It's chilly out this early, not quite dawn, before most of the Seido baseball team has done more than stretch and open their eyes. The sky is steadily getting lighter, grey-pink and ochre, light dim on the baseball fields spread out at the base of the steps, on the two boys standing at the top. They’re quiet, Ryousuke's hands tucked into his jacket pockets, Youichi lingering close beside him. It's almost April, graduation looming, their handful of early mornings dwindling down to single digits. The thought sits heavy in Youichi’s chest, as unavoidable as the sunrise, the sliver of orange light beginning to the peek over the horizon.

The sun is fully up by the time they get to the nearest safehouse, disheveled, alone, and almost definitely due for a stern talking-to when they get back to headquarters. Their shadows are faint and blue on the whitewashed cinderblock, pale pink light illuminating the dingy room through the high windows. Ryousuke locks the door behind them and beelines for the bathroom with a firm hand on Youichi's wrist, mouth turned down. His ribs ache from where he took the brunt of Youichi's weight earlier, crashing down the last two flights of a fire escape in free fall, gunfire echoing over their heads. Gravity is rarely kind, but bullets never are.

Still: "Honestly," Ryousuke says, flicking the light switch and retrieving the standard-issue first aid kit from the mirrored cabinet, "was that really necessary?" There's a savage twinge of satisfaction at the way Youichi winces at the wash of cold fluorescent light hitting his eyes, an unvoiced pang of affection at the way he smiles anyway, cocksure and easy.

"It worked, didn't it," he says, like he's suggesting something entirely reasonable, having a fried egg for breakfast or catching a movie Friday night. "You aren't hurt."

"Well you are," Ryousuke says, yanking Youichi down by the lapels to inspect the scrape on Youichi's cheek, saved from being something much worse by luck and reflexes, by something as amorphous as natural athleticism. "You got lucky. It was an unnecessary risk."

"Hey," Youichi says, soft, hands settled at the dip of Ryousuke's waist, warm even through his coat. Ryousuke can feel the curl of Youichi's mouth against his temple, the puff of air preceding a laugh. "I'm fine, aren't I?"

Ryousuke kicks him in the shin.

***

They're both quiet while Ryousuke is patching Youichi up, various minor wounds disinfected and bandaged, a white square of gauze taped over Youichi's cheek. Afterward, Ryousuke allows Youichi to untuck his shirt and apply salve to the nasty collection of bruises starting to form across his torso, hissing softly at the sting. Youichi's hands slow but Ryousuke shakes his head to tell him to continue, holding his breath as Youichi's palms smooth over the worst of it. All told, it's not that bad, nothing permanent, nothing needing to be stitched up. Ryousuke's needlework is quite neat, but not something he prefers to practice.

Ryousuke washes his hands and then slides aside to let Youichi do the same, leaning back against the doorjamb with his arms crossed, watching Youichi scrub ointment from his fingers. Youichi dries his hands haphazardly on his trousers before crowding Ryousuke close against the doorway. "Still mad?" he asks, and Ryousuke raises an eyebrow. Youichi laughs, softer and lower than his trademark cackle, leans down to press a kiss to Ryousuke's forehead.

The light is brighter when they exit the bathroom, more orange than pink, already hinting at proper daylight through the gauzey curtains. Ryousuke dashes off a series of text messages to the boss confirming their location, that there are no major injuries, and that yes he knows it wasn't supposed to be that noisy. Youichi sprawls out on the threadbare sofa, leaves enough space for Ryousuke to settle beside him, and eventually Ryousuke accepts the invitation.

"How much trouble are we in?" Youichi asks, arm draped around Ryousuke's shoulders to encourage him to settle in, to relax.

"You're the only one in trouble," Ryousuke lies blithely, putting his phone away and leaning into Youichi's side, less ginger than he should be about his sore ribs, with the tension of the last several hours starting to ebb. "When we get home I'm going to go take a nap while the boss is yelling at you."

Youichi snorts, nose buried in Ryousuke's hair, cheek heavy and fond on the crown of Ryousuke's head. "That's fine," he says, "You should get some rest."

Ryousuke makes a contrary noise but he's already falling asleep, even with sun slanting into his eyes.

Youichi squints into the sun, sweat dripping into eyes. He's not sure how long they've been running, Ryousuke's hand clamped around his wrist like a vise, newly shorn hair shining peony-bright beneath the midday sun. The witch's tower is a long stretch of meadow and forest behind them, but Youichi can still see it rearing up in the distance when they hit clear spaces like this one, ominous and grey, piercing the sky like a needle. They're going the wrong way for the tower's shadow to cross them but Youichi still feels a chill every time he looks back at it, doesn't feel like it's shrinking quickly enough for how fast his legs are going.

"Hey," he says, once they're well into the woods again, branches blotting out the sky, sunlight splintered into dappled pools, "Let's stop for a bit." Ryousuke looks at him, the dark flash of his eyes over his shoulder hitting Youichi square in the chest. He's still not used to it. Ryousuke doesn't answer but he does slow down, pace decreasing until they're walking in tandem, grip loosening until Youichi can ease his wrist from Ryousuke's grasp and replace it with his hand. "She shouldn't be coming after us," Youichi says, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "We gave her what she wanted."

