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Redness rose across Ichiban's face. "You want me to do what?"
A silent glare. You know what I mean.
A part of him knew, but didn't want to believe it. Here? In front of others?
It was one thing when they were alone. Clandestine affairs in private moments, the confusing scraps of attention when no one was looking. Just to be shoved away in public, he mused, as understanding of it as he was hurt.
A harsh voice startled Ichiban out of his head. "Just do it!" Masato snapped, leaning forward to emphasize his point.
He knew this was just meant to use him, to make Masato look better in comparison. To sacrifice himself as a stepping stone in this man's endless clawing to the top, dragging down everyone around him.
And yet, he gave himself willingly, time and time again.
Pushing his buttons, pushing his limits. How far would he go for Masato? How far would he push, would he take - taking and taking until there was nothing left? Tearing himself apart for a doomed love, a hopeless hope that he would finally be enough for a man who was never satisfied.
Endless love meeting endless misery, genuine meeting fake. Showing him the kindness he could only feign, only knew how to use for selfish reasons. In a way, Masato hating Ichiban for having something he could never have.
So apologetic to a man who, more often than not, just wanted to hurt him. Who didn't care who he was taking down along the way. Lashing out, flaring up. The only one he was safe enough to be hot-headed, unthinking, instinctual with - his fucked up form of genuine.
Who else could Masato let this side out with? Always having to swallow his pride, putting on airs of pleasantry. Veneers of kindness thinly masking a rotten core. Anyone else would strike him down. Not Ichi, ever loyal, giving Ichi. It was so easy to take him for granted.
"Don't tell anyone," he had always said. And yet, here he was - demanding, flaunting him arrogantly.
What else was he to do?