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Yoshiki doesn’t really remember the exact moment Tsukiha became real.
Not the account creation, that part was distant and vague by now. The username was randomly smashed into the keyboard with a burner email, and even the profile picture wasn’t his face.
No, Tsukiha didn’t become real then.
She became real later between the first filtered photo and the first message that made Yoshiki’s chest tighten in some unspeakable manner.
At first, it was just curiosity. He convinced himself thats all it was.
The wig was ordered late at night, eyes aching after staring too long at images he couldn’t stop comparing himself to. Round faces with soft shoulders. It was a kind of beauty that felt adjacent to him, but never quite reachable.
Clothes came next but it was nothing too elaborate, just enough to test the shape of something different.
Because that was the point, wasn’t it?
Tsukiha wasn’t him. Tsukiha could be soft without it ruining her families reputation any further, she could smile into the camera and tilt her head just slightly enough to let her eyes linger. Something Yoshiki would never dare to do. She could exist in that space without the weight of being judged for it because it was...normal.
She wasn't a guy.
That distinction sat quietly in the back of his mind, firm and immovable: It doesn’t count if it’s like this.
The first time he posted, his hands shook.
It wasn't from fear—or at least he told himself as such—but instead from anticipation. The photo wasn’t even that revealing, it was just a loose sweater slipping slightly off one shoulder—sure his collarbone was visible, but his face was partially obscured by shadow and long hair.
He made sure to be careful even if he expected nothing from it, maybe a few likes but nothing much.
Instead, notifications came faster than he was ready for, likes and follows—comments that ranged from casual to a little too interested—yet he read all of them, no matter what.
The problem was...it felt good.
He gets better at it. He learns angles and lighting quickly, how to carefully adjust his expression.
Tsukiha learns quickly, and Yoshiki lets her. There’s a kind of control in it, a careful construction that makes the attention feel deserved and clean, it's not dirty this way, not a sin.
And it works, people notice, look, and want all they want—but its seperated and distance. It's safe for a while.
Hikaru’s like doesn’t stand out at first.
There’s really nothing special about it, just another notification sliding into the growing list. Yoshiki almost scrolls past it without thinking.
He doesn’t know why he taps on the profile. Maybe it’s familiarity tugging at something just out of reach or maybe it’s nothing at all.
Oh, right. Hikaru. They’re not strangers.
Hikaru exists in Yoshiki’s real life in a way none of the others do, casual conversations, shared spaces, a bright sun thats been shining on Yoshiki's life since he was born. He’s always just there, maybe a little unpredictable but Yoshiki has never judged his best friend, not for trivial things.
Yoshiki stares at the screen longer than he should.
Hikaru’s profile isn’t curated like Tsukiha’s. It’s messy and familiar, littered with photos that he sees himself in the corners of or even the focus point of some.
Yoshiki clicks back to Tsukiha’s account, then back to Hikaru's. He does this a few times while a strange tension coils in his chest.
He tells himself not to think about it, that it means nothing and that Hikaru liking Tsukiha’s post doesn’t mean anything beyond what it looks like.
Just another guy and just another pretty girl.
Hikaru likes the next post, and the ones after that. But eventually it's not just likes anymore, the comment makes something twist in his gut.
It’s not much, not even that bold which he certainly wouldn't expect from Hikaru.
“There’s something really calm about your posts.”
Yoshiki reads it three times, and a forth. His fingers hover over the screen, unsure what to do with the sudden, strange weight of it.
People usually comment on how Tsukiha looks. Pretty, cute, hot—sometimes when they think they can get away with it. But who the hell comments...well, that. Yoshiki feels a lot more exposed than he'd like to admit, it feels like Hikaru can see right through him.
He replies before he can stop himself.
Something light and how he imagines Tsukiha would speak.
“Calm? That’s a first. ;)”
There’s a few minutes between the next reply, almost long enough that Yoshiki almost convinces himself Hikaru won’t respond.
“I mean it. It doesn’t feel fake.”
Yoshiki’s breath catches.
Fake.
The word lands wrong...or maybe too right. He stares at it, the irony pressing in from all sides until it’s hard to tell where to look.
Because Tsukiha is fake.
Every part of her is constructed and carefully edited to be presented exactly the way Yoshiki wants the world to see.
“Not fake, I guess.”
Hikaru says it again later, not online this time.
They’re walking back from class, conversation drifting the way it always does—aimless and easy, not much effort needed. Yoshiki isn’t thinking about Tsukiha, not actively at least even though she's there inside him anyway. Waiting.
“I don’t really have a type,” Hikaru says, hands shoved into his pockets, gaze tilted up toward the sky like the answer might be written there.
Yoshiki hums, noncommittally, “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean-” Hikaru shrugs. “I guess I like people who're calmer than me, but can still handle my energy.”
Something in Yoshiki stills and he does everything he can to not react outwardly.
