Chapter Text
Shin doesn't know what love feels like, but if he were to have an idea, it would be this: sitting between Natsuki's legs, falling asleep against his chest, whilst the object of his affections hums to the tune of the gentle jazz music flowing through the headphones abandoned around his neck.
__
Natsuki isn't sure what love feels like, but he assumes it must be this: sitting at his desk, eyes burning from the strain of concentration on his latest project, and Shin standing between his legs with that stupidly perfect smile, erasing every last drop of the fatigue that has been tailing him since the start of the spring term.
_______
Or:
Love is different for everyone. For Shin, it's the calm that follows the storm, the relief that accompanies being able to wind down after a day of restlessness. For Natsuki, it's the rain that rages, giving him the opportunity to feel everything he suppresses in his attempts to protect himself and his brother from harm. For both, it's each other.
__________________
Chap 1: Neutralise
“Three days,” Shin whispers to himself, tapping his finger on the ring-binding of the calendar sat on his desk.
His heart skips a beat as he stares down at the red circle highlighting the weekend, and the block capitals scribbled across, overriding the squares separating the days: ‘NATSUKI - JCC.’
The longer he stares, the harder he grins, until his cheeks start to ache from the strain.
Three days until he can bank on the paid-time-off Mr.Sakamoto had lended to him over dinner the other day, a clear opening, providing him the chance to haul ass to the JCC and visit the smug little shit haunting his dreams every night.
Three days until he can see Natsuki's stupid face, hold it between his hands and kiss his damningly soft lips again.
Three days until he can think about that idiot without fearing falling into the gaping ocean forcing them apart.
(Something he's trying his best to stay tight-lipped about, because keeping this a surprise would provide Shin the perfect opportunity to give the latter the gift he'd snagged some time ago.)
It's a shame they'd had to part at all, but with the start of Spring came the notice to all students from the JCC of the recommencing of classes after Slur's attack, urging them to return to classes or research projects left unattended during their absence. Natsuki, after reading the letter, had immediately expressed his desire to go back.
With only one year left until his graduation and no desire to leave his long-standing legacy as the best technician to have ever graced the JCC halls hanging, it was the logical option.
Shin's feelings towards Natsuki leaving (again) can be considered anything but logical.
Mafuyu's, however, are a whole different story, and convincing him to leave their flat in order to visit his brother provided more of a struggle than Shin's initial scuffle with him on the JCC airplane when they first met.
But he managed to win him over.
Eventually.
(“Mafuyu, you're going to surprise your brother with me.”
“I already said no?”
“You're coming, or so help me you will be waking up tomorrow missing at least three of your vital organs, family rules be damned.” )
And, sure, ‘win him over’ might be putting it a little loosely, and, yeah, okay, Mafuyu's already a little disgruntled by having to stay with the Sakamotos most nights on his brother's insistence, and being forced to go visit the brother he surely misses but would never admit to that fact definitely isn't helping, but he's dealt with worse. Shin thinks he'll be fine.
“Three days, Mafuyu,” he repeats, louder this time, swivelling round in his chair to face the grumbling teen on his bed.
“Please don't make me go, Shin," Mafuyu pipes up, lifting his head from the pillow in his attempt of suffocation. "The other technicians stink! Last time I spoke with them, I actually started crying from the odour.”
“It won't be as bad this time around,” Shin lies.
He knows damn well it will be, if not worse.
“And you can just stay in Natsuki's dorm the entire time,” he offers with a sympathetic smile. “I'll send Nao and Ayame to visit you.”
“...I guess that's fine.”
“But you have to go down and talk to Natsuki at least once,” he adds, voice stern as steel.
“What are you, my dad?”
No, but at this rate, Shin might as well be. Wrangling Mafuyu around may genuinely be causing early onset aging- his knees have already started cracking every time he moves from one position to the next, and not to mention the crazy back pains.
Sighing, Shin relaxes against the back-support of his desk chair, darkness slipping over his eyes.
Three days.
He can do this, he tells himself.
___________
Nobody said it'd be easy.
__________
Day One
_____
Humming softly, Lu sways her hips as she shuffles out of the storage closet, one large box in her hands. Despite the contents inside, the label reads ‘Toilet Roll.’ Boss man's tactics to evade Aoi-san's ever watchful eyes and hide his secret ramen stash away for emergencies.
Today's emergency?
“I'm hungry.”
Some emergency, but, well, Lu can't judge with her stash of booze under her bed.
Not that she indulges in those very often.
Not at all.
The storage door slams shut behind her back as she releases it from her foot and skips further into the store, watching over atop the box as Heisuke guides Granny Aiko out the store, her single plastic bag carrying her purchases in his hand.
A sweet lady, really, despite the occasional short temper. She has a mean pinch hidden by those wrinkly hands.
She seems to be having a good day today, though, patting Heisuke's arm gratefully and turning to smile and wave at the cashier before the automatic doors slide shut.
Shin waves back, but Lu watches as the slightly-too-wide smile drops from his face the second Granny's back is turned again.
Lu frowns as she advances towards him, settling the ramen box on the counter with a sigh as the weight is shimmied out of her care.
“What's up with you?” She questions, leaning in.
“Nothing” Shin bites back, glaring sharply.
“Sure,” Lu snorts, eyes dead. "Seriously, what's up?"
A single, obscene finger flicks up from the blond's closed fist, which sends Lu reeling an inch away with an affronted scoff.
"Jerk! I'm tryna be nice to you, ya know!"
Lips curled downwards, she leans forward, enough so that the scent of Shin's shampoo (her shampoo, that he had 'borrowed' sans any intention of ever returning the damn thing) infiltrates her senses.
"You look all…" She wags a finger in a circular motion an inch from his nose. "Well…broody."
"I look completely fine."
"Ha!" Her finger retreats, but she only closes in on the boy further, eyes shrinking to slits. "And I suppose next you'll be telling me that pigs can fly?"
"No," Shin drawls, eyes void of any emotion. "But there's one that can talk right in front of me, so flying might not be that far out of reach."
"Oh, you bitch."
The two level each other with stern gazes for a beat, Lu's irritation mounting by the seconds, and Shin's determination to keep his thoughts sealed not wavering even once.
Ah. A staring battle.
Okay, Shin.
Bring it on.
Tick - tick - tick - tick - tick.
Ten seconds go by, and Shin's left eyelid flickers.
Twenty, and Lu feels the burn settle in.
