Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The house was still, faint moonlight filtering through the curtains and casting pale patterns across the room. Osamu lay on the bed, his breathing uneven, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound.

The aftermath of the Aftokrator invasion had left him battered—deep wounds, a week-long coma, and a slow, stubborn recovery. He was home now, but far from fine.

At Kasumi Mikumo’s insistence, Yuma stayed the night to keep an eye on him. Kasumi had spread a futon beside Osamu’s bed, unaware Yuma’s trion body didn’t need sleep. He didn’t correct her, lying quietly on the futon and staring at the ceiling as the hours dragged by.

Sometime after midnight, a low groan broke the silence. Yuma sat up instantly, his sharp gaze turning to Osamu.

“Osamu?” he called softly, almost a whisper.

No answer. Osamu’s face was taut, his lips parted as he gasped quietly, his body shivering despite the warmth of the room. His hand clawed weakly at his stomach, and Yuma caught sight of the fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Hey, wake up,” Yuma said, shaking his shoulder gently.

Osamu didn’t stir. His brows knitted tighter, his breath hitched, and another sharp sound escaped his throat, his head tilting toward Yuma but his eyes staying shut. His lips parted in a shallow gasp, and Yuma caught the faintest tremor in his chin. His side effect flared instinctively—there it was again, Osamu’s mouth was tinged with a faint black cloud. Even unconscious, he was hiding how much he hurt. This wasn’t a simple nightmare.

“Guess you’re too stubborn even in your sleep,” Yuma murmured to himself.

His gaze flicked to the nightstand. The water bottle and painkillers Kasumi had left sat untouched. He reached for them without hesitation, unscrewing the bottle cap in one smooth motion.

Carefully, Yuma tilted the bottle to Osamu’s lips, letting a few drops touch his mouth. The reaction was immediate—Osamu jerked away, his head twisting sharply. Water dribbled onto the blanket, and his breathing hitched in a small, choked sound.

Yuma sighed, setting the bottle down. His hand brushed Osamu’s sweat-dampened forehead. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

After a brief pause, Yuma climbed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped under his small frame as he straddled Osamu carefully, using his weight to still the jerking movements. One hand cradled Osamu’s head, tilting it back, while the other reached for the pill.

Let’s try this another way, Yuma thought.

Slipping the pill into his own mouth, he took a sip of water, then leaned down. His movements were deliberate, quiet, the only sounds the faint rustle of the sheets and Osamu’s labored breaths.

Pressing their lips together, Yuma tilted Osamu’s jaw. Their mouths connected as the albino eased the pill and water past Osamu’s tongue, all the while steadying his head with gentle hands.

Osamu’s body tensed beneath him, his throat resisting instinctively. Yuma didn’t falter. He leaned his weight forward slightly, keeping Osamu still, his thumb brushing his cheek in reassurance.

A pause. Then, a hesitant swallow.

Yuma pulled back slightly, watching closely. Osamu’s breathing hitched again, but this time it steadied, his body relaxing marginally.

“Good,” Yuma murmured.

Yuma repeated the process, taking another sip of water and carefully coaxing it past Osamu’s lips. This time, the resistance was weaker, the swallow coming easier.

When it was done, Yuma exhaled softly, easing off the bed. He wiped the sweat from Osamu’s brow with the edge of the blanket, his hand lingering briefly on his shoulder.

“You’re always like this,” Yuma thought, watching as Osamu’s breathing steadied. “Carrying everything alone, even when you don’t have to.”

The room fell silent again. Yuma sat on the edge of the bed for a while, keeping watch as Osamu’s face relaxed into something closer to peace.

The faint glow of dawn began to creep through the curtains, but Yuma didn’t move. He would stay there, however long it took.

Chapter Text

The meeting dragged on longer than Tachikawa expected. The mood in HQ was grim, heavy with the tally of losses: dozens injured, operators lost, trainees abducted. Their voices echoed in the room, but Jin barely said a word. He sat at the far end of the table, his head down, arms crossed as if bracing against something no one else could see.

It wasn’t like Jin to be so quiet.

Tachikawa caught himself watching him. There was something unbearable in the way Jin’s shoulders slumped, how his side bangs cast a shadow over his face, hiding those sharp, confident eyes.

Guilt.

