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Yoshiki's relationship with Hikaru had been defined by distance. Built anew on it brick by brick after the casual, carefree intimacy of childhood friendship was torn open by outside forces at the cusp of adolescence; The danger and metrics of a proximity considered too close for two boys was made clear with sideways looks, raised eyebrows and the tightened lips of adults more or less familiar, always asking the same questions. Well, do you have a girlfriend yet? Just wait until you have a family of your own. You know a man oughta…
Yoshiki deeply internalized both the implications and their coercion upon him; He wove them into a web of safety, hardened them into a cocoon so thick and heavy he could barely breathe underneath it. If I don't look, if I don't get too close, if I just...
Hikaru took a different approach. Instead of letting the forces of social propriety crush him, he took the hushed contempt and refused to let it fester. He rolled it around on his tongue until he had to spit it back out, molded it into a different kind of armor, one with spikes on the outside. Actively, if not enthusiastically, he made the effort to conform, deliberately filling Yoshiki's empty, hesitant space with learned shame. It was just something you did; Something you were supposed to do, that everyone did, that you didn't get a choice in. It's easier for everyone. Right?
An arm's length. A playful fist to the shoulder. Who do you like? Yoshiki sometimes thought about the time before, when they were just kids instead of promising young men in need of priming to be upstanding members of society. When the rules were different, their collective enforcement looser, if only a little. Hikaru might have remembered it, too. Thought of it occasionally, maybe. Yoshiki wasn't quite sure. Now he would never find out.
The new Hikaru mimics the distance the best he can. Without a real sense of why, just going through the motions, he continues to keep it until Yoshiki asks him who he really is, inadvertently gracing him with the first act of kindness he ever experienced: The opportunity to stop. A privilege the real Hikaru Indou never got to get; The first of many to come.
After that, Hikaru keeps closing the distance Hikaru always created. Pulling when he's supposed to push. Looking when he's supposed to sneer. Wanting Yoshiki when he's supposed to not.
Like lounging on Yoshiki's bed after school while Yoshiki reads the new volume of Master+Master. Their reading order was agreed upon on the way home from Yamahisa's: Yoshiki bought it, so he reads it first. Hikaru has to wait. Yoshiki sits on the floor, leaning against the bed at a safe distance from Hikaru, and after just a few pages of catching glimpses of action shots from behind Yoshiki's back, Hikaru finds he does not enjoy waiting. His eyes flick between Yoshiki and the manga, teeth worrying the inside of his lip, showing admirable restraint for a creature with inhumanly strong urges and little sense of the appropriate kind of intimacy in specific human relationships. After all, his relationship to Yoshiki is the first and only one that is his instead of Hikaru's. In the end, impatience inevitably wins over politeness and Hikaru drapes his head over Yoshiki's shoulder to read with him.
Yoshiki freezes. Hikaru's chin slots right in the crook of his neck, cheekbone cutting into the soft meat of his cheek. Hikaru's eyelashes tickle his face and Yoshiki wants to die. There is so much skin on his skin, warm and alive and close. Hikaru reaches over and flips to the next page, babbling over a panel of a fight scene, the careless enthusiasm in his voice nails on a chalkboard in Yoshiki's ears. For a long second, Yoshiki is dead still, seized in horror at the Hikaru's-face-sized hole in his cocoon. The edge of the next page Hikaru turns scratches over the pad of his thumb. Then he flinches.
"Get off."
Hikaru's excitement flickers out fast as Yoshiki leans coldly to the side to free his shoulder. Yoshiki is no longer looking at the manga but at the floor, face turned as far away from Hikaru as humanly possible without breaking his neck. Hikaru can't decipher whatever expression is etched on Yoshiki's face, barely visible from this angle and hidden behind the heavy curtain of his bangs.