Thirty, and Heisuke wanders over, confusion written across his face.
“Uh, guys?”
“Not now, Heisuke,” grits out Lu, eyelids flickering as the surfaces of her pupils begin to dry out.
“Okay, dude, but just so you know-"
“Heisuke, tell Lu that I'm not in the mood to talk right now.”
“Sure. Yo, Lu?”
“Heisuke, tell Shin to tell me what's making him so sad, and then I'll leave him alone."
"Uh… okay…?"
"That shitty trim of yours, for one, and for two-"
"Guys, c'mon now-"
"You wouldn't know a good trim from a bad if they were your left ball sack and your right," she hisses, slamming a hand on the store counter.
"That's not even how the anatomy of our penises work!" Shin corrects, voice climbing higher and higher.
"Of course you would know!"
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"
Hands raised placatingly, Heisuke laughs awkardly, the sound stifled and grating.
"Guys, guy's, let's calm down, yo!"
Clearly agitated, sensing his owner's unease, Piisuke leaps off of his shoulder and glides away, more than likely to hide amongst the cashews.
"You and Natsuki's dick are like Thing One and Thing Two, Shin," Lu jeers haughtily. "We can't seem to seperate you two no matter how hard we try."
At the mention of that name, Shin's eye twitches, and his breath stills.
The second the reflex is caught onto, Shin knows he's been had.
"Aha!" Comes Lu's triumphant cry; the funeral bells of Shin's desire for an at least somewhat peaceful morning whilst he broods- works.
Works.
Whilst he works.
"Something happened between you two?"
"Lu!" He groans, batting her away. "I said drop it already!"
"It's not like I'm asking that much of you, Shin. But maybe it'll make you feel better to get it off your chest, eh?"
Prepared to guard his thoughts, fight to the death to keep his privacy, Shin opens his mouth, a scathing retort on his tongue.
A tape measure winds around his neck, a pen presses into Lu's jugular vein, and Heisuke is knocked through a wall by the morning's roll of the news.
Mr.Sakamoto's threatening aura wraps the store in a thick blanket of tension as the dark outline of his frame creeps up to the counter.
The trio freeze.
"We have a customer," the man's voice lumbers.
"Shin. Lu. Behave."
His tone brooks no room for argument, and, with parallel looks of shame conveyed by their expressions, Shin and Lu's frightened stares flicker between the sniper, the storeowner, and the blank-looking villager shuffling past, raising his hand and smiling tautly in greeting.
"Sorry," they both mumble, bowing low towards the store guest.
When they rise, Mr.Sakamoto is gone again, but Shin can still hear the echoey narration lingering on the perimeters.
Something about lunch.
Whirling around, Lu throws a hand forward to punch Heisuke's side. "Why didn't you tell us that bossman was here, dude?!"
“I tried!” Heisuke squawks, outraged, voice cracking as he glares at the accusations - or, tries his best to, at least.(Heisuke is well aware that his face isn't exactly made for being intimidating, so he can only hope he doesn't look like a fool.) "You two were busy arguing, yo!"
"She started it."
Lu's cheeks redden considerably as she regards Shin cuttingly- “Whatever. Keep to yourself, see if I care,” - and she stalks off, taking the ‘Toilet Roll' with her.
Leaving Shin and Heisuke to man the front counter.
Shin watches her stomp away with a sour frown tugging at his raw lips.
The iscrutable shadow on his face returns, Heisuke notices.
His blue eyes remain glazed over with that dark look that's been swooping overhead all morning, and Heisuke assumes, as his gaze lingers on his fidgety friend, that that's what makes Shin swipe his tongue out and jolt at the sting that follows every couple of seconds like clockwork.
Heisuke has the eyes of a trained gunsman; he can spot the tiniest details from a mile away.
So even though he can tell his friend is clearly suppressing something causing him pain, he also knows that, through Shin's carelessness for just how obviously his emotions are being broadcasted - by his eyes, in his hands, in his hitched shoulders - this isn't something he should pry into before the blond is ready.
“You wanna take a break?” He offers instead.
An appeasement, for being considerate's sake. A silent boundary Heisuke places, pushing Shin to accept the oppurtunity to try to gather himself together. Heisuke won't be forced to watch his friend looking so weak whilst knowing there's nothing he can do to help.
Shin backs up from the counter, a fragile smile covering up the shadow cast over his face, likely having read Heisuke's thoughts.
“Thanks, man,” he grunts, untying his apron and dropping it on the back of the chair before bee-lining towards the exit of the store.
His feet guide him, empty-headed yet body feeling heavy all the same, around a sharp corner and into familiar shadows.
It isn't until his back hits the cold bricks, legs settling on the bench still damp from the previous night's rainfall and feet starting to tap a rapid rythm on the scuffed concrete ground, that he finally feels he can let out the breath ensnared in his lungs.
Quaking hands delve into the pits of his pocket, fingers stripped to sensitive flesh returning wrapped around a packet of blueberry gum. He shakily tears off the shiny wrapping, delves between the plastic folds and shakily draws a clump out, lets the packet drop between his legs.
Three strips enter his mouth all at once, teeth making quick work of chewing the gum to damnation, grinding down even as the lump of sweetened chemicals hardens between his jaws.
As his hands curl around the tears in his jeans, gently stripping the shoddy weaving of the exposed frayed threads, his eyes lock on a wrapper rolling on the floor, bobbing along the surface of the puddle a foot away from the bench.
No- not a wrapper.
A note.
("What's this?" Shin asks, as he takes the crumpled paper into his hand. Natsuki smiles at him, shuffling even closer somehow, abandoning half the bench to practically glue himself to Shin's side.
"A love letter. Romantic, right?"
"Why? I'm right next to you."
"Just read it, esper."
Shin obeys, smile turning cheesy.
'Roses are red. Your gum is blue. How can I ever leave, when I have to leave you?'
"You idiot," Shin mumbles, tilting his head to the side to glare at the technician.
Laughing softly, Natsuki takes Shin's fingers and threads them with his own, abandoning the note to flutter to the floor.
Their lips connect, and Shin's heart soars.
The shoddy poem drifts to the back of his mind.)
Why the stupid thing hasn't yet been carried away in the entire month since it was placed into his hands, he doesn't know.
Shin's shoulders tremble woefully as his thoughts take a swan dive, casting him, yet again, into the clouds of anxiety swarming inside his head. His brief interaction from this morning, during the small window that Mafuyu had been awake enough to watch him prepare for his shift in the store, comes barrelling through like thunder following strikes of lightning.
