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The child who lost their way back home, has forgotten even the fact of going back. And so, they wish for death once again.

[Dear Kafka]



Not even in the earliest memories of his earliest days was Satoru ever really happy, stamped out by his abusive father. Blessedly, he later had died of natural causes, and surprisingly not of liver poisoning. Good riddance. His mother having–trying to shield him—had died in one of his drunken rages as his father had a tendency to drink, or use to. It was ruled out under unfavorable circumstances.

A lady had adopted him and he treated her daughter like his sister.

Kayo Hinazuki, a girl that had stuck herself to him when seeing the bruised eye he had, identical to her’s and they had been inseparable from that point on.

However the lady wasn't what she seemed, instead taking over his mother’s will for her own greedy purposes. He didn't have extended family—even if he did they'd want nothing to do with him, anyway. Satoru doubted that his mother had a will, his father probably burned it if it had incriminating things on him.

What he was put to was as excruciating as the cigarette burns that his father rubbed on him or the clinking of the glass bottles against his head that sent him into unconsciousness where he wouldn't wake up in a room of white but rather a room with a weeping mother and a drunk father somewhere outside.

But was he to do? He was just a silent kid, with no voice of his own with an equally silent sister now. Besides everyone knew that adults got away with everything while children were caught in their messes.

It was a hush-hush topic but a horrible not kept well secret in the slightest, between hand covered mouths and sympathetic eyes of mothers. Yet no one reached out to them and moved away when seeing them stare back, vacant and trying to be unfeeling. Apathetic—imposters and liars.

Eventually, one snowy afternoon Satoru had bolted out that day, his hand clenching Kayo’s and she gave a harder squeeze back as they dashed over frosting grass and ignoring the words that were hollered at them. Running around the neighborhood, most kids didn't associate with them due to how they were typically quiet and made no active part to play and the fact they wore long sleeves and pants when it was summer. Or that they could hear their muted cries over the buzzing of the cicadas.

Finding sanctuary on the swingsets, Satoru pushed his sister as she looked up at the sky. His breath fogged in the chilly air and he pulled his scarf to his ears to attempt and block the cold, rubbing furiously at his hands. Growing bored he took the seat next to her as the sky was merging to a orange that would soon become the inkiest blue of the night.

“Hey Satoru?” His eyes flickered to Kayo as she kicked a leg out going back and forth, digging up the ground.


“Can you kill someone for my sake?” The question does startle him but it doesn't make him flinch. Instead he sweeps his gaze over her as he holds onto the chained linking of the swing, swaying a bit with it.

Nope, I’m too much of a coward to kill anything, he thinks. If he had a courage—a second chance to rewrite history, Satoru would have killed his father so he and his mother could live a peaceful life. Now, it was harder if he somehow did kill his adopted mother because what then? Without an adult, they would become orphans and would go from home to home becoming separated. Also there was a large part where they could both go to jail at the fault of someone else. The thought made his guts grind and he hated how it made him feel.

Weak and helpless.

“If I had powers I would,” he admits, eventually and Kayo nods her head as if she understands.

It isn't until his sister goes missing when he's conveniently not beside her where he gets sent back a few minutes in the past.

But never where he wants, always snapshots of the worst moments. He'd wake with no traces of spilled alcohol or ashed skin but he swears he can smell it, feel it. Then it switches and his two parents turn to one. His adopted mother focuses her anger on him, not because Kayo is gone (and possibly dead) but from just her unbridled rage and the rumors rising of her being a inadequate mother.

Yet she was still deemed suitable for a child from epithetic bystanders by chance when evading the child service workers. Typical. Satoru takes it and doesn't bother hiding the cut lip or the bruised cheek he sports. It's noticeable, and more prevalent as he takes as much of the damage that he use to for his sister.

Once he was called in by his teacher, away from prying eyes and echoing rumors. A troubled child they would say. He would agree with them too.

“'re being abused aren't you?” The beatings had gotten worst since there weren't two children his adopted parent couldn't push around. Not to mention her boyfriend tormented him whenever he was around and reeked of being a drunkard.

“It's nothing. It was because I tripped,” it falls flat like his wayward eyes as he spies the tapping of his teacher’s forefinger as he hummed when pushing his body back into his seat as Yashiro stared at him. From his view, it wasn't sympathetic but a curious glint in his eyes that Satoru had never seen on a person before.

It fit his teacher quite well.

Such a nice person couldn't exist in this world and his teacher wasn't an exception.

