"Fifth. You know him. You love him. Through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars, you'd find him, you'd never leave him. You love him, till death do you part."


It happens late at night, one of numerous ones that Eijun goes into undisturbed sleep but then wakes upon finding dreams and wishes he never knew he had until now. Dreams and wishes of golden words, of beating hearts, of calm breath, of two people intertwined so deeply that they are two halves of a whole, melded together. Of warm touch and even warmer words, of safety and reassurance, of a language which doesn't need words to be heard or even understood.

It's another restless night, one which pretended to be safe only to send him more dreams and strengthen wishes Eijun knows won't come true. He can't decide if he loves or hates them, just like he can't make up his mind if he hates or loves what they tell him.

It's when he catches sight of a vending machine, the one he has made a habit to visit during his 2 am, sometimes 3 am, stroll when he can't get back to sleep, that he decides to hate that he loves the object of his dreams.

Miyuki shows no sign of having noticed Eijun frozen in his approach, letting his fingers glide across the buttons on the side of the display.

"Oi, Sawamura, what do you think? Black coffee or chocolate milk?" he suddenly calls out, startling Eijun out of his trance. Then Miyuki looks over his shoulder; the weak light illuminating the small alley way between the dorms doesn't free his face from the shadows enough to see what his expression is. Even so, Eijun would bet his tire it's a smirk. His heart jumps and he swallows, trying to force the traitorous organ and resulting thoughts into submission, as he finally begins to walk again only to come to a standstill beside Miyuki.

"I don't know how you can drink that stuff. It's disgusting." Eijun offers instead of an actual answer. Miyuki makes a peculiar sound, something between an aborted laugh and a snort.

"How come you're out so late?" he asks, finally making a choice, his question followed by the tumbling of drinks down the vending machine. He surprises Eijun when he straightens up with a drink in each hand, offering him one. "Don't worry, that's the chocolate milk."

Eijun doesn't take it straight away, too intrigued by Miyuki's tone. The light is still too weak to see, though he suspects it wouldn't have helped make Miyuki more transparent anyway. But Miyuki sounds…tired. Almost like this isn't the first time this has happened, as if he hasn't been sleeping. Eijun suddenly has to wonder if he has dreams that keep him awake too.

"I could ask you the same thing." Eijun takes the can but doesn't open it, watching Miyuki's darkened profile and listening to the quiet crack of a tin seal being broken.

There's enough light to make the puffs of air in front of Eijun visible, enough to make the dust swirling in the chilly night air look like floating gold. It reminds him a little of his dreams, a little bit blurry and the cold less noticeable, the shadows moving inky-black and taking away from reality. He almost wishes it was a dream because that would mean he could do anything he wants, say whatever he wants, get the answers he wants.

There's not enough light to recognise Miyuki; the shadows make sure of that, but even so Eijun knows he would have. Even in his dreams he can always recognise him and the only reason he knows this is reality is because the cold bites into his skin just a bit too viciously, because as blurry as Miyuki's profile is and as much gold surrounds him in the dark, it's all still clearer than a dream could ever be, much sharper.

Eijun isn't sure if Miyuki has said anything more, too absorbed in the smell of cold air and the faint scent of coffee, too distracted by blurry-clear shadows and dream-like gold weaving its spell. But there is silence, a silence that follows after a spoken question left unanswered and he realises Miyuki must have said something. If he listens closely, he can feel and hear the plucked chords of Miyuki's melody still reverberating in the air.

"Oi, Sawamura, if you're so tired you're zoning out you should just go to sleep –" Miyuki is saying, the notes being strum and pulling on the strings connected to Eijun's heart. Heartstrings, he thinks, a bit distantly, as he listens, but the sound Miyuki coaxes from his own chords slowly drowns out his voice until the sound fills Eijun completely. His whole body feels like it is moving and vibrating along, humming, but silently, and he opens his mouth to let the notes sing.

"I like you."