The cicadas outside were louder than usual that night, their cries threading through the open window like static. Yoshiki lay on the futon beside him, half on his side, half on his back, watching the ceiling fan turn slow circles in the dark. The only light in the room came from the soft orange glow of the lantern by the door, its wick low, flickering like it was struggling to breathe.

Beside him, he shifted — not enough to wake him, but enough that Yoshiki could feel the heat of his skin brush against his arm. That kind of closeness always made Yoshiki’s chest ache, not from discomfort, but from the deep, twisting combination of yearning and fear.

No one knew. Not really. They were just friends — best friends, childhood friends, whatever people wanted to call them. Boys could have sleepovers in this village, boys could touch each other’s shoulders, share jokes, even whisper late into the night. As long as it didn’t mean anything. As long as it stayed inside the lines.

But everything about this had color outside the lines.

Yoshiki reached up and rubbed his eyes. He hated how easy it was to play the part during the day. To joke around with the others, pretend like nothing was different. To let the old women at the shrine smile fondly at them and say how nice it was that they were so close. “Like brothers,” one had said last week. He’d laughed, and it had come out a little too tight.

He hated more how those words stuck with him, digging under his skin. Like brothers. As if that was all he was allowed to be. As if the warmth in his chest when the other boy touched his hand meant nothing. As if he should be ashamed of the way they sometimes kissed in the quiet, stolen moments when no one could see. As if the fear that kept him from reaching out in public was the right way to feel.

And maybe, deep down, some part of him did believe it was right — or at least, that it was necessary.

“Yoshiki,” came a voice, low and half-asleep.

He froze.

A hand found his, fingers brushing gently, a silent question.

“…Sorry,” Yoshiki muttered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”