“ more careful.”

Then that was that.








Satoru had a troubled past, a blank present and one mediocre future ahead of him.

Working as a manga artist he could scrape by with the salary, caught in the time restraints and the part time job he held down. Publishing had complaints of how much he concealed and how much he didn't put down that he was afraid to.

Who'd want to meet a messed up man behind a great piece of work?

The revivals increased as a nuisance, getting involved with utter strangers just to put him in worst positions, landing him more in a hospital compared to when he was a child (when he really need it).

In a roundabout way it was Satoru’s incompetence to cope with his fairly miserable life, an importance.

It was raining that day as it poured on his shoulders, blurring his glasses and he involuntarily shivered at the contact of the light pitter-patter .

Coming home to his dilapidated apartment he found himself swarmed authorities cuffing him as media bustled. It was taken in stride as words of ‘murderer’ and ‘adopted mother’ intermingled and onlookers had varying degrees of disgusted fright. But he didn't catch any as he caught through the pelting rain and fogged glasses a familiar smile. Eyes that flickered with mischief and glee and Satoru’s breath caught.

Pitter-patter .








His eyes opened then blinked twice, choking on his breath and in cold sweat as he nearly vaulted out of his bed mat. A revival, a particularly strong one he thought.

How far had he gone back? Five minutes? An hour even?

The calendar hanging on the wall was omniscient and Satoru couldn't tell from how dark the room was.

With a strangled off cry from the adjoining room he peeked between the crack of the door. His father was choking his mother and he remembered vividly he had seen this before. It was his a day before his 10th birthday, a grim reminder of where he was in the present.

A early birthday gift if one could consider that.

His mother's eyes lolled back in her head, a clear sign that she was dying if the hands around her neck weren't.

His mother had been something that he had regretted not saving when he had the power, when he known and pretended to fall but to sleep.

As he came into the room he saw the certain brand of alcohol that his father liked to splurge his pay on that. His father looked up from his task and commanded him to go out or something from his slur of words. With the passing seconds, his mother attempts to pry his hands around her neck was growing weaker as her eyes became glassy and her lips parting in a wheezing gasp.

His father turned his attention onto her not even seeing his son when Satoru picked up the bottle by the neck and raising it over his head and swinging it down. With each strike, more blood seeped out and onto him, on his favorite Wonder Man shirt and matching socks. The crushing bone and flesh meshed together in a pulp, and he stared with a unmoving gaze as his father gargled. On blood or alcoholic bile he didn't know not that he wanted to.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't bring him any adrenaline elation as he would have thought, yet a sense of accomplishment overcame him. Was this being justice dealt with to his father, by his own hands? Something that he could have as justice had failed him?

When Satoru had failed himself?

A forgotten whisky bottle sloshed with amber liquid as it slipped out of his hand with a silenced thud. His parents paralleled each other, splayed out as he stood there between the two. Both were unmoving and Satoru realized that he had been too late for his mother.

But not for himself.








Even in this alternate world he somehow ended up with Kayo as his sister and her mother as his. It was comforting that there was some familiarity from his past, that he had a person akin to him that he could share his thoughts with.

“You know, I always thought that we were long lost twins.” Kayo had confessed quietly to him as they both patched up their wounds with the bandages that were thrown at them.

“We share the same birthday. It must be fate intervening.” There was a smile despite the fact that they were in a cramped shed plagued with hopelessness, bones aching with purpling skin.

No, it was him intervening. But he just nodded his head with a returned smile.

Ultimately, there would be hope for her and the two others that were wronged.

Enrolling into school they were the primary scapegoats of everyone's conversation. Maybe, as he had glanced around at a group of boys that were goofing near the back corner by the window, in another time—a happier time, they could have all been friends. Then no one would have gone missing and he wouldn't be here.

Then again, he had no clear control over his future but could attempt to change what he could get his hands on.

A 29 year old stuck in a 10 year old's body was bad enough, but he was more recluse within himself with the prior knowledge, shying from even Kayo at times. When seeing his homeroom teacher he remembered why he was here and the purpose that he was meant for. It was the eyes that served as a reminder, that sent a shock through him, to this reality.

He'd make Garu Yashiro—rather the killer and kidnapper of those three murders and many more in the near future—lose his resolve.

Satoru would give him a new purpose in his life, if it meant saving Kayo; children that were robbed by adults.

No one else would disappear, only he would, it seemed.

So be it.








