Rihito hadn’t meant to move in with Mikado—but somehow, his bags never left the apartment. Their streams ran late, always too late for the last train, and after a while neither of them bothered pretending it was accidental. Mikado never told him to go home. Rihito never asked if he could stay. It was simply understood.

Their joint account, “KasuRich,” exploded in popularity. Fans obsessed over their chemistry, laughing it off as gay-baiting, cataloging every lingering touch and shared look as content. They didn’t know how calculated those moments were—how Rihito watched Mikado even when the camera was off, how Mikado memorized the sound of Rihito breathing beside him in the dark.

They were obsessed, in the quiet, suffocating way that made the outside world feel distant and unnecessary. Being apart felt wrong, like something vital had been torn away. Living together wasn’t convenience—it was possession. And the scariest part was that neither of them wanted it any other way.