Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"He used to think about you when he touched himself."

 Yoshiki dropped the controller. It clattered against the floor of his room, the game forgotten. On screen, his character died to some enemy he hadn't been paying attention to. The game over music played tinny and distant.

"What?"

 Hikaru sat cross-legged on the futon, hands loose in his lap. His expression was calm. Open. Like he'd just commented on the weather.

"The real Hikaru," he clarified. "When he masturbated. He thought about you most of the time."

Yoshiki's mouth had gone dry. "You can't just—you can't say things like that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because it's—" Yoshiki gestured helplessly. "It's private. Those were his private thoughts."

"They're my memories now." Hikaru tilted his head, studying Yoshiki with that too-steady gaze. "I have all of them. Everything he ever thought or felt or wanted. It's all here." He tapped his temple. "Including what he wanted from you."

 The heat pressed down through the open windows. The cicadas droned. Yoshiki's hands were shaking so he pressed them flat against his thighs.

"Stop," he said.

"Do you really want me to?"

 No. Yes. Yoshiki didn't know. The thought of Hikaru—the real Hikaru—touching himself while thinking about Yoshiki was something he'd imagined late at night, hating himself for it. But hearing it confirmed like this, from the thing that had crawled into Hikaru's skin and now shared his memories, felt wrong in a way Yoshiki couldn't articulate.

"You shouldn't know that stuff," Yoshiki said. "That's not—those memories weren't meant for anyone else."

"But I'm not anyone else. I'm him. Sort of." Hikaru's fingers drummed against his knee. "And you chose me. You chose this. So why can't I tell you what he felt?"

"Because he's dead." The word tasted like rot. "He's dead and you're wearing him and talking about his—his private moments like they belong to you."

"They do belong to me." Hikaru said. "Everything that was his is mine now. Including what he felt for you."

 Yoshiki stood up. Walked to the window. Stared out at the empty street, the heat shimmer rising from pavement. His reflection stared back at him in the glass—blurred and indistinct.

Hikaru's footsteps were nearly silent but Yoshiki heard them anyway. Felt him approaching. He stopped just behind him, close enough that Yoshiki could feel his body heat.

"I can tell," Hikaru said quietly. "You're curious about what he thought, what he wanted. You've always wondered if he felt the same way you did."

"Shut up."

"He did, by the way. Feel the same way." Hikaru's hand came to rest on Yoshiki's shoulder. 

Yoshiki closed his eyes. "Stop."

"He was too scared to say anything. Thought you'd hate him for it. Thought he'd ruin the friendship." Hikaru's thumb traced circles on Yoshiki's shoulder blade. "But he wanted you so badly it hurt. I can feel that want. It's still here, soaked into every memory."

"I don't want to hear this."

"Liar." Hikaru's other hand found Yoshiki's hip. "You're shaking. Your pulse is racing. You want to know everything."

 Yoshiki hated that he was right. Because underneath the horror and the wrongness, there was want. Desperate, aching want to know if the real Hikaru had felt even a fraction of what Yoshiki had felt. If all those years of careful distance and friendly touches had hidden the same longing.

"Tell me to stop," Hikaru said against the back of Yoshiki's neck. "Tell me you don't want to know, and I'll never mention it again."

 The words wouldn't come.

"The first time was in middle school," Hikaru said. His voice was soft, almost reverent. "Seventh grade. You'd come over after school and you both played video games until late. Your shirt rode up when you reached for something and he saw your stomach. Just a strip of skin. That's all it took."

Yoshiki remembered that day. Remembered Hikaru suddenly saying he had homework and needed Yoshiki to leave. He'd thought Hikaru was mad at him about something.

"He jerked off in the shower after you left," Hikaru continued. "First time he'd ever done it thinking about someone specific. He felt so guilty afterward he couldn't look at you for a week."

"Stop," Yoshiki said, but it came out weak.

"He thought about your hands a lot. How they looked when you held a pencil, when you tied your shoes. Wondered what they'd feel like on his skin." Hikaru's hand slid from Yoshiki's hip to his stomach, pressing flat. "Here. He wanted you to touch him here."

 Yoshiki's breath stuttered. Hikaru's palm was warm through his shirt, steady pressure just above his navel.

"Lower," Hikaru said. "He wanted you lower. Wanted your hand in his pants, around his cock. Wanted to know if you'd be gentle or rough with him."

"That’s…"

"He imagined it both ways. Sometimes you were sweet, careful. Taking your time. Other times you were desperate, needy. He liked those fantasies better. The ones where you couldn't help yourself."

 Yoshiki was hard. He'd been half-hard since Hikaru first said the real Hikaru had thought about him, but now he was fully erect, cock straining against his shorts. Hikaru had to feel it—had to know what this was doing to him.

