The Supernova Effect

Chapter 27

Nova
After Daisuke calmed down, I went into the kitchen to make him some tea to soothe his nerves, he was trembling and would not stay still.

By the time I finished steeping the tea, Daisuke was already on the balcony, a lit joint between his fingers. The smoke curled into the cool evening air, like something trying to leave him.

I stood in the doorway, just watching him. He looked more at peace out there, surrounded by silence and smoke, but his shoulders trembled ever so slightly—like even stillness cost him something.

I walked up and hugged him from behind, pressing my face into his back. His shirt was thin, and through it I could feel the sharp lines of his shoulder blade and the curve of ink beneath it. A wing—elegant and soft, stretching down to the middle of his back. But only one.

"Why just one?" I murmured into his spine.

He turned, smiling faintly, then looked down at me like he'd been waiting for the question.

"There's a legend that Japan had a very special bird called the Hiyoku no tori, it was a bird that was born with one wing. From the moment of his birth he tried to find his other half so he could fly. Until he finds his half, he is not actually a bird, but only a half bird. The bird chants, When I finally find you, I can be who I really am! I can fly, fly...Only with you." He says in a high chirpy voice and I smile.

"Does it ever find it?" I asked.

He blew the smoke toward the sky.

"Eventually. But only after a lot of suffering."

He sat down in the egg chair, cradling the joint like it was a thread holding him together. He patted his lap, and I curled into it without a word, letting my legs drape across him. We stayed that way, wrapped in the echo of a myth that felt a little too close to home.

"Do you want to talk about what he said?" I asked softly.

He nodded.

"My dad... his father forced him into that life. Forced him to give up the woman he actually loved. Threatened her. Paid her off. When he found her again, it was too late. She already had my brother, and he realized what he'd lost. That broke him. And I guess... I was just a reminder of that failure."

He paused. Took a slow hit. "I thought it was me. That I wasn't good enough. That he drank because of me. Beat me because I deserved it."

"You didn't," I whispered.

"I know that now," he said. "But knowing it doesn't make it disappear."

I brushed my hand over his arm, trying to smooth out the tension locked in his muscles.

"At least you know the truth. That's something."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "But I've got a brother now. A father who faked his death. A legacy I'm not even sure I want. It's a lot."

"I'll be here. Through all of it. You don't have to carry this alone."

He looked at me like I was a sunrise, and for the first time in a long time, I saw relief in his face. Not joy. Not peace. Just... the absence of pain. That was enough.

He leaned forward and kissed me. Slow. Grateful. Heavy. Like an apology, a confession, and a promise all at once. When it deepened, I let him, until it became started to become something more sensual.

I pulled back with a smirk. "I'm gonna shower. It's been a long day."

He nods and stands up to follow me, and I look at him with a raised brow, "I didn't invite you."

"Please have mercy on me, I've been trying not to rip your clothes off since I've been back." He says, looking at me with longing.

"Fine, you freak." I tease, I've been craving his touch for the longest.

He smiles and quickly puts his blunt down in the ashtray and follows behind me to the bathroom.

we undressed slowly—like it mattered. Because it did. Because everything between us felt new again.

The shower was hot, the tiles fogging with steam. He washed me like I was something sacred—his hands steady, his lips pressing kisses to the skin between breaths.

He kissed me with an urgency that said everything he couldn't put into words.
His hands weren't demanding, just reverent—like he needed to feel I was real. That I was still here. That he didn't lose me.

When he touched me, it wasn't about lust. It was about relief.

About surviving. About being whole again.

And in that moment, I didn't feel broken either.
I felt like his other wing.

When we made love It was just the two of us in the quiet aftermath of grief and healing. Breathing into each other.

Later, lying in bed, tangled in sheets and silence, he traced circles across my hip with his fingers.

"You know you're my other wing, right?" he said.

I turned to face him, my forehead touching his. "And you're mine."