“Kayo, you go on ahead,” his sister paused her head tilting at him as he turned away from her. “I have to ask Yashiro sensei something.”

Usually he didn't stay after school, him and Kayo heading to the playground until they were found out by their mother. School was no safe place with pestering classmates, yet Yashiro was the sole person that did look out for them.

For the wrong reasons, Satoru quipped to himself.

Although Kayo was confused she let go of his hand, her eyes in a downcast. Over the meager year he had spent with her, he had been a crutch to her and without him she was lost, distinctly so.


“Wait for me in the park?” She brightened at that, nodding and they parted ways as he saw the defeated slump of being alone. It hurt him but he proceeded with reclaimed confidence toward his destination.

In the teacher's lounge it was empty as school hours were ending and Yashiro was one of the people still there, rifling through his pile of assignments. Satoru knew time was shortening and he had picked the perfect day at the right time to make sure it was the two of them in the room.


“Oh Satoru you're still here?” His eyes dart to his face as he rummages around and pulls out a bright lollipop for him and two for himself.

Taking it, Satoru slipped it in his mouth, as he takes a seat in another chair that his teacher had graciously pulled over for him. Cherry flavored and sticky on his lips as he lolled it to the side of his mouth.

Swiveling on his chair he glanced back at him as he graded papers, the gel pen clicking onto paper with a satisfying sound. When seeing that Satoru hadn't spoken, Yashiro prodded him with a harmless inquiry as he turned back to him.

“Do you have trouble on an assignment? You're rather bright as a child…” he mindlessly approved when looking at his prior assignments and Satoru resisted the urge to scoff. No he was an adult trapped in a kid’s body, but he couldn't reveal that quite yet.


“Hm?” A flipping of papers as the man didn't pay him much mind. But he would, Satoru was sure of it, now he would.

“I killed someone.”

There's an audible crunch as Yashiro had bitten down on the lollies as Satoru languidly licked at his, unwavering as the man recollected himself; gulping down the shards of sugar. Shuffling his papers aside, the man propped his arms on his legs to adopt a more opened posture that was to be convincing.

It was a deafening silence that didn't make his skin crawl as much as how Yashiro was looking at him. Inspecting him as if he wasn't a sad child abuse case tossed to the side by society and something more—an actual person.

Despite himself, Satoru flushed at that.

“Is that some sort of joke?” When seeing that his expression showed no humor he let leaned back and rested his chin in the slope of his palm. “Who did you kill Satoru?” His voice was low, on the verge of rumbling—dangerous.

The boy pondered his options. He could leave his teacher wondering to make him and inevitably lose interest in his sister and the others or he could outright tell him right now. Would the allusion have no effect?

Judging from how his fingers were tapping and his eyes that were losing their sharpness, he cleared his throat; constricting around the lollipop.

“My father.” 

There's a change that ripples across his eyes as he tilts his head contemplative, “Oh I heard different from the police,” Yashiro tone didn't seem surprised as if he had expected it and Satoru replicated his head tilt to him.

It was that his mother and father had killed each other in a fit of rage and that Satoru had stepped in at the wrong time despite the evidence against him. In retrospect, it was better to not overcomplicate matters such as those.

“Police lie. They're corrupt—fakers,” Satoru answered and it appeared that his teacher agreed with some of his words. Though he himself was a faker, pretending.

But with Yashiro he could tell him everything, whether he believed him or not. Another soul that could understand him.

Perhaps it could be his paranoia but it looked like his teacher’s mask had been taken off and his face was held bare to him, scrutinizing him. The same look on his features long ago had resurfaced, a peculiar curiosity that bubbled open that made him different.

“Tell me what did you feel?” His composure now had radically changed, clinical and calculated as his hands linked together under his chin as he leaned forward.

Almost as if he was a therapist, trying to pry into him. Satoru would allow a part of him for examination, to entice him.

“A sense of justice. Liberation for the bastard that was my father, since the justice system couldn't.” He said it with every ounce of loathing that he had, and Yashiro eye’s widened at him as if seeing him in a new light. Perhaps his usage of moralties or the bluntness of his confiding, or even the choice of vocabulary that was conspicuous as children shouldn't say oaths.

Before he could question him further someone came in and Satoru knew that his time was up. Hoisting his homemade knitted scarf around his neck he gave a inclination of his head as he stepped towards the door.

Satoru offered a wave of his hand, “Thank you for your help on the kanji homework, I understand now. See you tomorrow.”

