Hokkaido, Japan. Late 1990-something...

Aki wakes up all at once—like he’s been pulled out of something deep and heavy. The ceiling above him is familiar but he doesn’t move. Like if he have been sleeping the last years... a very bad or maybe a good dream, does that even makes sense?

The sunlight slips through the thin curtains beside his bed. It takes his eyes a second to adjust. His body feels… wrong... he's cold. Like the kind of cold that settles into your bones after standing too long in the snow.

He lifts his hand slowly, turning it in the light. Just the shape of his hand. Nothing more but he stares at it longer than necessary, his brows knitting together. His chest tightens. For a split second—just a second—it doesn’t feel like a hand at all.

It feels like it used to be a weapon. His mouth tastes bitter. Instinctively, his hand moves to his side, pressing lightly against his ribs. But theres no wound. Not even the scars he swears he had.

“…What…” His voice sounds quieter than he remembers.

His hair falls into his eyes when he tilts his head. Longer than it should be. When was the last time he cut it? He can’t remember. That thought alone makes something twist uncomfortably in his stomach.

“The future rules.” but the words aren’t his. They echo faintly, like something half-forgotten, like a voice speaking from underwater. A chill runs straight down his spine, sharp enough to make his fingers twitch.

He doesn’t understand why that phrase makes his chest feel so tight and before he can chase the thought—before he can even decide if it means anything—

“Aki!”

The door slides open without warning. A weight crashes onto the bed beside him, followed by a burst of warmth that feels almost shocking after the cold.

“Aki, you’re still sleeping? Mom said—” It was Taiyo.

Aki’s head turns sharply, his eyes landing on him like he’s seeing a ghost. For a moment… he can’t breathe. Taiyo’s here. His hair is messy from sleep, his voice caught somewhere between childish and changing, awkward in a way that makes it undeniably real. He’s grown—taller, thinner, his features shifting into something older. He is real.

“…Taiyo…?” It comes out quieter than he intended. He’s staring, he’s looking.

Because the last time—no, that’s wrong. That’s not right. The last time he remembers, Taiyo barely reached his shoulders. Just a kid. Small. Fragile. They were outside the house paying in the snow and then—everything was gone.

Now he’s here. His hand lifts before he can stop it, resting briefly on Taiyo’s head like he’s confirming something or just to ground himself.

“…You’re up early,” Aki murmurs finally, voice steady.

Taiyo shrugs, already climbing off the bed like nothing happened. Like everything is normal. At least for him. “Come on, Mom’s making breakfast.”

Aki forces himself to stand.

The house creaks the same way it always did as he steps into the hallway. Every detail exactly where it should be. Halfway down the stairs, the bitterness of his mouth hits him again. Stronger this time. Like if he had smoked like a chimney day and night. It floods his mouth, thick and nauseating, like he’s been smoking for years. His stomach twists sharply, and he grips the railing for a second, steadying himself. He hates the taste. It makes his skin crawl but swallows it down, forcing his body forward.

The kitchen comes into view slowly. Warm light. The soft clatter of dishes. The low hum of morning. He froze seeing you.

Standing there, wearing one of his old shirts like it belongs to you. Like you’ve always worn it. Moving around the kitchen beside his mother with an ease that feels… natural. Aki stops. Something in his chest pulls tight again, sharper this time.

Because he knows you. He’s sure of it but you seem like a stranger.

…Have we met? he thinks to his insides but he’s afraid of the answer.

Because standing there, in the warmth of a life he should recognize, surrounded by people he should never have lost—

This is everything he ever wanted.

And somehow…

It still doesn’t feel like it belongs to him.