When the meeting ended, and the room emptied, Tachikawa fell into step beside him. “Hey, Jin,” he started casually. “Ramen?”

Jin glanced at him, faint surprise flickering across his face. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Sure you’re not,” Tachikawa smirked. “But I bet you haven’t eaten anything all day. I know a place close by. It’s on me.”

Jin sighed, but he didn’t argue. “Fine.”

The chaos of the day lingered outside in the dim glow of broken streetlights. The ramen shop Tachikawa had promised was shuttered, the aftermath of the invasion evident even out here. He stared at the closed sign for a long moment before turning to Jin with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well, guess it’s instant ramen at my place, then.”

Jin said nothing.

And that was strange, too. No quip about Tachikawa’s cooking or some joke about precognition letting him know this would happen. Jin just stood there, silent, and then followed.

Tachikawa’s apartment was quiet. He flipped on the lights and motioned for Jin to sit. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, however, he felt it.

The shift in the air.

Jin was suddenly right there, closer than Tachikawa had expected, his hands gripping the front of Tachikawa’s jacket.

“Jin—”

The words didn’t get far. Jin kissed him, hard and desperate, his fingers trembling as they curled tighter into Tachikawa’s clothes. When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse, cracking as he whispered.

“Ruin me.”

Tachikawa froze for a beat, staring at him. Jin’s eyes were glassy, rimmed red with unshed tears, his face pale and wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with the invasion and everything to do with how much he blamed himself for it.

The precog had seen it all. Known it all. And he still couldn’t stop it.

Tachikawa understood. Gentleness wasn’t what Jin needed now. Not from him.

And maybe that’s why Jin had come. Because gentleness—what Rindou and the others at Tamakoma would have offered—would’ve cut deeper than any wound. What Jin needed wasn’t kindness. It was destruction. Punishment.

Tachikawa nodded silently and kissed him back. They continued to undress each other as they moved towards the bed.

Tachikawa pinned Jin down, his dark hair stark against the brunette's flushed skin. He gripped Jin's hips hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into him, the obscene slapping sounds echoing through the room as he relentlessly ravaged the brunette's most intimate depths, any pretense of gentleness long abandoned in their primal rutting.

Tachikawa gazed down at Jin, his brow furrowed with concern. The brunette's body was a mess of sweat and tears, skin flushed red from what he'd given him. Despite the pain etched on Jin's face, Tachikawa could see the desperate need in his blue eyes—a hunger for more. With a heavy sigh, Tachikawa leaned forward to capture Jin's lips in a fierce kiss. His tongue plunged into that wet heat, tasting Jin as he tried to convey without words that he didn't want to hurt him like this, but he also knew better than anyone how much Jin craved it right now. Breaking the kiss, Tachikawa rested his forehead against Jin's as their chests heaved with ragged breaths.

"I don't want to do this," he whispered hoarsely. "But I know you need it."

Tachikawa gripped Jin's hips again, slamming him back onto the bed as he rutted into the brunette with savage intensity. Jin writhed at Tachikawa’s brutal pounding beneath him. The black-haired man's fingers dug into soft flesh, pinching and twisting while his lips left a trail of bites and bruises down Jin's neck. With a particularly rough thrust, Tachikawa buried himself to the hilt inside Jin's clenching heat, their movements drawing them into a heated, entwined struggle. Jin held onto him strongly, desperate for more pain as they both careened towards an explosive climax.

The aftermath was quiet, the room lit only by the faint glow of the city outside the window. Jin lay beside him, half-curled against the sheets, his breathing even for the first time that night.

Tachikawa propped himself on one arm, watching him. The tear stains on Jin’s cheeks caught the faint light, his face still damp and flushed. His lashes trembled slightly, as if even in sleep, he wasn’t entirely free of the weight pressing on him.

Tachikawa reached out, brushing his thumb across Jin’s cheek in a light, absent motion. His other arm stayed under his head as he watched Jin sleep, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“You don’t have to carry it all yourself,” he said quietly, though he knew Jin couldn’t hear him. His voice softened further. “You idiot.”

Jin shifted slightly in his sleep, his brow smoothing out as if even the weight of his dreams had finally lifted.

Tachikawa exhaled and settled in beside him, letting the quiet hold them both.