Emma's Creative Corner

One of his rivals--a good-natured rivalry, considering they were on the same side--was the city’s other hero. Helios, as warm and bright and blinding as the mythic figure from which he derived his name, was the embodiment of the sun. He was sometimes too bright to look at, and too dangerous to be allowed unchecked lest he burn the city to the ground, but he worked hard to defend the city alongside Hyperion. He was a good man, even if Hyperion had trouble believing that.

It was late afternoon on a particularly blase Saturday, and Hyperion was chasing down a petty criminal--it wouldn’t do for the public to think he only did anything for the glory, he was there to help, after all--through the back alleys. The man came to a fork in the path and panicked, turning on Helios with a combination of fear and murderous intent in his eyes.

“Just come with me and no one gets hurt, alright?” Hyperion tried to be calm and yet stern, yet the man was clearly going to resist until the end.

He was about to pounce on the guy, maybe wrestle him into submission, when a bright, golden fist came out of the open alley to their left. Helios stepped out of the shadows, faintly glowing, as per usual. He shot a smirk over his broad shoulder.

“Hyperion,” Helios said, his smirk broadening.

“Helios,” Hyperion replied. “You  know, I had this under control.”

Helios threw his hands up in defeat; “Sure you did. I just took him out for you.”

“You took him out because his attention was focused on me,” Hyperion shot back.

“A fact I exploited to do my job,” Helios said. “But hey, if you want the collar so bad, he’s all yours.”

“Whatever happened to age before beauty?” Hyperion crossed his arms over his chest, admiring the way Helios’s golden costume clung to his trim, taut body.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Hyperion,” Helios replied with a short laugh.

“You need to loosen up a bit,” Hyperion laughed back.

“Alright then,” Helios said, running his hands through his gold-streaked brown hair. “You doing anything later?”

Hyperion smirked; “I have a...previous engagement.”

Helios shrugged; “Alright, then. Next time, maybe. He’s all yours, by the way.”

With that, Helios sauntered down the alley, taking off for his next job. Hyperion--no, Daichi--shook his head. He was going to tease him mercilessly later.

~~~

Helios scrambled to get his costume stashed, trying to do his breathing exercises to lock his power inside of him again. The gold in his eyes faded to a dull brown, and while his hair would never be the same, he could at least make sure the gold streaks faded a bit. Now he looked like… well, himself. He looked like Asahi again.

“Shit,” he grumbled to himself, wrestling into the first clean hoodie he put his hands on and rushing out the door. He was so fucking late… again. Daichi was going to be there already… or worse yet, he will have already left.

Sure enough, Daichi was waiting in their proposed meeting spot, fiddling with his phone. He looked so good, with the sleeves of his button-down rolled to his elbows. Oh, he was doing this on purpose--he knew Asahi was weak to that look. And he always liked the way those black jeans clung to Daichi’s legs. Asahi pushed through the crowd as gently as possible.

“Daichi! Sorry I’m so late,” Asahi wailed. “Ready to go?”

Daichi laughed, tucking his phone in his pocket; “You know, when you asked if I was doing anything later, I didn’t realize you’d actually forgotten. I thought it was just playful banter!”

“It was banter, Daichi, I promise!” Asahi exclaimed, gesticulating wildly to try and get his point across. He had to keep calm, though--his skin was starting to glow a bit, as it always did when he was anxious. “I didn’t forget; I’ve been looking forward to this!”

“I know you big goof, I was teasing,” Daichi laughed, digging out his phone and showing the screen. Asahi--or rather, Helios--preventing a major train accident. It’s what had held Asahi up, with hopes that Daichi would understand. “Nice job on the train accident, by the way. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

“Bet you wish you’d let me have the purse snatcher now, huh?” Asahi jibed, poking Daichi in the side.

“Not a chance,” Daichi replied, poking Asahi right back. “I hate to say it, but my strength can’t even touch yours. I’d never have been able to stop that accident.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Asahi laughed, throwing his arm around Daichi’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He was proud of himself, how far he’d come with the PDA thing. He snorted suddenly. “And what was with that ‘age before beauty’ line? I am literally fourteen hours younger than you, Daichi!”

He loved everything about Asahi, from the way his chestnut-colored hair fell in waves over his shoulders, to the long fan of his eyelashes over his prominent cheekbones when he slept. He loved Asahi’s shy smile and his laugh; he loved his biting sense of humor, his deep but gentle voice, the way he clung to Daichi when they slept, the way he traced Daichi’s tattoos after sex, and the way he hummed when he cooked breakfast.

It was a long drive, and sometimes when you need to fill 18 hours with conversation, you run out of steam. Daichi had never seen the parts they were driving through. It was fascinating to watch Seattle fade into the thick forests of the Pacific Northwest to the sparser forests of southern Idaho to the deserts of Nevada. They stopped at the cheapest places to eat that they could manage without going too far off the highway, they took goofy selfies and cliche shots of the empty stretch of road in front of them, went through their entire playlist at least twice, texted Suga (even though he would be asleep) and talked about nothing. It was something Daichi always loved about being with Asahi--how easy conversation was, and how easy silence was. Being with Asahi was easy… maybe too easy sometimes.

At about hour 13 or so of their drive, they pulled over somewhere along NV-318 to stretch and stand for a bit. It was uncomfortable and tight in some places, but Daichi felt good, overall. The sunset had tinged the sky a beautiful orange just above the mountains, and above them it was nothing but stars. They’d both grown up in small towns, but they were so far away from any sort of city at the moment that they saw so many, it was almost overwhelming. The soft smile on Asahi’s face as he gazed upward was too much for Daichi, and he took Asahi’s hand in his.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, nudging Asahi’s shoulder. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Just… the show,” Asahi replied.

“Nervous?”

“You could say that. Katie loves my work, but Katie isn’t the end-all-be-all, you know?” Asahi sighed again, rubbing his free hand across the back of his neck. “What if I’m not good enough, Daichi? What if everyone there hates what I do? What then?”

“Well, not everyone is going to like our work,” Daichi said, squeezing Asahi’s hand reassuringly. “But that shouldn’t stop us. We’re both still learning and growing and changing. And this is only our first show. Who’s to say how much we’ll improve in a year? Besides, Katie may not be the end-all-be-all, but she is talented, and she really loves your work. That has to say something.”

Asahi chuckled; “How are you so calm?”

“I’m not,” Daichi answered honestly. “I am seriously so anxious about this show I feel like I am going to be sick. But it’s easier to hold it together when I’m comforting you. It always has been.”

“Well then, you know better than anyone,” Asahi laughed. “Distract me from my nerves.”

“Alright, then,” Daichi said. “What is your biggest dream?”

“My dream?”

“Yeah,” Daichi said, swiping his thumb along Asahi’s knuckles. “Your dream. If you could shape your life, no limits, what would it look like say… ten years from now?”

Asahi thought about it for a moment before averting his eyes shyly; “I think… we’d have our own parlor back home. The two of us… maybe Suga, too, if he wanted to, but mostly just you and me. And… I want to have a family, Daichi. I want to be married with kids and give them everything I never had… give them the love and support I never had.”

Daichi felt himself choke up at the despondent tone in Asahi’s voice. He deflected by nudging Asahi on the shoulder; “Thinking about replacing me already?”

“Never,” Asahi replied, nudging Daichi right back. “No matter what my life looks like, Daichi… I want you in it. Always.”

This time, Daichi had to hide his over-tired, over-emotional tears into the sleeves of Asahi’s t-shirt; “I love you, Asahi.”

Over the years, his soulmate wrote to him constantly. It was slow, at first… simple phrases, in that same neat, crisp handwriting. Then it switched to a wobbly, heavy-handed, messy scrawl in various colors of marker. He also saw smudges of colorful crayon on his fingers, even when he wasn’t coloring that day. Asahi wasn’t very good at his characters yet, so he held off… he was embarrassed. Still, the tangential connection to his soulmate gave him comfort in hard times. When Yuki moved away, when his mom sold the family home and moved them from Kyoto to Miyagi, and when his grandmother passed during a family reunion in Hokkaido… his soulmate had been there.

Although Asahi had never responded. Every time he even considered pressing pen to skin to write back, or just draw a simple doodle to show that he was there, he thought better of it. Some dumb part of him thought his soulmate didn’t want to hear from him, and when his hands and arms were covered in his soulmate’s scrawl, he felt bad for having nothing to say.

Next time… next time, he told himself over and over again.

Next time ended up being in Junior High, when interest in soulmates really started to peak. The few girls in his class who would talk to him fawned over the lines and lines and messy writing all over his arms and hands. They were interspersed with little drawings, and Asahi felt a twinge of affection. The more his soulmate wrote to him, the more he learned. And the more he learned about this person who loved volleyball and rock music and art and video games, the more he started to love them.

So it was disconcerting to say the least when his soulmate went silent. Utterly and terrifyingly silent. After years of constant communication--of learning about them, watching their doodles and drawings come to life on the backs of his hands, and seeing the lists they made for themselves on their arms--for the first time, there was nothing. No writing, no lists. He was afraid for a moment, because he’d heard of this phenomenon--of soulmates dying and severing all connection instantly. But that fear abated as the day went on--his soulmate still smeared ink on their fingers and got pencil residue on the outside of their hand. But other than that, nothing.

He wondered what had changed.

After four days of silence, Asahi started to worry that maybe he’d offended his soulmate somehow, or that they realized who he was somehow and didn’t want to be with him. It was his worst fear come true, and he spent the better part of his morning practice and classes agonizing over it, but sometime after lunch, writing appeared again.

It wasn’t a list, or a greeting like normal. It was a strange squiggle on the inside of his left wrist. Asahi cocked his head at it, squinting, trying to figure out what exactly it was. His soulmate was usually so forthcoming… what were they trying to do?

The squiggle suddenly bolded, like someone had traced over it with frustrated strokes. Asahi paled--it wasn’t a squiggle… it was a heart. Well, half of a heart. His soulmate’s impatience was almost palpable, and it was like a signal. Now was the time. He was finally ready to respond… and his soulmate had been so kind as to give him a starting point.

Asahi picked up his blue pen, and with shaking hands, completed the heart.