(“Yo, breakfast's in the fridge, okay? Just ask Aoi-san which one's yours and which one's Hana's.”
“Mmm….’lright..”
“And don't stay in my room all day! Go and play with Hana at some point, okay?!”
“ Oh-kayyyyyy..”
“Good,” Shin huffs, adjusting the drawstrings of his jumper.
“Shin?” Mafuyu calls out, just as he's about to leave.
“Yeah?”
“I'm really grateful… for you loving my brother.”
“...Go back to sleep, Mafuyu. I'll see you later.”)
If it weren't for the weight of Mafuyu's confession and all the unspoken words floating in the air, waiting for the esper to absorb-
If it weren't for the way Shin's heartbeat had pitter-pattered to a standstill, eyes wide, hands convulsing barely an inch from the door knob-
If it weren't for the fear that had closed in on Shin like a tidal wave as he stood, stock still, in the doorway to his room as soon as that word had left Mafuyu's sleep-swollen lips-
Shin might have found the confession….
Endearing.
If it weren't for that one slip up, that he can't even blame the teen for, because, how was he supposed to know?
About that one word that Shin has been deliberately doing everything in his power to avoid.
A word that terrifies him, that makes his skin crawl.
A sensation that most people hasten towards, that he actively rushes away from, somehow
A concept that shouldn't scare him nearly as much as it does, but remains a stubborn thorn in his side despite his efforts (however futile they may be) to avoid it at all costs
He shouldn't, but he does.
To Shin, love is foreign, a decree that he restricts himself from, because-
Shin…
…Isn't sure he knows what love is.
Isn't sure that if he did, that he'd do it right, without trying to self-sabotage in someway or somehow.
…
He knows he cares for people, at least.
He cares for Mr.Sakamoto, whose approval Shin covets much like he wished he could with his real father. He cares for Aoi san and Hana like a mother and sister, and values the tender affection they offer unconditionally. He cares for Lu as a second sister, sometimes even finds himself waiting on the zeal with which she scolds him, picks on him, intentionally tries to get herself on his nerves.
Heisuke and Mafuyu are the brothers he's never had, both so uniquely different yet alike in the care they hold for Shin, that he readily reciprocates in his own way.
Amane, Akira and Atari are trustworthy companions on the battlefield, but also stand as some of the first allies Shin has spent time with outside of fighting too.
He knows he cares for all of them. If he didn't, he wouldn't invest so much energy into bettering himself, and his skills in fighting, to be able to protect them.
But how he feels towards each of them is so vastly different, like winding rivers that lead to the same lake, and Shin isn't sure he can pinpoint who amongst them he loves, if he loves them at all.
Shin doesn't know the rules to love, doesn't know if love even has any rules.
Does he love Natsuki?
Is that what that swooping feeling in his gut every time he settles his gaze on Natsuki is? The sense of quiet that settles over his mind every time he slips into Natsuki's arms? The tranquility that sweeps over him when in Natsuki's presence, shutting out the harsh winds resembling every insecurity and anxiety he holds for the lives of his family and friends?
Shin isn't sure.
He's not completely sure he wants to know either.
Because if there's one thing Shin is good at, above all else, it's being self aware. And being self aware means he's grasped an understanding, better than anyone else, of his own avoidant tendencies, how those avoidant tendencies clash with his desire for acceptance.
Shin's brain fears loves, rejects it and the very notion of letting someone in again, has yet to forgive closeness for the pain it's caused him time and time again, fears the proximity love would dare to empose in comparison.
But his heart yearns to be full, desires to be burdened by fragility and cursed by tender affection, would do anything to be swept away by the rain as it flutters under the impression of reverence.
The two rationalities, had, at one point, worked in tandem to each other; as the brain strategised its pursuit for Shin's protection through isolation, his heart worked hard to build solid foundations to a wall that once stood with an unwavering strength.
Meeting Mr.Sakamoto again had caused a laxness in Shin's fortress, Aoi and Hana effectively smashing down the wall with Lu and Heisuke standing right behind.
But Shin's brain won't fail - can't fail.
He can't allow a repeat of his dad, and the gun that had been aimed at his head, nor the backs of the scientists, who had once been so supportive and caring, turning on him, leaving him to sink into darkness.
Shin doesn't want to set himself up for failure again.
(Didn't want to.
But with the way everything goes silent when Natsuki is near, how his heart settles and mind slows down at the technician's every touch, how being on the other end of that ever analytical yet wholly fond gaze manages to reduce Shin's (and his logic's) resistance to smithereens-
Shin's afraid he already has. )
______________
Day 2
______________
Soft chatter.
The rhythmic clamour of ceramic laden with Aoi-san's cooking being settled on the table.
The melody of Hana's giggles as she weaves between her parents' legs.
Two lovers engaging in their daily ritual of setting the table.
Blue eyes watch zealously from across the hall as Aoi-san stirs the pots; as Mr.Sakamoto fills the bowls when she commands; as the two share tender glances and chuckle between themselves to jokes they've laughed to for years.
The weather forecast had promised sunshine, but even as dusk's light glides through the dining room and kitchen, swathing the apartment in warmth, Shin can feel himself floating away- floating away, as the sea of his dread overflows, drowning him, slowly but surely.
Shin scrapes the nail of his thumb over the side of it's partner index as he continues to watch the two from the entryway of the dining room.
Analytical.
Wary.
Doubtful; suspicious; struggling to comprehend how much faith Mr.Sakamoto must have in his marriage for it to be able to stabilise him after years of nothing but cold deaths and unfortunate endings.
He continues to stare, even when the last dredges of his resistance cry for him not to - to tear his gaze away, to not fall for the fabricated, delusional facade.
But white hair fades to blonde, and black hair shortens - curls, frays on the ends.
Glasses disappear, beauty marks multiply and shift upwards.
No glasses, no belly fat.
No mustache, no hairclips.
But the same frilly, pink aprons, the same dopey smiles, the same matching golden bands that never budge.
(Light dispersing through the blinds of Natsuki's living room - (?) - as Mafuyu and Shin carry the food to the coffee table -(?), chopsticks precariously balanced across the rims of bowls.
(?)
Steaming food that dispels the cold of the apartment (?), that tastes like home, that is made with- (?))
"Shin, are you okay? "
Shin jerks away from the door, eyes wide.
