Chapter Text
“Seen this one.” Maki grumbles, rolling onto his stomach. The borrowed shirt he wears is damp from a too-rushed shower and two sizes too big. It swallows him whole and melts into the tatami mat.
‘Hikaru’ snickers from where he sits cross-legged beside Yoshiki, the tv remote in his hand. “My house.”
He presses a button and the volume increases.
“Never would’ve had my parents drop me off if I knew I'd be watching—“ Maki picks at the fraying mat beneath him and grumbles inaudibly, “—Ponyo again.”
As they bicker, Yoshiki combs through the picked over firework box in front of him, Mega Spark Demon King.
The fireworks had been burnt earlier in the night, when the group had ran around beside the creek in ‘Hikarus’ backyard, chasing eachother through the summer heat. They had danced on bare feet and fallen to the wet earth in fits of laughter until their stomachs had grumbled and hunger forced them inside.
Now, all that's left are charred scraps and a few of the ‘lamer’ ones. They had only lit two of the small, handheld fireworks before ‘Hikaru’ and Maki decided that the party snaps were much more entertaining when thrown at each other. It had become a game, feigning through the underbrush and jumping from the crackling at their feet.
“Ponyo’s a great movie!” 'Hikaru' argues.
“Not for the seventh time in a row.”
“It’s a timeless classic.”
“It’s boring.”
“You’re b-“
“I’m throwing these out before your mom gets home and sees em.” Yoshiki interrupts in a clipped tone, motioning to the box in front of him. His bangs stick wetly to his forehead from his shower and the lingering heat of the summer evening is beginning to draw lines of sweat down his neck. The endless back and forth does little more than irritate his already sour mood.
Yoshiki hates the heat. Hates when it embeds into his skin and slides in the creases of his elbows and knees.
Maki looks from ‘Hikaru’ to Yoshiki, “Back me up here, Yoshiki. When was the last time we all had a sleep over?” His eyes drift to Yuuki and Asako, their hands buried in the plastic bag they’d only just returned with. It had been just in time too, because the nearby corner store had been 10 minutes from closing and the frozen treats had begun to defrost. “We can’t waste it watching a movie we’ve all seen a hundred times.”
“Oh don’t run to Yoshiki!” 'Hikaru' bites, increasing and increasing the volume of the TV without really paying attention. “It's still Friday, we can watch Ponyo tonight and whatever trash you wanna put on tomorrow. Plus, Yoshiki loves watching my favorite movies with me. Right?”
The cicadas play a loud, heartfelt chorus outside and buzz in circles through Yoshiki's head. In and out and in and out. Their sounds pulse in time with the summer heat, folding over and looping to infect every cool shadow. The ramen he ate for dinner begins to swim in his stomach uncomfortably.
‘Hikaru’s’ mother had left for Tokyo that afternoon, only agreeing to let him stay home alone if his friends promised to keep him company. It was the perfect compromise for ‘Hikaru,’ who had been begging everyone to sleep over so he could finally set off the box of fireworks he’d secretly bought.
Two days of junk food, late nights, and messing around without watchful eyes had sounded like heaven at the start of the evening. But now, with nothing but cereal and instant noodles sitting in his stomach, Yoshiki finds himself missing home cooking.
He plucks at the plastic wrapping of the firework box, the sweat and noise becoming unbearable. It all sits in the fabric of his heavy sweatpants, in the loose collar of his borrowed shirt. Everywhere.
With a sudden thought, Yoshiki turns to Yuuki and Asako. “They had Papikko?”
“Yoshiki!” 'Hikaru' gripes, but Yoshiki pays him no mind.
“Yeah,” Asako says, fishing through the bag before pulling the twin plastic bottles of ice cream out. “Last one’s too, old lady Yashira says her freezer keeps shittin’ this summer.”
Yuuki snorts, “They’re a lil melted, especially from the walk back.”
Yoshiki offers an appreciative smile, scooting forward to grab the plastic bottles that Asako holds out to him.
He hears ‘Hikaru’ shuffle and put down the remote, argument forgotten and TV left much too loud. He leans toward Yoshiki, snaggle tooth on full display as he grins. “Wanna split it?”
Earlier, when they’d set off fireworks and run until their limbs turned to lead, they’d all agreed to cool down after their showers with frozen snacks from the corner store. No one was there to tell them otherwise, so they lingered outside long after dark, the air still humming with heat. It had sunk so deep into Yoshiki’s bones that now, sitting here, he feels reluctant to share
But ‘Hikarus’ eyes are so wide and his skin is so flushed that Yoshiki nods and breaks the twin bottles apart through their plastic seal. He hands one to 'Hikaru'—the one he usually goes for when they share. The condensation is slick on his palm and Yoshiki wipes his hand on his pants after ‘Hikaru’ takes it.
With the bottle in his mouth, ‘Hikaru’ leans his shoulder into Yoshiki. His body heat sizzles against the moisture in the air. “Can always count on ya.” He sucks the ice cream from the neck of the bottle before murmuring through a full mouth, “Thanks, ‘Shiki.”
Yoshiki can do little more than stare at the flush painting ‘Hikarus’ heat-addled skin before nodding and pulling at his own.
“What do I get?” Maki hums, having climbed from his spot on the floor and grabbed the remote without ‘Hikaru’ noticing. He sits on his knees before the TV, scrubbing through channels with American titles.
Something called Supernatural comes on and Maki grins, setting the remote back to the table.
‘Hikaru’ quickly swipes it, “The only thing you’re gonna get is kicked out.” He promptly turns the TV off, sliding the remote beside the cushion he sits on.
As they begin bickering, Yoshiki pulls lightly at his ice cream. The feeling is frigid against his tongue despite its soft, slightly melted consistency. Old Lady Yashira was always running low on Papikko, and when she did have them, they were always half-melted.
Yoshiki begins to worry because Papikko is ‘Hikarus’ favorite.
“I’ve got an idea.” Asako speaks up, her voice parting their words and drawing the argument to a halt. With a brightly colored popsicle in her mouth, she stands and pads to the table that the three boys sit. She dumps the remaining treats out on it and drops the box of discarded fireworks into the bag.
“How about we play a game?”
'Hikaru' groans, looking to the TV sullenly. His head leans back against Yoshiki's shoulder, and white hair tickles at his cheek.
The air is so hot, but the Papikko is so cool, so Yoshiki does nothing to ask him to move—accepting the body heat that bleeds into him with flushed reluctance.
Maki lights up before sitting across from Yoshiki and 'Hikaru,' quick to grab a handful of candy. “What game? Anything is better than Hikaru’s idea.”
'Hikaru' shoots him a glare, “I don’t have any card games or board games. ‘Cept Monopoly but last time we played that, I almost killed Yoshiki.”
It was true, last time they had played, Yoshiki had bought the last property ‘Hikaru’ needed and he had gotten so mad that Yoshiki had half expected his body to split open. They hadn’t spoken to eachother for the rest of the night and Yoshiki had gone home without a word the next morning.
‘Hikaru’ hands his empty bottle to Asako, who slips it into her plastic bag of trash. Maki’s eyes follow the action and a sly grin slides across his face. Yoshiki doesn’t like the look of it, it crawls beneath his skin and settles. Maki only ever makes that face when he is going to say something that will definitely make ‘Hikaru’ laugh and Yoshiki bury his face in his hands.
“Let’s play spin the bottle.”
Yoshiki grimaces and leans away from ‘Hikaru’, who is all but pressing his entire weight on him now. It's no use, ‘Hikaru’ follows the action and adjusts so that his hand is behind the both of them, flattened to the ground for support.
“No.” Yoshiki says, and he feels ‘Hikarus’ eyes fall on him. He is way too close. Yoshiki can feel the coolness of his breath and smell the sweet sugar of the ice cream on his tongue.
“Why? What’s that?” He asks, voice curious.
Maki glances behind them, to where Yuuki sits still unwrapping one of her candies. She is freshly showered too, her hair only pulled back into a ponytail as opposed to her usual pigtails.
Yoshiki tries his best to look ahead. At Maki. At anything except for the animalistic red pupils at his side. They hungrily skim his reaction, following each bead of sweat that rolls down his neck and each slide of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. He stutters out, “Uh, well. It’s like… it’s a kissing game and—“
“It’s a kissing game that we’re totally not playing.” Yuuki grunts before popping the candy in her mouth and standing to walk to Asako’s side. She slips her wrapper into the bag of discarded trash before plopping beside Maki. “We could play something similar though.”
“Like what?” ‘Hikaru’ removes his weight from Yoshiki’s side and eagerly leans forward across the table, grinning so wide his face is split in half. “Sounds fun.”
The bag in Asako's hands ruffles as she straightens with a gasp. Everyone turns their heads to stare at her—everyone except for Yoshiki, who keeps his gaze firmly cemented on his hands that fist in his lap. His pulse has begun to outgrow the chorus of the summer all around them and he can feel his heart throbbing in defiance of whatever the hell she’s about to say next.
He sucks the last of the ice cream and prays it will cool the rising heat of his body.
Of course, it doesn’t.
“We can play seven minutes in heaven!”
There’s a beat of silence where all Yoshiki can do is squeeze his eyes shut.
“Okay. Now what’s that?” Comes ‘Hikarus’ reply at his side.
Suddenly, Yoshiki is entirely too aware of ‘Hikarus’ body and the length of his legs and the twitching of his fingers and every other miniscule thing.
Asako keeps speaking as if she has not opened the sliding doors and let in swarms of cloying summer heat and buzzing cicadas.
“It’s a game where we all draw lots… but, we don’t have lots...” She pauses before leaning over and grabbing the empty Papikko bottle from Yoshiki’s limp hand, “We can spin this and whoever it lands on—Well the person who spun it and the person it landed on get to go in the closet for seven minutes.”
“Pretty self explanatory.” Maki quips, and Yoshiki doesn’t need to look up to visualize the blush painting his cheeks.
‘Hikaru’ gasps in appraisal, “Wooooahh! Sounds raunchy.”
He elbows Yoshiki’s ribs and snickers. Like they are good friends sharing a joke about a girl they like. Like Yoshiki’s nails aren’t leaving crescent indents in his thighs. Like he isn’t imagining the beaded eyes and hushed whispers of the townsfolk.
Why do I feel this way?
“Doesn’t have to be.” Yuuki speaks up, adjusting to get more comfortable on the mat, “You can just sit and talk. Or, y’know, sit in silence.”
“Or kiss” Maki adds slyly, his voice a hum that merges with the cicadas.
“Lotsa people do other stuff though.” Asako grins above them, setting the plastic bag to the side. She sits at the head of the table, criss crossed with an easy, anticipatory smile. “Obviously, no pressure. It’s just a fun game to pass the time.”
She sets Yoshiki’s empty Papikko bottle in front of her. “Who wants to go first?”
Yoshiki buries his face beneath the sanctuary of his too-long bangs. They hang in clusters from his shower and smell of ‘Hikarus’ shampoo.
‘Hikaru’ rushes forward, hand outstretched and gripping for the bottle. “I do.”
Maki grunts, his own hand half extended. “No fair.”
“We’ll go by whoever volunteers. But once you spin, you can’t spin again till everyone’s gone.” Asako replies.
“Got it!” ‘Hikaru’ exclaims, wrapping his hand around the bottle excitedly. Yoshiki can’t look at him, can’t bring his eyes to move.
It’s a light hearted game among friends.
And yet, every fiber of his body screams: please don’t land on me.
‘Hikaru’ sets the bottle down between the five of them and gives it a spin with too much force. It clatters across the table, ricochets, and finally comes to rest in Yoshiki’s lap. He jolts, heat rushing up his neck as his gaze snaps upward. Expectant grey eyes are already on him. Flushed and still damp from the shower, ‘Hikaru’ looks vibrant in a way that makes Yoshiki’s stomach twist.
He can feel his own anticipation buzzing everywhere. Behind his eyes, beneath his skin, down his throat. In the bruise on his forearm.
“I got Yoshiki.” ‘Hikaru’ proclaims, looking to Asako for confirmation.
She laughs, light and airy and carefree. Yoshiki feels as though his face must be so hot now that the sweat clinging to his skin is evaporating into steam.
“No, you didn’t.” She takes the bottle and spins it, the plastic moving in a perfect arc before landing on Yuuki. “It’s like this.”
‘Hikaru’ grumbles but concedes nonetheless, once again taking the bottle. He spins it correctly this time and much to Yoshiki’s equal part relief and disappointment, it lands on Asako. She jumps the moment it stops on her and Maki whistles.
“The bottle has spoken.” He laughs.
‘Hikarus’ voice is a pitiful whine as he laments, “The bottle is cruel.”
“The bottle doesn’t serve you.” Maki retorts, leaning to grab the bottle in question. “Me next.”
Asako's cheeks are a pretty pink as she stands and flattens her palms to her skirt. Yoshiki feels hungry dread unfurl in his gut, pressing and scraping at his insides. He doesn’t attempt to understand the root for his disdain—chalking it up to fear. ‘Hikaru’ is capable of anything, and Asako is willingly walking into the dark of the night with only a shadow as company.
“Gotta wait till they get out.” Yuuki says, turning a half-hearted glare on Maki.
Yoshiki feels ‘Hikaru’ stand beside him and looks up. ‘Hikarus’ eyes are on him again, as bright as an animal caught in the flash. He searches Yoshiki’s face for a moment, drifting past the net of security his bangs cast. Yoshiki quickly looks back down at his lap, careful to hide the heat that has begun to creep up.
As Asako passes them, heading towards the closet at the back of the room, she swipes the remote from ‘Hikarus’ seat. “No eavesdropping.” Her grin is cool and curled, like a cat.
The TV turns on to whatever Maki had been flipping through last and then Asako slips into the dark cover of the closet, leaving the door open for ‘Hikaru’ behind her.
‘Hikaru’ is close to follow, an unamused shrug hiking up his shoulders as he turns to glance at the table. Yoshiki can’t bring himself to look, too busy tracing his eyes over the dark green and purple bruise on his forearm. It writhes in the shape of 'Hikarus' fingers and bleeds over pale skin.
But he can feel those animal eyes dance across the crane of his neck before the closet door slips closed.
They set a timer for seven minutes.
Five minutes and thirty-four seconds in, by Yuuki's count, ‘Hikarus’ voice comes from the closet, loud enough to be heard over the tv.
“How much longer?”
Maki snickers from where he plays with mismatched game pieces on a board that definitely doesn’t go with them. Yuuki looks up from her phone. Yoshiki swallows down the bile that has risen in his throat and works his jaw to unclench it.
“One minute, twenty-six seconds!” Yuuki's voice calls back.
Exactly one minute and twenty-six seconds later, Yuuki calls for them to come back and they do. Asako wobbles as she pushes the door open, the whites of her eyes stark in the dim light. She edges away from ‘Hikaru’, shoulders tight, and Yoshiki swears he sees her sleeve come away damp as she wipes at her face. On impulse, his eyes flit to 'Hikaru'.
Who is once again looking at him. Of course.
Yoshiki looks away.
This game of cat and mouse is beginning to frustrate him. He has felt under a microscope his entire life and having his every expression analyzed, especially by ‘Hikaru,’ is starting to annoy him more than the heat.
'Hikaru' sits back down beside Yoshiki and his thigh presses against him. His body heat is roiling now, turning over again and again from the confines of the closet.
“Sooooo…” Maki trails off, pushing his game board to the side. Yoshiki realizes it's monopoly, but the pieces don't go together. “How was it?”
“We don’t kiss and tell.” Asako laughs, but it sounds tight and clipped. Yoshiki eyes her as she shuffles to get comfortable, looking anywhere but 'Hikaru'.
'Hikaru' stiffens beside Yoshiki, “We didn’t kiss.”
Asako waves him off, brazenly flicking her wrist in dismissal and clearing her throat. “It’s an expression.” She turns to Maki then, seemingly eager to change the subject. “You’re next.”
Maki all but dives for the plastic Papikko bottle, holding it reverently between his hands. Carefully, he blows on it, murmurs something softly under his breath in prayer, and spins.
It spins.
And spins.
And spins.
And then it lands on Yoshiki.
The whole table erupts into a racket of roaring laughter. And by the whole table—it’s just Asako and Yuuki, but their snorting and giggling is loud enough to bounce off all four walls of the room and fill it.
“Can’t… Can't be serious.” Yoshiki mumbles in quiet disbelief.
Maki staggers to his feet, “Hey, you’re no prize either, man. C’mon.”
The two girls are still howling as Maki trudges to the closet and attempts to slam the door behind him—but the sliding door shutters as it smacks into the wall and the impact causes it to open back up. Maki pushes it closed again, not bothering to look at Yoshiki, but an embarrassed flush climbs up his neck.
Yoshiki moves to stand up, but ‘Hikaru’ grabs at the hem of his shirt, stopping him in a crouch.
“Hey,” ‘Hikaru’ starts. His eyes are red and glassy when they lock on Yoshiki.
Yoshiki swallows, the action thick and full of honeyed poison. “Yeah?” The question is low and ‘Hikaru’ keeps his eyes downturned, the only visible indication that he heard in the shake of his shoulders.
“Seven minutes on the clock!” Yuuki announces.
With one final glance at ‘Hikaru,’ Yoshiki steps from his grip and slides open the closet door. The sound of the TV blares behind him before muffling under the seclusion of the space.
Maki waits there, shrouded in the dark with thin lines of light painted from the gaps in the door. His back is pressed to a shelf of folded towels, and he picks at the skin on his cuticles with an expression of disinterest.
The closet is large, larger than any in Yoshiki’s own home—‘Hikaru’ does have a huge house after all. There is enough room for the two boys to stand without being on top of each other, but no room to walk or avoid sharing the others space.
As Yoshiki thought, the small box is thick with body heat and he fears that if he speaks, the temperature will rise by 10 degrees. Sweat clings to his skin and the longer he stands there, the more his stomach lurches.
“Love you, Yoshiki. And don’t take this the wrong way.” Maki looks up and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he drops his hands in exasperation, “But you were probably the last person I wanted in here with me.”
Yoshiki bites back a retort, accepting the jest on surface value and leaning against the door at his back to give them as much room as possible. “No offense taken.”
“It’s just—You’re so damn tall.” Maki’s eyes travel up the length of Yoshiki’s body and finally fall to the top of his head where the hair is still damp and flat. “You’re taking up half the closet.”
“I’m still growing.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
The closet is definitely growing hotter the more they talk. Yoshiki wrinkles his nose in distaste and hopes beyond reason that Maki has brushed his teeth within the past few days.
“How’s it going in there!?” Comes ‘Hikarus’ voice from the outside, past the melodic droning of the TV and protection of the door. He sounds much closer than he should be, further than the threshold of the table. The girls’ voices come shortly after, rushed and reprimanding.
“Oh just great!” Maki shouts back, “Yoshiki is a much better kisser than I thought he’d be!”
It takes an unbearable amount of time before the seven minutes are up and Yoshiki and Maki are able to push out of the closet.
‘Hikaru’ grins at them as Yoshiki sits back down. “Heard lots of strange noises coming outta there.”
Yuuki and Asako snicker, somehow having moved closer together so they can whisper conspiratorially. Now, Yuuki's hair is pulled into its usual style and 'Hikaru' has a bear shaped hair clip holding his bangs back.
Maki feigns annoyance, “I thought we were s’pposed to have the TV on, to respect each other's privacy and all that. Not really heaven if other people hear it. Bunch of cheats”
‘Hikaru’ bumps his shoulder to Yoshiki and speaks in a lower voice, meant just for him. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” Yoshiki mumbles back, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs. It isn’t just the heat that has him sweating—‘Hikaru’ has no concept of personal space.
‘Hikaru’ looks away in what Yoshiki can only interpret as dejection and a pang of guilt snakes through him. He clears his throat and raises a tentative hand to the white thorns of hair that are held back by the pin. His fingers ghost on a piece that presses defiantly to ‘Hikarus’ forehead. “When did this happen?”
‘Hikaru’ blinks at him. “They started doing hair while you guys were in there.” He looks up towards the clip and Yoshiki can’t help the tug pulling at one corner of his mouth.
Yoshiki doesn’t realize his fingers are skimming the edge of 'Hikarus' skin until Yuuki's voice sounds across from him, “Isn’t it so cute?” She turns to Asako, “So cute even Yoshiki’s tryna steal it. I’ve got more for you, Yoshiki.”
Yoshiki’s cheeks are incredibly hot as his hand falls back to his lap. “I’m okay, thanks. You’re next, Yuuki.”
She startles and stops, hand extended towards her bag. “Oh my gosh, you’re right, I am.” She pivots and reaches for the bottle. With a flick of her wrist it careens in an arc and lands on Asako.
Both girls look at each other and grin. Maki falls back to the floor and spreads his hands out wide with a groan.
And so it goes on like that.
Yuuki and Asako.
‘Hikaru’ and Yuuki.
Maki and Asako.
Eventually, Yoshiki gets so bored of sitting in one spot that the background noise of the TV switches to a show he is half-heartedly paying attention to. ‘Hikaru’ is a heavy weight at his side, sprawled lazily on the floor and kicking his feet while he reads manga.
When Maki and Asako exit the closet, Yoshiki hopes beyond all hope that they’ve forgotten about the game and go back to squabbling over TV. Of course, he is not so lucky.
“Last round!” Asako announces as she sits back on her cushion. At that, ‘Hikaru’ perks up and lays his manga down, spine up to keep his spot—despite the countless times Yoshiki has lectured him about how bad it is for the pages.
“Yoshiki, you spin.”
Yoshiki drags his eyes from the TV, forfeiting his attempt at looking as disinterested as possible. With a heavy sigh, he takes the Papikko bottle, crumbling from repeated use, and spins. The thing is so decrepit that it can hardly make a full circle and lands, barely finished, at Yoshiki’s side.
Directly on ‘Hikaru'.
Chapter 2: Disgusting
Notes:
I split this one-shot up, because Ive just GOTTA write more. Here's the Very Very gay part. Had so much fun writing the makeout sesh omg
Chapter Text
That didn’t count, Yoshiki wants to protest, the bottles all janky, gimme another go.
But he can’t say any of that without drawing attention to the trembling in his fingers rush of blush in his cheeks.
While ‘Hikaru’ had been whooping in enthusiasm for the other rounds, he now sits uncharacteristically quiet. As if he can’t believe the bottles choice either.
“'Hikaru'!” Asako exclaims, eyes flitting between Yoshiki and ‘Hikaru’ in nervous excitement.
Yoshiki feels as though his heart is on overdrive, thundering with a pulse so loud that it can be heard even over the egregious volume of the TV.
“C’mon,” ‘Hikarus’ voice is too soft, “Just fun and games. No pressure.” He mimics the Asakos earlier words and Yoshiki glances at the others.