His teacher seemed lost before answering him a beat later and Satoru didn't need to glance back to know that Yashiro was looking at his retreating back. A small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth as he trudged through the snow.








A month of reliving his past would be leading to the abduction of Kayo, his sister.

He devised a plan to carry out to avoid the kidnapping and murdering of Kayo Hinazuki. It would no doubt work, there would be no hiccups that would occur that he could prevent.

Foolproof, since no one would suspect a child behind this.

Well besides one person.

His teacher, faithful as always, rested his eyes onto him and Satoru would always return it until Yashiro broke away. In the hallways he would speed walk to catch him, even attempted to call him out but even then there would be a interruption that Satoru would slip away with a big grin threatening across his features.

Inevitably, Yashiro had called him and there was no escape. Not that he was afraid, Satoru had nothing to fear for himself.

When entering there was no one else in the room. Either Yashiro had caught him at a nice timing or that he had concocted something so nobody could come upon them.

Good, it meant that his interests were altering and that Satoru was making an actual difference.

Seating himself on the chair, he waited for what the man had to say as he did want to get back to Kayo. It was less than a week until their birthday after all. Yashiro had increased his inventory of candy, from how much he was snacking on, as he studied him with that curious glint.

“I finally caught you, you give a good chase,” his teacher chuckled as Satoru nibbled at the candy and didn't miss the way that his teacher followed his pursed lips.

A revaluation of his proceedings tunneled into his thinking. 

This was a turn of events.

All the children Yashiro had kidnapped weren't assaulted, sexually, but Satoru wasn't an ordinary child.

Innocently, he tongued at the bulb of the lollipop as saliva sheened on it. Yashiro’s mask was fracturing, minuscule but the twitching of his smile told him otherwise.

“An adult shouldn't eat so much sugar,” he gestures to the candy wrappers in the trash.

Deciding to entertain him, a faker smile wove its way to his mouth.

“Adults get cravings, sometimes it can't be sated,” he twirled the end of the lollipop in his hand and Satoru decided to take a leap of his own fate. Getting from his seat he put his hand atop of his teacher's that was on his knee and felt the twitch that went through him.

Pressing his chest to his he leaned up, until his face was in front of his, the stick of the sweet nearly touching Yashiro’s chin. The depths of his eyes followed his actions, tense to where someone could come upon them and what the boy was about to do. What he intended to do.

His eyes blinked up at him, “Kids love to gorge themselves on candy too,” there was a shudder that went through the man and he could tell that his words had a physical response.


“That's why they get sick, they can't help themselves,” perhaps it's his older self speaking for his reverence on his teacher but Satoru couldn't help himself.

“Isn't that right sensei?” The gulping of his gullet trembled underneath his small hand and that's when he got off, stealing a lollipop for later.

Taking the lollipop out of his mouth he put it in his hand, as he lowered his eyes and voice to emphasize what other thing he would leave him with.

“Don't get cavities, okay?”

The response he had was his teacher crossing his legs as someone came in.









It was on the evening of their conjoined birthdays as they were being beaten when Satoru launched his plan into action. He had meticulously sow seeds of distrust between Akemi Hinazuki and her current boyfriend who was to be an alcoholic and experimented on recreational use. How fitting.

“What is this?” The man roared at the evidence Satoru had laid out for the couple, a gift really. Another man's clothing was clenched in his fists as they went out in a tirade. Satoru kept a lookout from the seclusion of his and Kayo’s room.

Ahead of time he had slipped sleeping pills into his sister's drink so she wouldn't have to witness it and stow her into her bedroom as he listened on their fighting.

Thankfully during the beatings she wasn't awake either so didn't yield much reaction to their mothers and boyfriends abuse.

Quickly they escalated from arguments to where the boyfriend was bending to the influence of alcohol of drugs, acting brash and there was the beating of his adoptive mother as she fought back.

A repetitive cycle Satoru was stuck in but nonetheless he would break that. Another bottle of liquor had made Akemi unconsciousness and he saw the boyfriend coming to his senses, though not in his right mind.

He was too much of a coward to kill. Satoru however was not, he didn't have another chance to afford it.

Blubbering as he tried to wake her up and to drunk to see that she was clearly alive from the apparent rise and fall of her chest. This wouldn't do. Creeping behind him, he took the knife from the kitchen.

When seeing him he started to shoo him away with a kick and that his mother was sleeping and didn't see the knife until it was stuck in his chest as Satoru drove it deeper, deeper to the hilt.

