Kin lets Sute go slowly, almost reluctantly, as though he's memorizing the warmth of him before stepping back. Then, just as quickly as the intensity had settled in, it dissolves, and his cheerful demeanor returns in full force, bright and buoyant and almost boyishly light. He closes the cake box with careful hands, smoothing the lid down and sliding it neatly to the side as if nothing heavy had just passed between them.
"So…"
He says, turning toward Sute with an easy grin,
"What do you want for dinner?"
The question lands softly, casually, but it might as well have been thunder.
Sute blinks.
"What… I want…?"
He repeats, as though the structure of the sentence itself is unfamiliar.
Kin tilts his head, amused.
"Yes. You. What do you want?"
No one has ever asked him that before.
Not really. Not in a way that meant the answer would matter.
Sute's lips part, and for a moment nothing comes out. Then, like water finally breaking through a dam, words spill forward in a rush.
"Curry!"
He blurts, eyes lighting instantly.
"The kind with potatoes and carrots cut kind of big, and the sauce thick—oh, and salmon, like the way they seared it on the show earlier, with the crispy skin—and miso soup with tofu and scallions and maybe those little mushrooms—"
His voice grows brighter with each item, enthusiasm bubbling up unchecked. His hands lift unconsciously as he talks, gesturing in small animated movements, and his eyes—those eyes—are alive again, glimmering a vivid, crystalline blue that almost seems to glow under the lights.
Kin is staring, not at his hands or in a condescending manner, but at his eyes.
He doesn't even realize he's started to genuinely smile. He's simply watching, transfixed, drinking in the exact shade of blue as if committing it to memory.
Then Sute freezes mid-sentence, as if suddenly aware of himself and realizing he's said too much.
His hands fly up to cover his face, muffling whatever else might have escaped. His cheeks flush instantly, a deep, startling red that stands out vividly against his deathly pale skin.
"I—I'm sorry…"
He mumbles behind his fingers.
"That was too much. I shouldn't have—"
But Kin isn't listening to the apology, he's watching the blue fade.
Because as Sute shuts his eyes in embarrassment, as he hides his face, that vibrant shade disappears from his view.
And Kin doesn't like that.
Without thinking, he steps forward and gently—but insistently—pries Sute's hands away from his face.
"Don't cover your face!"
He says, his tone soft but edged with urgency he doesn't quite disguise.
"I want to see you."
He needs to see that color again.
The exact glimmer it held when Sute spoke about curry and salmon and miso soup with such unfiltered excitement.
Sute's eyes snap open in surprise, wide and luminous and far too close.
And then fear flickers there.
Not because Kin is angry but because Kin is so close, and his grip, though not painful, is firm enough to feel inescapable.
Sute leans back instinctively and the chair legs scrape.
There's a split second where both of them realize too late what's happening.
The chair tips back, making Sute gasp.
Kin, still holding his wrists, is pulled forward with him, entirely too focused on those eyes to notice gravity's betrayal.
They fall in a messy and graceless pile, accompanied by the hollow thud of wood hitting tile.
But Kin reacts quickly.
Even mid-fall, something protective kicks in. He twists just enough so that when they land, he catches himself on his arms, bracing his weight so it doesn't crash down fully onto Sute's fragile body. His forearms slam against the floor on either side of Sute's shoulders, absorbing most of the impact.
It's a good thing because Sute is so thin, so narrow and brittle, that had Kin's full weight come down on him, something might have snapped.
Still, that doesn't make their position any less mortifying.
Sute lies flat on his back, breath knocked out of him, long black hair splayed across the floor like spilled ink. His oversized shirt has ridden up slightly from the fall, and his legs are tangled awkwardly with Kin's, one knee hooked against Kin's thigh.
Kin hovers above him, braced on his arms, face far too close.
Close enough that their breaths mingle.
So close that Sute can see how impossibly black Kin's eyes are, how they seem to swallow light instead of reflect it.
Sute feels the heat flood his face all over again.
He becomes acutely aware of everything—the way their legs are intertwined, the way Kin's chest rises and falls inches above his own, the way he's essentially caged beneath him.
"K-Kin-san…"
He stammers, voice small and flustered but Kin isn't flustered—not really.
He's still looking at Sute's eyes. Studying them.
Cataloging the precise moment the fear dulled the blue, the way embarrassment softened it, the way excitement sharpened it into brilliance.
He wants that brightness.
He wants to know how to bring it back at will.
How to keep it there.
Forever.
He leans in just slightly closer, not enough to touch, but enough that Sute can feel the intent in the space between them.
"You looked so happy just now…"
Kin murmurs quietly, almost to himself.
