Archive of Our Own

The air was sharp that afternoon, crisp enough to bite at exposed skin like the snap of a stray dog.

Winter in Morioh always came like this when it settled into its quietest season, when it was cold enough to almost still the sea. Where summer had brought waves of tourists and fireworks over the bay, winter now draped everything in silence. The sea, once dotted with sails and shouts, breathed slowly beneath a haze of mist. Streets that had once overflowed with laughter were left open and hushed.

Camellias bloomed stubbornly along the stone walls, their red and white faces bright against the grey. Unlike the sunflowers of summer, they didn't like to shout, they whispered, enduring and calm.

Josuke exhaled, watching his breath curl and fade into the cold, his steps falling in rhythm with Okuyasu’s beside him. They never stopped walking the same way home every day since they met, side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing. Snow had fallen the night before, just a thin layer, packed down by footsteps and car tires, turning slushy at the edges of the street.

Kira’s death had made things quieter. There were no more Stands hunting them down anymore, and no more chasing a serial killer through the alleyways. Life had returned to its usual, dull rhythm that Josuke actually very much enjoyed.

Jotaro and Joseph were also gone with Shizuka, back in their life far from Josuke. Sometimes they called, and it never failed to make Josuke feel awkward. A scratchy voice over the line asking how he was doing, if it was cold in Japan, if new Stands had appeared. Josuke would answer with short words, his voice a little stiff, because he weirdly didn't trust it not to say the wrong thing.

He wanted to know them, but every time he heard his father's voice, it pulled something tangled up from deep in his chest. A knot of anger, curiosity, and sometimes guilt. He just couldn’t name it all. Part of him missed the noise they’d brought with them last summer. The laughter, the clumsy attempts at bonding. But another part, perhaps the bigger one, had been relieved when their boat finally pulled away, voices fading smaller and smaller until he could breathe again.

He looked up at the already dimming sky. January meant early sunsets, making it feel like night came too soon. Another long week had just started, and Friday already felt a lifetime away.

He rolled his shoulder absently. The cold always made his scars tighten, a stiffness settling in by the end of the day. It wasn’t unbearable, he had taken good care of them, after all. It’d been stitched, cleaned, given time to heal. The doctor was impressed, he’d said he was recovering faster than expected. He didn’t have to pause to catch his breath anymore, didn’t have to ask for help and feel like a burden. That part had always been the hardest, even if he knew it wasn’t true.

His gaze slid toward Okuyasu, and he found himself wondering how his own scars felt on days like this.

Okuyasu had never told him how he got them, and Josuke had never asked. It wasn’t really the kind of thing they needed to talk about, Josuke already understood enough about his childhood.

But as Okuyasu tugged at the scarf around his neck, Josuke noticed the way his fingers drifted up to his cheek, rubbing absently at the scars carved into his skin. It looked irritated by the cold, and now that Josuke really looked, the rest of Okuyasu didn’t seem much better. His lips were cracked, his hands red from the cold, and the scars themselves looked tight, pulling faintly at his expression.

Josuke frowned. “Oi, you cold?”

Okuyasu blinked, hand dropping quickly. “Huh? Nah, ’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, but Josuke didn’t push.

He let the silence linger for a few steps before nudging Okuyasu’s shoulder with his own. “Wanna come over? Got a new game.”

Okuyasu glanced at him, curiosity flickering. “What is it?”

“Street Fighter 2,” Josuke said, smirking. “Haven’t even tried it yet.”

Okuyasu made a small noise, half-interested, half-playing it cool. “Well, guess I could.”

“You guess?” Josuke rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder again. “You know you wanna.”

“Alright, alright,” Okuyasu muttered, but he was smiling.

Josuke looked back to the sidewalk, where brittle flower stems poked through the snow near someone’s fence. They reminded him of the dried flowers his mom sometimes pressed between book pages, delicate, paper-thin things waiting to crumble at a touch.

Okuyasu wasn’t delicate, though. Well, not in that way, anyway. He was stubborn. Always pushing forward no matter what. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected by things.

And it didn’t explain why he didn’t take care of his skin.

Okuyasu was strict about hygiene, almost obsessive. Josuke figured it came from Keicho. He never knew the guy, but from the few bits Okuyasu had given him, Josuke could get a pretty clear picture of what life used to be when he was still around. His uniform was always clean, his shoes scrubbed free of dirt, his fingernails trimmed short. Even when he stayed over, he never left a mess. He folded blankets, washed dishes, and wiped the table when Tomoko wasn’t looking. He took care of things.

So why not himself?

Josuke exhaled, hands sinking deeper into his pockets. Maybe he was overthinking it. Okuyasu’s skin might have been just dry from the cold, like anyone’s. Still, he’d keep an eye on it. Just in case.

Because ever since Kira, Josuke’s caution had turned into something heavier, close to fear.

He didn’t like to think about that day, but the memory was always there, unfortunately. The moment Okuyasu’s body hit the ground, the way time had frozen, and the guilt that followed him still.

It hadn’t been his fault. But no matter how many times he told himself that, the guilt lingered, as sharp as the winter air.

He knew he texted too much and called too often. Especially in the weeks right after Kira. It had been the only way to prove to himself that Okuyasu was still there, that he hadn’t slipped away without a sound. The need had eased with time, but never disappeared.

Josuke didn’t want to be overbearing. He didn’t want to crowd Okuyasu with worry. But the truth was, he’d rather be too much than not enough. Because if something happened and he could’ve stopped it, if it was something small he let slip by, he didn’t think he could ever forgive himself.

Better safe than sorry, he thought, even if it made him sound a little crazy.

The next morning, the cold managed to get even worse, the air had decided to grow sharper teeth overnight.

It bit at Josuke’s face and fingers, at his ears, leaving his breath hanging like a ghost in the streets of Morioh. The camellias along the walls were rimed with frost now but they were still standing, stubborn little things that refused to wilt.

Josuke jammed his hands deep into his coat pockets, the tips of his fingers aching, as he hurried toward the school gates. The sweet smell from St. Gentleman drifted over the street as it slowly came to life, coffee and sugar softening the morning chill.

By the time he reached the school gates, the first bell had already rung, echoing through the air like a warning shot. He spotted Okuyasu waiting just past the gate, his usual slouch against the wall, with his scarf wound messily around his neck. He was rubbing at his jaw again. The scars cut faintly through his skin like an old map, one Josuke had seen a hundred times but never traced.

He looked away before Okuyasu noticed him staring.

“Why’d ya go without me, asshole?” Josuke muttered when he reached him.

“Your mom said you’d be late, so she told me to go first.” Okuyasu grinned and gave him a gentle nudge. “Looks like ya made it anyway. Don’t be mad, I still waited for ya!”

Josuke rolled his eyes, kicking a pebble off the pavement. It didn’t surprise him that Okuyasu listened to his mom.

He’d noticed it a while ago. Okuyasu always behaved around her. He stood straighter and listened carefully, obeyed without complaint when she gave him instructions, even small ones. Every kind word or warm gesture Tomoko offered him seemed to land a little deeper than it might for anyone else.

Tomoko had picked up on it too. You could hear it in her voice when she spoke to him, softer somehow, or in the way she checked in on him and asked if he was warm enough, if he’d eaten. Somewhere along the line, she’d started treating him like a second son. Okuyasu wasn’t just Josuke’s best friend anymore, he was family.

And well, Josuke, he teased Okuyasu about it sometimes.

He called him the “golden child” when Okuyasu helped clean the kitchen or remembered something Tomoko said in passing. But he could never bring himself to actually be annoyed.

Because deep down, Josuke knew what it was and what it meant. Okuyasu didn’t have that kind of person in his life, the kind who fussed and worried and made sure he got home safe. Josuke could see how much he really needed it, even if he’d never admit it. Josuke could tell in the way he lingered in the kitchen, or how his eyes softened when Tomoko called him “sweetheart,” like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Sometimes, Tomoko placed a small vase of camellias on the counter in winter, bright red against the pale light. Josuke had caught Okuyasu looking at them once, fingers hovering just above the petals before he turned away, afraid of ruining them.

Josuke just hoped Okuyasu knew he’d always find the warmth he was sometimes yearning for in their home, without ever thinking he was some kind of nuisance.

The second bell chased them forward, herding them toward the building with the rest of the students.

They didn’t have time for more than a few words. Okuyasu followed Josuke inside, and they parted at the top of the stairs with a quick nod, like they always did.

But even as Josuke slid into his seat, the last to arrive, his mind didn’t settle. His body went through the motions, but his thoughts wandered.

Chin in his palm, he stared out the window where the trees stood bare and brittle, their branches like fingers reaching for something they’d never touch. The chalk scraped across the blackboard, the sound grating so early in the morning. His teacher’s voice droned on about grammar rules that slid off Josuke’s brain like snow melting off a roof.

He wasn’t really thinking about class. He was thinking about Okuyasu.

