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“Tobi, you are an absolute idiot.”

These were the first words Tobi received from his lovely coworker, Monika, after getting the shit beaten out of him by a Zingai. Nonetheless, they were painfully true. Painfully in the sense that neither she nor his boss would ever let him hear the end of this––and painfully because currently his injuries were hurting like hell.

Stumbling through the darkest alleys of the city, Tobi was truly a sight to behold. Grime was splattered onto his clothes, etched into his skin, and caked over his hair. It was a mixture of blood, sweat, and even more blood. The few civilians out in the dead of night gave him concerned looks. He could only pray they did not call an ambulance, or worse, a police officer––it was going to be difficult to explain this without mentioning he had been attacked by a supernatural entity.

“I am appalled that Mai cleared you for this mission,” Monika continued, her voice piercing through his phone like shards of ice. “And that you seriously agreed to go through with it.”

“Y’know, I tried to talk this guy out of it, but damn is he stubborn,” came a voice from behind him––that scathing tone could be none other than his backpack, Baku, a (somewhat) friendly Zingai. “You’d think he would listen to me, his mighty partner!”

Tobi bit down his retort. He didn’t have the time for pointless insults with his colleagues. Instead, he focused on moving one leg in front of the other, which was becoming increasingly harder. The bleeding had stopped, but unfortunately, so had his adrenaline. Pain seeped back into every little bruise and scrape. To add to his growing list of problems, he was hungry. The Zingai had taken a bite out of him, not the other way around. He hadn’t had his fill yet, and an empty stomach never made a person happy.

“Alright, Tobi,” Monika said, switching into business mode. “What’s your condition?”

Terrible, Tobi thought. “Overall alright. There’s––” and with perfect comedic timing, he tripped to the ground. He cursed as his phone clattered to the concrete pavement. There went his chance of going home smoothly. Tobi retrieved his phone, stumbled to his feet, and braced himself for what came next.

Without a doubt, Monika had heard it all. Her voice sharpened. “I shouldn’t have to ask this, but do you need an ambulance?”

Tobi gritted his teeth. “No.”

“Good, because if you did, you would contact them first,” Monika said sternly. “Now, I need a full description.”

Tobi sucked in a deep breath and rattled off the list. “There’s heavy bruising. Minor lacerations, all closing up, and the blood loss isn’t enough to warrant an ambulance. No signs of a concussion, no difficulties breathing, no vomiting. Injuries won’t prevent me from reaching my apartment.”

“Would you like someone to help with your injuries?”

“No.”

“Someone to help walk you back, at least?”

“No.”

Monika’s voice lowered threateningly. “You’re being awfully stubborn, Tobi.”

“I’m just being honest,” he shot back.

There was a standstill. Monika contemplated whatever it was she was thinking about; Tobi picked up his pace despite the risks, because right now he wanted nothing more than to lie in a bed. All he needed was for Monika to let him off the hook.

Suddenly, Baku cut in. “Don’t listen to him,” the backpack cackled. “The dumbass really needs a hand. He’s stumblin’ around like a three-legged dog.”

“Shut up,” Tobi hissed through clenched teeth. So much for his trusted companion.

“In that case, I’ll call for someone,” Monika said.

“There’s no need for that,” Tobi said coolly. “I can take care of myself.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, that seems unlikely.”

“I promise––”

“It’s not just about that. This is a matter of making sure you get home safely,” Monika interrupted him.

“Are you really going to call a member out here in the middle of the night because there’s a tiny chance I might not make it back?”

“Would I be a good friend if I didn’t?”

Tobi pursed his lips. This was going to be a challenge. “Right now, most of our agents are far away from my position,” he pointed out. “Their missions are more important than me, and besides, it would take too long for them to arrive here.”

“That’s a fair point,” Monika hummed, and for a split second Tobi foolishly assumed he had won––only for his hopes to be crushed by what she said next. “Luckily, I won’t have to resort to that. There are still other options.”

“What do you mean?” he said, voice suddenly ice-cold. Already, an idea sprung into his head. He did not want to acknowledge it, even though his instincts were rarely ever wrong. Monika was considering that option.

“Our agents aren’t the only people I can call,” Monika began calmly.