~~~

Daichi had learned about soulmates early from a girl in his kindergarten. Apparently, her soulmate got crayon all over his hands every day, and he could even write some words. According to her, they were going to get married someday. Daichi had joined in with the other boys in gently rejecting the idea--girls were gross, kissing was grosser--but something about it intrigued him. Someone he was meant to be with? He’d slept on it, but decided the next morning, he was going to do what he did best--he was going to act.

His mother had written the neat, simple note on his arm as he fought the urge to bounce in place. When she capped her marker, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

As he grew visibly dejected, his mother took him in a comforting embrace; “It’s ok, little man. Maybe they can’t write yet… or they might not be born yet. You’re young; you never know.”

Daichi smiled, trying to reassure his mother, asking her if they could write a new message the next day. Looking back, it had been a silly request, but his mother had given him a fond laugh and a shake of her head before agreeing. So she wrote another greeting on his arm the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And every day after that until Daichi learned to write himself. He’d worked extra hard, because maybe his soulmate didn’t want to talk to his mom… maybe they only wanted to talk to him. That made him excited. So when he could finally write a greeting in a bright green marker, he waited. But as always, his soulmate was frustratingly silent.

He didn’t give up. First, he tried different colors, because maybe his soulmate didn’t like the colors he was choosing. Then, as he learned new words, instead of greetings, he wrote questions, because what if they wanted to talk about themselves? Then, he figured his soulmate didn’t want to talk to someone they didn’t know, so he started talking about himself. Then, he figured what if they couldn’t read Japanese? What if they were American or European (how cool would that be!?) and they saw nonsense on their arms every day. So he switched to pictures--he liked drawing pictures anyway. He continued to write, too… just in case.

He wrote everything on his arms. It became a habit, from phone numbers to important dates to reminders to a random thought that occurred to him during his grade 5 literature class. When he got interested in volleyball, he talked about that too. Maybe his soulmate liked volleyball. Maybe they wanted to talk about that? Surely, someday they wanted to talk about something, right?

The winter he turned fourteen, two possibilities came to mind, both equally unpleasant. The first was that maybe his soulmate hated him. Maybe they took a look at this actual crazy person filling their arms with nonsense about his hopes and dreams, wanting desperately to know the person on the other end, and was sickened by the very thought. He tried to dismiss that notion--it was his soulmate… they belonged together--but the doubt clung to him and left him feeling sick inside. He’d heard of couples--soulmates--who couldn’t stand each other.

