Dependable (adj):

Capable of being trusted or depended on, especially in difficult situations or for fulfilling responsibilities.

Deserving of trust or confidence.

Reliable.

-

It was late at night after a long day. The drive back to the city was quiet, almost calming. Both of them were worn out from all the walking they had done that day. Chihara felt exhausted, and the thought of having to drive another hour just to drop Hitomi off at his apartment was weighing on him. But he couldn’t just leave him on his own, no trains were running at this hour.

Only one solution came to mind.

“Hey, Hitomi… what do you think about crashing at my place tonight?”

Chihara's voice was plain, breaking the silence that had settled between them. It wasn’t an awkward silence, just the kind that comes after a long day, when even turning on the radio feels like too much effort.

“You… want me to stay the night… at your apartment?” Hitomi turned to him, clearly caught off guard. There was surprise in his voice and a hint of suspicion, as if he were unsure whether Chihara’s offer carried any ulterior motives.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t think that I… haha. I just… I think I’ve reached my driving quota for the day, and I don’t think I can make the trip all the way to your place. I figured we could head to mine instead. Only if you’re up for it, of course, no pressure. I’m just dead tired, honestly.” Chihara stumbled over his words, speaking quickly, his eyes flicking toward Hitomi, who was resting his face in his hand, now gazing out the window, as if he was hiding his face from him.

“...It's okay, let’s go to your place then,” Hitomi replied, meeting Chihara’s eyes nonchalantly. But deep down, he was fighting the irrational urge to jump out of the moving car after just accepting staying over at someone else’s place.

“We can grab something to eat at the konbini nearby before heading in”, Chihara added, trying to sound casual, though his hands still gripped the wheel a little too tightly with clammy hands.

“Sounds good to me,” Hitomi replied, more upbeat this time.

And then… silence again, an entire hour of complete driving in silence, to be exact.

It wasn't until they pulled into the konbini lot that Chihara finally spoke: “What should we get for dinner?”

“Whatever you want is fine for me,” Hitomi answered, not having the energy to be picky, especially after being treated to a long drive and offered a place to crash.

Chihara glanced at him. “You sure? This is your only chance to veto anything weird.”

Hitomi offered a tired half-smile but didn’t turn to look at him. “Just don’t come back with dried squid and call it a meal.”

Chihara chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep it normal. No dried squid.”

-

Chihara came back into the car with packed bags that he put down between the seats, and the smell of konbini food filled the car almost instantly. Hitomi could spot some curry rice packs, a small assortment of different onigiris, and two canned drinks, but his attention was drawn to the bright yellow packaging of the pudding with a cartoon mascot plastered all over.

“You bought pudding!” Hitomi said with a happy, childlike disbelief in his voice. “Ohh it’s the good one too!” he added.

“Something sweet before bed never hurts, I thought you’d like it,” Chihara replied with a smirk.

Hitomi didn’t reply, he just returned a pleased, kind smile back to Chihara, how did he know pudding is his weakness?

-

Once they arrived at Chihara’s apartment, Hitomi immediately noticed how different his lifestyle was. Everything, from the furniture to the kitchen appliances, looked just one notch more expensive than what Hitomi was used to. The apartment was clean and neatly organized, far from what he had imagined. For someone as busy and weighed down with important work as Chihara, Hitomi had expected clutter or at least a bit of chaos. It was a pleasant surprise to realize how wrong his assumptions had been.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Chihara said, heading toward his room. “I’ll grab some clean clothes and towels so you can shower and change. In the meantime, could you help heat the food? Just make sure to set aside the vegetarian curry rice for me.”

Hitomi nodded and went into the kitchen, following the instructions. As he unpacked the konbini bags, his eyes wandered. He found himself studying the space surrounding him: Chihara’s oven, the fridge, the cutlery… all of it oddly interesting. Then his eyes landed on a pair of sakura pink chopsticks nestled among the rest. They looked far too delicate, too feminine, to belong to Chihara. And yet, there they were.

As soon as Hitomi finished setting the table, Chihara returned with a stack of neatly folded towels and a change of clothes that evidently weren’t Hitomi’s size.

“Sorry, these are the smallest clothes I own; they’re probably a bit too big for you, but I hope they’re enough just for the night,” Chihara said, offering them with a slight shrug.

“It’s fine. Thank you, Chihara-san.” Hitomi smiled, genuinely touched. Chihara didn’t have to do any of this, there was no obligation, no reason to go out of his way. But he was doing it, willingly.

“Well then... let’s eat.” Chihara gestured toward the table.

-

They were both starving, and the food on their plates disappeared quickly. Hitomi had been eyeing the pudding ever since he saw it in the car. Right after finishing his rice, he peeled the dessert open and dug in without hesitation.

Chihara watched him silently. The expression on Hitomi’s face as he took the first bite made something loosen in Chihara’s chest. He was glad he’d grabbed those puddings on impulse. His detective instincts had been right, once again.

“Wow,” Chihara sighed with a satisfied stretch, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I know I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

“Yeah… me too. It’s been a long day.” Hitomi nodded, his voice softer, still a little unsure about the situation he’d found himself in. “Thanks for the food. And… the pudding. And the ride. And, well… everything.” He fidgeted with his fingers, clearly feeling uneasy about all the trouble he thought he was causing. But Chihara didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Chihara said, dismissing it with a small wave of his hand. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward just a little. “I learned a lot today. Got some useful info too.” He paused, his gaze steady. “So… Thank you for showing me around. Really.”

For a moment, they forgot what this trip had actually been about: the murders Hitomi had committed. The weight of it hung just behind their words, unspoken, but still casting a shadow between both of them. They smiled awkwardly, as if trying to chase the thought away.

