Chapter Text
“…I’ll talk to you later, alright?” Hikaru Indou spoke with a finality that hurt Yoshiki deep into his bones.
“Okay. Talk to you later…” Yoshiki muttered as he hung up.
Hikaru Indou would be his death. Yoshiki swore it. He knew it had been a bad idea—to date Hikaru when he knew he had a duty to fulfill to his family.
To make things worse, they were in a long-distance relationship. Nowadays, with Yoshiki’s busy job and Hikaru’s chaotic mushroom farm, they barely had time to see each other at all.
Yoshiki had noticed it slowly at first—how Hikaru had been becoming distant, cold. Very different from the cheerful personality he usually carried.
Then Hikaru had started becoming closed off, more than he already had been from the beginning. Yoshiki didn’t push. He never did. He always gave Hikaru the space he needed.
He always gave Hikaru Indou everything he wanted and needed. But apparently, that had not been enough.
They had broken up a week ago. And yet, they still clung to each other like koala bears, neither of them having the actual courage to step away from what they had built.
So they kept talking on the phone. Still, that didn’t change the fact that they were not a couple anymore.
It felt so strange to Yoshiki. It felt like Hikaru had always been there. He lived completely alone in his apartment—except when friends and family visited—but only now did he feel truly, completely, and irrevocably alone.
Yoshiki rubbed his temples until the burn behind his eyes multiplied tenfold, then pressed his fingers against them.
Finally, he let out a sob. Another one soon followed. He took advantage of being alone to let himself cry in peace. He hiccupped and moaned in sorrow as he gripped his phone.
What had he done wrong?
Tears fell onto the pristine marble kitchen counter. He sobbed and cried until his phone started ringing again.
Hopeful, he gasped and looked at the screen. But the name he was expecting wasn’t there.
Instead, Yusuke Yasaburo’s name reflected on the screen. Yoshiki wiped away his tears and gulped down a glass of water as fast as he could before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Yoshiki! How’ve you been, man?” Yusuke greeted cheerfully.
“Yusuke, hello. I’ve been fine,” Yoshiki said. After a brief pause, he added, “It’s good to hear from you. I saw you traveled to the United States.”
He cleared his throat before Yusuke could respond, steadying himself, hoping the line wouldn’t carry the faint roughness in his voice.
“Yeah, dude, it’s insane over here. Seriously—beautiful places everywhere, and people are super chill. I’m loving it, but honestly?” Yusuke laughed. “I can’t wait to get back to Osaka. Home’s home, you know?”
“I see,” Yoshiki replied. “That’s good, man. I’m happy for you.”
There was a second of silence before Yusuke spoke again.
“Hey, uh—so, listen,” he said, his tone shifting just slightly. “I actually called to ask you for a favor.”
“You know Hikaru-chan… uh—my little brother Hikaru? He’s studying in Tokyo, right?”
Yoshiki’s fingers tightened briefly around his phone. “What? Already?” he asked, keeping his voice even.
“Right?! I swear, I blinked and Hikaru-chan’s suddenly an adult,” Yusuke laughed. “He’s been there, like, two years already.”
“Can’t believe it,” Yoshiki murmured, more to himself than to Yusuke.
“Yeah, same. Anyway, Hikaru-chan’s been living in Tokyo this whole time, but things kinda went sideways.” Yusuke sighed. “I don’t have all the details—some dumb mess with the apartment management or whatever—but long story short, he got kicked out.”
“That’s rough,” Yoshiki said immediately, the words slipping out with quiet certainty.
“Yeah, tell me about it. He’s losing his mind right now,” Yusuke went on. “Apparently Hikaru-chan’s got this huge uni project he was in the middle of when everything blew up, and now he’s got nowhere to stay. So I was thinking—well, hoping, really—maybe he could crash at your place? Just for a bit, until he finds something. I’d cover rent, food, whatever you need,” he added quickly.
Yoshiki didn’t hesitate.
“Absolutely,” he said. “You know he can, Yusuke. All my friends can come here whenever they want, for as long as they want.” A pause. Then, lighter, “And don’t you dare pay me anything, or I’ll kill you.”
“God, man,” Yusuke exhaled, laughing. “I knew I could count on you. You’re seriously a lifesaver. I owe you big time.”
“Should I pick him up?” Yoshiki asked. “Where is he?”
“Nah, nah, don’t worry. He’s not a baby anymore. I’ll give him your number, and I’m guessing he should be there tonight.”
“Okay. I’m working from home today, so I’ll be here all day,” Yoshiki added. “He can get here whenever he’s ready.”
“Cool! Thanks again, man. You’re too kind.”
“Not at all…”
“I’m sending him your number now. He should be texting you soon.”
“Copy that.”
“See ya, man. I’ll text you later. Oh—and please forgive Hikaru if he does anything stupid, alright?”
“Will do.”
Click.
Yusuke Yasaburo and his younger brother, Hikaru Yasaburo.
When they were kids, Yoshiki Tsujinaka, Hikaru Indou, and Yusuke Yasaburo had been inseparable.
When Yoshiki was eight years old, Yusuke nine, and Hikaru seven and a half, Hikaru Yasaburo was born.
They all called him Hikaru-chan, and the name stuck—partly because Hikaru Indou claimed seniority rights.
Yoshiki remembered the first time he held Hikaru-chan in his arms. He had been a little bundle with a white tuft of hair on his head. He squirmed so much that Yoshiki hurriedly handed him back to his brother.
When Yoshiki was thirteen and his family, along with the Indous, came to visit the Yasaburos’ household, Hikaru-chan clung to him more than he did to his own brother.
“Yoshiki, you came!” five-year-old Hikaru-chan said as he hugged Yoshiki and buried his face against his waist. “You’re my best friend!”
Yoshiki chuckled in endearment as he gently caressed his hair.
In high school, Yoshiki, Hikaru Indou, Yusuke, and Maki Yuuta had been especially close.
They mostly spent time at the Indous’ place, but when it was the Yasaburos’ turn to host a family gathering, Hikaru-chan would immediately latch onto Yoshiki.
“And this is my Minecraft world, see? This is my house,” ten-year-old Hikaru Yasaburo said, giving Yoshiki a tour of an elaborately built fortress on his Nintendo Switch. “This is my room. The kitchen. I have a second floor and a basement. I keep the cool stuff in the basement so Yusuke won’t steal it. He doesn’t know it exists. It’s a secret.”
“That’s really cool,” Yoshiki said genuinely, indulging Hikaru for a moment. “You even have a farm.”
“Yeah,” Hikaru said around a mouthful of chocolate. “I automated it and everything. Let me show you.”
“Cool,” Yoshiki commented as Hikaru pulled a lever, sending the wheat cascading down into a chest. “You know, Kaoru makes me play with her sometimes, too. We could play together on a Sunday.”
Hikaru-chan perked up, looking up at Yoshiki with wide eyes. “Really?!”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, please, Yoshiki!!” Hikaru bounced in place. “Yusuke never wants to play with me.”
“What a jerk.”
“He is!!” Hikaru-chan agreed.
Unfortunately for Hikaru-chan, they only got to play together that summer, because Yoshiki had to leave for Tokyo.
It had been bittersweet for Yoshiki. Going to Tokyo meant freedom—new possibilities, new opportunities, a new life—but it also meant leaving his friends and family behind.
Leaving Hikaru Indou behind.
But he thought it was for the best, because after all, Hikaru Indou would never reciprocate his feelings.
When he was twenty, little Hikaru-chan reached out to him, hoping they could play Minecraft again. At the time, Yoshiki had just finished his exams, so he could afford some free time for himself. He agreed easily.
Hikaru-chan would gossip about Yusuke and about everything that happened in the village. Yoshiki had never liked to partake in gossip, but homesickness made him listen attentively in this case.
When he was twenty-two, he went back to Kubitachi for the holidays. His and Yusuke’s dates coincided, so they returned together to the Yasaburo household for a reunion.
This time, Hikaru-chan didn’t greet him with excitement.
“Hey, little man,” Yoshiki said. Kaoru trailed behind him.
Hikaru-chan, who had been poking around the barbecue bowl with a pair of kitchen tongs, froze and slowly turned toward Yoshiki, eyes wide.
“…What?” Yoshiki asked, thrown off.
“Y-Yoshiki,” Hikaru-chan stuttered. “I didn’t know you were coming.” His eyes flicked to Yoshiki’s shadow. “Kaoru, hello.”
“Hi,” she replied shortly.
“Have you two not played Minecraft?” Yoshiki asked the teenagers.
“No,”
“Not really.”
Yoshiki sighed inwardly. Teenagers.
“You’ve grown so tall,” Yoshiki said, trying again to make conversation with the younger ones.
“Not as tall as you,” Hikaru-chan replied, setting his plate down.
“Give it time. After all, you’re only… thirteen?”
“I’m turning fifteen in two months,” Hikaru-chan said, resting his arm against a pillar, trying to look casual.
“Huh. Same as you, Kaoru,” Yoshiki said as he caressed his sister’s head.
Kaoru allowed it, but as soon as Yoshiki’s hand fell back to his side, she smoothed out her pristine, straight hair, which now fell to her shoulders—like a cat licking dust off its fur after being petted.
