When they step out of the bathroom, Kin doesn't pause in the hallway for long. Instead he heads straight into the bedroom, reaches down beside the dresser, and lifts the small hamper he keeps there. The plastic basket is light when he carries it back down the hall, though the clothes inside rustle softly with every step.
Sute trails behind him without really thinking about it. He doesn't wander or look around the house. Instead he simply follows, quiet and attentive, staying just a step or two behind Kin the entire way, like a small shadow that has decided where it belongs.
Kin notices. Of course he notices. When they reach the corner of the living room where the washing machine sits tucked neatly beside a narrow shelf, Kin glances back and finds Sute standing there exactly where he expected him to be—hands loosely clasped together, eyes following every movement. The sight pulls a soft chuckle from him.
"You really do follow me everywhere."
Kin murmurs.
Sute blinks and tilts his head, unsure if that was meant as a criticism, but Kin is already setting the hamper down beside the machine.
He lifts the lid and begins transferring the dirty clothes inside—his uniform from yesterday, the towels from the bath, and finally the boxers Sute had worn when he first arrived. Then he reaches up to the shelf and grabs the detergent box.
As he measures the powder into the machine, he glances toward Sute again. Sute is watching with total concentration. Kin smiles.
"Well…"
He says warmly, tapping the side of the washer.
"Since you wanted to learn, I might as well show you properly."
Sute straightens slightly, giving him his full attention. Kin explains each step slowly, almost like a demonstration.
"This is the washing machine…"
He begins, opening the lid so Sute can see inside.
"First you put the dirty clothes in. Then the detergent goes in with them so the water can clean everything."
He pours the powder inside, closes the lid, and presses a few buttons along the front panel. A small beep answers him then the machine hums quietly before the sound of water rushing in fills the drum.
Sute's eyes widened immediately. The machine begins its cycle, the water sloshing and turning as the drum slowly rotates. Sute stares. He has never seen anything like it before.
His head tilts slightly as he watches the machine run, fascinated by the way it does something that once required a long walk to the river and cold water and aching fingers. Kin watches him watching it. For a moment he forgets what he was saying entirely.
That sparkle. That growing amazement lighting up those blue eyes. He finds himself staring a little too long then he blinks and shakes the thought away before he loses himself in it again.
"Alright…"
He says, clearing his throat slightly.
"When it finishes, it'll beep again."
He gestures toward the dryer beside it.
"After that you open it, take the wet clothes out, and move them into this machine. I already set the drying program…"
He taps the button lightly.
"So all you'll need to do is press start and close the door."
Sute nods with complete seriousness, absorbing every instruction as if it were something incredibly important.
"I can do that."
He says quietly. Kin can't help laughing softly. The way Sute says it makes the whole task sound like some kind of mission.
"Good…"
Kin says, reaching over and taking Sute's hand briefly.
"Then I'm trusting you with it."
Sute's eyes shine faintly with pride then Kin glances toward the kitchen.
"Now…."
He adds.
"What do you want for breakfast?"
Sute doesn't even hesitate.
"Fluffy eggs and rice again!"
The answer bursts out with such excitement that his eyes instantly shift into that brilliant icy-blue Kin loves most. Kin smiles. Seeing that color first thing in the morning makes something warm settle inside his chest.
"Alright."
He says, his smile soft and doting. In the kitchen he begins cooking while Sute sits at the table again, watching every step like an eager student. This time the eggs turn out even softer than yesterday, and Sute manages to eat without incident with his new learned technique.
They clean up together afterward, rinse their plates, and brush their teeth side by side in the bathroom sink. Eventually the morning routine reaches its final step. Kin puts on his jacket and slings his school bag over one shoulder.
Sute stands near the living room couch, hands clasped together quietly. He knows Kin has to leave. It is Monday, after all. Even so, the thought makes something heavy settle in his chest.
He doesn't want to make Kin feel guilty about it though, so he closes his eyes and forces a warm smile across his face, trying to imitate the way Kin smiles so easily.
But the moment Kin sees it, his expression tightens. He hates that. Because Sute's eyes disappear when he smiles like that.