Chihara cleared his throat, eager to shift the mood. “Um… let me show you the bathroom so you can shower. It’s getting pretty late, and you probably want to get some rest.” He stood, moving quickly to break the silence. “The hot water’s a little tricky, so I’ll show you how to work it.”

-

Once Hitomi was alone in Chihara’s bathroom, he quickly noticed the assortment of hair ties placed near the sink. Some had colorful cartoon mascots on them, characters he never would’ve imagined Chihara using. It made him pause for a moment, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Just when he thought he had Chihara figured out, something new surprised him. When would he even wear these?

He glanced at his reflection in the fogged-up bathroom window. He still looked thin, even after finishing a full meal, at least he didn’t see his ribs staring back at him anymore. He looked better than he had a few months ago. Still small, but… healthier.

While Hitomi was in the shower, Chihara prepared the sofa-bed. It had only been used when friends stayed over (never by Chihara himself) but based on their feedback, it was apparently pretty comfortable. Still, it didn’t feel right to let Hitomi sleep on it, not after everything. Chihara had already decided: this time, Hitomi would take the bed.

When Hitomi stepped out of the bathroom, now dressed in Chihara’s oversized clothes (which, in Chihara’s very private opinion, looked pretty adorable on him), he noticed Chihara setting up the sofa-bed for himself.

“Wait…” Hitomi hesitated, his voice soft but filled with confusion. “I am sleeping in your bed? Are you sure?”

Chihara straightened up, taking a step toward him. “Yeah, it’s fine.” His tone was easy, almost casual. “The sofa-bed is allegedly pretty comfortable, anyway. I figure I should test it out myself. Gotta make sure no one’s been lying to me, you know.” He added with a funny voice while gesturing with his hands.

Hitomi hesitated, unsure, but eventually gave a small nod and accepted. As he stepped into Chihara’s bedroom, he took a moment to look around once again, his eyes scanning the nightstand, the pictures on the walls, and the faint, comforting scent of Chihara that lingered in the room.

It felt wrong… and yet, so strangely right.

Hitomi sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers over the soft bedding. He felt tense, as if getting into that bed was jumping into a bottomless pool that he wasn’t sure he could swim in.

“It’s just a bed,” he told himself. “Nothing more.” He shook his head, trying to clear the unease before it spread too far.

Meanwhile, Chihara stood under the stream of hot water, his palms pressed against the tiled wall, head hanging low. He let the warmth and pressure soak into his muscles, trying to wash the thoughts from his mind.

But it wasn’t working.

Letting a serial killer sleep in your apartment (let alone in your bed) was, in theory, a terrible, dangerous and stupid idea. It sounded like the setup to a cautionary tale. And no matter how calm he tried to stay, the weight of that reality kept creeping back in.

But this wasn’t just anyone. It was Hitomi.

Chihara didn’t see a killer when he looked at him, not after all the time they’d spent together. And especially not after this trip.

The killers Chihara had worked with before fit neatly into their own boxes, their stereotypes, textbook profiles, predictable patterns. Cold, calculated, easy to read. Easy to handle.

But Hitomi didn’t fit into any of them.

He was quiet. Fragile-looking. He speaks with a gentle, youthful voice. His face brightens up over konbini pudding. He loves sweets and pastries thanks to his grandmother, and would detour from his route just to appreciate the view of the sea for a few minutes. He wasn’t the kind of person who wore his wounds openly for others to feel pity for him, but they were there, deep, sharp, and visible only if you knew how to look.

And Chihara is a detective, he knows how to look.

It had taken effort, time, patience, but he learned how to read Hitomi. And this trip had made everything clearer. The layers were peeling back, little by little, revealing the real person Hitomi was.

If there had been danger, Chihara was certain he would’ve seen it. He would’ve felt it.

-

After his shower, Chihara peeked into the bedroom to check on Hitomi before turning off the lights. Hitomi had settled into bed, but he looked stiff, as if unsure how to relax in such a new, unfamiliar space. The sheets were pulled tightly up to his chin, seeking some kind of protection from the unknown.

This was the first time Chihara had seen him without his glasses. It was a strangely intimate sight: Hitomi’s face looked softer, more vulnerable without the sharpness of his usual frame. For a brief moment, Chihara felt a sense of privilege, as if he were being allowed a rare, exclusive view of him.

“If you need anything, just let me know, okay? You know where to find me.” Chihara's voice was low and calming, trying to reassure him without being overbearing.

Hitomi nodded quietly, his gaze lingering on Chihara’s blurry silhouette standing by the doorframe. The silence in the room was comfortable.

“Good night, Hitomi,” Chihara said softly.

“...Good night, Chihara-san,” Hitomi replied, his voice a little smaller than usual.

Chihara turned off the lights, the room falling into darkness. He moved toward the sofa-bed and collapsed onto it, relieved to find it surprisingly comfortable. His friends hadn’t been lying about that.

As he settled in, the silence of the apartment surrounded him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relax.

-

Hitomi submerged himself further into the bed, letting the warmth of the covers envelop him. He traced the blurry lines of the ceiling with his eyes, unable to focus long enough to drift into sleep. It felt strange, but not unpleasant. For the first time in a while, he felt safe, truly safe , around someone else and under someone else’s roof.

The scent of Chihara lingered in the sheets. It was faint, but warm and welcoming.

Hitomi wanted to hold onto that feeling for just a little longer, to stretch the night out before it faded into the horrors of the future.

The silence of the apartment wasn’t empty. It felt full, like a comfortable presence, as if the stillness itself was promising that nothing would go wrong tonight.

-

Chihara shifted restlessly in the sofa-bed, turning from one side to the other. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable, he was just too awake . His body ached for sleep, but his mind refused to shut up.

He hated this kind of tiredness. The kind where your limbs are heavy, your eyes sting, but your thoughts won’t leave you alone.