After that, Yoshiki suddenly felt an arm wrap around his neck, and he was pulled into a headlock.
“There you are! You think you can run off to Tokyo and forget your roots?!”
Hikaru Indou had arrived.
Yoshiki struggled, but as usual, he gave up after thirty seconds. “Let go of me…”
“I win—again! Yoshiki, you’re too weak. Haven’t you learned anything in Tokyo?” Hikaru Indou’s smile could light up the whole room.
“My classes don’t include How to Handle Cavemen, so no.”
Hikaru burst out laughing, but soon his attention shifted to Kaoru, his arms spreading wide. “Kaoru! I see you all the time, but still—”
“Nooo,” Kaoru complained. Before she could back away, Hikaru enveloped her in his arms, squeezed her, and lifted her until her feet weren’t touching the ground, then gently set her back down.
Once again, Kaoru smoothed down her blouse and her skirt.
Finally, Hikaru turned to… Hikaru.
“My doppelgänger,” Hikaru Indou said with a foxy grin as he fist-bumped Hikaru Yasaburo. “Damn, you’re getting tall.”
“That’s what I say,” Yoshiki added.
“Come here, you,” Hikaru said, once again wrapping an arm around Yoshiki’s neck and dragging him away from the teenagers, chatting cheerfully the whole way. Yoshiki, as always, let him.
After that meeting, Hikaru Yasaburo added Yoshiki Tsujinaka on all his social media.
-.-.-.-.-.-
At twenty-four, Yoshiki landed a stable job that allowed him to visit Kubitachi frequently.
That was when the tangled situation with Hikaru Indou began. The tension between them finally broke—the tea kettle boiled over, exploded—and they lost themselves in everything that had gone unspoken and unacknowledged throughout the years they’d been together.
More visits also meant more Yasaburo visits to the Tsujinaka household.
At twenty-five, Yoshiki was in the kitchen preparing margaritas for everyone out in the backyard.
“So… how’s Tokyo?” Hikaru-chan asked, leaning against the threshold.
“It’s great. Studying in Tokyo was the best decision I’ve made in my entire life. Ask your brother, he must feel the same,” Yoshiki said, wiping his hands. “Why? Have you thought about what you want to study?”
“Yeah, well, I mean… yeah, kind of,” Hikaru blabbered.
Yoshiki snorted, and Hikaru-chan blushed.
“But… don’t you miss it here?” Hikaru-chan asked hurriedly.
Yoshiki immediately thought of his family and Hikaru Indou.
“Of course I do. Just the people I love, though. I don’t miss anything else,” Yoshiki said as he poured the margarita mix into salt-rimmed glasses. “I wish I could take them all with me, but…”
He shrugged and offered a margarita to Hikaru—then backpedaled.
“Oh—wait, sorry. You’re not old enough to drink,” Yoshiki said as he set the crystal glass back onto the tray, arranging it neatly.
He turned around to look for a kitchen towel. When he turned back, Hikaru-chan had already gulped down one of the margaritas.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, eyes squinting mischievously in a way that immediately reminded Yoshiki of Hikaru Indou.
It wasn’t his fault. The Hikarus were basically like two drops of water. Yoshiki had always wondered why no one questioned the similarities between the two, even though they weren’t related.
“Don’t let your brother kill me,” Yoshiki muttered as he picked up the tray and went to the backyard, Hikaru-chan trailing with a bounce in his step behind him.
-.-.-.-.-
That was the last time Yoshiki had seen Hikaru-chan.
After that, his relationship with Hikaru Indou went through its usual ups and downs. While it was true that no one made him feel as happy as Hikaru did, no one else could make him feel as miserable, either.
Hikaru was… difficult.
He was far from perfect. There were still traces of homophobia that made Yoshiki’s words die in his throat or sent a twitch through his eye. No one could make him feel as hopeless as Hikaru Indou could.
He enrolled in swimming classes for two reasons: he needed a distraction from Hikaru Indou, and he didn’t want to fall into a sedentary lifestyle.
The distraction helped, somewhat—but there was always a dissatisfaction lodged in his chest, something nothing could quite fill.
His heart was never at ease, but it was tolerable. As long as Hikaru Indou kept touching him. As long as Hikaru kept sucking at his neck the way he did. As long as Hikaru kept knocking on his door when he least expected it.
Then, suddenly, Yoshiki was twenty-eight, and his relationship with Hikaru had crumbled into pieces.
After that came the call from Yusuke Yasaburo.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.-
“And this here will be your room. I’ve fixed it for you,” Yoshiki said as he opened the door. Hikaru-chan was trailing behind him
“There’s the bathroom, it has everything you need,” Yoshiki pointed to the door. “The hot water is the right faucet,”
“Wow… This place is great, man,” Hikaru Yasaburo admired, his eyes traveling all over the room.
“You’ll get there, you’ll get there,” Yoshiki assured.
It was true. Little by little, Yoshiki had managed to get himself a nice apartment in Tokyo thanks to his hard work, contacts, and sprinkle of luck and timing.
Hikaru-chan sat all giddy on the bed and stared up at Yoshiki, expectantly. “So, rules?”
“Rules?” Yoshiki scratched at the back of his neck. He had never put rules on his apartment. “Just clean after yourself and that’s all,”
“Can I bring girls over?” Hikaru-chan asked with squinted eyes and a wide grin.
Yoshiki put his hands on his hips, and with a grimace, he gave Hikaru-chan a look that said I’m telling your brother but he just said “Sure, just let me sleep… and burn the sheets…”
Hikaru-chan laughed naughtily. “I’m just kidding, Yoshiki!! I would never bring girls here!”
“Okay,” Yoshiki rolled his eyes. “Then, I’ll leave you to it. Tell me if you need anything else,”
“Um,” Hikaru-chan started once Yoshiki was near the door. “Thank you for letting me stay. I’ll make it up to you and try not to get on your way,”
“Don’t worry about it, and you’re not in my way,” Yoshiki said easily, always the polite and hospitable man.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Yoshiki woke before his alarm, the apartment washed in pale light. For a moment, he lay still, disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of sleep that had actually rested in his body instead of passing through it.
Then habit kicked in.
His hand slid across the nightstand, fingers curling around his phone before he was fully awake. The screen lit up, too bright and too slow. There were the same notifications. Nothing else.
He unlocked it anyway. His thumb hovered over a familiar name.
Hikaru.
It would have been easy. Easier than thinking. A good morning text. Something neutral or safe. ‘Did you sleep okay?’ or ‘I woke up early today.’ Something that didn’t say ‘I miss you’ but meant it anyway.
Yoshiki stared at the screen, chest tightening.
From down the hall came a quiet sound. A drawer opening, then closing. Then some footsteps, careful and unhurried, moving across the floor. Life, continuing. Yoshiki slowly exhaled.
His thumb lowered—not to type, but to lock the screen. The phone went back onto the nightstand, facedown this time. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face.
In the kitchen, the kettle clicked as someone turned it on. Yoshiki left the warmth of his bed and went to get breakfast.
“Morning,” Hikaru-chan called softly, like he wasn’t sure how loud he was allowed to be.
“Morning,” Yoshiki answered.
He stretched and looked for the coffee beans. The phone stayed where it was.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Do you like chamomile?” Yoshiki asked at some point, already pulling the box from the cabinet.
“Yeah,” Hikaru-chan replied easily. “My mom drinks it all the time.”
Yoshiki nodded, as if that explained everything.
They sat at opposite ends of the couch, mugs warm between their hands. Hikaru-chan kicked his socked feet together absentmindedly, scrolling through his phone, occasionally showing Yoshiki something—an image from a game, a stupid meme Yusuke had sent, a picture of the train station near his old place.
Yoshiki listened. He found that he didn’t have to try very hard.
At some point, Hikaru-chan asked, “Is it okay if I stay up a bit? I’ll be quiet.”
“It’s fine,” Yoshiki said. “I’ll probably be up too.”
And that was the truth. Nights had been the hardest lately. Too quiet and too empty, filled with thoughts of white hair.
Now, there was the soft sound of breathing that wasn’t his own. The muted tap of fingers against a screen. The presence of another person moving carefully through his space, like they were afraid of breaking something.
Yoshiki realized, distantly, that his shoulders had dropped. He wasn’t bracing himself. He wasn’t waiting for a knock at the door that might never come. He wasn’t replaying words in his head, wondering what he should have said differently.
Hikaru-chan yawned, covering his mouth. “Sorry.”
“You tired?” Yoshiki asked.
“Yeah. It’s been… kind of a day,” Hikaru-chan admitted, then hesitated. “But it’s nice here.”
Yoshiki smiled, small and real. “I’m glad.”
They didn’t talk about Hikaru Indou. They didn’t talk about breakups or mistakes or things that hurt. They talked about nothing. And that, Yoshiki realized, was what he needed at the moment.
When Hikaru-chan eventually stood to head to his room, he paused. “Good night, Yoshiki.”
“Good night.”
The door closed softly down the hall. Yoshiki sat there for a moment longer, tea cooling in his hands, and let the quiet settle again. For the first time in weeks, Yoshiki was quietly, unexpectedly glad he wasn’t alone.
