“My life? For yours?”
Juri stammers, still out of breath, adrenaline coursing through his veins in the aftermath of saving Taiga from an oncoming car. There’s disbelief in his voice as he repeats the words spoken by the man in front of him—fragmented, strange, and difficult to make sense of.
“I mean, I get it—you’re thankful,” he continues after a moment, once his breathing steadies. “But to that extent?” He lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “I haven’t even done much. We just met, after all.”
Taiga is a little out of breath himself, relief washing over him in waves. Juri is safe. Juri is alive.
But his face betrays a confusion of emotions he can’t begin to explain—thoughts he no longer has the right to share. All he manages is a small reply. “You’re right.”
“Ah, but then again.” Juri straightens, his mind already shifting gears, clarity returning as quickly as it always does. “It was something serious. Someone’s out to get you.”
“I know,” Taiga says. Then, softer, as if saying it twice might anchor him, “I know.”
He smiles, but the upward curve of his lips is strained, as though it might break at any moment. His eyes are wet at the edges when he meets Juri’s gaze. “You really did save my life,” he says. “More than you’ll ever know.”
He hesitates, breath catching. “I just wanted to say thank you. For the last time.”
Concern creases Juri’s forehead, brows knitting together. “You’re not planning to off yourself, are you? After all that fuss?”
Taiga lets out an undignified sound—caught somewhere between a cough and a chuckle—before it turns into laughter. The clutching-at-air, whole-body kind. He laughs until tears spill freely, until the sound breaks apart and dissolves into quiet sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he manages eventually, wiping at his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. “I know this is strange. I know I’m being really silly. I just… can’t help it.”
“It’s okay,” Juri replies gently.
And then the strangest thing happens.
Juri steps forward and pulls Taiga into an embrace, holding him as though his life depends on it, as though the urgency thrumming beneath Taiga’s ribs is something he can feel too. Taiga freezes for a heartbeat before instinct takes over, his arms coming up around Juri in return.
There’s a pull—immediate, inexplicable. Something that settles deep in Juri’s chest, something he has no words for.
They stay like that only briefly, but it feels eternal all the same.
“Think again. And think harder,” Hokuto says, the teasing lilt in his voice edged with something sharp enough to cut.
He leans in and brushes his lips lightly against Taiga’s cheek, tongue darting out to taste skin. “Are you sure?”
It takes everything Taiga has not to flinch.
He isn’t averse to being touched—it’s part of his job, after all. He’s learned to thrive on simulated intimacy, to wear it easily, convincingly. But for reasons he’s never been able to explain, Hokuto has always unsettled him. There’s something about him that makes Taiga’s skin prickle, his instincts screaming even when his mind insists there’s no real danger.
Still, Taiga notices where Hokuto’s tongue traces—over the place he hadn’t bothered to wipe clean, where tears from earlier still linger.
“I wasn’t,” Taiga says at last, after a long silence. “But I am now.” He manages a wry smile. “Maybe you’re right. Having the power to do things over just turns into an infinite loop—regrets piling up on top of each other.”
“What are you gonna do then?” Hokuto asks, clearly enjoying himself.
Then, seamlessly, the playfulness drains away.
“It’s not like he’d know you,” Hokuto continues, his tone level now. “Or share your memories of him.”
Taiga lets out a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob—broken, undignified. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to steady.
“I only wanted a comfortable life,” he admits quietly. “Lots of money. I did whatever it took.” His voice falters. “For a while, I thought I could manage it. Because he was there—bending to my every whim. Every desire.”
He swallows.
“But look how that turned out in the end.” His voice drops to a whisper, raw but no longer trembling. “I just want him back.”
Hokuto smiles then—barely. A minute upward curve of his lips, and for once, it isn’t unsettling. It’s genuine.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do,” Hokuto asks, meeting Taiga’s gaze squarely, “when we get back?”
“I’ll know when we get there, I guess,” Taiga replies. “But I’d be sure to make the most of it.”
“Well then.” Hokuto holds his gaze, unblinking. “You know what to do.”
