They were children. Yamagi's eyes widen only with the realization he only comes to confront at its fullest implications just then. Children thrust into a harsh, unforgiving world that's handled their young bodies as abrasively as it's done their feelings. He's loved Shino with the honest rawness of a child, shielding his heart helplessly against bruising.

Something's never ceased budding in his heart but he wonders if he loves him as with the pure force of a child still.

"I've missed your laughter the most," he pulls the pillow away, its cover retaining the mere remnants of Shino's body warmth. Living, human warmth, "I could never get mad at you when you laughed whatever you'd done off."

Shino could have done more, and yet, Yamagi for his part, could have carried his own weight. Young love comes with its own brand of selfishness.

Two indentations form under the weight of Yamagi's hands as he sinks down, hovering low enough to press a chaste kiss on Shino's lips.

"I should have sent you off with that back then," he wills spots of color to fade from his cheeks, "For good luck."