heart stopped in the hands of the one it had come to beat for. Sakuya laid a kiss on Ryo’s forehead before he was completely gone, allowing him to savour the fatal touch before it took the life away from him. 

Ryo went limp in Sakuya’s hold. Sakuya caught him, and carefully lowered him to the ground as he kneeled beside him. He brought a hand up to Ryo’s serene face, slowly caressing his cooling cheek as he stared down at him. Ryo’s body was as relaxed as if he had been sleeping. 

He had left peacefully. 

Sakuya looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He spent some time there, brushing the stray hairs away from Ryo’s face, gazing at the one he had come to cherish.

Gazing at the one he had come to covet. 

Before Ryo’s body could go completely cold and lifeless, Sakuya pulled his hand away. With a flick of his wrist, his pale and slender fingers sharpened in dark claws. Their smooth tips glinted in the moonlight like a dagger made of the darkest metal. The next time Sakuya blinked, his eyes unveiled their true red color. 

When Sakuya reached for Ryo again, he did not touch his face; he laid a hand next to it, slightly scratching the ground there. He put his other hand in the air above Ryo’s sternum, claws hovering directly over his unmoving chest. He pressed his fingers together and straightened his palm and his wrist until all of his forearm formed a clean vertical line from his elbow to the tips of his claws. His gaze, glowing red, scanned Ryo’s still face. 

Then, he looked down.

Sakuya did not even blink as he drove his claws into Ryo’s chest. 

His sharp fingers tore fabric and breached skin, warm blood gushing out like the flesh had been pierced by a blade. His eyes stayed fixated on the wound as his hand dug deeper; and only a few seconds after Sakuya had torn Ryo’s skin, he pulled his bloody fingers out of his chest.

Holding Ryo’s unbeating heart. 

Sakuya opened his mouth, and his lips curled around sharp teeth that were not there before. He bit into the warm organ, blood trickling down his chin as his teeth sank into Ryo’s core. He tore the tissue, chewed it up and swallowed it like it was the first thing he had eaten in months. 

Bit by bit, Sakuya devoured him. 

Once only cold blood was left in Sakuya’s palm, he leaned down, getting closer to Ryo’s unmoving face. He grinned, lips and teeth coated red. 

“You’re mine forever, now,” he whispered. 

He graciously stood up, his body lighter because of the soul he had just consumed. Moonlight shone a cold light on the bloody scene, softening the edges of the raw sight. Life was still singing around them, chanting the perpetual hum of birth and existence; like it was bidding farewell to Ryo’s soul.

Sakuya could not even find it in him to think he had been cruel. Could a desire so deep it had to consume be blamed, if it made sure to only take once the love needed was given? 

Hubris only started where harm of another began. 

Sakuya unfolded his wings, revealing them for the first time since he had started hanging around this hospital. They were dark and thin, akin to those of a bat. They spread out around him, wide and imposing, at least twice as large as Sakuya was tall. The skin was drawn taut by the restrained power accumulated by being hidden for so long. 

He gazed at Ryo’s lifeless body one last time before flying away. Leaving behind only the empty shell of his desire, he disappeared in the darkness of the night even the full moon could not pierce through. 

Ryo laid there, motionless, like the innocent victim of a sacrifice to a God.

Yet, Sakuya was no God. 

And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. — 2 Corinthians 11:14