I

After all these years spent in the shadows, it’s a bit more than blinding to catch even a glimpse of Hajime’s light. You’re a little starved for the warmth of his words, truth be told. The taste of them is addictive: sweet like a spoonful of honey, melting slowly on your tongue.

(See — you’ve always hated being perceived as inferior. The shame that smolders in your veins is quick to ignite and difficult to douse; you’ve always been one to hold a grudge. You’d feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, slowly cooking under the sun’s merciless rays.

You’ve learned to grit your teeth and bear the scornful gazes — even as they seared your back with the intensity of an open flame, casting all your flaws into plain sight. An insignificant insect, pinned and primed to be dissected for each and every mistake.)

Platitudes from faceless believers ring hollow — you know all too well how easy it is to fake a smile to get into a superior’s good graces, even as you’re silently seething at their idiosyncrasies. Plastic pleasantries pale in the face of Hajime’s heartfelt praise, sinking into your skin like spring sunlight: carrying a gentle warmth.

It’s just — on days where your head pulses from having to micromanage a thousand incompetents all at once, their chatter swarming your hazy thoughts like the buzz of so many bees — you want to cut through the light years of distance that Hajime wraps around him like a cloak.

Like a halo that paints him a hallowed creature: so far beyond your reach that you can only dream of pressing a kiss to his hand in devotion, dedicating yourself to the divine.

It’s enviable, how easily Harada crosses that distance — how easily he takes Hajime’s hand. How his lighthearted, frivolous remarks visibly ease the strain of smiling on your beloved star.

See? There’s a levity to Hajime’s steps that wasn’t there before — like a caged bird sprung from its constraints, finally spreading its wings beyond the bars. Opening its beak to serenade clear skies, and yet… mourning the leaden weight of clipped wings: never to soar again.

You’re just… so sick of living in the shadows of others. Your sweet, capable little sister was already making incredible strides. Look at her — she’d already received an offer to study abroad.

Your stern, unforgiving father dismissed you as a disappointment, following in the footsteps of your grandfather with ease; as a result, his company skyrocketed through the rankings — an astounding success. Even your grandfather’s favor wasn’t enough to blunt the razor-sharp edges of his scorn.

All your life, you’ve been outclassed. And yet — this is the first time you’re afraid: of being replaced by someone far more capable, of outliving your use, of being left in the dust by your beloved star to die: forgotten and alone.

The thing is, you’ve grown far too attached to Hajime and the warm glow of his affirmations — without this purpose, you think you might fall apart. Haha. Pathetic, isn’t it? Look at you now — you can’t even begin to imagine a future without his guiding light.

You’re willing to stain yourself in all the colors of sin. You’ll live in the depths of endless darkness to prove the weight of your devotion — worship of your beloved star, even if it warps you beyond recognition.

… Ah, well. You learned long ago that Hajime’s smiles might rival the sun in their intensity, but it’s more a matter of your infatuation than his divinity — or rather, his lack thereof.

Even so… for his sake, you’ll conduct a grim orchestra of sacrifice and silenced screams to the end. Even if something in you fractures further and further with each freshly-dug grave, you will never regret the sentiments you leave at Hajime’s altar: tender as a kiss farewell, wistful as a whispered confession — or perhaps an oath.

… By the time Harada reaches his hand out to you, you’re already beyond salvation.

II

You told Hajime you wanted to take him to the ocean, once. Foolish of you, really — you hated the heat more than anyone. Hajime’s smile had twitched, amused. He’d stifled a laugh, likely imagining it unfold: you in a floppy, comically oversized sun-hat and a pair of shades, scowling up a storm at the scorching midsummer sun.

You’d scoffed, embarrassed. Ah, well. Genuine laughter — even if it’s at your expense — was far better than the distant stare he’d been directing at the courtyard. Smiles suited Hajime best, after all. He’d been drifting, and you weren’t sure how to bring him back.

Enter, stage right: a bishop and his beloved star.

(If you had to put the sight of him to words, well — all the shadows seem to fall behind him at the sound of his voice. Morning light frames Hajime’s face in fractals, painting his features in shades of copper and gold: an angel descended to earth.

All the world is quiet, but if you listen — perhaps you can catch the faint song of a bird, the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. The bright sound of a dream taking shape at dawn. How brittle it is. How brash! And yet — how beautiful.

On wings of wishes and wax, it soars: challenging fate, glittering like a star on a moonless night, grazing the sun.)

Noriyuki
[pensive]
What would we do? Well. We’d… build a sandcastle, I suppose.

Hajime
[teasing]
Fufu. Just one?

Noriyuki
Maybe two. Hajime — I’ll craft a kingdom in your name, if that’s what you desire.

…. What a sight we’d make… Two old men, playing at being children again. Ah, well — that’s what dreams are for, I suppose.

How about — I’ll buy you ice cream. What flavor would you like?

Hajime
Oh? You’re thoughtful as always, Noriyuki.

Ah, well — it’s been a while, hasn’t it. Since I’ve eaten out of necessity, or even just for the fun of it. I… want to remember the sweetness of strawberries.

Yes… I think I would like that very much. Walking with you by the shore, listening to the lull of the waves, ice cream slowly melting with every step of the way.

Noriyuki
What a wonderful dream.

