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Frigid ocean air pushes choppy waves onto the dark, endless stretch of sand. Every breath is laced with brine, and bubbling froth clings to the damp belly of the shallows. With no sun, the beach is lit only by the dull glow of a halo.
A broken bottle juts from the sand, the corner of a sea-soaked polaroid peeking above the rim. Cold hands chance upon it and tired eyes strain to see the sodden portrait. A woman stares back with a kind, familiar smile. Though the water has distorted her features, it’s easy to see the chain across her forehead.
Angel squints through wind-tossed auburn hair—something in the hollow of his chest aches.
Further steps lead to another bottle; another polaroid. The beach is littered with them, like snuffed-out cigarettes crowding an ashtray.
Unease laps at his ankles with each bottle opened and each picture unfolded. It’s gradual. Creeping, like high tide sneaking up to drown the shore.
Angel’s hands begin to numb and his throat tightens. He recognizes each ghost.
It’s hard to forget the lives he’s taken.
“Angel–Angel, are you listening?”
Angel blinks, his attention jolting to the visitor at his bedside. The beach fades away, replaced by the glow of early evening splashed on the walls of his room. A chill still lingers under Angel’s skin; he tries to flex his cold fingers before looking down at the empty arms of his robe and he remembers.
That’s right—he’s at the hospital. Visiting hours are coming to a close, and the crash of distant waves transforms into the hum of fluorescent bulbs.
“Yeah,” Angel sighs, turning to the dirtied window. “I heard you. Tomorrow we’ll meet with Makima.”
I’m going to see the Gun Devil tomorrow—this may be the last time we meet.
Aki’s words still hang in the air—a somber and fleeting farewell. Beyond the window, the sun kisses the skyline before dipping past the horizon, and Angel can’t help but feel jealous. At least when the sun says its goodbyes the rooftops are allowed a kiss—all he’s gifted is the envelope on his bedside table, a recommendation letter that reads more like a life sentence.
“Can you stay a little longer?” Angel’s words are quiet and guilt-tinged—asking for more of Aki’s borrowed time when he’s already taken too much—two months too much.
Aki’s focus flits anxiously to the closed door as muffled footsteps pad by. “Are you having nightmares again?”
Ignoring the question, Angel scoots to the far edge of the bed, leaving a large space at his back. A silent invitation.
“Nobody will come in,” he mumbles. “The nurses are afraid of me. Just pretend we’re back at your apartment.”
Aki swallows and his cheeks burn pink.
Not too long ago, a particularly nasty storm had turned a routine patrol day into an impromptu overnighter. You can have my bed , Aki had offered, unfurling a futon in the living room before snuffing out the lights. Only a few hours later, the scrape of the shoji panel pulled Aki from sleep to see Angel standing in the doorway.
I had a nightmare.
That was all it took for Angel to spend the night curled at Aki’s side. When they woke, Aki could feel the chill in Angel’s hands through his thick sweater.
One sleepover turned into two, which turned into any excuse to spend the night side-by-side. Soon Aki found that even on the nights he slept alone, he’d feel a body laying at his side, like an amputee that still feels the prick of their phantom limb.
But the growing affection that blossomed between them since that night remained unacknowledged beyond a few whispered words lost on sleeping ears.
I wish we could stay like this.
Maybe it was better that Angel hadn’t heard Aki’s hushed confession—after all, what good was a bloom that was only destined to wilt?
“Please,” Angel whispers. “Just in case...”
The unsaid words linger in the air like a snow flurry kissed by the breeze. Just in case it’s our last.
Aki’s chest tightens. “Okay.”
Quietly, Aki loses his jacket and shoes before flicking off the light. On the countertop is a box of latex gloves. Aki tugs one free, using his teeth to stretch it over his hand.
He crawls into bed beside Angel the way he always does—hesitant and gentle, as if he’s trying to step into the sea without stirring the water. But when the mattress dips and he slides under the sheet, a familiar comfort settles in his bones. Aki finds home in the bend of Angel’s knees and the curve of his spine. He never knew a hospital bed could be so comfortable.
A new quiet hangs over the room until Angel disturbs it with a question.
“Do your hands still get cold?”
Aki’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
“Like, even though you only have one now,” Angel continues, “can you still feel the missing one?”
Angel waits for a response that doesn’t come.
“I can,” Angel whispers. “Sometimes, I’ll wake up from a nightmare, and my hands feel like ice. I can’t warm them up ‘cause, well…”
Aki’s throat tightens and he curls his arm around Angel’s chest.