"O-okay." Hikaru scooches back on the bed and sets his head safely down on it instead, still trying to peer over Yoshiki's shoulder. Carefully, making sure not to touch Yoshiki, he reaches for the manga again to turn back to the previous page. "I just wanted to…"
A loud rip slices through the room as the paper tears in two. Only half of the page turns back, the other half pinned tightly under Yoshiki's shaking thumb. The hectic lines of a fight scene are split wide open, half of them replaced by the empty space of tension preceding the first punch on the previous spread.
"Sorry," Hikaru says to the back of Yoshiki's head. "We can still tape it back together," he offers, pressing the ripped paper back into place to demonstrate, forgetting again the mandatory distance, fingers recklessly grazing Yoshiki's as he tries to fix the page. "It's not ruined or anythin'."
Yoshiki presses the book shut so fast Hikaru barely manages to get his finger out from in between. After a pause, he mutters, "It's not the same."
"I'll get ya a new one," Hikaru suggests. An urgent sense of needing to fix what he broke grows fast somewhere in the deep pit of his chest, underneath the breastbone he's borrowing. Guilt. He's pretty sure that's what it is. Did Hikaru feel it there, too? Or is this his own way of feeling it? "I'll bike over to Yamahisa's and get it." He's sliding off from the bed, feet already on the floor when Yoshiki puts the manga down and gets up. His voice is level if a little tense, void of any further emotion. "It's fine. I'll go get the tape."
Hikaru sits on the edge of the bed and watches Yoshiki leave the room. There is a stiffness in the way Yoshiki moves that makes Hikaru bite his cheek with anxiety, like he's in a hurry to disappear from Hikaru's field of view or the other way around. Yoshiki manages to hold himself together until the kitchen. Grateful no one else is home, he grips the cool edge of the metal sink and bites down grief — the wrong kind, the unnatural kind, the shameful kind — over the loss of what he could never have had anyway, that he never should have wanted in the first place. A fleshy knot tries to push itself out of his throat and he leans over the sink, fingernails bending against the hard surface, his whole body shuddering as he suppresses a gasping dry heave. The taste of blood lingers in his mouth as he straightens, picks up the tape and heads back up the stairs to what he got instead.
Yoshiki sits on the back porch, idly watching the setting sun paint the sky with broad strokes of warm red as it slowly slips behind the horizon. A fan whirrs in the corner beside the open porch door, pushing half-dried sweat around on his neck when it turns his way. It's Saturday evening, the middle of summer, and the heat is relentless around the clock. Yoshiki is lost in thought, exhausted. He is often exhausted these days, his head always full, mind running in circles in the cramped space. Distracted, he doesn't hear the doorbell ring, or Kaoru open the front door and mutter a greeting, or the steps sneaking behind him, waking up to the real world only when hands clap over his eyes from behind.
"Guess who!" Hikaru chirps with a grin Yoshiki can hear.
"Ugh," Yoshiki says, nonplussed, and peels Hikaru's hands from his face. "Your hands are clammy."
"Lame," Hikaru complains, disappointed by Yoshiki's lack of amusement. He slides his arms around Yoshiki's neck in a loose embrace. "You didn't even guess."
"Who else would it be?" Yoshiki mumbles and tugs at the arms crossed below his throat. The heavy night heat has cut his tolerance for Hikaru's antics in half. "C'mon. It's too hot to mess around."
"Could be Kaoru." The arms around Yoshiki tighten into a hug as Hikaru wraps himself around him, settling his head on the top of Yoshiki's. Hikaru's chin presses down on Yoshiki's sweat-salted hair, upper body flushed with the back of Yoshiki's, stomach sticking to the curve of his spine, chest hugging the back of his head. Hikaru stays like that, holding him close, not thinking much of it, and Yoshiki burns. The warm weight of Hikaru's body on his suffocates Yoshiki from the inside, squeezes out the air from his lungs.
"Kaoru hasn't done that since she was eight," Yoshiki says as he forces Hikaru's arms open, chiding him for something neither of them can pinpoint. For his childishness? For not remembering Kaoru's sudden turn for the same sullenness as her brother, only worse? For not being there then? For being here now?