He couldn’t even pin down what exactly was keeping him up. Was it the fact that a serial killer was currently asleep in his bed? The fact that they’d spent the whole day together like close friends ? Or maybe it was just the creeping realization that he’d added yet another item to the long list of Things a Detective Should Never Do .

The weight in his chest kept building, tight and hot and impossible to ignore. He needed something. Anything to snap him out of it.

With a quiet groan, he reached for his jacket, draped nearby. His fingers dug into the inner pocket until they found what he was looking for, a familiar small package: cigarettes.

Bingo.

A small rush of relief flooded through him. This would help. One smoke, just to level things out. But the feeling vanished as fast as it came.

No lighter.

Chihara’s mouth tensed. He knew exactly where it was: in his room, sitting in the drawer of his nightstand, right next to where Hitomi was currently sleeping.

Fuck.

-

Chihara decided to just go get the lighter. There was no point in lying there any longer, trapped in thoughts that wouldn’t let him sleep. He will be quick, he’ll get the lighter and then leave the room, go to the balcony, smoke his cigarette, and then go back to sleep, as easy as that.

He rose quietly from the sofa-bed, careful not to make noise as he padded down the hallway toward his bedroom.

He paused at the doorway, standing still for a few seconds, hand resting on the frame. It felt ridiculous, needing to work up courage just to grab a lighter in his own room, but the idea of waking Hitomi and having to explain himself and tell him how he’s so on the edge about his presence in his house to the point that he needs to smoke in the middle of the night somehow felt heavier than it should’ve.

But the moment he opened the door, any preparation he’d made flew out the window.

Hitomi was already sitting up in bed, his small silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the night filtering through the curtains. The bed sheets were gathered at his waist, his posture alert but uncertain.

“Chihara-san?” Hitomi's voice was quiet, almost cautious. He squinted toward the doorway, trying to make out who was there in the dark.

“Ah... sorry,” Chihara replied, startled. He flipped on the nightstand light, casting a gentle warmth across the room. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was awake,” Hitomi murmured, reaching for his glasses. His eyes looked a little clearer behind the lenses, but there was still a trace of fatigue.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” Chihara asked, chuckling softly as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I thought it was just me.”

“...Yeah. I’m just... overthinking?” Hitomi said the word as if testing it, like he wasn’t sure it fit into his thoughts. Then, after a pause, he looked at Chihara with a sharper expression. “Chihara-san… are you sure you’re okay with me being here?”

The question caught Chihara off guard, though he did his best not to show it. Was he reading his mind?

“Eh? Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

Hitomi hesitated. Then, with a quiet, deliberate breath:

“...You have a wife, don’t you?”

Chihara was so surprised he almost coughed. Of all things Hitomi could’ve said in that moment, that was not what he expected. He blinked at him, trying to figure out how he could’ve gotten to that assumption. Was it something in his house? Something in the way he carried himself? Did he really seem like a married man?

He let out a slow breath, “No. I mean... I almost did. About a year ago.”

-

It had been a ten-year relationship. Back then, she was shy, timid, the kind of person who needed someone to help her step outside her comfort zone. Smart, independent, she had so much potential, and Chihara saw that in her from the start. He pushed her to break free from her shell, guiding her as she transformed into the confident, bold woman she was today.

She was the reason Chihara became a detective. She challenged his convictions, encouraged him when no one else did, and believed in him when he didn’t believe in himself. She was the one who told him he could be more than just another name on a long list of detectives. Thanks to her, he pushed himself harder each day, climbing the ranks quickly, not just to prove her right, but to make her proud.

They were meant to be together. They brought out the best in one another, each becoming a higher achiever with the other’s unwavering support. They complemented each other perfectly.

When he reached his current position, she was the first to celebrate. She greeted him at the door with a wide grin and a ceramic mug in her hand, the words "World’s Greatest Detective" printed across it in bold black letters. It felt like the pinnacle of their shared dream, their life project.

But somewhere along the way, the ambition she had ignited in him grew too sharp, too consuming. Late nights at the precinct. Cancelled dinners. Missed anniversaries. He kept telling himself it was only temporary, that once the next case was solved or the next promotion came through, he’d slow down, make it up to her, and get back to the life they had planned together.

But life doesn’t wait for you. And she didn't wait for him.

One day, Chihara came home to find she wasn’t there. Her belongings, the love they shared, and all those ten years of memories had vanished in an instant. Or at least, that’s how it felt to him. He should have seen it coming, but he didn’t.

-

Hitomi listened in silence, his arms wrapped around his knees, face resting lightly against them. He hadn’t expected such a personal answer, certainly not a story that felt so complete , as if Chihara had lived a complete life already.

It made him feel smaller somehow. Not in a bad way, just… deeply aware. Aware of how different their experiences had been. How mature and whole Chihara’s past sounded and how foreign that was from anything Hitomi had ever known.

“Oh… ten years is a lot,” he finally said, immediately cringing at how clumsy it sounded. He buried his embarrassed face a little deeper into his arms.

Chihara let out a quiet laugh, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. It didn’t feel like ten years, though. Time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say.” He shrugged, voice light but edged with something more wistful.

“She must have been amazing then,” Hitomi said, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Oh, she was,” Chihara replied with an easy pride drawn in his smile. Then, with a small chuckle, he added, “Still is, probably. Somewhere out there, conquering her own world.”

A pause settled between them, not long, but thoughtful.

“I always figured people like you don’t end up alone. Sorry for assuming otherwise.” Hitomi said softly.

Chihara raised an eyebrow, uncertain. “People like me?”

“I don’t know,” Hitomi said, defeated. “You’re just… so reliable and strong. The kind of person everyone can lean on. I guess I thought people like you would always have someone by your side.”