About the way he’d rubbed at his scar, and the way the skin looked dry and tight, ready to crack open with one wrong smile. About the way he kept licking his lips, the corners split from the cold.

No matter how many times Josuke used Crazy Diamond to fix his skin, it always ended up back to this sorry state. Okuyasu had even told him to stop trying, because dry skin wasn’t the end of the world. He could live with it.

But this wasn’t just about dry skin to Josuke.

He tapped his pen against his notebook.

Was he overthinking it? Maybe it really was just the weather. But something about the way Okuyasu touched his face absentmindedly and a bit too roughly, made Josuke’s chest tighten.

He didn’t want to assume, or act like he knew everything. But he couldn’t help it. Okuyasu kept too much to himself.

“Higashikata.” the teacher snapped, pulling him back into the room like a slap of cold air. “If you’re finished with your daydreaming, perhaps you could answer the question?”

He blinked, sitting up straighter. “Sorry,” he muttered, a flush creeping up his neck.

The class snickered, but Josuke barely heard them. He kept his eyes on the board for the rest of the hour, eyes glazed, seeing nothing.

He just wanted lunch to come faster.

Not because he was hungry, though he already was, but because he needed to see Okuyasu again. He needed to check if the skin around the scar was still red, and make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

Maybe Okuyasu would laugh it off. Maybe he’d be fine.

Josuke needed to be sure.

He scribbled a few aimless words in the margin of his notebook, his knee bouncing restlessly under the desk. The teacher’s voice blurred into the background, none of his words stuck. His thoughts kept circling back to Okuyasu like vines chasing sunlight.

Outside the window, a single red camellia trembled against the frost in the school yard, still holding on.

By the time lunch finally rolled around, Josuke was nearly out of his seat before the bell had finished ringing.

He didn’t have to look far, he already knew where to find him.

Okuyasu had a habit of sneaking up to the rooftop during breaks, even when the wind had a bite to it. There was something about the open air that seemed to suit him, he needed the sky above him to breathe properly. Josuke understood. Sometimes the world got too loud, too close, and this place gave them both a little quiet.

Okuyasu always broke the lock to get outside, and Josuke always fixed it afterward. It was their small, unspoken ritual.

That day, they were lucky. The sun had pushed back the chill just enough to make it bearable as the day passed, just enough so Josuke wouldn’t have to drag Okuyasu back inside the second he opened the door.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, a smile on the corners of his mouth.

The rooftop door creaked open, and there he was.

“Yo,” Okuyasu greeted with a grin, bento on his knees, mouth half-full of the melon pan he’d probably bought cheap from the convenience store.

“Yo,” Josuke muttered back, dropping beside him on the cold floor with his own bento. “Still eating that thing?”

“Don’t judge. ’s good.”

Josuke smirked, but his eyes flicked to Okuyasu’s hand, which went to his face again. He rubbed the scar with his knuckles, it was a habit Josuke was pretty sure he didn’t even know he had.

“Aren’t you cold?” Josuke asked, trading some of his tamagoyaki for a piece of Okuyasu’s karaage.

He shrugged. “I guess. ’s January, after all.”

Right. Like that explained everything.

Josuke leaned back and looked at the sky. It was the kind of pale yellow that made everything look a little washed out, as if the whole world had been soaked in milk. Okuyasu didn’t say much after that, and Josuke didn’t press him.

But he kept watching.

And he kept thinking.

Because Okuyasu never complained. He never did when he took a punch, or when he scraped his arm climbing the rusted fence by the river, making Josuke panic silently because Okuyasu didn’t even know if he’d ever had a tetanus jab in his life, not even after Kira, when he came back from the dead.

He’d said it could’ve been worse. That he was fine because Josuke had fixed him.

It always confused Josuke, how Okuyasu took everything life threw at him without complaint. But Josuke wasn’t blind. He saw the little things. Okuyasu’s expression twitched when the wind hit his face, some days he avoided hot foods because the steam stung his skin, he never touched his scar in front of a mirror, afraid it might split open again.

And Josuke wondered.

It might not have been pride.

Okuyasu might have just learned not to say anything.

By Wednesday, Josuke found himself paying attention without meaning to.

At lunch, Okuyasu was rubbing the bridge of his nose again, the skin even looked redder than usual. Windburn, maybe. Whatever it was, it looked painful in a way that made Josuke’s heart wince.

Okuyasu was chatting about some dumb anime his dad had started watching with Stray, something with giant robots and lots of yelling. Josuke nodded along, even laughed once or twice, but his eyes kept drifting.

It wasn’t just the scar.

It was the way Okuyasu moved, slightly stiff, because he didn’t want anyone to notice. He carefully avoided resting his chin on his palm, and he angled his face away when someone new joined them.

Josuke hated it.

Okuyasu seemed to brace himself against the world, and Josuke wondered if it was because he didn’t think he deserved to be comfortable.

He almost brought it up on their walk home, as the sun slipped behind the mountains and turned the sky the color of crushed violets. But Okuyasu was laughing, without a doubt, at Josuke's face when he slipped on the ice, and Josuke didn’t want to ruin it.

So he said nothing.

He just tucked the moment away.

Waiting for the right time.

Waiting for the right words.

He found that moment on Thursday morning.

Well, it wasn't exactly about his dry skin at first, but he still had found a way to begin broaching the subject gently, so that was something.

The house still held the hush of early light when Josuke came downstairs, uniform crisp, collar straight, pins shining, hair styled to look effortless when it had taken him an hour.

The mirror above the console table caught his reflection. He paused to smooth the side of his precious pomp, tilting his head to check both sides with a small pout. Outside, frost clung to the windows in thin white veins, delicate as lace.

The camellias Tomoko kept by the entryway had frosted edges too, their petals a deep, unbothered red against the cold. The old lady next door liked to give his mom some of the flowers that bloomed in her garden, so every winter, she’d give them a bouquet of camellias. Josuke thought of them as he reached for his coat. Flowers that didn’t flinch.

Okuyasu was standing quietly in the hallway, just like every morning. His cheeks were pink from the walk over, the color bright against his tanned skin. He’d barely dusted the snow from his coat, and his white-streaked hair was damp, curling slightly where the flakes had melted. The product he used was never strong enough to keep it perfectly in place.

Josuke used to think it was dumb, Okuyasu showing up at his door every morning like they were still kids, but he hadn’t really meant it.

Even if their friendship hadn’t started well.

The memory flickered at the mirror’s edge.

Okuyasu behind the iron gate, fists clenched, obeying orders from an older brother too cruel to raise a child and too selfish to properly love one.

They’d fought.

Okuyasu’s Stand was terrifying. Against anyone else, Josuke was pretty damn sure he might have lost. But Okuyasu hadn’t really wanted to hurt him. He didn’t know how to use The Hand’s full power, and Josuke knew, deep down, he wouldn’t have used it like that anyway. He wasn't that kind of person.

So Josuke won, but not without bruises, not without blood, and not without Okuyasu losing Keicho at the end of it all. That victory had tasted bitter ever since.

Josuke never expected to see him again after that.

But Okuyasu came back. The very next morning.

He’d stood on Josuke’s doorstep like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they hadn’t torn into each other the day before. There was no apology, but also no awkwardness. Just him inviting himself into Josuke's bubble with a smile.

That had been the start of everything.

And Josuke couldn’t picture mornings without him ever again.

He ran a thumb over his bottom lip, checking the sheen of his chapstick, then glanced over his shoulder at Okuyasu, who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, blowing softly into his hands.

“Hey,” Josuke said casually, pulling a second tube from his bag. “You want some?”

Okuyasu blinked, then made a face. “’m not sharin’ that with you.”

Josuke scoffed, eyebrows lifting. “Idiot. It’s new. I haven’t used this one yet.”

Okuyasu laughed, light and easy, but shook his head. “Nah. I don’t wear that.”

Josuke frowned and turned back to the mirror. “What the hell does that even mean?”

There was an awkward pause, the silence filled with the soft creak of wood. Okuyasu looked down at his shoes, voice dropping.

“I dunno,” he muttered, scratching the edge of his jaw where the X of his scar stretched pale against his skin. “I just don’t care about that stuff, I guess.”

Josuke rolled his eyes but didn’t push. He capped the chapstick, dropped it back into his bag, and buttoned on his coat. The moment passed like mist on glass, leaving behind only a quiet breath between them.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Okuyasu grinned, easy again, and they stepped out into the cold morning together. Their shoes crunched in perfect rhythm on the frost.

And after that, the rest of their day passed in a slow, pleasant blur.

Classes melted into each other. Josuke sat by the window, half-listening to the lectures, half-watching clouds drag themselves across the pale sky. Chalk dust drifted through the air like faint snow, catching in the light.

Nothing exciting happened, not that he minded that much. There were no surprise quizzes, or drama whispered between desks, just the annoying scrape of chairs and the clock’s tired ticking. By the final bell, Josuke was counting the seconds.

