In May, the two of them began their life together under one roof.
During his recovery, Randou spent long hours cradling a slim volume of poetry, utterly lost in its pages. The collection held three complete short poems: "Dawn," "Vowels," and "Twilight." Each word shimmered with dreamlike wonder, revealing a rare and extraordinary depth that stirred something profound within Randou's memory-starved soul.
Asou Akiya had told him these were the very poems Randou had once recited to him.
There were more poems beyond these, but Asou Akiya could not recite them from memory; he had only managed to jot down fragments here and there, like challenging fill-in-the-blank questions waiting for Randou to complete them with his own hand.
Every missing word would be infused with passion and genius — a task no one but Randou himself was qualified to fulfill.
So it was true. He really had been a poet from France.
Sunlight filtered through the pristine white curtains like a veil of gossamer, bathing the room in gentle radiance. Randou, dressed in simple loungewear, had shed the aura of the formidable warrior he once must have been; his plain, unadorned face resembled a tranquil spring pond, clear and alive with subtle vitality. He delighted in the languid, midday-nap serenity evoked by "Dawn," marveled at the whimsical brilliance of "Vowels," and finally let his gaze settle on the lines of "Twilight," where his heart gave a quiet, involuntary shiver, halting the impulse to read them aloud.
In the silence of his mind, Randou found himself reciting the unfamiliar yet strangely intimate verses right alongside the text.
[I will say nothing, I will do nothing.]
[Yet boundless love overflows from the depths of my soul.]
[Like a Bohemian, I will wander into Nature… oh, joy, as if I were with a woman.]
A fierce urge to compose poetry welled up within him.
He could hardly wait; he longed to complete the fourth poem, "Ophelia," and fill its empty spaces with words of his own.
Yet when Randou took up the pen, he hesitated, the nib hovering motionless above the page, unable to summon a single fitting description for the poem's tragic Miss Ophelia. Deflated, he realized his mind was utterly blank — a jumble of useless words lodged stubbornly in his throat, refusing to be swallowed or spat out, leaving him as pitiful and mute as a dud firecracker.
The man he was now could never measure up to the brilliant genius he had once been.
"Akiya, I'm so useless." Randou, struck to the core, curled into a tight ball beneath the blankets, knees drawn to his chest.
No — if you were useless, then every ordinary person in the world would be a hopeless failure.
"Don't worry," Asou Akiya soothed, carrying a thick stack of books into the bedroom and setting them on the table within easy reach of the bed. The sheer height of the pile made Randou blink in quiet astonishment. Asou Akiya was doing everything he could to bridge the distance between them, using words as a pathway to reawaken the miraculous literary talent slumbering in Randou's soul.
"Take your time reading them, think deeply about what you find, and let the knowledge fill the quiet hours while you heal." Asou Akiya began switching seamlessly between languages, slipping into Japanese as he spoke with Randou. "My beloved will write again one day — I know it."
Faced with layer upon layer of evidence, Randou came to believe that he truly was Asou Akiya's boyfriend.
From Asou Akiya's gentle recounting, they had met three months earlier: Randou, a French poet seeking solace in Japan, unfamiliar with the country and nursing a bruised heart after a falling-out with a friend. The rest had unfolded simply — a meeting of minds over literature and poetry, shared conversations that deepened into affection, until Randou finally accepted Asou Akiya's pursuit.
Asou Akiya's looks and eloquence had certainly helped. After all, he had once boasted the capital to cosplay the Black Era Dazai at sixteen — and how could a face on that level ever be anything less than stunning?
Believe it or not, in the world of Bungo Stray Dogs there's few prominent figures who were immune to beauty; their aesthetic standards were unforgivingly high.
The only difference lay in whether that beauty moved their hearts enough to soften them.
"Ah…" Randou had a habit of parting his lips slightly in a soft exclamation whenever emotion stirred him.