“Y-you…” he garbled and tried to reach from him as he fell, clawing at the knife in his chest. He died bleeding out, while Satoru took out bottle from his humid hands that were flailing pathetically. Bludgeoning his surrogate mother with enough force to be considered merciful he wiped off his fingerprints and slipped it back into the other adult’s hand.

Orchestrating this had taken precise timing and the drugs had spent out from his pockets that he didn't need to scatter to make obvious. The police would discover them when Kayo awoke, and it would be concluded that the adults had killed them under the usage of drugs and drinking. After all they'd turn a blind eye to children involved.

Satoru would disappear.

Blood washed onto his feet as he padded over, knowing that there would be an unexpected visitor over.

Best to make him feel welcomed.

Creaking open the backdoor, he saw the culprit, looking into the shed. Maybe for even him and not Kayo but it didn't matter anymore.

The dim lighting shone upon the intruder making him stiffen but not bolting. When seeing the silhouette of a smaller child that was no imminent threat to him, there was a relaxing of shoulders as the man turned to him.

There was a well placed smile on his face as Yashiro sees it's him, breath fogging in the frigid temperature of late evening. Each breath came with a puff of condensed air, a signal that he was alive—living.

It was reassuring, in a way.

“Ah, Satoru just the person I was looking for. Maybe now we can actually talk. Heart-to-heart.” His eyes move to the blood that is on his face but doesn't question him, yet doesn't disregard it.

Satoru knew what he was getting in and he nodded in response, while his teacher was delighted.

“Wait,” he withdrew inside and going to leave his present under his sister's pillow. On his hands and knees he hunched over her prone figure, a bit of remorse for leaving her like this. “I'm sorry I couldn't bring you along. Maybe you'll understand one day.” Then he closed the door and tread back to the living room.

Yashiro had followed him inside and was taking in the situation before him. His eyes widened when landing on him as Satoru had grabbed his coat and was pulling on his boots as if he hadn't murdered two adults and framed it on one of them. He tracked through the blood, not that Satoru cared. His job was finally done.

Justice had been distributed and his sister would live with their nice grandmother that could never visit them, far away from this wretched town. Far away from Yashiro and himself.

“To think that a mere child could have done this.” He walked to him, bending down to his cheek where blood had splattered and wiping it into a streaking smear. “Fascinates me.”








March 2nd 1988.

It was midnight, his and Kayo’s birthday.

Naturally, Satoru had let Yashiro spirit him away, carried in his arms as his boots were coated in blood, Satoru leaving a note of him being dumped somewhere pinned to the boyfriend. The seatbelt locks him in place but Yashiro knows that he's going nowhere. Yashiro has nowhere to go too.

They crossed a bridge, the icy water writhing on the coastline as they cruised on the ice slickened road. A quick thought floats through him: if Yashiro would actually kill him, after how much he revealed to him.

Pushing that down, there was a trace of doubt as he eyed the car’s interior. This isn't his car, from the lack of characterization and the dingy rental that it smelled of. Which meant this would have been the car where he abducted children. When getting in,Yashiro had offered him a candy from the glove compartment, and saw pills mixed in.

The pills and candies are still inside, but they both know that he had not killed anyone. The same couldn't be said for Satoru.

“I would have killed Kayo, if you hadn't caught my attention,” Yashiro said nonchalant, as Satoru looked at the dashboard, the heat all the way on high. He knows but doesn't say it aloud.

“But then I realized how similar we are,” Yashiro leaned into his space that Satoru allowed.

There's a sharp intake of air as Yashiro looked elsewhere, anywhere besides him.

“I can't decide if I want to kill you or not.”

“It doesn't matter I'll still come back.”


Had he said that aloud? Well there was no helping it.

“I said I'll come back.” Clarifying himself he decided to look out the window at the vast openness of the falling snow. “I'm a time traveler, I get premonitions when something life threatening happens.” Satoru isn't sure if mouths should stay that long open and wonders if they might die in a car crash instead. That would be merciful and an very anticlimactic way to go, but not the worst. “It sounds something made up but it wasn't when I was sent all the way back to March 1,1987. To kill my father was the first chain event, since it appears that I had to deliver justice to adults that get away scot-free.”

It's long winded and not an explanation in the slightest but Yashiro seemed to accept it.

“Meaning me as well.” There was a deep breath after that, drawing Satoru’s eyes to him as the man ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I was being outsmarted by a kid, but what kid says those things to an adult,” Yashiro mused to himself rather to Satoru. “Simply bewildering.”