Angel had only told him pieces of his recurring nightmares. About the cold, desolate beach that feels more familiar than a dream should. About the broken bottles that dot the shore like a graveyard. About the ghosts from his past that won’t let him rest, and about digging through wet sand until his fingers go numb.
“My hands still get cold,” Aki says, finally addressing Angel’s question. “Both of them.”
Angel shuffles on the mattress and Aki takes the hint, helping him roll over until they’re face-to-face.
A haze veils Aki’s unfocused, steel-blue eyes.
“What?” Angel teases, searching Aki’s faraway gaze. “Your hands are cold because you’re dreaming about the beach, too?”
“No,” Aki mumbles, voice distant and soft. A chill trickles through his veins and his brows pinch as if he’s realizing something for the first time. “I–I usually dream about a snowball fight.”
Behind his eye, the Future laughs.
If Aki is being honest, he feels the ghost of his arm all the time, reminding him of things he took for granted. Like flicking the sparkwheel of a lighter while cupping the flame at the end of a cigarette. Like packing the perfect snowball between two gloved palms. Like lacing his fingers with Angel’s and pretending it’s skin-on-skin.
Angel’s chest clenches as he watches Aki, lost in the past. He can feel this moment slipping between his fingers like cold sand.
“Tomorrow will be fine, right?”
Angel’s wavering voice pulls Aki from his memories. When their eyes meet, Aki’s sure their kindred hearts are filled with the same fear—that if they don’t act now, this night might haunt them long after they’re gone.
Like a phantom limb or broken bottles in the sand.
Slowly, Aki rubs his gloved thumb over the bump of Angel’s collarbone, up his neck, and past his chin. Goosebumps sprout in its wake like blooms pulled from the earth by the first day of spring.
Tentative and soft, he nudges the swell of Angel’s bottom lip. Then, with a deep inhale, Aki gently covers Angel’s mouth and presses his lips to the back of his hand.
Blood rushes in Angel’s ears like the roar of crashing waves. Firmly, he presses his lips to Aki’s palm and lets his lids flutter closed—it’s easier to pretend it’s skin-on-skin with his eyes shut.
The once silent stagnance is replaced with desperate urgency. Hearts, hips, and thighs press together under the sheet until they’re connected head-to-toe. Heat builds with every breath until the spark in Angel’s gut ignites. A whine curls from his lips like smoke—a wordless plea for more .
Aki complies with the nudge of a knee between Angel’s thighs. Angel is already half-hard and the warm pressure is like the bang of a starter gun.
All stuttering breaths and shaky limbs, Aki slips his palm from between their lips to hastily untie Angel’s robe. Black latex meets pale skin and he greedily maps Angel’s body—the bump and dip of his ribs, the jut of his hip, and the plush of his ass—committing every inch to memory lest he forgets what heaven feels like.
Naked under the robe, Angel’s skin glows in the halo’s soft light. Aki’s gaze trails his heaving chest and taut stomach, before finally lingering lower .
Angel’s leaking tip has already left a wet streak under his belly button and on the front of Aki’s trousers. Saliva pools behind Aki’s teeth and his eyes cloud with hunger.
Encouraging, Angel hooks a leg over Aki’s hip and slowly grinds against him. Their erections bump and Aki’s breath hitches in his throat. Hastily, he grips Angel’s waist and pulls .
The first few winds of his hips are slow but Aki quickly unravels, holding Angel close and clumsily rutting against him. They dry-hump like teenagers, rough, fast, and eager, as if they may run out of time at any moment.
With a low moan, Aki pushes his hand between them to wrap his fingers around Angel’s length. He twitches against his palm—hot, hard, and wet.
Angel’s lids droop as Aki begins to stroke, languid and careful. Every jerk coaxes small, subdued sounds of pleasure from his lips until he can no longer keep quiet.
“A-Aki.”
The broken waver of Angel’s voice goes straight to Aki’s cock. He pumps harder and Angel keens, brows pinching and hips bucking. Every exhale comes faster and Aki can feel his lungs matching the quickened pace, vicariously reacting to every touch.
The damp spot on the inside of Aki’s underwear sticks to his skin where his cock weeps, desperate for more than the brush of fabric. It will have to wait though.
He swirls his thumb through the pre that coats Angel’s slit before bringing his hand to his mouth. Angel is bitter and salty on his tongue, like the sea. He savors the taste for a moment before his slicked fingers disappear further between Angel’s legs.
Eyes locked, Aki gently brushes his forefinger over the puckered skin before pressing . A gasp cracks through the room and Angel’s slim thighs tremble as Aki slips inside.
“F-fuck, Aki,” Angel breathes. His hips cant, trying to usher Aki deeper.
Aki obliges. He pushes in another finger, prodding and s earching . Angel clenches around him and the slide is just wet enough for a soft schlick to accompany every pump.
Aki’s hips jerk in time with his hand. He bites his lip, trying to stifle a pitched whine as he pretends it’s his cock sinking into Angel with every thrust. His eyelids droop, lust urging them to close, until–
“Oh!”
Aki’s eyes blow wide in time to see Angel’s brows pinch in pleasure.
“There, r-right there–ahh!”
Aki curls his fingers to rub over the same spot, and Angel jolts with every push.
“‘M close, I–I’m–” Angel’s words devolve into another mewl.
“I’ve got you.” Aki doubles down on his pace.
The air fills with the squeak of the gurney, wanton sighs, and repetitive, wet slaps.
Angel’s whines grow louder with every thrust and a familiar heat builds behind his navel. Again and again, Aki brushes over the same spot until Angel’s eyes roll and his hips stutter out of time.
“Aki–Aki!”
Aki looks down just in time to see Angel’s cock pulse, spurting white over his tented pants. He milks him through it, pressing and rubbing until Angel quiets with a shudder.
Just the sight has Aki nearing his peak. With a gasp and a squelch , he pulls his hand away to hastily undo his pants. A low groan crawls up his throat when he fists himself, eyes jumping back to Angel’s as he starts to pump.
Angel looks like a dream, cheeks flushed and lashes damp with tears. Aki’s name lingers on his tongue and his parted lips are a tempting apple-red, like forbidden fruit at the center of Eden.
Aki’s heart pounds in his ears like a warning—he knows the consequences, but suddenly he feels like dying tomorrow without a taste would be the ultimate sin.
Maybe it’s the lust that forces Aki to move, white-hot and coiling in his stomach. Or maybe it’s the foreboding feeling that this sleepover might be their last. Regardless, Aki surges forward, pressing his lips to Angel’s.
The kiss is no more than a second—a momentary, gentle brush of their lips—before Aki’s mouth opens with a whimper and he’s spilling over his fist. His hips buck and aborted whines lace every breath until he finally stills.
The room is quiet again save for their heavy breaths.
“W-why–” Angel starts, eyes wide and lips tingling. “Why would you do that?” There’s no bite in his voice, just genuine concern.
Aki pants, hand still loosely fisted around his softening cock. When he smiles, it’s tinged with preemptive grief.
“Just in case...”
Angel’s breathing hitches. Just in case it’s their last.
He relaxes next to Aki on the pillow, their noses nearly brushing. Warmth fills the hollow of his chest and spreads through his blood, reaching all the way to his fingertips.
He never knew a hospital bed could be so comfortable.
Clean-up is quick, and convincing Aki to stay the night is even quicker.
Pleasantly warm and thoroughly spent, the two settle under the sheet, limbs gently tangled. Sleep comes easy with Aki’s heart beating in his ear but despite the comfort, nightmares still find Angel.
The familiar beach is just as cold and lonely as ever, but this dream is different.
Snow blankets the beach, leaving only a sliver of sand between its edge and the ocean. Waves kiss the shore and stretch for the out-of-reach snowcaps like separated lovers.
Where once laid a cemetery of broken bottles, only one remains, its glass neck choked with water-logged paper.
Numb fingers tug the polaroid free before deftly unfolding the dripping portrait. Angel’s blood runs cold and dread sours his stomach.
Steel-blue eyes stare back at him. He tries to scream but the noise gets stuck in his throat. Aki .
Somewhere in the distance, a crow caws.
Angel wakes with a gasp. The snowy beach is replaced with his dark hospital room but the fear lingers behind his ribs and his hands feel cold again.
At his side, Aki breathes deep and easy, his sleep undisturbed.
Desperate to be closer, Angel reaches out for him. His shoulders rotate but of course, it’s to no avail. His phantom limbs ache—touch-starved even after they’re gone.
In consolation, he presses his cheek to Aki’s chest, taking comfort in the consistent hum of his heart.
The growing glow of morning taps on his shoulder and the Future smugly stares from behind Aki’s closed lids. Angel squeezes his eyes shut. The moment is slipping between his fingers again.
Gently, he lays one wing over their heads, shielding them from the sunrise to whisper a hushed confession for sleeping ears.
“I wish we could stay like this.”