All of them pay him no mind. As if he is not walking into a closet alone with his best friend, his dead best friend, who makes his skin hot and his eyes burn.
All of them, except Asako.
Her eyes dart as they follow ‘Hikarus’ retreating form before landing on Yoshiki. He nods once at her, not sure exactly what he’s confirming, but she looks away then and joins in on the conversation between the other two.
”Seven minutes, starting now!” Yuuki announces excitedly.
Walking to the closet this time feels much different than walking when he had gone in with Maki. Now, his skin is alive and singing—buzzing with the natural instinct of fight or flight.
When Yoshiki walks in, the heat of the closet makes him dizzy.
‘Hikaru’ stands in the same spot as Maki had, the only space he can really fit into, and inclines his head towards Yoshiki. His eyes are bright and wild, honed on every movement as Yoshiki shuts the door, descending them into warm darkness.
The slanted light from the gaps in the door lines perfectly on the pale hollow of 'Hikarus' throat and Yoshiki looks away.
Say something.
“Hey,” Yoshiki says dumbly.
‘Hikaru’ shifts on his feet. His hands reach behind him to hold the shelf and his legs cross at the ankle. He still has that damn clip pulling back his bangs and Yoshiki wishes he didn’t, because the openness of his gaze is disarming.
Why is this so fucking weird?
“Hi,” comes ‘Hikarus’ reply.
Just say something.
Yoshiki’s eyes dance over the closet. To the toothbrushes stacked at the top shelf, to the dust buried in the corner of the carpet, lodged against the wall. Anything to avoid the bright colored towels in front of him and the boy that stands against them, neutral in stark contrast.
‘Hikaru’ shifts and his clothes rustle, the sound so loud in the seclusion of the space.
Yoshiki breathes, and it's as deafening as a plane engine.
“What’d you and Maki do in here?” ‘Hikaru’ asks suddenly, voice lacking conviction but still pushing, still curious.
Yoshiki looks up, squinting through the darkness.
“Just talked about whatever." He tries to laugh, but for some reason the atmosphere feels serious so it comes out humorless. "He said I took up all the space.”
“It’s true,” ‘Hikaru’ yields, eyes drifting up and down, from the loose shirt exposing Yoshikis collarbone to the white socks on his feet.
“Well, what about you and Asako?” He tries to keep the accusation out of his voice, “She seemed weird when she came out with you.”
‘Hikaru’ thinks for a minute, shifting to uncross his ankles and stand. He seems to be debating something before flicking his gaze up, “...She asked me if I was the real Hikaru.”
Yoshiki feels the heat drain from his body, as if his blood has frozen and his soul has been swept away by the dark mass of ‘Hikarus’ insides. When he exhales, his lungs feel hollow, emptied of air.
“She did?”
“Yeah. I told her the truth. Y’know, about everything.” ‘Hikarus’ eyes are hard, pressing into the light at Yoshiki’s back, drinking it in until everything is dark.
There's a moment where Yoshiki fears he may not leave alive.
“..You didn’t do anything, did you?”
Yoshiki wants to believe that this monster can be good—that it can grasp the value of human life, that it can care for its friends the way the original Hikaru had.
For his own sake, Yoshiki clings to that hope when ‘Hikarus’ eyes find his, “‘Course not. She just cried and asked me if he was really gone.”
Yoshiki exhales, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. “Thanks… y’know, for not hurting her.”
What an odd thing to have to say.
“She’s my friend too, Yoshiki.” ‘Hikaru’ almost sounds insulted at the insinuation, as if he hadn’t killed before to protect his identity. “Plus, it was getting way too hot in here with all her crying. Only thing I was thinking of was getting her to stop.”
Yoshiki exhales a shaky laugh. He tells himself they’ll discuss it later—right now, any wrong move could be fatal. He can’t help but wonder how Asako managed it... how she stayed this close to blood-red pupils in the dark without flinching.
'Hikaru' is terrifying. In a way that makes Yoshiki's blood run hot.
To distract himself, Yoshiki smiles wryly, “I was really hoping they'd forget about my last round. Just ‘cause... earlier, when I came in, it got so hot in here.”
‘Hikaru’ wiggles his eyebrows, the tension bleeding from his shoulders and Yoshiki nearly collapses in relief. “…Must’ve gotten pretty steamy. Or you made Maki cry. One or the other.”
Hurriedly, Yoshiki glances away, fingers digging into his sides and bangs obscuring his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
‘Hikaru’ won't stop staring at him. It's enthralling. It's terrifying.
“It’s just so cramped in here. Gets hot so fast.” The last words come out as a mumble.
‘Hikaru’ stays silent for so long, Yoshiki is forced to look up. He watches as ‘Hikaru’ raises his hand to the clip nestled in his hair and pulls it loose.
“When I came in here it didn’t get that hot. Not ‘til Asako started crying, at least.”
Yoshiki scoffs, pressing back against the door. ‘Hikaru’ glances up at him, the clip in his hand, and takes a careful step forward.
“You can probably control your body heat, or something.” Yoshiki retorts, but there's no bite.
If that were true, ‘Hikaru’ must be trying to torture Yoshiki because heat is rolling off his body, burning closer through each shared inch.
‘Hikarus’ pupils flash red in the dim lighting. “Maybe it’s just you.”
His warm fingers scale Yoshiki’s forehead and push his bangs back to clip them with the pin.
Yoshiki glances away from the eyes that eat him whole, “What?“
“Your bangs probably make you even hotter, don’tcha think?” ‘Hikaru’s’ breath brushes across Yoshiki’s nose, his words twisting into a sly smile. It smells of Papikko and mint and sparks a strange, unfamiliar flutter in Yoshiki’s gut.
Now, Yoshiki has no option but to stare forward. At the eyes of his best friend, who isn’t really his best friend anymore. They threaten to wrap around his entire soul, to smother it and hold on until it stops struggling.
But that can’t be right. He hadn't hurt Asako. This monster is good, can be good, is trying to be good.
“Dunno.” Yoshiki is breathless.
Why does the word drain him? Is this monster pulling the life from him just by being near? Are they mixing more and more with every breath?
“Five minutes!” Comes Asako's voice from outside, high pitched in something akin to a warning.
Yoshiki startles at the sudden intrusion, but ‘Hikaru’ is steadfast in their close proximity.
“Waddaya wanna do?”
It’s spoken like a wish for something more—not a question. There’s a wistful, demanding lilt to it that plucks at the deep, ugly feeling licking at Yoshiki’s insides.
If he can get through this unscathed, then he’ll have not only conquered ‘Hikaru,’ but also the monster that writhes beneath his skin. The monster that lashes out and claws at this small, devilish temptation. Yoshiki begs it to stay still, to hang on to a thread of sanity, even as it splits and frays.
He wants to prove to himself that the burning beneath his skin, the hunger buried in his stomach, is not what the village has always assumed. He wants to prove to himself that this monster with his best friends eyes and smile does not have control over him.
“Talk.”
‘Hikaru’ smiles, his snaggle tooth catching on his bottom lip. Yoshiki swallows and presses back further. “About what?”
About you taking over my dead best friends body.
About Asako knowing.
About the way you threaten to suck out every one of my organs when you look at me like this.
About so many things.
But Yoshiki doesn’t say any of that. “Why're you asking me?”
‘Hikaru’ thinks for a second, “...‘Cause I don't really wanna talk.”
Yoshiki’s stomach bottoms out. Falls to the floor and sinks. Down, down, down.
This closet is so small and ‘Hikaru’ is so, so close. Yoshiki’s body thrums with panic and anticipation, every muscle pulled taut and ready to run. Fear eats at him, loud and hungry—everything pulsing with the warning that this is a predator, something that can kill him.
Something that can reach inside and rip and rip until Yoshiki is nothing but ribbons of wet flesh soaking into the carpet.
But ‘Hikarus’ eyes are so familiar, and they have never looked at him this way before. It's intoxicating.
“That’s what... that’s what you did with Asako in here. Why do you have to change it now?”
“Yeah. That’s what I did with her.”
You didn’t answer the question.
“But now you don’t want to?” Yoshiki feels if he presses his back to the door any harder, the wood may crack and splinter.
“Ran out of things to talk about.” 'Hikaru' tilts his head, voice soft enough to get lost in the thick air of their shared breath.
Liar.
Yoshiki is so warm. Boiling water overcoming the iron blood of his veins and coursing like liquid heat through every artery, every blood vessel, every muscle. Every single part of him. The heat sings and calls, rising to the surface and chanting one name, asking for one moment of weakness.
I'm disgusting.
Yoshiki feels disgusting as he unclenches his hands, as he straightens his back, as he looks ‘Hikaru’ in the eye.
“What else then?”
He knows he's toeing a dangerous line, knows there’s so much for them to talk about in this closet. So much to distract them from the way Yoshiki’s body is buzzing like a live wire, caught between this liminal space of pleasure and panic.
“Four minutes!” Comes Asako’s voice, but neither of them move.
‘Hikarus’ blood drop pupils dart between Yoshiki’s unprotected eyes. Back and forth and back and forth before falling to his lips and coming back up.
“I don’t know if you want me saying it out loud.”
There’s no coming back if you say it.
Despite himself, Yoshiki lets a dry laugh itch out of his throat.
This is wrong. This is so wrong. And yet this feeling that has been buried within him for years is rising and rising and rising. Flooding in and drowning him and ‘Hikaru’ is a bright orange buoy in the vast sea of it all.
This is wrong. This is disgusting.
And yet it feels so good when both of ‘Hikarus' hands fall to either side of his head, bracing on the door behind Yoshiki. And, for some reason, it feels so good when the temperature of the closet becomes unbearably warmer.
‘Hikaru’ leans in, slightly shorter than Yoshiki. He hovers for a moment and in the back of his mind, Yoshiki wonders if this monster even knows what it’s doing. The implications of their shared breath. Maybe this is just another part of the human experience that it views as normal. Something that best friends share in whispered touches and dark closets. But that can’t be right, because the original Hikaru had no memories of doing something like this. These warm breaths are entirely ‘Hikarus’ own.
He should stop. He should push ‘Hikaru’ off and open the door and call the game off.
He should twist and vomit all over the floor because this is his best friends corpse.
He should do a lot of things, but instead he finds his lips parting open and his hands flexing at his sides as ‘Hikarus’ mouth falls on his neck.
The sensation is so wrong, it feels right—like every sickening thing he’s ever felt has been eclipsed by this one, awful, beautiful moment.
‘Hikarus’ mouth is warm. Much, much warmer than the atmosphere of the closet. No summer heat will ever compare to the feeling of lips trailing across unprotected skin—soft and pliable and easy to bleed.
Yoshiki swallows, feels the curve of ‘Hikarus’ smile against his Adam's apple as it bobs, feels the heat of his mouth, feels the wood groan under the pressure of their bodies.
He should stop. This is a horrible, disgusting perversion that he'll never be able to wash off.
But it’s just seven minutes. And no one will see.
‘Hikaru’ maps the expanse of skin with a kind of aching reverence. The touches are featherlight, as if he can't believe what they're doing and is afraid one wrong move will scare Yoshiki awake.
Yoshiki’s eyes squeeze shut when strands of white hair ghost against his chin. He refuses to bear witness to his own sin. If he never sees it, then maybe it won’t etch itself into his memory. Maybe it won’t replay behind his eyes every time he tries to sleep. Maybe these seven minutes will disappear into the dark of this closet.
‘Hikaru’ leans in and traps Yoshiki between the warmth of his body and the groan of wood. Yoshiki clings to the stability because, without it, his knees would’ve given. Both from the shock of what he’s allowing and how horribly—wonderfully—it ties his insides.
"M’sorry," ‘Hikaru’ mumbles into his skin, lips brushing a freckle like a confession.
Yoshiki has no time to wonder what for before ‘Hikarus’ mouth turns warmer—open, just slightly, like testing the edge of a summer creek with bare feet.
On instinct, Yoshiki’s head tips back, shamefully unbidden and baring the pale column of his throat. Allowing this monster the killing blow to his jugular.
He feels the slow, deliberate press of ‘Hikarus’ tongue against his pulse point. Hot and lingering as though he’s savoring the flow of blood beneath. It rests there for a beat too long, tasting, weighing, before dragging out in a smooth, sinfully languid stroke.
Yoshiki grunts, barely audible but still embarrassing nonetheless. ‘Hikaru’ shuffles at the sound, his hands sliding down the door. The cage around Yoshiki lowers and 'Hikaru' looks up.
Yoshiki still can't bring himself to open his eyes, the burning on his face confirmation enough that—yes, that noise had been from him.
Please don’t say something about it.
“Yoshiki…” ‘Hikaru’ breathes out, because of course he can’t be quiet.
Yoshiki raises a hand to ‘Hikarus’ head and ruffles the hair there, forcing his pinpoint red gaze away, “Shuddup.”
“Your heart is beating like crazy.” He shakes off Yoshiki’s touch and leans back in, lips pressed to the cool trail of saliva on the curve of Yoshiki’s throat, “Your skin is so alive…”
Yoshiki laughs mirthlessly and ‘Hikaru’ chases the vibration with his mouth, “That's good?”
‘Hikaru’ is closer this time, chest pressed to Yoshiki’s against the door. His warmth is all consuming, smothering, suffocating.
“‘Course,” He mumbles before shifting to push a knee between Yoshiki’s legs. The pressure is entirely foreign and entirely too much as the fabric of Yoshiki's pants bunch beneath the touch. His eyes snap open and he is face to face with the dark heat he's been trying so hard to shy from.
The shelves tower above, stretching to the ceiling, stacked with folded towels that he desperately rakes his eyes over. Anything to avoid meeting ‘Hikarus’ gaze.
“You’ve got the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen, ‘Shiki.” The name is slurred against skin as 'Hikaru' opens his mouth again.
Yoshiki’s vision is buzzing. The pressure of ‘Hikaru’ is all around, pressing against his chest, parting his knees, caging his head.
He should stop.
He should stop.
This is wrong, so wrong.
This is so wrong.
There are four towels on the highest shelf, one orange and three green.
It feels so good.
Yoshiki could stand the stares and whispers of the villagers for the rest of his life if it meant holding this moment in time. Leaving these hushed breaths in this shared space to revisit over and over again.
His hands hang suspended for a heartbeat, trembling, before finally settling on ‘Hikarus’ shoulders. The contact feels like the slam of a heavy door, resounding and irrevocable. Yoshiki is fully implicated in their guilt now.
He cannot plead innocence as his fingers dig in, solid and steadying and imploring ‘Hikaru’ to keep reaching, to keep shedding light on the parts of him that have always been buried and begging to bloom.
'Hikaru' obliges eagerly, spurred forward by the urgency of the touch.
Yoshiki is selfish in the way he leans into the touch, and so very selfish in the way ‘Hikarus’ name slips through his parted lips in a barely-there whisper. He is selfish as his eyes slip from the one orange towel and the three green towels to look at two grey eyes.
They are bright and watchful, skimming from Yoshiki's lidded eyes, to his parted lips, to his pinched eyebrows.
As always, 'Hikaru' watches everything.
One of ‘Hikarus’ hands finds its way to the side of his hip, warm and present through the fabric of Yoshiki’s borrowed sleep shirt. The fingers skim there, slipping past loose fabric before dancing on the edge of bare skin.
“Three minutes!”
Yoshiki shudders and curls in on himself towards ‘Hikaru.’ He explores Yoshiki's midriff with soft whispers of touch. The fingers press around his hip to curve into the small of his back, spreading wide to embrace the warmth of Yoshiki's skin.
“Three minutes,” ‘Hikaru’ whispers conspiratorially before his tongue laps out. This time, it fully tastes the soap and sweat and summer heat on Yoshiki’s skin, curling against his pulse and trailing up, up, up until heavy breathing is right next to his ear. “Don’t think anybody else got this countdown,” He mumbles, the words loud in their close proximity before he licks up the shell of Yoshiki’s ear. "S'not fair."
Yoshiki cant think, cant reply back, cant feel the door at his back through his shiver. This feeling is all-consuming. He feels it long after ‘Hikaru’ moves on, a spark of heat pulling all of the blood in his body to the tips of his ears.
“The way human blood pumps… s’interesting to me.” ‘Hikaru’ carefully works into the curve and underside of Yoshiki’s jaw now.
Yoshiki's hands have a mind of their own, spurred solely by unguarded impulse. He is so guilty as they move from ‘Hikarus’ shoulders to the sides of his neck to bury into the short, damp hair there. They implore, tug, explore this feeling hesitantly, embrace it with wavering heat that builds and builds and builds.
“Your ears get so warm,” a small, damp chuckle flush against skin, “It’s like your blood follows everywhere I go.”
Yoshiki tilts his head and hears murmured conversation and a too-loud TV blaring distantly, “My body must know something then.”
That this feels good.
That you’re a monster dripping with bloodlust.
That I’m the same kind of monster, dripping with a different, disgusting lust.
‘Hikaru’ leans back, just enough to meet Yoshiki’s eyes, and the sight stills his thoughts. He doesn’t want to be anchored to the pause of reality. He’s already drifting far from the weight of his better judgement, suspended in heedless want.
Yoshiki tugs impatiently at the strands of hair slipping through his fingers, voice low and urgent, “Not long now.”
The words should embarrass him. But this closet is so warm and ‘Hikarus’ lips are slick with spit and Yoshiki has never felt anything like this thrum. It’s like touching ‘Hikarus’ insides all over again, but instead this feeling is entirely human and something his body can accept as a deep, craven ache.
While his mind screams, his body bends.
Stop.
“In a rush?” ‘Hikaru’ laughs, his knee knocking against the inside of Yoshiki’s thigh and his hand flexing at his back.
Don’t do it.
But the pressure against his skin is so addicting and no one can see them in here. None of the eyes of this small, suffocating village. So Yoshiki presses his hand into the back of ‘Hikarus’ neck and drags him forward the final few inches until he can feel the saliva on ‘Hikarus’ lips stick to his own. And then they are pressed together through every cell, every minuscule atom. They are mixing, further and further with every press of slick lips parting and tugging. Yoshiki can feel his body pulling apart, separating, sliding, hot and lewd.
Yoshiki’s never done something like this before, and neither has ‘Hikaru.’ It’s slow and explorative, reverent and appraising. It pulls at the mess of buried impulses in Yoshiki, muddles his brain until he can't tell what’s right and what's wrong.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He knows it. But, oh, it feels so good when ‘Hikaru’ grabs the sides of his neck and his long fingers splay across his face. Feels so good when ‘Hikarus’ thumbs dig into the back of his ears, pressing just enough to tilt Yoshiki’s head down. Feels so good when his wet, hot tongue runs across Yoshiki’s bottom lip and surges forward.
‘Hikaru’ rifles through ever part of him, as though Yoshiki’s soul is hidden behind his teeth and under his tongue.
Yoshiki leans against the knee between his legs and gives into the hot sweat building on ‘Hikarus’ neck, fingers curling and curling and curling. His nails dig into the skin there, twitching in time with the tongue slipping into his mouth. He's not sure if he could stop—not sure where the line between them ends and begins again. They are well and truly mixing now and Yoshiki realizes he would rather explore this feeling forever and be drowned in it than ever leave.
Perhaps becoming part of this monster isn't so bad.
“Two minutes!”
He’s not sure who groans into the kiss, but it doesn’t matter, because blood roars through him at the sound regardless and Yoshiki hesitantly pulls back. Just slightly to breathe, to get some clarity.
It's no use, he is surrounded by ‘Hikaru’, ‘Hikaru’, ‘Hikaru'.
He is consumed by ‘Hikaru’, ‘Hikaru’, ‘Hikaru'.
‘Hikaru’ breathes shakily above him, and Yoshiki wishes for his bangs, above all else, to hide behind. Because the way he is being stared at is enthralling in the worst way possible.
‘Hikarus’ left pupil spools with color, warbling and lapping out of his eyesocket, barely contained and writhing with hot energy.
“Make that sound again,” He begs, voice low and melting with coercion before reclaiming Yoshiki.
Ah,
So it had been Yoshiki to fill the air. To add a sound of pleasure into their devilish, evil game. To bring a lewdness to the noise of their spit sticking and lips parting. So that truly solidifies it, then. He is beyond guilty.
Yoshiki should be more embarrassed than he is, but ‘Hikaru’ is kissing him with more pressure, searching for sounds of pleasure more than the burn of a soul this time. He is writhing against Yoshiki, eager to please, eager to give something that triggers a reaction. Something that elicits a feeling other than fear or disgust.
His tongue is demanding now, in and out in and out. Running over Yoshiki’s lips, parting them, caressing his tongue, behind his teeth, in his throat. His hands are harsher. They press bruises into the side of Yoshiki’s neck, tilting his head in a way that cramps muscles. Leading a kiss that gives no room to breathe. His knee is harsh, pressed into the inside of Yoshiki’s thigh with an unbearable pressure, squeezing and begging and all over.
Yoshiki can't help the sound he makes when ‘Hikaru’ wraps his lips around his tongue and sucks.
Stop it, he pleads with his body.
This is so gross, he tells his mind.
But there goes his throat again, working around a groan as one of ‘Hikarus’ hands find their way to the back of his neck and the other slips down, back under his shirt and all too eager. His fingers are warm and taunting, nails digging right through Yoshiki's skin and flesh and bone, right to the monster buried beneath it all.
Yoshiki feels something cold and wet pressing against his cheek and expects to find himself crying. But then the sensation grows and travels further out until it envelops the entire side of his head.
“One minute!”
“Ah,” Yoshiki grunts, pressing out of the kiss. ‘Hikaru’ doesn't mind, bending so that his lips are back on Yoshiki’s throat. His insides are leaking out, melting from his pupil and engulfing Yoshiki. They dance at the edge of his vision, swallow his ears and knot his hair. He feels the hair pin come loose, lost somewhere to the darkness before it falls to the floor. Yoshiki only feels his bangs fall back down for a split second before the insides are combing through his hair and pulling at his scalp.
‘Hikaru’ is at his collarbone now, saliva lingering on his tongue and breath feverish as he presses into Yoshiki.
“Your-” Yoshiki stutters out past a grunt. It’s a mix somewhere between pleasure and fear. His muddled mind is sparking, registering the danger slipping into his nostrils and curling into his ears. But it doesn't feel bad in the slightest—a cool reprieve from the heat of the closet.
“Your insides,” Yoshiki gasps past the dancing shapes slipping over his tongue.
‘Hikaru’ glances up at him, half his head splitting, allowing his insides to gobble Yoshiki up entirely. His one visible eye is playful, swimming with unspoken words and shared pleasure. “You don’t like it?”
“I—” Yoshiki breathes as ‘Hikarus’ tongue dips past the loose collar of his shirt and trails across his shoulder.
I like it.
Too much.
I shouldn’t.
