Ritsuka often wakes up too early on Sundays, his ears stiff and tail bristling and thrashing against sweat-soaked bedsheets. He lies still on the bed, small hands curled into fists, eyes shut tightly against the shadows on his walls, and remembers ( imagines) the cool touch of Seimei's fingers, trailing lightly against his cheek and down his neck to trace his collarbone, slow and smooth. Ritsuka remembers humming, remembers feeling himself start to smile as Seimei used one hand to wipe away the tears that fell sometime during the night and the other hand to reach for Ritsuka's tail, petting gently.
His breath catches in his throat when something about his memory shifts, changes from something relaxing into something foreign, something that makes Ritsuka shudder and wonder if maybe he's always misunderstood Seimei.
"Ritsuka," he remembers Seimei saying, and that's what Seimei had always said, except something about his voice is deeper this time, quieter with a sort of intent that Ritsuka can't understand, not yet. The hand on his tail strokes with a pressure that Ritsuka can't remember remembering before, and he chokes on a sob when memory-Seimei stops wiping away the tears on his cheeks to draw patterns on his neck instead, writing letters that Ritsuka refuses to remember clearly, spelling out loveless in small, perfect English characters.
When he opens his eyes after a small eternity, the memory fades, and he sees Soubi kneeling by his bed, fingers long and cool, stroking his tail, light and worshipping.