the wound that had a name

The infirmary was silent.

Too silent.

Mikado sat beside the bed, staring at Shiki’s bandaged hands. The room smelled faintly of medicine and iron, but nothing compared to the weight pressing on his chest.

Shiki Ichinose was asleep.

For once, he wasn’t standing between danger and everyone else.

For once, he wasn’t hiding behind calm eyes and silence.

For once… he looked fragile.

Mikado swallowed hard.

I did this.

The fight replayed in his mind—every harsh word, every strike fueled by fear he refused to admit. He’d wanted answers. Truth. Control.

Instead, he’d nearly broken the one person who had always been there.

“…Idiot,” Mikado whispered—not sure if he meant Shiki or himself.

Shiki stirred.

Mikado froze, breath caught halfway.

Slowly, Shiki’s eyes opened, unfocused at first—then settling on Mikado.

“Oh,” Shiki murmured. “You’re here.”

The relief in his voice was quiet.

But it shattered Mikado.

“…I shouldn’t be,” Mikado said hoarsely. “After what I said. After what I did.”

Shiki tried to sit up and immediately winced. Mikado was on his feet in an instant.

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “You’re hurt.”

Shiki blinked, then gave a faint smile. “You sound like me.”

That smile hurt worse than any accusation.

Mikado clenched his fists. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Shiki looked away. “…Because I was scared.”

“Of me?” Mikado asked.

“No,” Shiki said softly. “Of losing you.”

The words landed gently.

And yet, they hit like thunder.

Mikado sat back down slowly, hands trembling.

All the moments he’d ignored rushed back at once.

The way Shiki always stayed close.

The way he watched Mikado from the edges of rooms.

The way his voice softened—only for him.

The way he stepped in front of danger without hesitation.

That wasn’t pity.

It wasn’t duty.

It was care.

It was love.

The realization stole the air from Mikado’s lungs.

“Oh…” he whispered.

Shiki turned toward him. “What?”

Mikado laughed weakly, dragging a hand through his hair. His chest ached, tight and burning.

“That’s why it hurt,” he said quietly. “That’s why I was so angry.”

Shiki frowned slightly. “Mikado…?”

“I wasn’t afraid of what you are,” Mikado continued, voice shaking. “I was afraid of losing you. And I didn’t even know why.”

He looked at Shiki then—really looked at him.

And the truth was terrifyingly clear.

“…I’m in love with you,” Mikado whispered.

The words didn’t feel wrong.

They felt inevitable.

Shiki’s eyes widened.

The silence stretched—fragile, trembling.

“Mikado,” Shiki said slowly, carefully, “you don’t have to say that out of guilt.”

Mikado shook his head immediately. “This isn’t guilt. This is… everything I didn’t understand.”

He swallowed. “And I don’t expect anything from you. I just—needed to be honest. For once.”

Shiki stared at him, unreadable.

Then, slowly, he reached out—hesitant, unsure—and lightly gripped the sleeve of Mikado’s uniform.

“…You weren’t the only one hiding,” Shiki said.

Mikado’s heart skipped.

“I just thought,” Shiki continued softly, “that someone like me didn’t deserve to want something like this.”

Mikado closed his eyes.

When he opened them, his gaze was steady.

“Then let’s be honest together,” he said. “No more running. No more deciding alone.”

Shiki’s grip tightened—just a little.

“…I’ll try,” he said.

It wasn’t a confession.

But it was hope.

And for the first time since the bloodshed began, Mikado felt something warm bloom in his chest—quiet, fragile, and real.

Love didn’t arrive like a battle.

It arrived like this.

In silence.

In truth.

In staying.

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