“Your body likes it.” His words are punctuated by a breathless laugh, “It tells me so much ‘bout you.”
The darkness is inside Yoshiki’s throat now, tickling down and down until he's gulping and gagging against the cold pressure.
They have to stop. There’s not much time left now and any second they’ll be expected to walk out of the closet with no hint of entanglement.
But they’re mixing so well, ‘Hikarus’ palm on his hip, his saliva melting into skin, his insides burying deep into Yoshiki’s lungs.
Yoshiki should be scared. He should be terrified. But he has never felt more complete, like a missing piece of his body had been filled by this cruel want.
Yoshiki’s fingers dig into his hair and pull. ‘Hikaru’ grunts, biting softly into Yoshiki’s shoulder and smiling when Yoshiki arches into the pressure. The closet is devoid of light now, ‘Hikaru’ is everywhere, slipping through every crack and breathing in all the air.
“Times up!” Asako calls from outside, past the blaring of the TV and rush of air.
All in one quick flash, ‘Hikaru’ pulls himself together, the inside of him slipping back through Yoshiki's every artery, every vein, every muscle fiber. It tumbles from his throat, and slips back into ‘Hikarus’ pupil, capping with a wet squelch.
Yoshiki stares dumbly as 'Hikaru' retreats without warning, the pressure and heat of his body leveraging a gaping chasm between them.
He straightens and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, collecting the taste that is unmistakably ‘Hikaru'. Red pupils find him and blaze in the dark.
Then the sound of someone padding to the door sounds and Yoshiki leans off of it, hurriedly running a hand through his hair and straightening the fabric of his shirt. ‘Hikaru’ does little to fix his appearance, instead bending at the waist to retrieve the hair pin on the floor and sticking it into his bangs—entirely wrong and a dead giveaway that fingers had rifled through it.
The air is thick with body heat and sweat and wet kisses, so when Asako pulls the sliding door open, Yoshiki shivers at the cold and blinks against the light.
Her green eyes flit over the two of them, running down the stretched collar of Yoshiki’s shirt and the mussed hair slick with sweat on ‘Hikarus’ forehead. Yoshiki shifts under her scrutiny and steps past into the warm light of the room and out of the seclusion of ‘Hikarus’ body.
Just seven minutes, he tells himself, never again.
“We’re gonna play Monopoly now,” Yuuki says from across the room. She sits beside Maki, who shuffles through the brightly colored paper bills and dishes them out in five piles.
‘Hikarus’ warmth and Asako's eyes are at Yoshiki’s back. He gulps hurriedly and wipes at a drying trail of saliva at his collarbone, avoiding every pair of eyes boring into him.
Most of all, his own.
“Wait for me, ‘m going to the bathroom.”
Chapter 3: Pulse
Notes:
Hi agaiinnnnnnnnn thank u so much for all ur sweet comments on the other chapters omg i love this fic and all of u sm.
Chapter Text
Yoshiki nearly breaks the handle on ‘Hikarus’ sink.
He spends ten minutes in the bathroom, pushing it as far left as it can go. Forcing the water colder, colder, colder. He splashes himself until his skin is numb and his face is beet red—the heat of the closet a far off memory beneath the sting.
‘Hikarus’ saliva lingers on his collarbone, phantom hands press to his lower back. Words curl against his ears and repeat over and over again.
‘Cause I don’t really wanna talk.
When Yoshiki looks up at his reflection, he grimaces. The boy who stares back is not someone he recognizes—this person is disfigured beneath the quiet torment of the past six months. This person is unable to hide from the temptation of change.
We should’ve just talked in that damn closet.
He knows he shouldn’t have surrendered to the monster that had reared up inside him, even if it had only been for seven minutes, because now it runs hungry and unchecked. It stirs something urgent beneath his clothes, makes his body react in ways that color him in shame.
How embarrassing.
Yoshiki has truly begun to lose his humanity now. He is sure of it.
Quickly, he strips his borrowed shirt off and rubs the water against his neck and shoulders with frantic urgency. He scrubs until his skin burns raw—desperate to forget, to quiet the fire licking in his stomach.
Okay.
At his sides, Yoshiki shakes out his hands.
Okay.
He has to steady his nerves. There’s no way he can face ‘Hikaru’ or their friends like this. Yoshiki feels stuck in that damn closet. Still there. Repeating the moment over and over again just to satiate the ugliness inside.
He’s an impurity. That’s all this is. His drive in life is to consume living things.
You just fell into it. You can’t blame yourself, anybody would’ve done what you did.
You’re okay.
Okay.
‘Hikarus’ sleep shirt sticks to his skin as he throws it back on.
Walking back out is near impossible. Yoshiki pauses multiple times to rub his hands down his face, pressing until his vision swims and edges into a blur.
Cut it out, cut it out, cut it out.
The voices of his friends are loud and boisterous through the doorway. He can hear Maki whooping, Yuuki and Asako groaning. And then there's ‘Hikaru', laughing through it all as if he hadn’t just bent Yoshiki’s mind and body in the dark. As if those seven minutes had only just been seven minutes.
Yoshiki steps into the room, feels every pair of eyes fall on him, and takes the empty seat beside ‘Hikaru'.
“Holy shit, Yoshiki.” Maki grins as Yuuki, Asako, and ‘Hikaru’ hand him colorful Monopoly bills. “You take a dump in there?”
At his side, ‘Hikaru’ fingers through his remaining bills, counting them under his breath. The clip in his bangs is readjusted now, perfectly nestled in soft white strands.
Yoshiki stares. He can still feel them between his fingers, feathery and soft, and has the urge to pull the clip out. To muss the hair just to prove he can. To confirm it hadn’t just been some nightmare conjured up by his horrible mind—that ‘Hikaru’ was guilty too.
He had given into whatever the hell sparked between them too, right? Because there’s no way Yoshiki would ever crave something like that.
Ever.
“That’s one possibility,” ‘Hikaru’ answers, wiggling his eyebrows when he notices Yoshiki’s gaze. He hands over a metal game piece—the thimble. The pupils of his eyes pulse like unoxidized blood inside a vein.
Yoshiki takes it from him quickly, the brush of fingers to palm wrong. Like touching something unfamiliar in the dark.
“Gross.” Yoshiki places his piece at the ‘GO’ space. He can feel Asako’s gaze on his profile and swallows. “I was washing my face.”
Forget about it. Act normal.
So he says, a bit too high pitched, “That closet was too damn hot and your breath stunk.”
‘Hikaru’ laughs, hearty and carefree. His legs are criss-crossed and his hands are holding on to his ankles as he rocks back and forth. Yoshiki looks down at them, bare to the summer heat and covered in thin hair.
That one, the right one, had just been between his legs.
‘Hikaru’ shifts back and presses into Yoshiki. It takes everything inside him not to jump. “No complaining till right now? Poor sport.”
Yoshiki’s face is on fire. His bangs fall to his eyes and he doesn't bother swiping them away.
“Sorry we started without you,” Asako’s voice saves him as she tosses twin dice to the board, “But we only went around once.” He can feel her glancing between him and ‘Hikaru.’ Like someone watching lightning strike two trees and waiting to see which catches first.
“Maki was bitching that we weren’t gonna have time to watch Godzilla ‘n made us start.” Yuuki snickers.
"Even though we could've just watched it tomorrow night, by the way." 'Hikaru' mumbles.
Maki looks up from sorting his bills, “You guys told me I could pick the movie tonight! It's the only reason I agreed to this damn sleepover. And it’s already…Hikaru, what time is it?”
‘Hikaru’ glances at the watch on his wrist with a roll of his eyes. His whole side leans casually into Yoshiki. The cool relief from the water Yoshiki had splashed on his face is already fading, and he’s half-tempted to excuse himself to the bathroom all over again.
“23:56”
“—and it’s already 23:56!” Maki finishes.
As she moves her piece Asako agrees halfheartedly, “It is true that we told him we'd watch it tonight.”
“Exactly! Because last time my movie was put off until the very end!” Maki takes Asako’s money and hands over the property card from the bank with a flare of exasperation. “And then suddenly everybody was so tired. Even though y’all were willing to watch Ponyo for the seven-hundredth time.”
‘Hikaru’ leans forward and Yoshiki is exponentially grateful, “Don’t bring Ponyo into this.”
“You brought Ponyo into this.”
Yoshiki watches their exchange with his hands folded tightly in his lap. His only thought, loud and howling above all the rest; How are you acting so normal?
Yoshiki’s mind and body have been taut, caught between fight and flight since the bottle landed on ‘Hikaru.’ How can ‘Hikaru’ move as if something between them hasn’t shattered and reshaped?
“Didn’t Asako just say we were gonna watch it?” Yuuki sighs, tugging at her pigtails. Yoshiki notices they’re braided now, threaded with hairclips like the one on ‘Hikaru'.
“Yeah, but ever-”
“Yoshiki, it’s your turn.” Asako holds out the dice and presses them into his hand. Yoshiki startles, the weight of every gaze settling heavy on him.
He wonders if they can see the guilt that clings to his skin beneath the cold water.
“Roll a nine, ‘Shiki.” ‘Hikaru’ grins, leaning over to watch.
Yoshiki does, in fact, roll a nine by some divine intervention and his thimble lands right on a property that ‘Hikaru’ already owns.
“Ha!” ‘Hikarus’ expression is smug as he extends a hand, “That’ll be eighty bucks.”
The game goes on for two hours, with Maki giving incremental reminders every thirty minutes that Godzilla is, in fact, over an hour and a half long.
Eventually, ‘Hikarus’ cat gamepiece lands squarely on Boardwalk—right on top of Yoshiki’s hotel. The game ends there, when ‘Hikaru’ slaps his hand down and all of the pieces clatter.
“I was getting sick of playing anyway,” ‘Hikaru’ mutters in a pout.
After the board is packed away and the lights are turned off, they move into ‘Hikarus’ bedroom.
The warm hum of summer night leaks in through the open window. ‘Hikaru’ hits the light switch and Yoshiki blinks against the brightness.
The room is exactly as he remembers it. Small, lived-in, and a mess. Manga volumes are stacked in leaning towers along the walls, shirts are half-folded over the back of the desk chair, and an old game console blinks faintly from under the TV stand. It's a shrine of ‘Hikaru’ and Hikaru alike.
Master X Master is at the top of the pile now, though. ‘Hikarus’ favorite, not Hikarus.
Yoshiki lingers in the doorway, something in his chest pulling. The sight hits him harder than he expects. The air in here still smells faintly like fabric softener and the cheap, citrusy body spray Hikaru used to wear.
He hasn’t smelled this scent on ‘Hikaru’ in months.
Yoshiki’s eyes catch on the bed where the sheets are wrinkled. The mattress is still sunken on the same side Hikaru had always slept on.
His throat closes up.
Nothing’s changed. Not the books, not the mess, not the space. But it's all wrong, because the way ‘Hikaru’ looks at him is nothing like how Hikaru had. Nothing’s changed except for the soul inside of the body.
Yoshiki takes the comforter folded at the end of the bed. Yoshiki’s fingers tremble as they slip over the worn fabric, stopping to trace the frayed stitching of dragons.
Suddenly, ‘Hikaru’ is at his side, warm and tempting in the untouched air of the room.
“Wanna sleep in my bed?” His hand slips to the crease of Yoshiki’s elbow.
Yoshiki jumps, both guilty in his runaway thoughts and guilty in what ‘Hikarus’ touch reminds him of.
“I thought we were making a fort?” Maki interjects, filing in with his overnight bag.
“We totally are,” Yuuki giggles, taking one end of the comforter from Yoshiki, “C’mon, let’s lay the blanket out and set up the movie.”
Yoshiki steps out of ‘Hikarus’ touch, blinking hard to focus his eyes before moving to help Yuuki spread out the comforter beside ‘Hikarus’ bed.
Asako enters the room last, squeezing assorted pillows to her chest, “I grabbed as many as I could from the couch. But if we need more we’ll just hafta ransack ‘Hikarus’ bed.” She tosses the pillows to the comforter spread on the floor then squats to lean them against the foot of ‘Hikarus’ bed frame.
Yoshiki looks up to where ‘Hikaru’ sits on his bed, casual in the way he leans back on his arms and spreads his legs. His eyes track the others as they build the fort on the floor, but his attention never leaves Yoshiki.
“Nuh-uh, I’m staying right on my bed. You gotta fend for yourselves if I gotta watch Godzilla.”
“No fair.” Maki protests, grabbing the remote to ‘Hikarus’ small TV and shuffling through until he lands on Godzilla. “You kicking us to the floor while you sleep all comfy on your bed?”
‘Hikaru’ rolls his eyes and looks towards Yoshiki. He leans forward to grab the bottom of Yoshiki’s shirt between pinched fingers and softly tugs him forward. Yoshiki trips over himself before landing between legs spread wide. He can’t help the heat that rises to his skin. It tickles in response to even the smallest bit of physical acknowledgement.
It was just seven minutes, let it go.
“If anybody wants to come up here with me,” his eyes skim from the bottom of Yoshiki’s shirt up and up and up until they reach the stretched fabric of his collar, “they just gotta ask.”
It’s said with a laugh, like a joke. But it sits in Yoshiki’s mind.
The movie blares loudly as Maki finally puts it on. Yuuki and Asako fall to the comforter. Yoshiki is completely ensnared.
Thankfully, Maki’s lack of social awareness saves him, “Uh. Do you even gotta ask? Put me up there.” He drops the remote to the table beside ‘Hikarus’ bed and jumps into the pillows next to him, swallowed by the sheets.
Yoshiki clears his throat before stepping away to sit beside Yuuki and Asako. The floor presses uncomfortably beneath the comforter and the pillows do little to ease the ache where his back rests against the metal bed frame. Still, anything is better than his other option.
As the opening credits start playing, something must be off on his face because Asako leans her shoulder into his.
“Wanna get some popcorn?”
Yoshiki isn’t hungry, in fact that idea of eating makes him feel sick, but he nods anyway, “Sure.”
“Exactly what I said was gonna happen,” Maki grumbles, laying on his stomach beside ‘Hikaru,’ “we just started and you’re already leaving.”
Asako glances at Maki as she stands. With a soft wince, she extends her hand towards Yoshiki, “Before the movie starts.”
‘Hikaru’ glances between the both of them, shifting from his stomach, “I’ll come too.”
Stop looking at me all the time.
“I know where the popcorn is.”
He doesn’t mean for it to come out short, but ‘Hikaru’ shrinks back like Yoshiki’s words have bit him.
Before turning to walk out of the room, Yoshiki reaches out, flicks the clip in ‘Hikaru’s’ hair, and offers a quick, terse smile. He’s sure it doesn’t reach his eyes, but hopes it’s enough to soften the sting—for both of them.
“I’ll put extra salt on for you.”
‘Hikarus’ expression is so open it almost hurts to turn his back on.
In the hallway, Asako walks an inch too far from him. She seems stiff, turning something over and over in her head. When they get to the kitchen, Yoshiki finally acknowledges it.
“You okay?”
He tosses the bag of popcorn kernels into the microwave, sets the timer, and turns to face Asako. The kitchen is dimly lit, bathed only in the gentle, warm glow of the microwave’s light. Its low mechanical hum blends seamlessly with the chorus of cicadas, filling the quiet space between them.
Asako’s face is lightly illuminated and Yoshiki watches as her eyebrows pull together. “You knew?”
He doesn’t have to ask what she means.
“I did.”
Her shoulders hike up so far they touch her ears. Her fists curl at her sides. “And you never told any of us?”
The microwave’s whirring buzzes loudly beside Yoshiki. It seeps into the pressure at the back of his skull, pulsing in time with the tight rhythm of his thoughts.
“What was I s’pposed to say?” His voice cracks.
She pauses at that, the words hitting somewhere deep. Guilt flickers across her face, softening into a grimace that doesn’t quite hold. “Something always felt off, but I… I never really said anything, ’cause you acted like everything was fine.” Her gaze lifts, unshed tears catching the soft orange glow. “And you always knew him best.”
Yoshiki shrugs, “I thought… I don't know what I thought.”
It doesn't feel real—talking to someone about ‘Hikaru.’ This has been his burden to carry alone for months. “I thought I could save everyone from it, I guess.”
The microwave goes off and Yoshiki turns his back to her. “I miss him… but he’s gone. That’s not- ...that’s not him anymore.”
“How can you accept that?” Asako’s voice warbles.
“I accept that Hikaru is dead,” Yoshiki says flatly, having come to terms with it long ago.
There’s a long, drawn out pause where he wonders if Asako has left, disgusted with him. He busies his hands with pouring the popcorn out into one large bowl—keeping them occupied so that they don’t bury into his hair and pull until his pain matches hers.
Yoshiki is rotten.
“That monster… He is a monster. But all he wants to do is live with us.” Yoshiki is a horrible friend, selfish for not allowing his friends to grieve because of his own sentimentality. “Guess I didn’t tell you ‘cause of that too.”
The silence bleeds into him, but Yoshiki keeps talking because something about the seclusion of darkness makes him feel like his words are safe. Unrepeatable. “I didn’t say anything ‘cause I wanted to keep everyone from it, ‘cause I wanted to save him from it. I wanted to save all of you from it.”
And because I’m attached to him. The monster.
Yoshiki grabs a smaller bowl, ceramic and brightly painted. He pours popcorn in it and shakes salt in. Just how ‘Hikaru’ likes it. “He may not be Hikaru, but he means something.”
To me.
When he turns around, Asako has invisible streaks of tears down her cheeks. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? In the closet?”
Yoshiki nearly drops the bowls. His fingers go numb, the weight of the ceramic suddenly too much. Clearing his throat, he tries to steady himself, but it’s no use—the memory flashes: hot breath and spit and two glassy grey eyes.
Yoshiki wishes he had just kept his damn eyes shut. Saying he had been hurt would be much easier than explaining whatever the hell had actually happened.
“Why’re you asking?”
She blinks away her drying tears, “You seemed real messed up when you came out of the closet. I was worried. I’ve been getting weird feelings from him for a while and… and after what he told me in the first round.”
“No. He’s never hurt me.” A lie, but the less she knows the easier everything will be to swallow. “He just…” Yoshiki clears his throat and glances at the light coming from ‘Hikarus’ bedroom. He misses the feeling of warmth bleeding into him, no matter how disgusting it is to want something like that. “He has a hard time controlling himself.”
Asako stiffens and Yoshiki watches as a bright red blush creeps up her neck, “Oh… gotcha.”
Popcorn rains to the ground and scatters as Yoshiki splutters, “Not like that! Not like that… Just… I can’t explain it. But it’s nothing bad. He is different from us, he isn't human but-” He stares her right in her beautiful, sappy eyes, “-he is good.”
Maybe I can convince myself.
“I believe you.” Asako smiles softly as she takes the big bowl of popcorn from Yoshiki, “I asked him if he was the one who did it… y’know,” she clears her throat, “If he was the one who killed Hikaru.”
As they walk back to the room, Yoshiki lowers his voice, “Hikaru was already… already dead.” He swallows around a lump of grief, “When he—when the monster—found him.”
She nods resolutely, short hair bobbing up and down. Yoshiki glances at her from the corner of his eye. She really is a beautiful girl, it’s a shame that he had never found her attractive. Things would’ve been so much easier that way.
“It’s real hard. Real, real hard knowing Hikaru's actually gone. I had felt something strange, but I always thought he was possessed. Not really… not actually dead.” Her attempt at a smile is tight and close-lipped, “I’ll try to think of ‘Hikaru’ as different... Try to accept him, even though he kinda scares me in all honesty.”
Yoshiki feels his heart thump. He misses Hikaru horribly. No matter how closely ‘Hikaru’ mirrors him, they are two different people and the ache will never lessen.
They wear the same shape, they smell the same, they laugh the same. But Yoshiki knows he won’t be able to grieve, not fully, until he stops searching for someone who’s gone in someone who’s alive.
Plus, the way Hikaru made Yoshiki feel is completely different from how ‘Hikaru’ makes him feel. Hikaru had been a quiet refuge, a gentle warmth against winter’s bite. ‘Hikaru’ scorches him bare at the heat of summer, pulling everything buried deep to the surface.
When they walk back into the bedroom, the TV is still paused. ‘Hikaru’ and Maki lie on their stomachs while Yuuki leans against the bed frame below them, arms lifted to show a video on her phone.
‘Hikaru’ perks up, eyes immediately finding Yoshiki and the small bowl of popcorn in his hands. At ‘Hikarus’ excited grin, Yoshiki lets his conversation with Asako bleed away.
There’s no point dwelling on the past when the present is right in front of him.
He walks over to the bed, stopping to hand ‘Hikaru’ the bowl of extra salty popcorn. But ‘Hikaru’ barely notices, leaning in instead to wrap his arms around Yoshiki’s waist and bury his face in the fabric of his shirt.
“You really are the nicest to me, ‘Shiki,” ‘Hikaru’ mumbles against his stomach, the words leaving a warm, damp trace. Yoshiki stands frozen, the bowl in his hand forgotten.
‘Hikarus’ fingers skim under his shirt at his lower back and suddenly Yoshiki is cramped inside a dark closet, five minutes in with spit sticky on his neck again.
Asako sucks in a breath at his side before sitting down beside Yuuki on the floor.
“Ugh,” Maki groans, pushing at ‘Hikarus’ shoulders. “Move it. You’re in the way. I’ve been waiting way too long to put this on.” He taps at an imaginary watch on his wrist and focuses his eyes on Yoshiki, “By the way, last time I checked, popcorn doesn't take five minutes in the microwave.”
‘Hikaru’ slides his hands away, “C’mon Yoshiki, lay on the bed with me.”
Yoshiki gulps, eyes flitting anywhere but the pink blush and grey eyes level with his waist. “S’rry, Maki.“
Maki stretches out and his arm smacks into ‘Hikarus’ head, “‘M already comfortable. No more room. Go down there with him and gimme the whole bed if you really want.”
Smart, Yoshiki thinks, use his pride against him.
Yuuki laughs from her seat on the floor, “Hikarus been so clingy lately, like a brat with his mama.”
“A total brat,” Asako concedes.
Yoshiki grabs the remote and presses play, avoiding any and all thoughts of the inviting warmth on the bed above him as he sits beside Yuuki and Asako once again.
They get about twenty minutes in before ‘Hikaru’ touches him for the first time.
It starts as gentle puffs of air at the top of his head, but then it gets bolder. ‘Hikaru’ reaches over the edge of the bed, fingers threading through Yoshiki’s hair with deliberate tenderness. In the shadowed room, the motion is lost in the dark. Yoshiki tilts his head back against the bed frame and looks up, meeting ‘Hikarus’ steady, watchful gaze.
Again? Touching me again?
Stop.