“Don’t,” Tobi nearly snarled.

“Fuchi would be a good choice, too.”

It was as if time stopped. Tobi went deathly silent. He was frozen in place, save for the clench of his jaw and fists. Finally, he spoke. His voice was unusually shaky, strained under the weight of emotion, of the million reasons why Fuchi––Fuchi, of all people––shouldn’t be in this conversation.

“Do not bring Fuchi into this,” Tobi said, wavering.

“I’m not sure you have a choice,” Monika said matter-of-factly. “As you’ve said, our agents are far away from you, and I’m currently busy supervising Ryuuko. That leaves the people you and I are familiar with, namely Mahiru and Fuchi. Obviously, one of those you prefer more than the other.”

“Okay, then call Mahiru. I don’t care.”

Monika’s response came after a great delay. “Really?” she said, astonished.

Tobi let the silence be his answer.

Monika continued to hammer in her reasoning. “On Friday night? It’s practically guaranteed that he’s either going to be passed out, incredibly drunk, or busy with someone.”

“Call him.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Finally, Monika spoke again. “He’s not picking up.”

Tobi exhaled sharply. “Great. Then bring Ryuuko with you and come here.”

“She’s going to throw a tantrum if I wake her up at four in the morning and force her to walk all the way over there.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t think either of us can handle a punching, kicking child, let alone you in your current state.”

“Leave her, then.”

“So she can wake up, find me gone, and go crazy?” Monika sighed. “Look. Fuchi is probably already awake at this hour. Whether you like it or not, I’m calling him.”

Tobi paused, rummaging through his brain for a good argument, for a single logical point, for anything that could convince Monika––but then his legs nearly buckled again. Pain flared across his body, and he grated his teeth together. No––think. Tough it out, and he could come up with a solution. But as the seconds ticked by, his wounds whispered, then yelled, then screamed. From the tiniest scrape to the largest bruise, each had something to say: ouch, this hurts, make it stop, it hurts, ouch ouch ouch ouchouchOUCH––

A part of him shattered. “Don’t,” Tobi said, voice breaking. He stumbled backwards, leaning against the nearest wall. “Just don’t. Please.”

“I promise you it won’t be an issue.”

“That––no, you don’t understand, it’s… different,” Tobi faltered. He knew he sounded utterly pathetic right now, but he was at his last resort: what else could he do but beg? He heaved in another shaky breath, swallowing thickly. Words. Speak. Anything. Just throw out anything. “Look, he just… can’t,” Tobi managed uselessly. “He can’t, okay? Fuchi can’t come.”

Once more, silence filled the line. Tobi slumped to the ground, fingers trembling around his phone. Both his hope and his self-image shriveled up. In his heart, he knew he had already lost. The truth stabbed him like a serrated blade, twisting in deeper and deeper.

Monika’s voice softened. “I’m sending him to your location,” she said. “Just stay there.”

Tobi ended the call without another word. Defeat tasted bitter on his tongue.

In the darkest alley he could find, Tobi crashed down to the ground. That was where he waited like a petulant child in time-out, chanting mantras in his head. Damn him, damn Monika, and damn that Zingai. That had been a pathetic display of desperation.

It was only a matter of time before he found himself fumbling through his pockets. He retrieved a pack of cigarettes, discovering that the pack had been mangled by the Zingai he had fought. The loss was tragic, but much to his relief, one good cigarette remained. It was better than nothing.

He didn’t waste a second lighting it and jamming it towards his mouth. The smoke rolled into his lungs, bringing about the faintest of buzzes. Ultimately, it did nothing to sate his appetite, nor save him from the overwhelming pain, but it was a distraction nonetheless. He watched the orange glow of the ember flicker against the shadows, letting the seconds tick by.

A moment later, a tongue shot out and snatched the cigarette from his fingers. “These sure taste good,” Baku crowed.

Tobi reached after it, but it was too late. “Give it back,” he said, scowling.

Baku crushed the cigarette in his teeth. “Smoking ain’t good for you. How are you gonna fight when you have lung cancer, huh? Ever thought of that?”

