“…It’s like raw chicken covered in marinade,” he managed.
Yoshiki tried to keep himself calm, clenched his teeth, and toughed it out. When he inhaled, the back of his throat wheezed.
“It’s cool inside,” he said.
“Yer…kinda warm.”
Hikaru chuckled softly and looked down at the spot where his body and Yoshiki were connected.
“Feels nice. Been a while since I’ve felt somethin’ alive inside me.”
Has he done this with someone else before? Yoshiki wondered. Or has he experienced absorbing other “living things” into his body in some other way?
That would mean—
“Hey,” Hikaru said, smiling. “Try bringin’ yer hand up more.”
Yoshiki did as he was instructed and moved his left hand. It passed through something that wasn’t quite like chicken meat or the mud at the bottom of a rice paddy—it was something similar yet far more sinister.
The slit in Hikaru’s body then began to widen, easily spreading apart with a sound like what you would hear when opening a tear strip on a package. In an instant, the slit lengthened, opening up from Hikaru’s collar bone to his neck and then his chin.
Hikaru watched the whole thing with a smile. His cheeks were flushed, and the breath that poured out of his mouth was unexpectedly damp.
Then he quietly took hold of Yoshiki’s shoulders.
“Ahhn,” Hikaru breathed. “Feels good right there.”
Hikaru’s back shuddered; his hands felt warm on Yoshiki. Hikaru’s insides were so cold, yet his palms were perfectly warm.
Hikaru’s collarbone felt hard as it brushed against Yoshiki’s brow, and his breath, naturally, felt damp against the crown of Yoshiki’s head.
Did he notice that my breathing was shaky? Yoshiki thought.
“This feels good to ya?” he asked.
“It’s the same as someone pattin’ yer head. I’ve never been touched there before…”
Hikaru trailed off, and Yoshiki could faintly hear him swallow.
Suddenly, Yoshiki wanted to pull his arm out. As if sensing his desire to do so, Hikaru’s insides gripped tightly around him—trying to drag him in deeper.
“I’m bein’ pulled in…!”
Now Yoshiki screamed and yanked his left hand out of Hikaru. The slit released Yoshiki with ease and closed up with the smoothness of an automatic door shutting.
“That scare ya?” Hikaru asked.
Yoshiki’s throat trembled, and he continued to take deep breaths. Hikaru was clutching his stomach and laughing hysterically.
“Shit,” Yoshiki sputtered, and he wiped his left hand on his shirt.
But there was nothing on his hand. Not blood or any other bodily fluids—nothing from inside Hikaru had stuck to him.
And yet, the cold, raw sensation of Hikaru’s insides lingered on his fingertips, his palm, the back of his hand, and his wrist.
“C’mon! It ain’t dirty or anythin’,” Hikaru said while grinning and playfully nudging Yoshiki’s shoulder as if Yoshiki had offended him.
The slit was gone, and the skin on Hikaru’s body was now like the real Hikaru’s bare body, just as nature intended.
“What? My shirt?” Hikaru lifted his head playfully and flung his shirt wide open, saying, “I’ll give ya a show that’ll get yer nose bleedin’!”
They heard a piercing whistle from the gym, and everything suddenly became quiet. Perhaps someone had made a bad foul.
Yoshiki kept his face turned away from Hikaru’s exposed skin, and his ears burned in the stillness.
“Wait. What’s wrong…?”
The silence was so heavy that Hikaru’s voice wavered.
Hikaru extended his hand, and Yoshiki swiftly slapped it away. The crack it made echoed throughout the noiseless storage room and transformed into the sound of Hikaru’s confused laughter.
“Aha. So ya don’t like that…”
Yoshiki’s left hand—the hand that had rejected Hikaru—was hot. It wasn’t just pain that he felt; his hand burned with a sharp heat that seemed like it might blister his skin.
Perhaps to shake off the feeling, Yoshiki mussed Hikaru’s hair roughly, as if he was petting a large dog. Hikaru let out a “Whoa!” and seemed to enjoy this treatment.
“Hurry n’ get yer clothes back on. You some kinda barbarian or somethin’?” Yoshiki said.
“Ah-ha-ha! Yeah, guess I oughtta do that.”
Hikaru nodded like a dog wagging its tail, which made Yoshiki chuckle in spite of himself. His laughter came naturally, like rainwater soaking into parched soil.
“Heh. Ha-ha!”
But Yoshiki still couldn’t bring himself to look at Hikaru’s face. He felt that if he did, his smile would vanish in an instant.
Because he’s Hikaru. Not Hikaru, but Hikaru.
But his face was Hikaru’s. He was undeniably Hikaru.