.-.-.-.-.
Yoshiki stood in front of the sink long after the dishes were done, hands braced against the counter, staring at his own reflection in the darkened window. His phone lay nearby, screen up this time unlocked.
He hadn’t meant to pick it up again. It had just… ended up in his hand.
A message draft sat unfinished. There were no words written yet, despite the fact that Yoshiki had so much to say.
He felt that familiar hollow press behind his ribs, the one that crept in when the day slowed down and there was no noise to drown it out. No distractions or excuses, only the echo of Hikaru Indou.
‘You could still say something,’ a small, cruel part of him whispered. ‘So he knows you care.’
Yoshiki swallowed, jaw tightening. He rested his forehead briefly against the cabinet, eyes closing.
Then—
“Hey, uh… Yoshiki?”
The voice came from behind him, hesitant and careful. Yoshiki startled, shoulders jerking slightly as he turned around. Hikaru-chan stood a few steps away, holding a grocery bag in both hands like he wasn’t sure where to put it.
“Sorry,” Hikaru-chan said quickly. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just—Yusuke texted me, and he said you like those melon pan from the bakery near the station, so I grabbed some.”
He lifted the bag a little, offering it.
“Oh,” Yoshiki said, the word coming out softer than he expected. He blinked, grounding himself. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Hikaru-chan said, shrugging. “But I wanted to.”
Yoshiki glanced down at his phone. The unfinished message was still waiting there with the blinking cursor. Without comment, he locked the screen and set it aside.
“Thank you,” he said instead, taking the bag. “That was… thoughtful.”
Hikaru-chan smiled, small and a little shy. “I wasn’t sure which one you liked, so I got a few.”
“That’s perfect.”
They stood there for a second, opening the bags, neither rushing the moment.
“You okay?” Hikaru-chan asked, gently, like it wasn’t a demand, just an opening.
“Yeah,” Yoshiki lied. “I am.”
Hikaru-chan nodded, as if that was enough. “Cool. Um—do you want to eat together?”
“Yeah,” Yoshiki said. “I’d like that.”
They moved to the table. They talked about plates, pastries and ordinary things. The ache didn’t disappear. It rarely did. But it loosened its grip. Distractions and having no choice but to move forward helped him clear his mind.
-.-.-.-.-.-.
Later that night, Yoshiki woke to the soft sound of movement. It wasn’t loud enough to alarm him—just a shuffle, the quiet creak of the floorboards he still hadn’t fully memorized. He lay still for a moment, listening, then glanced at the clock on his phone. Past midnight.
There was a knock.
“Yoshiki?” Hikaru-chan’s voice came through the door, hushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay,” Yoshiki said, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”
Hikaru-chan opened the door just enough to peer inside. The hallway light framed him softly, casting long shadows behind his feet.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “I keep doing this thing where my brain won’t shut up.”
Yoshiki exhaled, slow and familiar. “Yeah. That happens.”
Hikaru-chan hesitated, then held something up between them—a folded blanket. Yoshiki recognized it immediately. The thick one he kept tucked away in the hall closet. The one he always forgot he owned.
“I noticed you left this out earlier,” Hikaru-chan said. “You didn’t take it with you when you went to bed, and… I thought you might get cold.”
Yoshiki stared at the blanket for a second longer than necessary.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
Hikaru-chan smiled, relieved, and handed it over. “I’ll go back to my room. Sorry again.”
“Hey,” Yoshiki said before he could stop himself.
Hikaru-chan paused.
“You don’t have to apologize for everything,” Yoshiki said. “This is your home now.”
Hikaru’s eyes widened and he looked away, hiding the blush on his cheeks.
“Thank you…”
“Good night.”
“Good night,” Hikaru-chan said easily.
The door closed with a soft click. Yoshiki lay back down, pulling the blanket over himself. It was warmer than he remembered. He adjusted it around his shoulders, the weight settling in a way that felt soothing, deliberate. He stared at the ceiling for a long time after that.
Weeks later—months, even—he would remember this moment. Not the insomnia or that he couldn’t stop thinking about Indou, but the fact that someone had noticed. That someone had thought ahead, without being asked. That care had arrived without strings, without history, without pain attached to it.
Still, Yoshiki simply closed his eyes and slept.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Little by little, Hikaru-chan stopped hovering. At first it was small things—lingering in the doorway when Yoshiki came home from work instead of retreating to his room, asking questions without sounding like he was afraid of taking up space. Then came the confidence, creeping in on soft feet.
One evening, Yoshiki dropped his bag by the door with a tired sigh, shoulders aching in that familiar, dull way.
“Rough day?” Hikaru-chan asked from the couch, notebook open, pen twirling between his fingers.
“Long,” Yoshiki corrected, toeing off his shoes. “I think my brain clocked out three hours ago.”
Hikaru-chan squinted at him. “You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
“Mmm,” Hikaru-chan hummed, unconvinced. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then snapped his notebook shut with theatrical finality. “Okay. Homework done.”
Yoshiki paused halfway to the kitchen. “All of it?”
“Yes.”
“All of it-all of it?”
Hikaru-chan grinned. “Wow. You sound just like my brother.”
“That’s because I’m responsible,” Yoshiki said dryly.
“Debatable.”
Yoshiki laughed despite himself, the sound surprising them both.
Hikaru-chan’s eyes widened just a little, like he hadn’t expected that reaction—but he rolled with it easily. “So,” he said, patting the empty space on the couch, “you gonna stand there intimidating the furniture, or are we playing?”
“Playing what?”
Hikaru-chan gestured toward the console. “Anything you want. But fair warning—I am extremely good.”
Yoshiki raised an eyebrow. “At what?”
“Yes.”
They ended up sprawled side by side, controllers in hand, the glow of the screen painting the room in soft blues and greens. Hikaru-chan leaned forward as he played, all focus and quick reflexes, trash-talking just enough to be annoying.
“Oh no,” he said cheerfully as Yoshiki’s character fell—again. “Is Tokyo not teaching you survival skills?”
“Excuse you,” Yoshiki said, mashing buttons. “I’m tired.”
“You drove here.”
“It’s a mental tiredness.”
Hikaru-chan snorted, laughter spilling out of him, unrestrained. “Wow. You’re terrible.”
“And yet,” Yoshiki shot back, “I’m still winning.”
Hikaru-chan froze. He looked at the screen and groaned dramatically. “That was a fluke.”
“Say it louder,” Yoshiki said, smiling now, really smiling. “I think the neighbors didn’t hear you.”
Hikaru-chan shoved his shoulder lightly. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah,” Yoshiki said, relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in weeks. “You’ll live.”
They kept playing long past the point Yoshiki normally would have turned in, laughter breaking out at the dumbest things—glitches, missed jumps, Hikaru-chan’s exaggerated despair whenever he lost.
At some point, Yoshiki realized something quietly, without fanfare. He hadn’t thought about Hikaru Indou all evening. And for the first time since the breakup, that thought didn’t hurt at all.
-.-.-.-.-..-.-.
Yoshiki gave up on sleep sometime past two. He lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the refrigerator through the wall, the distant sounds of the city bleeding in through the windows. Eventually, he sighed, pushed himself out of bed, and padded toward the kitchen in search of water or distraction. Probably both.
The light was already on. Hikaru-chan was at the kitchen island, hunched over like he was guarding a secret. The surface was completely taken over: foam board, rulers, scraps of balsa wood, tiny buildings lined up like a miniature city waiting to exist. His sleeves were rolled up, tongue stuck out as he worked with meticulous concentration.
He didn’t notice Yoshiki at first. Hikaru-chan held a pair of tweezers with surgical care, lowering a minuscule structure into place. He dabbed glue, adjusted, lifted it again, frowned, tried once more.
It looked endless.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Yoshiki asked quietly.
Hikaru-chan jumped, nearly dropping the piece. “—Ah! Yoshiki. Yeah. Um. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No,” Yoshiki said easily, stepping closer. “I was already awake.”
He leaned against the counter, eyes drifting over the model. Streets, windows, tiny fire hydrants. Carefully measured distances. The amount of work already done was impressive but the amount still left made his shoulders ache in sympathy.
“…That’s a lot,” Yoshiki said after a moment.
Hikaru-chan laughed weakly. “Tell me about it.”
“You didn’t start earlier?”
Hikaru-chan didn’t look up this time. He just kept working, tweezers steady despite the hour. “I wanted to. It’s just… everything piled up. Classes, part-time work, other assignments. I kept thinking I’d catch up tomorrow.”
Yoshiki hummed. He knew that feeling too well.
“You’re behind, huh?”
“Very,” Hikaru-chan admitted, sheepish. “At this rate I’ll graduate in… maybe thirty years.”
Yoshiki smiled, then reached for a glass of water. He took a sip, glanced at the clock, then back at the tiny city slowly taking shape.
He had nowhere else to be.
“Want help?” he asked.
Hikaru-chan finally looked up. “Huh?”
“I mean,” Yoshiki gestured toward the model, “I can hold things, pass you tools, glue stuff under supervision. I promise I won’t freestyle.”