"When you were talking about dinner."
His thumb lifts again, brushing lightly along under Sute's eye, not wiping tears this time but tracing warmth.
"I like that color…"
He adds, voice soft, almost reverent.
"Don't hide it from me."
Sute swallows, heart pounding in his ears, unsure whether to be embarrassed or afraid or something else entirely.
And above him, Kin remains suspended, eyes dark and endless, already calculating what it will take to make that brilliant blue shine—and never dim again.
For a moment, Kin almost forgets where they are.
He's still hovering there, still studying the precise shade of blue in Sute's eyes as though he could trap it between his fingers and store it somewhere safe, and it takes him a second too long to remember that dinner requires more than just desire and admiration. The world, inconveniently, demands ingredients.
He blinks, as if waking from something.
"Curry…"
He repeats faintly, and then his brows knit together.
"We don't have potatoes. Or carrots. Or curry blocks."
Reality settles in.
He straightens at once and carefully shifts his weight back, pushing himself up from the floor and offering Sute both hands to help him sit up properly. There's no harshness, nor lingering closeness—just brisk, practical movement, though his gaze still flickers over Sute's face as if checking that nothing has cracked.
"Are you okay?"
He asks quietly.
Sute nods, still pink from embarrassment, as Kin pulls him up. Kin dusts off the back of Sute's shirt with gentle, almost meticulous pats, smoothing down fabric that doesn't really need smoothing, brushing imaginary debris from his shoulders and sleeves as if restoring order to something that had briefly tipped into chaos.
Then, without warning, Kin bends and scoops him up effortlessly as always.
One arm slips under Sute's knees, the other behind his back, lifting him into a princess carry as though he weighs little more than a stack of folded blankets. Sute lets out a startled sound, instinctively clutching at Kin's collar, but there's no struggle in him, only surprise.
"K-K-Kin-s-sa—"
"You fell…"
Kin says lightly, as though that explains everything.
"You're not walking anywhere for at least five minutes."
He carries him back into the living room and lowers him carefully onto the couch, making sure he's positioned comfortably before stepping back to assess the scene like a host arranging furniture.
The remote lies where it was abandoned earlier. Kin picks it up.
His fingers move quickly, navigating menus with practiced familiarity. He adjusts settings, enters passwords, scrolls through restrictions, and begins locking down the television with quiet efficiency. Parental controls click into place. Channels disappear from the guide one by one. News, variety shows, anything remotely connected to the outside world—gone.
He leaves only the cooking channels.
He hands the remote back to Sute and gives him a soft pat on the head, fingers lingering briefly in his dark hair.
"There…"
He says with a smile that feels bright and uncomplicated again.
"Now you won't accidentally see anything boring."
Sute blinks down at the screen, not quite noticing what's missing, only that the familiar cooking program has resumed.
Kin crouches slightly so they're eye level.
"I have to go out for a bit…"
He explains, tone warm and reassuring.
"We need ingredients if you're going to have your curry and salmon and miso soup, right?"
Sute's eyes brighten faintly at that.
"I'll be back very soon…"
Kin continues.
"Just watch your shows. Be good."
The words are gentle, but they carry expectation.
Sute nods immediately.
"I will."
He reaches for his favorite blanket—the one still crumpled from earlier—and wraps it around himself instinctively, tucking his legs beneath him as the television light flickers across his pale face. Within seconds, he's absorbed in the cooking demonstration, eyes focused, lips parted slightly in interest as the host begins explaining how to dice onions properly.
Kin stands there longer than necessary.
Watching.
The curve of Sute's back. The way the blanket pools around him. The slight tilt of his head when he concentrates.
He commits the image to memory.
Then he turns.
He grabs his school bag from where it rests by the entryway, slipping it over one shoulder. Inside are his wallet and the familiar weight of his keys. He stands in front of the door and begins the reverse ritual.
One lock.
Then another.
Then another.
Each one clicks open with a mechanical certainty that sounds almost ceremonial in the quiet house. He glances back once more before unlocking the final latch.
From here, he can see the back of Sute's head, dark hair illuminated by the television glow, small and still and safe on the couch.
Kin's gaze softens.
He opens the door just enough to slip through, then pulls it closed behind him and immediately begins locking it again from the outside. Lock. Deadbolt. Secondary latch. Reinforced padlock. Each mechanism slides into place with deliberate care.
After the final click, he twists the knob firmly to test it. Then he pulls on the door, once, twice, ensuring it doesn't budge.
Only when he's satisfied does he straighten.
The house stands sealed behind him, quiet and secure.