The thrumming of the car calmed the tenseness that was forming. “You foiled me and my plans,” the man realized and Satoru confirmed it, ignoring the flash of concealed rage.

“You didn't stop me though,” there was a noncommittal grunt and a shifting of hands on the wheel.

“I suppose not.”

“You can't stop me,” his voice plaintive. “We can't live without each other and you know it.” There's a sour laugh but a genuine smile that perked on his upturned lips.

“Without me even realizing it, soon you filled the hole in me,” Yashiro sighs, his finger continuing it’s tap-tap-tap as Satoru wondered if he would send both of them careening into the river, the end be it all.

“Sensei…” he breaks the sudden silence that was suffocating them when dwelling on what to say. “Would it surprise you…” his hands go to his forearm to command his complete attention of it wasn't already. “...if I said that you filled mine?”

While trying to keep his eyes on him and the road, his hand trails to his leg within his reach as Satoru traces along the stitching; his eyes bore into his.

They reached his house in a detour, as Yashiro gathers his things stringing Satoru along about how he plans to take him away and how complacent Satoru is with it. Apparently his job wasn't over.

Yashiro sighs to himself, “these wounds need to be treated,” his cheek that is soiled with blood is rubbed gently—soft as Satoru can feel the warmth radiating from the cold leather. “It’ll get infected.”

Satoru lets him, as he disinfects his wounds, it's not as bad as most (perhaps that's his belated birthday gift) and he wishes that he had taken the wool mittens his sister had made for him when thinking back on it. He's a bit malnourished as Yashiro tsks at the blooming bruises of red that weren't part of spilled blood.

“That won't do,” he bandages him with startling ease that could pass off as a regular individual. Satoru leans into his touch not missing the swarmy glee in Yashiro’s face.

Afterwards he lets him take a bath and gives him a shirt and boxers that don't fit him as Yashiro watches the news for any murderers or relating to the deed Satoru had done. There aren't any and he clicks off the television when he enters the room.

“We'll leave tomorrow...for now,” his eyes drink him in, hungrily—and a tad bit praising that caused an involuntary shiver in Satoru as he pads over to the bed. “You should sleep.” Seating himself beside him, he looks back at him.

In a movement of suddenness that nearly topples Satoru over with it, his hands are over his head and his teacher leering over him as he bears down on him.

“Satoru...would you say I'm a psychopath?” The boy blinks at him, the blank blue reflecting a mirrored Yashiro in them. Instead he answers with a question of his own.

“Yashiro,” there was no fixed ‘sensei’ to it and he listened, intently on every word. “Do you think I'm a sociopath?”

That took him off guard and he blinked down at him. The boy seemed incessant and prodding as he waited on him for his answer.

“I suppose we both don't fit those criterias, which is all the more intriguing,” the tone is as sincere as is his touch.








It's warm.

Obtrusive but warm that makes it comforting to his sore body, too young for his age.

The crazed maniac expression Satoru had expected had warped into something that even Yashiro thought he wasn't capable of, as his hand tightened on his tiny ones. You're just like me, you really are.

Perhaps the thought of another person like him made him feel less lonely, a long awaited comfort for someone like Yashiro.

Maybe I am, his breathing whisped onto Yashiro’s lips and his still wet hair fleeting onto his cheek. But that wouldn't matter now. His eyes flicker down as his leg rubs onto the other’s, a muscle twitching under his toes and he's pleased. Yashiro .

There's a boundary he's willing to cross, but it seemed that Yashiro is waiting on the other side for him, a hand out, beckoning for him. Seeing him as an equal had been long surpassed.

Satoru closes the distance and their lips crush against each other, a desperate need burning through his rationality and anything else in his head. It’s accepted back with returned vigor, and he releases his hands that roam to his smaller body, careful and pressing with the prickling of telltale nails.

Normally I wouldn't do this to anyone but you're an exception , Yashiro murmurs in a place between his hair and neck. Truly special. Irreplaceable. Those words make Satoru’s heart swell to a insurmountable size; a heat rush flooding his entirety, traitorous to the indifference he displayed. However his face became flushed when a barely there kiss was placed on his lips, condescending even. Satoru wanted to remind Yashiro who was in control and whipped his head to the side.

I'm an adult stuck in a kid’s body, don't take that lightly, Satoru hums against him that invokes a quiet laugh by his ear.

