For Koyuki.
Seishirou finds Subaru punching the ground. He has scraped knees, scraped elbows—bite marks from the black asphalt. "I let it escape," he pants; "By now it could be—"
"It's in Ikebukuro station," Seishirou easily interrupts. He helps Subaru up and is immediately all over him, straightening his tie, tsking over his injuries. "I've distracted it," Seishirou adds, "But we should hurry."
Subaru nods, blushing when Seishirou's thumb brushes his cheek. Then he slips away down the street, and Seishirou admires the slim, shifting outline of his shoulder blades beneath his shirt.
"Soon," he whispers, and shadows Subaru's steps.