I wish I could —- what if we… ah, Hajime. Don’t pay my muttering any mind. That’s a good choice. Personally… Harada might call it boring, but I think vanilla is quite the classic.

Hajime
Simple and sweet. I think it suits you, Noriyuki.

Noriyuki
[flustered]
…. Oh… truly? Ah, that’s… quite a. A relief. Glad to hear that someone has taste around here.

(And yet — here is a truth that has been drilled into you through mind and marrow, heart and bone: all dreams must end. Wings of wishes and wax were never made to withstand neither the heat of hubris, nor the sheer incandescence of stars brought to earth.)

Exit stage left, a lovesick devotee and his god.

III

Sweetness to lull the palate, a spoonful of sugar to dull the sharp tang of poison.

Did you know? Even a hard-won harvest can be contaminated with a cocktail of natural toxins. Honey produced from Rhododendron nectar proves fatal with a potent enough dose: a burning that begins in the mouth, a slowing of the pulse, a stopping of the heart.

(Sugar-coated lies fall from your lips, a dusting of snow crystals to decorate the pure white halls. How easily bright-eyed adherents clear their plates of pleasantly packaged poison, coaxed into following your cause with eager smiles.)

Even honey, when heated, warps from the warmth of distant stars. When consumed in large amounts, it induces dancing images of delirium: flickering, fickle mirages shimmering in a haze of heat.

Even if love fills the yawning chasm of your hollow heart, it will never be enough. That’s the thing about addiction: craving the sun-drenched validation of your star always leaves you wanting more, more, more.

Hajime’s waiting at the table, docile as a lamb. You smile, blade in hand.

Time to eat.

IV

Noriyuki.

When you wake, it is to the soft sound of your name. Whispered with the reverence of a prayer, it rings in your ears with a bell-like clarity — a perfect accompaniment to the faint murmuring of the sea.

You’re standing in the ruins of a long-abandoned cathedral, dust motes dancing through the air. Morning light falls through holes in the roof; the sharp tang of salt drifts through a shattered window.

Vines are beginning to reclaim the faded busts of saints lining the walls, their sacred, unblinking eyes burning holes into your back. Candy-colored shards of glass glitter on the ground, illuminated by dawn’s gentle light.

(If you’d sifted through the warm seawater lapping at your feet to collect them, drawn in by their razor-edged allure… well. You’d surely graze your palm in the process.

Harada would raise an eyebrow, blinking at your uncharacteristic act of carelessness. He would dispense some frivolous remark to lighten the atmosphere, and yet he’d already be in motion.

With brisk strides and practiced ease, he’d be the first to fetch the first aid kit from the nearest cabinet — a habit born from handling accident-prone children, no doubt.

Hajime would needlessly fret over such a minor laceration, cradling your injured hand with care. Like you deserved even a second of his consideration — the weight of his divine gaze.

Still, the warmth of his hands… you think you’ll tuck this precious feeling somewhere safe: archiving it in ink, pressing it close to all the pages of your heart. You’ll remember this — if not for forever, then at least quite a long time.)

Noriyuki.

Here, in the soft, malleable landscape of dreams, reality shifts to accommodate Hajime’s preferences. At the sound of his voice, the cathedral begins to crumble: flying buttresses snapping like twigs, ribbed vaulting collapsing inward with a sigh, bell tolling three times in farewell: goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

It vanishes into the ocean’s depths without a trace: solemn saints and stained glass, so easily shattered with a wave of your star’s hand.

He’s standing at the shoreline, looking out to sea. He looks — lonely. You want to meet that distant gaze, to drag him down from that towering pedestal and into the warmth of your arms.

Damn divinity — I want to make you mine.

A foolish, fanciful desire, swallowed by the wind and waves. You want to gather each and every lovesick syllable and scatter them among shells and sea foam, praying they, too, would be swallowed up where the sky meets the sea.

(You want this to be salvation by Hajime’s hand. A saltwater baptism, a cleansing. For you, a sinner stained in sin, it would be the greatest blessing in the world.)

A cruelty: every time you walk closer, Hajime walks further into the ocean’s embrace.

Funny, isn’t it — except you’re the punchline. Even in dreams, you can’t drag him closer. This time, you’re divided by the sea. An invisible line drawn in the sand — like a boundary forbidding sky and sea to meet, instead of godhood.

Love — be it familial or otherwise — has always taunted you with its distance, forever dancing out of your reach.

Still. Even so — you want to confess, even if it’s nothing but a dream. You’ll shout these selfish words to him, just this once, and pray your voice cuts through light years of distance. Pierce through the susurrus of saltwater, and shear through the fickle fabric of dreams.

Hajime, are you listening?

I want to die and be reborn in the fires of your love. Drown in the clear, baptismal waters of your voice, be purified by the sacred flames of your sinless judgment, and walk this Earth once more by your side.

Aah, how embarrassing. A foolish old man’s selfish wish, whispered to the waves.

How about it? This is merely… a secret for just the two of us to keep.

Dawn is breaking, across the soft fragility of this dreamscape and hard, unforgiving reality. Soon, this flickering illusion will shatter into the merciless depths of the sea.

But both Hell and Hajime can wait, just this once —

— after all, there is still time for this old man to dream.

*

Maybe one day in reality, I’ll gather the courage to say those three wondrous words.

Until then, Hajime — will you wait for me?