"In high school it got worse," Hikaru said. His hand stayed on Yoshiki's stomach but his thumb traced slow circles, not quite moving lower. "You'd changed. Filled out. He couldn't stop staring at you. Your shoulders, your ass. The way your throat looked when you tilted your head back to drink something."

 Yoshiki remembered Hikaru watching him. Had always written it off as Hikaru spacing out, not paying attention.

"He touched himself almost every night thinking about you," Hikaru said. "Had a whole routine. He'd wait until his parents were asleep, then he'd get in the shower so they wouldn't hear. He'd close his eyes and imagine you there with him. Imagine you pressing him against the tile and kissing him until he couldn't breathe."

"What else?" The question escaped before Yoshiki could stop it. 

Hikaru made a satisfied noise. "Lots of things. You want specifics?"

"I—" Yoshiki's voice cracked. "Yeah. Tell me."

"He thought about sucking you off. A lot. Wondered what you'd taste like, how you'd sound. Whether you'd pull his hair or hold him gentle." Hikaru's hand finally moved lower, cupping Yoshiki through his shorts. "He got off on that fantasy more than any other. You in his mouth, fucking his throat. He wanted to make you feel good. Wanted to be the one who made you fall apart."

 Yoshiki's hips jerked forward into Hikaru's hand. He couldn't help it. Hikaru stroked him through the fabric, slow and deliberate.

"He thought about you fucking him too," Hikaru continued. "Wasn't sure if he'd like it but he wanted to try. Wanted to know what it felt like to have you inside him. He'd finger himself sometimes, imagining it was you. Never quite enough but better than nothing."

"Fuck," Yoshiki breathed.

"He downloaded porn once. Two guys. Saved it on his phone and watched it over and over, imagining it was you and him. Got caught by his mom and had to delete everything. Cried about it later."

 Yoshiki remembered that. Hikaru had been weird for days, jumpy and distant. Yoshiki had thought it was about school stress.

"Every time you touched him casually—shoulder bump, high five, anything—he'd go home and replay it in his head while he got himself off. You have no idea how much power you had over him. How much he wanted you."

 Hikaru's hand worked him steadily through his shorts. The fabric was damp with precome now. Yoshiki was breathing hard, his forehead pressed against the window glass.

"Last summer," Hikaru said. "Before he died. You went swimming together at the river. Remember?"

 Yoshiki nodded. He remembered. They'd splashed around for hours, lazy and content in the heat.

"You'd taken your shirt off. Water was dripping down your chest and he wanted to lick it off. Wanted to taste your skin. He got hard in the water and had to stay submerged until it went down. Later that night he came so hard thinking about you he saw stars."

"Stop," Yoshiki gasped. "I can't—this is too much."

But Hikaru didn't stop. His hand squeezed and Yoshiki's knees nearly buckled.

"Two weeks before he died, he'd decided he was going to tell you. Had a whole plan. Was going to ask you to go camping, get you alone, just confess everything. See what happened." Hikaru's voice dropped. "He never got the chance. And I inherited all that want. All that need. It's mine now. He wanted you and I want you and maybe there's no difference anymore."

 Yoshiki spun around, grabbing Hikaru's wrist and pulling his hand away. They stared at each other. Hikaru's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. His lips were parted and his cock was visibly hard in his pants.

"You're cruel," Yoshiki said. His voice shook. "Telling me all that. Making me—making me want someone who's dead."

"You're not wanting someone dead." Hikaru stepped closer. "You're wanting me. I'm right here. I have all his memories, all his desires. I can give you everything he wanted to give you. Everything he was too scared to try."

"It's not the same."

"Close enough." Hikaru's free hand cupped Yoshiki's face. "I know exactly how he wanted to touch you. Let me show you."

 Yoshiki should say no. Should push him away. But his body was screaming for contact and his mind was full of images—the real Hikaru touching himself, thinking about Yoshiki, wanting him desperately enough that the wanting had soaked into his cells.

"Show me," Yoshiki said.

 Hikaru's smile was sharp. Hungry. He pulled Yoshiki away from the window and toward the futon. Yoshiki went without resistance, letting himself be positioned on his back while Hikaru knelt between his legs.

"He wanted to worship you," Hikaru said, fingers working at Yoshiki's button and zipper. "Wanted to take his time. Learn every inch of you."

 Yoshiki's shorts came off. Then his boxers. His cock stood hard and leaking against his stomach. Hikaru looked at it like he was seeing something sacred.