Before Sute can say anything, Kin steps forward and takes his hands, pulling him a little closer then he cups Sute's cheeks firmly, forcing his face upward. Sute startles, eyes snapping open immediately.
For the briefest second he almost catches the expression on Kin's face—something sharp and intense, bordering on anger—but it vanishes just as quickly. By the time Sute fully focuses, Kin's usual calm smile has already returned.
"Don't smile like that ever again, okay."
Kin says gently. Sute blinks, his gaze innocent and questioning. Kin's thumbs brush lightly against his cheeks.
"Keep your eyes open…"
He continues quietly, his voice softens.
"Look at me when you smile. That will make me happiest."
Sute doesn't fully understand why but he understands the important part. Kin wants to see him watching and if that makes Kin happier, then Sute will do it.
So he forces down the sadness creeping into his chest and instead thinks about the good things from this morning—the warm bath, the laundry, the way Kin dried his hair. His eyes brighten.
"Have a good day at school, Kin-san."
Sute says softly. For a moment Kin just stands there, looking into those shining blue eyes then he nods.
"You too."
He pulls Sute into a brief hug before stepping back, only then does he turn toward the door. Before unlocking it, he glances back one more time to make sure Sute is standing far enough away from the entrance. Satisfied, he begins unlocking the door.
One lock.
Then another.
Then another.
When the final bolt slides free, he opens the door just enough to slip outside. The last thing he sees before shutting it again is Sute standing in the living room, those bright, impossible blue eyes watching him.
The feeling that rushes through Kin is almost euphoric. He closes the door slowly and locks it again, one lock at a time. Sealing that beautiful color safely away for himself.
Meanwhile, from inside the house, what Sute sees are Kin's dark eyes watching him through the doorway. To anyone else they might look unsettling—deep, black voids that seem to swallow the light around them but Sute doesn't see darkness. He sees something else entirely.
To him they look like marbles. Smooth and glossy, reflecting the light in tiny flashes as Kin turns away and he thinks they're beautiful.
When the last lock clicks into place and the sound of Kin's footsteps fades down the street, the house grows quiet again. For a moment Sute simply stands where he is.
The bright blue of his eyes softens a little with Kin's absence, the shimmer fading into something calmer and more muted. No one is there to see it, though—not even Sute himself—so the change passes without comment.
After a few seconds he does what he has learned to do whenever the quiet settles in. He walks over to the couch. The blanket Kin folded earlier is still waiting there, the soft blue fabric neatly draped over the backrest. Sute picks it up and wraps it around his shoulders, pulling it close in a way that feels familiar now, like a small shield against the emptiness of the room then he sits down.
The remote is right where Kin left it. Sute presses the button and the television flickers back to life, already tuned to a cooking channel. The show currently playing is halfway through an episode, the host enthusiastically explaining how to fold dumplings properly while steam rises from a bamboo basket.
Sute watches for a moment then he reaches for the notebook resting on the coffee table, his journal. He opens it carefully, smoothing the page with his palm before picking up the pen beside it.
At first he holds the pen the way he always has, in a fist. The way he learned when he was small, when no one had bothered to show him any other way. He manages a few words before something in his mind stops him.
The memory floats up gently—Kin's hand guiding his fingers around the spoon the night before, showing him how to hold it properly.
"…Like this."
Kin had said.
Sute looks down at the pen then slowly adjusts his grip. Two fingers here, his thumb here. The pen rests between them differently now. He tries writing again and the letters come out smoother, straighter. For a moment he just stares at them in quiet amazement.
"They're… fixed!"
He exclaims to himself. No one had ever taught him how to hold a pen properly before. For years he had simply written the best he could, relying on memory more than clarity. And his memory—fortunately or unfortunately—had always been unusually strong. He remembered things easily. Words. Lessons. Details from school.
Other things too. Things he sometimes wished he could forget.
The memories creep up uninvited—raised voices, slammed doors, the sharp sting of hands or objects striking skin. The laughter of classmates echoing in hallways.
Sute's hand tightens around the pen. He shakes his head quickly.
"No, stop it."
He murmurs softly. The television host laughs brightly in the background, breaking the silence just enough to pull him back into the present. Sute takes a breath then begins writing again.
