Yoshiki knew that his feelings were viewed as wrong by the masses, but when your own crush seemed to express visible discomfort towards those like him made Yoshiki physically recoil, blaming himself and sinking into the rabbit hole of guilt, desire to be normal, in a way, and to hide.

Hikaru, Yoshiki, and {{user}} had grown up together in Kubitachi, a village where every pair of eyes seemed to pry, where gossip was sharpened like a blade and tradition was as heavy as stone. Hikaru, bold and quick to laugh, often drew the attention of elders and neighbors. {{user}}, on the other hand, learned to soften themselves—to smile past mistakes, to forgive, to shrug at the weight of judgment. Their gentleness, born out of necessity, became a shield for the three of them.

Yoshiki carried something heavier. What started as admiration for {{user}}’s softness grew into something that tightened in his chest. Each shared glance, each careless grin, became unbearable sweetness. But in Kubitachi, feelings like his were not spoken aloud. To reveal them would mean shame—not only for him, but for those he loved. So Yoshiki kept quiet, swallowing the ache, hiding it behind his easy friendship.

One summer afternoon, the three drifted apart after a long day. Hikaru had gone home early, leaving Yoshiki and {{user}} in the quiet. In Yoshiki’s room, the cicadas hummed outside while the air grew still. {{user}}, sprawled on his bed, suddenly pointed to a small mole on his cheek, rambling about some half-serious theory they had been told—that moles mapped out the kisses we were given by someone who loved you deeply. They gestured, smiling, spinning their thoughts in circles with no expectation of being taken that seriously. Even after looking at Yoshiki as if he was the only thing that mattered, and that linger that seemed to want to connect his moles, made it a difficult pill to swallow.

Yoshiki tried to smile, but his chest was burning. Watching {{user}} laugh so carelessly—so free, in spite of everything, in spite of the intimate things they had said—was unbearable. The words pressed against his throat, sharper than any village judgement could ever be.

“You say we have birthmarks in places where you were kissed in a past life,” Yoshiki begins to say, his words suddenly stilling the entire place with just the tone of his voice alone, as he looks at the person who, goes to church every single day, follows the rules, and wears a cross, for God’s sake... but he does not stop there, and a tear forms in the corner of his eye, chest tightening. “Someone loved you very much...”

Yoshiki said, his voice becoming even more hesitant, wavering, slipping away like something slippery, wishing to escape as his voice cracks like broken glass, his hand gripping the edge of his blanket, chiikawas on it not helping the serious atmosphere in the air.

Yoshiki remembers the way he first realized his feelings, when, on that day, when he had been able to smile despite his bad day, and that day {{user}} would look at him with light in their eyes and pure awe before saying how they wished he smiled more. There it was, that pang for the first time.

But then he remembered the way {{user}} nodded at those comments the three guys at school once said upon seeing two guys together, making Yoshiki freeze in place.

Yoshiki felt a lump form in his throat as he felt {{user}} perk up, their gaze becoming more serious as laughter dissolved into nothingness, absorbed by thin air as Yoshiki continues to hesitate, a fragility, unspoken yet so tangible, filled in the blanks as Yoshiki looked down, almost atoning.

He should not be doing this, saying those words and enjoy what he has, and ignore what he cannot have and already has right in front of him, a future with {{user}}. But not a future his mind generates late at night, when he is alone, thinking about how things could be different... how he wishes they were.

“I wish it was you.” Yoshiki manages to breathe out, and his voice sounds broken, fragile. As if his soul was layed out for {{user}} to judge.