Work Text:
Yuma slips off his shoes, clicking the door shut behind him.
The silence that followed the day was louder compared to the noise of the whole day.
He slips his bag off his shoulder, onto his bed as he dragged a tired hand down his face. Each and every part of him screamed in exhaustion and his mind refused to rest for even a second.
Today, Jo smiled at him. It shouldn’t have meant anything. He smiled at everyone. It was normal. It shouldn’t have hurt. It was the same smile he gave Yuma without any hint of hesitation before Yuma ruined everything himself.
It was his own fault.
He knows that.
Yuma’s grateful that his roommate isn’t nosy enough to ask why he hasn’t talked about Jo like he used to. He’s grateful his roommate doesn’t ask questions. Most people knew the loud version of Yuma anyway — the one who talks too much, laughs too hard, never taking anything serious. It was the version people liked more, it was easier to hide his feelings under all the noise. Yuma would talk to everyone, so he wouldn’t stay alone with his own thoughts.
But now, he’s tired. He’s tired of saying he’s fine. He’s tired of acting. He might just lose his mind if anyone asks if he’s okay right now.
Distancing himself was supposed to make everything easier. That was the plan. Pull away before his feelings grew deeper. Reply slower, avoid hangouts, stop waiting for Jo after class. Yuma did all of that. All to stop acting there could ever be something between them.
He knew.
He knew it more than anyone.
That Jo would never see him that way.
Never.
Yuma had repeated it to himself so many times it shouldn’t hurt.
Yuma used to believe feelings would eventually fade away if you ignored them long enough. But rather than fading, it felt like poison. It’s slow, quiet, spreading through him little by little until it hurts so much it could kill him.
Loving Jo wasn’t the worst part. It was carrying that love alone, quietly, like it was something fragile that no one else should ever see.
Yuma’s gaze drifted towards his bag he had thrown onto the bed.
He stared at it blankly, too exhausted to think of anything. Then, something pale out from the half-open pocket caught his attention.
He looked at it for a moment. It was a small piece of paper.
His brows pulled together slightly as he slowly took it in his hands. He didn’t remember putting anything there.
The note was tiny, messily folded like it had been shoved in quickly between classes.
Yuma unfolded it absentmindedly at first.
Then his breath caught.
He knew the handwriting by heart.
Don’t skip lunch again tomorrow. I know you forgot today. Sleep early, don’t overwork yourself.
— Jo
The words were simple. Casual. Probably meaningless to Jo.
But to Yuma, it felt like someone had reached into his chest, took his heart out and stomped on it.
His fingers tightened around the paper as warmth and pain tangled together violently inside him. Of course Jo noticed things like that. Of course he still cared in those small, effortless ways that made Yuma fall for him in the first place.
That was the problem.
Jo cared just enough to make Yuma hope for things he shouldn’t.
Distancing himself was supposed to make the feelings weaker.
So why did one tiny note feel enough to ruin all the progress he had tried so hard to make?
Tears started to prickle his eyes. He couldn’t handle this any longer.
A tear dropped.
Then another.
Yuma folded the note too quickly, like touching it any longer would burn him. He quickly hid the note under his pillow, as if it was something sacred that no one else but him should see.
As if hiding it would make a difference.
He exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up from the bed. The room suddenly felt too cramped, too warm, like the walls were pressing inward around him. Across the room, his roommate remained absorbed in his own world, headphones still on, thankfully uninterested in whatever breakdown Yuma was trying not to have.
Yuma grabbed the nearest hoodie hanging from the chair and pulled it on hurriedly, tugging the sleeves over his hands.
“I’m heading out,” he muttered.
His roommate only gave a lazy thumbs up without looking away from his screen.
Good.
Yuma slipped out before another thought about Jo could settle properly in his mind.
The hallway lights were painfully bright compared to the dim quiet of his room. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked, keeping his head down while distant laughter and conversation echoed through the dorm building around him.
Usually, he would have joined in.
Usually, he would have forced himself into someone else’s space, loud and smiling and easy to be around, anything to drown out the noise in his own head.
Tonight he couldn’t do it.
The cold air hit him the second he stepped outside, biting against his cheeks and slipping beneath the edges of his hoodie. Yuma inhaled deeply, almost desperate for it.
Behind the dorms, past the cracked pavement and dying grass, the forest stretched dark and quiet beneath the night sky.
That was where he went when things became too much.
Not deep enough to get lost, just far enough that nobody bothered him.
The sounds of campus slowly faded the further he walked, replaced by the soft crunch of leaves beneath his shoes and the distant rustling of branches overhead. Moonlight filtered weakly through the trees, silver against the dirt path Yuma knew by memory now.
Finally, he stopped near the old wooden fence at the edge of the clearing.
And for the first time since entering his room, Yuma let himself breathe properly.
Usually, he would stay there for a few minutes, sometimes hours, he doesn’t really notice time passing by.
Yuma tilted his head back until the stars blurred together above him.
The sky stretched endlessly overhead, distant and silent, glittering coldly through the gaps in the trees. It made him feel small in the worst possible way.
His breathing trembled as another tear slipped down his cheek.
He was so tired of this.
So tired of carrying feelings that had nowhere to go.
A broken laugh escaped him as he wiped furiously at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, but more tears only followed.
“What’s wrong with me?” he whispered.
The question disappeared into the night air.
Yuma’s chest ached violently, tight enough to hurt with every breath he took. He could still picture Jo smiling earlier that day so clearly it made him feel sick.
That stupid, gentle smile.
Why did Jo still smile at him like that?
Why did he still care?
Yuma squeezed his eyes shut.
“You should’ve hated me,” he said shakily, voice cracking apart. “It would’ve been easier if you hated me.”
Because Yuma had pulled away first. Ignoring messages, left conversations early, stopped waiting for Jo after class.
Anyone else would have gotten angry eventually. Anyone else would have stopped trying.
But Jo stayed.
And Yuma didn’t understand why.
“Why are you staying?” he asked quietly, staring up at the stars again like they might answer for him. “Why do you still look for me?”
The tears wouldn’t stop now.
“If I was hurting you, you should’ve just left me alone.”
But Jo never did.
Instead, he kept offering those small pieces of warmth that ruined Yuma over and over again.
Tiny notes, small smiles, casual touches that Jo probably forgot within seconds while Yuma carried them for weeks.
It felt cruel, even though Yuma knew Jo never meant it that way.
That was the worst part.
Jo was kind without realizing kindness could destroy someone too.
Yuma’s shoulders shook as another sob escaped him.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered.
The confession sounded pathetic out loud.
He hated how badly he wanted to be understood.
Hated the small, awful part of himself that still hoped maybe Jo would notice the distance and fight harder to close it.
Because if Jo really didn’t care, then why stay?
Why keep reaching for Yuma after he kept pulling away?
“Why can’t you just let me go?” Yuma asked brokenly.
But the second the words left his mouth, guilt twisted painfully through his chest.
Because he didn’t want Jo to let go.
That was the truth he could never admit.
Yuma wanted Jo to stay.
Wanted him close.
Wanted him in every selfish way he was never supposed to.
A strangled sound escaped his throat as he covered his face with both hands.
“I hate this,” he choked out softly. “I hate loving you like this.”
The forest remained quiet around him, the wind brushing gently through the trees overhead.
And above it all, the stars listened silently to every secret Yuma could never tell Jo himself.
It doesn’t matter anymore, every night is the same. Yuma and his thoughts together in a place where only the stars can hear.