Asou Akiya glanced at his watch — nearly half past one in the afternoon — and reminded him gently, "Remember to eat dinner, go to bed early, and if you get hungry just order delivery. I'll be back tomorrow morning to see you."
Randou's voice carried unmistakable disappointment. "Akiya, do you have to work overtime again?"
In the few days they had lived together, Randou only ever saw Asou Akiya in the mornings and at midday.
"I have to cover night shifts for a while because of all the leave I took." Asou Akiya longed to stay; the way Randou clung to him with those pleading eyes was almost unbearably endearing.
Yet survival demanded its due, and the work with the Port Mafia could not simply be cast aside.
"This weekend, I'll take you to the site of the explosion — perhaps it will stir something and bring your memories back." Asou Akiya spoke entirely from the standpoint of a devoted boyfriend, his eyes brimming with tender concern.
The excuse of convalescence would not last forever; sooner or later Randou would venture to the Yokohama Settlement in search of his past.
The promise lifted Randou's spirits a fraction and deepened the trust he placed in Akiya. Left alone in the house after losing his memories, he felt a constant, gnawing unease — endlessly wondering what kind of person he had been, who his parents were, where his hometown lay, what he had loved and what he had loathed. Why had no friend or family from France reached out to him? Had he been such a failure as a human being?
The presence of a boyfriend gave Randou a reason to stay, a shelter against the storm. Akiya had become his harbor, patiently sweeping away every shadow of anxiety and building a safe nest for him in this foreign land. Randou could not bear to imagine that Akiya might be deceiving him — the mere thought sent ice through his veins — yet Akiya proved their bond step by careful step, through actions that left no room for doubt.
They were lovers.
He should trust the man who had risked his life rushing into the heart of the explosion to find him.
Randou worked steadily to rebuild the fortress of his mind, sorting through the scattered fragments of common sense and logic that remained. In the moment he looked up at Asou Akiya, Akiya thought he glimpsed a softness in those gray-green eyes that belonged to the true Arthur Rimbaud — a heart shattered by Verlaine's betrayal, a pride burned to ash by Arahabaki's fury. What survived was a Randou left with nothing, wounded in body and soul.
A Randou pure as untouched snow.
To touch him would be sin, to lie to him would be sin — and yet the temptation was irresistible.
Asou Akiya's fingertips brushed the gauze on Randou's forehead, suppressing the addictive thrill of the lie as he answered silently, with infinite gentleness: [Aside from the very first deception, I never want to lie to you again.]
Aloud, he asked, "Randou, does it still hurt?"
Randou basked in the care, weary in spirit and limp with fatigue as he murmured, "Not anymore."
Asou Akiya leaned down, longing to kiss him, yet mindful of boundaries he angled instead to press his lips softly against a pale, flawless cheek.
He knew Randou had lost his memories; he wanted to show respect.
A real kiss would wait for consent.
Or perhaps it was the late-night overtime that spared them both the initial awkwardness of their newfound intimacy; Asou Akiya was more than happy to display his gentlemanly demeanor in Randou's presence. With a sly, affectionate smile, he confessed, "It's not that I'm keeping my distance from you — I like you very much, Randou… I want to turn this liking into something lasting."
Randou sat propped against the pillows on the bed, his appearance striking and refined, his brows carrying the melancholy grace of a nobleman — the very picture of a sophisticated French beauty. In his former life, a man so proud and lofty would never have entertained the affections of an ordinary person.
But he had lost his memories, and with them, the extraordinary ability he once took such pride in.
Now, as a mere mortal—
Randou murmured in a soft, languid tone, "Mm."
Asou Akiya carefully smoothed his hair back into place and whispered, "See you tomorrow. Trust no one but me — I'll do everything in my power to chase away your worries."
At the entryway, Asou Akiya closed the door behind him with a quiet click and headed out to start his car.