Kin adjusts his bag on his shoulder and starts down the street toward the mini mart, hands tucked casually into his pockets, expression pleasant and composed. To anyone passing by, he would look like any other student on an evening errand—uniform neat, stride relaxed, face open and approachable.
But as he walks, his thoughts revolve not around the price of vegetables or the brand of curry blocks.
They revolve around a specific shade of blue.
And how to keep it shining.
---
Once at the mini mart Kin doesn't linger inside longer than necessary, at least not by intention.
He moves with quiet efficiency down the narrow aisles, selecting potatoes with a practiced squeeze, checking carrots for firmness, grabbing a box of curry roux from the shelf without even glancing at the brand because he already knows which one Sute would like best based on the color of the sauce shown earlier on television.
A small, neat fillet of salmon wrapped in clear plastic goes into the basket next, along with tofu and scallions for miso soup, and he barely pauses long enough to consider anything beyond what he needs.
His hands are steady, his movements purposeful, and yet even as he checks expiration dates and compares prices, his thoughts remain anchored elsewhere—back in the sealed house, where Sute sits wrapped in a blanket beneath the glow of a cooking show.
He keeps the trip short. The faster he finishes, the sooner he can return. The sooner he can see those eyes again.
He heads to the register, shifting the basket onto the counter with a soft thud. At the register, however, efficiency falters.
The cashier is a girl about his age, maybe a year older, with glossy hair and a name tag pinned slightly crooked on her apron. She looks up when he approaches and the reaction is immediate. The moment her eyes land on his face, her posture shifts—straightens in a way Kin has seen a thousand times before. Her cheeks flush a delicate pink. She smooths down her apron as though suddenly aware of how she appears.
It's almost predictable.
He offers her the same polite smile he offers everyone. His eyes close into gentle crescents that make him look harmless and warm as they often do when he smiles in public, giving him that soft, approachable air that makes people relax around him without quite understanding why.
His voice is light when he greets her, threaded with that easy, sunny charm that makes small talk feel natural.
"Busy tonight?"
He asks casually as she begins scanning his items.
"Um—n-not really…"
She replies, flustered. Her fingers fumbling slightly over the barcode scanner as she stumbles slightly over her words.
"Just the usual after-school rush."
He hums sympathetically, making light conversation with the ease of someone who has practiced it a thousand times. Commenting politely on the weather, on how it has been getting colder, on how curry is perfect for a night like this, on how he hopes it doesn't rain later. His tone is gentle, attentive, almost sweet.
He thanks her for bagging the vegetables carefully, even laughs softly at something trivial she says about midterms approaching.
Inside, however, he is impatient. Irritation coils tight in his chest.
Every second spent here is a second not spent at home, not spent watching Sute breathe. Not spent watching Sute concentrate on a cooking show, wrapped in that blanket, safe and still and exactly where he belongs.
He can feel time stretching thin, fraying at the edges, and the longer the girl lingers over her scanning, the more his thoughts turn sharp. He keeps smiling. Keeps his eyes closed. Keeps his voice smooth.
Finally, she announces the total.
He pays quickly, offering exact change when possible, and takes the plastic bags in hand.
He should leave immediately, he intends to by all means.
But as he gathers his bag and turns to leave, the cashier blurts out.
"W-wait!"
He pauses.
"Can I… um… have your number?"
She asks anyway, forcing a small, nervous laugh.
"I mean, if that's okay."
There's a tremor in her voice, hopeful and nervous all at once.
Kin's smile remains in place for half a heartbeat too long before something shifts as his eyes open.
They land on her.
Fully.
The blackness in them is total.
Not dark brown, not shadowed by lashes, but black in a way that feels unnatural when seen up close, as though light enters and does not return. The girl's blush falters. For the briefest second, her expression shifts from flustered admiration to something closer to unease.
The blackness in them is immediate and absolute, swallowing the fluorescent light above the counter. They aren't glossy or warm or boyish anymore; they are deep and endless, like holes punched clean through the world.
Kin studies her. It's subtle, but something in the air changes.
She swallows and the girl's blush drains almost imperceptibly as she shivers.
The longer he looks at her, the more the space between them feels heavy, almost pressurized. His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't blink, and for a heartbeat she has the strange, disorienting impression that those eyes don't belong to him at all.
Up close, his eyes don't fit the gentle curve of his mouth or the soft cadence of his voice. They look borrowed, wrong. As though someone removed something human and replaced it with a depthless void or like something that crawled into his skull and decided to stay.
For a second too long, she stares into them, and an inexplicable unease tightens her chest. A cold bead of sweat slides down her spine. The air between them feels wrong, heavy and charged. A chill crawls up her spine.
