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Toya didn’t want to look at his phone. He didn’t want to open his eyes at all.
Next to him, on his bed, Toya’s phone vibrated. He inhaled sharply. His lungs stung.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Toya?”
Akito’s voice was strained, rough as if he had been yelling. Or crying. One of the two. Toya grimaced, clenching his phone tighter. He wrapped his fingers around the cell phone as if his life depended on it—as if he was holding on for his life. He wanted to crack the phone in half. End the call. End the line.
Toya just sighed instead.
“Yeah, ‘kito?” Toya pushed the blanket off of his lap, sitting upright. His room was dark. The moon glistened in his window, shimmering through the glass. Whatever time it was, it was late.
“Can you let me in?”
Toya wanted to say no. He wanted to refuse, to tell Akito to go home. To go back to his boyfriend. Or maybe he could bother An about this for a change.
“Yeah. I’ll be down in a second. Everyone’s asleep, so stay quiet, alright?”
“Course. See you in a second,” Akito sniffed. Toya could hear the smile on his lips, the relief in his tone. He shivered. His stomach spun. Toya’s feet were silent along the floors down the hallway and the stairs. Everything was quiet—all he could hear was his heart in his ears, rapid and resounding, like a rabbit’s, beating a million miles a minute.
Toya stood before his front door with sweaty palms, fidgeting his fingers. His hand hovered above the doorknob, shaking. With a sharp breath, Toya opened the door, revealing Akito, lip bloodied with tears staining his cheeks, eyes red. The redhead sniffed, uncrossing his arms.
“Hey,” Akito greeted. He refused to meet Toya’s eyes.
Toya, however, stared, unabashed, unashamed. His chest felt tight. So did his throat. His sweat turned cold—he was cold, suddenly, as he stared at Akito, slightly beaten, a bit bloody, and definitely hurt in more ways than one.
“Akito? Did he do it?” Toya’s voice was strained, just like Akito’s was on the phone. Akito shrugged, sighing.
“Can we go in? I need to get cleaned up.”
Toya nodded. He followed him inside, watching as Akito slid off his laced shoes, not even bothering to bend down and untie them. He followed Akito further, into the bathroom on the first floor, where Akito perched himself on the counter, examining the cut on his lip closely. He was so close to the mirror that his breath fogged. Toya stood, arms to his side awkwardly, bathroom door shut behind him. The space was small—too small for two people—but Toya pressed himself against the back of the door regardless.
“Are we going to talk about it?”
Toya’s voice was barely audible, just a whisper in the night. Akito sighed, wincing as he touched his wound, blood remaining on his fingertips.
“I’d rather not.”
Toya pursed his lips. He grabbed a disinfectant wipe and ripped it open. Pressing his pajama-clad hips to the counter, he was hip to hip with Akito as the younger turned to face him, feet dangling off the sink. With shaky hands, he reached up and pressed the wipe to Akito’s sharp jawline, to the purple bruise that lay along his cheek. Akito winced, inhaling sharply between his clenched teeth.
“Did Kamishiro-san do this?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
Akito’s voice was harsh, a knife’s slash. It didn’t sting—not like a bruise, but it sure as hell hurt. Akito clicked his tongue, looking Toya up and down as the latter looked to his feet.
“I started it,” Akito said, avoiding Toya’s question—answering it in his own way. He didn’t look at Toya. He looked everywhere but. “I was screaming at him, pushing him around. He swung at me.”
Toya swallowed nothing—no spit, no saliva. His throat was a desert, a dead heat.
“He shouldn’t lay his hands on you. Ever.” Toya’s voice was small, unconvincing. Akito scoffed, eyes darting to the first aid kit Toya had set on the counter. His eyelashes fluttered in the bathroom light, and Toya wanted to brush his matted hair away, to tell him how beautiful he looked—even then. Even with his wounds.
Akito’s lower lip trembled, his hand slamming into Toya’s back. Toya tried to hold himself together—for both of their sakes—but if a tear or two slipped from his eyes, Akito didn’t say anything. Neither of them said anything as Akito sobbed silently into Toya’s shoulder, clutching him close. Blood stained Toya’s sleep shirt.
“Shh, shh. I know, I know. It’s alright. I got you.”
“Why do we keep fighting? Why does he stay?” Akito sniffled, voice muffled.
And Toya wanted to have some answer. He wanted to provide Akito with something to satisfy his curiosity, his aching heart. He wanted to ask, Why don’t you leave?
But Toya was filled with rage; rage, and the desire to hold Akito closer.
So he did. Toya pulled him in closer as if Akito would disappear.
As if he’d run back to Rui.
And Toya would do anything to stop Akito from leaving, even for a bit.