Chihara leaned in slightly, trying to catch Hitomi’s averted gaze. “Hitomi, even dependable people screw things up, you know.”

Hitomi stayed quiet for a long moment, as if those words had stirred something deep inside him. His gaze drifted past Chihara, not really focused on anything.

“That person… the one I loved back then…” Hitomi’s voice was low, tight. “He used to tell me I was dependable, too. Said he trusted me. I think I believed that meant he loved me back. But that’s not always the same thing, don’t you think?”

Chihara didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to. So he listened.

“I loved him like an obsessed maniac. I begged for crumbs and called it love.” Hitomi’s voice was steady, but his eyes looked distant. “He knew I’d never leave and that was the worst part. And he let me. Because it was easy for him.”

His arms tightened around his knees. “He never said it outright, but I don’t think he ever really saw me. Not the real me. I think I was just… soft arms. A quiet place to rest. Something he could put his weight on without ever offering to carry mine.”

Chihara’s chest tightened. But still, he didn’t speak.

“We stayed together after graduation. I kept thinking if I held on long enough, he’d see me differently. One day he’d look at me and... love me back the same way.” Hitomi smiled, but there was nothing gentle in it. “Instead I watched him fall out of love with someone he never truly cared for. I felt him slipping away, and I still couldn’t let go. Like… if I lost him, I’d disappear too.”

Hitomi’s voice was steady, but Chihara could sense the tremor just beneath the surface.

“And then…” His hands clenched slightly around his legs. “That thing happened.” Hitomi paused, reliving the memories of that night, and smiled with a negative-sounding scoff. “So yeah. I screwed up.”

“Hitomi…” Chihara’s voice held a touch of guilt, as if his words had unintentionally pried open something painful.

But Hitomi shook his head. “You didn’t screw up. Not really.” He paused. “You loved her. She loved you. That’s already something.”

He swallowed hard. “You can talk about her like she’s still a good memory. Not a wound. That means something. That means it was love.”

Chihara blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his words. It was strange, hearing that from Hitomi, someone who, by his own logic, should be the one with a fractured view of love. But here he was, speaking about it with a certainty that hit deeper than expected.

Then Hitomi looked at him, eyes steady, voice quieter. “I think I’m a little jealous of you, Chihara-san. You got to hold onto something real, even if it didn’t last. I don’t think I ever had that, I only held onto a lie and pretended that was enough.”

There was a long, charged pause. The air between them felt heavy, like a breath holding everything unspoken. Chihara could feel Hitomi’s vulnerability, raw and exposed. It made him want to say something, anything, but no words would have been honest enough.

So instead, he moved.

Without thinking, Chihara leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly against Hitomi's. Their eyes locked. Chihara had a questioning expression on his face, as if asking for permission to even lay a finger close to him.

Hitomi’s breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, his heart raced as he held Chihara’s gaze, seeing him getting closer, their foreheads almost touching.

Then, without a word, Chihara closed the gap between them, his lips pressing gently against Hitomi’s. The kiss was tentative at first, almost questioning, as if both of them were still unsure.

And for a moment, there was no past, no mistakes, just the warmth of a simple touch, a shared breath, a kiss that said everything they hadn’t been able to put into words that night.

When they parted, Chihara stayed close, his breath warm over Hitomi’s face..

“Sorry,” he whispered. “That probably wasn’t fair.”

Chihara’s apology hung in the space between them, but neither moved away.

“No,” Hitomi’s breath trembled. “It’s okay,” he said in a shy whisper. It came out like a secret, a confession made too softly to take back.

They didn’t pull back. Their eyes lingered on each other, hesitant. The seconds were slowly passing, and they still didn’t move, as if they were contemplating how much they wanted to ruin everything at that very moment.

“I didn’t expect that,” Hitomi murmured, almost to himself. “Not from you.”

Chihara gave a quiet, breathy laugh, not mocking, more like a nervous release. “Neither did I.”

Then Hitomi moved, slowly leaning forward. He kissed Chihara again, soft at first, very tender and very shy. Hitomi parted his lips and let Chihara in, letting him claim the shape of the kiss, it wasn’t a possessive one, this one felt reassuring,

He slid his arms up, slowly linking them behind Chihara’s neck, fingers gently threading through his long hair. Chihara cupped Hitomi’s face with both hands, holding him close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tickling past Hitomi’s in a quiet, confident claim.

Hitomi responded with a delicate sound, a breath, a hum, something closer to a whimper. He tilted his head and surrendered fully to the kiss. His body moved instinctively, leaning back slowly as Chihara followed, looming over him.

There was barely any space between them now, just the thin fabric of their pajamas that bothered them more and more with every kiss.

Chihara broke the kiss, his breath brushing warm against Hitomi’s skin as he pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

His hands moved slowly, slipping beneath the hem of Hitomi’s shirt. He began to lift it while watching him closely, as if waiting for any sign of hesitation.

But Hitomi stayed quiet, lips parted, his chest moved rapidly with agitated breaths. He didn’t resist the tender touch of Chihara’s hands that slowly swept upward, his palms mapping the small frame of Hitomi’s torso. When his thumbs brushed across his nipples, the reaction was subtle but immediate. Hitomi let a clear whimper escape his mouth, filled with surprise and pleasure.

Chihara paused only to savor the moment, the way Hitomi responded not with words, but with his own body. Slowly shifting his legs and letting them tangle together. He felt how a desperate heat in his core was waking up, a rush of adrenaline he wasn’t sure if Hitomi could sense through his clothes.

“Chihara…” Hitomi whispered, his voice was a slim thread of sound. His fingers were still tangled in his hair, reluctant to let go. “This is…”

Chihara exhaled slowly, his forehead resting gently against Hitomi’s. “I know,” he murmured in response. He felt like he was screwing things up, once again, but this time it was different, it felt so good, he didn’t want to let the moment go.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Hitomi said quickly, the words tumbling out as if speed might soften the edge of vulnerability. “...I’m nervous.”