This time the words come out slower but far more legible than before, each letter carefully formed as he practices the new grip.
—
Meanwhile, several blocks away, Kin walks steadily toward school.
The morning air is crisp, the sidewalks still scattered with pale petals from the cherry blossoms that drift lazily down from the trees overhead. The walk is long but familiar, something he's done countless times without thinking. Today, though, he notices something new.
Posters.
They appear first on a street pole then another on a bus stop. Then taped awkwardly to the window of a convenience store.
Kin slows slightly as he passes another one. A photo slapped right at its center like the rest. Sute's face. The words MISSING printed boldly above it.
The picture itself is nothing special—just a standard school ID photograph. Sute stands stiffly in front of a blank background, his long black hair falling around his face, his expression subdued and distant. It's too impersonal, too flat. Kin studies it for a moment.
'That picture doesn't show the real Sute at all.'
It doesn't show the way his eyes brighten when he gets excited about something simple like fluffy eggs or a washing machine. It doesn't show the quiet warmth in his smile when he feels safe. Whoever took that photo had captured only the surface. Kin exhales quietly.
"What kind of parents leave their kid like that…"
He murmurs under his breath. His thoughts begin drifting toward the memory of that night—the night he took Sute away from that house—but before the memory can fully form, something crashes into him from behind.
"Oi, Kintoki!"
An arm suddenly hooks around his shoulders, dragging him sideways into a half-laughing headlock. Kin stumbles slightly before catching his balance. Behind him stands his best friend.
Miki Sadao.
Tall but slightly shorter than Kin, with messy dark brown hair that never seems to stay in place and a permanent grin that suggests he hasn't taken anything seriously in his entire life. His uniform jacket hangs half-open, tie crooked, and his energy feels like it's always about three steps ahead of wherever he's actually standing.
Miki squeezes him in a loud side hug.
"You're spacing out again, man…"
He laughs.
"I've been calling you for like ten seconds!"
Kin sighs, already used to this.
"Morning, Miki."
Miki releases him but keeps one arm slung casually across his shoulders.
"What were you staring at so hard?"
He asks, glancing back toward the pole Kin had paused near. His eyes land on the missing poster.
"Oh…"
Miki says quietly, his expression softening just a little.
"That kid…"
He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.
"School's been weird about it. Teachers keep talking about it in the office."
Then, almost instantly, his usual grin returns.
"But hey—don't start the morning with depressing stuff, Kintoki!"
He says, nudging Kin playfully.
"We've got math first period. That's depressing enough already."
Kin lets out a small breath that might almost be a laugh.
"Yeah."
He says and together they continue walking toward school.
…
By the time Kin and Miki reach the school gates, the atmosphere feels… different.
Most students probably wouldn't notice it. To them the morning looks almost normal—clusters of teenagers walking together, uniforms swaying, laughter drifting through the crisp air while the last of the cherry blossom petals scatter across the pavement.
But Kin notices. He notices immediately.
Two adults—the P.E. teacher, a man, and the school's counselor, also a man—stand just outside the gate, positioned slightly apart from the usual morning greetings. They aren't smiling the way they usually do, and they aren't chatting with the students as they pass. Instead they watch carefully, their eyes moving from face to face as if quietly counting heads.
Inside the gate, things look even stranger. The principal is standing several steps away from the main flow of students, speaking in low tones with two uniformed police officers. Their posture is relaxed enough not to cause panic, but the seriousness in their faces is impossible to miss. And across the street—
A patrol car. It idles quietly at the curb, engine humming.
Kin's heartbeat stutters. His mind leaps ahead instantly, racing through the worst possibilities before logic has time to intervene.
'They know…'
The thought arrives fully formed and merciless.
'They know what I did.'
His pulse begins pounding harder, echoing loudly in his ears as his gaze flicks between the teachers, the officers, the car.
'They're here for me. They're going to search the house. They're going to take Sute away.'
The image forms so vividly in his mind that for a split second his vision blurs around the edges, the world narrowing dangerously toward the brink of something darker. Then a voice crashes through the spiral.
"Man, this is so lame."
Miki's voice cuts in beside him with its usual blunt volume, dragging Kin back from the edge before he even realizes how close he was to slipping. Miki shoves his hands into his pockets and tilts his head toward the gate, clearly annoyed.