Mr. Sakamoto is staring him down, voice booming in Shin's head.
The blonde registers the question a beat too late- scrambles for a response.
"Uh- yeah. Sorry, Mr.Sakamoto. Just- not much sleep last night."
Silence, as always.
"Sorry," he repeats, face cast downwards.
Mafuyu and Heisuke call his name from behind his back, the two being the only ones at the table to carry all the food over.
But Mr.Sakamoto continues to stare, is still stood with Shin and taking up the entrance when Aoi-san glides over, Hana in her arms, Lu hot on her heels.
"Sweetheart? Is everything okay?"
("Yo, babe, you alright?")
"Taro? Are you with us?"
(" Uhhh, earth to Shin? ")
"Shin? Honey?"
"We're fine, Aoi," Mr.Sakamoto states, effectively pulling Shin out of his trance - - both metaphorically and literally, as one large hand hauls Shin over to the dining table and dumps his limp body on the zabuton.
Still confused yet more than happy to forget about the awkward stretch of time spent at the doorway, the rest of the family file in, and surround the table, all settling to their knees or folding their legs on the cushion, hands clasped together.
"Itadakimasu! " They each whisper, Mafuyu lifting his hood once done and angling himself so that his bared face faces Shin, and Shin alone.
Dinner passes like a breeze.
A really, really, slow breeze.
Most of the eating transpires with Shin trapped in his musings rather than actually processing his food- something that Mafuyu comments on as his chopsticks snipe a line of green beans from his bowl - the blond's mind torn between breaking apart every aspect of the Sakamotos' marriage in the hopes of cracking the secret everyone seems to be clued in on but him, and attempting to gauge the value of this 'love' against the fear of losing it all.
Every clink of a chopstick or spoon seem to come hours apart, but the tempest in his head is ferocious; at war with itself.
He studies Mr.Sakamoto and Aoi-san, and just how relaxed they seem to be, as if their carefully cultivated paradise isn't at risk of being reduced to ashes every moment that passes, can't seem to stabilise himself even after his siblings note on his strange behaviour with varying degrees of concern.
But Mr.Sakamoto doesn't notice.
Doesn't seem to have, at least.
It isn't until dinner is long since complete, everyone having retired to their rooms save for Shin, and after Shin's places the final bowl into the rack, water still dripping down the sides, and washes away the soap suds still clinging to the creases of his hand, that Mr.Sakamoto emerges from the shadows of the now mostly dark apartment, the sun having already turned in for the night and replaced by its stoical counterpart.
Still deep in his musings, the clairvoyant doesn't identify the presence sat on the long, leather sofa, head craned downwards as he shuffles to his room, dragging his rigid limbs along.
It feels like his body has formed a collective mutiny against him; a rebellion for all the strain, and the anxiety that's plagued him for the past two days, pushed him to the brink of collapsing as he overworks himself to drive it out.
His fears for the future still have a chokehold on him, suffocating him in all the possibilities his fate holds.
If he does love Natsuki, is the risk worth it?
Is it worth destroying himself again, just for the deceptive promise of bliss?
"Shin."
He freezes, hand pausing on the handle to the door of his room.
He assumes that it must have been a hallucination- after all, Mr.Sakamoto's voice lacked the echoing quality it usually sported when Shin's clairvoyance invaded his thoughts, and Mr.Sakamoto rarely talks, if at all.
Still.
His feet veer off course, towing him back to the miniature living room.
He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed the lamp beside the bookcase still swathing the small area in light, or the large man taking up so much of the space, and he knows Mr.Sakamoto had taken note of his diligence - or, really, lack thereof - too.
"Hi," he whispers, awkardly hovering to the side of the couch, minding his voice for the little girl who's already been taken to bed for tomorrow's school day.
"Sit down," instructs Mr.Sakamoto, shuffling against the side to make more room for the boy.
Not that he needs all the space. He's nowhere as big as Mr.Sakamoto.
He lands on the sunken-in-pillow with a thump.
"Something is bothering you," Mr.Sakamoto leads with, finally reverting to his typical mode of communication with him.
"Is everything okay?"
Shin knows better than to lie to Mr.Sakamoto, so he doesn't.
In fact, he choses not to speak at all.
"Shin? Are you listening?"
If I stay silent for long enough, Shin thinks to himself, he'll leave me alone.
Unfortunately for him, the man is nothing if not persistent in his minor interrogation, continues pressing Shin for some type of a response.
Mr.Sakamoto's gaze is heavy, but if Shin focuses hard enough on the pillow he's taken and tucked to his middle, and the faint scent of vanilla that's long since engrained into the fabric after years of Aoi-san's favourite vanilla and cherry blossom air-freshener being diffused across the apartment, then the weight of Mr.Sakamoto's disappointment can fade out of existence.
Disappointed about what, Shin doesn't know. Even after all these years, his greatest inspiration remains an unreadable figure in Shin's life.
At times, it feels like a breath of fresh air.
Now, with Shin practically tucking himself away from the older man, the struggle feels suffocating, because it makes the feeling of being submerged under water, with nothing but his predatory nightmares swirling around him, all the more prevalent.
In all twenty-one years of Shin's existence, if there's one thing he's always craved from those around him, it's acceptance. Being a mind-reading, loud-mouthed brat has made this anything but easy, but here, in the store, by Mr.Sakamoto's side, Shin thinks he might finally know what it feels like.
He doesn't want to let it get to his head.
It's okay if Mr.Sakamoto doesn't love him, he lies to himself. It's okay if Aoi-san, Hana, Lu and Heisuke don't love him, only appreciate him as the asset he is to the store, or in the endless war against Slur's objective, see him as a valuable familiar.
It's okay if they don't love him, he lies to himself.
He's not sure he deserves it anyways.
He's not sure he merits loving or being loved.
This is already more than he's ever had.
(More than he's ever allowed himself to accept. Often times what he believes to be too much, an avaricious tendency, trying to soothe his craving for belonging that should never be satisfied for someone as awful as himself.)
Natsuki's the first individual he's persisted in this long a relationship with in his entire life, the first exception to his rule for one-night-trysts only, and only to aleviate the sickening loneliness that would plague him.
And he's everything Shin has ever wanted.
More so, even.
Voracity won't lose this for him.