Hanging on to his waning grin despite Yoshiki's sourness, Hikaru resists when Yoshiki tries to push him off. "That's how she'll get ya!" Hikaru wraps his arms tightly over Yoshiki's to pin them in place, hugging him again, whispering playfully in his ear. Hikaru's sweat is all Yoshiki can smell. The breath blowing on his ear is heavy and loud like a thunderstorm in July. "Keepin' you on your toes until she strikes again."
Incapacitated, Yoshiki shrinks into something small and powerless. Claustrophobia at the undeniable flicker in the bottom of his stomach consumes him as Hikaru squeezes him even tighter; It trickles to the tips of his toes and the sky bleeds red, Hikaru's grip on his wrists hurts and he can't look away. He is choking on Hikaru holding him so close, too close, it's him, it's him, it is and it isn't and it's nothing new and everything's changed and what if Mom or Kaoru sees?
Terror at being found out wipes his mind blank, moves his body to prevent his heart from crawling out of his chest for everyone to see. He pushes back at the arms binding him with more force and Hikaru's damp skin chafes against his; He's stronger than Yoshiki, he always was.
"Let go!" Yoshiki finally yells and manages to twist out of the hold, sending himself on the ground spine first. Leaning on his arms where he stumbled backwards, Hikaru stares at him from the porch, eyes wide with confusion so genuine it pains Yoshiki to look.
"You can't do that," Yoshiki hisses from behind his bangs, the words pushed out of his mouth by something stuck deep inside him, so deep and afraid and angry his voice doesn't sound like it belongs to him.
"What?" Hikaru's lips try a small, hesitant smile. "We wrestle all the time."
"It's different." Yoshiki lies on the grass, an ache rattling up his spine and pulsing through his skull. The sky looks furious. His heart beats in his throat. He hopes Hikaru doesn't ask.
"Wha-"
"Just is!" Yoshiki snaps and sits up. His palms sport dust stains from the fall. A pang of guilt twists the knot in his stomach tighter as he glances at Hikaru, who continues to stare at him with alarmed concern. How would he know? When Yoshiki can't even say it out loud. "Okay?" Yoshiki sighs, calmer, kinder. "Just don't do that again."
Footsteps thump on the stairs, and Yoshiki and Hikaru fall into heavy silence until Yoshiki's mom appears in the doorway. "Hey, Hikaru. You staying for dinner?"
Hikaru gives her an awkward smile and a wave, then glances at Yoshiki. Satoko frowns at the scene: The two boys splayed apart clearly post-scuffle, Hikaru almost lying on the floor like he's been smacked, Yoshiki on the ground, looking guilty like he's been doing the smacking. "You boys okay?"
Yoshiki gets up, wiping the dust on his palms on his thighs. "He's stayin'."
"Alright." Unconvinced, Satoko glances once more at each of them but gives them the grace of not prying further. "Then you might as well help with the cooking."
"Will do!" Hikaru grins with apparent relief and almost sprints to the kitchen. He keeps sneaking unsure glances at Yoshiki as he comes inside, hiding behind his bangs as he washes his hands. Satoko gives Hikaru a reassuring smile and hands him a bag of carrots. "Peel those, will you? We're having curry."
"Hikaru's gonna sleep over tonight," Yoshiki says, looking intently at the carrots in Hikaru's hand, and picks up a knife. "Is that okay?"
"Sure. If it's okay with your mom, Hikaru."
"I'll text her."
Yoshiki can already see Hikaru forget the carrots entirely as he sets them down and digs up his phone. He is still reeling with uncomfortable, conflicting feelings, trying to forget the sensory imprint left on his body. Of being held. Like that. By Hikaru Hikaru. To ground himself, he picks out the easiest feeling: Responsibility. He took Hikaru on. Promised to teach him things, help him live with humans. He needs to keep that promise.
Later that night, Yoshiki stares at the ceiling above his bed, not even pretending to sleep. Hikaru lies on a guest futon on the floor and scrolls on his phone, looking more at Yoshiki than the screen. He's been biting his tongue for a good while, looking for the right moment to ask before he finally does.