Outside, winter had settled deep into Morioh. The air smelled faintly of bread from St. Gentleman’s, and the sidewalks glittered with a thin sheen of ice. Students poured from the gates, laughter spilling into the cold.

For once, Josuke and Okuyasu walked home with Koichi and Yukako. Koichi tugged on the gloves Yukako had knitted for him, smiling shyly while Josuke and Okuyasu argued over something meaningless.

It was always like this. The comfortable back-and-forth, words tossed like petals in the wind. Okuyasu was grinning, nudging Josuke with his elbow, while Josuke rolled his eyes but still smirked, because he enjoyed the banter more than he let on.

Yukako, on the other hand, walked slightly ahead, her gaze calm, sharp as frost. There was something deliberate about the way she carried herself, from the way her coat sat perfectly on her shoulders to the way she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She was part of the group now. At first it was mostly by default, because she was Koichi's girlfriend. Josuke and Okuyasu used to be wary about her too, but how could they not after what she put Koichi through? 

It was after Kira's death that Yukako started to spend more time with them. She was still quite distant, but at least she was tolerating Josuke and Okuyasu a lot more than she used to. 

She turned to Koichi with a soft voice. “Koichi-kun, let’s stop by Kisara Drugs. I’m out of cold cream.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said easily.

Josuke exchanged a quick glance with Okuyasu, who looked mildly amused, though he kept quiet. Yukako gave a polite nod to both of them before she and Koichi disappeared into the busy street.

The quiet that followed felt comfortably familiar.

Josuke tucked his hands into his pockets as they walked, the late sun turning the snow at the curb a faint pink, almost the shade of the camellias that sometimes bloomed too early.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, “speaking of cold cream… do you even use anything for your face?”

Okuyasu blinked, half-laughing. “Why the hell are ya askin’ me that?”

“Just making sure I don’t ever buy the same thing,” Josuke said with a grin. “’Cause whatever you’re using clearly isn’t working.”

Okuyasu barked a laugh and kicked at Josuke’s leg. He dodged easily, both of them grinning. The cold bit at Josuke’s teeth as he smiled, but it felt good.

“I don’t buy that stuff,” Okuyasu said after a pause. “’m not a girl.”

Josuke’s smirk softened. “That’s dumb. There’s lotion and cream made just for dry skin. It doesn’t have any scent, nothing fancy. It just keeps it from hurting.”

Okuyasu shrugged. “I don’t need it.”

Josuke watched him carefully, the way he closed himself off. His hand twitched near his face but didn’t quite reach it. Josuke wanted to say something more, but he didn’t. 

Instead, he sighed and let the moment go, their breath clouding the air between them. The sun was dipping lower now, painting their shadows long and thin across the street.

They walked in silence, side by side, and it was enough.

Josuke would let it be.  

But he wasn’t going to let it go.  

Saturday drifted by.

They texted a bit, shared a few thoughts, but mostly let the stillness of the weekend settle around them. It was the kind of pause life rarely offered when they were running around Morioh earlier this year.

And then it was Sunday.

The wind was gentler in the graveyard, the world respected the silence blooming between the headstones.

Josuke stood slightly behind Okuyasu, arms crossed tight against his body to shield himself from the cold gusts, his breath misting faintly in front of him. The stone in front of them was simple, just a name carved into it like a bruise. A vase of wilted chrysanthemums sat beside it, clinging stubbornly to the cold.

Okuyasu didn’t speak much during visits, at least not when Josuke was around. He never cried, either. He just stood there with his shoulders a little stiffer, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the sky. Josuke never asked what he was thinking. He just stayed beside him, because he knew that was what Okuyasu needed.

He hadn’t known Keicho well, honestly, he hadn’t wanted to. From what Okuyasu had confessed during late-night talks, from the way he sometimes flinched at sudden anger, Josuke had built a quiet resentment toward the guy. But he never said anything. Because Okuyasu, with his quiet loyalty and big, stubborn heart, still loved him. Even if it didn’t make sense.

So, Josuke kept his mouth shut, because this wasn’t about him. He was doing this for Okuyasu.

A few snowflakes began to fall as they turned to leave. The air softened, the hush of it drifting down like flower petals shaken from a tree. Somewhere near the fence, Josuke noticed a single red petal clung to the snow before the wind carried it away.

And later that day, Morioh was covered with a thin, new blanket of white.

The warmth inside the house turned the glass almost foggy.

Okuyasu sat next to Josuke in the living room, a bike magazine open on his lap, his hair faintly damp from the shower Josuke had insisted on.

He had asked, as he always did, if it was really okay, toeing at the bathroom mat, worried about being a burden. And, as usual, Josuke told him it was fine, joking that he wasn’t going to charge him for water.

The truth was, Josuke hated the idea of Okuyasu going without warmth. His house barely held heat, the pipes groaned like they were ready to give up, and showers were usually lukewarm at best. So he offered what he could, even if Okuyasu rarely asked for anything.

Josuke pretended to pay attention to his game, controller in hand, sneaking glances at Okuyasu. He wasn’t saying much. But he didn’t need to.

Okuyasu was rubbing his cheek again, subtly, fingers brushing over skin that looked red and tight. His lips were cracked, his temples dry. The scar near his jaw, thin, pale and long-healed, seemed almost angry under the light.

Josuke paused his game, and went to the bathroom with an annoyed sigh. When he came back, he unscrewed the cap of his lotion and began applying some to his own face.

“Do you want some?”

"No.” Okuyasu didn’t even look at him.

He frowned. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Okuyasu blinked. “Huh?”

“Your skin,” Josuke said, leaning back against the sofa. “It looks… irritated.”

“’s always like that when it’s cold. It’ll go away when it gets warmer.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to suffer till spring.”

“’s not a big deal.”

Josuke couldn’t hide his frustration. “You could use some kind of cream or something.”

A snort. “That’s for girls.”

He scoffed. “Again with this? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Okuyasu raised a brow, amused, turning a page in his magazine. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Josuke turned more toward him. “Koichi uses hand cream. Chapstick, too. Jotaro’s got a whole routine with lotion, aftershave, all that. I use lotion too, chapstick, stuff for my hair.” He ran a hand over his pomp. “You think I’m a girl?”

Okuyasu tried not to laugh. “Ya kinda baby your hair, though.”

Josuke took a slow breath, biting the inside of his cheek. Okuyasu was damn lucky he really loved him, because anyone else mentioning his hair would’ve ended up with Crazy Diamond wiping the floor with their face.

“It’s called style, dumbass,” he muttered. “You’ve got the same pomp, so whatever.” He pouted. “And besides, you dye your hair white. Isn’t that a girl thing?”

Okuyasu blinked, caught off guard. “…Wha’?”

“The sides of your hair. It’s white. How long have you been doing this? ‘Cause as far as I know, it’s always been like that.”

“No.” His voice was smaller now. “That’s just how it is. It started when I was, I dunno, ten? Eleven? Just happened. I don’t dye it.”

Josuke fell quiet. “You serious?”

Okuyasu nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Keicho said stuff like that could happen. Maybe some people just get weird hair genes or somethin’.”

The sound of the wind outside filled the sudden pause between them.

Then Josuke looked at him differently, his face still pink from the shower, the scar pulled tight at the edges, his hands tucked between his thighs, trying to hide from the cold.

He’d always assumed Okuyasu’s hair was a style choice, bold and cool, and he always thought it suited him. But now, something in Josuke quietly shifted.

He thought of his mom, joking about the white strands in her own hair and blaming them on him. He thought of when his grandpa passed away and the way grief seemed to settle into her bones, how afterward there had been more of those white threads. 

Okuyasu never talked much about his past, but Josuke had pieced together enough to know it hadn’t been kind. There were things in Okuyasu’s silences, in the careful way he carried himself, and in the way his jaw tensed when someone mentioned family.

And now, when Josuke looked at those white strands, he didn’t see a style. He saw a childhood endured and survived. And he hated that Okuyasu had gone through all this stress alone, for so long, with no one to tell him it wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

His chest tightened. Okuyasu had gone through so much, and he still smiled like none of it mattered. Still showed up, still picked Josuke up for school every morning, still joked and kicked at him and made the cold feel a little less bitter.

“…You’re an idiot,” Josuke muttered softly.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Josuke said, handing him the bottle of lotion. “Use this. No smell, no shine. It won’t ruin your manliness or whatever.”

Okuyasu stared at it for a moment, then reluctantly took it and set it aside.

“You’re annoyin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Josuke said.

And yet, Okuyasu never took the bottle with him once it was time to go home.

Josuke was puzzled. But Josuke was also stubborn, and he could even be more stubborn than Okuyasu when he wanted to. And perhaps a little bit too much for his own good.

So, he started to dig through his own stuff when Okuyasu left, convinced he could find something that didn’t look like a skincare product. Maybe if it looked more like medicine, Okuyasu wouldn’t put up such a fuss.

That was the plan, anyway.