"He thought about this specifically," Hikaru said. His fingers traced up Yoshiki's inner thigh, making him shiver. "What you'd look like spread out for him. Whether you'd be shy or bold. How you'd taste."

"Are you going to keep talking or—"

"Talking was part of it." Hikaru's hand wrapped around Yoshiki's cock, stroking slowly. "He wanted to tell you everything he thought about you, how much you affected him."

 Yoshiki's head fell back. Hikaru's hand was perfect—right pressure, right rhythm. Like he knew exactly what Yoshiki needed. Maybe he did. Maybe those memories included every fantasy in such detail that Hikaru knew precisely how the real Hikaru had imagined doing this.

"He wanted to make you beg," Hikaru said. His thumb swept over the head of Yoshiki's cock, smearing precum. "Wanted to hear you say his name. Wanted proof that you wanted him back."

"I did," Yoshiki gasped. 

 Then he took Yoshiki in his mouth and Yoshiki stopped thinking about anything at all.

 Hikaru sucked him with focused intensity, like he was following a blueprint. Maybe he was. Maybe the real Hikaru had fantasized about this so many times that the muscle memory was etched into his body. Hikaru's tongue worked the underside of Yoshiki's cock and his throat opened when Yoshiki hit the back of it and it was perfect. Too perfect.

 His hand worked what his mouth couldn't reach and Yoshiki was getting close embarrassingly fast. Days ago he'd lasted longer than this. But hearing about the real Hikaru's desire, knowing he'd wanted this for years, watching those memories play out through Hikaru's mouth—it was too much.

"Gonna cum," Yoshiki warned.

 Hikaru's eyes flicked up to meet his. He didn't pull off. Just hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder and Yoshiki came with a shout, spilling down Hikaru's throat. Hikaru swallowed it all, pulling off slowly and licking his lips.

"He wanted to taste you like that," Hikaru said. His voice was rough, his lips red and swollen. "Wanted to swallow and know he'd made you feel that good."

 Yoshiki was boneless, oversensitive, his cock already softening. But watching Hikaru kneel there looking satisfied and wrecked, his own cock still hard and straining in his pants, made something stir in Yoshiki anyway.

"Your turn," Yoshiki said.

"You don't have to—"

"What did he want?" Yoshiki sat up. "What did the real Hikaru fantasize about me doing to him?"

Hikaru's breath caught. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah. Tell me and I'll do it."

 Hikaru stared at him for a long moment. Then he stood and stripped efficiently, shoving his clothes aside until he was naked. His cock jutted from his hips, flushed dark and leaking. He lay back on the futon and spread his legs.

"He wanted you to finger him," Hikaru said. His voice had gone shaky. "Wanted to know what it felt like to have your fingers inside him. Wanted you to open him up and see him like that."

 Yoshiki's spent cock gave a valiant twitch. He grabbed the bottle of lotion from beside his futon—the same bottle he'd used countless times thinking about Hikaru, though he'd never admit it—and slicked his fingers.

"Like this?" Yoshiki's hand slid between Hikaru's legs, fingers brushing his hole. Hikaru's hips jerked.

"Yeah. Just—go slow at first. He never got very far with it on his own."

 Yoshiki pressed one finger in slowly. Hikaru was tight, his body resisting the intrusion. But he relaxed after a moment and Yoshiki slid deeper, watching Hikaru's face the whole time.

"How did he imagine this?" Yoshiki asked, working his finger in and out. "What did he think I'd say?"

"He thought—" Hikaru gasped as Yoshiki added a second finger. "Thought you'd talk him through it. Tell him he was doing good. Tell him how he looked."

"You look incredible," Yoshiki said. And it was true. Hikaru spread out on his futon, cock hard and leaking on his stomach, taking Yoshiki's fingers with his legs open—he looked obscene. Perfect. "You're taking it so well. Doing so good for me."

 Hikaru made a desperate noise. His hand wrapped around his cock and started stroking.

"Did he imagine touching himself while I did this?" Yoshiki crooked his fingers, searching. Hikaru's back arched off the futon when he found his prostate.

"Yeah," Hikaru gasped. "Exactly like this. Your fingers in him and his hand on his cock and you telling him how good he looked. He'd cum so hard thinking about it."

 Yoshiki worked his fingers steadily, hitting that spot with each thrust. Hikaru's hand moved faster on his cock, his breathing ragged.

"Cum for me," Yoshiki said. "Show me what he wanted."

 Hikaru came with Yoshiki's name on his lips, spilling across his stomach. His body clamped down on Yoshiki's fingers and Yoshiki worked him through it until he was shaking, oversensitive. When Yoshiki pulled his fingers free, Hikaru grabbed his wrist and pulled him down into a kiss. It was messy, desperate, tasting like cum and want.

