061 – Sensual
If you were to ask a 13-year-old Daisuke what precisely set him on fire, what enflamed his heart and soul and senses, he'd answer you in one word.
Hikari.
He'd say that when he looks at her, all dark hair, crimson eyes and skin that radiates innocence and light, he'd say that when he looked at her, his eyes would well and his heart would implode.
He'd say that he couldn't quite place what she smelt like, but if he could place it, it would be a flower of some sort, lilies or carnations or roses. Her skin, when he brushes discreetly (or not so discreetly) against it, feels like the soft underside of petals, only softer and smoother and maybe more like poured milk.
She has a voice like liquid heaven, a voice that rolls off her tongue and into his heart. She sounds like the angels on all the foreign films Jun used to watch.
Daisuke doesn't know what Hikari tastes like, but he thinks he'd like to find out one day.
If you asked him the same question, two years later, he'd say the same thing. The same carefully selected words would tumble out of his mouth, only the way he spoke, his tone of voice would be different.
He'd say that this was what he believed two years ago, that nothing could compare.
He'd say that this was only because he hadn't seen Takeru yet. Not for real anyway.
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