Except Josuke quickly realized he had no idea what the hell he was even looking for.

Most of what he had was suited to his own skin. It was the usual stuff, plus a leftover ointment he’d used once to fade scars. It didn’t seem right for Okuyasu, because those wounds had already healed, even if they’d left their mark. What Okuyasu needed was something else, something that could soften the cold’s bite. But what?

Josuke liked taking care of himself, that was no secret, but even he had his limits. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

He knew exactly who to ask.

The next day, after class had emptied out, Josuke found himself standing awkwardly by Yukako’s desk. She was still sitting there, carefully organizing her notes. Her handwriting was sharp and neat, the kind that made you feel judged just by glancing at it.

“Uh… hey, Yukako.”

She looked up, brow already creasing. “What do you want?”

Josuke shuffled his feet. “Are you free right now?”

She gave him a look. “No,” she said flatly. “I’m only free for Koichi.”

He groaned. “Okay, yeah, fine, I get that. But I just need help with finding some good products and-”

She gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Is this about hair products? Because I’m not touching that.”

“What? No! Of course it’s not about my hair!” He scowled, crossing his arms. “I need your help with something else.”

Yukako raised an eyebrow, scanning him up and down. “You don’t look like you need help with much.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I know how to take care of myself,” he muttered, lowering his voice. “It’s not for me, okay?”

Her eyebrow arched higher. “Then who?”

Josuke hesitated, glancing around the near-empty room before leaning closer. “It’s for Okuyasu.”

Yukako blinked once. Then again. Her expression softened, just a little, before she nodded. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

“Huh? Just like that?”

“Would you rather I change my mind?”

He didn’t.

Outside, the afternoon light was pale and thin, the air cool with the promise of snow. Okuyasu and Koichi were waiting by the school gate, both looking confused when Josuke and Yukako passed right by.

“Where are you two going?” Koichi asked.

“None of your business,” Yukako said before Josuke could answer.

Okuyasu gasped at the unexpected way she replied to Koichi. “Oi!”

Josuke waved over his shoulder with an apologetic smile. “We’ll catch up later!”

They left the pair behind, speechless, Yukako walking briskly ahead while Josuke tried to keep up.

They ended up at Kisara drugs, near the shopping street. The drugstore was warm, all soft lights and faint music from a radio at the counter. Yukako walked like she owned the place, knowing exactly what she was doing. Rows of bottles and creams lined the shelves, each promising hydration, glow, radiance, things that sounded more like Stand names than products to Josuke.

Yukako stopped at one shelf and picked up a white bottle with pale blue writing. “Curél Foaming Cleanser,” she said after a moment, tapping the label with one neatly manicured nail. “It’s fragrance-free and gentle. Made for sensitive skin, especially in winter.”

Josuke nodded, making sure to memorize everything.

Next, she plucked a bright yellow tube from another display. “Yu-Be Moisturizing Cream. That one is good for dry or damaged skin. He can use it on scars, too.”

Josuke nodded once again, trying to keep up. She was efficient and precise. She wasn’t being mean, but she sure was being brisk in a way that made him feel like a schoolboy being coached through an exam.

Yukako paused halfway down the aisle. “Stay here. I’ll check if they have anything else.”

When she disappeared around the corner, the aisle suddenly felt quieter. Josuke turned back to the shelves, scanning the rows until his eyes caught on a small blue tin of Nivea cream. The metal was cool under his fingers when he picked it up.

He hadn’t seen one like this in years, it made him smile. His mom used to keep the same tin on her vanity when he was little. She’d dab a bit on her fingers and smear it onto his cheeks before he could squirm away. “You’ll thank me when you don’t get chapped skin, Josuke.”

He could almost smell the clean, soapy scent, the faint sting of cold air on his face afterward. He turned the tin over in his hands, lost in the small memory, until Yukako’s voice pulled him back.

“That one’s good for winter,” she said, returning empty handed. “It’s a bit heavy, though, but it helps with the cold.”

Josuke blinked. 

“I’ve used it before,” she said, gently taking the tin out of his hands to put it in the basket. “It works.”

He hesitated for a beat, then asked, “Why’d you even say yes to coming with me, anyway?”

Yukako raised an eyebrow. “Because you asked.”

“No, I mean,” he scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “You didn’t have to. You don’t really… do this kind of thing.”

She gave a small, knowing huff. “Koichi talks about you two a lot. You’re important to him.” Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “And I know what it’s like to care about someone and not know how to help.”

Josuke was thrown off by the quiet honesty of it.

“Besides,” she said, her tone lighter now, “you came to me. That must’ve taken effort.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Yukako straightened, smoothing a wrinkle from her coat. “Anyway,” she said, her tone shifting back to its usual sharpness. “That should cover everything he needs.” She nodded toward the basket in Josuke’s hands, now filled with creams and cleansers and small boxes. “Come on. Let’s go pay before I start rethinking why I agreed to come in the first place.”

Josuke followed, the bag rustling faintly in his hands. It felt strange doing this with her. He’d honestly half-expected a fight, or at least a snide comment or two, but instead she’d been focused, patient even.

At the register, she waited beside him while he paid, arms crossed loosely. No judgment in her expression, just that quiet attentiveness of hers.

The sky was turning soft gray as they walked through the neighborhood. The wind carried a faint chill that smelled like snow. Yukako’s steps slowed when they turned down a quieter street.

A low garden wall held a small camellia bush, its blossoms bright red against the pale leaves. One had fallen whole onto the cold stone, petals unbroken but already dusted with frost.

Yukako’s gaze flicked toward it. “Strange how they bloom this late,” she murmured. “They don’t mind the cold much.”

Josuke followed her eyes, the thought of Okuyasu stirring in his mind, a bit stubborn, scarred, but still standing. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess not.”

She gave him a sidelong look, as if she’d caught the thought behind his words. “They just keep blooming anyway.”

She crossed the street first, scarf trailing behind her in the wind. Josuke lingered a moment longer, looking at the flowers before following, the bag warm in his hands, before catching up to her.

After a while, she asked, “Why didn’t you just bring him with you?”

Josuke laughed under his breath. “He thinks skincare’s for girls.”

Yukako rolled her eyes. “He’s an idiot.”

Josuke smiled. “Yeah. My idiot, though.”

Something in her expression shifted, the faintest curve of understanding.

By the time they reached her house, the streetlights were flickering on, halos of gold in the gathering gray. Yukako stopped at her gate and turned to him, her voice quieter now.

“It’s good you’re looking out for him,” she said. “You two have something. Whatever it is, it seems to make you both better.”

Josuke flushed. “Wh-what? It’s not like that.”

“I don’t care what it is,” she said calmly, unlocking the door. “You’re happy. That’s all.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how genuine her voice sounded.

She took her school bag back from his hands with a faint smile. “Try not to overthink everything, Higashikata. It doesn’t suit you.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Josuke stood there for a while, snowflakes catching in his hair, Yukako’s words echoing faintly. His heart felt oddly light. Confused, but warm.

You’re happy. That’s all.

He didn’t quite know what that meant at that moment. But for once, he didn’t feel the need to question it.

The products sat on his shelf for a few days after that, untouched but definitely not forgotten. 

He saw them every time he reached for a CD or tossed his bag down after school, small reminders of something he wasn’t ready to bring up just yet. He didn’t want to push. Okuyasu had been back a couple of times since then, things easy again, laughter coming naturally. Josuke didn’t want to break that quiet peace too soon.

So he waited. Through the slow midweek lull, through Okuyasu’s sarcastic grins during lunch, through math class doodles and brief glances when the light hit his scar just right. He told himself he’d know when the moment was right.

Friday night felt like that moment.

His mom was going out with friends, which meant it would just be the two of them. Josuke figured he’d wait until the laughter had warmed them up, until the night settled soft around them like a blanket. Maybe then, when the world was only the two of them, he could finally bring it up.

And before Josuke knew it, Friday night finally had arrived. 

The day he’d been waiting for, the one he’d quietly marked in his mind. It wasn’t anything dramatic, but it was important to him.  

Punches were flying across the screen as the final seconds of the match ticked down. The house pulsed with the fast and rhythmic music, matching the energy that had taken over the living room for the past couple of hours.

It was just past 9 p.m., and the remains of the evening sprawled in lazy chaos around them. The two empty pizza boxes lay stacked on the side table, crusts abandoned in one of them like fallen soldiers, crumpled napkins, and half-drunk cans of soda going flat. Their laughter wrapped the room in some kind of bubble, one that made time slow down. 

Josuke leaned forward, eyes locked on the screen, tongue slightly out in concentration as his fingers flew across the controller. Okuyasu, seated beside him, looked more relaxed, lazily pressing buttons, barely flinching when his character got knocked back across the screen. Josuke's controller went slack in his hands, a grin spreading across his face when the *KO* flashed in bold red letters on Okuyasu's side of the screen.