Tobi rolled his eyes and said nothing. They had argued this exact topic countless times before, and Baku happened to be more stubborn than he was. You can’t win against an idiot, or so the saying went. His job didn’t exactly have a high life expectancy, did it? Look at where he had gotten himself into right now. A cigarette or two wouldn’t hurt. Long-term effects were, as the name implied, long-term. His life was short-term.

But no, he had to be there for Monika, for Ryuuko, for Fuchi––and Tobi sighed, ran his fingers through his dirty hair, and cursed the malevolent quiet. These kinds of thoughts were only bred by silence and bad moods. Nobody could blame him for the latter. Fuchi. The word circulated around in Tobi’s head. His friend had enough problems already; there was no reason to cause more by dragging him out here.

A distraction soon arrived to interrupt his ruminating. The still air was broken by a ding, followed by his phone screen lighting up.

I’m here, read Fuchi’s text. Tobi’s heart twisted, but he didn’t waste a second in getting out of the alley.

The streets were mostly empty. In the wee hours of the morning, there were only a few early birds or model citizens walking about. The sky was only just beginning to lighten, yet dozens of lights illuminated the narrow side streets. Eyes scanning back and forth, Tobi was quick to find his target: a lanky boy with dark bags hanging from his eyes, gray scars dappling his skin, and brows furrowed in worry. He was constantly glancing about, looking like a scared foreigner lost in the streets of Japan. There was only one person this could be.

“Fuchi,” Tobi called out, voice hoarse.

The boy’s eyes flitted his way. His reaction came in a specific order: confusion, recognition, and then jaw-dropping surprise. Fuchi’s mouth went slack in comedically exaggerated shock, as if Tobi had literally died in front of him and was not just minorly injured. The next second, he was almost tripping over himself in an effort to reach him. It occurred to Tobi that this was probably the first time Fuchi had seen him in this state.

“Are you okay?” Fuchi panted. His hands shot towards Tobi, then stopped just short of making contact. They hovered awkwardly around his shoulders.

Tobi’s gaze swept over his friend’s form. His appearance was rough, to say the least––jacket nearly slipping off, hair ruffled up in a fresh bedhead, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Are you?” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to rush.”

“Yeah,” Fuchi swallowed. “But I wanted to.”

“If you’re really tired, you can still go back home,” Tobi reminded him gently.

“Not until you’re okay,” Fuchi said. His hands remained extended, wavering near Tobi’s side. Then his gaze swung like a pendulum––left, right, left, right, until it finally settled in the middle where their eyes met. An unspoken question hung in the air.

Tobi did not know how to respond. His mind faltered, as did his body. Standing was becoming a Herculean feat. His legs were currently threatening to collapse a second time. Each bruised muscle demanded to sit. Every nerve in his brain was firing off a command to rest, rest, rest––and Fuchi was right there, offering. He wouldn’t have minded it, really, came a traitorous thought which he immediately kicked away. Really, how long was it until he reached his apartment? Maybe twenty minutes or so, he guessed. Twenty minutes was nothing.

“If you’re sure, then let’s get going,” he said, turned away from Fuchi, and started to move.

The first step was easy. Perhaps the burden of his pain and exhaustion hadn’t set in yet. Walking seemed deceivingly simple: you raised your leg, swung it forward, and put it down. He managed to do this once, so how hard could it be to do a second time?

The second step was a bit shaky, but still satisfactory. His legs faked him out, almost collapsing but recovering moments before certain doom. He felt Fuchi shuffle closer to him, silent. Tobi made a point not to accidentally bump into him; he would hate to stain his friend’s clothes with all the grime on his body.

By the third step, he assumed he had mastered the art of locomotion. This proved to be a foolish mistake. The moment he put weight on his foot, the thousand bruises on his legs screamed in unison. Desperately, he tried to save himself, but it was to no avail. His muscles gave up, and a second later, he was crashing towards the ground––

––until suddenly, something tugged him up and away.

“Careful,” Fuchi yelped, both arms locking around his waist. Their shared momentum nearly caused both of them to fall. To recover, he staggered back, dragging Tobi with him. In the blink of an eye, Tobi was pulled flush against his friend. Once the shock faded, something new came over him.

“Mn,” he mumbled intelligently, and like the absolute idiot he was, sank further into Fuchi’s embrace.