“Calm?” he echoes, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.
“Mm.” Hikaru glances at him briefly. “And not fake, that’s important.”
Yoshiki snorts, it comes out automatically.
“Well, yea. I think that’s important fer everyone.”
“Yeah, but-” Hikaru pauses, searching for the right words. “Some people jus' feel...off, ya know? Like they’re tryin' too hard to be something.”
Tsukiha flickers in Yoshiki’s mind. Those soft smiles and careful angles he strived to perfect, every detail adjusted until it feels effortless.
“Guess that makes sense,” Yoshiki says, his voice sounds steady.
But Hikaru isn’t looking at Tsukiha when he says it, he’s looking at Yoshiki.
And that’s the problem, because the traits Hikaru is describing—those aren’t Tsukiha’s, not really.
They’re his.
The realization settles slowly, like something sinking beneath the surface where it can’t be easily pulled back out. Yoshiki doesn’t know what to do with it nor does he know how to reconcile the two versions of himself that suddenly feel too close together.
If Hikaru likes that...and if he means it, then why?
Why not him?
The question lingers long after the conversation ends but he already knows the answer.
Long after Yoshiki is alone again, phone in hand, Tsukiha’s account glowing softly on the screen; there’s a new message waiting from Hikaru. This time in dms.
Yoshiki stares at it, the name, the space between who he is and who he’s pretending to be.
Then, he taps it open.
By the time Yoshiki realizes he prefers being Tsukiha, it’s already too late to stop.
There’s no clear moment where he decides it—it’s quieter than that. It's the kind of shift you only notice when you try to go back and realize you can’t.
At first, he keeps things separate, deliberate and careful measures.
With Hikaru in real life, nothing changes.
They still talk the same way—easy, unstructured conversations that drift between topics without settling too long on anything serious. Hikaru still laughs too loud sometimes. Still leans a little too close when he’s excited about something. Still looks at Yoshiki like he’s his best friend. Yoshiki knows how to exist in that space, he always has, it's safe.
He always has.
But online it’s different.
Tsukiha doesn’t hesitate. She replies faster and says things Yoshiki would overthink into silence. Lets conversations linger in that soft, almost-intimate space where meaning sits just beneath the surface of every word.
Hikaru meets her there and that’s what changes everything.
Their messages stretch longer. What starts as occasional replies to stories turns into conversations that don’t really end—just pause and pick back up again hours later, like neither of them ever fully leaves.
Hikaru asks questions, they are deeper than expected.
He asks things like, "Do you ever feel like you don’t fit the way people expect you to?”
Yoshiki stares at that message for a long time, the answer is too obvious it makes him a little nauseous.
“Sometimes,” Tsukiha replies.
It should feel like lying but it doesn't really, because none of it is fake.
The words are his alongside the thoughts. Even the softness he recognizes, buried somewhere deeper than he usually lets himself go.
Tsukiha isn’t a different person, not as much as Yoshiki wants her to be.
"You feel different from everyone else.”
The message comes late, its honestly an unreasonable hour to be texting but Yoshiki is awake anyway.
Yoshiki reads it a few times. His chest tightens, something warm and unsteady blooming beneath his ribs.
He should stop, that thought comes immediately now and it's sharper than before.
This isn’t harmless anymore—It hasn’t been for a while.
Hikaru doesn’t talk to Tsukiha the way people usually do. There’s no distance in it or performative edge to show hes just chasing attention, hes engaged. It's so utterly real in a way that makes Yoshiki’s stomach twist with something dangerously close to hope.
Hikaru isn’t talking to a stranger, he’s talking to Yoshiki just not the version he sees every day.
“Different how?” Tsukiha types.
Doubt starts to creep in quietly as Hikaru takes longer to reply than normal.
“I don’t know. It’s like you actually mean what you say, you're real yk.”
Yoshiki exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath without realizing it.
Real.
The word shouldn’t hit this hard, at least not when everything about this is built on something that isn’t.
He sets his phone down.
He should end it now, before it gets worse and before Hikaru says something he can’t take back.
Before Yoshiki starts believing something he shouldn’t.
But then his phone buzzes again and Yoshiki has always been so easy for his best friend to persuade.
“Is that weird to say?”
Yoshiki’s chest aches, its like his heart is physically in pain. Because no one has ever said something like that to him before, especially not someone like Hikaru.
His fingers move before he can stop them.
“No,” Tsukiha replies. “I’m glad you think so.”
The moment he sends it, something settles, but its not really relief. It isn't even really something specific but he knows hes made a choice.
Because this is the point where it stops being accidental.
Yoshiki leans back against his bed, staring at the ceiling, phone still clutched loosely in his hand. His mind is already trying to make sense of it and excuse his actions as he feels bile churn in his gut.
It’s not the same.
That’s the first thought thats the easiest one to hold onto.