He wishes ‘Hikaru’ would stop testing, stop poking—stop watching for what touch elicits what reaction. ‘Hikaru’ is a restless blend. Half hard kisses and suffocation, half tender touches and whispered words.
Stop doing this.
‘Hikaru’ grins, his snaggle tooth illuminated in the flashing lights of the TV. He leans down further, hands warm against Yoshiki’s skin as they drift to the curve of his jaw, cupping in the same way they had before.
What are you doing? He wants to ask, but the darkness will do nothing to swallow up his words and his friends are right there.
Yoshiki leans out of the touch.
Towards the middle of the movie, Yoshiki begins dozing off. Sometime before, ‘Hikarus’ hands had found their way back into his hair from above and Yoshiki hadn’t had the energy to push them away. Now, they sift and curl and lull him into sleep.
He wakes up to Maki exclaiming, “You aren’t even watching!”
He’s craning over Yoshiki, looking down. There is a pressure at Yoshiki’s empty side now, and he groggily realizes that ‘Hikaru’ has found his way down from the bed.
“‘M awake.”
“You were totally sleeping.” ‘Hikaru’ laughs from his right. His weight presses against Yoshiki, heavier and warmer than any blanket.
“Shuddup.” Yoshiki’s eyes slip closed again.
When the movie is over, everyone is asleep.
Yoshiki wakes up to a near-dark room, only illuminated by the scroll of end credits and two bloody pupils watching him.
“You’re still up?” He murmurs. It must be well into the early morning by now.
‘Hikaru’ smiles, “I only sleep when I want to.”
Yoshiki glances at their friends, bodies sprawled across the comforter and bed. His tongue feels heavy as he replies, “Everyone else sleeping wasn’t enough reason?”
‘Hikarus’ pupils flit around the room before they land back on Yoshiki, “Was listening to the sound of your heart.” He says it like it’s the most normal thing ever, “It’s so slow when you sleep. Stays slow, even when I’m near.”
‘Hikarus’ hand lands on Yoshiki’s thigh, “Stays slow, even when I touch you.”
What?
Yoshiki’s blood rushes through his ears, deafening. ‘Hikaru’ seems elated, grin curling like a cat.
“Huh?”
What monster has caught him in the dark?
“You’re so reactive when you’re awake. Your heart beats louder than anything else. It’s slower when I’m on the bed, and faster when I’m down here. Slow when I lean on your arm ‘n you’re asleep, but fast when I touch you and you’re awake. Havin’ to sleep is a pretty big flaw in human survival, I've learned. Makes you vulnerable.”
Silence stretches between them and somewhere, far off, Maki grunts incoherently in his sleep.
“Guess so,” Yoshiki mumbles, trying not to feel the palm on his leg, “Most people aren’t ‘round impurities to be scared of, though.”
'Hikarus' fingers curl and squeeze, “You don’t gotta be scared, ever. Nothing is gonna get you.”
His hand skims up and Yoshiki grabs at his wrist, “What’re you doing?”
It’s a sudden heavy pressure against Yoshiki’s inner thigh in the darkness. ‘Hikarus' pupils are red, buzzing lights.
“It’s even louder now.” The fabric bunches as he moves up, undeterred by Yoshiki’s grip, “Even louder.”
What is this?
“Well… Well yeah. Obviously.”
The hand moves too high now, making goosebumps rise all over, “...Do I make you feel good, Yoshiki?”
It takes a moment for the words to register before Yoshiki pushes ‘Hikarus’ hand off of him.
Had ‘Hikaru’ been waiting to get him alone this whole time? Had his cool demeanor just been to throw Yoshiki off? Had a predator been lurking in the dark, patiently waiting to strike?
Clearing his throat, Yoshiki looks up, “Cut it out.”
Hikaru’s eyes burn through the darkness. He doesn't reply until he has fully leaned back and his warmth has receded, heeding Yoshiki’s demand, “I like you Yoshiki.”
Yoshiki’s breath catches and he glances around the dark room, praying desperately that ‘Hikarus’ voice was swallowed by the TV’s music.
“Don’t… don’t go saying stuff like that.”
‘Hikaru’ leans back further, “I thought that—y’know, in the closet-“ as soon as the word comes out, Yoshiki’s hand rushes to cover ‘Hikarus’ mouth.
“Shh!” He hisses through clenched teeth.
‘Hikaru’ watches him before nodding.
“It’s just… You can’t talk about that stuff when they’re around.” Yoshiki whispers, barely audible.
‘Hikaru’ tilts his head and mumbles against Yoshikis palm, “They’re asleep.”
“We don’t know that, one of them could wake up.”
“Their pulses are slow. All of them.”
Yoshiki can’t argue with that so he lets his hand fall away, “Just…” He trails off and feels something horrible tug at his next words, “Just don’t talk about it. The game. Don’t—just… just act like it never happened.”
Let me forget.
‘Hikaru’ seems indignant, straightening to level an inhuman stare on Yoshiki. “What? But our kiss—”
The intensity of Yoshiki's glare freezes 'Hikarus' words.
This cannot be happening.
Without giving himself time to think better of it, Yoshiki turns to their friends and in a voice loud enough to be heard, announces; “Movie's over.”
Yuuki stirs against her spot on Asako’s shoulder, but nobody else moves.
“Yoshiki.”
There’s that soft voice, yearning and heavy at his back. Purring in invitation.
“Movie's-“ He starts to say, but ‘Hikarus’ hand is on his shoulder. It’s warm and solid and implores Yoshiki to give in.
“Yoshiki.”
‘Hikarus’ voice curls softly around the letters of his name, and Yoshiki bends beneath it.
If he wants to have this conversation, they can have this conversation.
Yoshiki stands, takes ‘Hikaru’s’ hand, leads him quietly out of the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom—locking the door behind them with a soft click.
As long as the door is closed. As long as the lights are off.
As long as no one knows.
Chapter 4: Mixing
Notes:
AHHHHHH HI!!!!!!!!!!!!!
RHAHAHHHHHH HAHHDFKJGHKJFHGLKSJAALKJGKNB,MCNB,JSNLKGHEKL LOLLLLLLLLLOL LOL
This was pretty self indulgent LOL!!!!!!!
....
enjoy..
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In the darkness of the early morning, a thin ribbon of moonlight is the only illumination in the bathroom. It spills across the tile dimly and carves the room in half—a chasm separating Yoshiki from ‘Hikaru’.
The creaks of summer settle louder in the hush of silence. Cicadas singing, wood shifting, the pulsing heat churning all around them. Yoshiki can hear his heartbeat thudding in the small quiet of it all.
‘Hikaru’ must love this.
As soon as the door is locked, Yoshiki turns to face him.
The words that pour out of him sound too loud, “Where… where’re you getting all these ideas? Touching me with our friends around?”
‘Hikaru’ blinks at him, eyes a pale purple in the dim, “What’s the difference? …In my room or in the closet?”
Yoshiki takes a step forward, and ‘Hikaru’ takes a step back. He hits the sink—the same sink that Yoshiki had used to wash away the sin of their seven minutes. ‘Hikaru’ leans his tailbone against it, hands reaching back to hold his body upright on the porcelain lip. His gaze is predatory—like a wolf backed into a corner, all teeth and nowhere to run.
“You can’t be serious. The difference? The difference is that our friends are right there… It's wrong to do it with other people around.”
‘Hikaru’ tilts his head, “Is it wrong if we’re alone too?”
Yes.
Maybe.
I don't know.
Yoshiki is supposed to teach 'Hikaru' the difference between right and wrong and can’t even give him an answer to this.
‘Hikaru’ is forced to fill the silence when Yoshiki can’t offer up a reply, “I don’t understand these feelings, Yoshiki. I’m crazy for you. And, in the closet... Now this body is crazy about touching you and about being touched by you. I really can't help it. I dunno how to help it.”
Yoshiki drags a hand down his face as a surge of heat floods his cheeks. He wishes he were the kind of person who could shrug words like that off, let them slide past without catching. But as it stands, they crash into him over and over again, raising more and more blood until he is sure his face is beet red.
The embarrassment of the flush only makes Yoshiki more frustrated with this whole situation.
“I-“
“Do you like me too?”
What a horrible thing to ask in a moment like this.
With the pale moonlight bending across the planes of his face. What a horrible thing to come out of such a beautiful mouth.
Yoshiki can’t face the question head on, so instead he melts beneath the skin of his own body and responds like the coward he is, “Even if you like me, you can't go touching me all the time… It’s not like that between us, it was just a game, ‘Hikaru’. People our age play it all the time. That's it.”
Yoshiki watches the hollow of ‘Hikarus’ throat pull in as he inhales, “I- I know that.”
“You know that, but you’ve been-“ Yoshiki steels himself but still, he trembles, “-touchy since we played. You can’t be that way.”
Yoshiki feels dizzy, feels like his body may splinter if 'Hikaru' so much as breathes on him.
Why do you have to go and say things like that to me?
‘Hikarus’ left eye begins to wobble with color.
“Is that wrong?”
Yes, it’s wrong.
“Well, it’s-”
“Am I wrong?” ‘Hikaru’ interrupts.
You are. You are a monster who was not made to love.
Have you learned how to love, or is this just how you weaken me? Soften me? Mix me? What am I to you but something to bleed into?
“‘Hikaru’, It’s not like that… It was just-” Yoshiki struggles to find the right words, “-a game for sleepovers with friends it wasn’t—“
An invitation.
A repeating thing.
An indication that I want that from you.
But Yoshiki does want it. He’s been fighting this want far longer than just the past few hours. It’s something he's struggled with for as long as he can remember. Guilt and disgust have been his only constants for so long that he can no longer tell what should and shouldn’t make him feel good—what version of his best friend he can and can't love.
“—It wasn’t something I can do with you… It can’t happen again. You can’t go saying weird things about it.”
‘Hikaru’ bares his teeth, but all his bite is in the tone of his voice. A single wet tear tracks a moonlit path down before blending into his insides. “Oh… I get it. I just thought. I dunno, I just thought it wouldn’t matter to you.” His hand claws down the side of his face, trails of red blooming in its wake. “Because, y’know, I thought you liked it and you really seemed like you liked it and… and I’m real sorry if I was being too forward. I don’t want you to hate me, Yoshiki. I’m really sorry." 'Hikaru' turns his head away and tears drop to the tile floor, “I’m still learning about humans and it was my first time doing anything like that. It was just the way my body reacted. I aint… I had no control of it. I know that it came across weird, but I promise I’d never do anything you didn’t like, Yoshiki. I thought you liked it… y’know, ‘cause your heart was racing and you kept making noise. But—I dunno, I’m still so bad at being a human. Maybe I took it all wrong.”
‘Hikarus’ body is trembling—teeming with panic in a way Yoshiki has never seen before.
I could never hate you.
“‘Hikaru’.”
I’ve tried.
‘Hikaru’ looks up and his pupils are brighter than ever, pulsing like sirens. Yoshiki is captured under them for a moment before he forces himself to look away. To the tiles around them and their faint glow. Once blue with twilight, now mixed with the red of ‘Hikaru’ and bathed in purple.
It's nearly the same color as the bruise on Yoshiki's arm.
'Hikaru' had grabbed him then, had begged Yoshiki not to hate him that time too.
It's the same thing again and again and again.
They can’t seem to find a way to communicate without one hurting the other. It’s an endless push and pull and with each pass Yoshiki loses more and more of himself. With each pass the bruise on his arm burns a shade deeper.
Perhaps there's no way for them to reach the same conclusion when they’re wired so differently.
But really, are they? Yoshiki’s a monster just like ‘Hikaru’.
‘Hikaru’ is slowly losing control, but so is Yoshiki. There’s no way out and they have both cornered each other behind a locked door.
He can't push 'Hikaru' away, can't distance himself, can't stop his heart from pounding, can't forget the warmth of 'Hikarus' body. Can't help the affection that blooms in his chest for a monster. Yoshiki really has never had any control in any of this.
He feels revulsion rise up, and the words taste like bile as his lips wrap around them. But they're the only thing he is able to say with his own will.
“I liked it.”
Gross.
“What?” ‘Hikaru’ rubs the heel of his palm down his cheek, “But—”
“I know what I said,” Yoshiki shakes out the numbness in his fingers and steps forward, “I meant it… And I mean what I’m saying now, too.”
‘Hikaru’ shakes his head back and forth, “I don’t understand, Yoshiki. Humans are so confusing. How can you say and mean two things that’re so different?”
“I mean,” Yoshiki's throat sticks painfully as he swallows, “I like when you touch me.” Gross. “That’s it.” Gross. “But it shouldn't happen again.” Gross, gross, gross.
‘Hikaru’ blinks and tears stick to his lashes, “Why? If you like it ‘n I like it?”
Yoshiki realizes that ‘Hikaru’ must have no idea what the affection blooming between them means. How people would look at them and sneer because of it. How gross and disgusting it is for them to kiss and to enjoy it. How wrong it is for Yoshiki to be attracted to the body of his best friend. His dead best friend who is puppeteered.
Or maybe 'Hikaru' does know and doesn't care. Yoshiki is envious of that kind of free will.
“Because… ‘cause it’s wrong, ‘Hikaru’.”
Who knew he’d have to teach ‘Hikaru’ that sometimes, under certain circumstances, it’s wrong to love a human soul.
‘Hikarus’ face twists as his shoulders rise, “…Doesn’t make any sense. You don’t make any sense, Yoshiki. You act like your body and mind are two separate things.” The weeping glare he levels on Yoshiki burns, “Your body reacts one way and your mind doesn’t let it. Why do you fight yourself? You’re the one creating this. You act like you don’t want the things you want. It’s not wrong to like things that make you feel good. It’s human nature.”
Yoshiki squeezes his eyes shut, but ‘Hikarus’ expression bleeds under his eyelids. He feels angry and terrified and so lost all at once and doesn’t know where to put all of these emotions. But Yoshiki can’t bear them inside his chest any longer, so he spits out, “What do you know about human nature?”
At the haughty inflection of his words, 'Hikaru' inhales sharply and Yoshiki hears the soft surge of something slipping loose from him.
Yoshiki doesn't care. He tells himself he doesn't care.
“Maybe it's not wrong for you—or whatever you are—but for us, it’s wrong. 'Specially when it’s this selfish.”
Selfish to them to keep you around, because they will never grieve.
Selfish to you to keep you around, because you deserve to grow.
Selfish to myself to keep you around, because I will never heal.
Yoshiki’s voice comes out too loud and tears prick his eyes, but he doesn't stop, “It’s wrong for me to feel anything for you, don’t you get it? I keep you around ‘cause of my affection and it hurts other people. It’s wrong.”
‘Hikaru’ sucks in a breath, “You can’t be serious. That’s what I am to you? Something to just keep around because you miss him?”
Yoshiki sneers, “I never said anything about him! You’re the one who keeps bringing him up! This is about me ‘n you, that’s it.”
‘Hikaru’s left eye is completely gone now, splitting apart into darkness, “Well, Yoshiki. It’s pretty damn hard to feel that way when you don’t like me just ‘cause of the body I’m in.”
Yoshiki is trembling. Why can’t ‘Hikaru’ understand the temptation and sin he pushes onto him just by existing. The complete lack of control Yoshiki has because of it.
“The body you’re in has nothing to do with why I don't like you.”
There’s a beat of deafening, horrible silence. Yoshiki can feel sweat roll from his hairline and hears it crash to the floor. The press of summer is suddenly uncomfortably cloying and the blood rushing in his head shatters his eardrums.
Darkness separates pale skin with a wet sound before ‘Hikarus’ insides wriggle out beneath his shirt. They crawl through the hem, colorful patterns eating the light and joining with the mass spilling from his eye. ‘Hikarus’ body doesn’t move, pressed against the sink.
“Ya…” One beautiful, broken eye finds Yoshiki’s, “…So you really don’t like me?”
‘Hikaru’ splits apart, oozing over the floor and slinking towards Yoshiki in a torturously forlorn dribble. The shapes melt into the cracks between the tile and settle across the warm surface of them, leaking into everything like pools of tears. It sobs and sobs until it reaches Yoshiki's feet.
“I-“ Yoshiki steps forward into the trickle. To do what, he doesn't know.
To apologize? To grab 'Hikaru' before he's swallowed whole? To ruin things even more?
To willingly walk into deaths arms, it seems.
“You should leave.”
“‘Hikaru’-“
“Don’t-…” it comes out slightly inhuman, the words pulling tight and flexing high to low “-wanna hurt you.”
But I hurt you.
Yoshiki knows it will hurt both of them. But so does just existing around each other. So does everything.
So, he takes a step towards 'Hikaru', finds his foot deeper in the dark mass and doesn’t flinch away. Feels it crawl up his pants and pull at the fabric, and takes another step. It creeps up his body and sinks into his skin—hypnotic and unfeeling.
He can’t see ‘Hikaru' now. The moonlight has vanished, and with it, the space that once separated them. Darkness presses in—thick, all-consuming, draining the life from everything it touches. It seeps towards Yoshikis soul, pulling at him, and some part of him feels unmoored, drifting far from his body.
"‘Hikaru’,” Yoshiki tries to keep the word from trembling, but he has gone cold. Darkness swallows him, not tearing him apart this time but lapping at his skin.
Somewhere, sounding so far off in the direction of the sink, there is a choked sob.
Despite the way his instincts scream at him not to, Yoshiki steps deeper. It presses against him—soft, keening—begging him to leave, to stay, to stand still and feel until he’s aged into nothing but bone. He wades through the darkness until he finds ‘Hikaru,’ rigid against the sink, half his face swallowed by churning color.
‘Hikarus’ voice is barely audible, “You should leave.”
How am I supposed to deny this?
Yoshiki raises his hand through the shapes, brings it up until it finds the soft curve of ‘Hikarus’ cheek, and holds it. The one eye still visible won’t look at him as it drips with oily, serpentine tears.
Is this the moment Yoshiki dies—the point every smile and brush of fingers has been leading to? He’s softened now, easy to swallow after months of slow mixing. Has ‘Hikaru’ chosen now to do it?
The bruise on his forearm burns. He feels it flare like the heat of summer, traveling up and up and searching for something with a ravenous intensity.
Suddenly, the hungry burn tickles at Yoshikis soul and panicked tears build in his eyes.
Through the blur, Yoshiki glances at the door that he cannot see just to convince himself that it is closed and locked. Then, he does the only thing that he feels may save his life in every sense of the word.
He squints through the fraying flesh, finds 'Hikaru', and kisses him through the mess of it all.
‘Hikarus’ lips are loose and unresponsive, slack and tasting of something bitter. Yoshiki leans back and breathes into the air.
The ‘Hikaru’ in front of him has been stripped down to his most basic, predatory instincts and is locked in fight or flight. Just like Yoshiki has been for hours. For the first time, Yoshiki doesn’t feel quite so alone in his panic.
He wonders if 'Hikarus' in a battle for his soul just like him before thinking better of it... Because 'Hikaru' doesn't have one, so that can't be right.
Maybe he's in a battle for Yoshiki's.
‘Hikarus’ red pupil constricts and focuses on him before he presses forward to claim Yoshiki's mouth again.
The force of his lips merges with the insides closing in on them. Out of the dark, ‘Hikarus’ hands grip his shoulders and drag him closer. Pressed flush together, the writhing mass seals and becomes frenzied with energy. Yoshiki’s arms are trapped between their bodies, and his fingers strain in place. There’s suddenly no space to breathe, no space to escape. No space from the panic and fear and delight that this monster spins in him.
The cold insides that had clung to his skin and clothes now spill into Yoshiki’s mouth through ‘Hikarus'. They slide over his tongue, down his throat, seep into his lungs—find every nerve strung tight with the single question:
Do you understand how I feel?
The cold, delirious sensation spiderwebs through Yoshiki and he struggles against it for a moment. He writhes and bends back, escapes the kiss and is pulled back into it, smacks his hands down until he’s sure ‘Hikarus’ chest is flushed and bruised.
Can you understand me better than myself?
Yoshiki pulls back and sneers and gags until his lungs are emptied of air and filled with something thick.
Can you take this burden from me?
Suddenly, out of breath and choking around nothing, he realizes it's useless. All of it. He’s going to die regardless. He's never had a choice in the how or the why.
If I stop fighting this, will I survive, or will I die?
After a moment where his mind empties to nothing but life or death, he lets himself fully feel it.
I'm sorry.
Beneath his palms, he feels the pounding of ‘Hikarus’ faux heartbeat completely stop.
It's a sorrowful feeling, really. He's sorry for using 'Hikaru' as a substitution. He's sorry for growing to like the monster past the body. He's sorry for hurting 'Hikaru' by not understanding himself better. He's sorry for the way his mind and body react to something so vile. And most of all, he's sorry for wanting to experience it again.
He's sorry for so many things and, hopelessly, he wants 'Hikaru' to understand every single one. To accept every single apology.
The overwhelming pressure inside Yoshiki shifts—from the thunderous pound of a waterfall to the gentle trickle of a stream. It lingers still, but now it’s tempered and steady.
‘Hikarus’ rampant, heartbroken energy does not dissipate though, it merely transfers into his human body instead.
It translates into the way he kisses Yoshiki now. There is nothing slow or explorative about their kiss this time. It's desperate, heedless to Yoshiki’s need for oxygen. ‘Hikarus’ lips work against Yoshiki’s until warmth cuts through the string of cold and his tongue is there. It's soft and wet and cold and warm all at the same time. It sends a ripple throughout Yoshiki's entire body, and he shivers.
Again, he smacks at ‘Hikarus’ chest. Not to get him to stop, but to get his attention.
He needs to tell 'Hikaru' all of these things, to apologize before the sun comes out and everyone wakes up.
To ask him if they can keep this kiss a secret, too.
‘Hikarus’ tongue slides from the corners of his mouth, merges with the dancing shape of his insides, separates, and tangles with Yoshiki’s tongue. After fifteen heartbeats without oxygen, ‘Hikaru’ pulls back. Yoshiki is only able to breathe in half a gasp before he chokes on the mass crawling through his throat. He can feel ‘Hikarus’ insides filling his veins, tightening the fibers of his muscles, melting the tissue of his fat. He can feel it turning him into a jelly and mixing mixing mixing until Yoshiki is part of it all.
He could die and not put up a fight. But the fire trailing through his veins won't let him. The spark igniting inside his chest is too alive.
When ‘Hikaru’ reclaims his mouth, Yoshiki digs his nails into his skin. ‘Hikarus’ eyes blink open from between the dark shadows of his insides and he stares. Right at the tears slipping down Yoshiki’s cheeks and the flush of his skin.
After a second, ‘Hikarus’ bright red pupils blow wide and everything inside of Yoshiki deflates in one instant. It stills and recedes, climbing out through Yoshiki’s throat before slipping back into ‘Hikarus’ body. Yoshiki is left bare as 'Hikaru' pulls back, a trail of saliva tinged red following his mouth.