"Yoshiki?"
Yoshiki closes his eyes, wishing either he or the world beyond his eyelids would momentarily disappear. He is good at keeping his promises to the point of priding himself on it. It's usually not very hard, since he only makes ones he knows he can commit to. And he's committed to the promise he made to Hikaru, ready to die for it if need be. But he doesn't think he'll ever really be ready for this conversation. "Yeah?"
"Earlier…" Hikaru starts. Darkness envelops them as he puts his phone down, the flashing screen pressed down on the futon. "I don't really understand what you meant."
"I know," Yoshiki almost whispers. "It's okay."
Hikaru hesitates. He doesn't want to hurt Yoshiki again, and his efforts to make things better often just seem to make them worse. The line is blurry, if not invisible. "Did I hurt you?"
A bitter scoff coughs itself up from Yoshiki's throat before he can stop it. There hasn't been a moment without hurt after… After. But it's not Hikaru's fault. He draws in a deep breath. "No. It's just…" Yoshiki stares at the ceiling even harder, eyes fixed on nothing, vision blurring as he tries to find the words. "Human stuff." Hikaru's intent gaze burns on his cheek in the dark. Yoshiki turns to lie on his stomach, crossing his arms and resting his head on them. The face of his pillow ripples with his breath when he talks, mouth dry with dread. The thorny knot in his chest throbs. "It's hard to explain."
I can do this, Yoshiki tells himself. Hikaru needs to know this stuff. It doesn't need to be about me. Eyes growing used to the dark, he trains them to the white fabric of the pillow, its blankness. "Some things just have to be done a certain way. Otherwise people will get the wrong idea."
Hikaru chews on this. Without risking a glance at him, Yoshiki knows how Hikaru looks, how his eyes narrow in contemplation as he tries to put the pieces together. "Things like wrestlin'?"
"Yeah."
"What are the other things?"
"Well, you know." He doesn't, Yoshiki chides himself as the words leave him, that's the point. "Similar stuff. Physical contact…" Yoshiki trails off, out of examples. He can't seem to get anything else out of his mouth. He doesn't want to list all the ways humans experience physical contact with each other and categorize them; Besides, it's impossible. It's not as simple as that.
"Like huggin'?" Hikaru helps. "I can't think of anything else close to wrestlin', other than fightin' for real."
"Yeah, like wrestling and hugging. But other stuff too."
"Okay." Hikaru seems to accept this vague answer that Yoshiki is annoyed at himself for giving, but the thought of specifying more makes his stomach churn. "What's the wrong idea, then?"
"Huh?"
"That people will get if we wrestle the wrong way."
Yoshiki's mouth clamps shut. His insides twist. He knows he promised, but he can't do it. He can't be honest about this.
It's just that the more he gets to know the real Hikaru, the harder it is to lie to him. Rapidly growing into himself, Hikaru is less an impostor and more a real being of its own right with every passing day. Apart from appearances, he is less and less Hikaru. It scares Yoshiki. It excites him. He enjoys getting to know whoever it is living in Hikaru's skin. He just wishes it didn't have to come at the cost that it did.
It's different because I loved him, Yoshiki suddenly wants to say. The words taste like acid, dissolving his tongue into a soup of molten muscle that pours down his throat, the white enamel of his teeth melting in his mouth until his gums are hollow and sore. I still love him. Face pressed against his pillow to prevent any real sound from coming out, his mouth rounds out into the shape of I and stops. What does it matter? He's gone.
Hikaru waits for an answer as Yoshiki crumbles silently in the dark. Eventually he can no longer keep it in; A muffled sob wrecks through him and he spits it into his pillow, body curling into itself as if to close the lid of the well of shame he tries to pretend isn't there. Fingertips graze his skin; A hand carefully touches his arm.
"Yoshiki?"