He shot to his feet, triumphant. “YES!” he shouted, arms raised like he’d just won the world championship. “Finally!”

“Wow,” Okuyasu laughed, ruffling his hair, “ya get one win and suddenly you’re king of the couch?”

“That was not just one win,” Josuke said, pacing like a showman. “That was skill. Perseverance. Raw talent. I might retire after this, go out on top.”

“Ya lost the last ten matches,” Okuyasu pointed out, still laughing. “Pretty sure ya were cryin’ two games ago.”

“Lies and slander.”

“You only won ‘cause I let ya.”

“Bullshit!” Josuke gasped, hand on his chest in mock offense. “Don’t you dare try to rob me of this moment.”

Okuyasu chuckled, leaning forward to reach lazily for a chip. “You’re so dramatic.”

They laughed again, a rhythm they’d perfected long ago. Their friendship had been built on rough edges, but nights like this were what kept it alive. When nothing else existed but their own rhythm, their own private garden of shared history.

Then Josuke’s eyes caught on something, laughter quieting. Just a small patch of skin near Okuyasu’s jaw, red and raw-looking, where he’d scratched too hard.

“Okuyasu,” he said softly. His brows drew together. “you’re almost bleeding.”

“Huh?” Okuyasu brushed at it with his fingertips and winced before shrugging. “Guess I scratched too hard. I didn’t notice.”

Josuke frowned and called out Crazy Diamond to fix the light cut. “You keep doing that, touching your face ‘cause it’s dry.” His voice gentled as he set the controller aside. Without thinking, his hand moved, fingertips brushing the edge of the scar.

Okuyasu flinched. The movement was small but sharp, shoulders stiffening, his head jerking slightly away like instinct, almost like he never learnt how not to.

It never got easier to see.

Josuke drew back, throat tight. “Your skin’s irritated. It looks like it hurts.”

Okuyasu avoided his gaze, suddenly invested in fixing the non-existent creases of his shirt.

“I said it’s nothin’,” he muttered. His voice wasn’t angry, he just sounded tired. “Don’t start.”

“No, I will start,” Josuke said. “Your face hurts. It’s dry and red, and it’s making the scar worse. Why won’t you just put something on it?”

“Not this again,” Okuyasu groaned, rolling his eyes. “’s not a big deal, Josuke.”

“It is a big deal! You’re clearly in pain every time we’re outside. You act like you’re fine, but I see you rub at it every day. I’m not dumb.”

Okuyasu’s jaw tensed. “Why does it matter so much to you?” His voice cracked before hardening. “Why can’t ya just fuckin’ drop it?”

“Because I care, dumbass! Is that such a fuckin’ crime?” Josuke snapped. His voice wavered, too full of heat and worry tangled together. “I hate seeing you like this when there’s literally an easy fix. Just use the damn cream.”

“I don’t want your stupid cream!” Okuyasu shouted, standing now, fists curling. “I don’t need help with my scar, I don’t care if it stings, I don’t want your pity! Just leave me the fuck alone about it!”

“It’s not pity, Okuyasu!” Josuke stood too, heart pounding. “Why are you being so stubborn?! It’s lotion, not a personality crisis! It won’t kill you!”

Something in Okuyasu broke then, it wasn’t just anger, but the deep, tangled shame underneath it. He shoved Josuke, hard.

“Just fuck off, Josuke!”

Josuke stumbled back and, before he could think, shoved him in return, making him fall on the sofa. “No, fuck you!”

The words were out before Josuke could stop them. The room that had been so full of laughter went silent in an instant.

Okuyasu glared at him, fists clenched and chest rising and falling fast. He got back on his feet without a word, then yanked his jacket off the couch and stormed toward the door.

“Wait, Oku-”

The door slammed before the name even finished leaving his mouth.

Josuke stood there, the air gone still. The warmth from the heater pressed heavy against his skin, yet he felt cold.

By the door, something small had blown in, a single camellia petal, bright red against the dull floor. Maybe it had caught on Okuyasu’s shoe when he left. Josuke stared at it for a long moment.

It looked too soft to belong in this kind of silence.

Josuke stood alone in the room, chest tight and aching. The game sat on the continue screen, its looping music waiting for a player who wouldn’t return. His fists trembled at his sides from that awful helplessness that came when you wanted to help someone who wouldn’t let you.

He clenched his jaw, heart still pounding from the fight, before he sank onto the couch and rubbed both hands over his face.

Josuke could still see the look in Okuyasu’s eyes: hurt and guarded. The kind of hurt that didn’t want to be seen.

He looked around and saw all the leftovers from a better moment. Snow fell again outside the window, as if the world was trying to muffle what had just bloomed and withered between them.

Josuke sighed, long and rough.

Over some stupid cream. It sounded ridiculous. He’d only wanted to help, and somehow that had turned into a wound he didn't mean to open.

He started cleaning up. He folded the blanket left on the sofa, still warm from where Okuyasu had been sitting. He turned off the console and collected the empty cans. Every small action helped soften the sharpness in his chest, each motion a way to smooth the night back into something quiet.

By the time the room was spotless, it felt emptier than ever.

And when he finally went upstairs and lay in bed, the house was silent again, pressing on his ribs.

He stared at the ceiling, tracing headlights across the plaster, still seeing Okuyasu’s face before he walked out.

He hadn’t meant to push too far. He just never knew when caring too much became crossing a line.

He’d only wanted to be there for Okuyasu.

And somehow, his dumb self made things worse.

Josuke stayed in his bedroom for most of the day after a restless night. 

The early morning light bled across his room in pale strokes, soft and washed out, not wanting to wake the world too harshly. 

The house was quiet in a way that didn't feel right. Josuke hadn’t left his room since he woke up. His eyes were fixed on the same spot on the ceiling, mind replaying every moment of the night before like a scratched record stuck in a loop. 

The hours dragged by.

Okuyasu hadn’t called. Hadn’t come over. Nothing.

It was like losing color from a picture Josuke didn’t even realize had been painted so bright.

He laid on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting limply across his stomach. The light from the window moved in slow motion, crawling across the wall like it was unsure whether to stay or retreat. He could hear his mom moving around the kitchen downstairs, prepping lunch, humming a little off-key. 

And still, Josuke stayed.

At some point, she called up to him. “Everything okay up there?”

“I’m just tired,” he called back, voice barely rising above a mutter. “Gonna rest a bit.”

He expected her to push and ask if he was sick, or if he needed anything. But maybe something in his tone made her stop short, because she didn’t say anything else.

Instead of resting, though, Josuke cleaned.

The weight of his thoughts had settled too deep to ignore. He needed to move and do something. So he got up and cleaned, because if his hands were busy, maybe his brain would stop clawing at itself.

So he started with his room.

He changed the bedsheets, then vacuumed under the desk, even organized the drawer that was always overflowing with random stuff. Then the laundry, sorting it more carefully, folding it more neatly than he ever bothered to. After that, he tackled the bathroom, scrubbing the sink and mirror until everything smelled like lemony soap and disinfectant.

By midafternoon, the house looked way too pristine.

He needed to stay busy, even if his chest still throbbed like a bruise was hidden beneath the surface.

Because no matter how hard he tried, that night wouldn’t stop replaying itself. The scar then the stupid fucking fight. 

They bickered, sure, teased each other until they were breathless with laughter. But they’d never really fought before, at least never like that, where it felt like something broke and didn’t know how to put itself back together.

He went to the living room, picking up every stray object like it had personally offended him. He vacuumed twice. He then dusted every surface. Rearranged the bookshelf in complete silence. It wasn’t about needing the house to look nice, he just needed something to do with his hands, somewhere to pour the restlessness in his chest. When he was busy scrubbing, wiping, sweeping, he could think without unraveling. It was his way of regaining control when his emotions got too loud.

Anger, on the other hand, was trickier.

It simmered beneath the surface, sharp and unpredictable. When it got too strong, Josuke sometimes cracked under it. He hated that part of himself, the part that yelled too quickly, the part that destroyed furniture last year, only to fix them all wrapped by his rage because he couldn't deal with the grief he was feeling for his grandpa, and all the hatred he had for Angelo. If it wasn't for Crazy Diamond, the house would be permanently marked by Josuke's temper. 

And truthfully, he wasn’t proud of it. He’d been trying to get better at handling it. Cleaning helped, it gave his anger a quieter outlet, especially when the sadness behind it made everything ache. Maybe he should have started cleaning up the living room, the night before, before starting a fight with Okuyasu.

Josuke kept moving. He knew that if he stopped, the weight in his chest would come crashing down with it.

In a way, this might have been his version of crying, this constant motion, the need to make everything look okay on the outside because he couldn’t figure out how to make it okay inside.

And even though the house looked perfect by sunset, Josuke still felt completely wrecked.

And Okuyasu's silence hurt more than anything else.

Tomoko noticed. 

She didn’t say anything at first, because she was really happy to have the house deeply cleaned without asking, but when dinner rolled around and Josuke quietly took care of setting the table without being asked, something shifted in her expression.

