Jake had been six when they first brought him to the orphanage. He had the clear, solemn eyes of a child beyond his years. He seemed to understand without being told that his parents wouldn't be returning. The orphanage had told him they were on vacation.

A year later, the orphanage received a new addition named Sebastian. "But call me Bastian," the older boy said as he extended his hand. Jake took the hand and shook it politely, but when he let go the new boy had yet to release his fingers. Jake was perplexed but held back his frown.

Bastian was smiling widely and his eyes were as blue as the ocean Jake remembered from his childhood. "You're so cute," he said, making Jake blink at him in clear confusion.

"Umm, thank you?" Jake tugged at his hand, forgetting etiquette in his strong urge to get some space between him and this strange boy.

"You're a lot younger than me, huh? How old are you? I'll be seventeen next month." Bastian didn't look seventeen, which was a strange age to enter the orphanage with. If he was telling the truth he would have to leave in a year. Jake felt grateful he had more time. He didn't know where to go after the orphanage.

"I'm fourteen," Jake muttered.

"Ehh? I could have sworn you were only twelve!"

Jake frowned before he could stop himself, but he schooled it away with little effort. Bastian frowned as well for some reason and all of a sudden Jake had the feeling he was being dissected.

Jake stared back impassively, the best defense he had and they observed each other in a moment of silence. It would have been an oddly solemn scene for an observer. Bastian broke the silence first, smiling gently.

"I have a feeling you're a lot like me," Bastian told him. Then he laughed when Jake couldn't hold back his instinctive flash of skepticism.

Bastian followed Jake back to the lonely little playroom that no one else visited and continued to pester him the rest of the day until he escaped to his bed that night. The next morning, Bastian stuck himself to Jake like glue and wouldn't leave his side no matter how much Jake tried to get away. As if that wasn't bad enough, that night Jake crawled into his bed with what he was sure was a migraine pounding away at his skull and was horrified to find someone else already in it.

Jake yelped and bucked away but the bed-thief grabbed him tight around the waist and brought him in in a close hug. "Shh, it's just me," the intruder whispered, and Jake's breath whooshed out of him.

"Bastian?!" Jake whisper-screamed. He wasn't sure if he was angry or relieved. "Let go of me!"

The arms loosened and Jake squirmed away far enough to turn over to face the other boy. Unfortunately, the bed was so small that he ended up with his face only inches away from Bastian's. He could feel Bastian's breaths against his cheek.

"Why are you here?" Jake said, voice hushed to keep from waking up the other children. He struggled to see Bastian in the dark.

Bastian said honestly, "I felt lonely, and I wanted to hug something."

"Well, why did you come into my bed?"

"Because I wanted to hug you."

"That—That doesn't make any sense!"

"Shhhh!"

Jake would have screamed but he didn't want to wake up the whole orphanage. The next morning though he felt no guilt in shoving Bastian out of his bed. Bastian simply smiled and followed him to breakfast after that. Jake was disgruntled but not surprised to find the older boy in his bed later that night.

One day at a time, Bastian elbowed his way into Jake's quiet life and filled it with his bold presence. At first Jake tolerated him but as Bastian continued to shower him with his friendship, Jake grew used to him and unconsciously grew to depend on his presence in his life. The orphanage was used to the small, solemn boy secluding himself from the rest but Bastian's constant presence changed him. Jake still strongly preferred his solitude but he talked more often, especially if Bastian was in the room. In fact, when Bastian got him going Jake could show more emotion than the orphanage had seen from him in all the years he had been there.

Underneath his polite demeanor, Jake was obstinate and blunt and really quite mouthy. Seeing him argue with Bastian was one of the funniest scenes anyone at the orphanage witnessed. Jake was also heartrendingly innocent if one noticed the way he sucked up all the easy affection Bastian gave him. So it was no surprise that Jake would be the most anxious when Bastian reached his eighteenth birthday.

"Will you come back for me?" Jake asked, golden eyes wary and fragile as he gazed up at the older boy. If Jake could feel the cold in his short-sleeved shirt he gave no sign of it. His pale feet were bare, his hair sleep-tousled. In short he looked even cuddlier than usual.

Bastian's smile turned regretful. "I will," he said firmly.

Jake didn't look convinced and if anything his hold on Bastian's hand got tighter. "You promise?"

Bastian smiled one last smile and laid one last kiss on his forehead. Jake closed his eyes as the lips brushed his skin, and a quiet, "I promise," ruffled his black bangs. Then Bastian let go and walked into the blanket of snow with Jake watching him all the while. His face crumpled when the older boy's figure finally disappeared into the whiteness.

Somehow he already knew, in the same way he knew about his parents' deaths. He would never see Bastian again.


When Ryoma woke up, it was another beautiful day for tennis. For once he was in no mood to play. He was only aware of the crushing sadness that overwhelmed him and the wetness on his face that told him he had been crying in his sleep. This time he could remember with painful clarity the tail end of his dream.

Or nightmare, Ryoma thought bitterly. He—Bastian—had left him. He had left him. He had left him.

Ryoma curled up in his bed, bringing the blankets tight around him as the grief of his dream rolled over him again, only slighter duller now that he had woken up. Ryoma had never met a Sebastian, or a Bastian at that in his entire life, but he knew exactly who he was because he saw him almost every day.

Ryoma flexed the hand the boy in his dreams had released, recalling the feel of the larger hand. Why had he left?

Ryoma wondered. Why did Fuji-senpai leave him?