"Thank you," Hikaru said against his mouth.

"For what?"

"For letting me show you. For wanting to know." Hikaru's hands framed Yoshiki's face. "For not running away."

 Yoshiki looked down at him. At Hikaru's face—familiar and wrong and his. The thing that wore his best friend's skin and carried his memories and wanted him with a hunger that might have belonged to the real Hikaru once but was definitely all its own now.

"I'm still here," Yoshiki said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." Hikaru pulled him down to lie beside him. "Because I have years of his fantasies stored up. We could spend all summer working through them."

That should have terrified Yoshiki. Instead he laughed, breathless and a little broken, and pressed his face into Hikaru's neck.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay."

Chapter Text

"There's a festival tonight," Hikaru said. "I want to take you."

 They were lying tangled together in Yoshiki's room, the afternoon heat making their skin stick.

"The summer one down by the shrine." Hikaru's fingers traced lazy patterns on Yoshiki's ribs. "I want to—I want to take you on a proper date. If you want to go."

 Something in his tone made Yoshiki pause. Too careful. Too rehearsed. Like he'd practiced saying those exact words.

"A date," Yoshiki said slowly.

"Yeah. We could wear yukatas. Get festival food. Watch the fireworks." Hikaru wasn't quite meeting his eyes. "It would be nice. Normal."

 Normal. Nothing about this was normal. But Yoshiki found himself nodding anyway.

"Okay. Yeah. Let's go."

Hikaru's face lit up—that bright, genuine smile that made him look so much like the real Hikaru it hurt. "Really? You want to?"

"Yeah. I want to."

"I'll pick you up at six. Wear—" Hikaru paused. "Do you still have that blue yukata? The one from middle school?"

Yoshiki blinked. "Maybe? I'd have to check."

"If you have it, wear that one." Hikaru's hand stilled on his ribs. "It would look good on you."

 After Hikaru left, Yoshiki dug through his closet until he found the yukata. Blue with a subtle pattern of waves. He'd worn it to festivals in middle school, back when things were simple. Back when Hikaru was still just Hikaru.

  Hikaru arrived exactly at six, wearing a gray yukata with black trim. His hair was neatly combed and he smelled like soap instead of his usual mix of sweat and summer. He looked nervous. Young. Human.

"You found it," Hikaru said when he saw Yoshiki's blue yukata.

"Yeah, it still fits."

"It looks—" Hikaru stopped. "You look good."

 They walked to the festival in silence. The sun was just starting to set, painting everything gold. Other people moved toward the shrine in groups—families with small children, teenagers in clusters, couples walking close together.

 Yoshiki wondered if anyone looking at them could tell. If there was something visible that marked them as wrong. But people just smiled and nodded as they passed. Two boys in yukatas heading to the festival. Normal. Innocent.

 The festival grounds were already crowded. Lanterns hung between the stalls, swaying in the breeze. The smell of grilled yakitori and sweet taiyaki filled the air. Somewhere a taiko drum beat steady and rhythmic.

"This way," Hikaru said, taking Yoshiki's hand.

 Yoshiki let himself be pulled through the crowd. Hikaru's hand was warm in his, the grip firm. They wove between stalls selling masks and toys and goldfish in plastic bags.

"Here," Hikaru stopped at a takoyaki stand. "We should get some of these first."

Not a suggestion. A statement. Like he knew exactly what they should do and when.

 They got takoyaki and ate them while walking, the food scalding hot and perfect. Hikaru led them to a shooting game next, the kind with cork guns and prizes on shelves. He paid for two rounds.

"Try to win the fox mask," Hikaru said, handing Yoshiki a gun. "The white one."

 Yoshiki took aim. Missed. Tried again. On his third shot he knocked down the fox mask and the vendor handed it over with a grin.

"For you." 

But Hikaru shook his head. "No. It's for you. That's—" He stopped. "Just keep it."

 Yoshiki tucked the mask into his obi. They moved on to the next stall, then the next. Hikaru seemed to know exactly where to go, exactly what to do. Nothing felt spontaneous. Everything was planned.

 The real Hikaru had walked through this festival in his mind a hundred times, Yoshiki realized. Had planned each stall to visit, each food to try, each moment. And now his ghost was walking Yoshiki through that fantasy step by step.

"Are you okay?" Hikaru asked. They'd stopped near the goldfish scooping game, watching kids try to catch fish with paper scoops that dissolved in water.

"Yeah." Yoshiki looked at him. "This is nice."

"Yeah?" Hikaru's expression was hopeful. Eager. "You're having fun?"

"I am." And it was true. Even knowing this was scripted, even knowing he was walking through a dead boy's fantasy—it was nice. Being here with Hikaru. 

