the collar beneath my skin

The necklace hadn’t left Yuki’s neck in three days.

He told himself he wore it out of habit. That he simply didn’t notice it anymore. But the truth was far messier—every time he touched the cool metal against his throat, it reminded him of Ren.

His scent. His voice. His words.

> “Everything.”

The way he said it still echoed in Yuki’s mind like a promise—or a curse.

At work, Ren was unusually quiet. He didn’t summon Yuki, didn’t hover.

But that was only on the surface.

Because now, Yuki felt him constantly.

Every elevator ride, every lunch break, every step he took around the office was laced with a low buzz of tension. People watched Yuki differently too—respectfully, cautiously, some even warily.

As if they knew.

As if Ren’s claim on him had become invisible ink, scrawled across his skin for everyone to read.

By midweek, Yuki was exhausted.

The moment his shift ended, he snuck into the records room, closed the door, and leaned back against the cold wall. He let out a slow breath, covering his face with both hands.

> “Why did you put it on…” he whispered to himself.

He didn’t hear the door open.

But he felt it.

That pull.

That storm-like pressure that only one person in the world could bring.

“You haven’t taken it off.”

Yuki’s hands dropped from his face.

Ren stood at the door, sleeves rolled up, eyes like obsidian, locked on the pendant at Yuki’s throat.

“I… forgot,” Yuki lied weakly.

Ren stepped in and shut the door behind him.

“Try again.”

Yuki swallowed. “It’s just a necklace.”

Ren tilted his head. “No. It’s a bond.”

Yuki’s heart stuttered.

“It has a tracker in it,” Ren said, tone low and unapologetic. “I wanted to know if you’d run.”

Yuki stared at him, disbelief freezing him in place. “You—what?”

“I told you I’d take everything,” Ren said, stepping closer. “But only if you gave it to me.”

“I didn’t give you anything,” Yuki said, voice rising.

“You put it on.”

“I didn’t know it tracked me!”

Ren reached out, fingers brushing over the chain. “But you wore it anyway.”

Yuki slapped his hand away. “This is sick.”

Ren’s eyes flared with something unhinged—anger, lust, obsession all simmering under control. “What’s sick is how much I’ve held back.”

Yuki backed into the wall. “You think I want this?”

Ren leaned in, his voice dark velvet. “I know you do.”

Yuki’s body betrayed him.

He was trembling.

Not in fear.

But anticipation.

Ren saw it.

Smelled it.

“You want someone to lose control for you,” Ren whispered. “You want someone to look at you like they’d burn the world just to touch you.”

Yuki’s lips parted, breath catching.

“I am that someone.”

His hands landed beside Yuki’s shoulders, trapping him—not physically, but emotionally. Yuki couldn't escape the gravity of those words. His instincts screamed confusion, but his heart—

His heart thudded like it was running to Ren.

“Say it,” Ren demanded.

Yuki shook his head. “I don’t—”

“Say you didn’t wait for me all those years. Say you didn’t cry under that tree. Say you don’t still feel it.”

Yuki gasped, fury and heartbreak mixing into one. “I did wait for you! I did cry for you! And you left me anyway!”

Silence.

Ren stared.

Something behind his expression cracked. And then—

He kissed him.

No warning. No softness.

It was teeth and heat and desperation. A collision of five years of silence and longing. Yuki didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because the moment Ren’s lips touched his, his entire world folded inward.