Hikaru isn’t talking to him, he’s talking to Tsukiha. To someone softer, easier to want.
That’s why Hikaru says the things he does without hesitation. Why he opens up in ways he never quite does face-to-face.
Why Yoshiki gets to have this at all.
Because if it were just him...he doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t need to.
Instead, he rolls onto his side, pulling his knees in slightly to his chest as his head swims with nausea, phone lighting up again in his hand.
“Can I ask you something?”
Yoshiki’s pulse quickens.
“Sure,” Tsukiha replies.
He can almost picture Hikaru on the other end—hesitating, deciding whether or not to cross whatever line this might be.
"Do you ever wish you could be someone else?”
Yoshiki closes his eyes, he wants to be honest. He wants to admit that yes, all the time, he wishes he was anything besides the monster inside him.
But Tsukiha doesn’t say that, she can't.
“Sometimes,” she types instead. “Why?”
“I don’t knoww...I just feel like it’d be easier?”
Yoshiki lets out a quiet, humorless breath. He knows exactly what that feels like.
His grip tightens slightly around his phone.
This is wrong, he knows that. Knows it in the same way he knows he should stop, should pull away before this turns into something neither of them can untangle.
But Hikaru’s still typing, choosing to stay up and talk to her.
Yoshiki understands something he hasn’t wanted to admit.
It’s really about being chosen.
Even if it’s like this—especially if it’s like this.
“Yeah, It would be.”
The message sends but Yoshiki doesn't want to delete it anymore.
Because losing this feels worse than the guilt.
The shift is small enough that Yoshiki almost convinces himself it isn’t happening.
It starts with timing, Hikaru begins messaging even later.
The kind of hours where the world feels narrowed down to whatever is glowing in your hands. Where words linger longer than they should, and meaning slips between them without needing to be spelled out.
“You’re still awake?”
Yoshiki stares at the message. The clock reads 2:37 AM. He shouldn’t be, he has class in the morning. A version of himself that exists outside of this.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Tsukiha replies.
There’s a pause, the typing bubbles taunting him.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Yoshiki shifts slightly on his bed, pulling the blanket closer around himself even though he’s not cold, he's sweating.
“Something on your mind?”
The typing bubble dissapears and reappears a few times.
"Maybe...you?”
Yoshiki hesitates, there are easy and safe answers he could give.
He doesn’t choose those.
“Just thinking,” Tsukiha types. “About things I probably shouldn’t.”
This time, Hikaru replies faster.
“That sounds dangerous LOL”
Yoshiki exhales softly.
“Maybe it is.”
The air between the messages shifts, it feels like his walls are closing in on him, the heated warmth of his blanket weighing him down.
Hikaru doesn’t joke it off or redirect like he usually would.
"What kind of things?”
Yoshiki’s pulse picks up. He shouldn’t answer that, he knows he shouldn’t.
“What do you think?”
The reply takes longer this time.
Long enough that Yoshiki becomes aware of every small movement in his own body—the way his fingers tighten slightly around his phone, the way his breathing is faintly laboured.
“I think...you know exactly what you’re doing when you post sometimes.”
Heat creeps up Yoshiki’s neck.
The images flash in his mind without permission—the slight tilt of his head and the way fabric slips just enough to suggest without showing anything.
Tsukiha is always so carefully controlled, and yet Hikaru sees through it anyway.
“Is that a bad thing?” Tsukiha replies.
"No, just hard to ignore ig”
Yoshiki presses his lips together.
This is new.
Not entirely, but the way it’s being said is. Theres nothing crude in the words but theres underlying tension that makes the beads of sweat on his forehead drip faster.
“What do you notice?”
The question sits there.
Yoshiki’s heart is beating too fast now.
He should stop—but the typing bubble appears almost immediately this time.
"The way you look at the camera, its like you’re not really looking at it.”
Yoshiki’s breath catches.
“Like you’re too busy thinking about someone.”
The room feels smaller suddenly, the faint sound of crickets outside are digging into his eardrums.
“Am I?”
His fingers don’t feel entirely steady when he types.
“Feels like it.”
Yoshiki swallows.
He looks at his own reflection faintly mirrored in the dark screen edges, at the person holding the phone. At the distance between that and the version Hikaru is talking to.
“Maybe I am,” Tsukiha replies.
The moment it sends, Yoshiki’s chest tightens. This has to be crossing some sort of line, and yet Hikaru doesn't pull back.
“Yeah?”
There’s something different in that message, it doesn’t need to be spelled out to be understood.
Yoshiki shifts again, sitting up slightly now, back resting against the headboard as his chest takes in more air than normal.
“Maybe,” Tsukiha types slowly, "it depends on who I’m thinking about.”
“And who would that be?”
Yoshiki closes his eyes just for a second, he can feel nausea slamming into his skull at how dirty he is. If he answers there’s no pretending this is harmless anymore.