Yoshiki gasps for air, chokes past his own tongue, and watches spots swim in his vision. He raises a fist to wipe at his mouth and it pulls back spotted with blood.
‘Hikaru’ swallows before pressing further back against the sink in mortification.
“Ah, I… Yoshiki, sorry I- I lost control and did it again. I didn’t hurt you, did… did I? You’re bleeding.”
Yoshiki doesn’t care. He tastes the hot iron of blood on his tongue and licks it across the back of his teeth. Tastes the metallic tinge of it mixed with ‘Hikarus’ horrible insides and relishes in it.
He really should apologize, really should talk through this whole big mess of emotions, but the door is locked and 'Hikaru' is right here. Yoshiki can feel the warmth of his body and the heavy exhales of his breaths and suddenly he is at a loss for words. Suddenly the last thing he wants to do is talk.
It's gross really, how having the inside of your tongue cut up and your throat scraped clean can awaken so many dormant feelings. Can make your body respond in ways it never has before. Yoshiki is incredibly hot beneath his skin now. When he swallows, he can taste 'Hikaru'.
Yoshiki should feel sick, he should leave the bathroom right now and close the door behind him.
But instead he leans forward and cradles ‘Hikarus' body on either side of the sink. His arms are twitching, burning like live wires full of electricity. He has been fully wound up now, pulled apart without being put back together.
‘Hikarus' eyes flit back and forth from Yoshiki’s face to the loose collar of his shirt.
For some reason, the fragile pull of his eyebrows and the quiver of his bottom lip makes Yoshiki feel good.
They should talk, they have so much to talk about. But just like hours before in the closet, Yoshiki is selfish in the way he keeps his mouth closed. It seems being behind a closed door in the dark makes him feel that way.
“I got upset and couldn’t control myself, I uhm-“ 'Hikaru' splutters.
Yoshiki’s grip tightens on the sink behind ‘Hikaru’ as he shifts forward. His bangs fall in his face and ‘Hikaru’ looks like he might raise a hand to move them before he thinks better of it and mutters, “I didn’t… mean to go that far.”
Yoshiki shouldn't like the desperation in his voice. But he's had no control for so long, it's addicting.
“I don’t know what came over me, that time and the time in the closet ‘n at school. I really… I really just keep hurting you, Yoshiki. You’re bleeding, I’m s-”
“Can you stop talking?”
Yoshiki realizes that there might really be something wrong with him. Sweat clings to his skin and spit is lodged in his throat, his breaths come out in short, labored gasps. But his body has never felt so alive.
Shamefully, ‘Hikaru’ raises his hand to cover the side of his face. “Yoshiki… Please believe me. ‘M so sorry.”
Yoshiki can feel his hands shaking, can feel ‘Hikarus’ sides pressed into his arms, can feel a bead of sweat slip down his nose. His tongue works around his mouth until he finds the spot that bleeds and he digs against the wound.
Let ‘Hikaru’ worry, let him stew in it, let him feel bad for the turmoil he’s caused. They can talk through it later.
“Can you… Can you please say something?” ‘Hikaru’ chokes out in a whine.
It really is nice.
Yoshiki isn't in his right mind when he leans forward and licks up the back of ‘Hikarus’ raised hand. Isn’t in his right mind when he watches tears fall down ‘Hikarus’ cheeks and likes it. He has gone crazy, he’s sure of it. He has gone mad from denying his body for so long. He's sure.
Saliva and blood coats his tongue and leaves a wet trail. ‘Hikaru’ stills entirely, spreading his fingers to peek out. Yoshiki sucks his lips to a knuckle and tastes the salt of skin. Tastes it mingle and mix into something foreign. His throat is raw and burns as he swallows it down, but Yoshiki drinks every second of it—exhaling just so he can feel the ringing in his ears intensify.
“Yoshiki..."
Yoshiki’s tongue slides along ‘Hikarus’ thumb, tracing the curve of it until his lips close. ‘Hikaru’ exhales sharply, his hand lifting from his face to cradle the side of Yoshiki’s head. His thumb remains nestled between Yoshiki’s lips, the taste spinning a dizzying haze. Yoshiki swirls his tongue around the finger in his mouth and after a moment of heated confusion, where 'Hikaru' desperately searches for something in Yoshiki's eyes, he presses down on Yoshiki’s tongue. Against the wet heat and blood and saliva there.
“You’re not mad?”
But Yoshiki is mad. He’s enraged by the reaction ‘Hikaru’ elicits in his body and furious that he cannot enjoy it without feeling disgusted. He's furious that the one time he needs to be honest, he can't find it in himself to stop. Furious that he doesn't want to stop.
“Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ watches in rapt fascination as Yoshiki’s nostrils flare and his chest expands in shallow breaths. His thumb strokes to the back of Yoshiki's tongue, sitting there and collecting saliva before pulling out and sliding down Yoshiki’s jaw. Down his neck and to his pulse point where it presses in, slick and cool and red.
Yoshiki is on fire.
“Say somethin’. Anything.”
Yoshiki can feel goosebumps rise across his skin as he breathes out, “Can we…”
‘Hikarus’ bright eyes implore him to continue, “Yeah? Can we what?”
“Can talk later? ...Not right now?”
‘Hikaru’ stills before nodding, his hand dropping from Yoshiki’s neck. He looks away, “You’re right. I get it.”
Yoshiki huffs, "'M tired of talking."
'Hikaru moves to straighten from the sink but Yoshiki leans forward to press his body down. He slots his thigh between ‘Hikarus’ legs and ‘Hikaru’ immediately stiffens, a bright red blush pulling up his neck and into his cheeks. He leans away, but there’s only so far he can go against the sink.
“Yoshiki? I don't get it." 'Hikaru' mumbles, head downturned, "I feel like you’re scared, your heart is racing like you are. I hurt you and I can’t tell if you like me or hate me. But then you excite this body and I can't control myself. I dunno.”
Yoshiki leans forward until he can feel the shaky rise and fall of ‘Hikarus’ stomach. Until he feels the soft contours of every part of his body.
A wonderful feeling.
“You can’t tell?” Yoshiki breathes out and watches the air tousle ‘Hikarus’ hair. They’re so close he could kiss his lips, or his neck, or his jaw. But really, Yoshiki wants to kiss his tongue. To mix part of himself into 'Hikaru' this time. To control it this time, so that 'Hikaru' knows how it feels to be slowly dissolved into a monster.
“See if you can figure it out.”
‘Hikarus’ hand shakes as it rises to Yoshiki’s chest, a solid weight right above his heart. “Am I missing something? I keep touching you even though you tell me I can’t… and you’re not upset? Even when I hurt you?”
Yoshiki wants to savor one good thing while the door is locked tight. To lay his sins bare, to let ‘Hikaru’ stain each one deeper. Then seal them all away in the dark, forgotten forever.
Although he knows it won’t be that easy.
“Just listen and tell me.”
‘Hikaru’s’ fingers dig into Yoshiki’s chest. “It’s racing. But it always is, even when I’m grossing you out. It's like you’re scared and excited.”
Because it always feels good, no matter what. It's horrible.
Yoshiki huffs out a breath and leans down until there is no space between them, until ‘Hikarus’ warmth bleeds into his skin, and shifts down into him. ‘Hikaru’ grunts and loses his grip on the sink, slipping down so that Yoshiki’s thigh is the only thing anchoring him.
What a funny role reversal.
Sweat begins to bead across 'Hikarus' skin, “So… so what you said before..?”
Yoshiki readjusts his grip on the sink and slots their hips together again, “I still mean it.”
“B-“
“Can we just—” Yoshiki is too far gone to feel embarrassed, “...can you forget after?” His hair is slick and falling on his face now, messy and pressed against his forehead. “You… You were right. ‘Bout my mind and body.”
And I really like doing this with you. I can accept that now.
"'M tired of fighting.”
Notes:
OOOO dont hurt 'em. Nothin' too crazy yet. Be chill
I had a lot of fun writing their little fight. Kind of beautiful or whatever... kind of metaphorical.. kind of.. *sobs*
:P
Chapter 5: Okay?
Notes:
*sighs loud so everyone hears*
hey...............................
so has anyone else read the latest update?? i’m sick
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Ah, this is…” ‘Hikaru’ pants out eagerly, his breath condensing in the heat of their shared space, “this is really okay?”
Yoshiki is sure it isn’t, is sure he’ll lose a piece of himself in the darkness of this bathroom. But he nods anyway.
‘Hikaru’ looks up through thick lashes coated in tears and the anticipation there makes Yoshiki’s hips stutter down unevenly.
He isn’t sure how he should move, but the press of ‘Hikarus’ stomach feels good, so Yoshiki slots their bodies together again. Until there is no room to do anything except feel the friction under his clothes.
“I don’t want you to hate me,” ‘Hikaru’ mumbles, but his hands come up to fall on Yoshiki’s waist anyway—a light pressure that makes Yoshiki’s skin burn hot. ‘Hikarus’ touch is pleading, pulling him forward and slipping under his shirt to skim across the hem of his sweatpants. It stops and begs there. The nails draw goosebumps and the fingertips slip past the waistband just a fraction.
Gone is the ‘Hikaru’ who’d been sniveling and pleading for forgiveness. This ‘Hikaru’ is begging for something else entirely.
The desperation in the touch has Yoshiki fighting to control his own body, to hold on tightly to any fleeting rationale.
Yoshiki tries to focus on something besides ‘Hikaru’, but then his eyes land on the mirror behind him and he sees himself, sweaty and lost. The contrast between this reflection and the boy who had scrubbed his skin raw in disgust should be staggering, but Yoshiki isn’t thinking clearly. He studies the stranger in the glass with furrowed brows and burning cheeks.
This version of himself has surrendered wholly to the abandon of perversion.
Past the revulsion, past the self-loathing, only the raw pull towards self destruction remains. If he gives in now, there will be no innocence left to cling to—only the disgusting tether of his attraction, binding him beyond denial.
‘Hikaru’ speaks again and Yoshiki’s eyes fall from his reflection, “Do you hate me, Yoshiki?”
Yoshiki exhales. His chest feels heavy as he sinks his head to ‘Hikarus’ shoulder. His forehead sits there, and Yoshiki looks to the darkness between their bodies as he grinds down in response.
Hadn’t he just told ‘Hikaru’ he didn’t want to talk anymore?
All Yoshiki wants to do is lose himself.
Yoshiki watches as pale purple light dusts the grey of his sweatpants, contouring the fabric there and highlighting the harsh lines of his body. He shivers at the sight, at the heat where they meet, and grinds forward again—watching the tremor ripple through ‘Hikarus’ stomach, watching his hands twitch open and closed as the fabric bunches.
He wonders if this feels good for ‘Hikaru’. If the flexing of ‘Hikarus’ fingers is from stimulation, or if he’s just searching for a better way to latch on.
“Do you, Yoshiki?”
Both of ‘Hikarus’ hands are on Yoshiki’s waist now, steering and edging their soft rhythm into something mind-numbing. Yoshiki watches as ‘Hikaru’ loops his fingers in the fabric to pull his waist forward.
Yoshiki forgets that ‘Hikaru’ asked him a question.
“...Huh?”
“Do… Do you hate me?”
‘Hikarus’ voice shakes. Just like his thighs. Just like his stomach.
“I don’t.”
There’s a moment where ‘Hikaru’ drags Yoshiki’s hips down harder before he breathes against his ear, “Do you hate doing this… with me?”
Yoshiki hates it. He hates everything about it. Really, he does. He hates the way his body is out of control and the way every breath he takes comes out slightly pitched at the end. Hates how the tips of his ears are burning red and how his sweatpants grow uncomfortably tighter for every press of skin. Hates how the low groaning lilt in ‘Hikarus’ question pulls at his gut and makes him want to answer honestly.
“I hate it.”
‘Hikarus’ grip on his sides tightens until it is harsh, nearly bruising, “Stop then... ‘Cause I can’t.”
Yoshiki doesn’t want to stop. It feels good to forget about everything besides the taste on his tongue.
If only ‘Hikaru’ could stop talking, then everything would be perfect.
Yoshiki moves his head so that his mouth is against the side of ‘Hikarus’ neck, “Don’t wanna.”
He presses a wet kiss to the skin—salty, tasting of summer, a flavor Yoshiki has never known before. It’s achingly, unbearably human, and the sound of ‘Hikarus’ groan makes it even more so.
The thrill in 'Hikarus' reaction almost unnerves Yoshiki—it strikes him then, that this is the first time he has dared to initiate something this intimate between them. Sure, he had lost himself and licked up ‘Hikarus’ hand when pulled apart by his insides, but this feels much different, seeped with sentimentality.
The danger of it pulses hot in his chest, but he presses closer, wagering the risk will smother 'Hikarus' line of questioning.
‘Hikaru’ pants and his fingers curl as he whines out, “This isn’t fair.”
Then ‘Hikaru’ tips his head back, baring his throat in a motion sharp with frustration. But Yoshiki knows it’s not surrender, it's an invitation, demand disguised as vulnerability.
Yoshiki obeys, dragging open-mouthed kisses across his skin.
He wants to bend this monster. After a breath of hesitation, his tongue slips out. It traces from the juncture of ‘Hikarus’ shoulder and neck all the way up to his ear, where Yoshiki lingers, panting. ‘Hikaru’ mumbles something limply and his hands pull Yoshiki’s hips back again and again and again. Building and building frantic, urgent pleasure.
“Stop.” ‘Hikaru’ whispers, even as his hands drag Yoshiki closer with a force that refuses stopping.
How can Yoshiki obey, when it’s ‘Hikaru’ setting the pace, ‘Hikaru’ whose grip brands bruises into his skin?
There Yoshiki goes again, having no control in any of this. He lets himself be steered back and forth, hard and soft, fast and slow. Feels the burn of each fingertip in his skin. New bruises to join the one on his forearm.
Yoshiki can feel the vibration of ‘Hikarus’ grunt as he drags his tongue along the underside of his jaw and back down, can feel the uneven rhythm of his faux pulse stuttering. ‘Hikarus’ fingers slide an inch lower, drawing a quiet groan from the battered skin of Yoshiki’s throat in response.
They are in a competition, it seems. Between the fragility of ‘Hikarus’ confession and the steel of Yoshiki’s resolve.
Yoshiki latches onto the hollow of ‘Hikarus’ throat, sucking until the skin blooms dark beneath his mouth. He pulls it between his teeth, bites until he’s sure the blood on his tongue will stain the flesh in retribution. Until the taste of Yoshiki’s saliva and blood outweighs the salt of ‘Hikarus’ skin.
“Ah, Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ whines. His hips roll, deliberate and flushed with pleasure. “The effect you have on this body… I can hardly help it,” His hands flex, harsh and bruising, “I can’t stop when ya make noises like that,” His breath bleeds into the air, hot and thick, “I don’t know how to… What to do with all of this, Yoshiki. In the closet, I wouldn’t… ah, I wouldn’t have stopped if our friends weren’t there.”
Yoshiki presses his tongue to the indent of his teeth on ‘Hikarus’ skin. He wonders if he can tear through the flesh and feel the monster bleed out, “No... no stopping now.”
‘Hikaru’ groans, rolls his head and slips further down the sink, “Feels good, then. For you? You said it did, in the closet.”
Yoshiki can’t believe ‘Hikaru’ even needs to ask. The answer is written clearly between the press of their bodies.
“Stop askin’ me,” It’s not cruel, not even firm—the way it falters feels more like a confession than a command.
“S’rry, just wanna know.” ‘Hikaru’s’ hands drift from his waist band to up and under Yoshiki’s shirt. They falter on the lean muscle there, push in and feel the strain beneath as Yoshiki flexes his body forward, “After everything.”
Yoshiki climbs his mouth up ‘Hikarus’ neck before he finds his lips and mumbles against them, “It does.”
Then they are kissing and it is dizzyingly intimate now. Slow in the wet push of Yoshiki’s tongue into ‘Hikarus’ mouth and the way they slide against each other in time with the grinding of their bodies. ‘Hikaru’ licks at Yoshiki’s bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth, rolls it between his teeth. Strokes into every part of Yoshiki until they are huffing and breathless and impossibly close.
Maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are closed and their mouths are still touching, inhaling each others air, that makes him bold, but Yoshiki asks, “Do you?”
‘Hikaru’ shuffles, “Do I what?”
Yoshiki has truly separated from the rationality of his better judgement, “Do you feel good?”
It’s something he’s thought about before. ‘Hikaru’ is not human, and his desires do not mirror those of people. Yoshiki can’t tell if the heat in his gaze is lust—or something wilder, more primal, a hunger that’s animalistic.
‘Hikaru’ licks at Yoshiki’s lips, sliding his tongue between them and pressing against the cut. Yoshiki flinches at the taste of blood, but when he opens his eyes, ‘Hikaru’ is grinning.
“I dunno how to describe it.” It’s almost said with a laugh.
Yoshiki probes simply because he really, really wants to know the answer. “Could you… could ya try?”
‘Hikaru’ eyes him before straightening, his hands falling from Yoshiki’s skin. “It’s like… me, the monster, I don’t really have any sexual urges. But this body reacts in ways I can’t understand. Like, when you get too close or touch me. ‘N then I can’t stop thinking about it ‘cause my body wants it… feels uncomfortable without it.”
The implications nearly terrify Yoshiki, but the haze smothers the fear before it can bloom. He knows this is bad—knows it spells ruin—but some buried, starving part of him hums with the appraisal. His body thrums with it, every nerve relishing in the recognition he’s spent his whole life aching for from Hikaru.
“I dunno how to act when I feel those things, ‘n my natural instinct is to leave this body to… y’know… consume you. But I always end up hurting you when I do.” ‘Hikaru’ pushes Yoshiki’s hips off lightly and he takes a step back, “I don’t wanna do that again.”
Yoshiki isn’t sure how to tell ‘Hikaru’ he likes it—that he was never mad about it in the first place, that all of his sniveling was pointless, so he stays silent.
‘Hikaru’ almost looks like he’s embarrassed, eyes glancing at Yoshiki before darting away as he mumbles, “I really, really like making you feel good, though. It’s nice… Feeling like you want me.”
Yoshiki breathes in and stumbles back, but ‘Hikaru’ trails after him, “I know you don’t… that you don’t want me in that way. ‘N that’s okay, ‘cause I don’t even know what I’m feeling myself. Dunno if it’s platonic or romantic or whatever. But you mean a lot to me, Yoshiki, and… and it’s really nice.”
Everything in Yoshiki’s body is tight, straining, begging, pulling at something inside and asking for more, so he asks, “But… what about you?”
‘Hikaru’ looks at him. If he’s upset that Yoshiki won’t acknowledge his feelings, he doesn’t let on to it, “What about me?”
Yoshiki’s cheeks are hot, and he doesn’t really know the best way to word his next question, “Physically, y’know… like, when we were touching. Does it—it feels good for you?”
‘Hikaru’ smiles softly and there is too much tenderness in it for Yoshiki’s dirty questions, “I guess so. But what makes me feel the best is doing things to you.”
Yoshiki flips through his thoughts over and over again, glances at ‘Hikarus’ eyes and looks away.
“Does it feel… better for you…” Yoshiki clears his throat, “when I touch your insides? Instead of your body?”
‘Hikarus’ pupils smolder.
Yoshiki knows he could die.
He knows, he knows, he knows.
God, he knows.
But, more than anything, he knows he wants that burning look panting against his skin, licking up his stomach, smearing across his tongue. He wants to feel it against the back of his throat and dripping down until he can’t breathe around it. Reaching so far inside his body that he has no choice but to forfeit his soul.
Yoshiki should hate it when 'Hikaru' drowns him in his insides, when he is pushed to the brink of consciousness. But, for some reason, he doesn't, and the thought of 'Hikaru' taking pleasure in that is riveting to him.
‘Hikaru’ cocks his head and Yoshiki backs up a step. He wonders if ‘Hikaru’ will chase him.
“I know now,” ‘Hikaru’ says finally.
“What?” Yoshiki swallows.
‘Hikaru’ glances down at his hand and the dried trail of blood there. He brings it up and splays his fingers against the mark of Yoshiki’s teeth on his neck, “Your heart. It races because you feel good, don’t you? Not ‘cause you’re scared when I’m inside.”
Yoshiki is suddenly abashed. He feels dirty and perverted, “Don’t say it like that.”
‘Hikaru’ pupils pulse red, “…You had me all worried over nothing.”
Yoshiki looks away, but is unable to hide beneath his bangs because suddenly ‘Hikaru’ is in front of him. Pressing in closer and closer until he is backed against the wall.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” ‘Hikaru’ rushes out quickly as his lips fall to Yoshiki’s collarbone without warning. “I thought you were breathing heavy ‘cause you were scared, but it felt good, didn’t it?”
Yoshiki grunts and his hands flex, fingers pressing to the wall behind him. His body is unbelievably rigid, wound tight, and he can’t help it when his hips buck up at the touch of ‘Hikarus’ tongue.
“I really do make you feel good, don’t I?” A smile curls against Yoshiki’s skin, “The monster I am. You like it? You like me?”
‘Hikarus’ hands fall to Yoshiki’s sides and waste no time snaking up his waist and under his shirt, pulling the fabric looser and looser.
Yoshiki can’t reply because his voice is lost in a low groan when ‘Hikarus’ hands drift up his waist. They track slow strokes. Again and again, warm breath, cool air, hollowed stomach bottoming out at the sensation.
“I promise I won’t hurt you this time.”
This time?
‘Hikarus’ hands are sliding his shirt up now, pulling it to expose Yoshiki’s chest to the warm summer air and the buzz of body heat. The slow intimacy of it is provocative, too provocative, and Yoshiki feels a mix of mortification and anticipation as he presses into it.
This is overwhelming. ‘Hikaru’ murmuring every one of Yoshiki’s darkest thoughts aloud leaves him completely bare. He feels raw, exposed, so he repeats the only thing he can, “Stop talkin’.”
Of course, ‘Hikaru’ does not listen, “I’ll make you feel good. I know I will.”
His hand climbs up through the collar of Yoshiki’s shirt and wraps lightly around his neck. It feels sticky against the saliva. “I’m so glad you like it...”
‘Hikarus’ hand moves from Yoshiki’s neck to his mouth, fingers pressing insistently against his parted lips. After a moment, Yoshiki understands and opens for him. Saliva clings to ‘Hikarus’ fingers as they slip inside, teasing along his tongue, sliding against the sides of his mouth. They push deep, grazing the back of his throat until Yoshiki gags and works around them. He bends back, trying to escape, and ‘Hikaru’ withdraws.
“Ah, I knew it, your heart is racin’.”
Yoshiki’s tongue feels heavy, but it darts out to collect the taste of ‘Hikarus’ skin.