Ryousuke's free hand rises to the back of his neck, to the hair curling there, his head free of weight for the first time in his life. "An exchange," he says, an echo, and Youichi squeezes his fingers gently. They're moving much more slowly now but still moving, Ryousuke's legs marching forward like he needs to do it. Maybe he does. He still looks startled, more unsure than Youichi's ever seen him, the sheen of sweat on his brow glowing gold-green-gold beneath the filter of leafy light. Youichi isn't sure his speeding heart will ever slow down again.

"Where do you want to go?" he says, making a conscious effort to breathe deep, oxygen-starved lungs expanding. He's used to Ryousuke making him feel short of breath less literally than this, the floor dropping out beneath his feet, stars dancing, candlelight caught on the fine grain of Ryousuke's skin, the sweet bow of his upper lip. Other than the stitch working itself out of Youichi's side this is good too, the earthy scent of the forest and the look on Ryousuke's face, sunkissed and wondering.

"The ocean," Ryousuke says, and that makes sense. A tiny glimpse of it is visible from the tower, blue and sparkling, far enough away to seem like the edge of the world. It's as good a start as any.

"Sounds good," Youichi says. "Anywhere you want." Ryousuke looks at him for only the second time since they left, broke and ran like they were afraid the deal wouldn't hold. There are a lot of things they don't know about each other, but Youichi is learning to read him, already understands that everything has layers with Ryousuke, that there are things that he won't say out loud.

So Youichi says, "Let's go," just to watch the way the corners of Ryousuke's mouth quirk, both grinning as they pick up speed, bones singing light and free.

***

The scent of salt is the first indication that they're reaching the end of the forest, the attentive perk of Ryousuke's head so precious that Youichi wants to memorize it, file it away with the color sunlight on the bridge of his nose, the sound of his laugh. Whatever comes after this, they're facing it together. The trees thin and then disappear, a strip of grass giving way to the wide open vista of the shore. They abandon their shoes at the crestline, the taste of brine thick on their tongues. Ryousuke pauses after the first couple of steps onto the sand, toes flexing, shading his eyes with one hand.

"It's so bright," he says, and Youichi laughs, tugs Ryousuke forward toward the surf.

"Let's go in," Youichi says, "you'll love it."

Ryousuke makes a soft noise at the first wave that breaks across his feet, fascinated, and Youichi memorizes that too: blue sky, blue sea, and the sun beaming down on the roseate halo of Ryousuke's hair, windswept and wild.

The late afternoon sun is hot on the back of Ryousuke's neck as he crouches over the jagged hole he's just finished tearing out of the the roof of the county jail, peering down at Youichi who has his hands raised, either against stray shrapnel or the light pouring down around Ryousuke, fat fingers of gold. Maybe it's both. Maybe he's just hiding from the radiant smugness of Ryousuke's smile.

"Holy shit," Youichi says, and Ryousuke laughs, leans down to offer Youichi his hand.

"I've been practicing," he says, bright-eyed, as if he hadn't been struggling to move pebbles two months ago, when everything changed.

"I can see that," Youichi says, owl-eyed and blinking, but moving fast enough for all of that, letting Ryousuke bodily haul him up onto the roof. "Shit."

Ryousuke has an exit strategy planned, took care to time this jailbreak at the most inconvenient moment possible, and they're three roofs over and clattering down a fire escape before the alarms start blaring. A few days apart hasn't hurt their rapport, tag-team zigzag path up and down buildings communicated with a flick of the eyes, a tilt of the head. They're even faster now that Ryousuke can sink his hands into the concrete, create footholds where none previously existed, and the wail of sirens is already distant by the time they drop down into a run-down parking garage. The car Ryousuke stole two days ago is nice enough to run but not much more, the stash of gasoline and supplies Ryousuke's loaded it with worth at least half as much as the vehicle itself.

Youichi shakes his head when he sees it, and Ryousuke shrugs, jamming the key into the lock. "Can't afford to be picky, Mister Motorhead," he says, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Ugh," says Youichi, and then laughs when the engine sputters and dies.

"Oh, come on," Ryousuke says.

"It's probably just the battery," Youichi says, still snickering, and Ryousuke leans over to pinch him.

"What, can you tell just from the sound or something," he says, scowling at Youichi's answering shrug. "Whatever, if it's the battery you can just go zap it."

"Zap it," Youichi repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Ryousuke says, holding his hands a few inches apart, making a sizzling noise to simulate electricity.

Youichi scoffs but goes when Ryousuke pops the hood, rolling his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. Ryousuke hoists himself up to lean out the window and watch, eyeing the flex of Youichi's bare arms as he cracks his knuckles. It's pure posturing but Ryousuke enjoys it anyway, watching Youichi psych himself up, the incongruous crinkling of his nose when he holds a hand over the car's dead battery and concentrates. It's cute, and it seems to help, even if Youichi isn't showing off for anyone but Ryousuke, blue lightning arcing from his fingertips as Ryousuke clambers back down into the car, turns the key again until the motor is chugging along agreeably.