But if he doesn’t he already knows he won’t like that answer either.
He's so disgusting.
“What do you think?”
It’s not an answer, but its all he can bare to send without having to stumble downstairs—waking his house—just to throw up in the bathroom.
“...I think I have an idea.”
Yoshiki’s chest feels tight, he can't breathe quite right and it feels like one of his lungs is simply too small.
This is no longer just attention or curiosity, its mutual and chosen.
And it’s built on something that can’t exist outside of it.
That realization doesn’t stop him regardless, even it makes everything feel more heavy than he'd like.
After that, the conversations don’t go back to what they were before.
They don’t become explicit but they are more charged than before, a thick layer of tension sticking to each letter.
Hikaru starts noticing more, or maybe just starts to say more.
"You looked different in that last post”
"Different how?”
“I don’t know...softer maybe?”
Yoshiki reads that one over and over. Because he doesn’t know which version of himself Hikaru is talking about anymore and that's starting to scare him.
But not enough to stop, never enough to stop.
Not until, “Can I ask you something?”
The message comes earlier this time, in the normal hours of the day, the sun just barely about to head off. That alone is enough to make Yoshiki uneasy.
“You already asked me that before,” Tsukiha replies lightly.
“Yeah, but this is different.”
Something in Yoshiki’s chest tightens.
“Okay...?”
Theres a pause and the typing bubbles make it visible Hikaru is hesitating.
“Would you ever want to meet?”
Everything stops.
The question sits there, like it doesn’t carry the weight Yoshiki immediately feels pressing down on him. Suddenly just the air alone in his room feels suffocating, too much and not enough all at the same time.
Yoshiki’s grip tightens around his phone and he's distantly aware he might break it if he squeezes any harder.
This was always going to happen. Some part of him knew that from the beginning but always ignored and pushed it aside, told himself he’d figure it out later.
“Maybe someday,” Tsukiha supposed, it was noncomittal but it wasn't a direct no.
Hikaru doesn’t push or question it and Yoshiki can feel air filtering in through his lungs once more.
“Yea!,” he replies. “Someday’s fine.”
But something has changed irreversibly. There’s a future attached to this and Yoshiki has no idea how to reach it without everything falling apart.
That night, he doesn’t sleep.
Instead, he sits in front of the mirror.
The wig rests slightly askew on his head—the soft fall of synthetic strands framing his face in a way that looks natural after so much practice. He adjusts it and watches the transformation settle into place piece by piece.
Tsukiha looks back at him.
Soft and calm, exactly the kind of person Hikaru said he liked.
Yoshiki’s throat tightens.
Because now he knows that was never supposed to be her. It was supposed to be him.
And yet he reaches for his phone anyway, opens the camera, and takes another picture.
Yoshiki tells himself it’s just for the photos.
That’s how it always starts.
The house is quiet. The kind of silence that settles into the walls and makes every small movement feel louder than it should be. The clock ticks somewhere down the hall and he can hear a few bikes or cars passing outside his house every few minutes.
He checked twice, he shouldn't even be nervous.
And yet Yoshiki adjusts the sleeve of the top again, even though it’s already sitting exactly where he wants it. Off one shoulder, not too far but just enough to give an illusion of shape.
The mirror reflects someone he recognizes too easily now.
Tsukiha tilts her head slightly.
Yoshiki watches the movement, studies it—not critically, he's more-so observing it at this point, the familiarity of it all. He lifts his hand, brushing a strand of hair back into place and his stomach lurches when the motion is softer than it used to be.
“...This is fine,” he mutters, the sound of his own voice feels out of place in the room.
He reaches for his phone.
The camera opens and for a second, he hesitates. The photo isn't truly as explicit as it could be, thats not the problem. The problem is he knows exactly who's going to see it.
Hikaru liked the last one, commented and messaged after. It was like a routine for them by this point.
Yoshiki exhales slowly.
“Just a picture,” he says under his breath, like saying it out loud makes it true.
He lifts the phone, angles it slightly and tilts his chin down just enough.
The first shot isn’t right, too stiff—only by the fourth does something settle and perfectly slot into place.
He lowers the phone slightly, eyes scanning over the image. The soft fall of fabric, the line of his collarbone, and the way his expression lands somewhere unreadable are all things he makes sure to include.
It’s good, he knows it is.
Hikaru will notice.
And it seems that thought is the only one that matters.
Yoshiki’s thumb hovers over the screen, he could post it and just get it over with but instead he opens their messages, the last one burning into his retinas.
“Someday’s fine.”
It shouldn’t feel like a promise but he feels vaguely obligated now.
Yoshiki stares at it long enough that something uneasy settles under his skin, his room is closing in on him. Someday is getting closer, whether he wants it to or not.
His reflection shifts when he moves. The illusion flickers, reminding his this isnt real. Or at least it is, just not in a way that can survive outside this room.