 They got kakigōri next, sharing a bowl of shaved ice topped with strawberry syrup. Their fingers brushed reaching for the same spoonful and Hikaru pulled back like he'd been burned.

"Sorry," Hikaru said.

"It's fine." Yoshiki took his hand deliberately, lacing their fingers together. Around them the crowd pressed close but no one was paying attention. Just two boys holding hands at a festival. "This is a date, right? We're allowed to do this."

Hikaru stared at their joined hands. "Yeah. We are."

 They wandered through the festival like that, hands linked. The sun finished setting and the lanterns glowed brighter in the gathering dark while music drifted from somewhere.

"The fireworks start soon," Hikaru said. "There's a spot where we can watch them."

"Lead the way."

 Hikaru pulled him away from the main festival grounds, down a path toward the river. The noise and light faded behind them as they walked. The path was familiar—they'd come this way a thousand times as kids. Down to the riverside where they used to skip stones and catch minnows in plastic buckets.

 The river looked different at night. Dark water reflecting scattered starlight and the grass on the bank was long and soft. Across the water Yoshiki could see the festival lights glowing.

"Here," Hikaru said. He sat down on the bank, pulling Yoshiki down beside him. "We can see the fireworks from here. Away from the crowd."

 They sat close, shoulders touching. The air had finally cooled with the sunset. Crickets chirped in the grass. The river made soft sounds moving over stones.

"This is where you planned to do it," Yoshiki said quietly. "Isn't it?"

Hikaru went still. "What?"

"This whole night. The festival, the takoyaki, the shooting game, coming here." Yoshiki looked at him. "The real Hikaru planned all of this. This was his perfect first date."

Hikaru's throat worked. "I—"

"It's okay." Yoshiki squeezed his hand. "I knew. I figured it out at the takoyaki stand. You were following a script."

"Are you mad?"

"No." Yoshiki turned to face him properly. "I'm not mad. I just—I want to know. What was he planning to do here? What comes next in the fantasy?"

 Hikaru looked down at their joined hands. "He was going to tell you how he felt. This was where he'd planned to confess if not on a camping trip. Away from everyone, just you and him and the river and the fireworks."

"So tell me." Yoshiki's voice was steady. "Say what he wanted to say."

"Yoshiki—"

"Please. I want to hear it."

 Hikaru was quiet for a long moment. Then he took a breath and looked up, meeting Yoshiki's eyes.

"I've been in love with you for years," Hikaru said. His voice was soft, sincere. "Every time we came to this river as kids, I wanted to tell you. Every festival we went to together, I wanted to hold your hand like this. Every moment we spent together, I was thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you." He paused. "I brought you here tonight because I couldn't keep it a secret anymore. Because I need you to know how I feel even if you don't feel the same way. Even if this ruins everything. I love you, Yoshiki. I'm in love with you."

 The words hung in the air between them. Across the river, the first firework exploded—a burst of gold against the black sky. The boom echoed a second later.

"That's what he wanted to say?" Yoshiki asked.

"Yeah. That's—" Hikaru's voice cracked. "That's what was in his head. Practiced a hundred times. Never got to actually say it."

 Another firework. Then another. Red and blue and green painting the sky. The light reflected off the river, off Hikaru's face, off the tears starting to track down Yoshiki's cheeks.

"I would have said yes," Yoshiki said. "If he'd asked. If he'd brought me here and said those things. I would have kissed him right here and told him I felt the same way."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really." Yoshiki reached up and cupped Hikaru's face. "I was in love with him too. I just—I never thought he'd feel the same way. So I never said anything."

"You both wanted each other."

"We didn't know." Yoshiki pulled him closer. "But I know now. And you're here. And I'm saying yes to the question he never got to ask."

 He kissed Hikaru as fireworks exploded overhead. Hikaru made a desperate sound and kissed back, hands coming up to grip Yoshiki's yukata. They fell back into the grass together, mouths urgent and hungry.

 Yoshiki's hands worked at Hikaru's yukata, pulling it open. Hikaru did the same, loosening Yoshiki's obi until the fabric fell away. Then they were pressed together, skin to skin in the summer night, fireworks painting them in bursts of colored light.

"What else did he want?" Yoshiki gasped between kisses. "After the confession. What was supposed to happen?"

"This." Hikaru's hips rolled against his and they both groaned. "He wanted to touch you to know how you felt like."

 They were both hard, cocks pressing together through the thin fabric of their fundoshi. The friction was overwhelming. Yoshiki got his hands between them and shoved the fabric aside until they were bare against each other.

"Fuck," Hikaru breathed. "Yes. Like this."