Hikaru's voice is sorry, ready to take the blame for whatever's happening. Yoshiki trembles through another sob, burying his face deeper into the pillow. He wants to say that it's okay, it's fine, he's fine, to beg Hikaru to look away, just leave him be. There is a soft rustle as Hikaru moves closer. The tentative touch on his arm solidifies.
"What's wrong?"
Yoshiki can't begin to answer. The list of things that are wrong is too long — A steep, spiral stairway that leads to a hall of funhouse mirrors he keeps getting endlessly lost in. The bed squeaks as a weight sits down beside him, eerily human shaped. Carefully, an arm wraps around his shoulder.
"Is this okay?" Hikaru asks quietly, trying to learn from earlier, afraid he'll hurt more than help.
No, Yoshiki should say. He needs to say it. He's supposed to turn into stone under Hikaru's touch, push him away. Keep the distance, the revered safety of it. He's trying to open his mouth to say so when the weight on his shoulders lightens. Hikaru retreats, trying to play by the indecipherable human rules that Yoshiki's failing to teach him. The realization dawns on Yoshiki like the shadow of a falling boulder, blotting out the sky right before it crushes him:
Hikaru shouldn't have to worry about this.
Yoshiki's eyes sting with the salt of his tears as he catches Hikaru's lifting arm by the wrist. He leans his full weight face first into the pillow in an awkward position, smearing his face with the snot and spit and tears staining the fabric, and pulls Hikaru's arm back onto his shoulders. Voice hoarse from crying, Yoshiki mutters, "Yeah." He pauses, swallows. "It's okay."
He can feel Hikaru's heartbeat pick up against his ribs as the shape of a boy hugs him from the side. "Are ya alright?"
"I'm fine," Yoshiki mumbles in the way he always does, where they both know it's not exactly true but tells Hikaru to drop it for now.
"Mmkay." Hikaru wraps Yoshiki in his arms and presses a cheek on his back. "This still okay?"
Yoshiki nods into the pillow, then realizes Hikaru can't see his head. "Yeah," he says again. But just when it's the two us tries to slither out from the deep dark pit in his insides that keeps making him think shitty things like that. It manages to crawl on his tongue, rising like bile, tangy and acidic, but he swallows it back down. Hikaru shifts even closer to nuzzle his face on Yoshiki's back, switching gears from worried to cheering up his friend, unabashedly happy to be as close to him as he can get.
As he leans into the hug, Yoshiki hears Hikaru's insides hum and chitter behind his chest like the purr of an uncanny cat. For a shameful moment, he's jealous of how easy it seems to be for the creature in Hikaru's body to feel, to want, to simply be. But the jealousy quickly falls away and turns into admiration, then regret. How wonderful to exist like that; How horrible the new world he's slipped in.
The weight on his back grows heavier and Hikaru's chitter quiets down to a low, sleepy snuffle. Yoshiki shifts to lie down on the bed, bringing Hikaru with him. With a yawn, Hikaru settles next to Yoshiki, wrapping around him once more, face buried in the crook of his neck, arm stretched across his chest. Before giving in and letting himself be held, Yoshiki wallows a little more. He was about to hurt Hikaru like he hurts himself — drag him into the same pit he's buried in, sharpen him a brand new blade and teach him to gut himself with it. He takes his hand to gently hold the arm slung over his heart. Silently, he makes Hikaru a new promise: He will never, ever do that again.
Possibly due to the wonders of heavy air conditioning, Kibogayama's one and only movie theater is usually at its most popular during summer. But today it's almost empty; Only Yoshiki and Hikaru have come to enjoy the cool darkness and a mediocre movie about a girl and her dog.
Frankly, the movie is boring as hell. Yoshiki has to lean on his arm to stay upright, face melting down his fist, interest in the proceedings on screen hanging on by a thread. He's contemplating stopping by the library afterwards to see if the book on argyroids he requested has been ordered yet, when a small sniffle breaks him out of his thoughts. In the seat next to him, Hikaru looks like he's about to start bawling; Tears well in the corners of his eyes, bottom lip trembling with increasing intensity.