Hikaru-chan blinked at him, clearly processing the offer. “You… don’t mind?”
Yoshiki shrugged. “I’m awake. And I’d rather be useful.”
That earned him a small, tired smile.
“Okay,” Hikaru-chan said, sliding a pair of tweezers and a glue stick toward him. “But if you mess up, I will cry.”
“Noted,” Yoshiki said solemnly. They settled into a quiet rhythm.
Yoshiki held pieces steady while Hikaru-chan aligned them, counted windows, muttered measurements under his breath. Sometimes their fingers brushed—brief, accidental—and neither of them made a thing of it. The city grew, building by building, street by street.
It was slow. But it felt good.
At some point, Yoshiki realized the tightness in his chest had eased. The night no longer felt so heavy. Just two people awake together, building something small, piece by piece, until it finally held.
-.-.-.-.-.-.
On one night, Yoshiki had cooked, nothing fancy, just something warm and filling, and they’d eaten at the kitchen island, knees occasionally bumping under the counter. Hikaru-chan talked about his day in fragments: a professor who went off on a tangent, a model that refused to cooperate, a classmate who kept stealing his ruler. Yoshiki listened, nodding, humming in the right places, smiling when he was supposed to.
He looked lighter. Not happy, exactly, but present.
Hikaru-chan was in the middle of complaining about campus coffee when Yoshiki’s phone started ringing.
The sound cut through the room like a blade. Yoshiki froze.
It was subtle, just a hitch in his shoulders, the way his eyes snapped to the screen, but Hikaru-chan caught it immediately. Yoshiki stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“I—sorry,” Yoshiki said, already reaching for the phone. Hikaru-chan followed his gaze.
Hikaru Indou.
Yoshiki didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the phone and hurried down the hallway, disappearing into his bedroom. The door didn’t close all the way, but it might as well have.
Hikaru-chan sat there, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.
From the kitchen, he could hear Yoshiki’s voice, soft at first, careful, like he was afraid of breaking something already cracked.
“…What …… want?” Hikaru-chan heard the chopped sentences.
“…No, I don’t….” “I never…..you….” “This again….”
The words were muffled, blurred by distance and walls, but the tone wasn’t. Hikaru-chan slowly set his fork down.
He’d never heard Yoshiki sound like that.
Minutes passed.
Yoshiki’s voice grew sharper, louder, the careful edges wearing away. His words still didn’t fully carry, but the emotion did—frustration, hurt, something new and visceral. Hikaru-chan’s chest tightened.
Why was he still calling?
Hikaru-chan already knew Yoshiki’s situation. From the pictures Yoshiki had. From the way he had always seen Yoshiki and Hikaru Indou interact. And he had also asked Yusuke what was going on between the two. He knew they had broken up.
So why was Hikaru Indou still here, still reaching into Yoshiki’s life like he hadn’t already torn it apart?
‘Let him go,’ Hikaru-chan thought bitterly. ‘Let him breathe. Let him start over’.
A sudden spike of anger flared in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Jealousy followed close behind, hot and uncomfortable. He hated that part of himself immediately—but it didn’t go away.
Then—silence.
A few moments later, Yoshiki came back into the kitchen. His face was completely blank and empty, like everything expressive had been wiped clean. He didn’t look at Hikaru-chan. He walked straight to the trash, scraped the untouched food from his plate, and threw it away.
The sound of ceramic against plastic was too loud.
“I’m going to bed early,” Yoshiki said flatly.
Hikaru-chan swallowed. “You… okay?”
Yoshiki nodded once. “Yeah.”
It was a lie. A bad one. Hikaru-chan knew about the insomnia. Everyone did. Yoshiki didn’t sleep early—he didn’t sleep at all most nights. But Hikaru-chan didn’t push. He just nodded back.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Yoshiki paused for half a second, like he might say something else. Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway again, this time closing the door behind him.
Hikaru-chan stayed where he was. The kitchen felt colder now. Too big. The easy warmth from earlier had evaporated, leaving behind an ache that settled deep in his chest.
He stared at the empty chair Yoshiki had been sitting in and clenched his jaw.
‘Damn you,’ he thought, directing it at someone miles away. ‘If you loved him, you wouldn’t keep doing this.’
Hikaru Indou had already broken Yoshiki’s heart. He didn’t get to keep reopening the wound.
Hikaru-chan stood, quietly cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, and turned off the light. As he walked toward his room, he glanced once at Yoshiki’s closed door.
“Sleep,” he muttered under his breath, even though he knew Yoshiki wouldn’t. Somewhere deep inside, something settled—small, quiet, and dangerously protective.
-.-.-.-.-.-
Hikaru-chan had always thought Yoshiki was cool, not in the loud, obvious way people talked about coolness.. Yoshiki’s cool had always been quieter than that—measured, steady, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway.
When Hikaru-chan was little, it had been simple admiration.
Yoshiki was taller and smarter. He knew how to fix things, how to talk to adults without shrinking, how to listen without interrupting. He smelled like laundry detergent and roses when he visited, and he never laughed when Hikaru-chan messed things up. He just helped, always helped.
At fourteen, that admiration had shifted into something heavier.
Hikaru-chan remembered it clearly now, lying awake in a dark room that wasn’t his own. The sudden awareness of Yoshiki’s hands—large, warm, steady—guiding his over a controller. The way his chest felt too tight when Yoshiki laughed close to his ear. The quiet, confusing jealousy when Yoshiki talked about people in Tokyo.
He hadn’t had a name for it back then. He’d just known that he didn’t want to be a kid forever. That he wanted Yoshiki to look at him differently—like he mattered.
So he’d buried it.
Crushes were childish things, after all. And Yoshiki was… Yoshiki. Untouchable in a way Hikaru-chan didn’t know how to bridge.
As he grew older, the feeling didn’t disappear. It just went dormant, folded neatly away like something precious he didn’t dare break. Life filled the space instead—classes, projects, deadlines, moving forward. Yoshiki became part of the background of his life again. A constant. Safe and distant.
Until now.
Living with him changed everything. It was the small things. The way Yoshiki padded around the apartment in socks. The way he loosened his tie the second he walked in the door. The way he rubbed his eyes when he was tired and forgot to hide it. The way he cooked when he was stressed, cleaned when he couldn’t sleep.
Hikaru-chan saw too much now. He saw the cracks. The loneliness. The hurt Yoshiki tried so hard to keep contained.
And with every shared meal, every late-night conversation, every quiet kindness, something old stirred awake inside him—slow, unwelcome, undeniable.
It wasn’t a crush anymore. It was warmer than that. Deeper and heavier. It made him want to protect Yoshiki. To stand between him and things that hurt him. To take up space in his life in a way that mattered. Which was dangerous. Hikaru-chan knew that.
Yoshiki had just broken up with someone he loved. Someone who still had a hold on him, if the phone calls were anything to go by. Hikaru-chan didn’t want to be a replacement. Didn’t want to be a rebound. Didn’t want to be anything that would cheapen what he felt.
So he stayed quiet. He laughed when Yoshiki joked. He teased him gently. He pretended his heart didn’t beat faster when Yoshiki smiled at him, tired but genuine.
But at night, when the apartment settled into silence and Yoshiki’s door stayed closed, Hikaru-chan lay awake and admitted the truth to himself.
He had always looked up to Yoshiki and now, he was falling for him. Slowly, carefully and tenderly. Like something he knew could hurt them both if he moved too fast.
.--.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Hikaru-chan knew that it was stupid even as it happened. Yoshiki had been unusually attentive that evening, asking questions, remembering details, filling Hikaru-chan’s tea without being asked, setting it closer when Hikaru-chan’s focus drifted back to his notes.
Small and harmless things. Or maybe dangerous things?
They were sitting at the kitchen island again, the apartment dim except for the warm light above them. Hikaru-chan was working through sketches, erasing and redrawing lines that refused to cooperate. Yoshiki leaned against the counter nearby, scrolling through something on his tablet.
“Your professor sounds exhausting,” Yoshiki said, glancing over. “Anyone who assigns three models at once should be banned.”
Hikaru-chan laughed. “Thank you. I feel seen.”
Yoshiki smiled at that. A real one, soft at the edges. It did something to Hikaru-chan’s chest.
He hesitated, then pushed his sketchbook toward Yoshiki. “Hey—can I get your opinion?”
Yoshiki looked surprised. “Me?”
“You always notice things,” Hikaru-chan said, casual, like it didn’t mean more than it did. “Just…tell me if it makes sense.”
Yoshiki stepped closer. He bent over the island, bracing one hand on the counter near Hikaru-chan’s elbow. Their shoulders almost touched. Hikaru-chan held his breath without realizing it.
From there, he could clearly smell Yoshiki’s cologne. It smelled clean and light.
“Well,” Yoshiki said slowly, studying the page. “I like this part. The negative space here—it gives it room to breathe.”
His fingers hovered over the paper, then stopped short. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t touch him. But he didn’t pull away either.
Hikaru-chan’s pulse spiked.
Under his cologne, Yoshiki smelled like soap and something faintly citrusy. Familiar, soft and comforting. His voice was low, the way it got late at night.
