Kaito Minami was not someone who believed in destiny.
He believed in deadlines, in fonts, in clean margins and ink that didn't smudge. His life was linear, precise—twenty-three years of perfect control.
But ever since he'd met Ren Arisawa, control had started to fracture.
He told himself it was admiration. Ren was talented, mysterious, and difficult in a way that fascinated any editor.
Yet the truth was more primal.
He wanted him.
That thought alone made his chest tighten with unease. Kaito had turned down every confession since high school, had never been drawn to anyone enough to break his calm. But this—this quiet writer with sleepless eyes and gentle hands—made something deep in him burn.
And he didn't understand why.
---
It had been almost a month since they started working together.
Ren had taken him home one evening, saying it was easier to work there. "My head functions better near my coffee machine," he'd joked.
Since then, their days had blurred—shared meals, midnight edits, light arguments about pacing and tone.
Sometimes, Kaito would look up from his desk and find Ren half-asleep, pencil still between his fingers, murmuring words that didn't belong to any script.
That night, it happened again.
Kaito was rereading a dialogue draft when he heard it—Ren's voice, broken and low, slipping through sleep.
> "Auren… please… don't go…"
The pencil froze in Kaito's hand.
The sound of that name—Auren—made his blood turn hot and cold at once. It was as if something inside him remembered before he could think.
He moved closer. Ren's face was drawn in pain, sweat on his forehead, lips trembling.
"Auren…"
Hearing it again shattered something. Jealousy—raw and directionless—rose like fire in Kaito's throat. He didn't know who Auren was. He didn't know why it mattered. And yet, the thought of Ren whispering someone else's name felt unbearable.
He wanted to shake him awake. He wanted to touch him, to stop the trembling, to press his lips against that name and erase it.
He wanted—
Kaito caught his breath and stepped back.
The room swayed faintly. He left without waking Ren.
---
That night, when Kaito returned home, he couldn't sleep.
He stared at the ceiling until dawn bled faintly through the curtains. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ren's lips move, forming that cursed name.
Finally, exhaustion won.
He dropped onto the bed, still hearing the way Ren had whispered that name.
It was not a lover's tone.
It was worship.
It was grief.
And suddenly, jealousy bloomed like poison.
"Why…" he muttered to himself, voice hoarse. "Why does that name make me feel like I'm losing something?"
Sleep came before he could understand it — heavy, dragging, unnatural.
And in the silence of his apartment, Kaito Minami fell into a nightmare.
And the dream began.
---
It was fire first—so much fire that even air felt like it was burning.
Then a hall, golden and ruined, and in the middle of it—
A man stood holding a body.
Not a man. Not human. His eyes were molten silver, his hands soaked in blood. And the body in his arms—white-haired, beautiful, lifeless—looked almost peaceful.
"You are mine for eternity," the man said, his voice breaking between fury and grief.
"Why did you leave me behind without permission? Your body, your heart, your soul—should have been mine. I am your master, Auren. Zephyxion, you belong to me. Even in death… even in your next life."
The words echoed like thunder.
His voice thundered through the void — sorrow made divine.
"Your body, heart, soul — they belong to me. You were born from my breath, my shadow. You cannot run from me, Zephyxion." His voice cracked. "Even in death, you cannot escape. You are my beloved. My curse. My everything."
Kaito couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe.
That name — Zephyxion — echoed through him like a forgotten melody.
Auren…
The god flinched, holding the body closer, trembling like a child lost in eternity.
And then, fire — bright and consuming — erupted behind them. A river of souls, endless steps of the underworld, a descent painted in grief. The god carried the corpse down, step by step, his shadow merging with the flames.
Each step echoed.
Each breath burned.
Until the dream shattered.
Kaito felt them pierce his chest, familiar and alien. He wanted to scream, to move, to stop this madness—but he couldn't. He could only watch as that divine tyrant pressed a kiss to the corpse's forehead, then lifted the body and walked down a staircase of shadows.
The last thing he heard was a whisper, almost tender.
"If you desire freedom… can you truly escape from me?"
And then darkness swallowed everything.
---
Kaito woke up with tears in his eyes. His heart thrashed like it wanted to break free from his ribs.
The images wouldn't fade—the burning hall, the man's voice, that name: Auren and Zephyxion.
It was the same characters as Ren's manga. The same title. The same grief. The same madness.
But Ren had never told him this scene. Never described this part. So how could he have seen it—felt it—as if he'd lived it himself?
He sat for a long time at the edge of the bed, hands trembling. "It's just the story," he whispered. "I'm too deep into the manuscript."
That had to be it. He was possessed by his work. That was all.
Still, he couldn't shake the memory of that possessive, terrifying voice calling the name Auren—the same one Ren had murmured in his sleep.
---
By afternoon, Kaito was back in his office at Hoshikaze Publication, but he couldn't focus.
The walls felt too close. His pen slipped across the margin.
He thought of calling Ren—to talk about the next part of the story, about what happened after the dragon's death.
Maybe they could plan the continuation, find an ending together.
But then the fear returned.
If their story mirrored Auren and Zephyxion—love turned to obsession, devotion to ruin—then what about them?
Kaito wanted to confess, to say he liked Ren. No—wanted him.
But what if that desire dragged them both into the same tragedy they were unknowingly recreating?
He pressed his palms against his eyes. "No," he muttered. "It's just a story. Just a story."
But it didn't feel like one.
---
The phone on his desk buzzed suddenly, snapping him out of thought.
Aoi.
Kaito blinked at the name, surprised by how relieved he felt.
Aoi had been his friend since school—bright, lazy, impossible to ignore. The kind of person who knew how to read him too easily.
He picked up the call.
"Kai! You sound dead. Still buried in deadlines?"
Kaito exhaled a small laugh. "Something like that."
"Perfect. Then I'm saving you from your own misery. Come out—I'm at the Sakuragawa bar. Don't make me drink alone."
Kaito smiled faintly. The sound of Aoi's voice cracked the heaviness around him like sunlight through fog.
Maybe he could talk. Maybe he could say the words out loud and decide whether to bury them or face them.
"All right," he said. "Give me fifteen minutes."
"Good boy. Don't get lost in your thoughts on the way."
The call ended.
For a moment, Kaito sat still, watching his reflection in the window glass.
He looked calm again—his usual self. But deep beneath the surface, something ancient still stirred.
He grabbed his coat, stepped into the hallway, and locked the door behind him.
Outside, the city lights flickered faintly, rain starting to fall.
He walked into it, not knowing that the night would change everything again.
And as he crossed the street, a whisper brushed against his consciousness—soft, distant, familiar.
What a fate these two souls have… How can they love each other again, when they can't even remember who they are?