"See," he says, once Youichi's closed the hood and reclaimed his seat. "Good as new." He pauses, looking at Youichi's hands. "Think that's faster than hot-wiring?" he asks and Youichi hums, considering.

"Dunno," he says. "We can try it."

Ryousuke laughs, delighted, and puts the car into gear.

***

Traffic is light and they make good time, already deep into the desert by the time the sky starts to darken. They switched positions at a rest stop so Ryousuke could perch in the passenger seat, attention turned backward to erase their trail in the gravel road, tire tracks refilling themselves behind the car. Now they're getting ready for the night, tucked out of sight of the road, behind a rock formation.

"Hey," Youichi says, once the tent is set, "come over here."

He hops up onto the hood of the car, patting the space beside him, and after a moment Ryousuke follows, tucks himself up against Youichi's side.

"It's pretty out here," Youichi says, and Ryousuke hums, following Youichi's gaze to the horizon, the tail end of a brilliant desert sunset sinking out of sight.

"Yeah," he says, and they stay there, pressed against one another until the stars spread themselves across the velvet-black sky.

Night is inconstant on a low Earth orbit, hurtling through space at 20,000 kilometers per hour, the sun rising and setting over the slumbering curve of the planet in two hour intervals. The station runs on a standard clock to combat the circadian disarray, Youichi's stubborn Earthborn sensibilities slow to adapt. It makes him restless, but the training program is demanding enough to keep him on schedule most days, too exhausted to do anything but sleep at the mandated lights out time.

Ryousuke is always a study in contrasts but he's back in his element here, his weightless grace taking on its proper context in zero gravity. It's the earmark of someone born in space, someone whose feet touched Earth for the very first time barely a year ago, crash-landing into Youichi's life like a comet with a grudge. He smiles more easily now, more genuinely, the soft curl of his mouth connected directly to Youichi's heartstrings. Everything about him is lighter off-planet, maybe because the most dangerous thing they do these days is kiss in the airlock when no one's looking, maybe because he's finally sloughed the atmospheric pressure off his shoulders like a too-large jacket.

Gravity may never have suited him, but Youichi's sure that starlight does, on Earth or in space. Ryousuke almost looks like he's glowing when Youichi finds him on the observation deck, bathed in the cool silver light beaming from the bank of giant windows. A space station is never really quiet, engines humming, motors whirring, but this is as close as it gets, the novelty of the view worn off after the first couple weeks for most of the residents. Ryousuke likes it here and Youichi likes Ryousuke.

"Stargazing?" he says, and Ryousuke hums, shifts to make room, to let Youichi settle in beside him.

"It's peaceful," Ryousuke says, eyes on the dark bend of the planet turning serenely beneath them. "Think it'll last?"

"We'll make it last," Youichi says, and Ryousuke shoots him a look that makes him flush, heat crawling up the back of his neck. "We'll try," he amends, and Ryousuke doesn't answer but he does lean in, resting his head on Youichi's shoulder, cheek fit against a curve that Youichi swears was made for him. His hair is soft and smells like the station's standard issue shampoo, and Youichi is content to let the minutes pass like this, Ryousuke warm against his side, just the two of them floating in the vastness of space.

He wonders sometimes what Ryousuke is thinking about, in the dark and the quiet, the glimpses of things Youichi catches in the tension of his neck, the purse of his lips. Everything is finished but nothing is over, a fragile peace built on the backs of the young and the brave, Ryousuke's slender shoulders stronger than any alloy ever discovered. He's relaxed here, like this, exactly where Youichi wants him, and maybe that's enough. Youichi wants to keep giving it to him.

The night cycle is ending now, golden-white glow creeping up over the curvature of the Earth, a bright arc delineating the blue-green surface of the planet from the yawning dark behind it, stars swallowed up by light. Youichi looks down to see it caught in Ryousuke's eyelashes, watches the color change on Ryousuke's skin as the sun crests the curve, ruddy orange rays flooding the room with radiance.

It only takes a few minutes for the sun to finish rising, pouring syrupy and gold over the school grounds, something Youichi's seen almost every day for the last two years. He's got one more. He’s got even less time left to look at Ryousuke's face like this, the morning light kissing his nose, the swell of his bottom lip. Their days are running out, sun wheeling through the sky, irrevocable, unstoppable. Youichi would rather leave than be left behind, but time and history aren’t things he can fight with his fists. Things have already changed, will continue changing, and Youichi can’t outrun it.

Worry chases itself through his head, drowning out birdsong and the distant slamming of doors until Ryousuke reaches over without looking and slots his hand into Youichi’s, fingers warm and sure. It pulls Youichi up short, the command to stop overthinking so clear that Ryousuke could have said it out loud. Youichi feels himself smiling, shoulders loosening. That’s right. Ryousuke, for all his twists and turns and occasional inscrutability, has always been reaching back to pull Youichi forward. The future is unknowable but Youichi knows this: that as long as they both keep reaching, they’ll always be able to connect.