The thought sits there, unresolved.
He lifts the phone again, adjusts the angle slightly.
Another photo but this one feels different, there’s something in his expression he doesn’t fully recognize. It looks more like vulnerability than anything he can name.
Yoshiki freezes for a second after taking it.
Such a raw feeling like that disgusted him, a reminder of how unholy—
A sound cuts through the quiet, the front door can be heard sliding open and Yoshiki's entire body goes still.
For a second, his brain doesn’t catch up to process or understand but then the sound comes again clearer and the unmistakable shift of the door closing can be heard.
Was it left unlocked?
His stomach drops, no one is supposed to be home for a while, he made sure of it at least thrice.
“Hello?”
Hikaru’s voice carries down the hallway, a familiar tone slowly approaching.
Too close.
Everything in Yoshiki’s body locks up at once.
No. No, no-
His gaze snaps to the mirror, to the person staring back at him.
The wig, the clothes—theres no time when the footsteps keep getting closer.
“Yoshiki?”
Panic hits all at once, warm and suffocating as he moves too fast. Almost trips over himself trying to step back, hands coming up instinctively like he can hide something that’s already fully visible.
“Wait-”
The word barely leaves his mouth before the door opens.
And everything stops.
Hikaru stands there.
For a second, he doesn’t react. He just sort of stares, neither of them saying a single word.
The space between them goes completely still. Yoshiki can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears and drowning out everything else, he wonders if Hikaru can hear it too.
See the disgusting monster inside of him.
Hikaru’s gaze moves slowly, clearly trying to understand what he’s seeing. From the wig to his exposed shoulder and then to Yoshiki's face—and it stops there, on his face.
Recognition doesn’t hit all at once, Yoshiki can see that. Can see the exact moment Hikaru’s brain tries to align the image in front of him with something familiar.
“...Yoshiki?”
It comes out quieter than usual. So uncertain that Yoshiki’s throat closes.
“I-”
Nothing follows, because where would he even start? The silence stretches unforgivably wide and bears down on both of them.
Hikaru takes a step forward slowly and Yoshiki instinctively steps back.
“Wait,” Hikaru says quickly, stopping where he is. “I’m not...I just-”
He exhales, running a hand through his short hair, visibly trying to catch up to something that keeps slipping just out of reach.
“I didn’t know you were-”
He stops and starts over again.
“I mean- I came by because I...” Another pause and frustration at himself flickers briefly across his face, he obviously wants to get the words out correctly but it just wont seem to work.
“I should’ve texted first,” he finishes, like that’s the part that matters and Yoshiki almost laughs but it catches somewhere in his chest instead.
“Yea,” he says, voice tight, uneven. “Ya should’ve.”
His hands are shaking. He doesn’t know what to do with them or where to put them. He isn't sure how to exist in his own body right now...is this even his own body?
Hikaru notices, his gaze shifts quicker this time, less uncertain, but no less careful.
“You...” Hikaru starts but trails off. The question is obvious yet neither of them can say it.
Yoshiki’s chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.
This is it. This is the moment everything breaks, his mind is flooded with ugly sharp thoughts: Hikaru is going to hate him.
It settles in before anything else can, because what else could this be?
A lie, deception. Something twisted and embarrassing and impossible to explain in a way that doesn’t make it worse.
“I can explain,” Yoshiki blurts out. The words come too fast and desperate but Hikaru doesn't interrupt despite this. He doesn’t react beyond the slight shift in his expression—something tightening.
Yoshiki opens his mouth and nothing comes out because there is no version of this that sounds okay.
“I didn’t..." He swallows hard despite the barbed wire encircling his throat. The room feels too small and the air is too thin for both of them.
Hikaru’s voice, when it comes, is quieter than Yoshiki expects.
“I’m...not mad.”
That makes it worse.
Hikaru’s expression is still caught somewhere between confusion and something deeper Yoshiki can't read.
“I just-” He exhales again, slower this time. “I don’t understand.”
Yoshiki doesn’t understand either, not in a way he can explain out loud.
Silence settles again and neither of them move a muscle, Yoshiki can feel sweat dripping from his face and hes sure it's messing up his light makeup by now.
Hikaru’s gaze lingers on Yoshiki’s face like he’s trying to match it to something that he almost understands and Yoshiki can see the exact moment that almost-recognition starts to form.
And panics. There’s no going back after this, and its truly weighing down on him.
“There’s nothin'-” Yoshiki starts, too quickly and he stops himself.
Because that’s not true and they both know it, he doesn't know if he can lie again to Hikaru's face without throwing up on his floor. His ribs are digging into his lungs and his throat is constricting around his vocal cords.
They stay like that longer than either of them should.
Yoshiki doesn’t move, afraid that anything he does—any shift, any word—will tip whatever fragile balance is holding this moment together into something worse.