They ate together. Josuke barely touched his food, just picked at the katsudon on his plate while his mom chatted about work, barely tasting what she’d made. When it was over, he gathered the plates, rolled up his sleeves, and started doing the dishes.

And then, when Josuke was done cleaning them and stood silently in the kitchen rinsing the last of the plates, Tomoko came up behind him, arms folded, watching him for a moment.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Josuke didn’t look up. “Dishes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I can see that.”

He kept scrubbing. She walked closer, leaned her hip against the counter.

“You’re cleaning,” she said. “Like, really cleaning. Laundry, bathroom, dishes… all without your dramatic whining about how it’s unfair. Which usually means you’re upset about something and trying not to think about it.”

Josuke stayed silent, jaw tightening. He rinsed a plate and set it on the drying rack.

His mom tilted her head. “Is it about Okuyasu?”

That made him pause.

He bit his lower lip, eyes still fixed on the water running down the drain. Josuke let out a sigh through his nose. His shoulders slumped.

“He’s usually here by now,” she added softly. “He spends every weekend with you.”

Josuke finally spoke, voice hoarse. “We fought.”

She blinked, surprised. “You two? Fought?”

“Yeah.” He rinsed another plate and set it aside. “Over stupid stuff. I said something, he got mad and walked out.”

“What did you say?”

He hesitated, staring at the last plate like it held the answer. He sighed.

“It was about his scar,” he admitted, finally. “It’s been bothering him for a long time now. I often told him to put something on it to help, but he kept refusing. But last night it got worse, I could see it. He scratched at it so much, it was bleeding. And he just… wouldn’t do anything. So I brought it up. Again”

Tomoko waited for him to continue.

“I tried not to sound pushy,” Josuke went on. “I swear, I tried. But he got pissed. He said I was making a big deal out of nothing. That he didn’t want help. That I should leave him alone.” He sniffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now I feel like an idiot.”

Josuke made sure to omit the part where they pushed eachother, because he was sure she'd get mad and he didn't want to deal with that on top of everything else. She reached over and touched his arm, voice warm with understanding. “Honey… it doesn’t matter how gently you brought it up. Sometimes, it’s not about how you bring something up. It’s about the person you’re talking to. Every scar’s got a story, and some of them are heavy. Some of them still bleed, even when they look healed.”

Josuke looked down.

She squeezed his shoulder. “If you think you messed up, don’t sit around here feeling bad. Go. Talk to him. Say sorry if you believe you have to. You know where he lives.”

He swallowed hard, eyes stinging for reasons he couldn’t quite name. “I thought he’d come over,” Josuke whispered. “He always does.”

Tomoko smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead like she used to when he was small. “Maybe this time, he needs you to come to him.”

There was a pause. Then she added, “I saved some of the katsudon. Why don’t you bring him the leftovers? That boy always eats like he hasn’t had a decent meal in days.”

Josuke blinked, surprised, then quietly nodded. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “Don’t thank me. Just go fix it.”

He moved quickly after that, packing the leftovers in a bag, still warm under the foil. Then, on a whim, he went and grabbed the other bag, the one with the skincare.

He stared at it for a second. If Okuyasu didn’t want it, he’d keep it. But just in case.

One bag for comfort, one bag for care.

Evening had sunk deep. The sky was a cold navy blue, the air was sharp with frost glimmering on the pavement. The two bags swung lightly from his hands as he walked, breath clouding in the cold.

And beneath all the nerves knotted in his chest, there was a small, stubborn bloom, fragile but bright, pushing its way through the cold.

He knocked on the old front door. Twice.

The sound was hollow against the wood, and for a moment Josuke could only hear the faint, brittle silence winter carries.

He hadn’t been to Okuyasu’s place in a while. He knew it wasn’t the warmest house in the neighborhood, but it still caught him off guard when the chill slapped him in the face the second Okuyasu opened the door.

The latter was wrapped up in too many layers. One hoodie, another hoodie under that, and a thick scarf coiled loose around his neck. His breath curled out in faint wisps into the freezing air inside. The hallway behind him looked dim, yellowed with age, and Josuke felt a familiar pang of guilt in his chest.

He often forgot how different things were here.

Okuyasu blinked. He looked tired and sorry, but mostly surprised. “What are ya doin’ here?” he asked quietly, voice scratchy like he hadn’t spoken much that day.

Josuke held up the plastic bag. “My mom made too much katsu. She told me to bring you some.”

Okuyasu stared at the bag for a long second, then reached for it with a small “Oh,” but before his fingers could close around the handles, Josuke stepped past the threshold.

“I’ll come in.”

Okuyasu looked like he might protest, but stepped aside anyway. He must have known there was no point in trying to stop him.

The cold clung to Josuke’s coat like static. He hesitated a bit. Should he keep it on? 

The air inside was barely warmer than the chill outside. Eventually, he unzipped it, pulled off his shoes, and tried not to look like his feet were freezing as if he was stepping on ice.

Okuyasu took the bag of food wordlessly, then glanced at the second one still in Josuke’s hand. “What’s in that one?”

He clutched the paper bag a little tighter. “Nothing. It’s mine.”

Okuyasu raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Josuke followed him into the kitchen.

The floorboards creaked beneath their steps. Condensation beaded on the edges of the old windowpanes, and the air carried that thin sting of cold metal. The smell of old furniture and leftover cooking clung to the walls, and Josuke’s heart ached in that quiet way it always did when he was reminded of how different Okuyasu’s life was from his.

He took a breath. A deep one. Let it settle before he spoke.

“I’m sorry,”

Okuyasu turned, brows faintly furrowed, but Josuke went on before he could speak. “I didn’t mean to upset you. When I said I care about you, I meant it, ‘Yasu. I just…” he sighed, looking down, “...I hate seeing you hurt. I hate that I can’t help with my Stand, even if it’s something you act like doesn’t matter. I know your scar hurts sometimes. And I don’t want you to just… live with that, y'know'?”

Okuyasu looked down at the bag of katsu in his hands, quiet for a long moment. The hallway light caught in his lashes made his expression unreadable. Then he nodded.

“’s okay,” he said. “I was rude too. You were just trying to help. I’m sorry.”

Josuke’s shoulders eased with the release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding all day.

Okuyasu gave him a faint, almost sheepish look. “You wanna stay a little? I’ll heat this up.”

He softly smiled, he was relieved. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They moved into the living room once the food was ready, where the kotatsu waited like an oasis of warmth. Josuke didn’t hesitate and folded himself beneath the table’s blanket with a little groan of comfort.

“Take one of the blankets on the couch,” Okuyasu called from the kitchen. “It’s hella cold in here.”

Josuke snorted at that understatement. He reached behind him, grabbed the closest throw, and bundled it around his shoulders like armor. The fabric was old but comforting, the way familiar things are. The light beneath the kotatsu cloth glowed faintly orange, the same way warmth trapped inside a petal looked.

Okuyasu’s dad sat on the other side, eyes glued on the TV, the glow of the screen painting his face in flickering shades of blue. He didn’t look over or speak, just kept watching with Stray beside him, almost a part of the furniture. He used to try and do small talk with the man, but most of the time he’d barely get a grunt in reply, so he gave up.

Soon, Okuyasu returned with the plates of steaming katsudon. He handed one to his dad, who took it absently, then turned to Josuke with the second.

“Here.”

Josuke shook his head gently. “I already ate. You should have it.”

Okuyasu narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. He simply nodded and settled across from Josuke with a sigh and began to eat. The stillness between them was softer now, like dust settling after a storm.

Josuke watched him for a while before clearing his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

Okuyasu looked up, wary.

“About… why you’re so against the skincare stuff. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I swear I’ll drop it if you say so. I’m just… wondering.”

Okuyasu looked down at his food for a long moment. His jaw worked like he was chewing more than rice. Then he set his chopsticks down and leaned back a little.

“I tried once,” he said quietly. “Before we moved here.”

He scratched at the edge of his hoodie without realizing it. “I used to get comments. Well, mostly looks. People never saw me, y’know? Just the scar. Like it was the only thing on my face worth lookin’ at. I got used to it, but it still sucked.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “So one time, I stole some money from Keicho, just a little. I wanted to buy somethin’ for myself. I never had nice things. But I thought maybe… just this once…”

Josuke’s heart sank.

“I bought a cream, alright? Somethin’ cheap. Didn’t even know what it was for, but the label said somethin’ about scars. I was gonna pay an’ go home, but then I saw this concealer thingy. Y’know, that makeup stuff. I found a shade close enough and bought that too. It took me forever to find one that fit, but I was kinda excited. Seriously, ‘t was so dumb. I thought maybe if I could just…hide it a little…I could go one day without people starin’. ‘Cause it sucks, I can’t even try to forget about it.”

He poked at a piece of pork with his chopsticks, not really eating anymore.