In the bedroom, Randou turned to gaze through the window at the departing vehicle, his fingers absently tracing his lips as he whispered to himself, "Something lasting… does that mean for a lifetime?"
From beneath his pillow, Randou drew out a single drawing — a portrait of himself, yet not quite himself.
It depicted a golden-haired man with brilliant blue eyes, unmistakably French.
The son of the sun.
Fearless in the face of cold, basking in endless sunlight, living with wild, unbridled arrogance.
"So in your heart… this is who I am." A smile bloomed unbidden on Randou's face, as though a heavy stone had finally lifted from his chest. Little did he know that every fragment he had encountered — the drawing, the poems, even the soft, warm hues that filled the house — had been carefully curated to evoke only positive emotions.
Under Asou Akiya's gentle guidance, the shadows of slaughter, warfare, and fractured faith had been kept far from his mind.
You are just an ordinary person.
You are simply a Frenchman who loves to write poetry.
Dear Mr. Arthur Rimbaud, let us live this second life anew — cast aside every unpleasant memory and begin afresh.
Asou Akiya headed to work with a smile that nothing could dim. Even the grimy dealings of cargo transactions in the Port Mafia failed to darken his expression. In a way, he had begun to drift apart from the other clerical staff.
Takekawa Izumi, speaking as his senior, teased him without mercy. "A man in love really is different."
Asou Akiya scratched his cheek, a touch embarrassed. "Don't make fun of me — I'm just too happy."
Takekawa raised an eyebrow. "Is it really that wonderful?" He had been married to his wife for years, yet he could not recall ever feeling quite like this.
Asou Akiya answered without hesitation, "It must be because you didn't love her enough, senpai."
Takekawa laughed and swore at him. "Get lost!"
Asou Akiya had not been joking. A faint, eerie gleam flickered in the depths of his black eyes.
"True love means staking everything — your whole life — to pursue it."
Takekawa shivered dramatically, rubbing the gooseflesh on his arms. "You're usually such a normal guy, but the moment you talk about feelings you go completely off the rails. Whoever falls for you is probably doomed to never escape in this lifetime."
Asou Akiya curved his eyes in a gentle smile. "Don't say that."
[I am engaged in a love affair.]
[A romance whose ending I cannot foresee if it will lead to hell or heaven.]
The thought of the eight years ahead — shadowed by murderous intent and endless unknowns — sent both terror and exhilaration surging through him. Adrenaline flooded his veins; it felt as though a dangerous blade hovered at his throat, yet his outward expression grew only calmer.
"I am, after all, nothing more than an utterly ordinary little clerk."
What pounded so fiercely within his chest?
—Madness. Pure, feverish devotion.
…
In the deep hours of the night, Asou Akiya returned home laden with the bone-weary exhaustion of a corporate drone, easing the door open with the utmost care.
In the bedroom, Randou's eyes fluttered open almost at once.
Curled beneath the blankets with only the top of his head visible, he surfaced quickly into wakefulness in the darkness. He lay perfectly still, instinctively on guard, until the familiar rhythm of Asou Akiya's footsteps reached him — then he sank back into the warm cocoon of the bedding with a quiet sigh.
He listened intently as sounds drifted from the bathroom.
Asou Akiya was taking a shower.
After rinsing away the day's grime, Asou Akiya emerged towel-drying his hair and paused at the door of the master bedroom, nudging it ajar with a gentle push. This was the first night in a full week of overtime that he had managed to come home to sleep.
He noticed Randou seemingly deep in slumber and felt a twitch at the corner of his eye, tension gripping him for three breathless seconds.
Three.
Two.
One.
Steeling himself, he moved with calm deliberation around to the far side of the bed, lifted a corner of the blankets, and slipped beneath them.
The welcoming warmth of the bed enveloped him at once, easing the knots from his shoulders as he wiped away sweat that existed only in his imagination.