He could physically feel the hesitation surrounding him––Fuchi’s body hardening, his breath stopping, his arms twitching. Tobi had half the mind to tell him “stop that” and “keep doing what you were doing before.” Then he realized half of his mind was totally missing, because despite all his common sense, he was not breaking away.

Neither of them made a move. Tobi was aware of how stupid he must look, but he was hopeless against saving himself. His body had already proven that it could not be relied on. First, it was collapsing. Now, it was collapsing into Fuchi, and it showed no signs of stopping. He made the terrifying realization that this felt nice and he didn’t want it to end.

Time went by in a blur. At some point, he registered that his arms had moved to return Fuchi’s embrace, and he couldn’t even be bothered to care how––or why––they got there. All he knew was that he was tired and this felt great––not just because he didn’t have to stand.

Fortunately or unfortunately, all things came to an end eventually. “Should we start going?” Fuchi stammered out.

Tobi grunted, the sound muffled into Fuchi’s shirt. His brain sloshed around in his skull. Blinking as if he’d just woken up, he glanced up at Fuchi. What met him was the epitome of anxiety––eyes darting to and fro, breaths fast, face flushed.

Clarity hit Tobi like a truck. “Shit,” he cursed, jerking away. He stumbled back, barely managing to regain his balance. It was okay, though, because now there was at least three feet of distance between them.

Fuchi lurched after him, panic written all over his face, only to halt halfway through. His brows knitted together. It was obvious he was debating whether or not to approach, but at this point, the lines of their boundaries were about as clear as mud.

“I’m sorry,” Tobi blurted out, stuttering in a way that was completely uncharacteristic of him. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really tired.”

“It’s alright,” Fuchi said, offering him a strained smile. It vanished when he noticed Tobi teetering in place.

“We should get home, though,” Tobi said, spurring himself into walking. One unsteady step in, he was interrupted.

“You can’t move on your own,” Fuchi pointed out quietly.

“I don’t want to get your clothes even dirtier.”

“But you’re going to trip again.”

Tobi pushed forward resolutely. “I can handle it.”

Suddenly, something brushed up against him. The contact lasted for a split second, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks. Tobi turned around, breath catching in his throat.

“Please?” Fuchi whispered, hand skimming his shoulder.

At that moment, Tobi was reminded of a wilting flower––small, weak, so fragile he wouldn’t dare stomp on it. Even as it withered, it kept reaching for the light. Despite how helpless it seemed, it still had a quiet determination.

Tobi’s heart crumbled into pieces. That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t say no to that look.

“Alright,” he choked out, and leaned into Fuchi’s touch.

Tobi knew that by saying yes, he had sealed his fate. If one hug had been all it took to send his logic flying off the rails, what would be the result of this?

The silent, twenty-minute walk in which they had hooked their arms around each other’s waists had given him plenty of time to think (and ignore the pounding of his heart or the looks of strangers). His plan was simple: shower, sleep, and worry about everything else in the morning. He knew he was in trouble when the door to the apartment opened and he didn’t want to let go of Fuchi. He knew he was absolutely screwed when Fuchi pointed out there were still certain things that needed to be done.

Tobi had already gone about his usual routine on these kinds of nights: throw Baku into a corner somewhere, text Monika that he had gotten home, then shower and treat his wounds. His technique was quick and effective––squeeze some disinfectant on the injury, slap on a band-aid or two, and call it a day. Normally, this went down without a hitch, but normally he didn’t have deep wounds. Minor lacerations, he had told Monika, but that Zingai had some sharp claws. It also had made his job a million times worse by scratching him in the least accessible spot––his back. The bleeding had stopped after some pressure, but he was too tired to get the gauze on. Oh, well. He was no stranger to cleaning blood stains.

Tobi had stepped out of the bathroom, stomach grumbling for a taste of Zingai. It was the kind of craving that couldn’t be satisfied by regular food. Even so, he was going to fall asleep soon, hunger be damned. He was simply too exhausted not to pass out the moment his head hit the pillow.

“Did you get everything?” Fuchi had asked. Despite Tobi’s insistence that he had done enough, he had hung around anyway.

“Pretty much,” Tobi had answered, wincing as he shrugged and inadvertently tugged at his wound. “I left a few for later. I’m just going to take a nap first. You can leave now.”