The clothes are easier to slip off because they're his and Yashiro knows how to get them off, his frail form swims in overflowing fabric that slide off the bed as he lays barren under him as his mouth roams on soft shapes of exposed arms to his underbelly.

Touch me more, yes—there Satoru directs as his mouth lingers as if there's an unidentifiable sweetness to it. His hand smoothed down Satoru’s plump stomach into his borrowed clothes that droop off his hips.

His kiss swallows Satoru’s moan as his hand encloses over his member and it cover him completely as Satoru melds his body to the larger one above.

Take off you clothes, I want to feel you too, Satoru pants as his fingertips barely graze the the hard structures of the other’s body above his own. Taking his hand away, Yashiro sweeps off his clothing in a swift movement as the developed planes of muscle ripple as his shirt falls to the side and a blaze sets onto his face.

Embarrassed now? There's a smirk in his voice and Satoru glares at him as the man comes back to sidle between his legs, black hair tickling his stomach as his head bowed, sucking at it.

Choking back a sputtering gasp Satoru inhaled, breathing him in and watching his bowed head as it travels its path the lines to the middle of his stomach, fresh and tempid from his pleasant bath.

Kiss me, he's kissed, and there's a hand cupping his cheek while his tiny hands thread into his hair that's damp from the shower. It's cold, riveting, as a tongue goes in his mouth and stray teeth nip at his lips.

Satoru has Yashiro in his favor and knows the man would yield to him. If it's Satoru he would comply and it goes both way it seemed.

Hey—don't bite my lip, yet Yashiro had already done it, licking the fleck of blood beading and letting his hands go to the tapering of his waist.

Bending upwards on his elbows, he moves his hand to the grey buckle of his trousers that Yashiro sits onto the back of his legs, watching with perplexity. His pants are open and Satoru pulls him out, and Yashiro grinds into his touch.

Satoru glanced up, Not yet. Patience please. It's the same tone that Yashiro would lecture him with and it doesn't go unnoticed as he just sits and watches, bidding his time.

His hand can barely wrap around him, and there's a teasing as his finger thumbs at the brimming head of his cock. Heady and pulsing in his hand, his hips still as Yashiro held himself back.

After a few minutes of fumbling that could be taken as childish, Yashiro snapped.

Apparently he did have a limit to restrains.

Having enough, Yashiro covers himself over him and forcing him on his belly. Apologies, it seems that I can't wait, Yashiro says though he doesn't appear to be any bit of sorry. A groan sounded from under him but there were no disagreements.

His erection strained from lack of contact, and pressing into the juncture of delicate flesh from Satoru’s thigh. Not looking back when feeling it's weight; Satoru rocks into it, feeling the throb that was produced as it pulsed into his flesh.

Prep me, Yashiro obeys him, the beginning of his long fingers disappearing into him as he stretched him further taking in his tussling in the covers as his hands fisted in the linen and feet curling at the sensation. With the fingers that move inside him, it burned and Satoru choked on his words and air.

Shushing him, his free hand smoothed circles into his bandaged skin, a nose into the hollow of his neck. Pain doesn't make him that excited, and Yashiro waits until Satoru’s groans lessen, and how it sweetens to gradual pleasure. His body responds from it as tears leak at his eyes and Satoru rubs at them, before Yashiro could kiss them away.

He's so full already, the pressing digits searching into him, until he gasps and reflexively jerks up.

Fingers sink to the knuckles, engulfed in his heat as Yashiro mouths the outline of his throat to his lips. Satoru swore that he can see the visible bump from his fingers against his stomach as he lets his fingers go in and out.

Please, now, Satoru’s aware that his voice cracked but Yashiro is in action. Rubbing himself in his slicked palm, his erection rubbed onto him into the crack of his rump, slick with heat as he held his hips with trembling fingers.

Hands pinched into his forearms, and Yashiro welcomed it as he watched his erection enter, the assault of tightness and hotness forcing a moan from him. It slides to the base, as Yashiro's fingers skim to the ridges of his ribs.

No quips are spoken while they adjust, Satoru shuddering at the foreign intrusion and the clenching jaw of Yashiro as he breathed in the dessert sweetness of Satoru.

A craving to be sated, to be eaten.

One hand comes to pull them closer together that makes a exalted breath escape from Yashiro at the brash action for him. Move, Satoru said after minutes of palpable silence and Yashiro draws himself out before slipping into him again.