The other possibility--the one his mother seemed to be leaning on, even if she wouldn’t say anything--was that he didn’t have a soulmate at all. The thought made him feel worse than sick...it made him want to curl in on himself and cry. He shed more tears than any fourteen-year-old boy would likely admit over something as silly as not having a soulmate. He ran his hand adoringly over his heartbreakingly-blank forearm. He just needed a sign… anything. Just to know his soulmate was there. Just to know that somewhere, there was a person just for him. Someone that would love him for exactly who he was, and wouldn’t call him boring or unremarkable. Choking on his own tears, he picked up his marker.

I wish I knew you were there. I’ve never talked to you, but I need you sometimes. And you don’t answer me. Do you hate me? Did I do something wrong? Please tell me… I can fix it. Please. I love you.

Before he could get to sleep, he’d been completely overcome with anxiety, and washed his message away.

~~~

For four days, Daichi was silent. He avoided writing on his arms or marking himself in any way. He tried to not show it, but he was miserable. For some reason, he had put a lot of stock into his soulmate… so many of his dreams and future plans had revolved around finding them. He knew it was stupid. Even if he did have a soulmate, he wasn’t anything special. Who would want him, anyway?

It was harder than he expected, staying quiet. Even if he was talking to no one, even if they didn’t want to hear him, writing to this person--who may or may not exist--had become a part of his daily routine. He wanted to tell this person everything… because they were a part of him. A perfect match…

It was a lazy afternoon towards the end of junior high. It was unseasonably warm out, and him, Michimiya and Ikejiri were taking their lunch on the roof, their sleeves pushed up. Ikejiri arms were covered in neat, loopy handwriting in a language none of them could really read. Ikejiri told them it was French, and his soulmate lived in Paris. Michimiya was showing off the myriad doodles and drawings all over her arms, sometimes interspersed with small, bold, dark writing. Daichi stared at his bare skin, unmarred. He hadn’t even written to his soulmate in a few days. All he wanted was a sign… anything to show his soulmate was there.

He pulled his ballpoint pen out of his pocket...just one more try. Just one more time. His train of thought is both hopeless and desperate, but he didn’t care. He had to try… he had a feeling. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but he had a feeling that this time would be different. Today, he would know for sure if he had a soulmate or not.

He didn't write anything. He didn’t have the courage to just come out and ask ‘hey, do you exist and if so, why have you been ignoring me?’ Instead, he just drew half a heart on the inside of his wrist. His hand shook the whole time, and he thought how fitting it was that he was staring at an incomplete part while praying for his other half to finish it. There was probably a poetic metaphor there, but he chose not to unpack it, and instead waited.

And waited.

He bolded the outline of the half-heart, careful not to dig into his skin. Enough time passed that whatever hope he’d had started to dwindle. No one was there. He tried to remain positive, perhaps take it with his normal maturity, but he couldn’t. All this time, he’d been writing to no one…

Suddenly, before his very eyes, the heart on his wrist completed itself with blue ink. Daichi stared dumbfounded as he saw writing he hadn’t made appear on his wrist. He had to respond! He had to… do something! He had to--

Without warning, tears began streaming down his face, landing on his forearm. One landed on the small heart, smearing the ink of the half he’d written, but not his soulmate’s. His soulmate’s! He couldn’t even respond when Michimiya turned to him with concerned eyes; all he could do was hold out his arm and point to the untouched blue ink on his wrist.

“Sawamura!” Michimiya exclaimed. “They’re--”

“They’re real!” Daichi gasped, trying to take a proper breath. He was starting to feel dizzy.

“No, Sawamura, they’re writing back!”

Daichi stared down at his arm and, sure enough, angular writing started to appear. It was slow, almost like his soulmate was tentative, or shy.

Hey, you ok?

Daichi couldn’t even be mad. He wanted to be angry, ask why he spent his whole life wanting and waiting and wondering because of this person, but he couldn’t find the conviction. He was too busy being happy that they were real and writing to him! He fumbled for his pen, his hand shaking as he wrote his response.

You’re real!

His soulmate paused for a moment, and for a second, Daichi was nervous he’d scared them off, or made them feel bad. He wanted to reassure them--everything was going to be alright, he wasn’t mad, he just wanted to talk to them. To get to know them.

I’m so sorry I did that to you. That was selfish of me. If I could do it again, I’d have written back when I was 4.

Daichi chuckled--so he and his soulmate were the same age then--and quickly wrote back.

It’s fine! I was just worried that you didn’t exist but you’re real! I’m so happy I can’t even be upset! I just want to know everything about you.

Ha! No pressure or anything! Well, there’s not much to know about me.

You could start with your name?

Azumane. Azumane Asahi.

~~~

They’d just finished their first practice as high schoolers. Sugawara was a scream, and his arms were covered in crude anime doodles and long lines of loopy, thin handwriting. But the one Daichi was interested in was Asahi--tall, shy, and baby-faced, he’d messed up his greeting so badly Sugawara was convinced he was a foreigner. But Daichi wasn’t so sure. How many boys his age could realistically be named Azumane Asahi?

But he had to be sure.

He took a pen out of his pocket--since the first day his Asahi started writing to him, he’d never been far from one--and chose a blank spot on his forearm, one he knew Asahi could see.

Hey, on your left.

“Fuck!” Daichi grumbled, tossing his backpack haphazardly across the room. “I’m fucking late. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

“I’m pretty sure Azumane would object to that if I did, as appealing as you are,” Kuroo chuckled from his spot on the couch. His laptop was perched open on his crossed legs, but there was a distinct lack of thick textbooks or complex tables and charts that Daichi can never follow (no matter what Kuroo tries), so it was obvious he wasn’t studying. Therefore, Daichi had no qualms about throwing him out of the living room. Kuroo gave Daichi a judgemental once-over. “Please tell me you didn’t leave the house looking like that today. Please tell me you’re changing before you do a video call with Azumane!”

Daichi stared at his clothing choices for the day--black joggers, a ratty hoodie, and his athletic socks. He hadn’t been able to find his contact case, so he’d been stuck with his glasses; “What’s wrong with the way I look?”