 He wrapped one hand around both their cocks, squeezing them together. Yoshiki's vision whited out. They were slick with precome already, making everything easier. Hikaru stroked them slowly, learning the feeling of both of them at once.

"Did he imagine this specifically?" Yoshiki asked. His voice was wrecked. "Here? By the river?"

"Yeah. Exactly this." Hikaru's hand moved faster. "You and him. The grass. The fireworks. Just—just this."

 Yoshiki's hips moved on their own, fucking up into Hikaru's grip. Their cocks slid together, hot and slick and perfect. Overhead the fireworks reached their crescendo—rapid bursts of light and sound. The boom echoed in Yoshiki's chest.

 Hikaru's grip tightened and his rhythm got erratic. They were both panting, mouths inches apart, breathing the same air. The yukatas were tangled around them, probably getting stained with dirt and cum.

 They came together, spilling across Hikaru's hand and their stomachs. The mess got on the yukatas—white streaks across blue and gray fabric. Hikaru kept stroking them through it until they were both oversensitive and gasping.

 The final burst of fireworks lit up the sky in gold and silver, then faded to smoke. The river moved quietly in the dark. Yoshiki laid there on the grass, Hikaru's weight on top of him, both of them sticky and spent. 

"We should clean up," Hikaru said eventually.

 They stumbled to the river's edge and waded in. The water was cold, shocking after the heat of their bodies. Yoshiki splashed water on his stomach, his thighs, trying to rinse away the evidence. Hikaru did the same.

 When they climbed back out, shivering and dripping, they tried to straighten the yukatas. But there was no hiding what they'd done. The fabric was stained and wrinkled and smelled like sex.

"We're going to have to walk home like this," Yoshiki said.

"Yeah." Hikaru adjusted his obi. "Everyone's going to know what we did."

"Let them know." Yoshiki took his hand. "I don't care."

 They walked back through the festival grounds. The crowds were dispersing now, families heading home. A few people glanced at them—two boys in disheveled yukatas, grass stains on the fabric, hair messed up. But no one said anything.

 At Yoshiki's house, they stood outside in the dark. The cicadas were screaming. The night was still hot despite the hour.

"Thank you," Hikaru said. "For tonight. For—for letting me show you."

"It was perfect." Yoshiki squeezed his hand. "Exactly what he would have wanted."

"Yeah." Hikaru's voice was soft. "Yeah, it was."

 They kissed goodnight—slow and sweet and careful. Then Hikaru left and Yoshiki slipped inside his house, sneaking upstairs before his mother could see the state of his yukata. In his room, he carefully folded the ruined fabric and tucked it into the back of his closet. Evidence of a dead boy's perfect date. A fantasy made real by the thing that was borrowing his life.

 Yoshiki laid down on his futon and stared at the ceiling. He could still feel Hikaru's hand around them both. Could still taste him. Could still hear those words: I've been in love with you for years.

Chapter Text

 The sun was setting, painting the water gold and orange. They sat on the rocks at the shore and watched it sink below the trees. Neither of them spoke. The weight of what they were about to do hung between them—their first whole night together. No parents downstairs, no risk of interruption. Just them and the tent and all the hours until morning.

"We should go in," Hikaru said when the last light faded. "Before it gets too dark."

 Inside the tent, a battery-powered lantern cast soft yellow light. Two sleeping bags were zipped together into one large one, spread with a blanket on top. Hikaru had thought of everything.

 They sat facing each other on the makeshift bed. The tent felt smaller now that they were inside. Intimate. The sounds of the forest filtered through the thin walls—crickets, the rustle of leaves, water lapping at the shore.

"I've never done this before," Yoshiki said. "Spent the whole night with someone."

"Me neither." Hikaru's hands rested on his knees. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah." Yoshiki reached out and took one of Hikaru's hands. "But I want to try what he imagined. What you told me about, him wanting me to—"

"To fuck him," Hikaru finished.

"Yeah." Yoshiki's grip tightened. "Will you tell me? I want to do it right."

Hikaru's expression did something complicated. "You don't have to follow his script. We can just—"

"I want to. Please.."

 They undressed slowly, folding their clothes and setting them aside. The lantern light made shadows on the tent walls. When they were both naked, Yoshiki could see Hikaru was already half-hard, cock filling against his thigh.

"He wanted you to kiss him first," Hikaru said.

 Yoshiki leaned in and kissed him. Slow and deep, tasting summer and want. Hikaru made a small sound and his hands came up to frame Yoshiki's face.

"Like this?" Yoshiki asked.

"Yeah. Exactly like this."