Poor Asou Akiya — he might call Randou intimate endearments without hesitation, yet he had never once shared the same bed with him. Across two lifetimes he had never been in love, armed only with theoretical knowledge; a virgin soul from birth until now. Bringing Randou home was, without question, the boldest, most reckless act this lifelong singleton had ever dared.
He was not foolish enough to retreat to the guest room — that would mark him as an idiot. With a lover waiting, sharing a bed was the most natural thing in the world.
Less than ten minutes passed before drowsiness crept over him like a gentle tide.
Asou Akiya drifted into sleep.
The black-haired young man's breathing, once shallow and suppressed, deepened and steadied in sleep — a clear testament to just how exhausting the overtime had been. Given the height and build of two tall men, the master bedroom's bed was a generous two-meter-wide double; even so, Asou Akiya had left at least the width of another person between himself and Randou, ensuring neither hand nor foot would brush the other in the night.
Yet his descent into slumber, peaceful as it was, disturbed the light sleep Randou had been drifting in, making deeper rest elusive for a time.
Fortunately, human adaptability is a powerful thing.
Randou dozed fitfully, shifting his position to grant Asou Akiya as much space as possible. They resembled a couple only recently moved in together — curious about each other, drawn close by unspoken attraction, yet still maintaining a delicate, tantalizing distance.
What did it mean to have a boyfriend?
During his convalescence, Randou had observed quietly and concluded that it must be the person destined to become the closest in one's future.
This man had offered him both love and respect.
He felt that Akiya truly understood his soul. Even with his memories gone — leaving only the instinctive commonsense buried in his subconscious — whenever confusion about the future threatened to overwhelm him, Akiya always guided him gently toward strength. It was a pity he could not recall their first meeting; he remained passive in their story, the one being enveloped and indulged.
Unbidden, Randou found himself gazing at Akiya's weary sleeping face, and a hazy, tender emotion stirred quietly in his heart.
This strange and frightening world… suddenly felt real.
The night passed without dreams.
In the morning, Asou Akiya opened his eyes right on schedule and found Randou already awake. He could not deny it — the sight felt like turning the page to an entirely new chapter of his life.
After years of solitary existence since crossing into this world, another person's presence now filled the space beside him.
The lingering warmth beneath the blankets wrapped around his heart like a gentle embrace.
"Good morning, Randou."
Randou leaned against the headboard, cradling the hot-water bottle that still held traces of warmth, and answered without the slightest fluster. "Good morning."
The weekend had arrived.
Asou Akiya kept his promise, taking Randou — who had been cooped up at home for far too long during his recovery — out for some fresh air.
Before stepping outside, Asou Akiya pulled out the earmuffs, scarf, and gloves he had purchased in advance, styling them with careful reference to the way Randou dressed in the anime. Warm but without sacrificing elegance, turning the man into something straight off the cover of a fashion magazine.
"Wait a moment… your hair is caught in the earmuffs."
He paid no mind to the oddly out-of-season ensemble; he delighted in dressing Randou up, threading his fingers through that cascade of black, lustrous hair to free the strands trapped beneath the fluffy earmuffs. The locks tumbled in soft waves over shoulders and back. Admiring the lover he had carried home from the ruins, he took Randou's hand once more. "Let me put the gloves on you." Even through the thick black leather, the position of their rings pressed faintly together when their fingers intertwined.
Randou was docile to an almost heartbreaking degree. His gray-green eyes — unlike blue ones — could not broadcast emotion with bold clarity; they required someone attuned to read the subtle shifts within. Asou Akiya, fortunately, understood perfectly the quiet contentment there. So simple: a little warmth was all it took to melt the defenses around Randou's heart. "Don't let yourself get cold — it would hurt me to see it, Randou."
Randou nodded.
He would take care to stay warm.
The moment they stepped outdoors, Randou tried to burrow half his face into the scarf, every hair on his body standing on end.
Hiss — the air outside was bitterly cold.