He steps closer.
“So come and—”
“Eventually, you’ll have to get up from there,” a voice says.
Taiga turns toward the sound, startled. He came here alone.
Hokuto stands by the open door, his gaze dark and unyielding even from a distance. Instinctively, Taiga curls inward, his body folding around the urn in his arms, holding it tighter—as though someone might take it from him.
Hokuto lets out a low, humorless chuckle at the movement. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Or him.”
He steps into the room and lowers himself to the floor, kneeling until he’s level with Taiga. His eyes flick briefly to the urn, softening in a way that makes Taiga’s chest ache.
“It’s not like I could make him any more dead than he already is, anyway.”
“What are you doing here?” Taiga snaps. The words come out rough, stripped of the venom he meant them to carry.
“Paying my respects,” Hokuto replies. Simple. Unadorned. He doesn’t look away from the urn. “But more than that—” His gaze returns to Taiga, sharp again. “I’m here to make sure you haven’t followed after him just yet.”
The room falls quiet.
The urn is warm where Taiga presses it to his chest. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there. Long enough for the world to feel distant. Long enough for the thought to settle, heavy and familiar, at the back of his mind.
Hokuto notices anyway.
“Not today,” he says calmly. Not a command. Not comfort. A statement of fact.
Taiga exhales, shallow and uneven. His fingers tighten around the urn, then loosen, just a little.
Hokuto remains where he is. Close enough to stop him. Far enough to let the choice be Taiga’s.
“The next time won’t be as easy,” Taiga says, half a warning and half a joke.
Juri raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Next time?” he echoes. “You sound like you’ve already made up your mind.”
Taiga laughs, light and careless enough that it almost convinces him too. “I’m just saying,” he adds, shrugging. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m always up for anything,” Juri replies easily, the grin in his voice unmistakable. He leans in closer, deliberately invading Taiga’s space. “And I do mean anything.”
“Stop that,” Taiga says, laughing again. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
But even as he says it, his chest tightens—not with nerves, but with something heavier. Familiar. He watches Juri too closely, memorizing without meaning to: the warmth of him, the unguarded confidence, the way he gives without asking what it will cost.
“Why do you keep doing this, anyway?” Taiga asks suddenly. The humor drains from his voice before he can stop it. “It’s not like you’re tied to me or anything.”
Juri doesn’t hesitate.
“I do it because I want you,” he murmurs, voice low and certain, breath ghosting against Taiga’s ear. His fingers brush Taiga’s cheek, feather-light and unthinking. The smile he wears is all mischief, all invitation.
Before Taiga can respond, Juri kisses him.
It’s brief. Soft. Nothing that should matter.
Taiga’s rebuttal dies in his throat, replaced by a sound that isn’t quite a breath. The sensation hits him instantly—the familiar wrongness spreading from his fingertips, draining heat and strength as it creeps higher. His chest tightens, air slipping away no matter how hard he tries to draw it in.
Juri pulls back, a gasp to match Taiga’s.
Later, Taiga will tell himself this was the first time.
He will not be wrong.
“After that, you’ll lose everything you’ve worked hard for,” Hokuto says. “You’ll start at square one.”
Taiga nods. The movement is barely perceptible, but there’s no hesitation in it.
“My win,” he says quietly, “is living in the peace I’ve worked hard on. Am still working on. It’s having friends who give me new perspectives, instead of blindly siding with me whenever I feel like the world is out to get me.”
Hokuto scoffs softly. “Those are big words. You know Juri won’t remember any of this.”
“I know.” Taiga lifts his gaze, meeting Hokuto’s eyes without flinching. “But it’s also knowing who loves me for who I am, flaws and all—and who will stay long enough to see me turn them into something better.”
There’s a pause.
“I’ll still have you,” Taiga says at last. Simple. Certain. “And we’ll remember everything together. Even if Juri can’t.”
Hokuto laughs—quietly, a little rough around the edges. He takes a steadying breath.
“Okay,” he says. “Then let’s go back.”