“The cream felt nice. Usually my scar feels tight, but it gave me some relief. An’ I was surprised with the concealer, it worked well. For a second, I could see myself without the scars. Just me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Keicho found out,” he said flatly. “He caught me in front of the mirror. I didn’t even get a chance to wipe it off. He flipped, then yelled at me for the makeup, for the cream. Then slapped me for the money. Said I was bein’ pathetic. Called me names, y'know, the usual. He said all that stuff was for girls, that my scar was healed anyway. It was all a waste of money. He warned me not to try that again.”

He laughed again, his voice cracked halfway. “I really never tried again.”

The kotatsu suddenly didn’t feel warm enough.

“Okuyasu…” he began, but the rest caught in his throat.

“It’s stupid,” Okuyasu muttered. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“No,” Josuke said. “It does matter.”

Okuyasu blinked at him.

“I’m sorry he said those things. I’m sorry he made you feel like you didn’t deserve to try. You do.”

Josuke reached for the paper bag and set it gently on the kotatsu.

“I brought some stuff,” he said, voice a little lighter, trying to cut through the thick air. “Cleanser. Creams. Yukako and I picked them. She says they’re good.”

Okuyasu’s eyes flicked to the bag. “Yukako? So that’s what you guys were up to?”

“...Ye-yeah,” Josuke said, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, I want you to hurt less. That’s it. Crazy Diamond can’t fix everything, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to help anyway I can.”

When Okuyasu didn’t answer, Josuke leaned forward. “Just try it once. If you hate it, fine. I’ll drop it. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Okuyasu snorted. “Now?”

He grinned. “Why not? The stuff’s right here.”

He hesitated, visibly flustered. “Right here, right now?”

“Yes,” Josuke said, dragging the bag toward him. “I even brought cotton pads and everything. We’re going full spa night.”

Okuyasu turned pink. “You’re an idiot.”

“So, that’s a yes?” Josuke teased.

Okuyasu sighed, resigned but still pink-cheeked. “Okay,” he muttered.

The snow was still falling faintly. Small white flakes catching the moonlight, bright as petals that refused to wilt. Josuke practically leapt off the kotatsu and over to the sofa. He grabbed one of the soft, squished pillows and placed it carefully on his lap. Patting it, he looked at Okuyasu with a crooked smile. “Here. Just, uh… put your head here.”

He blinked at him. Then blinked again. His cheeks deepened in color, a slow, embarrassed blush creeping up to the tips of his ears.

Josuke froze. His hand stalled mid-pat. And then, realization hit like a slap to the back of the head. “Oh. Oh! Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I did, but not in, you know, a weird way. I wasn’t thinking, I just thought it’d be easier for your neck and, uh, sorry.”

He wanted the pillow to smother him right then and there.

But Okuyasu stood up with a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “’s fine,” he said softly, voice thick with shyness as he took off his scarf.

He stepped forward and slowly lowered himself, resting his head on the pillow. They didn’t look at each other. Well, they couldn’t, really, because the air between them was quiet and warm, full of unspoken things.

Josuke reached for the bag. His fingers busied themselves with pulling out the gentle cleanser and the Yu-Be cream. He took his time, letting the act calm his nerves. “Okay. Close your eyes.”

Okuyasu obeyed, but his shoulders were rigid. His hands fidgeted at his stomach, fingers curling against the hem of his sweater.

As Josuke brought the damp cloth to Okuyasu's face to cleanse it, he saw the familiar tight and automatic flinch, his jaw clenching as if expecting something.

“Hey,” Josuke murmured. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that, right? We don’t have to do this if you don't want to.”

Okuyasu’s eyes remained closed, brows drawing tight, but his voice cracked the silence. “I know ya won’t hurt me.” A pause. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, Josuke.”

The words slipped out almost like a confession, and they hit Josuke in the chest like a fist. He didn’t reply, because there was no way he could trust his voice, so he just dipped his head, swallowing against the ache that rose in his throat.

He continued gently. With slow, careful motions, he cleaned Okuyasu’s face. When he reached for the Yu-Be cream and began massaging it in, he got a proper look at the scar for the first time.

It ran along Okuyasu’s jawline, pale in places, red in others where the skin had dried and cracked. Raised and uneven, a line of past pain carved into the boy he loved like a mark someone had left behind without care. As Josuke touched it, applying the cream in soft, circular motions, something in his chest curled and burned.

What kind of monster could do this to a kid?

His stomach twisted. His fingers trembled just a little. He thought of his own mom, of her gentle nagging, the way they fought sometimes but always made up. Even when she was upset, even when she yelled, there was never a moment when Josuke didn’t know she loved him.

But Okuyasu had lived with a man who carved silence and cruelty into him. And still, somehow, he had grown into someone kind.

Somewhere in the back of Josuke’s mind, he thought of Yukako’s camellia again, the one she’d pointed out to him on their way back from the store. Tough enough to bloom through frost, soft enough that the cold could still bruise it. Okuyasu felt like that, fragile and strong at once, something precious that had survived a winter no one else could’ve endured.

Okuyasu must have felt it, the shift, the silent rage behind the gentleness. His voice, although quiet, broke the silence. “’s okay, man. You don’t have to worry about the scar.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

He went back to massaging the skin, gentler than he already was doing, almost afraid of breaking something. The room remained quiet for a long while, with only the faint sound of the TV droning. His dad was watching a variety show, with laughter and canned applause. Josuke was sure Okuyasu had drifted away, lulled by the warmth and the quiet touch.

But then he spoke, so quietly it almost didn’t register as speech.

“I don’t remember how old I was,” he began. “Four, maybe five. I was playin’ baseball. Inside.” He gave a little huff of laughter. “Stupid, right?”

Josuke kept his hand moving, slower now.

“I wasn’t supposed to go outside alone, dad didn’t like it when neighbours saw us, so I played in the hallway instead. I threw the ball and hit a vase, and it broke.” Okuyasu's voice was distant, as if he was telling someone else’s story. “I remember. It was a really pretty one, with blue flowers painted on it, and details in gold like it had been repaired once. Apparently, it was one of my mom’s favorites.”

Josuke's hands paused, then resumed when Okuyasu sighed.

“My dad was on the couch, passed out drunk, the usual at the time. But the sound woke him up and he got mad when he saw me trying to clean the mess. Real mad. I didn’t even know it belonged to her. He never talked about her. Not once. But that day, he just… snapped. Took one of the shards an’ snapped.”

Josuke felt Okuyasu’s breath shake beneath his palm. Still, he kept going. 

“I know she wouldn’t have cared,” he said with a sad chuckle. “She probably would’ve played with me, an’ maybe the vase wouldn’t have broken if she had. An’ even if it had, we would have repaired it again, together.”

He frowned as he swallowed.

“When he was done being mad, he went back to sleep like nothin’ happened. I tried to clean up, but my brother found me when he got home. Well, probably all the blood in the hallway first. He freaked out, but we couldn’t go to the hospital. He said people there would just take us away an' we'd be separated. So we handled it. Just us.”

Okuyasu opened his eyes, looked up at Josuke. “It didn’t heal right. It sucked. But ’s okay now.”

Josuke met his gaze, heart in his throat.

“Because I’m happy here in Morioh,” he said. “Because I have you.”

His words were soft, like petals falling, and they scattered something fragile in Josuke’s chest.

“You see me. Not the scar. Just me. An’ I… I’m grateful for that. For you.”

Josuke felt a little breathless, his world had tilted sideways. All he could do was stare, eyes burning and heart thudding like a drum.

Somewhere beyond the window, the wind stirred. The red camellias blossoms against the cold blooming even when the air cut like glass. He’d thought earlier that Okuyasu reminded him of one, and Josuke realized he wanted to be the warmth that let him keep blooming. To protect something that shouldn’t have survived, but did anyway.

Okuyasu sat up slowly, rubbed his face with both hands, then offered a sheepish smile. He patted his cheeks once. “Thanks, Josuke. I really do feel better.”

Josuke managed to smile back, still reeling. “See? Told ya.”

They laughed together, the sound sweet and fragile as blooming flowers in the cold.

The rest of their evening passed in a quiet kind of softness. 

After the laughter faded, neither of them said much. They sat together beneath the kotatsu, warmth buzzing gently through their limbs. It wasn’t long before Josuke found himself too comfortable to actually leave, his head heavy, his heart even heavier at the thought of parting.

So he stayed for a little longer.

It wasn’t really something they talked about, he just didn’t want to go just yet.

Okuyasu had looked surprised when Josuke stayed longer than he ever did, but he didn’t question it. Josuke claimed it was because of the cold outside, of how cosy he was under the kotatsu, and maybe that was partly true. But deep down, he didn’t want to leave Okuyasu alone.

Especially after everything, after seeing the way he softened under his hands.

Neither of them said much.

The TV kept murmuring in the background, soft and far away. Outside, the wind pressed against the old windowpanes, while inside, warmth gathered slowly under the kotatsu, between their shoulders, in the quiet that no longer felt heavy.