Not the hand that he clings to in the dead of night, when laughter is what rocks through his body and not heaving sobs; not the warm meals and the overwhelming volume of chatter across deep wooden tables rather than falsified gossiping with people who, really, aren't there at all; not the silence of his mind and the activity of his heart rather than the reverse, after years of training his pulse to appear almost unnoticeable in the night, allowing his mind to filter every sound to detect potential dangers creeping in.
He can't risk the store.
Can't risk Natsuki.
Misty vision blurs the outline of the bright, yellow hoodie wrapped around his body - stolen, of course, from Seba's very back during the last, bittersweet night they'd shared together, before the day of his flight -as Shin nestles into the pillow, nose tucked in the creases near the seams.
He hopes Mr.Sakamoto doesn't see the tears, but with how close they're sitting, and the lack of anybody else to provide a distraction, hiding the fact that he's crying proves to be a much more difficult task.
"Sorry," he hoarses out, zero confidence in the belief that maybe his voice didn't crack, and Mr.Sakamoto might let this go.
"I'm fine. I'm just- just- having a hard time- right-- now. "
"I know."
No, you don't, Shin wants to yell, wants to scream. Because there's no way Mr.Sakamoto could ever be so well aquainted with the terror Shin's been submerged in, and still managed to push past it all.
There's no way-
"When I first found out Aoi was serious about me, I wanted to run away."
Shin swallows down the bile rising in his throat.
"I never thought I deserved what she offered, or the family she wanted to build with me. I-…
"I'm ashamed to admit it, but I resented the concept of family, for a long time, because I didn't exactly know what it was supposed to be. I only had the faintest idea."
Amidst the shadows cast across Mr.Sakamoto's mind, Shin spies a flash of blue, of thick smoke that smells strangely similar to that of a cigarette, and roaring laughter as a black-pony-tailed figure dashes away.
"I did everything in my power to stay away and convince myself that it was wrong."
"How did you change?" Sniffles Shin, eyes watery, tears soaking the cloth of Natsuki's hoodie sleeve as he noses the cuff, inhaling the faint scent of the technician's cologne.
"Sometimes it's still what I believe. But I learnt the hard way that love isn't a choice."
Leaning forward, Mr.Sakamoto's chubby fingers settle atop Shin's cool head, glasses appearing transparent for possibly the first time in this form.
They're gentle as they regard Shin, and the blonde can't help but be taken back to his fight against Tenkyu - and how these same, fatherly eyes had pinned him down and forced him out of his self-sacrificial trance.
"You may believe that you don't deserve it, but that doesn't stop us all from loving you either way. You can't control us caring for you."
Back then, Sakamoto had stopped the immolation of Shin's morality on behalf of the safety of their family.
Now, at this very moment, within the walls of the sanctuary Shin would devote every inch of his own being to preserve, Mr.Sakamoto is pushing him towards it. To sacrifice the security of isolation that's become a long time friend.
Shin chokes on a sob, tilts his head forward to hide his puffy, tear-stained face in the crooks of his elbows and the top of the throw pillow, mind doing its best to block out Sakamoto's impressionable tyrade.
The words purge his mind's efforts.
Shin's clairvoyance has never been a choice.
"You have our love, Shin. No matter how badly you might believe you don't have it, or want it. You can't stop yourself from reciprocating it. You don't have to lie to yourself. Your past isn't your fault."
"No-" Shin cries, shoulders trembling. "I don't- I'm scared. I don't want to- it's wrong. If I do- I'll only be hurt- I don't deserve it- I- - I-"
"You're wrong. You do deserve it. And love may hurt, at times, but the trade off is worth it. It always will be."
He feels like his mind is being torn apart, tugged in too many different directions, the muscles splitting as he's forced out of the depths that he'd gotten all too aquainted with over the years.
He doesn't deserve it - but Mr.Sakamoto thinks he does, and what matters more? The ghosts of his own instability, or the consolations of someone who he's held dear for longer than he has himself?
When Shin stares upwards, eyes flooded and red, seeking consolation, or guidance, he isn't only met by Storeowner Taro Sakamoto, the pudgy old man who stands behind a cash counter, who is perpetually found consuming ramen at lethal quantities or hiding behind the morning news.
He sees the ex-assassin.
The father.
The husband.
The friend.
A man who's fought tooth and nail against his own fears to get to where he is now, will continue to do so if it keeps this haven of his safe.
(He sees himself, who he could become.)
"You're not the same boy you were when Ando died, Shin. You have made amazing progress. You are an amazing person, and your father would be proud to know this is the life you are living after leaving the JAA."
Sobs rack through Shin's body, misery lacerating his skin, remorse tattering from the ends.
He clasps a hand to his mouth to bar his gasps from escaping, and alerting the other occupants of the floor.
There's no way it's worth it - no way going further with Natsuki isn't dangerous, no way their relationship isn't detrimental to the safety of what they have right now, no way Shin's even worth the effort of a real relationship in the first place.
No way.
But it's Natsuki's hoody chasing the cold of early spring away, Natsuki's scent that grounds him, bringing him back to shore, and it's the memory of Natsuki's arms around him, baring all the weight of his body and his thoughts and all the unspoken trauma stuck in all the repaired bones but still broken heart, that keeps him suspended above Neptune's oceans, pushes air into his lungs to replace the remainders of his disdain.
"Let yourself love, Shin. You, of all people, deserve it."
(And Shin's mind caves, years of self-preservation,yet ultimate negligence, unravelling, as his worn-out body, only traipsing the edges of sleep, is carried to his room, and settled on the futon rolled out on the floor.
That night, he dreams of a dreary morning, water dripping from the drainage pipes outside, landing on the puddles that have already begun to dry out as the dark storm clouds are driven away.
He dreams of the water rippling, steady, and the reflection of daylight as it scatters.
He dreams of warm hands, and the perfect gap to curl into between Natsuki's thighs as he stares out the window, and soft lips humming along to the tune of their hearts as they beat to a rhythm only they share.)
________
Day 3:
________
Shinkansen , supposedly notorious for their advanced speed, and, consequently, short rides, were initially inaugurated on the 1st of October, 1964. In the years since the dawn of this new lineage of public transport, this technology has been expanded upon by Japanese engineers, branching off of the originals to create the state-of-the-art railway system that remains a monumental success for Japan, to this very day.
Despite this, although only fourty minutes have passed, to Shin, it may as well have been fourty years.