Fuchi frowned. “You shouldn’t let them get infected.”

Tobi paused halfway through his path to his room. “I already washed them down with soap.”

“You still need to put gauze on them, at least.”

“I can’t,” Tobi sighed. “It’s kind of difficult.”

“I’ll get it, then,” Fuchi said earnestly. “I know how to do it.”

Tobi gritted his teeth. “Really, don’t worry about it…”

Fuchi held him with a pleading look, eyes wide. “Please, Tobi.”

Tobi glanced at his face once and knew he had already lost.

And that was the moment in which Tobi Otogiri had dug his own grave and, once more, succumbed to Fuchi’s unbeatable power over him. Now, he found himself sitting on the floor of the bathroom, medical supplies jumbled all around, and Fuchi kneeling behind him.

One part of him was too tired to do anything but slump his spine and lean against the adjacent wall. The other was brimming with tension that was ready to overflow. Agonizing suspense and bone-deep exhaustion did not mix well. He wasn’t sure how much more adrenaline his body could produce before it fell apart.

“How should I do this?” Fuchi said, voice drifting in from behind.

Tobi gulped. “Just push the back of it up. Only the back.”

“Okay,” came Fuchi’s response, and then Tobi felt fingers brush against him––tracing the hem of his shirt, rolling it up, then hooking it over his shoulders. It was slow and methodical, and Tobi’s hands flexed into fists as the sensation was dragged out. Each inadvertent touch to his skin sent a shiver down his spine. Eventually, his back was fully exposed, while the front of the shirt drooped over his chest. He wondered what Fuchi was seeing. Nothing good, that was for sure––there was an uncomfortably long pause. The hair on the back of Tobi’s neck prickled. Say something, please.

“That looks painful,” Fuchi whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Tobi’s bruised-up chest squeezed. “I’m used to it,” he said, voice cracking.

They lapsed back into silence, the only noises being the pop of the disinfectant bottle opening, the splash of running water, or the pump of the soap bottle. Tobi felt like an elastic cord stretched until it was about to snap. The tension became worse when Fuchi made his first move.

If Tobi knew what was to come, then he would have been comforted knowing this was the easiest trial he had to endure. First came the pouring of the disinfectant, then the sting of alcohol. Last came the rhythmic dabbing of a towel, which probably would have been relaxing if he wasn’t about to explode. Throughout it all, there was no direct contact––good for both hygiene and his heart rate. In the end, the worst part was hearing Fuchi’s soft breathing behind him, tickling his hair and skin. It was so intense that it ended up helping, in a way. He was distracted from the pain of his numerous injuries, but not from his overwhelming sensitivity.

From there, the real challenge began. Fuchi took a pad of gauze out of the box. “Can I ask what happened?” he said, and his voice rumbled directly into Tobi’s ear.

Tobi had to stop himself from shuddering. “Sure,” he said, casual and nonchalant––or at least that’s what he tried to go for, but of course it came out all soft and breathy instead. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah.” Still wobbly. “Yes.” Marginally better; he gave up trying. “So, there was a fight…”

Fuchi patiently continued his work, securing the pad of gauze. His fingers brushed against Tobi’s back as he worked his magic. Tobi nearly flinched. Doctors were not supposed to cause sparks with their fingertips.

He attempted to speak again. “I just felt impatient. Like I wanted something to do, something––” and then Fuchi’s hand pressed against his back, lightly holding down a pad of gauze. The pressure was gentle, but the effects were overpowering. Tobi sucked in a sharp breath, took a moment to compose himself, and continued. “Something more. I don’t know how to explain. So I took on a mission to eat a dangerous Zingai, underestimated it, and ended up like this.”

Fuchi hummed his acknowledgement, pausing to rummage around in something. His hand remained anchored in place. Despite staying perfectly still, the weight of it felt ever-growing.

“Maybe I’m just getting tired of everything,” Tobi forced out, breathless. “Who knows.” And who cares? He was blabbering on about nothing. He couldn’t even understand what he was feeling at that time, nor what was happening to him right now. This sensation––was it good? Bad? The only label he could place on it was overwhelming.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Fuchi murmured.