Hikaru hasn’t left and that should really mean something but it wont get through his thick skull. The synthetic hair draped over his shoulders feels far too fake in the moment, the skirt makes his pale lithe legs littered with moles feel far too thin.
“I…” Yoshiki starts again, his voice is too weak and wrong but he forces himself to keep going anyway, “I need to tell ya somethin'.”
Hikaru nods, “Okay.”
Theres no pressure but it just makes it harder.
Yoshiki looks away, he can’t say this while looking at him. He cant.
“The account,” he hesitated, the words feel heavy, like they don’t belong in his mouth.
Hikaru doesn’t react immediately but Yoshiki sees it in the way his posture shifts slightly.
“What account?” Hikaru asks.
Yoshiki’s fingers curl into the fabric at his side.
“Tsukiha.”
The silence is suddenly suffocating as Hikaru stills and Yoshiki can see the cogs turning in Hikaru's head. The slow, almost reluctant turning of something in Hikaru’s mind. Pieces moving, not yet fitting, but starting to align in a way that feels inevitable.
“...What?” Hikaru says and Yoshiki cant make out the tone.
Yoshiki swallows hard.
“I made it,” he says, quieter now. “The account, the posts, the messages.”
Each word feels like it’s taking something with it as it leaves.
“I’m-” He stops to correct himself. “Tsukiha is me.”
Even the dust in the air seems to still as Hikaru stays quiet, leaving Yoshiki to wonder mindlessly what he's thinking right now—continuing to ramble because now there’s nothing to hide behind.
“I didn’t mean for it to-” Yoshiki cuts himself off again, shaking his head slightly. “That’s not true.”
He exhales shakily, “I did,” he admits. “At first, I jus- I wanted to see if I could.”
His voice refuses to steady as he stammers out his pathetic excuse of an explanation, “If I could be...someone else.”
Hikaru’s gaze hasn’t left him, it's intense and boring holes into his form that suddenly feels both too small and too large to be percieved.
“I thought it would be easier,” Yoshiki continues, he cant stop now.
“I could say and do things and it wouldn’t...” He struggles for the words. “It wouldn’t be me.”
His chest tightens and head spins with nausea.
“It didn’t count.”
The lie that he built everything upon is out of his mouth now, and he suddenly realises just how stupid it sounds.
Hikaru’s expression shifts slightly into something softer.
“And then you...” Yoshiki’s voice falters. “Ya started talking to me.”
“You didn’t know,” he adds quickly. “Obviously ya thought that...”
He gestures vaguely at himself: at the clothes, the wig, the version of him that never existed.
Hikaru exhales slowly, “I thought you were Tsukiha,” he says.
“Yeah, I know.”
“I should’ve stopped,” Yoshiki says, the words come out sharper than he means them to.
“I knew I should stop.”
His hands are shaking again and he can't hide it anymore with how bad it is.
“But I didn’t.”
Hikaru doesn’t interrupt despite this.
“I couldn’t,” Yoshiki mutters, "Because...Because ya were different with me.”
Hikaru’s brows knit slightly in what seems to be confusion.
“With Tsukiha,” Yoshiki corrects, voice tightening. “You noticed things, you said things ya don’t..." He trails off because thats not really fair.
“You felt...real” His voice cracks, cringing at how disgusting he sounded. The irony of the word almost makes him laugh.
“So I kept goin',” Yoshiki says. “Even when it stopped bein' harmless. Even when I knew that it wasn't just me anymore.”
Hikaru’s expression is clear now but none of it holds any anger surprisngly.
“And the reason?” Hikaru asks quietly.
Yoshiki freezes.
“The reason ya didn’t stop.”
There’s no way around it so Yoshiki’s gaze drops to the floor.
“Because I knew,” he says slowly, “that ya wouldn’t-” his voice falters again uselessly.
“That ya wouldn’t look at me like that.”
He exhales shakily. “I thought it was easier like this, if i just wasn't me.”
Yoshiki can't handle the silence that fills up after so he continues speaking, he doesn't think he's spoken this much in his entire life—not even to Hikaru.
“I know it’s messed up n stuff,” he says quickly. “I know I lied, I know I-”
“Yoshiki.”
Hikaru’s voice cuts through his spiral and Yoshiki instantly stops to look up and realise Hikaru is watching him in a way he hasn’t before.
“That’s why,” Hikaru says, more to himself than anything else.
Yoshiki blinks, “What?”
Hikaru’s gaze shifts slightly, like he’s looking at something that isn’t fully in front of him.
“That’s why it felt...” He pauses. “...different?”
Yoshiki’s chest tightens when Hikaru looks back at him.
“When we talked,” he continues with a slight frown on his face. “It didn’t feel like somethin' fake.”
“Because it wasn’t, it was just you.” Hikaru finishes.