‘Hikaru’ smiles and his lips fall to Yoshiki’s bare chest.
He licks against Yoshiki’s heartbeat, suckling and nibbling and Yoshiki groans, letting his head fall back against the wall. ‘Hikarus’ hand snakes upward again, fingers slick and probing before sliding back into Yoshiki’s mouth, pressing against his tongue and kneading the heat there.
Yoshiki opens his mouth, trying to protest, to say this is too much, that there’s no escaping this sin—but ‘Hikarus’ fingers edge deeper.
He can’t breathe. He chokes on the sensation, tasting his own saliva slip down the corner of his mouth.
‘Hikarus’ tongue pulls at his soul from the surface of his skin, “Ah, I wanna feel it, Yoshiki.” His fingers fall to slide along either side of Yoshiki’s tongue, “Your soul probably burns so bright when your heart races like this. I bet the inside is so warm.”
‘Hikarus’ fingers fall from his mouth and Yoshiki gasps for air.
As ‘Hikaru’ trails his tongue down Yoshiki’s chest, Yoshiki can’t help the way his hips arch forward. But instead of meeting empty air, now he finds his dick pressing against ‘Hikarus’ fingers—the same ones that had been sliding inside his mouth. Damp and insistent through the fabric of his pants, they leave a heat that spreads and pulses.
“But you’re so warm here too, so I think… I think I’ll be able to control it.”
Yoshiki’s face is burning hot, “Ah… stop—hah, stop.”
‘Hikarus’ fingers are long and thin, pressing into the curve of Yoshiki through his pants and curling like the edge of his smile, “Why?”
Yoshiki grunts, “‘Cause this is so… so wrong. You, ah—talking makes it dirtier.”
‘Hikaru’ strokes up, pulls, comes back down, adds friction with his palm and rubs. Yoshiki lets his head hang, the weight of it dragging his bangs forward. ‘Hikaru’ lifts his other hand, sweeping the hair back, palm lingering against the line of Yoshiki’s jaw, “But it makes your heart beat harder when I do. Are you lying again? Or do you like feeling dirty?”
“I—” But Yoshiki can’t get the thought out because ‘Hikaru’ strokes him so sweetly that Yoshiki's throat fills with empty pleasure and bubbles out in a moan.
“You what?” ‘Hikarus’ pupils are burning and predatory, “C’mon, Yoshiki.”
Yoshiki’s shirt falls back down in the absence of ‘Hikarus’ other hand because now it is on his waist, pulling against the band of his sweatpants and all too eager. He can feel the excitement in the way it slips and trembles, teeming with barely contained hunger.
With his left thumb, ‘Hikaru’ slides one side of the band down.
Yoshiki is so hard. He is a puddle melting into the tile, disappearing into the cracks. Nobody has ever touched him here, and he’s sure that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Waddaya want, Yoshiki?” His pants slip down an inch and ‘Hikaru’ absorbs the coolness of the air with his body heat, “I promise I’ll forget about it tomorrow, so just tell me.”
Yoshiki grabs at ‘Hikarus’ wrist, “Gh— ‘Hikaru’, I— wait.”
‘Hikarus’ pupils are twin drops of red blood in the dark, “Why?” His lips find Yoshiki’s again and without a second thought, his tongue pushes in. It slips in time with the stroke of his hand, caressing the roof of Yoshiki’s mouth as his hand curves up and twists.
Yoshiki breaks away and gasps when pleasure unfurls in his gut. His breathing is high pitched and ‘Hikaru’ chases after him.
He feels deranged and wild, feral in a way that only ‘Hikaru’ can only elicit.
“…Too much.” But even as he says it he bucks into ‘Hikarus’ hand.
‘Hikaru’ presses into him, strokes harder, pushes Yoshiki’s hips against the wall until he has nowhere to go and can’t move. Until there is no pace for him to set besides the one ‘Hikaru’ allows.
‘Hikaru’ finds his lips again, smothers his breathing and grunts, “Lemme make you feel good, 'Shiki.”
Yoshiki is too gone, too lost in this feeling. He finds himself nodding—finds himself swallowing down any of his self preservation as he mumbles, “O… Okay.”
‘Hikaru’ smiles as he crouches lower, hands sliding to rest on either side of Yoshiki’s waist. His eyes darken with intent, watching every subtle shift. The closeness presses heat against Yoshiki, and the deliberate steadiness of his hands makes it clear ‘Hikarus’ savoring the anticipation before going further.
He crouches in front of Yoshiki's waist and settles on his knees.
“Okay?” He asks, lightly pushing at Yoshiki’s pants.
Yoshiki feels the fabric slip and swallows.
“I… Yeah, okay.”
Notes:
aaaaa how many chapters can i drag this out??? How much tension can i write before my hands fall off?
btw thank u so much for all of ur kudos and comments! I read every single one and they all inspire me so much to write, luv uuuuuu
Chapter 6: Please
Notes:
Okay so....
...
The time has finally cum...
(mind the explicit rating and freaky tags we don’t do normal human things around these parts ;P)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
‘Hikaru’ shuffles to get more comfortable on his knees, rocking from side to side as he settles under Yoshiki’s hips. When he looks up, his gaze is open, skimming up the length of Yoshiki’s body to land on his face. It sits, watching every imperceptible reaction.
‘Hikarus’ palms fall to the top of his thighs and Yoshikis eyebrows furrow.
They press him back with a warm weight and Yoshikis chest heaves.
When ‘Hikarus’ hands drift from the tops of Yoshikis thighs to bend around the sides, curling in the fabric of his pants, Yoshiki sucks in a breath.
Bright eyes find Yoshikis in the dim light, “Good?”
Yoshikis eyes are trapped, cemented in the fire glinting in ‘Hikarus’ expression. Without looking away, he nods limply.
The implication of the position has Yoshikis mind swimming. This is delicious, sinful, something he never thought he’d experience with Hikaru.
But, with ‘Hikaru’…
Either way he slices it, there’s something inherently wrong about doing this.
Suddenly, uncertainty pushes through the thick haze of lust and Yoshiki looks away. All at once, he regrets starting this. He knows there isn’t any way he’ll be able to look at ‘Hikaru’ the same after tonight—no way he’ll be able to stand himself. He needs to stop this before it goes any further.
Yoshiki opens his mouth, but then he feels a soft tug and his sweatpants slip down. They catch against the press of his erection and Yoshiki winces, hands drawing up to cover the raging blush on his cheeks.
This is humiliating.
He realizes his body is straining, aching beneath his boxers, and wonders when it got so bad. So hard. How he hadn’t noticed until now.
Had it been when ‘Hikaru’ had split apart? When they had kissed with sloppy, wet urgency? When he had seen tears slip down warm cheeks?
Or maybe it had been building since ‘Hikaru’ touched him in the dark—warm palm dragging up his thigh, pupils dilated into an alluring, pulsing red. Maybe that initial shiver had snowballed into this. This horrible, ugly desire.
‘Hikaru’ smiles wide, tugging Yoshikis sweatpants past the bulge. The fabric slides down and puddles around Yoshikis ankles. He meekly steps out of it and ‘Hikaru’ shifts closer.
“You’re hard.” ‘Hikaru’ murmurs.
Yoshiki’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “You don’t—…don’t gotta say it.”
It’s true, but ‘Hikarus’ honest mouth has a way of making Yoshiki tremble. The more ‘Hikaru’ speaks, the more Yoshikis body wants him to.
His indecision begins to dissipate at the glint of 'Hikarus' grin. It curls in his stomach and burrows, promising to be unearthed later.
In its wake, heady desire thrums.
As if perceiving his silent conflict, ‘Hikarus’ gaze drifts from Yoshiki’s boxers to his eyes, “You seem scared.”
Yoshiki looks down between them and flushes. Of course his boxers have some stupid, colorful patterning.
Embarrassing patterns, swirling with polka dots. He really, really hadn’t expected this night to end up like this. If he could go back, he definitely would've chosen a more neutral pair—probably black to disguise the shape of his arousal.
‘Hikaru’ leans closer and his warm breath washes over the front of Yoshiki’s groin. Of course, his dick twitches at the proximity and it is very, very noticeable through the blue fabric.
Yoshiki really wants to die now.
He has half a mind to beg ‘Hikaru’ to save him the trouble and just do it for him. To consume him so he doesn’t have to feel this shame any more.
‘Hikarus’ tongue presses against the swollen skin of his bottom lip, “‘N excited too,” He glances down, “But still… we don’t have to if you’re too scared.”
Yoshikis cheeks are blushing horribly and yet he can still feel blood flowing down. Swelling and warming under ‘Hikarus’ body heat, “Why’re you the one saying that?”
‘Hikaru’ cocks his head and his fingers massage into the tense muscle of Yoshiki’s thighs, “What do you mean?”
His reply is quiet, “Well, I just mean, like—you’re the one who’s…. ah, doing...” Yoshiki is bare in just his underwear and borrowed sleep shirt. The summer air paired with ‘Hikarus’ touch draws goosebumps across his skin and his voice falters.
‘Hikarus’ exhales slowly, “Well, I don’t really… know what you like. So, if I do something wrong, just tell me, yeah?”
Yoshiki gulps, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of ‘Hikaru’ on his knees before him—pliant to Yoshiki’s whims, yet somehow leading at the same time.
Two parts of Yoshiki sing at the sight. One demands he give in to this buzz, to seize ‘Hikaru’ by his hair and pull his hot mouth forward. The other screams in protest, mourning how far gone Yoshiki already is for even thinking something so perverted.
“You won’t… do anything wrong.” Yoshiki mumbles, embarrassed.
‘Hikaru’ grins up at him, “Wrong. ‘M not human, remember? I might open up and eat you.”
Yoshiki narrows his eyes. But even so, his body reacts, “Not funny.”
‘Hikarus’ smile doesn’t falter, not even a fraction. He leans in again, hands sliding up Yoshiki’s sides before settling firm.
Suddenly, his nose presses against the front of Yoshiki’s thigh, right beneath the fabric of his boxers. He breathes Yoshiki's skin in, mouth grazing bare flesh.
Yoshiki jolts, stomach clenching hard at the contact.
’Hikarus’ grip steadies him, “‘M sorry, Yoshiki,” he murmurs against his flesh, “I don’t know what’s good for humans with this kinda thing, but I… I do want to… I wasn’t kidding.”
As if to emphasize his point, ‘Hikarus’ tongue drags out, warm and wet across the surface of Yoshiki’s thigh. It travels up, nudging Yoshiki’s boxers higher along and leaving a damp edge to the fabric.
Yoshiki has never felt anything like this before. His stomach coils and flutters until the pressure climbs up his throat, choking him with the need to swallow it back down.
‘Hikaru’ kneels against him, hands gliding along Yoshiki’s thighs with slow, insistent pressure. His tongue traces wet stripes before lapping inward, tormenting the sensitive skin of Yoshiki’s inner thigh. It drifts closer to the heat at his cock, pausing just short. His warm breath fans across the inseam.
Yoshiki jerks forward and quickly apologizes, “Gh— I’m s’rry.”
This is too much.
‘Hikaru’ doesn’t look at him, his eyes are pressed tight as his nose buries into the embarrassing fabric, “Keep going.”
Yoshiki is so hard that he’s almost humiliated by it—no, he is humiliated by it because ‘Hikarus’ cheek is pressing against the ache of his dick now. The small amount of stimulation is enough to have Yoshikis knees knocking together unsteadily.
‘Hikaru’ seems to take a perverse pleasure in tormenting Yoshiki, lingering as his tongue wets the fabric. His hands move in sync, sliding up and down Yoshiki’s legs, pausing to squeeze at the top where his hips taper into a taut V.
“So warm…” ‘Hikarus’ mouth burns as he shifts, “Your soul is so warm, I feel it even here.”
Yoshiki covers his face, willing his hips to stay still as he keens under the gentle appraisal.
Too much.
“That’s—That’s just my b—” Yoshiki doesn’t get the chance to finish because ‘Hikaru’ sucks at his inner thigh.
Yoshiki gasps, inhales around a groan and rocks his head forward. His bangs fall in a dark curtain and stick to his forehead.
‘Hikaru’ hums against him, lips pressed tightly together as he sucks the fabric and skin beneath into his mouth.
Yoshiki never thought that a game of seven minutes in heaven would lead him to this.
“Ah… you—’Hikaru’.” It’s an impassioned sound, one that will shame Yoshiki later when his mind clears. For now, though, the name wraps perfectly around a moan, slipping out in a slow, breathy drawl.
‘Hikaru’ smiles so hard that Yoshiki feels the sharp edge of his jagged tooth.
“So good,” Spurred on and eager, ‘Hikaru’ shuffles impatiently on his knees, “Wow, Yoshiki. Everything about you… just— .”
A drop of sweat beads down Yoshiki's nose as he looks down. He watches as nimble fingers caress his skin, as white hair shifts to let grey eyes look up.
“You make me so…” ‘Hikaru’ trails off, “…Horny isn’t the right word? …But seeing you like this makes me wanna live inside forever.” He chuffs, moving to dig his nose into the surface of Yoshiki’s lower stomach, “Never wanna be apart. Wanna feel you feel good around me.”
‘Hikaru’ flattens his tongue and glides it up the curve of Yoshiki’s abdomen, pausing at his navel before dipping beneath the band of his boxers. It strokes an inch away from the head of Yoshiki's cock and the warmth of its proximity causes Yoshikis hip to jerk.
His dick presses into ‘Hikarus’ neck, pulling out a sharp cough. ‘Hikaru’ splutters to clear his throat before leaning back on his knees.
“S’rry,” Yoshiki slurs in a drunken haze.
‘Hikaru’ ignores him. He watches Yoshikis face as his hand climbs up to stroke against his dick. His fingers fall on either side, loose and limp to fit the curve.
Yoshiki has nowhere to hide—no excuse for why his mouth has fallen open. No excuse for the way his body presses forward and begs for more.
‘Hikarus’ fingertips are abrasive as they move, creating an almost uncomfortable, dry friction. But when he pushes up and a bead of moisture pulls from the head of Yoshiki’s cock, the fabric dampens.
‘Hikaru’ pauses and stares at it, a harsh swallow sticking in his throat. After a moment, he reaches to swirl the pad of his pointer finger over the damp spot.
At the wet stick, Yoshikis cheeks sting with mortification.
‘Hikarus’ finger massages experimentally, pressing the fabric down into the head. It slips along and traces the round curve, spreading the slick before pulling back. There's a thin string of precum that follows and Yoshiki burns alive.
“Stop—stop messing around,” he huffs out past a shiver.
He needs to get out, needs to take an ice cold shower and sit with this erection as punishment. Maybe if he never gives himself any release, his suffering will be enough to excuse the sin.
Yoshiki moves his hips to pull from the heat as far as he can but the wall at his back gives him little solace.
‘Hikaru’ hovers a few inches away, looking disoriented as his eyes drift down to his hand, mesmerized by the sheen clinging to his fingertip.
“I really do make you feel good,” The words are wistful, barely above a whisper, before ‘Hikaru’ pulls his finger into his mouth.
Yoshiki is paralyzed, simultaneously ice-cold and ablaze. He can only watch as ‘Hikaru’ swirls his tongue around the tip of his finger, sucking with deliberate, sinful practice. When those red pupils lift to meet him, Yoshiki’s gaze snaps away, flustered and overwhelmed.
It sends a rush of hot lust shooting through him.
“Ah, uhm… That’s e-enough, ‘Hikaru’.” Yoshiki grits out, painfully hard and unbearably embarrassed all at once.
When he tries to step aside, two hands clamp onto his thighs, anchoring him in place despite their trembling.
“You think I can taste?” ‘Hikaru’ pants out.
He doesn’t wait for an answer, lips descending onto Yoshiki’s dick. They crest the head, melting into the precum beading beneath. The fabric shifts, dampening under the warmth of his mouth.
“Do you… ah, usually—“ hot breath bathes Yoshiki as ‘Hikaru’ ends his unfinished question with a slow, flat stroke of his tongue.
Yoshiki gasps, tears springing to the edges of his vision.
‘Hikarus’ tongue laps softly, twisting around before sucking through the fabric. The precum coats it and Yoshiki reels at the wet, hollow sound of him swallowing.
“…Ah…fuck…” Yoshiki croons, arching forward as his hips jerk against the pressure. His hands tremble at his sides, grasping for something—anything—to tether his body. On impulse, they tangle in ‘Hikarus’ pale hair, tugging and kneading as he fights against the heat spearing into his stomach.
Eagerly, ‘Hikaru’ buries himself against Yoshiki’s cock through the thin fabric. His tongue drags and laps in hungry circles, collecting everything, leaving the cloth slick and clinging.
Yoshiki tilts ‘Hikarus’ head with the grip in his hair, pulling him down when the sensation becomes overwhelming. ‘Hikaru’ obliges, flattening the surface of his tongue until it’s wide enough to cover every inch. He hums in approval when Yoshiki bucks up and the vibration is enough to leave Yoshiki gasping.
The cresting wave of an approaching orgasm snaps through him. ‘Hikaru’ hasn’t even done anything and Yoshiki is a starving dog, whining for something that he shouldn’t want.
How disgusting.
“‘Hikaru’, ah, wait—hold on—” Panicked, Yoshiki tightens his fist and pulls ‘Hikarus’ head from him.
A long string of saliva stretches between them before snapping, landing to glisten on ‘Hikarus’ bottom lip. ‘Hikaru’ huffs, swiping the pink of his tongue out to collect it.
“Why… Why’d you stop? Did I do something wrong?”
Yoshiki tips his head back, suspended far from his own body. Overwhelmed by the piercing pleasure coursing through him, he can’t even form a response for ‘Hikarus’ question.
The fabric of Yoshiki’s underwear is cool and rubs against sensitive skin as ‘Hikaru’ paws at it. Desperate keening bleeds into his voice, “Can I keep going? You sound so…so… Please, Yoshiki?”
“It’s…” Yoshiki swallows, "too...” His eyes drift to the ceiling, tracing the swirl of summer moonlight. He tries to fixate on it, to dull the heat clawing through his body, to ignore the way his dick twitches, desperate to press back into ‘Hikarus’ mouth. The way it weeps for more.
But it doesn’t matter because ‘Hikaru’ is leaning back into him, “You taste better where your heart races,” His lips drift along the length of Yoshiki’s rigid shaft, up and down in mouthing presses, “S’good at your neck ‘n here,” his tongue laps out, “...beats so hard here.”
There’s only so much Yoshiki can take.
He is being consumed whole and a growing part of him is loving it—is waiting for ‘Hikaru’ to open his jaw wide. To let out the parts of him that can curb this craving.
Now ‘Hikarus’ hand is working beneath his tongue, squeezing against Yoshiki's length while his mouth murmurs heat into the tip, “Do you like when I lick it, Yoshiki?”
Yoshiki’s thighs shake. He keeps his mouth dutifully closed, nervous that if he even opens it to breathe that he will give an answer.
Because, of course, the answer is yes.
“Or I can suck it…” Yoshiki palpitates at the daring edge in ‘Hikarus’ voice, “Do you think I can make you cum? I wonder… how fast your heart will beat when you do.”
His hand presses faster under his chin, slick from saliva but still catching on cotton, “And it’ll be so warm. Yoshiki, will you let me?”
Even though he asks questions, ‘Hikaru’ doesn't look up for Yoshikis reply, too focused on lathering his body in attention and pouring praise.
Yoshiki’s mind is liquid. His body is spinning. He is weightless and the only thing he can feel is the slick press of ‘Hikarus’ lips and the rhythmic massage of his palm.
‘Hikaru’ groans, leaning back a fraction, “Do you like it… you want me to press harder? Or this feels good?” His hand slides further to collect the moisture of spit before delving back down, “Tell me, Yoshiki.”
But Yoshiki can’t talk. His lips open and close a few times but nothing comes out past a gasp.
‘Hikarus’ eyebrows furrow, “Should I just kiss you? I can touch you and kiss you if you want instead.”
Yoshiki flinches and finds his breath just long enough to mutter, “No—hah, Keep going.”
Begging…
‘Hikarus’ red pupils constrict on him, staring through Yoshiki’s flesh to the soul buried deep inside.
He stays like that for a moment, watching Yoshikis cheeks grow redder and redder at his small confession. And then, like a dam bursting, one of his pupils splits apart and trickles out into small bits of color.
‘Hikaru’ stiffens and raises a hand to cup the insides as they seep out.
“S’rry— I… I didn’t mean to, you just… let me get—”
Yoshiki buries one of his fists back in ‘Hikarus’ hair and forces him to look up. He watches the color lap towards him and trembles at the sight of slick shapes licking out.
‘Hikarus’ eyes burn molten as he leans against the press of Yoshikis palm—watching and waiting.
“Please… Please keep going. I want you to.”
‘Hikaru’ blinks and the insides spill from him faster and faster. He starts to pant, leaning back and holding a hand to cover his eye. The shapes easily slip between his fingers, “Wait.. wait—”
Yoshiki tugs harder, his hesitation unraveling thread by thread under the ache building inside him. He doesn’t want ‘Hikaru’ to stop—not when he’s only just begun to bare himself, not when the pressure in Yoshiki’s gut is trembling on the edge of release.
His voice is hushed, broken by need, selfish in its plea as he breathes, “If you keep touching me like this… I’ll—I’ll definitely…”
He is humiliated for admitting it out loud—but, for some reason, that makes it all the more alluring.
Past ‘Hikarus’ body, past grey eyes and a snaggle-toothed grin, Yoshiki aches to feel the monster unravel him—tear him open and fill every hollow until there’s nothing left untouched.
‘Hikarus’ insides climb Yoshiki’s thigh, winding over his hips and spreading across his torso before pressing firmly into the damp fabric of his boxers. The twitch of his cock is immediate, betrayed by the sharp flick of his hips as he chases the rolling shapes that undulate against him. When the mass swallows his lower half whole, Yoshiki’s grip loosens, his hand slipping weakly from 'Hikarus' hair.
The surrender is all the permission 'Hikaru' needs. His mouth descends to join the writhing insides, lips sealing over the hardness straining against damp fabric.
Warmth cuts into the cool slickness. The dual sensation is so blinding that Yoshiki reels and his breath tears from him in ragged bursts. He teeters on the edge, helpless against the overstimulation, every nerve alive and burning. With so little experience, so much pent-up want, he fears this will undo him too quickly. Before it’s even truly begun.
He wants to slip off his boxers, to feel the sensations on his bare skin but can’t think to stop, not when ‘Hikarus’ tongue is climbing up his shaft. Not when his insides are squeezing at Yoshiki, tickling the sensitive skin of his thighs, pulsing in time with Yoshiki’s heartbeat.
More precum dribbles from the head of Yoshiki’s dick and he feels it get lost in the darkness, lapped up by the flat of ‘Hikarus’ tongue.