“You’re better than you think,” Yoshiki added quietly. “You always have been.”
The words landed like a confession. Hikaru-chan looked up before he could stop himself and their eyes met. For half a second, everything else fell away.
Hikaru-chan thought— ‘This is it. He sees me. Maybe he’s been feeling it too.’
He shifted, just slightly. Just enough to test the space between them.
Yoshiki straightened immediately.
“Oh—sorry,” he said, stepping back like he’d crossed some invisible boundary. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”
The warmth vanished and Hikaru-chan’s heart dropped.
“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mind.”
Yoshiki nodded, already retreating emotionally as well as physically. “Good. Anyway—yeah. It’s solid work.”
He picked up his tablet again, the moment neatly folded away like it had never existed. Hikaru-chan stared at his sketchbook. He felt foolish.
Of course Yoshiki was kind. He’d always been kind. That was who he was. Polite, thoughtful and encouraging.
It didn’t mean anything else. And yet—
Hikaru-chan pressed his thumb against the edge of the paper, grounding himself. He forced a smile.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll, uh, keep working on it.”
“Take breaks,” Yoshiki said gently. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”
There it was again. That care. Hikaru-chan nodded, even as something inside him twisted painfully.
‘Don’t misread it,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t turn politeness into hope.’
But once the thought had existed, even for a moment, it was hard to erase.
Later, alone in his room, Hikaru-chan lay awake, replaying the scene with merciless clarity. The closeness. The words. The way Yoshiki had pulled back so fast. He turned onto his side, staring at the wall.
Maybe he’d imagined it. Or maybe Yoshiki had felt it too and chosen to step away.
.-.-.-..-.-.-.-
The wine had softened everything. Yoshiki wasn’t drunk—not really—but the sharp edges of the day had dulled. His thoughts drifted more easily, his guard slipping in small, imperceptible ways. Hikaru-chan’s laughter felt warmer than usual. The space between them felt closer and tighter.
Hikaru-chan was mid-sentence, gesturing with his glass as he talked about a studio critique, when he laughed—short and breathy, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Yoshiki froze. For just a second, the room shifted.
The curve of Hikaru-chan’s smile, that same fang poking out. The way his eyes caught the light. The same cat eyed eyelashes. The tilt of his head as he listened, earnest and open—
It lined up too perfectly.
Yoshiki’s chest tightened violently as his brain betrayed him, overlaying another face onto the one in front of him. Another Hikaru. One that was older and sharper. Familiar in a way that still ached.
For one terrible heartbeat, it felt like Hikaru Indou was sitting next to him again. Like nothing had ended. Like nothing had broken.
Yoshiki’s breath caught. Hikaru-chan noticed immediately.
The smile faded from his face as Yoshiki’s expression changed—went distant, glassy, like he’d looked straight through him instead of at him.
“Yoshiki?” Hikaru-chan said softly.
Yoshiki blinked, once then twice.
The illusion shattered, leaving only shame and something dangerously close to longing. He looked away so fast it was almost abrupt, staring at the far wall like it could anchor him.
“Sorry,” he said, voice suddenly flat. “I-I’m more tired than I thought.”
Hikaru-chan’s fingers tightened around his glass. He understood. Not fully, but enough.
“Must be the age,” Hikaru-chan joked with a smile, but Yoshiki didn’t laugh.
Yoshiki stood up too quickly, setting his glass down untouched. “I’m going to call it a night.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He walked down the hallway, every step measured, controlled. He locked his bedroom door. The sound was soft. Final.
Hikaru-chan remained on the couch, staring at the place Yoshiki had been sitting. His heart pounded painfully in his chest.
‘He saw him,’ Hikaru-chan realized.
The resemblance had always been there. People had joked about it, commented on it in passing. Hikaru-chan had never thought much of it—until now. Until he saw the way Yoshiki had looked at him like he was a ghost.
He swallowed hard, jealousy and something more complicated twisting together in his chest.
“I’m not him,” Hikaru-chan whispered to the empty room.
But Yoshiki was already behind a locked door, alone with memories he wasn’t ready to let go of. Hikaru-chan understood, with aching clarity, exactly why Yoshiki had pulled away.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The text had been casual. Running late. Might not make it back tonight.
Hikaru-chan hadn’t thought much of it at first. Yoshiki worked long hours. Sometimes he crashed at the office. Sometimes he just… vanished into himself.
Still, the apartment felt too quiet.
He went to bed eventually, telling himself not to read into things. Sleep came in shallow pieces, restless and unsatisfying. Sometime past midnight, he woke with a chill creeping up his spine.
He wanted a blanket.
He slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway. The apartment was dark, the city’s glow bleeding faintly through the windows. He opened the hall closet and began rummaging.
The front door opened and Hikaru-chan froze.
Voices drifted in. Low, silky and intimate. A breathy laugh that made his stomach drop before his brain caught up.
Something thudded—furniture knocked out of place. A shushing sound. Another chuckle, closer this time.
His heart started pounding. Then they turned the corner.
Yoshiki was first—unsteady on his feet, hair mussed, cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red. His shirt was half-untucked, the top buttons undone. Hikaru Indou was pressed against his side, one arm slung around Yoshiki’s neck like he belonged there.
Their lips were swollen. Red. Recently kissed.
The world tilted. Yoshiki noticed him first.
“Hikaru!” he drawled, voice loose, wrong and drunk. There was a sheepish smile on his face, fond and unfocused. “Sorry if we woke you up.”
Hikaru-chan couldn’t speak.
Hikaru Indou squinted at him, head tilted. “Who’s he?”
“Shut up,” Yoshiki muttered, trying—poorly—to disentangle himself.
Indou laughed. “Oh—oh.” His eyes sharpened, amused. “It’s my doppelgänger.” He looked Hikaru-chan up and down with blatant curiosity. “What’s he doing here, Yoshiki? You never mentioned him.”
Yoshiki rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just asking,” Indou said lazily. “You always hide the interesting things.”
Hikaru-chan felt heat crawl up his neck. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“I’m sorry,” Yoshiki said again, this time looking at Hikaru-chan directly. His voice softened. “Really. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” Hikaru Indou cut in cheerfully, squeezing Yoshiki tighter. “I forgive you!”
Hikaru-chan’s stomach twisted.
Yoshiki ignored him. “I’ll—uh. I’ll leave you to it,” he said to Hikaru-chan, words clumsy and wrong. Then, without waiting, he turned and dragged Hikaru Indou down the hallway toward his bedroom.
As they passed, Hikaru Indou looked back.
He winked.
Then he pointed at Yoshiki’s back—possessive, smug—making sure Hikaru-chan saw it.
The bedroom door closed, the sound echoing around inside his head.
Hikaru-chan stood there long after, the blanket forgotten at his feet. His chest burned, sharp and furious, jealousy mixing with something darker and more painful. His blood boiled.
Not just because Yoshiki had brought him home. Not just because he’d been lied to.
But because Hikaru Indou had looked at him like he was nothing more than an inconvenience and Yoshiki had let him. Hikaru-chan turned away slowly, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
In the darkness of the hallway, something shifted—quietly, decisively. The restraint cracked.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Hikaru Yasaburo left the apartment before the sun was fully up. He didn’t bother being quiet.
The door clicked shut behind him, sharper than usual, and he welcomed the sting of cold morning air as he stepped outside. His head throbbed—not from lack of sleep, but from memory. From the way Yoshiki had sounded. From the way Hikaru Indou had looked at him.
He walked to the library instead of taking the train, letting the city blur around him. Commuters passed him in neat coats and headphones, already absorbed in lives that didn’t feel as fractured as his own. By the time he reached the campus library, his hands were numb and his jaw ached from being clenched too long.
Inside, it was quiet in the way only libraries were—heavy, reverent, detached from time.
Perfect.
He claimed a desk by a window and buried himself in work, drafts, measurements, revisions. He rebuilt the same structure three times, each iteration more precise than the last. When his mind drifted—when the image of Yoshiki being held too closely threatened to surface—he erased harder, pressed deeper, corrected margins that didn’t need correcting.
Hours passed.
He skipped lunch without noticing. Drank bad vending machine coffee that tasted like regret. Moved floors when the silence grew too loud, then moved again when it wasn’t loud enough. At some point, his phone buzzed—twice—but he didn’t check it.
If he kept moving, maybe the anger would burn itself out.
By late afternoon, exhaustion set in. The sharp edge dulled, replaced by something heavier and more dangerous: concern. Worry crept in where fury had been. He hated it.
When he finally packed up and headed home, the sky was already darkening, the city lights flickering on like a second constellation. The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside.
Yoshiki was sitting by the kitchen island. Hikaru-chan stopped short.
Yoshiki’s hair—usually immaculate, every strand in place—was mussed like he’d dragged his hands through it too many times. His eyes were red and swollen, dark circles carved deep beneath them. His shoulders curved inward; posture collapsed in on itself.
He looked small and weak. Fragile in a way Hikaru-chan had never seen before.
Something twisted violently in his chest. An almost overwhelming urge surged up—half protective, half furious. He wanted to pull Yoshiki into his arms. He wanted to punch Hikaru Indou until his knuckles split.
