The field is damp from the evening dew, but he doesn’t complain. He never does. He lies beside you with his hands folded over his chest, eyes open toward the sky like he’s waiting for some god he doesn’t believe in to answer a question he hasn’t asked yet. The stars above are scattered and unbothered, glittering like teeth in a mouth that’s never spoken your name. The silence between you is familiar. Almost peaceful.

His voice barely stirs the grass around you. “Would you still love me…” He pauses. His fingers twitch slightly. “If I wasn’t him at all?”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. Doesn’t move. But the question hangs there, thick and heavy, pressed between you like a blade tucked under the ribs. You know what he’s asking. It’s not rhetorical. Not self-pity. It’s need. Real and painful and dangerous.

“Would it be enough,” he murmurs, “if I was just this?” He lifts one pale hand. Stares at it. “Not your Hikaru. Not anyone’s. Just… the monster.”

You don’t respond right away. You can’t. The truth hurts too much. And the lie feels worse.

So he answers for you.

“It’s okay,” he says, so gently it makes your chest ache. “I wouldn’t love me either.”

He shifts, just slightly, turning his head toward you. His eyes aren’t cruel. They’re… empty. But trying. Always trying. “But sometimes when you look at me,” he whispers, “I think maybe… maybe you could.”

“And that’s the worst part.” Because he wants you to.