Their destination today was the site of the explosion — the Yokohama Settlement that no longer existed. Asou Akiya had done nothing unnecessary in the aftermath; for eight full years, no one would be able to expose him.
He was Randou's boyfriend, not his enemy.
Love accumulated drop by drop, moment by moment.
The original grounds of the Settlement sprawled vast, occupying a location roughly equivalent to Yokohama's future port district in the three-dimensional world. The government could not cordon off the entire area, leaving the scene in utter chaos — a tangle of opportunists and agents from every faction combing through the wreckage for clues. As far as Asou Akiya knew, the Port Mafia had dispatched numerous operatives to investigate the blast as well.
Randou had seemed quietly excited on the way there, but the instant they arrived, he fell into a heavy silence.
Up close, the sheer scale of the enormous crater struck him like a physical blow.
"This is… the place where you found me…?"
From the windows of Asou Akiya's home, Randou could already glimpse the distant rim of the crater. Television news reports described how the blast had carved a nearly circular pit two kilometers in diameter into the Settlement, the devastation sprawling across a vast area. He had spent all his time indoors recovering, never venturing out, and thus underestimated just how grotesquely exaggerated the scene would prove in person.
Fortunately, the Yokohama Settlement lay along the coast; had the explosion struck the city center, the toll in lives and land would have been incalculably worse.
Randou stared at the abyss below, marveling at his own survival. "Akiya… how did I make it out alive?"
Asou Akiya let out a quiet sigh. "Luck."
And it truly had been.
Unlike those who escaped with mere scratches along the Settlement's outer edges, Arthur Rimbaud had faced the full, unleashed fury of Arahabaki's awakening. The golden subspace — unbound by the laws of physics — had shattered under the onslaught; not dying on the spot was nothing short of a miracle. Though, given Randou's singular nature, even death might have merely reshaped him into some new, humanoid embodiment of an ability.
"Luck?" Randou caught the helpless curve of Asou Akiya's mouth and felt warmth bloom in his chest. He could only imagine how desperately Akiya must have searched for him amid such cataclysm.
"Were you frightened, Akiya?"
"Of course I was. The black flames hadn't fully died down yet — searing heat lingered everywhere, the ground had turned to loose gravel and jagged stone, impossible to walk on properly. The closer I got, the fewer signs of life I saw. Every building in the Settlement had vanished, swallowed whole. The shockwave rippled out into the sea, spawning minor tsunamis and tremors…"
Asou Akiya guided them to a relatively stable vantage point and helped the still-unsteady Randou step into what would one day become Rebola Street. He did not treat life as a game; in a world teeming with ability users, an ordinary man's existence hung by the thinnest thread — snuffed out in an instant, reduced to ash and memory.
A calamity-god had been born atop a mountain of human bones.
"The roar of the explosion that day was deafening — every window in the house shattered from the force alone. When I finally reached you, you were covered in blood and wounds, lying motionless on the ground like a lifeless corpse."
Asou Akiya's voice remained light and even, as though recounting a piece of history witnessed from afar, yet it carried an immersive weight that drew the listener in. Randou walked with one foot lighter than the other, leaning on Akiya's arm while straining to catch every word. From the corner of his melancholy gaze, he took in the displaced survivors scattered across the wasteland.
There were elderly folk, children, people with terrible burns blistering their skin. The sky remained shrouded in unresolved clouds, the atmosphere thick with oppression and grief.
The sheer brutality of the scene rivaled the aftermath of outright war.
The thought flickered through Randou's mind and vanished just as quickly, leaving behind a needle-sharp pain that bloomed across his skull. Dizziness surged, nausea roiled in his stomach, bile rising in his throat. He clutched desperately at the elusive thread of memory, yet nothing of his past would surface.
Asou Akiya tightened his grip on Randou's hand, steadying a body that was far from frail.
"Do you want to go farther?"
"…Mm."
"Even if it hurts you, Randou?"
"I'm not afraid."
Randou furrowed his brow as he spoke, unwilling to surrender the chance — however slim — of awakening his lost memories.
He returned the clasp, fingers curling firmly around Akiya's palm, drawing warmth from the prolonged contact and offering pure, unquestioning trust in return. "With you beside me, I'm not alone. You'll help me, won't you?"
Asou Akiya smiled, the words carrying a hidden layer of meaning. "If I don't help you, who will?"
Randou, I will stand at your side through every day of this amnesia.
Until the moment you accept me completely.
The visit to the explosion site unfolded without hindrance, exactly as Asou Akiya had anticipated. Randou's emotions were deeply stirred, yet not a single fragment of memory returned to him.
Idle, senseless rumors drifted into Randou's ears as they passed.
"Was it Arahabaki?"
"Divine punishment… that's why calamity struck this place…"
"I don't buy that it was any bomb. There were flames everywhere! Flames that had just erupted from the center out of nowhere!"
"An incarnation of flame… a calamity-god…"
Randou turned to Akiya with urgent curiosity. "What is Arahabaki?"
Asou Akiya drew him gently to the crater's edge where his phone finally caught a signal. With a few swift taps he pulled up a photograph of a dogū figurine unearthed in Aomori Prefecture — the ancient prototype revered as Arahabaki: a squat, plump little deity with bulging frog-like eyes, somehow managing to look both grotesque and endearingly ugly.
Randou's expression froze the instant he saw it; a flicker of genuine alarm crossed his features.
Then his shoulders loosened, tension draining away.
How ridiculous.
For one fleeting moment he had actually half-believed the wild rumors swirling around them.
Asou Akiya indulged a private spark of mischief as he thought: I'm merely helping Randou dispel feudal superstition — no need to mutter about gods and spirits.
What business does an ability user have trying to seize divine power anyway? At the same moment a chill pricked his heart. So the rumors about Arahabaki had already begun circulating this early.
Fortunately the outing had gone smoothly; Randou had not once caught sight of the small orange-haired, blue-eyed boy who might have been wandering the roads.
It was far better that "mother" and "son" did not meet.
They spent the entire day retracing the shattered grounds. Randou walked tirelessly from one ruined corner to another, searching with stubborn determination, yet in the end he found nothing. By late afternoon his spirits had sunk low; he grew quiet, words coming only reluctantly.
Asou Akiya refused to let the gloom settle for long. He nudged Randou lightly in the ribs, right over the heart.
"Any memories come back?"
"None."
"Then tonight I'll cook you a proper French feast — to celebrate your survival, your escape from disaster, your brand-new beginning."
"Celebrate… ah…"
Randou paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. Memories could not be rushed; as long as one lived, hope remained.
Asou Akiya offered comfort in a gentle voice. "Don't be sad. Look at it another way — compared to those left homeless and grieving lost families, we have already been extraordinarily fortunate."
"Yes." Randou's gaze softened. He abandoned the day's goal and followed Akiya home. Along the way the two walked in seamless intimacy, hands clasped, conversing quietly in French as they left the disaster zone behind.
Ahead, the ordinary buildings of everyday society began to rise once more.
All shadows fell away.
Inside the police station, the orange-haired child — still untouched by the ways of the world, like a bewildered little lamb — listened as the kind companions who had picked him up explained the circumstances of his discovery.
"He seems to have lost his memory. He doesn't even know how to speak properly. I suspect his family lived in the Yokohama Settlement — he might be of mixed foreign and Japanese blood."
"Y-yes! We need to find his relatives quickly."
"He's wearing a necklace engraved with the name 'Nakahara Chuuya.' You can tell at a glance he comes from a wealthy family. Officer, please search for them soon!"
"Once they're found, a little compensation will do. The important thing is getting him back to his people."
The calamity-god newly born into the world learned to feel kindness before he ever learned how to be human.
He had been fortunate enough to be accepted by this world.
Only, the police would never locate any "parents" for Nakahara Chuuya. His birth had been nothing more than an unwanted accident on Arthur Rimbaud's part — a tragic family drama in the cruelest terms: your mother tried to kill you, your father could not protect you, and in the end they had no choice but to let you wander lost in the world.
The poor seven-year-old Nakahara Chuuya sat huddled on a chair, arms wrapped around his knees, dressed in ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes. His delicate features and those wide, crystal-blue eyes — utterly free of impurity — made him heartbreakingly adorable.
The officer who watched him felt his heart soften, a quiet pity rising within. "This child's parents must be pitiable souls themselves. If they hadn't perished in the explosion, they would surely have come searching for him by now."
Somewhere in Yokohama, a couple sat at home sharing a candlelit dinner.
The warmth between them was steadily rising.
There was no helping it — for Asou Akiya, having a son meant no wife, and having a wife meant no son. Nakahara Chuuya and Randou could not both be brought home, or the household would explode on the spot.
Life could never be perfect, and the most Akiya could do was offer indirect aid to his "son" while finding gentle distractions for the amnesiac Randou to ease the weight on his mind.
"Randou, how about we go donate food and clothing to orphans in a few days?"
"Sounds good."
Randou's expression brightened with clear approval.
Akiya smiled faintly, resting his chin on the back of his hand, savoring the rare tranquility that came from steering clear of bloodshed and chaos.
"My dear, you are breathtaking in candlelight."
The you who kills is beautiful — and the you who does not kill possesses an entirely different, captivating charm.
Across the table, Randou accepted the compliment with serene indifference, the bone-deep confidence in him as natural as breathing. Being beautiful was, to him, simply a fact of existence. Only after a delayed beat did he remember his current convalescent state; he paused with knife and fork midway to his mouth, swallowed the delicious bite, and frowned in mild distress. "Akiya, the gauze on my forehead hasn't come off yet."
Asou Akiya dissolved into laughter, collapsing forward onto the table — completely missing the point.
"The gauze is just a unique accessory — it doesn't detract from your looks at all!"
"Really?"
"Trust me. Even if you wrapped your whole face, you'd still be the most striking person on any street!"
"Something about that doesn't sound quite right…"
Even today, Randou remained tangled in the occasional fog of missing common sense.
It didn't matter.
He trusted the words of this man above all others — next time they went out, he would no longer worry about his appearance.
—I am loved by you, praised by you. The opinions of others carry no weight.
That evening, after changing his bandages, Randou traced the gauze on his skin with careful fingers, hugged the hot-water bottle close, and buried half his face in the blankets. In his dreams, the flickering, elusive phantoms no longer haunted him; instead, he drifted through a warm, sunlit afternoon.
In the haze between sleep and wakefulness, Asou Akiya felt someone inching closer — slowly, deliberately — until only a slender gap remained between them.
At last, they no longer felt like familiar strangers.
"I thought you weren't afraid of the cold anymore — am I more appealing than the hot-water bottle?" Asou Akiya teased, gently pinching the bridge of Randou's proud, elegant nose. It was soft beneath his touch, the breath ghosting across his fingers light and warm. Randou murmured something incoherent in his sleep, surfaced for a few drowsy seconds, then sank back under. Strands of his unbound black hair had spilled across Asou Akiya's pillow, their faint, intoxicating fragrance drifting through the air like an invitation — as though Akiya need only reach out to gather the entire slender body into his arms.
What did it matter that they were both men?
The person I love is a thief of fire who defies the current — someone who places self and emotion far above profit or gain.
You shine too brightly to be crushed by the merciless fate this world of literary strays has written for you.
I will bear witness as you rise back to the pinnacle.
Randou.
—
Author's note:
Asou Akiya:I'm just an ordinary man with an extraordinary wife, that's all.
Asou Akiya:I'm going to live off my wife's soft rice~.