“Daichi, I swear to Christ if you left the house in socks with your Adidas fucking slides, I will disown you,” Kuroo deadpanned. Daichi was ready to bodily throw him out of the living room--just to spite him--but he was already packing up his laptop. “I don’t know what Azumane sees in you. What’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“Destiny,” Daichi replied. “We tried Overwatch last week, but you can’t really carry a conversation in that setting.”

“Fair,” Kuroo replied with a shrug. “Don’t tell me, Asahi is McCree trash.”

“He mains Mercy, actually,” Daichi shot back, setting up the Playstation. He growled at the time--he was really late.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Kuroo said. “Well, have fun. Don’t stay up too late, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That doesn’t leave me a lot of options, Kuroo,” Daichi retorted, tapping his fingers impatiently while he waited for Skype to load. “But thanks.”

As soon as Daichi was in the game, he hit the video call button for Asahi. It took approximately ten seconds for that gorgeous face to fill his screen, and Daichi suddenly felt a bit self-conscious about his clothes. Asahi was wearing artfully distressed jeans and a dark flannel layered over a band tee. He looked fucking great--put together, a bit edgy maybe--and Daichi looked like a hot fucking mess. Hell, even the oil paints that seemed permanently embedded into Asahi’s hands looked deliberate, like he had just completely immersed himself in this artistic persona of his.

“Hey gorgeous,” Daichi sighed softly, grinning with triumph when Asahi flushed a brilliant red. “Wow, look at you. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been a week,” Asahi protested weakly.

“Still too long,” Daichi replied. “Why don’t we do this  more often?”

“School, work, life,” Asahi answered. His normal answer… the same thing he said every time. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Daichi answered, trying to ignore the pang in his gut as the rift that seemed to be growing between them widened. It was small--a few centimeters tops--but it seemed to grow wider every time Daichi realized the distance between them. “Strike mode?”

“Sure,” Asahi said with a shrug. “I’m ready.”

They fell into a comfortable routine, catching up with each other’s lives between coordinating in the game. Thankfully, outside of a few boss fights, it was pretty mindless. They always used to do this with Suga back home in Miyagi--the three of them would play games together, sometimes co-op, sometimes against one another, sometimes taking turns on a single player game while the other two watched and absorbed. Between volleyball and homework, neither of them had much free time, so Daichi always treasured those moments. He’d fallen in love with Asahi in those moments, slowly but surely, and he wouldn’t ever regret it.

“How’re your classes?” Daichi asked, selecting his loadout for the mission.

“Hard,” Asahi replied. “I have this installation piece I’m working on that’s just not coming together how I want, and I have this essay on Georgia O’Keeffe due and man, research for that is awkward.”

“How come? Snipers on your left.”

“Thanks,” Asahi murmured. “Because she was… really preoccupied with vaginas, Daichi.”

“Excuse me?”

Like, all of her paintings. Vaginas. I know it says flowers in my textbook, but they were fucking vaginas and I’ll fight you.”

“I’ve never heard you say vagina this much ever,” Daichi chuckled, narrowly dodging enemy fire.

“Hang out with a bunch of gay ladies for long enough, you’ll hear about vaginas until you’re so numb to it, it’s barely a word,” Asahi said. “Hang on, I’m pinned.”

“On it,” Daichi replied. “So you have a harem of gay ladies, then?”

“I’ve been adopted by a harem of gay ladies,” Asahi corrected. “But enough about the four women who insist on calling themselves my moms, what about you? How’s Tokyo?”

“Did you know that studying corporate law is a fucking nightmare?” Because it is,” Daichi snarled, thinking back to his hellish business law class. He would beat his professor to death with his 40,000 yen text book if he had to sit through one more three-hour lecture given to the fucking white board.

“I thought you were studying criminal law,” Asahi said.

“I am,” Daichi grumbled bitterly. “But corporate law is on the exams to get into grad school and it’s on the Bar, so sadly I can’t just tune it out. If I have to read one more boring case study about Corporation A using Tax Loophole B to make C amounts of millions, I am going to throttle someone.”

“You are not,” Asahi laughed. “Is it really that bad?”

“No,” Daichi sighed. “I guess not. It’s just irritating. I wanted to become a lawyer to help people, and this is just making me want to live in a refrigerator box in the mountains somewhere. Only wear underwear, grow out my beard, scare tourists… all that fun jazz.”

“Hey, I’m going to be an artist,” Asahi laughed. “We can afford a premium refrigerator box in the city. So long as you’re ok with cuddling; I hear Tokyo streets get cold at night.”

“I’m great with cuddling, so long as it’s with you,” Daichi teased, shooting a wink out of the corner of his eye and sticking his tongue out in concentration. “What about you? Thought about replacing me, yet?”

Asahi was silent… so silent, Daichi was afraid he’d disconnected for a second before he cursed loudly; “Oh, fuck me! I died.”

“Need a res?”

“I can just wait,” Asahi grumbled. Out of his periphery, Daichi caught the sight of him shifting. He was likely pouting.

“Nah, I’ll come to you, give me a second,” Daichi said. It was weird--Asahi was good enough, he rarely died in games, but especially PVE on Destiny. Something was up… it was basically confirmed when Daichi revived him and he didn’t move at all. “Hey, you good? You haven’t moved?”

Daichi turned to the camera and it was pretty obvious that Asahi wasn’t paying attention to the goings on in the game anymore, because he was staring at him. His eyes were wide, but soft and warm, and it made a pleasant tingle work it’s way down to Daichi’s toes. He hadn’t seen Asahi in so long, and even longer since he’d seen that specific expression. It nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“Do you, um… want to keep playing?” Daichi asked.

“Not really,” Asahi answered.

“Want to hang up, then? Get some work done?”

“Not a chance.”

They finished their mission, switched off their Playstations, and settled into the silence. It had gotten dark in Daichi’s living room, and his face was only illuminated by his laptop. Asahi had switched on the lamp on his bedside table, bathing him in a golden glow. He looked so gorgeous… Daichi would never be over it. College had changed him so much… fuck, had it really only been two months since they’d last visited each other?

(Only two months, as if every day didn’t hurt like a bitch)

“I never want to replace you.”

Daichi snapped out of his train of thought like a mousetrap; “What?”

