The day he gets out of the hospital, Naoto brings him his clothes: trousers, a dress shirt, and a waistcoat.
A waistcoat.
"Very funny," Yousuke says, but it turns out not to be funny at all, and a reluctant change later Yousuke takes a look at himself in a mirror.
The face is familiar, vaguely, but the body belongs to a stranger, somebody with money. Drinks wine, maybe. Reads books by the fireside. It's certainly not fit for some high school chain store employee.
Yousuke tugs at the fabric. He thinks he can feel his skin move with it.