"All this because one kid goes missing…"
He continues, his tone full of frustration.
"Now it feels like the whole city's on lockdown. My mom won't even let me go out at night anymore."
Kin has turned slightly away during the moment of panic, his face hidden just long enough that Miki doesn't see the wild look that had crossed it.
When Kin turns back, the transformation is already complete. His shoulders relax and his smile returns. His eyes close into that familiar crescent shape that everyone recognizes as his usual easygoing expression.
"Yeah…"
Kin agrees lightly then he tilts his head thoughtfully, offering the kind of balanced response people expect from him.
"Well… there is someone dangerous out there…"
He adds quietly.
"The adults are probably just trying to make sure everyone stays safe…"
His voice softens slightly.
"And we should feel bad for the kid who went missing."
Miki exhales loudly through his nose.
"I know, I know…"
He says, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It's not like I want to blame him or anything. That would make me sound like a jerk…"
He glances again at the police.
"But still… the whole situation just sucks."
Kin lets out a small laugh. Miki's blunt honesty is something he's always found amusing but beneath the easy sound, something darker twists quietly inside him.
'No one here really seems to care. Not truly.'
Some students whisper about it like gossip. Others shrug and move on with their day. A few even look relieved, as if the disappearance of one quiet, strange boy has simply made the school a little easier to navigate. The thought sits heavily in Kin's chest.
'If it hadn't been me… If I hadn't taken Sute away that night…'
'Would I be feeling this strange mixture of calm and guilt and paranoia?'
'Or would I simply be doing what I always do—reading the room, matching the emotions around me, laughing along with Miki and treating the entire situation as just another piece of background noise?'
The question hits him harder than he expects. For a brief moment something sharp and unfamiliar twists in his chest, an ache. Kin stops walking. He doesn't understand what that feeling is but before he can examine it further, the moment disappears as quickly as it arrived.
"Oi, Kintoki!"
Miki is already halfway through the school gate, waving impatiently.
"Hurry up!"
Kin blinks then smiles again, that same easy smile, eyes hidden comfortably behind the curve of his lashes.
"Coming!"
He calls back. He quickens his pace and catches up with his friend. Neither of them notice the man standing across the street. The patrol car idles quietly nearby, but the man isn't inside it.
He stands just beyond the sidewalk under the shade of the trees lining the road, one shoulder leaning against the rough bark of a trunk. A cigarette burns slowly between his fingers, thin ribbons of smoke curling upward toward the branches.
He looks older than the students by at least a couple of decades and rugged. His trench coat hangs loosely over broad shoulders, the fabric worn but well-kept. A short, scruffy beard shadows his jaw, and his brown eyes move slowly across the crowd of students entering the school grounds, sharp and observant.
Nothing about his posture suggests casual interest. Instead, he watches the scene like someone piecing together a puzzle. The cigarette glows faintly as he exhales and his gaze lingers just a second longer than necessary on the tall blond boy disappearing through the gate.
—
By the time Kin settles into his seat for first period, the edges of the morning have smoothed themselves back into something that looks almost ordinary.
The classroom is bright with weak spring sunlight filtering through the tall windows, chalk dust drifting lazily in the air each time the teacher turns back to the blackboard. Desks creak, papers rustle, and the low collective energy of students half-awake on a Monday morning settles over the room like a thin blanket of boredom.
At the front, the math teacher drones on in a voice so flat and monotonous that it seems capable of draining color from the walls themselves, filling the board with calculations and formulas while speaking as though each number personally offended him.
Kin sits where he always does, posture neat, notebook open, pen moving at steady intervals across the page.
To anyone watching, he looks exactly like himself. Attentive. Composed. The kind of student teachers trust without thinking but beneath the desk, hidden carefully behind the angle of his thigh and the shadow cast by the wooden frame, his phone rests in one hand.
And on that phone, already open long before the lesson even began, is the camera feed from the hidden device inside his house.