Chihara let out a quiet breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh. “Hitomi…” he said, almost incredulous. “I haven’t done this with another man, ever.”

Before Hitomi could respond, Chihara buried his face in the curve of his neck, as if hiding the shy, embarrassed flush that had crept into his cheeks. His voice, when it came again, was a low whisper against Hitomi’s skin, warm and barely steady, but with a strong vibration that buzzed on Hitomi’s chest.

“Just… work with me here, please?”

The words hung between them, fragile in their honesty. Hitomi nodded and tightened his arms around Chihara just slightly, not to hold him back, but to hold him closer. They stayed like that for a few seconds, admiring the almost silence between them, only their heartbeats talking for them.

Hitomi’s hands wandered across Chihara’s back, exploring the contours of his lean, muscular frame. The broad shoulders, the tension coiled beneath his skin, the subtle weight of his waist pressing down on him. His fingers slipped beneath the edge of Chihara’s shirt, lifting it just enough to let his palms trace along his sides. The skin there was warm, almost feverish, with a faint sheen of sweat that made Hitomi want to rip the shirt off just to see it with his own eyes, but he didn’t; he resisted the urge.

Chihara settled between Hitomi’s legs, and the space between them vanished into something urgent. The heat, the ache, the barely restrained want that pulsed between them like a heartbeat. When he brushed his hips forward, the contact was subtle but extremely satisfying. They both felt a sharp and passionate jolt of pleasure running through their bodies.

Encouraged by Hitomi’s quiet and breathless hums, Chihara moved again, with a slow and soft rhythm. He leaned in and kissed him, first on the cheek, then the edge of his jaw. His lips traveled in soft and tender pecks along the line of Hitomi’s neck, each one drawing a small and breathy moan from Hitomi’s mouth.

Then, with a slow sigh, Chihara rose just enough to pull Hitomi’s shirt over his head. He paused, shirt in hand, and looked down at him.

Hitomi’s torso was bare now, pale, slender, and delicately built, though thinner than Chihara would have liked. His ribs showed more than they should, and Chihara felt glad that he fed him and saw him eating actual food today, he is worryingly skinny.

He reached out and brushed his fingers lightly across Hitomi’s chest, he noticed the scatter of tiny moles dotting all around Hitomi’s skin. “So cute,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could think.

Hitomi blinked, caught off guard by the quiet compliment. His breath hitched, and a soft flush bloomed across his cheeks, spreading fast down his neck and across his chest like warmth rushing to the surface. He averted his gaze, biting the inside of his cheek in a failed attempt to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

Chihara’s lips curled in a quiet smile after seeing his reaction. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss just below one of those scattered little moles. “So, so cute” he repeated softly, looking up at Hitomi trying to catch his eyes, slowly moving his way to one of his nipples, licking, sucking, enjoying the flavor of the sensitive skin beneath his lips and Hitomi’s failed attempts to constrain his whimpers.

Hitomi, now flushed to the tips of his ears, gently pressed a hand to Chihara’s chest and nudged him back, not to stop him, but to make space. Then, in a voice soft but insistent, he said, “You too… take it off.”

Chihara obeyed without hesitation. He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric tousling his hair on the way up. Once it was off, he tossed it aside and leaned back slightly, giving Hitomi a fuller view.

He was half-naked now, the low light brushing over the broad lines of his chest and stomach, his shoulders relaxed, but his jaw visibly tense. He saw how Hitomi looked at him, with a desiring but kind smile, with his legs partly opened, just enough to show the modest but growing evidence of his arousal tenting between his legs.

And that’s when it hit Chihara.

This was really happening. Intimacy. With another man.

The weight of it settled over him all at once

His confidence trembled. He realized he didn’t know what came next, kind of… but not really. The mechanics, the details. Lube. Condoms. Preparation. None of it was within reach, not physically, not mentally. He was completely unprepared. All this time he’d been moving on instinct, on trust and desire and emotion… What now?

He hesitated.

Hitomi noticed. But he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out and gently brushed the back of his fingers along Chihara’s arm, bringing him back to earth.

Chihara let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He shook his head, not in refusal, but as if he was trying to shake the fear loose.

I’ll figure it out. I always do. That’s who I am, right? Dependable. Chihara told himself.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, more to reassure himself than Hitomi. “I’ve got you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slipped out of his pajama pants in one smooth motion. The soft fabric fell away, leaving just the fitted outline of his dick beneath his underwear, thick, unmistakable, straining.

Hitomi’s eyes flinched away, his breath catching. He didn’t dare to look at it. As if avoiding the sight would make the moment less overwhelming. He was still trying to process the surreal fact: the detective going after him was almost naked (and visibly hard) in front of him .

Chihara shifted closer, lying down beside him on his side. He hooked one leg gently over Hitomi’s, anchoring them together, letting him feel the warm pressure of his arousal pressing softly against his thigh. The contact alone made both of them suck in a quiet breath.

Then Chihara leaned in, and their mouths met again, this kiss slanted deeper, hotter, not rushed but undeniably bold. Their moans bled into each other, mouths opening more freely, breath catching at unexpected places.

Hitomi gasped softly, in part from the kiss, but also from the sudden sensation of Chihara’s hand sliding down, fingertips brushing the hem of his pants. He pulled gently, testing a boundary, then slipped his hand inside, palm grazing the warmth of Hitomi’s cheeks. His touch wasn’t rough, it felt as if he was seeking comfort and permission all at once. He kneaded softly at the skin there, fingers dragging slow lines as if trying to memorize every inch.