Her blush fades to a thin, pale wash beneath her skin, and she feels an inexplicable shiver ripple through her arms. It's not that he looks angry. He doesn't. His face is still smooth, still composed.
But there's something there that doesn't align.
Something hollow.
She feels the beginnings of a cold sweat gather at the back of her neck.
And then, just as quickly, it's gone.
Kin's eyes close again, lids crescenting, curved pleasantly as if nothing had happened at all as his familiar smile returns.
"I'm sorry…"
He says gently, voice apologetic and warm in a way that sounds entirely sincere.
"I really need to focus on school right now."
He dips his head in a small, polite bow, the picture of a well-mannered student declining gently.
"Thank you, though."
The tension dissipates.
The girl blinks, startled out of the strange trance she hadn't even realized she was in, as though waking from something unpleasant.
"O-Oh. Of course!"
She stammers.
"Good luck with your studies."
He nods, thanks her for her help, and turns toward the exit sliding doors.
Just before the automatic doors slide open, he hears her mutter under her breath to a coworker who has drifted closer.
"It's such a shame. He's so handsome, but those eyes… they're kind of… wrong, right? He'd look way better with blue eyes."
"Tisk, tisk. What a shame indeed…"
Her coworker whispers back.
"He'd be so much cuter if he didn't have those dark eyes. He'd definitely look way better with blue."
The words drift after him.
The doors hiss open as he steps out then automatic doors glide shut behind him with a quiet mechanical sigh.
Outside, the fluorescent light no longer touches his face and the smile disappears. It doesn't fade gradually. It simply ceases to exist.
His shoulders lower slightly, and his head tilts downward as he steps onto the sidewalk, casting his features into shadow as he begins the walk back home. The friendly warmth drains away, leaving behind a thoughtful melancholy that clings to him like a shadow. The plastic bags rustle softly at his side with each step.
His expression smoothing into something quieter, more withdrawn.
'Blue eyes.'
He exhales through his nose, the sound almost a scoff.
He's heard that before.
He's heard it all his life.
From relatives who pinched his cheeks and sighed, from classmates who laughed and compared him to dolls with glass-blue eyes, from strangers who commented casually as though his face were an adjustable setting.
"You'd look better with blue eyes."
As a child, he resented it.
His black eyes were his. They were rare, unique and striking.
But over time, resentment curdled into something else.
Agreement.
He began to see what they saw—something off. Something too dark. Something that swallowed instead of shone. He learned to close them when he smiled, to hide them behind curved lashes so people would focus on the rest of him.
He grew to dislike them. He too found them… wrong.
Blue, on the other hand, was safe, desired and above all else, beautiful.
Blue became everything.
The walls of his house are blue. The floors carry a faint bluish undertone. The couch, the curtains, the blankets, his clothes—variations of navy, sky, cerulean, cobalt. Even the brands he buys lean toward packaging washed in blue hues. It surrounds him. Saturates his life.
And still, none of it was right. None of it was perfect.
Not until the day he saw Sute for the first time.
That blue.
That impossible, shimmering, crystalline blue that didn't merely reflect light but seemed to hold it captive and refract it into something ethereal.
Kin's lips curve faintly at the memory.
That was the blue he had been searching for.
And now it is his.
He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone as he walks, opening an app with quiet familiarity. The screen flickers to life, revealing a live feed from a hidden camera mounted discreetly in the corner of the living room. One of many he secretly and carefully installed without Sute's notice.
'There he is.'
Sute sits exactly where he left him, wrapped in his favorite blanket, knees tucked beneath him, face illuminated by the television's soft glow. His eyes are wide and focused on the cooking show, lips parted slightly as the host explains how to simmer broth properly.
He's safe, contained and most of all, beautiful.
Kin exhales slowly, relief washing over him like cool water.
'They don't understand. They never do.'
As he walks beneath the dim streetlights, his thoughts drift not to the cashier's request or her fleeting fear, but to the way Sute's eyes had sparkled earlier when he spoke about curry and salmon with unguarded excitement.
That shade of blue had been brighter than anything artificial.
Brighter than the sun.
Brighter than the moon or stars.
It wasn't something to be worn for strangers.
It was something to be cultivated, protected.
Owned by himself and him alone.
Kin adjusts his grip on the grocery bags and continues down the quiet street, his expression distant now, almost melancholic to anyone who might pass by.
But inside, beneath the calm exterior, one thought repeats itself with steady clarity.
'I have my blue eyes. I just need Sute's.'
He quickens his pace.
The mini mart fades behind him as he heads back down the street toward the locked house, groceries swinging lightly at his side, his gaze flicking once more to the glowing screen in his hand.
Blue.
Perfect blue.
Waiting for him at home.