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In a way, the arrest was a relief. It wasn’t a relief for Momo, and it wasn’t a relief for Yamato, but for Yuki it was both relief and salvation; for Yuki, the arrest came like a comforting mother after an injury, or at least like what Yuki assumed a comforting mother to be like—his had mainly ignored his existence until she got the chance to marry him off. Like a comforting Ban, maybe, though that was a wildly rude comparison to make.
Yuki knew that he had killed Ban. He’d known it for a long time now. This was only the confirmation of that fact.
The dungeon cell was small and dark. The only window was a tiny barred opening in the cell door; the only place to sit was the small, hard bed. There was a bucket in one corner in lieu of a chamberpot, and Yuki hoped that it was blessed so that its contents vanished—and then he remembered that he’d been arrested for Ban’s murder, and decided it was fine either way.
Yuki had known for a long time that he’d killed Ban. There had only ever been a question of whether anyone would ever find his body.
The cell was small, not even five paces across. If Yuki were to attempt to describe it, he would say that it was the size of his and Momo’s marital bed exactly, and that would be poetic, and Momo would compliment him, and it would be poetic, and Ban would call him a little bitch for dragging Momo into his pity-party.
They had both loved Momo. They had loved him in a way that they had not loved each other, or in a way that at the time Yuki thought they had not loved each other. In a way they had not ever said they loved each other, not until it was too late. They had both loved Momo. They had both pursued him. Momo had chosen Yuki. Ban had smiled at the news, and then he had immediately made Yuki sign a contract wherein they both consented to the affair. Ban had planned to use it for something, though Yuki didn’t know what. He hadn’t cared. Momo wanted him. Ban was smiling. He’d been on top of the world.
The bed in the cell was hard and small. Yuki thought that probably his feet would stick out the ends when he laid down on it, though he didn’t try this. That would be resting; people who hurt Ban didn’t deserve to rest. People who killed Ban…
Momo had looked so betrayed. He’d looked shocked. He’d looked as though he didn’t really believe it, as though it were impossible for Yuki to have killed Ban. But it was more than possible, it was the truth. It was real. It was what had actually occurred all those years ago, even if nobody else had seen it that way. No matter what had been the immediate end to Ban’s life—infection, illness, an accident, some other murderer—Yuki had been the cause, Yuki had been the killer, because wherever and whenever Ban had died, it was Yuki’s fault that Ban was there in the first place.
Every other time Yuki had hurt him, Ban had smiled at him after, and asked if he was okay, and agreed with Yuki about the awfulness of whoever had struck him or shouted at him or excluded him. He had never once let Yuki realize even for a moment who was truly at fault. He had always been the one to comfort Yuki, no matter what. It was only the last time, when Ban lay unmoving in his bed, skull split open, caught in a battle against death itself, that Yuki had realized. Every single time Ban had gotten hurt defending Yuki, he had been hurt because of Yuki, he had been hurt by Yuki, Yuki who had never really listened when Ban told him off for being impolite to others, who had never cared about the consequences of his actions as long as he’d had Momo and Ban by his side. Ban had taken on all of the consequences for him.
Momo had looked so betrayed. He’d followed after the guards and Yuki, shouting, demanding explanations and claiming Yuki’s innocence all the way to the dungeons, where he hadn’t been allowed any further. He had really meant it, too, or at least sounded like he did. Like Yuki had never hurt Ban. Like Yuki would never hurt Ban. Like Yuki would never hurt Momo, either.
Yuki was hurting Momo now, just by being here in this cell, just by confessing to Ban’s murder.
The cell was small and dark. The bed was hard, the floor was harder. It was like a coffin—appropriate, for a murderer—
If you’re going to act like this, then I wish I had died, Yuki!
I wish you were dead too!
—and surely Momo would agree, because Momo had loved Ban too, and he would never forgive Yuki—
Unless he did, because Momo was the most loving, forgiving person Yuki had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and Momo saw good in Yuki that Yuki had never even considered before, and if anyone could forgive Yuki Ban’s murder Momo could. And Momo would if given half a reason to do it—
Because I love you, Yuki. That’s why, you stupid asshole.
Darling, I love you!
That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me, jerk.
I love you too.
But the truth would come out with the histor’s judgement, as it always did, and Yuki would get what he deserved, forgiveness or no forgiveness. He had to.