Yoshiki glances at the screen. The dog is in trouble: A policeman has snatched its leash from its owner, accusing the dog of biting someone. The girl cries and screams, reaching for her dog as another cop holds her back. He would never hurt anyone! Please, officer, there's been a terrible misunderstanding!
Hikaru blinks and the tears fall. His face flashes with the changing colors of the movie screen as he cries, rubbing the tears dragging down his cheek in thin rivulets with a forlorn fist. The sight isn't as unusual to Yoshiki as it used to be; Hikaru seems to have a lot more feelings than the original Hikaru ever did. Quiet sobs thread through the hopeful piano notes flowing from the speakers as the girl fights to save her companion.
Yoshiki is unmoved by the plot twist. He's been zoning out for most of the movie and there's always a happy ending to these kind of stories, anyway. But Hikaru is in shambles, sobbing louder as the dog howls after its owner. After brief consideration, Yoshiki moves his hand to touch Hikaru's on their shared armrest, pinky to pinky. The pit in his stomach bares its teeth, seeping venom into his veins — you shouldn't be touching him like that, it's gross to even think about it — but he ignores it the best he can. His new resolution to Hikaru makes it easier — it doesn't matter what he wants or doesn't want when he's just trying to do right by Hikaru. And right now, Hikaru is in need of comforting.
The touch makes Hikaru turn and look at him with sad, wet eyes. The red blink of his irises cuts through the dark like the hopeful, glinting point of a knife. The dark pit opens its maw again, in Yoshiki's chest this time, whispering louder — it's wrong, the way you want this, how you've always wanted it — and he has to grip the other armrest as hard as he can to stifle the gut-wrenching urge to quickly look away or stand up and leave the theater altogether. Instead, he forces the corners of his mouth to move upwards in what he hopes looks like a reassuring smile before moving his gaze back to the screen.
The finger touching his is warm. Yoshiki directs his focus on the movie again, trying hard not to think himself out of the moment. The plot has thickened when he wasn't watching: The police locked the dog in a cage but it managed to escape, and now it runs through busy city streets, searching for its owner. In the meanwhile, the girl has set out to right all wrongs and save her friend. A heartwarming reunion at the end of it all is imminent. Yoshiki sighs at the predictable ending and tries to ignore the way Hikaru's hand fidgets next to his. Hikaru presses his pinky back against Yoshiki's less and less inconspicuosly until he simply can't seem to keep it in any longer; He grabs Yoshiki's hand and holds it in his.
Yoshiki's heart jumps to his throat. The pit inside him splits wide open from chest to stomach, baring its fangs, slick with hungry spit. Its whispers are sharp and liquid, pouring through him, trying to wash him away. You just can't keep your dirty little hands away from him, can you?
He glances at Hikaru from the corner of his eye. Hikaru is no longer crying, but looks at the screen with a deep blush broken across his face, eyes puffy from crying. Something shifts within Yoshiki; The whispers quiet. The pit closes, mostly, as he squeezes Hikaru's hand and watches through the safety of his bangs as a smile blooms on the boy's lips.
On screen, the dog and the girl find each other. In the cover of night, they run away together, leaving everything behind.
It's safer in the dark.
After the movie (and the library), they stop by a corner store for ice cream and walk their bikes toward home in a comfortable silence. Yoshiki is focused on eating his crunchy pop before it melts when Hikaru stops. Something bubbles inside him, not unpleasantly, but in a way he's learning means that it's better to get it out.
"I know he thought about ya." Hikaru blurts and kicks a pebble, looking down as if shy on the real Hikaru's behalf. The ice pop he's holding runs down his hand as it melts. A spot of blue raspberry drips off his wrist to stain the white toe of his sneaker. "Not sure what he thought, but he sure did think about ya a bunch."
"Huh?" Shock runs through Yoshiki, stopping him in his tracks. Frozen by ice cream, his tongue is numb like he might choke on it.
