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Aoba was the first person to ever grab his hand besides his parents, and looking back, that hand felt like a lifeline. At first he had wanted to protect Aoba, to hold his hand forever to keep him safe, but after the ordeals he went through after leaving Midorijima, he found himself longing for that hand that had felt so right in his for reassurance. He may have lost a majority of what was important in his life, but not everything. Aoba needed him to live on, and so he did. But he couldn’t do so alone. The memory of him shown on like a lighthouse in his foggy night lost at sea. Following its call, he found himself back in Midorijima.
He sought Aoba, in search of his comfort, but couldn’t bring himself to ask for it. To him, Aoba was a reflection of his better days, and he didn’t want to lose what remained of his good side to the ink that had spilled on his life. So he smiled at him, hiding the pain that gnawed at him from the inside out. They spent time together like old times, but they weren’t as close as before, and as much as Koujaku longed for his comforting touch, he couldn’t bring himself to touch more than occasional, casual brushes of skin, for he was tainted where Aoba was pure.
Still, he longed for that physical contact, that warmth that Aoba’s hand had given him. He fell to the whim of the many women who flocked to him. Their bodies were warm, their words comforting. But his hand grasped at emptiness. His heart did not relax.
When he confessed his feelings to Aoba he wanted sex, of course he did, but more so he wanted that hand, the hand he had longed for for so long. He wanted to hold that hand close to his heart, pepper it with kisses. He’d been too nervous, too excited by Aoba’s sudden willingness, to do so, but later, after many words had been shared and reassurances made, he did, making Aoba laugh until he was literally pushing him off of him out of annoyance. But Koujaku didn’t mind. That hand, as well as all of Aoba, deserved so much more affection, and with time, he vowed to give it to him.
Now, in a routine that he never imagined, constantly surrounded by Aoba’s welcoming contact, he clings to that hand not only for comfort but as a reminder of just how much he means to him. It doesn’t matter how caught up by life or pleasure he is, reaching for that hand is his main objective. Only when that hand is clasped with his own does his heart truly settle, the ghosts of his past exorcize, his mind quiet. And Aoba reaches back, holds tightly with gentle fingertips, and it is enough to give him hope that life still has more good in store for him.