Yoshiki’s breath catches. Hikaru exhales slowly, like something has finally clicked into place and despite that Yoshiki still wants to throw up.
“Ya meant it,” he says, “all of it?”
Yoshiki nods before he can stop himself.
“Yeah.”
He feels dirty, like he's covered in grime and filth. Hikaru runs a hand through his hair again, looking away briefly.
“Ya really thought I wouldn’t?”
He doesn’t finish the sentence and Yoshiki doesn’t need him to, they've been friends for so long now he can basically pick up what Hikaru doesn't even say.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation this time.
“Why?” Hikaru asks.
The question Yoshiki has been avoiding from the beginning is slammed right into his face and all he can do is laugh—its a soft empty thing, but nontheless he laughs.
“Because I’m a guy.”
The words hang there after his voice cracks on the last word.
“And you’re...” He stops, shrugs slightly. “You.”
It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, too small for something that’s felt this big for this long.
Hikaru doesn’t laugh. Instead, he steps closer and Yoshiki tenses instinctively but this doesn't stop Hikaru from stepping closer til the space between them looks like it can be physically felt.
“You’re the same person, ain't ya?” Hikaru proclaims.
Yoshiki shakes his head immediately.
“No, I’m not-”
“Yes, you are. The way ya talk, the way ya think.” Hikaru gestures vaguely. “That’s what I liked.”
Yoshiki’s heart feels like it hurts.
“Ya didn’t have to be someone else.”
“I didn’t think you’d choose me,” he quavered.
Hikaru is quiet for a moment.
“But i still did, right? I just didn't know it was you."
Yoshiki stills as Hikaru meets his gaze. The tallers breath comes unevenly and he feels weirdly exposed underneath Hikaru's eyes.
“So what now?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
He steps closer, close enough that Yoshiki forgets how to breathe for a second.
“Now...” Hikaru says quietly but stops, instead his hands tentatively wrap around Yoshiki's waist and pull him close.
And Yoshiki doesn’t pull away.
Hikaru's lips were chapped but soft all the same, the kiss tasted sweet and warm like vanilla. The shorters snaggletooth nipped at Yoshiki's lip, making his head reel.
Yoshiki's heart hammered against his ribs, his long black wig cascading in glossy waves down his back, framing his flushed face.
The off-shoulder top clung to his slender frame, one sleeve slipped down to expose the intricate lace of the bralette peeking out. His short skirt swayed at mid-thigh, hiding the sheer black panties that hugged his hips and the growing bulge beneath.
He felt so...exposed like this, and yet it felt like the grime and dirt that had washed over him was slipping away.
Hikaru's eyes devoured him, dark with unrestrained hunger.
"Yoshiki, ya look so gorgeous like this," Hikaru murmured, his voice low and reverent, stepping closer he reached out to cup Yoshiki's cheek with a calloused palm, thumb brushing over full lips.
"But i bet ya would look prettier if i..." He slowly reached up and carefully removed the wig, making sure it didnt snag on the tallers real hair as those long bangs cascaded down over his eyes once more in such a familiar way.
Their gazes locked and Hikaru leaned in, pressing their mouths together in another tentative kiss.
Yoshiki sighed into it, lips parting softly to welcome Hikaru's tongue. It slipped inside, exploring with slow, deliberate laps, tasting the sweetness of Yoshiki's mouth.
Hikaru's arms wrapped around Yoshiki's waist tigher, pulling him flush against his solid chest, their heartbeats syncing through thin fabric.
The kiss deepened gradually, tongues sliding in languid circles while their breaths mingled hot and heavy. Hikaru's hand trailed down Yoshiki's back, fingers splaying over the curve of his ass, squeezing gently through the skirt.
"Mmm, I've wanted this for so long," Hikaru whispered against Yoshiki's lips, nipping at the bottom one before diving back in. Yoshiki shivered, clutching Hikaru's shirt, exposing his neck as Hikaru's mouth trailed kisses along his jawline, down to the pulse point throbbing wildly.
They shuffled backward toward the bed, lips rarely breaking contact, stumbling slightly in their eagerness.
Hikaru guided Yoshiki down onto the soft mattress, hovering over him like a predator savoring its prey.
The kisses grew hungrier, Hikaru sucking on Yoshiki's tongue with increasing fervor, teeth messily clacking together. One hand lifted the off-shoulder top off, fully revealing the bralette's delicate lace.
Fingers hooked under the lace, tugging it down to bare Yoshiki's chest, nipples already hardening under the cool air.
Hikaru's mouth descended, latching onto one nipple with a wet suck, tongue flicking rapidly while his teeth grazed the sensitive bud. Yoshiki arched, a whimper escaping as pleasure shot straight down.
"Hikaru...feels so good," he gasped, fingers threading through Hikaru's short hair, holding him there.
Hikaru switched sides, lavishing the other nipple with the same attention, his free hand sliding under the skirt to palm Yoshiki's hardening cock through the panties.