Tobi’s heart almost ripped itself apart. That voice was too soft and tender for his own good. “It’s over now,” he croaked.

There was a beat in which nothing moved or was said. Tobi sighed, closing his eyes. He really needed to pull himself together. Unfortunately, he would not have that opportunity, as the break was short-lived.

Fuchi’s free hand rested on Tobi’s flank, the touch feather-light. “Ah––I should warn you before I do this,” he said, voice gaining a nervous edge. “I have to reach around you to get the gauze in place. Multiple times.”

“You do?” Tobi said, voice pitching up higher than it’d ever gone before.

“You didn’t have any medical tape,” Fuchi stuttered. “So I figured I’d just wrap it instead…”

Tobi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Just do it quickly.”

“That’s what I was planning.”

And thus, the true test began. Tobi’s breath hitched the moment Fuchi’s hand passed the invisible boundary of his back. To his credit, Fuchi was swift at his duty, but it did nothing to ease the situation. Tobi thought he had been hardened to his touch, but no––he was woefully unprepared for it.

Touch was something he was familiar with. He was a fan of holding hands, and he could deal with Ryuuko clambering all over him like a monkey, but this was in a completely different league. If clothes shielded him, he could handle a hug––and it could even be nice, as he had learned. If not, as he was now beginning to realize, he was done for. Even worse was the particular area of contact. The back he could manage; the flank was a gray area; the stomach was forbidden territory. Maybe it was some kind of fighter instinct to protect his vital organs, but his entire body was burning the moment Fuchi’s hand touched his front. It was far too close for comfort. Frankly, it seemed impossible that he could be so roughed-up and exhausted, yet still have the ability to respond like this. 

The final nail on the coffin was having Fuchi lean over him the entire time, enveloping him from all directions.

Closing his eyes did not protect Tobi from experiencing each and every sensation––if anything, it heightened them. There was the way Fuchi’s breath tickled his hair, the warmth of his body pressing in from behind, the steady rise and fall of his chest. The gauze was guided by Fuchi’s dexterous fingertips, and he felt every single point of contact. There were touches at the ridges of his ribs, the bumps of his spine, the smooth expanse of his muscle. If he had one saving grace, it was that the gauze had to be secured around the lower part of his torso, letting his chest remain safe and hidden.

In one instance, Fuchi lingered too long. He paused to adjust a new wrap of the gauze, one of his hands idly resting flat against Tobi’s flank as he did so. A pitiful noise slipped out of Tobi’s mouth before he could stop it––a weird half-grunt, half-whine. He regretted it immediately, eyes shooting open to find Fuchi staring down at him with a confused look.

Fuchi hesitated. The offending hand did not move. Tobi took matters into his own hands, literally––he plucked the intrusion off his stomach like he was removing a burr. Once it was off, he could feel the tension ebb out of his body.

Fuchi jolted away, making the realization. “Sorry,” he said, eyes wide.

“Just don’t do that again,” Tobi snapped. No amount of gauze could contain the vibrations of his pounding heart. He ducked his head away to hide––he did not want to imagine what his face looked like right now, but he could feel it was burning hot.

True to his word, Fuchi finished the rest of the wrapping quickly. He paused only to ask occasional questions––was the gauze too tight? Could you breathe comfortably? Tobi’s chest reverberated with his friend’s voice, and his inhales were far from steady. Finally, Fuchi tucked the end of the strip under a layer of gauze. As soon as he was finished, his hands––and the rest of his body––shot away as if he’d touched a hot stove.

“It’s done now,” Fuchi squeaked.

Tobi dropped his shirt down, and finally, some of the tension unwound inside of him. He shifted around to lean against the bathroom wall, tipping his head back and sighing. That had certainly been an experience. He toyed around with the memories in his head. The sensation had been sort of nice, he supposed, in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. Overpowering, sure, but nice. In addition to that, the pain in his body was starting to dissipate––though that was probably a symptom of him getting used to it. Being able to relax––also known as not having the electric hands of his best friend touching him––certainly helped.

He considered the new bandages across his torso. The gauze was snug––not too tight, not too loose. It had been applied with the deft hands of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re good at your job.”

“I guess so,” Fuchi mumbled, averting his eyes. “It’s, ‘cause, uh… I watched a tutorial.”