All the while, Chihara’s hips pressed forward in subtle motions, grinding the firm weight of his dick against Hitomi’s leg. It wasn’t desperate, it felt more intimate. A rhythm built between them, not loud or obvious, but pulsing with heat.

Hitomi shifted, fingers trembling just a little as he pushed his pants down. They slid off without resistance since the pants were too big on him to begin with, falling in a soft heap around his ankles before he kicked them aside.

Chihara’s eyes followed the motion, and then he noticed.

Hitomi wasn’t wearing anything else underneath, no underwear.

For a moment, Chihara could only stare, breath hitching at the sight. There was something disarming in how bold Hitomi was for that. No words, no hesitation, just the quiet offering of someone who had already chosen to trust him.

His hand moved instinctively, drawn by a gravity he didn’t question. He reached out, slow but certain, and held Hitomi’s gentle dick delicately. The heat of him was immediate, the soft skin, flushed and taut, already revealing how much he wanted this. A slight dampness at the tip met Chihara’s fingers, making his breath catch as he started to slowly pump his hand.

Hitomi shivered at the touch, his eyes fluttering half-shut before they found Chihara’s again.

“Does this feel good?” Chihara asked, his voice low and rough, almost too intense. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way, but the heat between them was building fast, and control was slipping through his fingers.

Hitomi nodded, then answered with a whisper, “It does…”

The words trembled between them. He could hear the wet sound of Chihara’s strokes, he felt embarrassed, not sure why.

Hitomi’s hand moved instinctively, uncertain but drawn by need. He pressed his palm over the hard line beneath Chihara’s underwear, feeling the weight and heat of him. His touch was hesitant at first, two knuckles tracing lightly, testing the shape and pressure, before his other hand tugged gently at the waistband, fumbling to pull it down.

Chihara let out a shaky breath, both from the contact and from watching Hitomi move with such shy determination. He helped remove his underwear, revealing the red, throbbing skin springing out. Now they were both fully naked right next to each other, still kissing, caressing, and touching each other with a gentle but passionate desperation.

Hitomi paused and took his glasses off, setting them aside; they felt too tight against his temples in this position. He didn’t need them to see Chihara, not when he was this close, enough to catch every detail in soft focus: the heat flaring in his cheeks, the sweat glistening on his brow, the way his rough stubble framed the sharp angles of his jaw.

Chihara grabbed Hitomi’s shaft and aligned it with his, holding both of them at the same time, then he started to slowly frot against him, pressing their tips with his thumb.

The friction between them was slow at first, gradually increasing as if they were testing how fast or how slow they liked it. Chihara let his head rest against Hitomi’s shoulder, his breath hitching with quiet urgency. He wasn’t sure what he whispered, or if it even made sense, it felt like a whimper, directly into Hitomi’s ear, but he answered with a soft sound that made his mind go numb in excitement.

The tension between them had been building steadily, getting tighter with each shared breath. Chihara held him gently but firmly, his movements were slow and measured.

Hitomi felt how he was getting overwhelmingly closer to a high point. His fingers dug lightly into Chihara’s back, not to hold him back, but to ground himself as he felt how his back recoiled. “I’m… close,” he said in a small voice as his hips moved in tiny, instinctive motions, chasing the edge with quiet desperation inside Chihara’s hands. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Chihara’s collarbone, clinging to him, and then suddenly he felt it, a sharp, consuming wave went through his body as he let a satisfied sigh escape his mouth.

Chihara held him through it, his own body shivering with restraint, awed by the image in front of him, seeing Hitomi’s body shaking and falling apart in his own hands felt strange, in a good way; he hadn’t experienced this tender feeling in so long.

But even as he tried to stay still, the moment overtook him too.

The mere sight of Hitomi, sweat-slicked and glowing in the low light, the heat of his body, the quiet sounds he made, it was all too much. Chihara slid closer, grabbing Hitomi’s leg and lifting it just a little, enough to slot himself between Hitomi’s thighs. The skin was soft there, and the dampness of the sweat mixed with Hitomi’s come that Chihara gathered with his fingers and used as improvised lube made the friction even more pleasant. He kept pushing and thrusting, grabbing Hitomi’s waist and pressing him forward with the wave of his hips; he was so lightweight it was easy to move him and follow a satisfying pace.

Hitomi, still trembling, kissed whatever skin he could reach: Chihara’s neck, his shoulder, his jaw. Soft, open-mouthed kisses, some urgent, some slow. He murmured something into his skin, maybe his name, something encouraging, something lewd, maybe nothing, and that was enough to tip Chihara over the edge.

He gasped and groaned, burying his face in Hitomi’s neck, his whole frame went rigid as the heat inside him finally burst, leaving him breathless, clinging to the boy beneath him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

He pressed a kiss to Hitomi’s temple as they recovered their breath. And stayed that way, in silence, with their legs tangled together and their eyes closed in tiredness, they could only hear their ringing ears and their heartbeats slowly regulating into normality.

Chihara shifted slightly, just enough to pull the blanket up over them without bothering Hitomi. “Are you warm?” he murmured.

A slow nod answered him. Then a soft sound, almost too quiet to catch. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Chihara replied.

Their bodies calmed down, the tension drained, and their breathing deepened. Chihara saw how Hitomi’s eyes closed slowly, witnessing how he gradually relaxed against him.

Within minutes, he was asleep.

Chihara stayed awake a little longer. He listened to Hitomi’s breathing and stared into the dark, a creeping unease settling over the silence. What the fuck had he done? This wasn’t just a mistake. It felt like a full-on, catastrophic, monumental fuck-up.

He didn’t know what the morning would bring or what any of this would mean in the future. But for now, he held onto the one thing that made sense: the weight of someone trusting him enough to fall asleep in his arms and the strange, painful comfort of being needed.

Of being dependable.