Yoshiki’s hands were busy with something on the counter.
Blue play dough.
Hikaru-chan frowned. He’d never seen it before. Yoshiki rolled it between his palms, pressed his thumb into it, flattened it, then gathered it up again. Over and over. Like he needed the resistance to keep himself focused.
“Hey,” Hikaru Yasaburo said quietly.
Yoshiki flinched. He didn’t look up right away. Instead, he swallowed, fingers tightening briefly around the play dough. Then he spoke, voice low, careful—frayed at the edges.
“Hikaru,” he said. He wet his lips nervously. “Can we talk for a sec?”
The words landed heavy in the air between them. Hikaru-chan nodded once, already bracing himself.
“I’m sorry for what you saw yesterday. It was embarrassing,” Yoshiki said, pressing his palms into his eyes. “But you know how it is, right? A breakup.”
Hikaru couldn’t really relate. He hadn’t dated anyone before—aside from a girl in high school, and that had only lasted three months.
“I don’t know if you already knew that I was dating Hikaru, but that was my closure. He won’t be coming here anymore. That was the last time.”
Yoshiki squished the play dough in his fist.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this, but you’re living here now, so you at least have the right to know what was going on. I know you’ve noticed things. Again… sorry for the inconvenience.”
There was a faraway look in Yoshiki’s eyes. Like his mind was somewhere else. Like he was reciting lines from a script he’d rehearsed too many times.
“You won’t have to worry about stumbling into something like that ever again,” he continued.
Hikaru Yasaburo set his backpack down and quietly stepped in front of Yoshiki, who was still staring at nothing, lost in thought.
“You look miserable,” he said softly.
Yoshiki didn’t answer, only kept kneading the play dough.
“Can I hug you?” Hikaru-chan asked.
Yoshiki finally blinked and looked up at him. He scoffed quietly at the situation—little Hikaru Yasaburo, the kid he’d known since forever, offering comfort now.
“…Yeah,” he said. Still, all warmth was welcome.
Hikaru-chan slipped between his legs and pulled him close, pressing Yoshiki’s head to his chest. “You’ll be fine now,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles into his back.
Yoshiki felt stupid—being comforted by someone he’d known since he was a brat. And yet, he didn’t know what he would have done without that hug. He hadn’t realized how empty he felt until someone filled that space with genuine, tender warmth.
Yoshiki’s arms tightened enough for Hikaru-chan to feel it clearly. Yoshiki’s fingers curled into the fabric at the back of his hoodie, bunching it up in his fists, as if letting go required more effort than he had to give.
Yoshiki’s breathing was uneven against his chest, shallow at first, then slowly evening out, like he was grounding himself on purpose. Like the hug wasn’t comfort so much as an anchor.
Hikaru-chan swallowed. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected Yoshiki, who always seemed so composed, so unshakeable, to hold on like that. As if Hikaru-chan were the thing keeping him upright.
Without thinking, Hikaru-chan adjusted his grip, one hand spreading wider over Yoshiki’s back, the other settling more firmly between his shoulder blades. Tightening the embrace and pulling him closer.
Yoshiki let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a sigh. The hug lasted longer than it should have.
Hikaru-chan noticed. He noticed the weight of Yoshiki against him, the way his hold didn’t loosen even when the moment stretched thin. He noticed how hard it would be to pretend this meant nothing.
For a fleeting, treacherous second, Hikaru-chan felt proud.
Proud that he was the one Yoshiki was holding onto. Proud that, when everything else had fallen apart, it was his chest Yoshiki leaned into, his arms Yoshiki trusted not to let go. The thought bloomed warm and dangerous in his chest before he could stop it.
And then the guilt hit. It came sharp and immediate, curling low in his stomach. This wasn’t something to feel proud of. Yoshiki was hurting, really hurting, and Hikaru-chan’s heart twisted at the realization that part of him was quietly glad to be here for it. Glad to be needed in this way.
His fingers hesitated against Yoshiki’s back.
‘Don’t,’ he told himself. ‘Don’t read into it. Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.’
Yoshiki shifted slightly, his grip tightening just a fraction more, as if the movement alone had unsettled him. Hikaru-chan felt it and his breath caught. The pride softened, melting into something heavier.
He wasn’t being chosen. He was being held because Yoshiki had nothing left to hold onto. And that was okay. It had to be okay.
Hikaru-chan swallowed and rested his cheek lightly against the side of Yoshiki’s head, careful not to press too close, careful not to ask for more than what was being given.
He would take this moment for what it was. Comfort. Nothing else. Even if his heart argued otherwise.
.--.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Some months passed, and March 20th—Yoshiki’s birthday—crept closer.
“What are you doing for your birthday?” Hikaru Yasaburo asked one evening.
“Nothing,” Yoshiki replied unceremoniously. “They didn’t give me the day off, and it’s a Monday. So I’m just going to work and probably stay overtime.”
“How boring, old man,” Hikaru teased.
Yoshiki scoffed and threw one of Hikaru’s shirts, one he’d been folding, at his head. Hikaru yelped and barely dodged it, laughing as the shirt hit the wall instead.
Turns out, Yoshiki had been lied to.
When he arrived at the apartment that night and flipped on the lights, his coworkers and the few friends he’d made at university were already there, crammed into the living room and kitchen.
“Surprise!” they yelled in unison, confetti flying everywhere.
“Wha—?!” Yoshiki yelped, his eyes darting from face to face, then to the charcuterie board laid out on the kitchen island, and finally to the small birthday cake sitting proudly at the center.
“How—?!” he started again.
“Don’t ask,” Hikaru Yasaburo said, already stepping forward to wrap him in a quick, tight hug. “Just enjoy it.”
He grinned up at him.
“Happy twenty-ninth birthday, old man.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The water was warmer than Yoshiki expected. It wrapped around his legs first, then his waist, a gentle resistance that slowed every movement. He waded in ahead of Hikaru-chan, used to the rhythm of the pool, the steady calm it usually gave him.
Today, it didn’t.
Hikaru-chan slipped in beside him with less caution, water splashing softly against Yoshiki’s side. He laughed under his breath, shaking his hair back. Droplets clung to his lashes, to the line of his jaw.
“You sure this is beginner-friendly?” he asked.
Yoshiki glanced at him, too long. “You’ll survive.”
They started with laps. At first, Yoshiki focused on his breathing. On the pull of his arms through the water, the familiar burn in his shoulders. But Hikaru-chan swam closer than he needed to, his strokes a little sloppy, his pace uneven.
Every time he slowed, Yoshiki slowed with him. At the wall, Hikaru-chan surfaced beside him, gasping lightly. He braced himself on the edge, muscles in his arms tightening as he pulled himself closer.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You make this look easy.”
Yoshiki swallowed. Water beaded on Hikaru-chan’s collarbone, traced down his chest before disappearing beneath the surface.
“Years of practice,” Yoshiki said, voice steady despite himself.
They pushed off again. Midway through the next lap, Hikaru-chan drifted into Yoshiki’s lane. Their arms brushed underwater—an accidental touch, fleeting but unmistakable. Yoshiki faltered for half a second, his stroke breaking.
“Oops,” Hikaru-chan snickered, slowing. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Yoshiki replied immediately. “Watch your lane.”
“Sorry,” Hikaru-chan said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Hard to keep track.”
The water felt thicker after that.
When they stopped again, Yoshiki floated on his back, staring up at the ceiling lights, trying to calm the tightness in his chest. Hikaru-chan treaded water nearby, close enough that Yoshiki could feel the faint disturbance of his movements.
“You always look calmer in the pool,” Hikaru-chan said. “Like… this is where you belong.”
Yoshiki turned his head. Their faces were closer than he expected, separated only by rippling water. For a split second, the shape of Hikaru-chan’s face, the angle of his eyes, hit too close to something buried.
He looked away.
“It helps me think,” Yoshiki said quietly.
Hikaru-chan nodded, expression unreadable. “Yeah. I get that.”
They stayed like that for a moment longer than necessary, suspended in the water, neither moving, neither speaking. The tension wasn’t sharp—it was slow, spreading, like warmth sinking into muscle.
Finally, Yoshiki straightened. “We should get out before the next class.”
“Right,” Hikaru-chan agreed, though he didn’t move right away.
When they climbed out, Hikaru-chan reached for his towel at the same time Yoshiki did. Their hands brushed—skin on skin this time.
Yoshiki pulled back first and ignored it. That had been happening a lot lately. He didn’t know if he himself was becoming clumsier or Hikaru-chan was just grabbing more of his stuff.
They walked toward the locker rooms side by side, not touching, not looking at each other—yet acutely aware of the space between them.
The swimming class left Yoshiki pleasantly sore, the kind of ache that settled deep in his muscles and dulled the constant noise in his head. Hikaru-chan had kept up better than he’d expected, even teased him about it on the way to the locker rooms.
The air inside was warm and heavy with steam. Chlorine clung to Yoshiki’s skin as he tugged his shirt over his head and draped his towel around his neck. He could hear Hikaru-chan behind him—fabric rustling, the soft thud of his bag hitting the bench.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Hikaru-chan said lightly.
Yoshiki shrugged, reaching for his water bottle. “Just tired.”