Fuchi looked so small now, so distant. If he was a withered flower before, now he seemed curled up and dead. Tobi knew there was a reason for it––why Fuchi was so skilled at applying bandages, why he wore long sleeves even in summer, why he was so anxious right now. As much as Tobi wanted nothing more than to sleep in his bed, that was not the priority here.

He tilted his head, keeping his expression neutral. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure,” Fuchi said, looking increasingly nervous. He fidgeted with his hands, eyes still cast away from Tobi.

Tobi took a deep breath. “Did you like the hug?”

Fuchi’s jaw went slack, color exploding across his face. For a split second, Tobi thought he had made a mistake with that question. It was entirely possible that he had gone too far. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Fuchi even more problems.

Then, like he was confessing to a crime, Fuchi stuttered out, “Yeah.”

Tobi’s heart soared, and he leaned forward unconsciously. He almost doubted that he would say it, but the words came out in earnest. “Want to do it again?”

A dozen emotions flashed across Fuchi’s face as he processed the question. Confusion, shock, and nervousness mixed together into the same look Tobi had seen before––quick breaths, red-stained cheeks, eyes flitting back and forth. His jaw moved up and down but no words came out.

Tobi mentally crossed his fingers and waited. Each second passed was another percent his chances of success lowered. Not that he cared––he would wait as long as he needed for an answer, no matter the outcome. But if it did anything to give Fuchi even a modicum of happiness, he would do it.

“Okay,” Fuchi said, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “If you want to.”

“But do you?” Tobi said carefully.

“Yes,” Fuchi whispered, barely audible.

That was all Tobi needed to hear before he crawled over and tugged Fuchi into his arms. It was exactly what he had been hoping for and more. Warmth, relaxation, and a feeling of completeness––he could only hope that this was what Fuchi was experiencing, too. He nestled his face into his friend’s chest and inhaled deeply. He felt like he could fall asleep like this.

“I’m sorry for dragging you all the way over here,” Tobi said softly.

He felt the body around him freeze up, then gradually relax. “No,” Fuchi said hoarsely. “You don’t understand.”

Tobi sank deeper into the embrace. “Understand what?”

“Why––” Fuchi choked out, arms wrapping around Tobi. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

Tobi’s answer died in his throat.

“What if nobody was there to take care of you?” Fuchi continued, panic growing in his voice. “What if that thing had killed you?”

“I can survive on my own,” Tobi reassured him, squeezing Fuchi with his arms.

“No…” Fuchi whispered, but his words trailed off.

Tobi’s heart caved in on itself. “What about you?” he prompted. “Are you okay?”

“I want you to be okay, too,” Fuchi said. The words were quiet, but filled with conviction.

The image of the withering flower flashed in Tobi’s mind. “I am,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry.”

“You keep saying that. You’re always looking out for me, but never for yourself…”

Something in Tobi unraveled itself. “I have to,” he insisted, voice building intensity he went on. “I have to find my brother, I have to eat Zingai, I have to take care of Ryuuko and you and––” He cut himself off with an exasperated sigh. “Sorry. I must be getting hangry.”

“Tobi,” Fuchi said weakly.

Tobi scrambled to recover. “It’s okay––I’m okay.”

“You’re not!” Fuchi cried out. “You’ve already done enough for me. Why can’t I take care of you, too?”

Tobi’s stomach plummeted. The worst kind of fear stabbed his heart like a razor-sharp knife. No––Fuchi should not sound like that because of him. Desperation setting in, he pulled away from the embrace to look at Fuchi. His friend stared at him with wide, pleading eyes, hands digging into Tobi’s shoulders.

Fuchi’s bottom lip quivered. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, glancing away.

Panic seized Tobi. “I’m sorry,” he corrected Fuchi. He had to salvage this, but how? If hugs and reassurances did nothing, what was there left to do?

Fuchi was starting to shake beneath him. Tobi had to act quickly.

“It feels like––” Tobi began, the words getting caught in his throat. His voice was shaking and cracking like a tower ready to crumble apart. “Sometimes, it feels like nothing is working out.”