Asahi was staring at him with those wide, calf-brown eyes again. He’d always loved Asahi’s eyes, with their warm, golden-brown tone and dark lashes. It was always what drew him to Asahi in the beginning. He loved how open they were.

“I don’t ever want to replace you, Daichi,” he repeated. “You’re… you’re it for me. I love you so much, and you’re just… you’re forever. You’re endgame, ok?”

This wasn’t the first time Asahi had proclaimed endless love to Daichi. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked Daichi right in the eye and told him that he was in it for the long haul. And yet, as much as Daichi wanted to tease him for it, that gloomy Friday night, it knocked Daichi clear on his ass. He cursed the quavering in his voice as he tried to respond.

“I love you too, you big goof,” Daichi said, swiping his thumbs under his eyes. “Why do you have to go and say things like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Asahi replied with a smile. Daichi wanted to swear at him--where did all this confidence come from? And for that matter, why could he only have it when there were computer screens between them?

Daichi did the last thing he wanted to do ever, let alone in front of Asahi. He always felt bad, because Asahi felt bad, and there wasn’t anything either of them could do. And yet, he couldn’t help it.

He cried.

“God, I hate this,” Daichi whimpered, trying to rub his tears off his face. It didn’t work. “I hate that I can’t see you. I hate that you’re not here with me.”

Asahi sighed, rubbing discreetly at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles, but the catch in his voice gave him away; “We knew it would be like this, Daichi. We were prepared.”

“But I wasn’t,” Daichi countered. He only let himself be like this in front of Asahi. He hated it about himself--he hated the selfish part of him that wanted Asahi to drop everything--his bid for grad school, his art, his current degree, and just come out to Tokyo to be with him. He wanted to hold his boyfriend every night. He wanted to kiss him every morning. “I didn’t realize how much I would fucking miss you, you perfect asshole. Fuck, why is this so hard?”

“I miss you too,” Asahi said softly. He was fidgeting with his hands, which meant he was shaking. “All the time. I wish you were here, or I was there, and… I wish I’d had the courage to just send my portfolio to Tokyo, like you’d told me to. But there’s nothing we can do now. This has to be enough.”

“Playing video games over Skype isn’t enough, Asahi!” Daichi yelled, probably too loudly. Daichi tried to calm down, because he wasn’t mad at Asahi. He could never be mad at Asahi, especially when he made those perfect puppy eyes at him. “I just… want to do that gross couple stuff that makes it all worthwhile, like cooking together and going on dates and just occupying the same space without pressure to carry a conversation. I just want to be next to you. And I can’t… and it sucks.”

“Just two weeks, Daichi,” Asahi assured, and since when did their relationship take that fucking turn, where Asahi was reassuring him? “Just two more weeks, and we’ll be on break. And then it’s a whole month of just you and me. I’m going to come out there and it will just be the two of us. Just two more weeks.”

“Well, the two of us and Kuroo,” Daichi laughed. “And his cat. They live here, too.”

“Gumball is a treasure and I don’t mind her presence,” Asahi replied with a weak chuckle. At least he was smiling. That made Daichi feel better. “And I suppose I can deal with Kuroo picking on us for being gross and coupley. So long as I get to hold you.”

Daichi flushed; “Asahi, stop. You’re being cute again.”

“I wouldn’t have to be, if you weren’t adorable,” Asahi teased.

Daichi hid his face in his hands; “You’re adorable.”

There was a brief pause before Daichi could peek between his fingers. Asahi was burrowed into his pillows, smiling softly at the screen. Two weeks was too long, in Daichi’s opinion. But even if he wasn’t there with him, he had Asahi. And he was there for him, and he could survive two more weeks.

They should have hung up. Maybe did some homework while texting each other. But they couldn’t. They stayed on the chat, watching each other and talking about nothing until one of them fell asleep.

Azumane’s Magical Creature Clinic was by far one of the better animal hospitals around. Daichi’s best friend, Suga, didn’t trust his prized champion unicorns to just anyone, and he swore by Azumane’s. Daichi had started going to him early in his career, and he never once regretted it. Dr. Azumane was attentive, sweet, gentle, and caring. Even some of Daichi’s most difficult cases had rolled over and showed their belly for the man. Daichi had always thought he was cute, in that Jesus Jones, punk-rock-in-a-pink-sweater sort of a way. But the frequency of his visits for Cupcake had caused something new and totally foreign to bloom in Daichi’s chest.

A crush.

After months of flirting back and forth, pathetic pining, and half-hearted “what-ifs,” by some miracle, Asahi asked Daichi out to coffee. He’d been so tentative and sweet… how could he not be weak? How could he say no?

The first coffee date had been alright… the second had been better. For the third? Asahi actually invited Daichi to his house, which was terrifying. He even invited Cupcake to come with, and Daichi took him up, if only because Cupcake made a hell of a buffer. Daichi agonized over what to wear (even if it was just a stay-at-home date) and cried internally because his whole truck smelled like dragon breath, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

Asahi’s house was… not what Daichi had expected. It wasn’t so much the traditional structure in a somewhat rural area about 20 minutes outside of town--that wasn’t anything unexpected--but the land. It was mostly dominated by a huge pasture, a small herd of unicorns sunning themselves in the grass. A herd of pegasi were splashing around in a small pond, while a pair of hippogriffs observed and judged from the shade. A small group of dire wolves watched him and Cupcake come up the walkway, but didn’t move from their spot under a gorgeous sakura tree--it must have been enchanted, if it was still bright pink in the early fall. Cupcake took it all in, happily bounding around Daichi’s feet at all the new friends he could make, until the unicorns decided to stampede to the fence at the edge of the walkway to investigate. Then he froze. Daichi laughed, nudging Cupcake’s rear end with his foot.

“I am not carrying you; you have to learn to walk past the unicorns,” he chuckled. “Come on, you big chicken.”

“I actually think dragons are descended from lizards and wyrms, not chickens, but what do I know?”

Daichi froze at the voice behind him; he hadn’t expected Asahi to meet him outside, sweaty from whatever work he was doing. Daichi was used to his work clothes with his dorky lab coat; he wasn’t used to the thin t-shirt with the sleeves rolled, or the battered jeans splattered with mud. He also wasn’t used to the easy grin on his handsome face. Daichi felt his stomach do somersaults at the sight.

