Hotter Than Love
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Fushimi dreams of the past. Of days filled with a light even brighter than the sun. Why he'd taken it for granted then, he didn't know. But it was what it was and time travel had yet to exist, a least for people like him. Sleep was the only escape to the past, to any illusion of happiness he had left. The same could not be said of Yata, the star of his subconscious plays. But he could fix that, couldn't he? He was the only one who knew Misaki enough to get under his skin. And under he would crawl, until his black infection ran through Yata's veins thicker than blood. He would not let him forget.
Hate burned hotter than love, right?
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