Yuuta turned over on his side, his back now facing Ireland, murmuring under his breath. He was having one of his dreams again: of the green hills, a cottage with a forest for a backyard, and a man with blue eyes, who suspiciously looked more like Ireland. If he was more awake in the dream, he would have analyzed it and probably convince himself that he was just projecting his image, nothing more.

That was before he started murmuring Irish out loud.