“Is he still afraid of the unicorns?” Asahi asked, reaching down to scratch Cupcake at the fleshy part behind his horns.

“He’s weird,” Daichi responded. “And a big chicken.”

“He’s not weird, he’s special,” Asahi cooed, getting Cupcake’s attention to scratch him under the jaw. “And it’s natural--unicorns and small dragons like him are natural enemies in the wild.”

“I still think he’s weird,” Daichi deadpanned. “But he’s my weirdo, so what can you do but love them?”

“Man after my own heart,” Asahi teased.

Daichi didn’t have time to be embarrassed or flustered by the statement, because suddenly and out of nowhere, Duchess appeared. Duchess was Asahi’s blink cat--a perfectly normal housecat whose ink-black fur glowed with a constantly moving pattern of stars and constellations that just happened to be able to teleport at will--and she and Cupcake had met at Asahi’s office. They had become instant frenemies, as Cupcake loved to chase her and Duchess loved to tease him. She reached up with her little, round paw, papped Cupcake right on the nose, and bounded gracefully across the unicorn pasture. Cupcake, his previous fear forgotten, took off after her like a bat out of hell, all gangly limbs and excitedly-waving tail.

“Are they going to be alright?” Daichi asked, trying to contain his laughter as he watched his dragon try (and fail) to capture the furry menace.

Asahi was laughing hard--a full-blown belly laugh that sent tingles to Daichi’s toes--as he watched the shenanigans unfold; “They should be fine. I have wards in place, and everyone here is pretty gentle. Want to come inside for a drink?”

Daichi grinned, nodding and following Asahi into his house. If the outside was totally populated by magical animals, the inside was almost overwhelmed with magical plants. Daichi couldn't even name any of them, except the Creeper Vine, which greeted Asahi by rubbing lovingly against his hand. A group of white flowers jingled like real bells when they entered the kitchen, and a pink blossom larger than his head opened wide and tilted towards him when he opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of barley tea.

“Do you take care of plants, too?” Daichi asked, peering into a cage and grinning at a songbird that sounded like a flute when it greeted him.

“No, animals are more my forte. The plants are Ushijima’s,” Asahi replied, pouring drinks into tall glasses of ice. Daichi’s question must have been on his face, because Asahi just smiled indulgently. “My roommate. He’s an alchemist and herbalist.”

“Ah,” Daichi said. “So is he… here? Can we expect him back any time soon?”

“No,” Asahi answered, sitting across from Daichi with his drinks and snacks. Daichi immediately grabbed the glass of tea, if only for something to do with his hands. “I told him I was having my...person over, and he went to his girlfriend’s house for the weekend. Oh, wait, he proposed last week… Hana’s his fiancee now.”

“Person?” Daichi asked, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Is that what I am to you?”

Asahi sighed, running his hand through his hair; “Honestly, I’m not sure what you are to me. You’re really special to me, Daichi, and I really like you. It’s just…”

Daichi swallowed hard, trying to remember how to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Right; “Just… what?”

“I had a really good time with you last week,” Asahi said in a smile voice… heartbreakingly small. “But I haven’t dated in a long time. And I’ve never liked anyone like I like you, Daichi. You’re special to me. And if you just want to be friends, I get it. But I want… I want something more out of this than just your friendship.”

Daichi tried to stem the flow of giddy happiness--he felt like a schoolboy, and he was certainly flushed like one, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was smile from ear to ear; “I want that too.”

“Really?” Asahi asked, looking up from his hands with such hope in his eyes, it almost ached. His smile was so sweet and tentative and rosy it knocked Daichi for a bit of a loop. “You mean that?”

“Asahi, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Daichi replied, reaching across the table to take Asahi’s hand. He didn’t pull away, so Daichi responded by tightening his grip. “I really like you. A lot. I think you’re gorgeous and interesting and sweet… I’d like to be… well, whatever you want me to be, but I’m hoping ‘boyfriend’ is on the list of possibilities?”

Asahi grinned back, intertwining their fingers; “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Then will you be my boyfriend, Azumane Asahi?”

Daichi almost cringed--it sounded so formal and stiff, but Asahi’s sunny smile was enough to stave off the embarrassment; “Yeah. Most definitely.”

Daichi would really like to have kissed Asahi in that moment. And he would have. But sadly, Cupcake and Duchess chose that moment to come barrelling into the kitchen, skidding on the hardwood and nearly crashing into the table. Duchess teleported somewhere, leaving Cupcake tangled in chairs and making pathetic howling noises from under the table.

“It serves you right for ruining the moment, you big goof,” Daichi growled, nudging Cupcake with his foot.

He took an easy breath and listened to the sound of Asahi’s palm smacking the ball, his breath coming out in a soft grunt of exertion… Asahi’s presence made it easier. Asahi was their ace. In the end, he would take care of it, if need be. Daichi could rely on him, and in turn, he knew Asahi relied on Daichi. It was their gentle give and take, the same since they were 15 years old. A lot had changed since then, from Asahi’s ever-fluctuating hair cut to the overwhelming power of his jump serve. Daichi was proud to call him his teammate, but he couldn’t afford to pause. Not for an instant, because the opposing team received Asahi’s serve. It wasn’t a clean receive by any means, but an attack was coming. Thankfully, Daichi was in perfect position to pick up and counter. The ball went up, and the rally continued.

Back and forth they went, the ball not touching the floor no matter what they did. Daichi was panting, desperately wishing for the ball to drop...just drop. Preferably on the opponent’s side, of course, but he just wanted it to be over. He was exhausted, his team was exhausted, and his ears were ringing with the roar of the crowd. Then, the ball started dropping. It was out of Daichi’s reach. With looming horror, he came to the conclusion that he just didn’t have another rally in him. He had no more to give. If the opposing team scored, they’d win. They’d destroy them.

Before Daichi could even mourn their inevitable loss, Asahi shot forward, his arm stretched wide. He only just got a hand on it as he dove forward, landing hard on his right side. The ball balanced on the net precariously for a few seconds before plummeting to the gym floor on the opponent’s side--they were unprepared for the save. After a few seconds of silence, the gym erupted into cheers. Daichi was elated--they had won! And they were on their way to the finals!