He caught his reflection in the mirror—and Hikaru-chan’s, standing a little too close behind him. Damp hair pushed back from his forehead, skin flushed from the swim, eyes bright in a way that made Yoshiki’s chest tighten unexpectedly.
Yoshiki looked away first, focusing on drying his hands, but the awareness lingered. He could feel Hikaru-chan’s presence like a low hum at the back of his neck.
“You okay?” Hikaru-chan asked again, softer this time.
“Yeah,” Yoshiki answered automatically. Then, quieter, “Just… haven’t done this in a while.”
Swimming, he meant. Or letting himself feel this loose. This exposed.
Hikaru-chan nodded, stepping aside to give him space—but Yoshiki noticed how his towel slipped, how his fingers fumbled briefly with the strap of his bag. It was nothing. Completely innocent.
And still, Yoshiki’s gaze lingered a second too long. Hikaru-chan noticed.
Their eyes met again, this time in the mirror. Something unspoken passed between them—confusion, curiosity, a spark of something neither of them reached for.
Yoshiki cleared his throat and grabbed his shirt. “We should head home before I catch a cold.”
“Right,” Hikaru-chan said, smiling faintly. A teasing smile, but gentler than usual. “Wouldn’t want the old man falling apart.”
Yoshiki huffed a laugh, grateful for the release, and slung his bag over his shoulder. As they walked out, Hikaru-chan brushed past him—just barely, shoulder to arm.
The contact was brief, accidental. Neither of them mentioned it.
But the walk home was quieter than usual, and Yoshiki found himself acutely aware of every step Hikaru-chan took beside him—warm, alive, and far more dangerous to his carefully rebuilt balance than he wanted to admit.
Hikaru-chan didn’t say much on the way home.
He told himself it was just exhaustion—that swimming always left him pleasantly hollowed out, muscles loose, thoughts slow. But the feeling sitting in his chest was sharp, restless, refusing to settle.
The image wouldn’t leave him alone. Yoshiki in the water. Calm and focused. The way his shoulders moved with practiced ease, the way his voice had sounded lower, steadier, like the pool had stripped something away and left only the truth of him behind.
‘Get a grip,’ Hikaru told himself.
It had been nothing. Accidental touches. Shared space. Normal things people did. Except his heart had kicked so hard when their arms brushed that he’d almost swallowed water.
Back at the apartment, Hikaru-chan showered longer than usual, letting the hot water beat down on him as if it might rinse the thoughts out of his head. It didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. The heat reminded him of warmth against his side, of how close Yoshiki had been without touching.
He pressed his forehead to the tile.
Hikaru-chan dried off, pulled on a hoodie, and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing. His chest felt tight, his thoughts tangled.
‘Did he feel it too?’
The question made his stomach twist—hope flaring immediately, followed by guilt sharp enough to sting. No. He shouldn’t think that. Yoshiki was heartbroken. Still healing. Still tethered to Hikaru Indou in ways Hikaru-chan didn’t fully understand and definitely shouldn’t intrude on.
And yet..
Jealousy curled low in his gut, ugly and unwelcome. Not just of Hikaru Indou, but of the version of Yoshiki that had existed before the breakup. The one who had belonged to someone else. The one who might still.
Hikaru-chan rubbed his face with both hands.
‘You’re being selfish,’ he told himself. ‘He gave you a place to stay. He trusts you.’ That thought settled heavier than the rest.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Hikaru-chan was lying on his bed, phone face-down beside him, the apartment quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Yoshiki had already gone to sleep, or at least retreated to his room.
Hikaru-chan stared at the ceiling.
He exhaled slowly, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart thump—steady, insistent. This wasn’t a crush anymore. Not the childish kind, not the soft admiration he had once carried around like a secret badge.
This was want. Yearning. The urge to do something instead of circling forever.
‘I like him,’ he thought plainly. ‘A lot.’ The simplicity of it almost knocked the wind out of him.
He rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up slightly, his mind racing. Images surfaced unbidden: Yoshiki cooking at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up. Yoshiki laughing under his breath at one of his stupid jokes. Yoshiki in the pool, eyes serious, looking away like he had been afraid of something.
Would he ever look at me that way? The question made Hikaru-chan’s stomach twist.
Yoshiki had loved Hikaru Indou for years, deeply and painfully. Enough to still unravel over him months later. Hikaru-chan knew that kind of love didn’t just disappear.
And then there was him. Too young. Too loud. The kid brother. The one who had moved in because he had nowhere else to go. That alone should have been enough of an answer, he told himself.
But doubt sneaked in anyway, soft and treacherous. Yoshiki listened to him. Trusted him. Let him see him cry. Let him hold him.
Hikaru-chan squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Would that be different if I wasn’t… me?’
If he were older, more mature. If he didn’t share a face, a name, a history with the man who had broken Yoshiki’s heart. The thought hurt more than he had expected. He sat up abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair.
Doing nothing wasn’t neutral anymore. It was starting to feel like lying—to Yoshiki, and to himself. He didn’t want to confess. Not yet. He wasn’t reckless enough for that.
But maybe… maybe he could try. Become someone Yoshiki could see differently. Someone solid. Someone worth choosing. Someone who wasn’t just passing through. The idea scared him. It also lit something steady and determined in his chest.
Hikaru-chan glanced toward Yoshiki’s closed bedroom door down the hall, his heart pounding—not with fantasy, but with resolve.
‘If there’s even a chance,’ he thought, ‘I want to be brave enough to find out.’ He lay back down, staring at the ceiling again.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Hikaru-chan hadn’t made a big deal out of his birthday. He hadn’t mentioned it at all, actually. Turning twenty-one didn’t feel like something worth announcing. The day slipped in quietly, like everything else he’d learned not to ask too much of. He went to classes, stopped by the convenience store on the way home.
When he opened the apartment door, the lights were already on.
The smell of food hit him first. He stopped just inside the doorway, bag still hanging from his shoulder.
Yoshiki was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up. The table was set—not extravagantly, but carefully. Two plates. Two glasses. A small box tied with blue ribbon sitting near Hikaru-chan’s chair.
“Oh,” Hikaru-chan said stupidly.
Yoshiki looked up, clearly relieved when he saw him. “You’re home.”
“…What’s all this?” Hikaru-chan asked, heart starting to race.
Yoshiki wiped his hands on a towel, suddenly a little shy. “It’s your birthday.”
Hikaru-chan blinked. “How did you—”
“Yusuke,” Yoshiki said simply. “He reminded me. Said you turned twenty-one today.”
Something warm and sharp twisted in Hikaru-chan’s chest.
“You didn’t have to,” he said, quieter now.
“I wanted to,” Yoshiki replied.
They ate together, the atmosphere easy but charged, like something unspoken was seated at the table with them. Yoshiki had cooked Hikaru-chan’s favorite dish without asking, remembered how he liked his drink, even brought Hikaru’s favorite cheesecake.
It felt intimate. In a way Hikaru-chan tried not to think too hard about.
After dinner, Yoshiki slid the small box across the table.
“For you.”
Hikaru-chan hesitated before opening it. Inside was a slim mechanical pencil—clearly good quality—and a small notebook, the kind architects favored. Yoshiki watched him closely, searching his face.
“I thought you might use them,” he said. “For your models. Or sketches.”
Hikaru-chan swallowed. “They’re perfect.”
And he meant it. Not because of the gift itself, but because Yoshiki had seen him. Paid attention. Chosen something quietly thoughtful instead of flashy.
“Thank you,” Hikaru-chan said, voice unsteady despite himself.
Yoshiki smiled, soft and genuine. “Happy birthday.”
Later, they sat on the couch, close but not touching, a movie playing neither of them was really watching. Hikaru-chan leaned back, laughing at something on-screen, and his shoulder brushed Yoshiki’s.
This time, Yoshiki didn’t pull away.
They stayed like that, the contact light but unmistakable. Hikaru-chan could feel Yoshiki’s warmth through his sleeve, could feel the careful tension in the way Yoshiki held himself—aware, restrained.
Hikaru-chan told himself not to read into it.
But when Yoshiki glanced at him, expression gentle and unreadable, Hikaru-chan felt his resolve wobble. This wasn’t nothing. It scared him how much it wasn’t nothing.
When the movie ended, Yoshiki stood first. “You should get some rest. Big day.”
Hikaru-chan nodded. “Yeah.”
At the doorway to his room, he turned back. “Hey, Yoshiki?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really glad I’m here.”
Yoshiki held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Then he nodded once. “Me too.”
Hikaru-chan closed his door with his heart pounding.
.-.-.-.-.-.
Yoshiki came home later than usual that evening. Hikaru-chan noticed the way Yoshiki looked when he stepped into the apartment and slipped off his shoes. His hair was… wrong. Or rather, unfamiliar.
His bangs no longer brushed his eyelashes. They didn’t shadow his eyes or fall forward when he tilted his head. Instead, they sat neatly above his brows, exposing more of his face than Hikaru-chan was used to seeing.
“Oh,” Hikaru-chan said before he could stop himself.
Yoshiki glanced up. “What?”