A rhythm forms between them, as the pull and push of their bodies move; Yashiro touches anything within range of his reach and as Satoru puts his face into the sheets to conceal his noises, fists unfurling in the bed sheets.

Arms come around him, and the sheer affection of it makes Satoru feel loved and the yearning inside him isn't a raging fire but ignites on low embers.

Both their breathing had increased to laborious as, a kiss was placed off center from his lips, and a tongue flicking out to lick across what Yashiro had missed.

His grasp around his body, tightened, suffocating and hot. Face me Satoru, Yashiro begs and Satoru pertains the idea of not complying. Still Satoru nodded imperceptible, letting his body rotate so that Satoru's eyes rove over the hulking body that was still connected to him.

The change in position makes anything woosh out of his contracting lungs as larger arms boxed Satoru in from the hands that had settled on either side of him. The other is impossibly close but Satoru just draws him nearer, lined chest to chest, skin on skin despite how heat rises off both of them.

I love you, Yashiro blurts out and before Satoru can answer he kisses him fully, delving into his mouth. Sloppily he pushes his tongue into the other, lapping at his lips with a receding breath. Satoru you're the only one that makes me feel like this. A rawness, a vulnerability is unveiled to him as the man’s voice quaked. Please accept me.

Body overheated and tired from earlier, the commitment of what the man was saying struck something in Satoru that made him ache even more. Sentimentality wasn't lost on him and he smiled, wider than he ever had and saw the other’s reaction redden from it, Satoru can feel him quivering like his voice had.

Huffing, he brought his hands to loop around his neck, the smile ebbing to a quirking line, letting his mouth imprint onto his flesh so Yashiro could feel his contentment. We need each other, so hold me and I'll stay with you for as long as you want, and then another kiss consumes Satoru as he loses himself in him. With that, there are more confessions told into his ear, then near to Satoru’s heart as if it could hear.

Sweeping him in his arms, Yashiro interlocked their fingers together, legs drawn as his forehead rested as a smile is on his face too. It's an tumult of emotions as his mouth gapes open in series of short breathes as Satoru comes unexpectedly, the lilt of his shrill voice loud, the pressure of his orgasm making Yashiro come soon after with a hoarse groan.

Curling into him, kisses littered onto him that Satoru didn't object as the man muttered things he couldn't quite make out. Letting himself be held, he knew what he had to do.

Yashiro I love you

It's spoken in the lamp lighted room, a warm glow emanating from it. Immediately, proclaims of I love you and I'm so happy among other things of affection were brought forth from the man and Satoru wondered if this was a man capable of murder, no he muses, of course he could.

Satoru doesn't need to wonder if his desires are somewhere else. Upon saying ‘I killed someone’ had lead the man to desire only him, from how his eyes had found his and the way Yashiro had held him—trapped him underneath him to this very moment, Satoru would always be with him.

Yashiro was his, and Satoru was his. That was all there was to it, the ending to his story.

Meeting his eyes Satoru let another smile grace the other.

Let's live somewhere far away. We can stay there for a long time.








(Bonus: Domesticated )

Years pass, with those times more secrets are given to him of Yashiro’s past and vice versa. Mornings are exchanged with a kiss on the cheek and lips and evenings are welcomed with a voice calling out to Yashiro coming home to a homemade meal waiting on the table.

It's oddly content, domestic, as they shared their life with one another in the privacy of two people, two rejects of society.

Cold limbs poke at him and Satoru rummages for his glasses as his hand peeks out from the covers. Those limbs wraps around him that he lets and comes face to face with the face of the man that Satoru had captured.

His face is worn with age but still handsome, (Satoru reassured him); Satoru hadn't changed much, a success in a faceless manga illustrator and writer as he had grown up, lithe limbs and eyes framed by glasses much like before.

Yashiro could be comfortable enough to say that he had grown to love ( Yashiro confused emotions and couldn't quite tell anymore) with the years even more and that Satoru was the overall purpose in his life. He knew it went both ways too.

“Don't you have work?” The work of a politician was corrupt though not as much as a serial killer.

Neither had them killed in the years spent together, codependent on one another.

“Maybe…” a pout found it ways onto him that Satoru kisses away.

The window lets a streak of light into their joined room that Satoru notes, “ah—it's snowing,” as he looks to the wintry weather outside as the arms don't leave him peppering his back with kisses.

He looks back, Yashiro winking at him that still made a warmth cloak his chest to the tips of his toes and fingers, a smile worming itself to his lips.

“Happy birthday.”