Okuyasu leaned back against the wall, and Josuke found himself mirroring him. It wasn’t the kind of silence that asked for words. It was a quiet that said I’m here, you’re safe.

When Okuyasu laughed, it felt like something had finally healed.

They stayed like that for a long while. Long enough for his dad and Stray to fall asleep , for the TV to fade into static. And when Josuke finally mumbled that maybe he should head home, the words came out too soft to sound convincing.

“Just stay,” Okuyasu had said, and Josuke didn’t argue.

Later, when the kotatsu grew too warm, they ended up lying near each other on the floor. The room was lit by the faint blue light from the screen, flickering against the ceiling.

Josuke must have fallen asleep, because when he woke up again, the house was quiet and the TV was off. He could only hear the quiet rhythm of Okuyasu’s breathing.

He was close, way closer than before, curled toward Josuke, seeking warmth even in his sleep. Their knees brushed, and Josuke could feel the faint heat where their shoulders met.

For a moment, he just laid there, listening. The warmth radiating against him wasn’t uncomfortable. It was good.

He’d never realized how peaceful Okuyasu could look when he wasn’t holding himself together, when no one was watching. And as Josuke watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, a quiet thought settled in his mind. He wished he could make him feel this calm, this safe, every day.

The thought lingered until sleep pulled him under again.

Josuke woke up the next day to the pale light of morning filtering through the frosted window. The air was cold and quiet in a way that only winter mornings seemed to know.

It took him a moment to realize what had pulled him from sleep. It was warmth. Not the lingering kind from the kotatsu, but something closer than the night before.

Okuyasu.

He was pressed against him, his head tucked beneath Josuke’s chin, breath warm where it touched his collarbone. One arm was draped loosely over Josuke’s waist. And Josuke realized with a faint, startled flutter, he had an arm around Okuyasu too, hand resting against the small of his back, holding him there like it had happened naturally in the night.

His leg was tangled between Okuyasu’s, their bodies fitted together without thought or hesitation. It should’ve felt awkward, but it didn’t. It felt right.

He stayed like that for a moment, eyes half-open, breathing slow. Okuyasu’s weight against him felt peaceful. 

Josuke tilted his head slightly, brushing his cheek against Okuyasu’s hair. It was soft, still faintly scented from the citrus soap he’d used the night before. When a curl fell across his forehead, Josuke reached up and gently brushed it aside. His thumb lingered for a heartbeat, tracing lightly over the smooth skin where the scar met his jaw. The irritation was gone. The cream had done a good job, the skin looked calmer, less angry, as if even it had found some rest.

The sight made his chest ache.

“Guess it worked,” he whispered, smiling to himself.

Okuyasu stirred faintly, brow twitching, but didn’t open his eyes. “Don’t move,” he mumbled, voice muffled and sleepy.

Josuke froze, a quiet laugh caught in his throat. “Alright, alright,” he whispered back. “Not moving.”

A few seconds passed before Okuyasu shifted again, nestling closer with a sigh that almost sounded content. Josuke could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart where their chests brushed, the warmth seeping through layers of cotton and breath.

He smiled faintly. “You’re kinda bossy in your sleep, y’know that?”

There was no answer, just a faint grumble that might’ve been agreement.

Josuke let his eyes close again, the softness between them wrapping him like a blanket. For once, he didn’t fight the feeling. He just breathed it in.

If he could keep Okuyasu this close, if he could always make him feel safe and at ease, loved in small, quiet ways, he thought he might never need anything else.

And maybe, he thought as sleep began to pull him under again, this was what peace felt like.

In the days that followed, that peace didn’t fade.

It stayed, woven into the small things. In their walks home, the way Okuyasu lingered longer at Josuke’s house, the way Josuke’s hand sometimes brushed his shoulder and didn’t rush to move away. Something had settled between them, gentle and warm as sunlight after snow.

Josuke noticed things too, not all at once, of course, but in small ways, like he always did.

The softness of Okuyasu’s cheeks when they brushed in passing, a faint citrus scent from the toner, the way the scar had started to look just a little less raw. And most important of all, Okuyasu didn’t look like he was hurting anymore.

Sometimes, when they passed a shop window or a frost-dusted hedge, Josuke would catch a glimpse of something red, a small winter bloom holding on despite the cold, and he’d think of Okuyasu without meaning to. It reminded him of how some things could keep their color even when the world turned pale.

Okuyasu started coming over again, like nothing ever broke between them. They flopped on Josuke’s bed and did homework, grumbled about math, made each other laugh until they were almost crying. 

It was like breathing clean air after being underwater for too long.

And sometimes, when Okuyasu smiled, Josuke felt that same bright and quiet warmth rise in his chest. Something alive, something that had weathered the frost.

One afternoon, Josuke came back from the bathroom, rubbing his wet hands on his sweatpants. As he pushed open the door, he stopped mid-step.

Okuyasu was standing by his desk, the small blue tin of Nivea Josuke kept for when it was really cold held delicately in one hand, gently patting some across his cheeks. The light from the window caught on the faint shine it left behind. 

He froze like he’d been caught stealing cookies.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, quickly setting the tin down. “I should’ve asked-”

Josuke blinked, then laughed softly. “It’s fine, seriously. If you need it, just use it. I don’t mind sharing.” He hesitated a beat, then added, quieter, “Not with you.”

Okuyasu ducked his head, cheeks warming. “Thanks.”

Josuke crossed the room and flopped onto the bed, arms folded behind his head. “You know, you’re using it right,” he said with a grin. “Mom used to put that stuff on me every winter when I was a kid. She swore it could fix anything: dry skin, paper cuts, even heartbreak…” He chuckled. “Guess she wasn’t completely wrong.”

Okuyasu smiled at that, still rubbing the cream into his cheek. “It smells nice,” he said. “Like soap, kinda.”

“Yeah,” Josuke said, softer now. “Like home.”

Okuyasu looked away, pretending to fuss with the tin again.

Josuke sat up, resting his chin in his hand. “I can get more for you, y’know. Like, if you need stuff. I don’t mind.”

Okuyasu turned, blinking. “Why would you… I mean, why would you do that?”

Josuke shrugged, a little shy. “I just want to help. If it makes you feel better, then I don’t mind using my pocket money on it. It’s yours if you want it.”

Okuyasu laughed, a small, disbelieving sound. “That’s kinda dumb,” he said gently. “You work so hard for that money.” He then sat down next to Josuke, their knees brushing.

“I know,” Josuke grinned, “Mom makes me work too hard for that. But that’s why I wanna spend it right. On someone who matters.”

Okuyasu blinked, the words catching him off guard. “I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“You don’t have to. I know things aren’t easy for you. You take care of your dad and Stray. You helped me after Kira when I couldn't move. You’ve always been there for me.”

He looked down for a second, then met Okuyasu’s eyes again. “So let me be there for you too. That’s all.”

Okuyasu looked at Josuke like he was seeing him for the first time all over again. Josuke looked back, almost not daring to breathe.

“I’m really lucky,” he said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “To have a friend like you. I’ve never had someone I felt this close to.”

Something tender shifted in the air between them, their faces were slowly getting closer. Josuke felt the faint brush of Okuyasu’s breath against his cheek, and saw the way his gaze flicked down and back up again.

They were caught between heartbeat and hesitation, before Josuke leaned in, just enough for the world to narrow to that single, trembling space between them.

And then,

Knock, knock.

Josuke jolted back, Okuyasu’s eyes widened.

“Is Okuyasu staying for dinner?” his mom called through the door.

Josuke scrambled to answer, a little too fast. “Yeah! He is!”

“Alright! I’ll start cooking.”

Her footsteps faded. They stayed still for a beat, both of them pink-cheeked and blinking. But the moment their eyes met, they burst out laughing.

A warm and a little breathless laughter, like the pressure valve had been released. It then faded into smaller breaths, their shoulders still brushing.

Okuyasu grinned between chuckles. “Man, we almost got caught,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Josuke huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that was close.”

Josuke pushed himself up, stretching a little, then reached out without really thinking.

“C’mon,” he said quietly, taking Okuyasu’s hand. “Let’s go help her before she starts yellin’.”

Okuyasu blinked, surprised by the gesture, but his grin returned just as quick. “Yeah. Alright.”

Josuke led him out into the hallway, still holding his hand until they reached the stairs. Okuyasu squeezed his hand once. The house smelled like broth and soy sauce, Tomoko’s nikujaga was simmering in the kitchen. It was cozy in a way that came from being home.

When they stepped into the kitchen, Okuyasu went straight to Tomoko’s side, asking what he could do to help. Josuke paused for a moment near the window. 

Outside, through the faint fog on the glass, he could see the camellia bush by the fence of their neighbour, its red blossoms bright against the pale winter light.

He watched it for a second, then smiled.

Some flowers just didn’t give up on blooming, no matter how cold it got.