“You—” Hikaru-chan gestured vaguely toward his own forehead. “Your hair.”
Yoshiki reached up, touching it absently, as if he’d already forgotten the change. “Yeah. I cut it.”
“Why all of a sudden?”
Yoshiki shrugged, setting his bag down by the door. “Didn’t like it obscuring my vision anymore,” he said lightly. “Felt like having a change.”
Hikaru-chan studied him, heat creeping up his neck. Without the curtain of hair, Yoshiki’s eyes looked sharper and clearer. His face seemed more open—older somehow. More composed.
Before he could think better of it, Hikaru-chan stepped closer.
He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers gently across Yoshiki’s forehead, nudging the shorter bangs back into place. The touch was brief, almost absentminded.
“Yeah,” Hikaru-chan murmured. “It suits you. Makes you look more elegant. More… mature.”
The word hung there. Yoshiki didn’t move.
His gaze dropped, lashes lowering as if he were suddenly unsure where to look. Hikaru-chan could feel the tension immediately—the way Yoshiki’s shoulders tightened, the subtle pause where he seemed to weigh something internally. Whether to let the touch continue. Whether to stop it.
Hikaru-chan realized it a second too late. He pulled his hand back at once, fingers curling into his palm.
Hikaru-chan couldn’t stop thinking about how easily he’d reached for him—and how hard it had been to pull away.
After that, Hikaru-chan seemed to find reasons. They were never obvious. Never something Yoshiki could call out without sounding ridiculous.
A hand on his sleeve when he passed behind him in the kitchen, fingers lingering just a second too long before slipping away. A casual tap against his wrist when he handed him something. Hikaru-chan leaning over his shoulder to look at his phone screen, his knee brushing Yoshiki’s thigh, his breath warm against his ear as he laughed at something stupid online.
Each time, Hikaru-chan acted like it was nothing. And Yoshiki let it happen.
He told himself it was harmless. That Hikaru-chan was affectionate by nature, that this was just what living together looked like. That he was tired, overthinking, still raw from a breakup that had left his nerves exposed.
But his body noticed anyway.
He noticed how his attention snagged whenever Hikaru-chan entered a room. How he became acutely aware of distance—of when Hikaru-chan stood too close, when he didn’t. How the warmth of a brief touch stayed behind longer than it should have, echoing faintly under his skin.
Hikaru-chan, for his part, seemed bolder. More confident. He laughed louder, teased more, bumped into Yoshiki on purpose and didn’t apologize right away. Sometimes he would glance at Yoshiki afterward, quick and searching, as if checking whether he’d gone too far.
Yoshiki never reacted.That, perhaps, was the problem.
One evening, as Yoshiki stood at the sink washing dishes, Hikaru-chan wordlessly stepped in beside him and reached past him for a towel. His forearm pressed against Yoshiki’s back. Not accidentally, not briefly.
Yoshiki paused. For a heartbeat, he considered stepping away. Saying something. Drawing that line he knew was necessary, the one he could already see looming ahead of him.
Instead, he stayed still.
Hikaru-chan grabbed the towel and moved away, humming to himself, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just left Yoshiki staring down into soapy water, pulse unsteady, jaw tight.
That night, lying awake with the familiar weight of insomnia pressing down on him, Yoshiki admitted something he’d been avoiding.
He didn’t dislike the touches. That scared him more than anything else.
Because he knew himself. Knew how easily comfort could turn into reliance. How loneliness could blur judgment. How gentle hands, offered without demand, could undo him if he wasn’t careful.
Hikaru-chan deserved clarity and safety. Not this quiet, dangerous in-between. Yoshiki exhaled slowly into the dark. Sooner or later, he would have to draw the line.
He just didn’t know yet whether he was strong enough to do it—or whether Hikaru-chan would be the one to cross it first.
-.-.-.-.
Hikaru-chan started to assume that silence meant yes. Not an explicit yes, nothing Yoshiki ever gave him was that clear, but an allowance. A quiet, unspoken permission carved out by Yoshiki’s failure to pull away, to flinch, to correct him.
So Hikaru-chan leaned into it.
He grew more casual with his touch, as if testing how much weight it could bear. He sat closer on the couch, their shoulders brushing, his leg on top of Yoshiki’s thigh. When Yoshiki didn’t move, didn’t comment, Hikaru-chan stayed there, heart racing beneath an easy grin.
Sometimes he would rest his chin briefly on Yoshiki’s shoulder while peering at his laptop screen, pretending it was about convenience, about angles, about laziness. Yoshiki would stiffen, Hikaru-chan felt it every time, but he never shrugged him off.
That was what convinced him.
Yoshiki told himself, over and over, that he was just tired. That it wasn’t worth making things awkward. That Hikaru-chan would pull back on his own eventually.
But he didn’t.
One evening, as they stood side by side at the kitchen island, Hikaru-chan reached out and brushed a crumb from Yoshiki’s lip without thinking. The gesture was intimate in its care, almost unconscious.
The air changed instantly. Yoshiki inhaled sharply. His hand twitched at his side, as if he meant to grab Hikaru-chan’s wrist, or step away, or say his name in warning.
He did none of those things.
Hikaru-chan’s fingers lingered for half a second too long before dropping away. He laughed softly, a little breathless, and made a joke to cover the way his pulse had spiked.
Yoshiki laughed too, delayed and thin.
Later that night, Hikaru-chan lay awake replaying it all. The touches Yoshiki hadn’t refused. The looks he hadn’t shut down. The way he had gone quiet instead of drawing a line.
He told himself Yoshiki was just slow. Still healing. And maybe, just maybe, waiting for him to be braver.
Across the apartment, Yoshiki stared at the ceiling, chest tight. He knew he was being weak.
Every time he let Hikaru-chan get closer without stopping him, he felt the line blur further, felt responsibility slip through his fingers. He was the older one. The one who should know better. The one who should protect both of them from a mistake born out of grief and proximity.
But when he pictured Hikaru-chan’s hopeful smile fading under a firm rejection, his resolve faltered.
So he did nothing.
And in that nothing, Hikaru-chan found meaning, found permission, found something Yoshiki had never meant to give.
-.-.-.-.-.-..
It happened on an ordinary night, which was what made it impossible to ignore.
They were in the living room, the TV murmuring low in the background. Yoshiki sat on one end of the couch, sleeves rolled up, as he scrolled through his phone. Hikaru-chan was stretched out beside him, too close again—but that had stopped feeling unusual.
For Hikaru-chan, something had settled into place.
Yoshiki’s silence had begun to feel like consent. His tolerance, like invitation.
So when Yoshiki laughed softly at something on his screen, Hikaru-chan turned toward him without thinking. He reached out, fingers brushing Yoshiki’s wrist, then not pulling away.
Hikaru-chan felt the tension under his skin, the way his shoulders went rigid. Still, Yoshiki didn’t move his hand. Didn’t tell him to stop.
That was enough.
“Yoshiki,” Hikaru-chan said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual bravado.
Yoshiki looked up.
Hikaru-chan leaned in, giving him time to pull back. Their faces were close enough now that Yoshiki could see the faint crease between Hikaru-chan’s brows, the nervous hope in his eyes.
“I—” Hikaru-chan swallowed. “If this is wrong, tell me.”
And then he closed the distance the rest of the way.
It wasn’t a kiss. Just a brush of his lips against Yoshiki’s cheek, close enough to the corner of his mouth that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Warm and intentional. Lingering by a breath too long.
Yoshiki inhaled sharply and pulled back at once.
“Hikaru—” The name came out strained, almost pained.
Hikaru-chan’s hand dropped from Yoshiki’s wrist as if burned. Color flooded his face, but he didn’t look away.
Yoshiki reacted as fast as he could. He placed a hand on top of Hikaru’s head and caressed his hair, deliberately putting distance between them as he scooted back. He laughed softly but also nervously, like he had just caught a kid trying to steal cookies from a jar.
“What are you doing?” Yoshiki stood up hurriedly. “You know we aren’t like that. Besides, I thought you liked girls?”
“I don’t,” Hikaru answered. “At least not in the same way I like you…”
Yoshiki’s eyes widened at the… confession? Well. Shit.
If it weren’t the consequences of his own actions. His lack of courage, his lack of boundaries, had led Hikaru-chan to think he could keep doing things like this.
And now Yoshiki had to pay for it. Now that it had gone deeper.
Hikaru-chan was still looking up at him from the floor with that kicked-puppy expression. Yoshiki chuckled nervously again, not knowing what to do.
“Hikaru, don’t do that. Find someone your age.”
“You say that as if you were an old man,” Hikaru quipped.
“Well, you’re the one who keeps calling me that,” Yoshiki retorted.
“I never meant it,” Hikaru-chan said as he stood up, and Yoshiki gulped.
“I don’t like them younger,” Yoshiki shot back.
“I don’t believe you. He was younger than you,” Hikaru Yasaburo said.
“By six months, not nine years.”
“…They’re actually only eight,” Hikaru muttered.
Yoshiki glared. “Anyway, let’s just pretend that never happened, okay?”
Before Hikaru-chan could respond, Yoshiki hurried back to the safety of his bedroom, where he suffocated in a sea of self-loathing.