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“Come on, who is it?” Satoru pines, like always. His stupid voice clamps around her throat, threatening another cough. Utahime let out a breath, shoving it down as she kept her back to him. She’d already asked him to leave, but he never did what anyone told him.
“Come on,” he almost whines.
It makes her skin crawl. Her fist clenched. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and she contemplated letting the disease kill her, just to spite him.
“Utahime, tell me. This f—sorry. This guy, person, isn’t worth it. I’ll bring them here. I want to help.”
“Really?” she hissed. There is a sincerity in his voice that reminds her of what got her here, but the voice he insists on using makes her want to scream. Perhaps her impending death made her chest burn, leading her to consider a sharp retort.
“Yes,” he said, but he was still using that stupid, airy, not a care-in-the-world voice.
She was fucking dying because of this fucking moron, and he doesn’t care.
“Really?” Utahime turned to him, eyes ice, voice venom. “You’ve never cared about a fucking thing in your life. You tease, and you tease. You may nudge someone in the right direction because it’s fun or amusing, but you’ve never cared about anyone or anything. You’re the most powerful person in the world,” she almost laughs, and tears threaten to spill from her eyes. “Everything is a fucking joke to you.” Even her. “Don’t you even–” something clogged her throat. She retched then coughed as it moved in her throat, letting air in. It tickled in the worst way as she coughed again. She gagged again, then coughed and finally spat the bloody flower onto the ground. Fucking light blue covered in red.
After a few breaths, Utahime realizes Satoru moved to her side, rubbing her back. She shoved him away as her heart pounded. Unsure if his touch or her fourth near-death experience of the day caused it.
“Get off me,” she hissed.
They shared a breath; the bed creaked, breaking the silence.
“I care,” he said low, in his natural baritone voice. No playing, just him. A shiver ran down her spine, and it squeezed her heart. She wanted to vomit.
“You’re right. I play everything off as a joke. I don’t know why I do it sometimes; I just do. But I care,” he turned back to her, looking at her under his mask. “I care about my students, all the students, and sometimes, as their teacher, I have to be rough. I have to make them tough. Maybe I joke because I’m constantly forced to do things I hate.” He rose to his feet, and anger slipped into his voice, “Maybe I joke because we live in a sick fucking world and the only way to survive is to laugh at it and turn the world into a joke.” He groaned. “But,” he looked back at her, “don’t think for a second that I don’t care about you.”
He took a step forward. “I joke because it’s the only thing I can do. You’re fucking dying, and I can’t save you,” his voice broke. Her heart leaped into her throat.
Satoru turned away from her and ran his fingers through his spiked white hair, sighing as he did.
“I–” her words died on her. She looked down and felt warm. “I . . .” she swallowed. “I didn’t know.”
“No,” he sighed. His voice was low, and she felt hot.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry. I . . . I got too caught up in . . . playing a role. I’m sorry you didn’t know how I felt.”
Felt?
“Felt?” she said just above a whisper. “You . . .” Her heart pounded. Pounded so loud she was worried he’d hear it. “Just like me as a friend . . . right?”
He’d glanced at her and looked away. Utahime swore she saw the faintest twinge of pink on his neck.
There’s no way.
“Of course, but . . . I,” he sighed. Satoru looked back at her, and even behind the mask, she could tell his sparkling blue eyes softened. “I care about you.” It was the most honest thing she’d ever heard him speak.
“I–” the word was nearly silent as her mouth hung open. Her heart pounded like a drum against her ribs.
“But I know you’d never see me that way. I’m an ass. So, what I can do,” his voice changed back to that character. “Is have you tell me who this fucker is, drag his or her ass down here, and make them grovel at your feet as you confess your love until you’re better.” He smiled.
It was the fakest thing she’d seen. Her heart slowed almost instantly. She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. This fucking moron.
Satoru had given her the ammunition. She had the words locked and loaded, ready to give him a taste of his own medicine. You want my love to grovel at my feet. Then get on your knees.
“Satoru,” she said low.
He looked at her, and his smile faded.
“Please, drop the act. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She patted the bed next to her. “Do that, and I’ll tell you.”
He walked over to her and sat down.
Utahime looked at him, where his eyes hid behind the mask.
“Please don’t laugh,” she said low, luring him to the softness that she so desperately craved from him.
“I won’t,” his low voice sent a shiver down her spine.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened them. “It’s you.”
His head tilted in bewilderment. “What?”
Her lips curled into a smile, and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. “It’s you, you idiot. I guess I’m in love with you.”
Satoru took her hand. Her hand disappeared within his, and its softness surprised her. With all the battles and fighting, she expected it to be rougher.
He looked down. “Sorry, I’m having to kill that guy in my head now. The one that wants to shout from the rooftops, make jokes about how of course it was me, I’m beautiful.” Satoru said it in the voice, but without the confidence and carefree nature of the character. “But,” a sigh, “I know that’s not the man you’re talking about. And more importantly, as much as I wanted to rub it in,” he looked back at her.
Her heart skipped, even behind his eye mask; it felt like he was peering into her soul.
“I want to kiss you more.” The words were like smooth jazz and cellos to her ears, chest, and body. She swallowed the moan that crept to her throat.
His hand moved up to her cheek, his thumb caressing her scar. She closed her eyes and melted into him. She thought for sure he was just going to press his lips to hers, but he didn’t.
“Can I kiss you?”
Her heart damn near jumped out of her chest and started pounding like the double bass of a death metal band.
She couldn’t even speak, just nodded, and her lips parted. He slotted his lips against hers like a fucking puzzle. He was warm, and the way his massive body held her was better than she imagined. Satoru closed his mouth around hers slowly, adjusting his position to get closer to her. They breathed in, nothing wanting to pull away. She hated to admit that he smelled amazing, like mint, tobacco, and pine. His thumb caressed her scar again, and he pushed into her, giving her a slow kiss. He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. She had a second of peace.
Utahemi opened her eyes and found the other Satoru, one crystalline blue eye peering at her, a smirk on his face, “So, was that as good as you hoped?”
She shut her eyes, not letting him taunt her with his annoyingly beautiful eyes.
“Shut up and do that again,” she lulled. Pulling him against her, pressing her breasts to his chest. Two could play at that game.