He turned to embrace Asahi, maybe give him shit for that point, but he wasn’t there. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t gotten up off the floor. He remained where he’d fallen, clutching his shoulder. His face was contorted in pain, his skin had turned ashen with shock, and his whole body was shaking. Their manager, trained in first aid, flew off the bench, her bag at the ready. She’d been the only one to notice in the sudden revelry, but when the team turned to realize their ace wasn’t there, they fell quiet. All Daichi had to hear was their manager shouting to their coach, ‘he’s going into shock’ before his body found his last energy stores to rush to his side.

Tears were running down Asahi’s face, but his eyes were wide. His teeth were clenched shut, small hisses of pain escaping as he tried to catch his breath; “It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“Where?” Daichi asked softly, gently patting Asahi’s hip. He tangled the fingers of his other hand into Asahi’s uninjured hand. “Where does it hurt?”

“Shoulder,” Asahi ground out through his teeth, squeezing Daichi’s fingers almost painfully tight. “My shoulder. When I dove…”

Asahi cut off with a pained sob, trying to curl in on himself to escape the pain. Daichi had never felt so helpless before. Not when he’d collided with Tanaka’s shoulder, not when they’d lost Interhigh...never. Not until a pair of staff members came over to Asahi, shining a small penlight in his eyes and asking him a variety of questions. Asking him if he could stand, asking if he was dizzy or nauseous, asking him where he was… he hadn’t hit his head, Daichi wanted to shout. But he didn’t. He just quietly watched them lead him away, his hands left cold for want of Asahi’s warmth as their contact slipped away.

Only when he felt his coach’s hand at his elbow did he realize he tried to follow. He gave him a firm shake of his head; “Sawamura, we need you for the team meeting.”

“But,” Daichi croaked, his voice thick with emotion. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling in this moment. Asahi was one of his oldest friends. Was it appropriate for him to cry? Was he supposed to be stoic? Was he supposed to feel this numb? He felt big, hot tears spill out onto his cheeks, and he couldn’t even be bothered to stop them. “But...Asahi.”

“Azumane will be fine. He’s walking on his own, he’s lucid. Nothing you can do.”

Daichi knew in his heart of hearts he was right. He knew it… didn’t make it hurt any less when he went to the team meeting without Asahi at his side.

~~~

Asahi wasn’t in the infirmary when Daichi got out of the meeting. According to the very nice nurse there, he was transferred to St. Luke’s. They were afraid he’d crushed his shoulder, or worse. Daichi texted Suga to pass on the news and resolved to go home for the night, hoping he would have news in the morning. He showered, had his prefered post-match snack, and stared at the wall of his livingroom, attempting to think about anything other than Asahi’s face when he curled  in on himself; Asahi laying in a hospital room, alone and scared out of his mind…

Daichi shook his head rapidly to banish the image, knowing he was being ridiculous. He resolved himself to a long night of the Sapporo in the fridge (no matter how much he regretted it in the morning) and cooking competition shows before his phone buzzed at him. It was a text from Suga.

Two Punch Man 21:37-- Asahi’s in recovery, but they’re keeping him for observation overnight. St. Luke’s, room 617. He’s going to be fine but you absolutely have to see this!! It’s the best thing ever.

Daichi didn’t even respond; he grabbed his shoes, his keys, and his wallet, already punching the number of a cab company into his phone. He could probably take the train, but this way he had more control. If he could beat Tokyo traffic, at least he could be faster.

Maybe.

~~~

Suga was waving to Daichi in the waiting room, holding out a cup of coffee. Daichi felt out of breath, even though his cab driver dropped him off at the entrance. He took the cup from Suga, trying his best not to shake.

“How is he? Where is he?” Daichi exclaimed. “Can I see him?”

“Daichi, please breathe,” Suga chuckled. “He’s in his room in bed; yes you can see him, but he’s…”

“He’s what, Suga?” Daichi growled through clenched teeth.

“Calm down! They just gave him some painkillers and he’s… well, you’ll see.”

“Suga, you’re smiling too much,” Daichi deadpanned, following Suga into the elevator for the sixth floor. He anxiously tapped his foot while he watched the numbers slowly tick up. “Is he… is he really alright?”

“Christ, Daichi, you’d think you were his doting wife or something,” Suga chuckled. “He’s fine, I wouldn’t look so relaxed if he wasn’t.”

“What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“You know Asahi isn’t close with his family,” Suga answered. “I’m one of his emergency contacts. I’m pretty sure they tried you first, but you were probably with the team, still.”

Daichi checked his phone, and sure enough there was a missed call from an unknown number. He swallowed hard, trying to remain positive. Asahi was fine… Suga had just seen him, and he was smiling that mischievous smile of his, so there really wasn’t anything to worry about. Still, he cared deeply about Asahi. He had since they were kids. It was genuinely distressing to see him go down and not get back up. All Daichi wanted was to make sure he was alright…

“We’re here.”

Suga had led him right to 617. It was a three-bed room, but it must have been a slow night because Asahi was all alone by the window. He was swaying slightly, his head bopping to a silent tune in his head. A big, sleepy, goofy smile was on his face, obscured mostly by his messy hair. Suga grinned maniacally, ushering Daichi in before him. What was he up to?

“Asahi?” Daichi approached tentatively, not sure why he was practically creeping into the room. “Asahi, are you OK?”

Asahi’s head snapped around so fast, his neck cracked, but he didn’t seem to mind. His grin widened almost comically; “Daichi! You’re here! Hi, Daichi! Suga, Daichi’s here!”

Suga chuckled; “Yeah, I see that. I brought him.”

“Wow, just,” Asahi sighed. “I can’t believe Daichi’s here!”

“What is he on?” Daichi asked, quirking his eyebrows.

“Not sure,” Suga replied with a shrug. “But he’s been like this since he woke up.”

“Wow, Daichi, you’re just…” Asahi continued like he couldn’t hear them. On closer inspection, his eyes were wide, glassy, and blown completely black. His shoulder was wrapped tightly. “You look really fuzzy right now. And it’s making you look, like… so pretty. You’re just gorgeous.”

Daichi snorted, “Alright, you, that’s enough. You’re high.”

“I am!” Asahi exclaimed. “The doctors told me I did… something? To my thing?”

“You dislocated your shoulder, fractured one of your ribs, and bruised your scapula,” Suga interjected.