“So good Yoshiki. You sound so good, feel so good,” ‘Hikaru’ is rambling now, in between hard strokes and sucks, “Taste so good. Your heart is.. Ah—Can I go in?” He sucks at the head again, swirling his tongue as his insides climb up and up. Yoshiki’s shirt stretches from his skin and his body is wholly exposed to the pressure. The intrusion leaks into his skin and burrows against every curve of his body before snaking against his lips and pressing.
It sits and begs there, curling against his bottom lip.
“Can I Yoshiki? Just a little. Please. I’ll just touch… Just touch—” ‘Hikaru’ halts immediately, words falling off in a groan when Yoshiki obliges and opens his mouth to the pressure.
He tries his best to relax as it pulses down his throat. It stretches and scrapes and burns. But Yoshiki lets out a muffled yelp when he feels it spread through his arms and legs before burrowing into his chest. It slips under his rib cage and seals over each valve of his rampant heart, clogging his veins and filling everything.
Even though he had been expecting the pressure, it still throws him off balance and he stumbles back into the wall.
“Yeah… Yeah, good.” ‘Hikaru’ slurs, chasing Yoshiki’s boxers even as his legs begin to give out, “...So warm, I’ve never—hah—never… consumed anything as beautiful as you.”
Yoshiki tries to hold himself up, but he is being drowned and ‘Hikarus’ mouth is so warm and wet and everything is just too much—too much as ‘Hikarus’ insides bite into the burn at his chest and swallow.
“Can you take more… Gh— Just a lil more, Yoshiki?”
Yoshiki groans and his knees buckle beneath him. He slumps, pushed down further by the insides grappling for purchase in his body and slides to the hard floor.
‘Hikaru’ leans back, sat on his knees between Yoshiki’s extended legs.
Dimly, Yoshiki hears ‘Hikaru’ form a question that ends with something that sounds like his name.
‘Hikaru’ slides cold and wet inside him, all around, grabbing at his consciousness and tugging.
“—iki.”
There are warm palms pressed into his knees now, spreading his thighs slightly.
Yoshiki gasps, teetering on the edge between consciousness and surrender. But this time, it doesn’t terrify him. Instead, he leans into the sensation, letting every inch of his body stretch and pulse with the fullness.
It feels so good.
He feels his eyes roll back, his head hit the wall behind him. His legs spread even wider and—what was he doing in the first place? Had there ever been a version of himself to exist before this cool weight slipped inside and claimed him?
Grey eyes cut past the blur and he tries his best to focus on them as they bore down. The red pupils there tremble, dilated wide and watching. He sees ‘Hikarus’ lips move but can’t focus on anything because his throat, his lungs, his ears, his everything is so full and overwhelmed.
‘Hikarus’ hand is on Yoshiki’s dick again. But, now he has slipped past Yoshiki’s boxers and his palm is right on bare skin. ‘Hikaru’ moves to curl his fingers around the damp length before pausing and pulling back.
Yoshiki tries not to cry out in protest, head falling and breathing shaky.
It’s then that he hears ‘Hikarus’ voice, warbled through the insides streaming from his eye, his neck, his mouth, “...Yoshiki.”
Yoshiki swallows—something that is very hard to do around the pressure in his throat— but it flattens under the muscle and becomes nonabrasive, melting into his flesh, “...‘H…Hikaru’.”
He wants to ask ‘Hikaru’ why he stopped—to beg him to occupy his body and melt him into nothing but pleasure.
But he doesn’t have to because ‘Hikaru’ brings his hand up to his mouth and pulls, spitting a line of saliva into his palm. It falls before he slides his hand back into Yoshiki’s boxers and wraps his fist around the throbbing weight. It’s so wet and so warm and Yoshiki feels tears prick his eyes as he thrusts up weakly, too dizzy to do more than take and feel.
“Not… hah… gonna… Can’t stop, Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ is splitting apart, a figment that is shattering and rehoming itself in Yoshiki. He can feel the pieces scrape at the heat of his soul, pulsing and careening, latching on with desperate fingers and digging into the warmth. “Feels so… so good,” He pulls up on Yoshiki’s slick dick and a feeling so wonderful blooms.
‘Hikaru’ grunts alongside Yoshiki, bowing forward and swiping his thumb over the head of Yoshiki's cock, “Like that?”
The pressure of ‘Hikarus’ insides drips down through Yoshiki and puddles in his waist, tugging at the pulse of his pleasure. It burrows into the gathering heat and ‘Hikarus’ hand stills.
“I feel it,” ‘Hikaru’ all but moans, “It feels best for you when I…” He licks his lips, “When I do it like this.” Then he refixes his hold and pumps, slow and long.
‘Hikarus’ spit slicks the skin and an obscene squelching sound makes Yoshiki’s gut clench. His muscle constricts around the shape of ‘Hikaru’ inside him and he feels it thrash.
“Holy shit, holy shit—” ‘Hikaru’ is feverish, clinging to the sight of Yoshiki fighting to maintain hold over his own body.
Yoshiki feels cum dribble from his dick and slip down his stomach. ‘Hikaru’ is quick to swipe it with his finger and add it to the lubrication of his hand as he pumps up and down, up and down, “Wanna, ugh—feel you cum so bad.”
Yoshiki’s head lolls forward and he blinks his eyes open. He feels so good. So good. Too good. He’s not sure how he’ll ever be able to live without this feeling ever again. He wants to swim in it. To hear the wet slick of ‘Hikarus’ hand pumping his dick and the mumbled appraisal spilling from his lips forever.
He should be more scared than he is when he feels his heartbeat begin to stutter. It skips in his chest, faltering under the pressure of ‘Hikarus’ lust.
But for some reason, it pushes Yoshiki closer and closer to the edge.
‘Hikaru’ strokes up one final time before crouching and pulling Yoshiki’s boxers down enough for the cool air to skim his skin. If Yoshiki were in his right mind, he’d be mortified because his dick is begging and pulsing against his stomach and ‘Hikarus’ wild eyes are watching it twitch. But Yoshiki can’t think straight, especially with his throat closing and the edges of his vision spotting black.
‘Hikaru’ bends at the waist and slots his hot lips over him. It’s the first time his tongue has touched without the barrier of fabric and Yoshiki’s fingers curl limply at his sides. He wants to cry out, but can’t make any noise. He rasps and tastes iron blood.
‘Hikaru’ looks up, eyes dark and swimming as his hand holds the base of Yoshiki. His mouth presses down, down, down, until the back of his throat constricts around him. The muscles pull in time with ‘Hikarus’ inside unfurling and curling in his chest. ‘Hikarus’ tongue runs up the length and Yoshiki thrusts up when pleasure bleeds through him.
‘Hikaru’ pulls off with a slick pop, rubbing at his lips with the back of his hand.
Yoshiki goes to apologize for a third time, but ‘Hikaru’ speaks first, “Wanna fuck my throat?”
Yoshiki chokes out and blinks to clear his vision, he can hardly see through the mass of insides inhaling them, “Wh—what?”
“I won’t gag… I don’t think,” ‘Hikaru’ smiles sweetly, but saliva is slipping down his chin and the curl of his lips looks anything but innocent, “So use me.”
“You don’t—hng…” Yoshiki’s heart kicks to a stop before starting back up. He wobbles and leans back, “—don’t gotta do…”
‘Hikaru’ braces his hand on Yoshiki’s thighs and leans in to wrap his lips around him. So warm and wet that Yoshiki thrusts up on instinct and ‘Hikaru’ hums, the warm edges of his throat vibrating and pulling a groan.
His insides bleed through Yoshiki, kiss his skin, wrap around his torso until everything is so cold except for the heat of ‘Hikarus’ mouth.
Yoshiki is too weak to do anything more than shallowly thrust up once, twice, three times, before he can’t feel his own body anymore.
'Hikaru’ laves him with heated attention at his mouth, working until his lips press flush against the base of Yoshiki’s cock and his nose smears into his stomach. Yoshiki can feel him working around a gag, but he doesn’t pull back—he keeps the pressure, keeps milking the heat.
When spit bubbles past ‘Hikarus’ lips and splatters warm against Yoshiki’s skin, the shapes inside him surge. They comb through Yoshikis body, rifle through his soul, snuff out his pulse only to kick it back harder.
The bruise on his forearm spreads, pulsing outward until Yoshiki feels it not as a mark but as a single organ, a new part of himself beating.
“Fuck…” Yoshiki pants, barely audible through the heavy weight of his tongue, “I’m…m—”
‘Hikaru’ pulls, slurps up, curls his tongue, pulls free of Yoshiki’s cock. His hand quickly fills the space, using his spit to pump, “Please, Yoshiki, you gotta...”
‘Hikarus’ insides are begging Yoshiki for his release, curling inside his abdomen like slipping fingers and pressing until every vein is taut with explosive need.
“Need to feel it…”
It only takes a few more seconds before hot pressure unfurls all throughout Yoshiki and he is gasping breathlessly.
“Come on,” ‘Hikaru’ pumps harder, digs his insides horribly, wonderfully deeper into Yoshiki.
“Come on,” His lips purse and he spits down onto his hand as it strokes, liquifying the friction and adding slick sounds to the air.
“Come on,” It’s a chant now, praising Yoshiki, praying to him with reverence.
It’s the muffling of his very soul, the separation from himself, that makes Yoshiki cum. He forgets who he is, what he is, splits from everything that isn’t ‘Hikaru’.
‘Hikaru’ is all he feels, wrapped around his body all over. ‘Hikarus’ tongue catching the hot cum, ‘Hikarus’ eyes drinking in everything, ‘Hikarus’ insides suffocating every breath.
‘Hikaru’ is groaning louder than Yoshiki, relishing in their shared pleasure as Yoshiki’s soul burns hot and livid, angry with lust and life.
It struggles and fights through Yoshiki’s orgasm, through the swarming pressure of ‘Hikaru’.
“Ah, hah… Yoshiki… ah, I can’t,” ‘Hikaru’ huffs, cum slipping from his tongue as his eyes squeeze shut.
His insides are roiling, tearing from him, splitting open worse than ever before until his body is nothing but the lingering heat and pressure.
Yoshiki’s soul burns bright, then it dims. It sinks down, pulses faintly in his chest and splutters.
Yoshiki’s vision spots through the pleasure. He is so weak. His pulse is barely there and even the rush of blood through his ears has silenced. Now, everything is a blissful quiet.
Yoshiki isn’t himself when his eyes slip closed—isn’t plagued by the worry of tomorrow when ‘Hikaru’ swallows him whole.
Yoshiki’s head knocks to the side and he blacks out.
Notes:
okay. listen to me...listen.gn..
I mean I have nothing to say for myself. I dggifhdkjhgbnhhhghggnnhhghhh
Chapter 7: Death
Notes:
HIIII my wonderful beautiful amazing stunning reader (YOU) quick little comment, this fic was originally a one shot but (obvs) it isn’t anymore so i went in and changed some stuff in the first chapter. if you read BEFOREEE that change then all u have to know is that this sleepover is 2 days and over the course of a weekend! so this is just night one
also! i made a playlist for this ficcccc pls listen if you’d like <3 i filled it with songs that inspired my writing
good luck reading! i’ll cry with u
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“—shiki.”
Hot liquid slips from Yoshiki’s nose… Or at least what he thinks might be his nose.
Is that his mouth?
“God… hear—iki?”
Fat drops of something thick splatter on his forearm. It burns against his ice cold skin.
“Fuck—…k!”
He feels something inside him shift—feels fingers stirring his gut.
Someone is holding him, pushing something cool and wet up his hips. Or maybe thats his thigh. Or maybe this feeling isn’t part of him at all.
Maybe this isn’t his body at all.
“Can yo— …e?”
The words bleed off.
Yoshiki can’t understand. Nothing sticks. His head’s cotton, buzzing and soft. Everything’s muffled, thick and distant.
“List… gett—”
He’s being held up now, pressed against something solid. A soft pressure spreads warmth across his…his chest? His legs? No, his waist. Definitely his waist. His skin twitches beneath the touch.
Shaking hands clutch at him, fingers digging in, clumsy and frantic as they situate the fabric.
Yoshiki feels warm body heat press into his back. The rush of air from being picked up. The cool surface of something under his legs. His back slumps and he hears a clink.
The voice is clearer now and, dimly, Yoshiki wonders who it is.
“Hold on—just… wait.”
…With the way the words croak in a sob, it must be ‘Hikaru’.
Trembling skin presses against Yoshikis lips. The touch is hard and salty, Yoshiki wants to dart his tongue out to taste it. To remind himself he’s still alive—but he can't move. The touch blows air into his mouth, but something is in his throat… something that stops it. It clogs his windpipe and writhes against the intrusion. He feels himself choke.
Yoshiki breathes in nothing but blood as fingers come up to close his nose tight. There's another puff of air that pushes into his throat.
Nothing happens.
“Fuck. How do I—”
Wet tears fall on Yoshiki’s cheeks, but they aren’t his own.
He wants to tell this sobbing voice and trembling pair of hands that he’s alive, but they retreat with faltering steps.
He's not sure how much time passes. His eyes move behind his eyelids and search for something, anything. But everything is dark and quiet. ‘Hikarus’ voice and touch are gone now, but the press of his insides remains. They stroke mindlessly inside of Yoshikis body and strain to get out.
Yoshiki fights to steer through the wreck of himself. Everything caves inward, swallowed by the bruise on his arm. Colors swim out from it—brilliant, merciless—seeping beneath his skin until his blood no longer feels like his own.
Everything is part of a body that isn’t his own, now.
There’s the flick of a switch and a bright light sears behind Yoshiki’s eyelids. He flinches inwardly and recoils.
“Oh m… d.” Comes a voice that isn’t ‘Hikarus’.
Yoshiki hears urgent footsteps before a soft hand cups his cheek, tilting his face upward. Internally, he winces as the lights burn brighter. They make the pieces of ‘Hikaru’ behind his temples writhe.
“What t…” This voice is shocked. “—he… do to him—”
Yoshiki feels his fingers twitch. He wants to reach out. To see who the person with such gentle hands is.
His body hopes it’s ‘Hikaru’, but his mind knows it isn’t.
His body aches to cling to ‘Hikaru’. To feel whole again. Without him, everything feels hollow.
“—mething… Don’t just stand... Give me—”
Somewhere near the sink, water starts to run. There’s footsteps, then something cold and wet is pressed against the side of Yoshikis mouth.
He shifts. His eyes flutter in an attempt to open, but the mass snaking behind his temples refuses to budge.
They are not his eyes anymore. They belong to the impurity inside him.
“Yoshiki? Are you…we—hospital?”
This isn’t right. He feels his soul splutter and burn.
“We can’t—”
When the cold feeling falls from Yoshiki’s mouth, he fights against the pressure. He pushes, wills his mind through the sludge—begs his heart to break free of the pulsing shapes. To beat its own rhythm again.
There’s the heavy pounding of footsteps.
Yoshiki manages to crack one of his eyes open a fraction. His vision swims, unable to adjust to the light. He focuses just enough to see red blood on his shirt and the pale skin of his arms.
…But one isn’t pale anymore.
The right one is mottled with color now.
Maroon? …No, purple.
What is that? A stain? When had… When did…
It’s the bruise.
“—Can’t!? Haven’t you done enough!? I thought… were good—”
There’s a loud clapping sound—a foot on tile? Or maybe a hand on the wall?
Did ‘Hikaru’ slip?
“Fix this… something. Or I’m taking… —pital.”
A hush falls and Yoshiki manages to crack open his other eye. The light makes the pounding in his head surge.
Yoshiki feels another hand on his cheek, but this time it's cold—ice cold. It steals his breath and his eyes flutter, struggling to stay open but sliding shut as the touch tilts his face upward.
“...orry.”
He’s never heard a voice sound so devastated.
There is a pulling sensation throughout his body, like the air is being sucked from him completely and leaving him a thin husk. Yoshiki feels something cool tremble from his lungs, not air—it’s too thick to be air. It snakes out, works its way through his wind pipe, and slips out of his mouth, unclogging his throat.
It’s a horrible feeling—not sharp like pain, but deep, like a piece of him snapping.
He coughs and this time blood rains across his lap.
The buzzing in Yoshiki’s head lessens and the voices sharpen into something he can make out.
“Oh my god. Is that it?”
Who is that?
“I—I dunno.”
‘Hikaru’.
He sounds broken and fractured, voice barely understandable.
Yoshiki wants to see him.
“Well figure it out! Are you only capable of hurting him?”
He hears ‘Hikaru’ suck in a breath before his cool hand curls harder into the side of Yoshikis face.
Suddenly there is an agonizing, white hot pain. It climbs down every nerve, ignites every cell in Yoshikis body and burns the impurity swimming inside. Beneath the fire, his heart trembles and pulses. It dims before burning hot.
It burns and burns and burns.
It burns.
He feels a sudden, wrenching disconnection from ‘Hikaru.’ His mind clears and his heart settles into a meek rhythm just before ‘Hikarus’ insides surge up and spill from his throat. Yoshikis body curls in on itself and he heaves out wet wretches that taste like iron and smell bitter.
He feels ‘Hikarus’ hand retreat from his face and blinks his eyes open when the coughing subsides.
Yoshiki realizes he’s slouched on the toilet seat, his own blood splattered across his lap. ‘Hikaru’ crouches before him, pale as bone. The only color on his skin is the fresh bruise blooming on his right cheek. Instinctively, Yoshiki reaches out to touch it. ‘Hikarus’ skin is cold and clammy, slick with sweat and tears. His eyes are bloodshot, rimmed with moisture. His bottom lip trembles and snot trails from his nose.
‘Hikaru’ leans out of the touch and Yoshiki lets his hand fall away.
“Yos…hiki…” ‘Hikaru’ breathes, voice breaking into a hiccup. “You’re alive? You’re okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“...I—” Yoshiki’s voice sounds scratchy, so he clears his throat. “I think so.”
There’s a shuffling. ‘Hikaru’ glances back and his shoulders slump. He straightens and steps away without another look. Behind him, Asako stands with her hands on her face and her shoulders trembling through sobs.
Yoshiki blinks, slow and drowsy.
…Asako’s here.
Asako’s here.
Fuck.
It all rushes back.
The white-hot, blinding fire of lust. The warmth of ‘Hikarus’ tongue. The relentless pleasure beneath his fingers. The filthy core of Yoshikis orgasm.
Yoshiki had been stripped, hadn’t he? His pants had been discarded and ‘Hikaru’ had pulled down his underwear, right?
Asako’s right here.
So fast it makes his head spin, Yoshiki looks down at his waist. Thankfully, his pants are back in place. The only thing staining him guilty now is his own blood.
“Yoshiki?” Her soft voice pulls him up as she walks closer. “Are you okay?” Her bloodshot eyes flick to the twisting bruise climbing his forearm. It’s dark and angry now, branching off from the original shape. Yoshiki flexes his fingers and watches as the veins in his arm shift beneath it. The bruise doesn’t look fresh, it matches the color of the old one.
Like it’s been here the whole time.
“Yeah.” Comes his reply, too enraptured by the twisting color.
His skin looks rotted.
She sniffles, “What happened? ‘Hikaru’ wouldn’t tell me… he’s—he’s….”
Yoshiki looks up, first at the sullen shape of ‘Hikaru’ backed away from them, then at Asako. Her hair is mussed from sleep, dark circles under her eyes, and her shirt ruffled. Thick streaks of tears mark her pink cheeks.
Yoshiki wonders how late it must be and feels horrible for waking her.
He’s fine, after all. And, seriously, what can he even say?
I’ve started feeling things I shouldn’t—feelings for this terrible monster. I like the way he touches me. I even asked him to. But it went too far and I almost died. And yet, I don’t regret it.
He can’t say any of that.
Yoshiki sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and thinks for a second, his brain too sluggish to come up with anything better than— “‘Hikaru’, he… he woke up with a nightmare.”
Asako blinks at him and brings down a cloth spotted with blood to his face.
Yoshiki’s heart had started up so suddenly that now he feels too hot. The cool fabric is a relief on his skin.
“He what?”
Yoshiki swallows and lets Asako wipe at the dried blood on his throat, “He woke up with a nightmare and… his insides started coming out—”
Asako’s hand stills, “His what?”
‘Hikaru’ mumbles something behind them, and Asako whips her head around. “What didya say?” Her voice cuts sharp, jagged in a way Yoshiki has never heard from her before.
‘Hikaru’ wont look at them, his eyes are downturned and his hands are clasped so tightly they bleach white at his sides, “The… stuff you saw come out when I—when I brought him back.”
It’s Yoshiki’s turn to speak. “When you what?”
‘Hikaru’ shrinks a little. “I, uh… I think you were in the space between life and death.” His shoulders shrug up, “It’s something that happens to… things like me.”
Asako wipes the blood from Yoshikis collarbone and he watches her eyebrows furrow.
“Y’know… impurities.” ‘Hikaru’ finishes.
“Yoshiki isn’t an impurity.” She looks over her shoulder, “You are.”
‘Hikaru’ steps back, “I—I know that, of course. But…uh, when we… when we…ugh—”
Asako fists the cloth in her hand and straightens to stand, “Spit it out!”
‘Hikaru’ flinches and his eyes dart to Yoshiki. They linger for a second before squeezing shut. A heavy tear slips past, “...M s’rry.”
Asako tosses the bloody washcloth into the sink and storms to stand in front of ‘Hikaru’. Her hands grip the collar of his shirt, trembling and stained red. “You almost killed him, and you’re seriously the one crying?”
At the way ‘Hikaru’ shrinks back, something in Yoshiki threatens to snap. He blinks slowly and croaks out, “Please… just listen.”
Asako looks over her shoulder at Yoshiki, face burning a livid red, before reluctantly dropping her hands.
‘Hikaru’ looks down at the floor, “Impurities we… I can’t die. It’s more like just changing forms. But for humans, It’s not the same. When I… uh, went into Yoshiki, I mixed with him.”
Yoshiki huffs. He knew this would end horribly, knew he’d lose himself beneath ‘Hikarus’ touch—and yet, again, he doesn’t regret it. It awakened something buried so deep within him that regret feels impossible. His soul feels cracked open, spilling free from the shell it has been trapped in his entire life.
Kissing, touching, being with ‘Hikaru’ is worth losing himself for.
“Mixed?” Asako shrills.
“Er.. yeah, like he became part of me. That’s why when he almost… he almost—” He hiccups and another tear streaks down, “...human souls can’t survive death, but impurities can. When that much of my insides were in him, we were essentially the same body… Y’know—mixed. So, when his heart stopped, he didn’t die.”
“My heart stopped?” Yoshiki whispers, and both pairs of eyes snap to him. ‘Hikaru’ takes him in—his bruised arm, his bloodied shirt, the ragged wheeze in his throat—before looking away again.