Every mile closer he and Mafuyu draw upon Sandai Airport, he feels his gut tighten more and more, every announcement stating the distance that remains forcing his heart to do flips between his ribs. His knee bobs feverishly, stilting only when the head resting on his shoulder shifts to gripe at the tremors the motion sends through Shin's upper body, and his hands make coils with the left over rope of his belt keeping his dark cargos attached to his convulsing stomach.
It won't be long before he sees Natsuki again.
His chest tightens.
Hinterland rushes past beyond the windows of the train - or, really, as the train speeds past - a muddy blur of greens and hiltops, mountain tops and distant waters, rooves of houses and marketplaces bustling with families, friends, and the lonely, searching for something to purge the adversities that come conditionally, a payment for living.
Shin observes, face bereft of warmth, body vacant.
It's not him that swallows the ball of spit collecting at the back of his mouth, but the second entity, the substitution born of moments - days - of being rendered obsolete once the sun had set, nights where the only thing dispelling the darkness of his too-big yet awfully small apartment was the light of his phone flickering on, messages from his boss confirming the completion of his hitlist flowing through, with the promised bounty to be sent in by the next morning.
Times where life rushed past, and Shin couldn't so much as raise a hand in the hopes of grappling on somehow, could only be satisfied by being lugged along as the present started to feel further and further away.
Shin doesn't remember the last time he'd disassociated.
Checks out, really.
…
It's quiet, inside.
Not like usual - what usual once was.
The helplessness is still identical; the feeling of being lost, tilted on his head with no idea of which direction led to shelter - - but what used to be a current rampaging through his nervous system now resembles much more of a heavy downpour, drowning him in his sorrows.
The improvement is small, but tangible; evidence of the apparent progress Mr.Sakamoto had hailed the previous night.
(But he's still caged by his body at the end of the day, so was Mr.Sakamoto even correct in his observations?)
As the train rushes into a tunnel, engulfing both he and Mafuyu in the darkness, the overhead lights cast the reflection of the two across the rattling windows Shin's body won't allow him to remove his gaze off of.
From a distance, he makes out the pattern of his little brother's feather-light breaths through the mask, a permanent addition to his face, and he thinks back to their farewell consort, compiled of the rest of his kin, that'd gathered before they'd set off for the airport.
Bright smiles, three of the most significant people in Shin's life stood at the genkan, a fourth to his side. Hana, pouting, clinging to his leg, definitely the perpetrator behind the Sugar band-aid he found in his pocket; Heisuke, grinning, one thumb raised, proclaiming his devotion to uphold the store's cleanliness in Shin's absence; Lu, snickering, having decided to 'forgive' him after their squabble over the counter, and wishing him a fun time with Natsuki at the JCC.
Rattle, rattle, rattle.
Crash, rattle, rattle.
Rattle, rattle, crash.
The train lights flicker off, a response to a paticularly harsh bump on the rails.
Vision swimming, and head spinning, Shin gawks as the image across the pane distorts.
Mafuyu fades away, leaving the blond alone.
But who Shin sees is younger.
Colder.
Distinctly not him.
In the image, there exists a boy who's edges are jagged and honed for one purpose; detached, distant, withdrawn; hair just short of where it stops now, wet, as the torrent pours down from above, and arms, slimmer still, trembling beneath the jacket stolen from a store three villages over.
One, trembling hand cradling a soggy cake, the other clutching onto a lighter. The candles - numbers one and five - have long since been snuffed out by the weather that no longer touches him, barred by the shelter he's squatting under - some sort of a steel sheet connected to a rundown store.
To his surprise, when he clicks the lighter, holds the flame to the wicks, the candles come to life.
His breath shudders as the warmth spreads the short distance to his cracked lips, and, with a labored breath, he leans forward and extinguishes the candles yet again.
As per tradition, the wish comes second.
But what leaves his lips is not a wish from the universe, but a promise to himself. An oath that'll protect him from whatever the universe throws at him next.
Mr.Sakamoto turning his back on the JAA, on him, was one loss too many.
Not again.
"I'll never fucking trust anyone again, I swear."
The smoke doesn't flow far before it disappears from sight, engulfed by the curtain of rain.
"That shit ain't for me."
"Never was."
"Never will be."
Daylight returns as the shinkansen parts with the tunnel, and the projection warps yet again, returning to the visual of himself and Mafuyu, the visual that had more than likely been there the entire time, but painted over by Shin's tormented mind.
Something collects in his throat, making it hard to breathe, but it's swallowed back again.
The contrast - between the 'family man' saying goodbye to his siblings, and the young boy searching for cover and swearing against any form of affection - is almost laughable. If Shin could laugh, he would. But as he struggles to lift his fingers to swipe at his lower eye, the apendages only twitching at his efforts, he's reminded that he has barely any autonomy of his body.
This isn't the first time he's been forced to face just how much happier he is with the Sakamotos, and everyone else under their radar, nor will it be the last.
But, perhaps, this time, it will be the most beneficial.
Because now, forced, against his will, to address the changes this life has provided, cleansing his mind of the dark storm clouds that just seemed to never let him be, he registers the additional fear, too.
Not of the irreparable damage that would be caused if it was snatched away, but of the person he would be if he had never been graced with it at all.
Nothing like the person he is now, content to spend his days sweeping and scrubbing the floors of a convenience store, bickering with Lu, staring, stupified, at Heisuke and his mind-numbingly-moronic antics, playing with Hana when she returns from school, forcing Mafuyu out of bed and to be productive, damn it.
Nothing like who he is now, more than just 'content' with slinking into a secure hold, and bringing his arms up around sturdy shoulders, and nosing a jaw that's definitely been neglected of a good shave, maybe-not-so-accidentally stepping on warm toes and cackling at the affronted grunt, growling as he's tackled onto a bed and attacked mercilessly by wiggling fingers barraging his ticklish sides, shoving the love of his life off and overpowering him, pinning him to the sheets, settling on his defined stomach and pinching his cheeks, pulling them apart until he apologises and greets Shin properly…
Blunt, still.
Abrasive, always.
But now, fiercely protective.
Fiercely protective, and-
…
Huh.
As the sun's glow filters through the train's windows, its glare bouncing off of the warmth already coating Shin's cheeks, Shin hums.
Love of his life?
His fingers glide upwards, swipe away the strands of hair obscuring his vision of the city.
His heart pitter-patters.
His head, for once, remains silent.
Complacent, finally.
…
'Love of his life.'
…
Doesn't sound too bad.
__________
"Shin-kunn," Mafuyu whines, shoes scraping across the linoleum beneath their feet. "How much longerrr?"
"We're almost there," Shin grinds out, almost verbatum to how he'd responded the last three times Mafuyu had asked.
"But you said that last time!" Snaps the teen.
The teen who, pointedly, is holding none of the bags, isn't even tugging on the single suitcase they'd decided upon sharing to avoid extra charge for baggage. The teen who's done about nothing all day but sleep, from the moment Shin had gotten out of bed - and promptly tripped over the mass of snoring skin and bones sprawled across his floor - to the minute they'd borded the flight (and the entire duration of.)
Leaving Shin to be the laborer of their pity party, dragging them through the winding halls that most definitely were designed by some smartass who had assumed that confusion would be the best way to deter intruders, and not, 'I don't know, fucking guns?'
With the way every muscle aches, to the point that even his eye strains to detect wether or not they've just been going in circles for the past half-hour, Shin wishes he was an intruder; being shot on sight would have been a better demise than this, sweating in places he's sure he shouldn't be sweating from, heart and energy sinking lower and lower the longer this whole hunt for the research laboritory goes on.
But, alas, he must persevere. He doesn't want his corpse to be a disgraceful mess. He didn't pull this fire fit out for such an unholy passing, after all. This tank top has been basking in the glow of his wardrobe light for much too long. Towing it on under Natsuki's jacket, finding the perfect jeans and trainers to match, just to die whilst trying to get to the guy and flash him his abs under the cropped hem?
Hell no.
Whining and whinging and grouching about, Mafuyu only makes this outcome all the more likely to come to life.
"I'm so tireddd," Mafuyu starts, tone already veering towards the annoying lilt that's been doing the blond's head in for much too long.
And Shin, who's patience has been on the verge of bursting at the seems from the very moment the two had stepped off of the plane, decides he's finally had enough.
Halting in the middle of the hallway leading to the southern building, he yanks his backpack off of his shoulders and fucking lobs it straight at Mafuyu's face.
Seeing the little shit land flat on his ass somewhat soothes the irritation that's been building up over the duration of this bum-fuckingly-long search.
Just where was this place?
He'd assumed that he'd retained memory of the path to the research laboratory well enough to be able to guide himself to the place without having to ask anyone for help. Or, well, without having to pull out his phone, just to remember it'd died somewhere between the store and the rest break they'd taken at the terminal.
Turns out he's suffering early onsent dementia, and what a load of help that's turned out to be.
It's only when he sighs, shoulders sinking low, resolve sinking lower, that fortune shines its light down on him and the raccoon sniffling and shuffling closer to cling onto his arm and wail apologies into his ear.
"Amane!" Calls Shin, throwing one hand up to wave the kid over.
If his fist wacks into Mafuyu's chin and sends his head reeling back, well - - it was an accident, so Shin can't be held accountable now, can he?
"Oh, Shin! Hey!"
It's nice to see a familiar face after so long, especially of someone he'd fought beside in the past. When their shoulders meet, and a meek exchange is traded between him and Mafuyu, he smiles, soft and unresigned.
Shin's glad to see the remnants of the troubled boy from last year fading away.
"You're looking good, man. Good to see you. How's your grandpa?"
"He's alright, thanks. Same old, but I haven't seen him much today. I think he's sweeping up on the third floor," Amane shares idly. His head tilts to the side as his dark eyes sweep Shin over. "You're looking well too. Nice outfit. What's got you so dressed up for?"
A soft blush rises to Shin's cheeks, causing the corners of Amane's lips to quirk upwards.
"We're here to visit my brother," Mafuyu supplies as he readjusts his mask. "It's been too long since we've seen him, or so I've been told."
"Oh- shut it!" Shin hisses at that last part. "It has! The guy's been working non-stop. It's sad to see, honestly! He can barely breathe without having to snort a line of Potassium."
Amane's the one that snorts at that, eyes staring pitifully at the two infront of him. "It is sad. All our studies have been harder to make-do for the months we'd had off. The Assassination department and Medical have had it pretty hard since the rate of injury has gone up, but from what I've heard, it's Technology who got hit the hardest."
Wincing at the memory of the faulty inventory in the weeks leading up to the winter, Shin frowns.
His head provides an image of Natsuki, tired and hungry, cheeks sunken in, but still pulling all his weight on a prototype he'd started that same morning, and his heart is struck by a prick of remorse.
All the more reason to get to the guy, and save him from the clutches of the education system.
"Yo, Amane," he starts, interrupting the empty conversation flowing between his companions. "You know where the research wing is?"
Considering Amane's impeccable memory, it's a pointless question to ask.
Still, he nods, reaches for the suitcase in Shin's hand.
Mafuyu woops quietly behind his mask.
The journey doesn't end up requiring too much distance to be crossed, much to Shin's relief, and before he knows it, he's standing at the entrance to the weapons production department - - and then being bombarded by the gaggle of classmates that somehow still recognise him from his initial visit the previous spring, each of them greeting him with varying levels of surprise as they pass by.
Every word exchanged drags for years, every poorly aimed joke missing Shin's head by miles.
"If you guys are looking for Natsuki," one of them pipes up at long last, though only after noticing the meek glances Shin throws towards the entrance, and the way his body constantly strays from the conversation. "He's at his workstation. We're off to grab lunch, but he didn't want to tag along. He should be available, if you wanna go inside."
Fucking finally, Shin groans internally.
And without a second thought - not even so much as waiting for the other students to turn their backs on the visiting trio - Shin's feet guide him to the double doors, mind abuzz. The energy collecting at the tips of his restless fingers disperse as they make contact with the cool, reinforced glass panes taking up the upper half of the doors.
As the door his hand pushes at swings open, he pauses.
Turns back.
Stares at his companions as he recalls that one of them had come all this way to surprise Natsuki too.
He and Mafuyu share a glance - curt, but the meaning is conveyed all the same: Take your time with him. This moment is yours.
"Hey, Amane, I think I want lunch too."
"Oh, alright- sure. Bye, Shin -Mafuyu, stop pulling my clothes, you'll stretch it out-"
Shin proceeds inside as Mafuyu tugs Amane away.
Silence is Shin's only companion when the doors shut, expelling the chatter as everyone head off in the direction of the main building.
Silence, and the lone figure curled over the workbench mounted to the wall.
And after what feels like years, Shin feels like he can breathe.
Not that stilted inhale or exhale, where his lungs struggle to contract and stutter around the mass of water brimming inside, threatening to overflow at all times - no, this is real air. The kind that provides a certain relief from the years of beign swallowed by the deep-sea of his own grief. The kind that makes a person wonder just where this has been their entire life.
Natsuki must sense him approaching at some point, though fails to identify who he is, because there's a shift in the tone of his thoughts, travelling from delved in deep concentration to incredibly annoyed - even his shoulders hike up, though by a millimetre at most.
Shin analyses the skin, diverts his attention when his examination of Natsuki's condition strays from concerned, to 'Fuck, his shoulders look good.'
Instead, he choses to lose himself in the sounds of the soles of his shoes as he pads closer to Natsuki's workbench, and the echoes of whatever it is Natsuki is tinkering with.
A few feet from Natsuki's chair, and the technician swivels around, eyes dead, lips turned downwards, one hand clenching the edge of his desk so hard that the veins beneath the skin gloat their blue hues.
His mouth parts, a scathing yet cold comment ready, presumably to shut down another colleague's needless badgering to drag him to lunch.
Mind quiet, Shin watches the words die on Natsuki's tongue.
Shin doesn't flinch, doesn't freeze per-say, but he pauses, biting the insides of his cheeks to stop the giddy smile trying to force itself out as his heart blows with each beat against his ribs.
And as Natsuki stares, expression going blank, the start of a thought cursing one of his classmates fizzling into nothingness, Shin tilts his head to the side, and waves.
But Natsuki stays silent, outwardly seems to have no reaction at all, save for a long, slow blink.
Curious, yearning to know what it is keeping Natsuki imprisoned to his seat and not dragging him up and over so Shin can kiss him silly, Shin takes an unhurried, teasing step forward - - moves a pace even closer when Natsuki's adam's-apple bobs in his throat.
Once he's within hugging distance, he dials into Natsuki's thoughts further, rather than the surface level reflection he'd done a moment ago.
And the sound, the sheer volume and concentration of passion - tender, yet somehow fervid all the same - disarms the blonde, sends Shin's balance teetering to the edge in surprise, his feet unplanting themselves from the floor and sending him stumbling forward by a couple steps.
Natsuki catches him - and, hold up, when'd he even get up from his chair? - both of his hands settling on Shin's hips.
When Shin's hands rise to stabilise himself on Natsuki's shoulders, he swallows thickly, whispers breathlessly up to the man that's been taunting his dreams for weeks: "Hi."
(The nostalgia from their time in the Sakamotos' pantry hits him like a sack of bricks.)
"You're wearing my jacket," Natsuki responds, like his mind isn't roaring Shin's name, amongst a mess of he's here, he's here, he's here, he's-
"I am."
(I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.)
"You look…really good," Natsuki continues, peering down at the cut-off of the blond's tanktop, the curve of his waist, the defined edges of his abdomen, the dip of his v-line and where it's concealed by the waistband of his jeans.
Shin smiles, and looks away, swiping a lock of hair behind his ear the way he knows Natsuki's imagined him doing countless times in his sleep.
Inside, he grins brazenly, cackles when Natsuki's fingers tremble at his sides.
"You're playing dirty," Seba croaks out, his head dipping down and bridging some of the distance between their lips.
"Am I?" Mumbles Shin, eyes half-lidded, arms wrapping around the other's nape.
"You little shit," the former growls.
I missed you, you stinky clairvoyant, he doesn't say. But he knows Shin can hear, and perhaps he is the first person to actually view Shin's ESP as something beneficial, in a wholesome way, and not a disturbing tool born from human error, sinful wonder.
And as Shin rises off of the balls of his feet to meet Natsuki halfway, watches the way his lashes flutter as he closes his eyes, smiles and hums (and maybe moans, just to piss Natsuki off a little bit) into the kiss - - oh, he thinks, losing himself in Natsuki's touch.
And as Natsuki guides them towards his desk, not breaking the contact between their tongues even once, turns them around so he can manhandle Shin onto the countertop and slide himself into the gap between his thighs - -
As Shin allows himself to be smothered in the radical silence of his mind, and the ease of his heart - Oh, Shin thinks to himself.
Oh, so this is what I've been missing out on, huh?
And as he curls his legs around Natsuki's waist, lets the rhythm consume him - because he doesn't want to do anything, just wants to feel and let himself get carried away for once, just once, wetheer that lands him in Natsuki's sheets, or allowing the exhaustion from the distance drag them to sleep - he thinks that, maybe, loving selfishly, betraying his defences, might be better than not loving at all.
He'll brave whatever comes next with his head held high, and with the comfort of knowing that he doesn't need to look so much as past his shoulder to find the people he loves, right by his side.
And isn't that a nice thought? To be able to poclaim his love without traipsing around the 'l'-word like it's the source of plague?
Almost as nice as Natsuki's lips, really.
Very nice- mmn, fuck, gotta get out of here before someone sees-
They register the presence hovering behind them much later than any qualified assassin should.
The dismay in the air is palpable.
"Fuck off, you little shit," Natsuki groans, tipping his head back, brows furrowed and tone weighed down by abject misery.
"I need a charger."
"You couldn't just charge it over night, could you?"
"If you guys are going to fuck, please don't leave any condoms out on the floor again," drawls Mafiyu's cold voice, dripping in distaste, clearly diverting from the reason he'd even returned. "I tripped on one, last time. Unused, by the way. Wasn't even opened."
"You were fine," Natsuki huffs.
"I was more hurt by the blatant hypocrisy," Mafuyu snidely returns. "What happened to practicing safe sex? Remember the whole Sex-Ed lesson you dished out, Shin?"
Much too mortified to speak up, the clairvoyant grabs a stray screwdriver, and chucks it vaguely towards where Mafuyu is stood.
Natsuki, on the other hand, is more than happy to dish out a clever comeback to shut his brother down, even if at his own expense.
As soon as his mouth opens, retort ready, Shin knows his fate is sealed.
"Skipping the condom isn't even half as dangerous as some of the other stuff we do," Natsuki states, like it's as obvious as the sky being blue, not even an ounce of remorse in his gaze. "Not even any ropes involved in that one."
Silence descends over the room, broken only by Mafuyu's sobs as he starts to wail into his hands.
I was wrong, Shin screams internally, as he clamps a hand over Natsuki's swollen lips. But the damage has been done, and now his sex life is out in the air, and fuck, fuck, fuck, I was wrong, loving this guy isn't worth it, not even if it wins me a hundred, million yen.
______