"I remember doin' the things he did," Hikaru confesses. "But I don't know how it felt doin' 'em. Not always. It's like when I get up to pee at night and it's dark, and I know it's my room and I'm supposed to know where everythin' is, but I still bump into somethin' and don't know what it was."
Yoshiki stares at him. The tongue choking him has turned into someone shoving barbed wire down his throat and spooling it under his breastbone. Hikaru looks so unlike Hikaru, sounds so unlike him too whenever he says this kinda stuff. The tentative shyness Hikaru exhibits is something Yoshiki never saw on his face before… Before. He's still not entirely used to seeing the beginnings of a blush painted on his best friend's face, not when it's just the two of them.
"I remember thinkin' about ya. But the thoughts themselves are just a…" Hikaru pauses, standing still, and looks up at the sky as he tries to find the words. A thoughtful finger comes up to his chin like it might help in the search. "A shape? But a fuzzy one. Like…"
The background static of cicadas suddenly fills Yoshiki's ears, the chaos of their cries much louder than it was just a moment ago. Like they're screaming to drown out Hikaru's voice, like they're calling to Yoshiki to listen, like Yoshiki is secretly begging them to scream even louder.
Hikaru's face brightens as he gazes at the blue summer sky dotted with white. "Like that!" The finger on his chin draws up to point at the clouds floating above. "They're like clouds. Sometimes I can see the shape of 'em, sometimes they're just fuzz."
Yoshiki lifts his downturned gaze to the sky as Hikaru eyes the clouds inching over them, moving his finger from one to another. "Like that one kinda looks like Mince. Or one of those crawlies in the video ya showed me yesterday. And that one's a turtle." Hikaru squints, pointing at the biggest one. A wispy thing without definite edges, bleeding into the blue. "But that? No clue what that's supposed to be."
A shadow passes over them as the shapeless cloud drifts past the sun, briefly blurring its harsh light into a soft glow. Yoshiki's gaze falls to the ground, stares at it. It's safer. It's safer not to look too close.
"Anyway, when I think back on his thoughts, a lot of the shapes I recognize —," Hikaru starts with a bright grin. He thinks it will help. Make Yoshiki happy. He would want to know, right? It's what he wants. He's what he wants. And Hikaru wants to give Yoshiki whatever he can. The concept of grief, the crushing impossibility of loving something that is already gone, is still beyond him. "— are yours."
Yoshiki is still. The cicadas are gone. Either that or he just can't hear them over the heavy beat of his heart dropped to his stomach, or maybe the world has stopped instead. He swallows and swallows, but the storm thundering in his chest insists on rain. It's too much. He can't know this, not now. Not like this.
Hikaru looks at him, head tilted to the side. His curious stare doesn't burn Yoshiki's face like the scorching rays of the midday sun but shines on it softly like the tentative tendrils of a dawn, breaking, reaching out of the dark in gentle caress. Yoshiki glances back through the safety of his bangs and the innocent blink in Hikaru's eyes washes away the ash in his mouth. He is just a thing, beginning. He doesn't know that this secret is not his to keep, or to give away.
"They look nothing alike," Yoshiki finally chokes out, head down, hiding the tears spilling out from the corners of his eyes.
"Huh?"
"Mince and the orb-weavers in the video. Does Mince look like a spider to ya?" Yoshiki's scratchy throat softens the teasing edge of his voice. Gone uneaten, his ice cream is a puddle on the ground, only the wooden stick left in his hand. "Are ya blind?"
He presses a hand on Hikaru's head, mussing his hair, forcing the puzzled gaze trying to peer behind his bangs to the ground. Hikaru chuckles with delight, the whole of his being bristling with joy at Yoshiki's touch every time. When Yoshiki lets go of him, he looks up at the clouds once more. There is one that looks faintly like a flame, its edges like flickering smoke stretching across the sky. It glimmers with the warmth of the summer sun as they eclipse. Yoshiki is already walking ahead, changing the topic, something about the upcoming release of the new Smash.
That one, Hikaru thinks, I'd recognize anywhere.