 They kissed until both of them were breathing hard. Hikaru's cock was fully hard now, pressed between them. Yoshiki could feel his own response.

 Hikaru pulled back slightly, a small smile on his face. "He had this stupid joke he used to think about. For this moment."

"Yeah?" Yoshiki's hands traced down Hikaru's sides.

"He'd imagine comparing, saying whoever's bigger should top. Making it a game so it wouldn't be so serious.."

 They pressed together, shafts aligned. Yoshiki looked down, comparing. The length was nearly identical, maybe Hikaru had a fraction more, or maybe it was just the angle. But thickness, color, the way they curved, all similar. The real difference was obvious, Hikaru's cock was cut, the head fully exposed and flushed a dark purple-red. While yoshiki's foreskin was pulled back from being fully hard, but there was still extra gathered behind the head, partially covering it. When he shifted slightly, the skin moved, sliding over the sensitive tip.

Yoshiki looked down between them. "Looks pretty even to me."

"He thought you'd be bigger. Thought he'd lose the comparison and have an excuse to bottom."

"Guess that means I still get to top." Yoshiki's hand wrapped around both of them, squeezing gently. “It wasn’t a stupid joke, he knew he would be nervous. That’s normal.”

"But you're not nervous." Hikaru's hips shifted, seeking more friction.

"I'm terrified," Yoshiki let out a small laugh . "But I want this more than I'm scared."

Hikaru kissed him again, deeper this time. "He would have loved hearing that."

 Yoshiki pushed Hikaru down onto the sleeping bag. The fabric rustled beneath them. He started at Hikaru's throat, pressing kisses down his neck, his collarbone. Hikaru's skin was fever-warm, tasting of salt and sweat.

"Here," Hikaru said, guiding Yoshiki's hand to his chest. "He imagined your fingers here. And here." Lower, to his stomach. "He wanted you to explore. To figure out what felt good."

 Yoshiki followed the guidance, learning Hikaru's body through touch. When his fingers brushed Hikaru's nipple, Hikaru gasped. Yoshiki did it again, watching his reaction.

"Sensitive," Yoshiki murmured.

"Yeah." Hikaru's hips shifted restlessly. "He didn't know he'd be sensitive there until he imagined you touching him. Then he'd—" Hikaru stopped, flushing. "He'd play with them himself, thinking about your hands."

 Yoshiki leaned down and took one in his mouth. Hikaru's back arched off the sleeping bag and his fingers tangled in Yoshiki's hair. The sound he made was desperate, needy.

"You're so responsive," Yoshiki said, switching to the other side. "Did he imagine being like this? Falling apart from just this?"

"Yeah. He wanted—wanted you to see what you did to him, see how much power you had."

 Yoshiki worked his way down, pressing kisses to Hikaru's ribs, his stomach. When he reached Hikaru's cock, he paused.

"Did he want my mouth here too?"

"God, yes." Hikaru's voice was wrecked. "Yes, he wanted that so much."

 Yoshiki took him in slowly, exploring the weight and taste of him. Hikaru's hands fisted in the sleeping bag and his thighs trembled. Yoshiki worked him with careful attention, watching every reaction.

"That's—fuck, you are getting better at this."

 After a bit, Yoshiki pulled off. "Not yet. Don't want you to come like this."

"What do you want?"

"I want—" Yoshiki grabbed the bottle of lube Hikaru had brought. "I want to open you up. Get you ready. Is that what he imagined?"

"Yeah." Hikaru spread his legs wider. "He wanted your fingers inside him."

 Yoshiki slicked his fingers and pressed one against Hikaru's hole. The muscle resisted at first, then relaxed. He pushed in slowly, watching Hikaru's face.

"Okay?" Yoshiki asked.

"Yeah. More. He wanted more."

 Yoshiki added a second finger, working them in and out. Hikaru's cock leaked steadily, smearing precum across his stomach. When Yoshiki crooked his fingers just right, Hikaru cried out.

"There," Hikaru gasped. "He wanted—wanted you to find that spot. Wanted to know if it would feel as good as he imagined."

"Does it?"

"Better. So much better."

 Yoshiki added a third finger, stretching him open. Hikaru was taking it so well, body opening for him. The sight made Yoshiki's own cock throb, almost painfully hard.

"I need—" Yoshiki's voice came out rough. "I need to be inside you. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Please."

 Yoshiki slicked his cock and positioned himself. The head pressed against Hikaru's hole and they both held their breath. Then Yoshiki pushed in slowly, watching himself disappear inside.

 The sensation was overwhelming. Tight and hot and perfect. Yoshiki had to stop halfway, breathing hard, trying not to come immediately.

"You okay?" Hikaru asked.

"Yeah. Just—give me a second. You feel so good."