Eventually, his own eyes closed, and he drifted off too.

-

At dawn, before the sun filtered through the curtains, Hitomi woke up and felt a dazing confusion. For a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was. The room felt unfamiliar. The bed was strangely too warm. His mind was fogged, like the haze of a hangover, despite no alcohol being involved.

Then he turned his head and saw Chihara sleeping beside him, soft, breathing, alive.

Alive.

A wave of stunned relief hit him. For once, it wasn’t a dream of his dead boyfriend lying next to him. Not the twisted nightmare he’d had too many times before, cold skin, empty eyes, blood soaking the sheets and guts spilled around the bed. No. This wasn’t that, for the first time.

This was real.

Chihara was here. Whole. Warm. Human. Asleep.

The relief lasted only a second before something sharper rose behind it, a sudden unease. Everything from the night before came rushing back in a flood: the way they had touched, the desperate closeness, the heat, the honesty.

His chest tightened, breath catching mid-thought, as if even remembering it out loud might crack something open.

But then he looked again.

Chihara’s face was calm in sleep, his brow relaxed, one arm curled loosely around the space where Hitomi lay. No tension. No regret.

Just warmth.

Hitomi let out a slow, careful breath, feeling the tightness in his chest loosen slightly. Whatever nightmare waited outside this room could come later.

He turned back toward Chihara, tucked himself a little closer, and let his eyes close again.

-

That morning, Chihara decided to take things slowly. While Hitomi still slept, tangled in the softness of the sheets, Chihara quietly got up and headed to the kitchen. He wanted to savor the calm before the inevitable storm, before that difficult conversation threatening to happen came.

The scent of freshly cooked food filled the apartment, along with the gentle clatter of plates and the soft scrape of silverware.

It woke Hitomi.

He blinked himself into awareness, the fog of yesterday still clinging to his thoughts. Then, pulled by the smell and the sounds, he slid out of bed and padded toward the kitchen.

There was Chihara, lively, focused, and domestic. He moved with purpose as he set the table, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled. Something about it felt... grounding, as if looking at the real him.

“Good morning, Hitomi. Just on time. Breakfast is ready” Chihara looked up, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he nodded toward the table.

“Good morning, Chihara-san,” Hitomi replied softly.

They sat down to eat, the table was filled with an assortment of different dishes, rice, miso soup, pickled vegetables. All vegetarian. All very Chihara.

Hitomi didn’t comment on the cooking, but he ate everything with evident appreciation.

Neither of them mentioned anything about last night.

Instead, they talked about how cold the morning was. Mundane things. Small talk, carefully chosen to maintain the fragile peace between them. The silences between them were not uncomfortable, but they were heavy. As if both knew exactly what conversation they were avoiding.

When they finished, Chihara stood to clear the dishes. Hitomi moved to help, but Chihara waved him off with a quiet, “It’s fine. You don’t need to.”

He meant it. You see, Chihara loved his dishwasher. He truly did. It was a point of pride for him, efficient, reliable, perfectly suited to his love of order. He never missed a chance to show off its smooth mechanics, its gleaming interior. It was silly, maybe, but it gave him comfort.

At first, Hitomi thought it was just a joke to brighten up the morning. But once he realized Chihara was entirely sincere, he found it even more amusing. There was something endearing in how seriously he took it. A little silly, perhaps. But comforting in its own way.

Once everything was loaded and the dishwasher began its quiet hum, Chihara finally gave in to the craving that had been haunting him since the night before. He slid the balcony door open, lit a cigarette, and poured himself a modest glass of whiskey.

Hitomi watched him from the kitchen. Something in the way Chihara exhaled, that slow and deep drag, the slight tremble in his fingers as he held the glass. The mask of calm he’d worn all morning was finally starting to slip.

“Are you…” Hitomi started, hesitating. He stepped out onto the balcony, his voice gentler. “Chihara-san, you look stressed.”

Chihara didn’t answer immediately. He stared out past the balcony rail, eyes tracing some distant shape in the skyline. Then he spoke, without looking back.

“There’s a lot I should be stressed about,” he said with a stoic face. “But yeah. I guess I am.”

Chihara took another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before releasing it through his nose. The whiskey burned a little going down, but it helped dull the noise in his head. Not enough, though.

“I crossed a line,” he said finally. “Last night.”

Hitomi rested his chin on his arms along the balcony rail. The sky above them was pale and cloudy. There was a pause, a long one, enough for Hitomi to gather some thoughts.

“If it helps,” he said, cautiously, “I think we’re even now.”

Chihara turned his head slowly, confused. “What?”

Hitomi didn’t flinch. “I killed people, and you keep my secret. You slept with a criminal, and I keep yours.”

It was a realization Hitomi hadn’t fully considered until that moment. How he had dragged this well-behaved, principled man into his own mess, and yet, for some unknown reason, the man was helping him get away with his crimes. He had nothing to gain from it, but here he was, helping him commit his murderous acts, cleaning the steps behind him, letting him into his apartment, feeding him, lending him his clothes, sleeping together.

Hitomi owed him everything at that very moment.

And yet, he had nothing to give back. At least, that’s what he believed.

Chihara’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what this is to you? A negotiation?”

Hitomi blinked. The silence between them thickened.

“I didn’t know you wanted our relationship to be transactional,” Chihara added, his voice low, not angry, but wounded, and trying to hide his own disbelief over what was just proposed.

The word relationship hung in the air like smoke. Hitomi felt heat rise to his cheeks. He never thought he’d hear that word from Chihara. Not with him.

What exactly were they now? What is their relationship?

Hitomi didn’t look away. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he said, calm but steady. “It’s up to you how you want to interpret it.”

