The mountain path at night was darker than expected. The earth beneath their feet was cold everywhere. The sensation of small stones and dead leaves pressed directly against the tips of their bare feet, throbbing with heat and pain.

Even so, the two of them kept walking.

Raku walks ahead of you. Neither pulling nor hurrying you, he simply climbs quietly, holding your hand firmly. Raku's hand was hot—far too hot for the freezing mountain air, and far too hot for what they were about to do.

A strange heat slowly rises from his palm. It seemed less like affection than something long suppressed deep within, seeping out in a changed form.