 He pushed in the rest of the way until he was fully seated. Hikaru's body clenched around him and Yoshiki saw stars.

"He wanted you to go slow at first," Hikaru said with a strained voice.

 Yoshiki pulled out and thrust back in carefully. Setting a slow, steady rhythm. Each stroke hit something inside Hikaru that made him gasp and arch. Yoshiki focused on the feeling— the heat, the way Hikaru's body gripped him.

"That's perfect," Hikaru said. "Just like he imagined. You inside him, taking your time, making him feel—"

 But Yoshiki was barely hearing him anymore. The sensation was too much, too intense. Every thrust sent pleasure sparking up his spine. Hikaru felt incredible around him, clenching and releasing in rhythm with his movements.

 His rhythm started to falter. The careful control was slipping. He tried to hold onto it, tried to remember he was supposed to be gentle, but his body had other ideas. His hips snapped forward harder and Hikaru cried out.

 Something in Yoshiki broke. The last thread of control snapped and he stopped thinking about scripts or fantasies or dead boys. He just needed. Needed to claim this, needed to make Hikaru his, needed to fuck him until neither of them could remember anything else.

 He grabbed Hikaru's hips and pulled him closer, changing the angle. Thrust in hard and deep. Hikaru's head fell back and he made a sound that was almost a scream.

"Yes," Hikaru gasped. "Fuck, yes, like that—"

 Yoshiki set a brutal pace, all pretense of gentleness gone. His fingers dug into Hikaru's hips hard enough to bruise. Each thrust punched the air from Hikaru's lungs. The sleeping bag bunched beneath them and the tent shook with their movement. He was choosing this. Choosing to want something he shouldn't want, choosing the thing that wore his best friend's face, choosing to let go of the script and just take what he needed. 

 Yoshiki leaned down and bit Hikaru's shoulder, tasting salt and skin. Hikaru cried out and his body clamped down. Yoshiki soothed the bite with his tongue then bit again on the other side, marking him.

 Yoshiki grabbed Hikaru's thigh and pushed it up toward his chest, opening him wider. The new angle let him go deeper and they both groaned. He could feel himself getting close, pleasure coiling tight at the base of his spine.

Hikaru's hand flew to his dick, stroking frantically. His other hand scrabbled at Yoshiki's back, nails digging in. The slight pain only drove Yoshiki harder.

 Yoshiki's hand tangled in Hikaru's hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. He bit down on the junction of neck and shoulder and Hikaru came with a shout, spilling between them. His body seized around Yoshiki's cock, pulsing and clenching.

 The sensation pushed Yoshiki over the edge. He thrust in deep and came hard, filling Hikaru up. His vision whited out and his whole body shook with the force of it. He kept moving through it, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until he was empty and oversensitive.

 Finally he stilled, buried deep inside Hikaru. They were both breathing hard, covered in sweat and com. Yoshiki's arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Hikaru, still inside him.

"Fuck," Yoshiki said. "That was—"

"Not what he imagined," Hikaru finished. His voice was hoarse, wrecked. "That was all you."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get so rough—"

"Don't apologize." Hikaru's arms wrapped around him. "That was perfect. Better than any script.."

 They lay there catching their breath. Eventually Yoshiki softened and slipped out. He could feel his cum leaking from Hikaru's body but he couldn't bring himself to move yet. The tent was warm, almost too warm. Outside the crickets sang and the lake lapped at the shore.

"We should clean up," Hikaru said eventually.

"In a minute." Yoshiki pressed his face into Hikaru's neck. "Just let me—"

 He didn't finish the sentence. Yoshiki's eyes were already drifting closed.

"We have all night," Hikaru said softly. "Sleep. We can clean up later."

 Yoshiki meant to protest. Meant to say they should at least wipe down, should do something about the mess. But Hikaru was warm beneath him and the sleeping bag was soft and he was so tired. The pleasure had wrung him out completely, left him boneless and heavy.

 His eyes closed. Hikaru's heartbeat was steady under his ear—too steady, maybe, that inhuman rhythm. But Yoshiki was too far gone to care. Hikaru's fingers traced patterns on his back and his breathing evened out into something that might have been sleep or might have been that thing he did instead of sleeping.

"Thank you," Hikaru whispered. "For making this ours instead of his."

 Yoshiki tried to respond but sleep was pulling him under. He managed a small sound of acknowledgment before consciousness slipped away entirely.

 He dreamed of the lake. Of dark water and stars reflected on the surface. Of something beneath the water watching him, waiting. But Hikaru's arms were solid around him and his warmth was real and when Yoshiki stirred in his sleep, Hikaru held him tighter.