“Just for a second…”
Asako seems incredulous, looking between the both of them, “You almost killed him ‘cause of some nightmare?”
‘Hikaru’ makes a strained noise in his throat and Yoshiki answers for both of them, praying that Asako can’t see the lie painted in his words. “I told you earlier, in the kitchen, he has a hard time controlling himself.”
‘Hikaru’ nods limply and finishes, “And—and I started splitting apart in my sleep… so Yoshiki brought me in here so I couldn’t… uhm, hurt you guys.”
Asakos gaze peels ‘Hikaru’ apart, eyes scrutinizing. “So you would’ve hurt us? Is it even safe for us to be around you? Is it safe for Yoshiki to be around you?”
Yoshiki feels his heart stutter unevenly from the trauma of the past few hours as he stands up. Yoshiki has to balance himself on the wall, “He—It wasn’t his fault, Asako.”
She looks at Yoshiki like he’s lost his mind. Which, fair, because he probably has. “What do you mean ‘It wasn’t his fault’?” Her fingers come up into quotation marks. “He stopped your fucking heart, Yoshiki. We need to—We need to… Fuck! I don’t know!” Her hands fist into her hair, pulling so hard that Yoshiki winces.
He steps forward, wobbles a little, and reaches his bruised arm out to touch her before thinking better of it. He switches so that it's his unmarred hand that falls on her shoulder. His grip is unsteady, but he hopes that he can bleed some kind of security into her. “But I’m okay, Asako. Really.”
She glares up at him, “You’re okay this time. What about next time? What about the time after? Look at your arm, Yoshiki! You’re covered in blood and all bruised up, how can you say you’re okay?”
He offers her a small, closed smile. “Asako, really, I—”
“She’s right,” ‘Hikaru’ interrupts. His voice is distant, hollow. He stands backed into a corner with his shirt discarded.
Yoshiki glances at the pale expanse of his skin and exhales as his eyes catch the dark slit at its center. Asako gasps, pressing her hands over her mouth.
“What are you—”
“Asako’s right, Yoshiki. I’ll just keep hurting you.”
Yoshikis blood runs cold. The gleam in ‘Hikarus’ eyes, the tremor of his hands as they rise toward the slit in his chest, heralds nothing but tragedy.
‘Hikarus’ fingers sink into the flesh, plunging deeper until his wrist vanishes into the dark cavern. It twists and searches before he winces and bends forward. Teeth gritted, ‘Hikaru’ groans and a wet, tearing sound spills from his insides.
Yoshiki trips over his own feet, lunging toward ‘Hikaru’. His hands clamp onto his shoulders before slipping up to his jaw. Yoshiki tilts ‘Hikarus’ head up and the red lights of his pupils flicker.
“‘Hikaru’!?” Asako hisses from behind them.
“‘Hikaru’? What are… what’re you doing?” Yoshiki pants, his hands sliding over clammy, pale skin. They move from ‘Hikarus’ jaw, down his arms, and trace the cool slit in his chest. He presses his palm to the unopened flesh above it and expects to find the hammering thrum of a heart there, but feels nothing.
‘Hikaru’ is sweating so hard that Yoshiki feels a drop fall on his bruise. It tingles when it melts into his skin.
“Hold… Hold on. Gimme a second.” There's a slick pulling sound, a wet hissing, and a sharp snap. ‘Hikaru’ gasps, hiccuping around a pained sob before pressing back. Yoshiki steps after him, but ‘Hikaru’ pushes him away with his free hand.
“Don’t…don’t.”
Yoshiki opens his mouth to protest, but ‘Hikarus’ hand struggles from the cavity. Grappling shapes coil around it, tugging insistently to pull it back inside. They cling to his skin, tightening as he stretches his hand further out. Then, with a sudden snap, the shapes wither and slip silently back into the dark hollow of his chest.
‘Hikaru’ stumbles, blood spotting on the tile as he chokes.
“What the fuck!?” Asako gapes, shrinking away.
Yoshiki takes another step forward.
Yoshiki has never seen ‘Hikaru’ like this and the sight makes something unfamiliar throb through his chest. His whole body aches helplessly.
It’s moments like this where he realizes just how much he cares for ‘Hikaru’.
Despite everything, despite the suffocation and the disgust, something about watching ‘Hikaru’ bleed out has Yoshiki rushing to his side.
“Are you okay?”
‘Hikaru’ doesn't look at him as he pants, “I dont… hah… deserve to have you… ask me that.”
Yoshiki feels his chest tighten. He remembers the warmth of ‘Hikarus’ touch when he whispers, “‘Hikaru’... don’t be like that.”
‘Hikaru’ presses the hand that had sifted inside his body against Yoshiki’s chest. “This is half of my insides,”
Yoshiki blanches, “Your—Your what?”
“My insides. Half of them.” ‘Hikaru’ presses harder at Yoshiki's chest and, hesitantly, Yoshiki takes the hand inside of his own. Something cold drops into his palm. He looks down and sees a small chip of bone, slick and caked in blood.
The sight is nauseating.
“Why?”
“I ripped them out. Without them I’m weaker than before.” ‘Hikaru’ swallows, eyes flicking to the closeness between them before he withdraws and steps back. “I won’t be able to hurt you again.”
Asako comes up beside Yoshiki, looking queasy. She holds a hand to her mouth and takes the bone with her other. ‘Hikaru’ flinches but doesn't stop her.
“How do we know that for sure?” She pinches the fragment between her fingers and the light glints off the fresh blood.
“...Without that half, I’m weak enough to die. I’m sure.” ‘Hikarus’ grey eyes catch on Yoshiki's forearm again. “So, if I ever hurt you again… I want you to kill me.”
Asako hands the piece back to Yoshiki as she croaks out, “And what about other people? What happens the next time you can't control yourself because of some ‘nightmare’ and you attack them and they don’t survive ‘cause of your… mixing.”
‘Hikarus’ voice is weak, “Then I’ll go back to the mountain and never come back.”
Yoshiki feels hollow. His body is cold and empty.
He can’t imagine a world without ‘Hikaru’—not for the body he inhabits, but for the monster within. In a way, ‘Hikaru’ reflects him. With ‘Hikaru’, Yoshiki doesn’t feel so different.
No one understands the trials of love and the fickleness of humanity like ‘Hikaru’ does.
“So, you’ll die if you hurt Yoshiki… But only leave if you kill someone else?” Asako steps away and turns to the sink, washing Yoshiki’s blood from the washcloth. “How’s that make sense?”
‘Hikaru’ glances at him, and his words from earlier in the night rattle inside Yoshiki's ears—I like you.
“Yoshiki is… he’s different.”
Yoshiki’s cheeks heat and part of him wants to smack ‘Hikaru’ on his other cheek just to give him matching bruises.
Despite the slow beat of his heart, his mind drifts back to the memory of ‘Hikarus’ skin against his own.
“‘Hikaru’ doesn’t really grasp the—“ Yoshiki searches for the right word and looks down at the piece of bone sticky in his palm, “—significance of a human soul.”
Asako wrings the cloth out and sets it on the corner of the sink before turning, “We need to figure this out.” She sets her hands on her hips, “We should wake everyone up and tell them.”
Yoshiki’s hand clenches around the bone piece and it burns cooly against his skin. “We can’t.”
“Yoshiki, you almost just died… Sorry but I’m not gonna take your words seriously right now.” Asako walks to the door. “This is super dangerous for our friends. We can’t be around hi—…it right now.”
Yoshiki steps forward when her hand closes around the doorknob. He grabs her wrist with a fierce desperation.
Yoshiki doesn’t know what’s come over him or why he’s reacting so illogically. He knows Asako is right, that her feelings are valid—but he can’t risk ‘Hikaru’.
“Please… please Asako—just… let’s sleep on it tonight and figure it out tomorrow. I’m fine, really.”
Her sap-green eyes find his, and something in them softens at the panic etched across his face. They hold eachothers gaze for a heartbeat before she swallows and looks away.
“…He doesn’t sleep in the room with us.”
Yoshiki sighs, “Thank you.”
Behind them, ‘Hikaru’ is silent.
She twists the handle to walk out but as soon as the door opens a crack, ‘Hikarus’ voice chokes out.
“Please don’t tell them.”
She turns her head, and Yoshiki winces. The look she casts at ‘Hikaru’ is heavy with conflicting emotions, and he can’t tell which way her response will lean.
Her eyes drift to the hickey at the base of ‘Hikarus’ neck before she steps out.
The door is left wide open—a dismissal of privacy and a blaring sign that ‘Hikaru’ and Yoshiki should not be alone together.
Yoshiki turns to ‘Hikaru’, heart hammering unsteadily in his chest, “Can you really…die?”
‘Hikaru’ glances at him before retrieving his shirt from the ground and throwing it back over his head. “I’m not sure. I hope so.”
‘Hikarus’ face is devastating, scrunched up and red.
“You hope so?”
Another tear slips down ‘Hikarus’ cheek before three more follow. And then he is sobbing, face buried in his hands. Awful, silent sobs wracking his body.
Yoshiki takes a step forward and reaches out his hand. The moment it touches ‘Hikaru’, he shrinks away.
“Don’t… touch me.”
Yoshiki retracts, stung. “‘Hikaru’… I’m… I’m not upset.”
‘Hikaru’ looks up incredulously, hot tears springing faster, “You should be, Yoshiki. I mean your… ugh, your heart stopped… Fully.” A sob hiccups out, “It didn’t beat… for twenty seconds. I— I thought… I really thought you were dead… ah, I thought I killed you.”
“‘Hikaru’,” The name is a whisper. “You didn’t mean to… you can’t—“
“But I did!” ‘Hikaru’ rips his hands into his hair. “I was so overwhelmed with everything and felt so…Fuck and I just— I completely lost it. I knew I was killing you, Yoshiki.” He looks up and his tears catch the light. “And I didn’t care… ‘cause it felt too good.”
Yoshiki’s hands clench at his sides. He doesn’t know how to comfort ‘Hikaru’ when he’s a tangle of emotions himself.
Yoshikis voice is meek and he feels horrible that he can’t offer any solace. “But you didn’t… and—“ even as he says it, the bruise of his arm and his heart pound in protest “—we’ll just forget about tonight.”
Silence stretches between them before ‘Hikaru’ inhales shakily.
“Yoshiki, kill me next time.”
He doesn’t look back when he walks out and closes the door behind him.
Notes:
ahhh…… the intricacies of love.. don’t we just love having an eldritch monster bf who almost kills us? that’s something we’ve all experienced right? right???
i officially have a clear ending in mind for this fic… it’s super bittersweet (and won’t be for a bit) but… still… sigh
thank you everyone for your more than kind words on every chapter you all make me so happy!! the love it’s been getting has been insane and super fulfilling! it’s so nice knowing so many people enjoy this work as much as i do
see you soon <3
Chapter 8: Abnormal
Notes:
HI EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!
SORRY that this update took a hot minute and is shorter than usual! I started class last week so I've had like no time to write it's SUCKKEDDD! I missed this fic dammit
I hope you enjoy reading regardless eee
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Yoshiki should chase after ‘Hikaru’.
He should open the bathroom door and grab 'Hikaru' by the hand—pull him back in and comfort his aching body. Tell him that, no matter what, he would never be able to kill him—not if the crime committed was against Yoshiki.
That would be the good thing to do.
It seems Yoshiki isn’t very good.
He spends 30 minutes in the shower. It’s almost amusing—how similar this feels to scrubbing his face after their time in the closet… because now Yoshiki scalds his skin until it stings, not until it’s numb with cold. He chases the burn until it muffles the ache buried deep in his soul.
Yoshiki stares down at his skin. At this body that should feel familiar. He tries to trace what parts of it still belong to him, but doesn’t feel like he has ownership of it at all anymore.
Before, he had been put together—composed in a way that masked the turmoil inside. He had been able to swallow the lurch in his stomach… able to hide behind his bangs whenever their eyes met in wayward glances. Now, there is nothing to disguise this feeling. His desire is plainly written across his skin in the dark, suckling marks left by ‘Hikarus’ mouth. They trail up his thighs, branch across his abdomen, weave through his flesh.
There’s no avoiding the truth when it's painted so plainly.
The hot water runs over each mark and not a single one melts away. Not one hickey. Certainly not the bruise of his arm.
Yoshiki looks down at it and flexes his fingers.
He isn’t sure how to feel. He knows he can’t blame ‘Hikaru’ for everything—it had been Yoshiki who had snapped. He had been the one to cross the final line, to bleed into ‘Hikarus’ fervent desire. He had asked for this—had practically begged for it.
So why does it feel so…?
So what?
So freeing? So terrifying? So exciting? So disgusting?
Now that the lust has cleared and his thoughts are rational, Yoshiki can admit it had been a mistake. A momentary weakness. A slobbering, filthy submission. So, maybe it had been all of those things, diluted into nothing by the rush of adrenaline.
He traces a fingertip over a particularly dark bite trailing down his waist. The damp heat of ‘Hikarus’ mouth presses into his memory. How could he forget, with the filth buried so deep in his marrow?
He thinks of ‘Hikarus’ trembling chin and the tears lining his eyes.
He remembers the hiccuping of his words, the way he begged Yoshiki to be okay.
Yoshiki thinks and thinks and thinks.
…He can’t stop thinking about ‘Hikaru’.
Can’t stop thinking about his love for Papikko and for cats and for his stupid affinity for watermelon. Can’t stop thinking about his Master X Master collection, or the gentle lilt of his voice when they exchange greetings in the morning.
Yoshiki thinks until his skin is flushed and cleansed of all guilt—all the sweat, all the saliva, the traces of his pleasure. Everything except the bruises wash away.
Yoshiki realizes that caring for this being—this thing—is wrong. Utterly, horribly wrong. But even worse is watching ‘Hikaru’ fracture. Watching whatever shards of humanity he had managed to hold together crumble into nothing. Without those pieces, ‘Hikaru’ would just be another impurity defined by bloodlust.
When did I start seeing him as human?
When did I forget that he is simply inhabiting this body?
…When did I stop caring about any of that?
It’s strange.
Yoshiki had been drawn to the original Hikaru for as long as he could remember. He could recall times when Hikaru would smile too bright or touch him for too long and it would set his skin alight. Yoshiki had always told himself it was just friendship. That the flush in his cheeks came from the summer sun or the winter bite. He never imagined it could mean more—never questioned why his heart hammered so violently that it nearly choked him.
That changed the day Hikaru started showing interest in girls their age and expected Yoshiki to follow suit. Yoshiki could never bear to look at Hikaru when he would talk about some girl in their class. His mind would always whisper that this bashfulness was never meant for him, that it would never be for him. The way Yoshiki had always felt wasn’t normal. It wasn’t friendly, it never had been. It was wrong. It was something Hikaru would never return.
It was abnormal.
But then, there was ‘Hikaru’. Suddenly, horribly, wonderfully there was ‘Hikaru’.
‘Hikaru’ who made Hikaru’s cheeks blush pink for Yoshiki for the first time.
‘Hikaru’ who had made Hikaru’s hands drag down Yoshikis skin for the first time.
‘Hikaru’ who never talked about girls with Hikaru’s voice for the first time.
Hikaru was dead. It was nauseating because Yoshiki, for the first time, felt normal around him.
He felt normal around his corpse because of the monster buried within it.
It was horrible.
With ‘Hikaru,’ there had been no rules for being human simply because he didn’t know the first thing about it. He’d looked to Yoshiki to teach him, and Yoshiki had ruined it. He had wanted to guide him properly, to show him what normal even meant. But his own rotten heart had selfishly intervened.
He had turned ‘Hikaru’ abnormal.
He had asked ‘Hikaru’ to squeeze every drop of soul from his body just to feel normal and it had turned both of them into pulp. It had ruined everything.
They had mixed, but who would hurt more? Yoshiki for caring for a monster, or ‘Hikaru’ for cosigning the perverse sin of Yoshiki’s sexuality?
Why hadn't he cared that ‘Hikaru’ had nearly killed him? Was he ready to die? But then, what would happen to ‘Hikaru’? Would he be left alone? Had Yoshiki created this just to leave ‘Hikaru’ to bear it alone?
As he dries his body, Yoshiki flits through every moment of the night with horrible clarity and wonders where it had all gone wrong.
Should he act like it never happened? Pretend like his skin isn’t thrumming with the feel of ‘Hikarus’ mouth? Yoshiki had been desperate to be swallowed whole because it made him feel normal… He wonders if touching normally, like human beings, would make him feel abnormal.
Despite all of his thinking, when Yoshiki walks out of the bathroom to look for ‘Hikaru’, he isn’t sure what he should say.
‘Hikaru’ sits in the corner of the room, wrapped tightly in a blanket and lying on his side, turned away from the doorway. The TV is off, the floor bare of board games or scattered snacks. The silence presses against Yoshiki’s ears, and the emptiness tugs at something deep in him.
He wants to know what is going through 'Hikarus' mind—whether he's thinking about the curve of Yoshiki's neck or of his own plea for death.
Yoshiki pads over and pauses at the shape of ‘Hikarus’ body. He takes a slow breath and crouches closer. His fingers drift over the line of what he guesses is ‘Hikarus’ shoulder. A faint twitch answers his touch, but ‘Hikaru’ stays curled on his side, breathing steady and anchored in the quiet.
“Are you asleep?” Yoshiki whispers into the warm air.
Yoshiki knows he isn’t, knows he doesn’t even have to sleep. But if ‘Hikaru’ wants to be alone and this is his way of asking for space, Yoshiki will give him the night. Despite the burn in his chest and the queasiness in his gut, he’ll do it.
He’s already pushed ‘Hikaru’ too far once tonight.
“Yeah.” ‘Hikaru’ replies before the blanket pulls and he turns further away.
Yoshiki tilts his head, “Ah… Okay. Did you want me to…um, wake you up? To talk?”
‘Hikaru’ huffs and buries deeper into his side, “No.”
Yoshiki clears his throat, “Are you sure?”
‘Hikaru’ sniffles but doesn’t reply.
Yoshiki nods even though ‘Hikaru’ cannot see, “...Alright.” He moves to straighten before whispering, “...Try to get some sleep.”
As he walks away, Yoshiki considers laying beside ‘Hikaru’. He considers holding him and touching him in ways that can’t be seen in the dark. He considers running his lips up the back of ‘Hikarus’ neck and telling him that being abnormal scares him.
Not because ‘Hikaru’ is different, but because he makes Yoshiki feel not so different.
And what does that make Yoshiki?
...What did it mean to you?
Suddenly, there is a voice so soft that it's almost lost in the chorus of cicadas outside.
“Yoshiki.”
After all that, that’s the first thing he asks Yoshiki?
Yoshiki feels heat flood his neck. He wipes a hand across his face to mask it before stepping closer to ‘Hikaru’. He tilts his head with a careful, questioning look and murmurs, “What part?”
Yoshiki is not in control of his own body as he crouches down and sits on his knees beside ‘Hikaru’. He is spurred forward by the memory of 'Hikarus' heartbroken expression when he had regained consciousness.
‘Hikaru’ looks beautiful in the soft press of moonlight, in the muss of his hair, in the watery glaze of his eyes. He looks both bashful and terrified, voice barely above a whisper, “…All of it.”
Yoshiki feels like he’s burning up. He hadn’t expected ‘Hikaru’ to even acknowledge the bathroom after his reaction earlier. Speaking his sin aloud feels too damning—this secret is theirs alone, so Yoshiki leans in and his mouth brushes ‘Hikarus’ ear. “Good… except for the almost dying part.”
“I’m really sorry.” ‘Hikaru’ whispers, breath fanning across Yoshiki’s shoulder, “For ruining it… at the end.”
Yoshiki’s lips are so close to ‘Hikarus’ ear. Should he close the distance and comfort him with the press of his mouth? Tell him everything is okay by suckling into the skin of his neck? Bleed his own fear into the wet drag of saliva?
…When did he start thinking things like this?
Instead, he murmurs, “You didn’t.”
Yoshiki shifts forward so that their knees are touching and lets his forehead fall to ‘Hikarus’ shoulder.
‘Hikaru’ hesitates before Yoshiki feels his body shift. His arms pull up and wrap around Yoshiki's shoulders. They shake alongside his voice when he asks, “Why, Yoshiki? Why are you so nice to me?” ‘Hikaru’ buries his face into Yoshiki’s shoulder and wet tears bleed into his shirt. “I really don’t deserve it.”
He wants to say that he isn't nice—wants to tell ‘Hikaru’ about the way he copes with his own disgust by numbing his mind. How he forgets all of his own issues by consuming himself with ‘Hikarus’.
How he uses ‘Hikaru’ as an escape from feeling disgusting by ruining him.
We deserve each other.
“I wont let my insides out around you ever again.” ‘Hikaru’ says, one hand sliding up to rest at the base of Yoshiki’s neck. It curls and cradles the skin.
Yoshiki’s eyes drift closed. He wants to ignore the wrongness of this touch for just a few more seconds. He wants these human hands to spare him.
“You don’t have to do that.” His lips mouth into ‘Hikarus’ neck.
Yoshiki can feel the strain of 'Hikaru' swallowing when he asks, “Why aren't you scared of me?”
Yoshiki hesitates for a moment, then leans in, letting his hands settle beside ‘Hikarus’. Their knees press together, uncomfortably close. He lets his chest sink against ‘Hikarus’, tracing the rise and fall of each breath until they align into a shared rhythm.
The press of their bodies is warm, but the chip of bone in his pocket burns ice cold. Even this touch isn't enough to muffle its presence.
“You could hurt me again and again…” Yoshiki smiles smally and tastes the salt of ‘Hikarus’ skin, “And I still wouldn’t be scared of you.”
‘Hikaru’ mirrors his breath, one hand pressing at the back of Yoshiki’s neck, nudging him closer until their bodies meld together with no space in between. In response, Yoshiki lifts his hands from the floor to settle on ‘Hikarus’ thighs.
“Why?” ‘Hikaru’ asks and the question feels so intimate breathed into the tight space between them that Yoshiki shivers.
He doesn’t even have to think—his answer comes naturally, the only thing he’d been able to hold onto from all the time he’d spent in the shower.
“Because… ‘Cause it’s you.”
Notes:
WHEW a little tender at the end. I was debating making it freaky but the angel on my shoulder won out (I had to go to bed for class and didnt give myself the time to think about it...)
I FEEL LIEK I SAY IT EVERY TIME but this fic has been getting so much LOVEEEEE RAHHHHHHGRHHHGHHHH THANK YOU ALLLLLLLLLLLL i will make sure all of these hours reading about internalized homophobia is worth it for you. Yoshiki stop being so angsty (jk I completely understand bro is going thru it)
BUH BYE TTYL (in the comments)
I use a lot of parentheses shii
ok by e
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