He took a breath. “What do you want, Chihara-san?” His voice softened at the end, not pleading, but sincere. “What do you want me to be? What do you want us to be?”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Chihara stood in silence, looking at Hitomi’s earnest expression in his eyes. He found himself asking the same thing, too; he’s been dragging the question in his head during his sleepless nights, but still, despite all the thinking, he felt like he had no solid answer.

And it bothered him. He wasn’t used to feeling this lost about his own problems, he’d been a practical person most of his life. If there’s an issue, it gets solved, simply as that. It is as if Hitomi had a talent for throwing him off balance. His presence, his intensity, and his forceful nature were surely something he had never seen before, and he was obsessed with it. It kept Chihara from reaching any conclusion that made him feel confident.

He was sure he liked Hitomi, no doubt about that at all. He liked many things about him: his driving passion, his all-or-nothing mindset, the way he is a powerful storm of intense emotions, somehow encapsulated in his calm, demure demeanor. You would never guess how strong-minded and smart Hitomi was just by looking at him. And Chihara didn’t just love all of that, he also wanted to protect it from getting damaged or corrupted in the outside world.

But Hitomi was a criminal, and Chihara was a detective. Everything about them was morally incompatible.

And even then, he couldn’t help but justify Hitomi’s actions. He understood why Hitomi killed these people, why he felt the way he felt, and why he behaved the way he did.

Hitomi had achieved so much on his own. He had sought justice with his own hands, justice that Chihara hadn’t been able to enjoy because of the loopholes in the legal system. It didn’t matter how many criminals Chihara had helped put behind bars; if they all ended up back on the streets, all his efforts felt meaningless.

He agreed with everything Hitomi had done. Did he agree with the methods? Not really, that was highly debatable. But their motives aligned, and Chihara highly appreciated that.

Chihara stayed quiet. The silence stretched long enough for Hitomi to grow anxious. He took a drag from his cigarette while Hitomi tried to catch a glimpse of his avoidant eyes. “Chihara-san?” Hitomi insisted.

“I don’t have an answer for you”, Chihara finally replied.

Hitomi felt something drop in his chest. He looked down at the balcony floor, suddenly feeling like a fool for asking that. But it’s Chihara after all. He’s a good man, always doing the right thing, saying the right thing, always in control of his words and actions, always in compliance. But still, deep down, there was a foreign, painful pinch in Hitomi’s heart.

“I’m sorry, that’s probably not what you expected to hear, but I can’t answer that, not right now,” Chihara said, looking directly into Hitomi's eyes. He was telling the truth, and Hitomi knew that, but it didn’t make it any less painful. “It’s okay,” he replied in a thin voice.

“I’ll drive you home,” Chihara said after a painfully long minute, his voice quieter now. Neutral. “You probably want a change of clothes.”

Hitomi didn’t argue.

They didn’t speak again as they left the apartment. Not while they took the elevator down, not while Chihara unlocked the car, not during the entire drive. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was… heavy. Both of them were wrapped in their own thoughts, each unsure of what the other was thinking, or maybe afraid to find out.

Hitomi stared out the window, on the verge of tears, watching the city blur past. Chihara kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift but not moving.

When they finally reached Hitomi’s place, the car slowed to a stop at the curb. Chihara didn’t say anything.

Neither did Hitomi… at first.

He opened the door, one foot on the pavement, and paused. Then, without turning back, he said softly, “Thanks for the food.”

Then he stepped out and closed the door.

Chihara watched him go until the building’s door swallowed him from sight. Only then did he allow himself to exhale.

“You idiot,” he muttered under his breath.

-

Chihara drove to the precinct with the window cracked open, letting the wind sting his face. He didn’t turn on the radio. The silence felt deserved.

Once inside his office, he flipped a mental switch, the one he’d perfected over the years, and buried the past 24 hours beneath layers of routine. Work was waiting. Crime didn’t stop, and surely it wouldn’t solve itself.

The day crawled by in a haze of paperwork, briefings, coffee gone cold, and rookie’s mistakes. Everyone seemed to need something from him, answers, approvals, guidance, corrections, all at once. Just another day.

That night, when he returned home, he hung his keys by the door and slipped out of his coat, finding himself again in his quiet apartment. Empty, except for the echo of that morning, the way the light hit the table, the way Hitomi had smiled over konbini pudding, the lingering heavy words.

He went straight to the shower to help the weight of the day wash away with the warm water. When he finally climbed into bed, a familiar scent wrapped around him like a ghost, soft, bittersweet, unmistakably Hitomi .

“Shit,” he muttered.

Everything came rushing back to him. He couldn’t help but cringe at it, it wasn’t a bad memory, it just… hurt to remember how real everything was, the warmth, the closeness, the way they held each other, how it had felt. And how big of a fuck up that was too…

He reached for his phone, thumb hovering over Hitomi’s name. Hesitation lingered. What was he even supposed to say? Could anything make it better?

He hit send.

Across the city, Hitomi’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, read the message, and smiled, just faintly. Then turned the screen face down and lay back in bed, motionless. He hadn’t moved much all day, ever since Chihara dropped him off. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t opened the curtains.

No reply.

-

Chihara kept busy. The precinct became his whole world again, paper trails, late nights, working, thinking, overworking, and overthinking, the usual.

Hitomi drowned in his thoughts, staying at home, skipping meals, staying up all night, sleeping in until the evening, the usual.

Days slipped into weeks, then months.

Chihara never followed up.
Hitomi never replied.
But neither of them forgot that day.

Not for a second.

Life moved on. Cases piled up. And Chihara buried himself in work.

Hitomi vanished in his online world of solitude, surviving one silent day at a time.

Sometimes, Chihara’s thumb would still hover over Hitomi’s name.
Sometimes, Hitomi would stare at his screen a little longer than he meant to.
The messages remained unwritten.

But the thought was there.

And maybe, one day, that would be enough to start again.