“Yeah, that’s it! But they put this needle in my bag thing, and everything went a little glowy? It was weird and scary but now you’re here, and you’re all glowy too! Plus, you’re pretty!”

“You said that already,” Daichi said with a fond laugh, giving into the urge to brush Asahi’s hair back from his face. “You gave us a bit of a scare. But I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I’m fine!” Asahi exclaimed, leaning into Daichi’s touch with a precious coo. “And I said it twice because it’s true! Or was it three times? Either way, I said it because you’re so pretty! I’ve always thought you were pretty. Like, your eyes are fucking gorgeous and I don’t think anyone ever told you that! It was all about Kageyama’s and Hinata’s, but your eyes are pretty. They’re… I don’t know, warm?”

Daichi flushed, “That’s… um…”

Asahi saved him from further humiliating himself; “I want candy!”

Suga laughed; “Asahi, you hate candy.”

“Oh, my God, you’re right!” Asahi exclaimed, scandalized. “What’s happening? Is this even a hospital!? What have they done to me? Is someone psychically implanting their want for candy into my brain? Daichi, are you a Newtype?”

Daichi started laughing--not even able to keep up with his train of thought; “You’re hopeless, Asahi.”

Asahi took advantage of Daichi’s half-step closer, wrapping his good arm around Daichi’s leg; “Ok, I think that you’ve heard this from every living human who’s ever seen you in shorts, but your thighs are magnificent. They’re warm… holy shit, Daichi, they’re soft! Do you moisturize?”

“I can’t believe you forgot the word for ‘shoulder’ and yet you can say ‘magnificent’ and ‘moisturize,’” Suga laughed. Daichi’s eyes widened when he noticed Suga’s phone was up.

“Suga, are you filming this?”

“For posterity’s sake,” Suga answered. “And sending it straight to the group chat. Sacchan will kill me if I don’t.”

Daichi didn’t even want to touch the fact that Suga had a group chat that included Tendou, or the fact that a high and humiliatingly affectionate Asahi would be relevant to their interests. He really couldn’t, because he was suddenly trying to thwart Asahi from poking him in the cheek.

“What the fuck, Asahi?” Daichi exclaimed.

“Sit with me!”

“Asahi, you have been seriously injured,” Daichi deadpanned. “I heard “dislocated” and “fractured” used in the same sentence.”

“Oh,” Asahi muttered in a small, meek voice. His big, calf-brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears and his lips turned out in a pout. “I… see. That’s fine.”

“Oh, look at that, Daichi, now you went and made him sad,” Suga reprimanded, his voice shaking with uncontrollable laughter. “Why don’t you just sit with him?”

“It’s fine, Suga,” Asahi said pitifully.

“Ugh, I never could say ‘no’ to that face,” Daichi groaned. “Budge over, and watch your shoulder!”

“Yay!” Asahi exclaimed, scootching over as gingerly as possible.

The bed was too small for the both of them, but Daichi didn’t really care. They managed to finagle Asahi into a position where his head was on Daichi’s chest, Daichi’s arm was around his shoulders, and his broken arm was gently cradled against their bodies. Asahi burrowed his face into Daichi’s chest, making the most precious little sounds, and Daichi was finding that he was… quite weak.

Suga grinned at his phone while Asahi continued to nuzzle and purr against Daichi’s neck; “I just got a text from Sacchan. He needs me to call him; you two got this, right?”

Asahi gave a noncommittal wave while Daichi stared daggers after Suga; he knew what he was doing. He’d sensed the atmosphere change, and now he was conveniently dismissing himself. If Daichi weren’t half-buried under Asahi’s heavy body, he’d have given Suga  piece of his mind.

But Asahi was soft and quiet and warm, making sweet comments about how warm Daichi was, how comfortable he was. It was clear Asahi was fading fast, though, as he fought sleep mightily.

“Daichi, I don’t feel good,” he whimpered. “And my shoulder hurts.”

“I know, Asahi,” Daichi soothed, running his hands through the long, brown hair. It was unbelievable--thick, baby fine, and downy soft. If Daichi took a deep enough breath through his  nose, he could smell Asahi’s slightly floral conditioner, which mixed with the Salonpas and sweat that lingered on his skin. His breathing was starting to even out a bit, and his good hand was toying with the fingers on Daichi’s free hand. “Try to get some sleep, alright?”

“Don’t want to sleep,” Asahi protested weakly. “You’ll be gone.”

“I won’t be gone. I promise, I’ll stay.” Daichi was beginning to realize that Asahi could ask for literally anything with that pout of his, and he would probably agree. Even spending the night in this uncomfortable hospital bed, which was probably against the rules. He didn’t care.

“I’m sorry I got hurt,” Asahi muttered, nosing at Daichi’s neck now. Daichi’s heart jumped into his throat when he felt those warm, plush lips against his pulsepoint and the scratch of a beard at the curve of his shoulder. “I’m sorry I let you down… that I can’t play tomorrow.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Daichi reassured, continuing to card his fingers through Asahi’s hair. The fingers of his free hand were caught in Asahi’s… when did that happen?

“I wish I was good enough for you, Daichi,” Asahi said, his voice muffled by Daichi’s sweatshirt. “I wish I wasn’t such a failure… I wish it was OK that I loved you.”

Daichi froze as the words sank in; “Excuse me?”

“I love you, Daichi,” Asahi muttered again, his voice slipping as his eyes fluttered closed. Impossibly long lashes fanned over prominent cheekbones and full lips struggled to form coherent sentences. “I always have… since we met. I came back for you, Daichi… I wish I could have said something. I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

Daichi tried to form thoughts, but they weren’t coming. All they ended up being was a jumbled scramble of Asahi loves me, Asahi loves me, he loves me… He opened his mouth to answer, maybe even ask a question or two, but Asahi’s breathing was deep and even and his fingers had gone limp in Daichi’s hands. He was fast asleep, and Daichi didn’t have the heart to wake him. He ran his thumb softly over Asahi’s prominent cheekbone… God, he was so beautiful. How had he not noticed before?

“You goof,” Daichi whispered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against Asahi’s hair. He couldn’t remember how words worked… he could only manage soft, giddy laughter. He wished he hadn’t been so blind… that Asahi hadn’t been so timid. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus.