monotsuma
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Jyuto lets out a weak laugh and pushes Samatoki’s hands away. “Because,” he forces out, taking another drag of his cigarette and simultaneously forcing back the urge to vomit. “Why should a corrupt motherfucker like me deserve any better?”
Instead of reeling away or raising his voice, Samatoki simply reaches for Jyuto’s hands and holds them carefully as if they were made of glass. Never tearing his gaze away from Jyuto, Samatoki gently rubs his thumbs over gloved fingers in a strangely soft and comforting way. “Of course,” He whispers, voice wavering with the burden of a thousand emotions threatening to crush him whole. “Of course you deserve better.”