The fabric was already damp, Yoshiki's cock twitching under the pressure.
Hikaru rubbed in firm circles, thumb pressing the head, coaxing more precum to soak through. Yoshiki bucked his hips, kissing Hikaru messily, tongues bumping as desperation built.
"Touch me more," Yoshiki begged, voice breathy and needy against Hikaru's lips. The pleasure was so constant and overbearing that he hardly had a moment to even overthink.
Hikaru laughed gently, shoving the skirt up to Yoshiki's waist. The panties strained over the thick outline of Yoshiki's dick.
He peeled them down inch by inch, watching the flushed length spring free, slapping against Yoshiki's stomach while a beads of precum leaked from the tip like a faucet. Hikaru wrapped his fist around the base, stroking slow and deliberate, from root to tip, twisting at the head.
Yoshiki moaned loudly, hips bucking into the grip. Hikaru leaned down, dragging his tongue flat along the underside, savoring the salty taste.
He swirled around the head, then took it into his mouth, sucking hard while his hand pumped the shaft. Yoshiki's legs spread wider, toes curling into the sheets. "Fuck, yer mouth...Hikaru don't stop."
Hikaru bobbed deeper, cheeks hollowing, throat relaxing to take more even though Yoshiki's cock was arguably below average size.
Yoshiki's whines filled the room, his hair fanning out on the pillow like a dark halo, makeup smudging from sweat.
Sensing the edge, Hikaru pulled off with a pop, strings of spit connecting them. He surged up, capturing Yoshiki's mouth in a filthy kiss, feeding him his own flavor.
"I need to be inside you. Ya ready?" Yoshiki nodded frantically, eyes glazed and pupils dialted, he couldn't grow the courage to say it out loud but Hikaru trusted him regardless.
Hikaru gathered saliva in his mouth, spitting a thick glob onto his fingers. He slicked two digits thoroughly, then pressed one against Yoshiki's hole, circling the rim before pushing in slow.
Yoshiki tensed, then relaxed with a hiss, clenching around the intrusion. Hikaru pumped it in and out, crooking to brush the prostate, making Yoshiki jolt.
"Right there..." Yoshiki panted, chest heaving as he tried to relax.
Hikaru spat again, working in the second finger, scissoring them to stretch the tight ring. He fucked them deeper, twisting, adding a third after more saliva, knuckles deep now, curling relentlessly against that spot. Yoshiki's cock leaked steadily, untouched as he writhed and dug his fingers into the sheets.
Hikaru stripped quickly, his own cock bobbing free while the tip was red and glistening. He spat on Yoshiki's hole, smiling crookedly as Yoshiki twitched from the sudden sensation.
Positioning between Yoshiki's thighs, he nudged the thick blunt head against the prepared entrance.
"Breathe for me..."
Yoshiki exhaled shakily as Hikaru inched forward, breaching the tight entrance with a burn that morphed into fullness.
They both groaned, pausing when Hikaru finally bottomed out. Soft kisses exchanged, foreheads touching, until Yoshiki rocked his hips—shivering as the skirt brushed against his erection.
"You can move..."
Hikaru started with shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before sliding back, building a rhythm.
Each drag hit Yoshiki's prostate, sparks igniting.
"So tight, gripping me perfect 'shiki," Hikaru cooed, hands gripping Yoshiki's hips tightly.
Pace steady as he made sure to slide in and out deeply yet slow, giving Yoshiki time to adjust while their skin slapped together softly.
Yoshiki eventually wrapped his legs around Hikaru's waist, pulling him deeper.
“Harder, Hikaru—give it to me.”
The plea snapped something and Hikaru hoisted Yoshiki's legs over his shoulders, folding him nearly in half.
He pounded into that tight heat relentlessly, cock slamming home with brutal force while the bedframe rattled against the wall.
Yoshiki squealed, nails bluntly scratching down Hikaru's arms. “So good, ngh— please!” He didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore.
Hikaru pinned his wrists above his head, leaning down to bite his neck, marking the pale skin purple and scraping that snaggletooth against the marks. His hips pistoned like a machine, grunts borderline animalistic. He released one hand to jerk Yoshiki's cock in time with the thrusts, thumb smearing precum.
“Cum for me, c’mon ‘shiki, squeeze my dick.”
Yoshiki broke, body seizing, ropes of cum painting his skirt and Hikaru's stomach. The clench tipped Hikaru over the edge as he thrust in deep, flooding Yoshiki's entrance while grinding to wring out every drop.
They collapsed panting, Hikaru still inside, softening slowly. Cum leaked out around his base as he peppered Yoshiki's face with lazy kisses.
“Every night like this,” Hikaru promised, nuzzling the crook of the tallers neck.
Yoshiki was already drifting off, but he mumbled anyway albeit slurred, “Rougher next time.”