Kin knows how reckless this is. He knows it in the cold, rational part of his mind that rarely lies to him. He knows how absurdly blatant it would look if anyone saw what was on his screen. One wrong tilt of the phone, one curious glance from the classmate beside him, one shift in posture at the wrong moment, and there would be no reasonable explanation for why the missing boy plastered all over the neighborhood is sitting safe and quiet in a living room visible only to Kin.
It is stupid. Dangerous even, and even more so inexcusable. And yet still, the temptation had won.
Because seeing Sute—just once, just enough to reassure himself—had felt more important than caution. So Kin had opened the app anyway.
Now he balances the performance of attention with unnerving precision. His pen continues moving across the page as if taking diligent notes, though half of what he writes is incomplete or repeated nonsense. Every few seconds he glances toward the board just long enough to maintain appearances, then lets his gaze drop again. The hidden feed glows faintly against his palm.
By some impossible mercy, he gets through the entire first period without incident. Or at least, that is what he believes.
The bell rings. Relief moves through the classroom in an immediate wave as students begin shifting in their seats, stretching, talking, flipping through books they had ignored only moments before. Kin finally allows himself a slightly deeper breath, thinking perhaps he has managed it cleanly after all until Miki leans over from the desk beside him.
"So…"
He says, voice low and annoyingly curious.
"What's so interesting on your phone that the great and flawless straight-A student spent the whole math period staring at his lap?"
The words hit Kin like a slap. He startles. It's small, barely noticeable, but real—and for Kin, that alone is rare enough to feel humiliating. His hand reacts on instinct. He closes the app at once, locks the phone, and shoves it into his pocket in one smooth motion before anyone else can even think to look.
Miki's eyebrows lift. The movement was fast enough to be suspicious all by itself.
Kin turns toward him, already assembling an explanation, but his thoughts are moving too quickly and none of them feel usable. Too defensive and Miki will push harder. Too casual and he'll look guilty. For once, his usual social ease stumbles.
"I was just—"
Before he can finish, the classroom door slides open.
The next teacher enters, history book tucked under one arm, glasses low on his nose, and the entire room shifts with that familiar reflexive groan students reserve for authority figures with bad timing. Chairs scrape, conversations die and books open.
The moment breaks. Kin feels the tension in his shoulders ease by a fraction.
'Saved.'
He straightens in his seat, pulls his notebook closer, and this time genuinely focuses on taking notes as the history teacher begins talking about political reforms, border disputes, and the slow machinery of governments across time. His pen moves more steadily now, the neatness of his handwriting returning as he forces himself back into the safety of routine.
Beside him, however, Miki is no longer amused. He is suspicious. Not of kidnapping, of course. His imagination doesn't stretch anywhere near that far. But he knows Kin was hiding something, and the secrecy alone is enough to get under his skin. In Miki's mind, the explanation begins assembling itself into something far more ordinary and, to him, deeply offensive.
'A girl. There must be a girl.'
Miki thinks. Some secret girlfriend or love interest hidden on Kin's phone while Miki, despite all his charm and suffering, remains tragically and unjustly single. The idea irritates him immediately.
He leans back in his chair with a dark, resentful scowl and spends the rest of the lesson shooting increasingly bitter side-glances at Kin, as though glaring hard enough might cause a confession to spill out of him. Kin notices none of it or rather, he notices and does not care.
Miki's petty jealousy is easy enough to ignore, especially compared to the far more pressing thing occupying his thoughts. Even while his notes grow cleaner and more coherent and his face settles back into its usual calm focus, part of his mind is already drifting elsewhere.
Back home. Back to Sute. His perfect Blue.
He imagines him the same way he'd last seen him. Sute still sitting on the couch, wrapped in that favorite blanket, knees tucked beneath him while some cooking program chatters in the background. Maybe he still has the journal open. Maybe he is practicing holding the pen the way Kin showed him more, carefully forming each word with new concentration. Maybe the washing machine has already beeped, and Sute—serious and earnest as ever—is standing in front of it preparing to carry out the task Kin entrusted to him. Contained, waiting and, most of all, safe.
The thought settles over Kin like a private warmth, quiet and possessive all at once, while the history teacher's voice continues droning on at the front of the room and Miki, still glaring from the next desk over, silently convinces himself that Kintoki's mystery is definitely romantic and therefore personally insulting.