Fuchi was silent except for his ragged breathing. Tobi’s heart was already shattered; now the remaining pieces were being ground into dust, stomped on, and completely obliterated. Fix this. He had to fix this.

Like a ball rolling downhill, the words started to tumble out, building up momentum as they went along. “I guess a part of me just wants to give up,” Tobi said. “So I smoke, and I jump from stupidly high heights, and I fight things like that. Even though I know I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t,” Fuchi sniffled.

“I won’t. I can’t,” Tobi reassured him. “I still have to take care of everyone.”

Fuchi let out a shaky sigh. “What can I do to make it better?”

“Nothing,” Tobi said, but then he realized his mistake. His mind whispered something into his ear––he immediately thought no way. But he had to offer something, right? “Well, no. Maybe…”

Fuchi waited patiently, hands still wrapped around Tobi.

Tobi clawed around for a distraction, leaning back to look Fuchi in the eye. “Do you feel fine?” he said, searching his friend’s face.

“Better.” Fuchi offered him a tiny smile. There was moisture coating his eyes.

“You were crying,” Tobi said faintly.

“A little bit.”

Tobi held him tighter. “You don’t need to do anything for me, you know.”

A frown tugged at Fuchi’s lips. “Tobi…”

Tobi’s heart stuttered. He was ready to say something along the lines of “thanks, you should go home now” or maybe “I really need to go to sleep” until he remembered his purpose. “I think––” The words gathered at the tip of his tongue but refused to budge. “I think I might have liked it when––” Spit it out already.

Fuchi blinked at him, clueless. A wildfire blazed across Tobi’s cheeks. This might have been the stupidest thing he had ever done. Scratch that––it one-hundred-percent was. Stupid, idiotic, brain-dead: these were just a few of the words that could be used to describe his decision.

“When you were helping me with the gauze,” Tobi grumbled. “The way you were touching me felt––nice.”

He dragged a hand over his red-hot face, peeking at Fuchi through his fingers. He could see the dots connect in Fuchi’s brain in real time. The reaction was subtle––a slight parting of the mouth and widening of the eyes––and it should have been a sign to stop. But Tobi had been given the luxury of being selfish, and so he proceeded anyway.

Forcing the words out so fast they were practically one syllable, he said: “Can you do that again?”

Fuchi’s mouth formed a perfect “O.” An unintelligible sentence sputtered from his throat, a tattered string of consonants and vowels. Red exploded across his face like an erupting volcano.

Tobi backed away from Fuchi. An alarm blared in his head: Warning! Warning! Friendship demise imminent! At this point, what could he say to salvage the situation? The ship had already sailed. He scowled at the ground, glaring daggers into the floor instead of Fuchi’s face.

“You liked it?” Fuchi squeaked.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Tobi huffed. His dignity was damaged enough.

“I did too,” Fuchi stammered. His eyes flitted away. “But like, not in, you know…”

Tobi’s victory was short-lived. “What do you mean?” he said, eyes narrowing.

Fuchi coughed. “Not in that way.”

Tobi’s heart stopped at the realization. “Not like that!” he snapped. “I didn’t like like it. It just felt nice, like a massage or something, not––sexual.” He spat out the last word like it had personally insulted him.

“Why else would you be so nervous about it?” Fuchi exclaimed, rushing to explain himself. “You were fine with asking for a hug!”

“Why would I ask my friend to do that for me?” Tobi retorted.

Fuchi backed down, staring at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled. His head hung low, but even through his veil of dark hair, his face was beet red.

Tobi felt like an injured animal, hackles raised and hair bristling. He took a deep breath. “No,” he sighed. “I’m just… on edge. It’s not your fault.”

Fuchi slowly raised his head. “Okay,” he said, then tried the word again, unsure of himself. “Okay. So. Should we do it…?”

“If you still want to, yeah.”

“I do,” Fuchi muttered. “So, yes…?”

Tobi’s heart jumped in his chest. “Yes,” he breathed out without a moment of hesitation. He didn’t think too hard about the implications of what that meant––it, or how eager he was to answer. He clambered back towards Fuchi, their awkward embrace resuming.

Tobi was an absolute idiot, as Monika had told him, and now he wholeheartedly agreed. By definition, he was––only an idiot would make the same mistake twice. In his case, it was saying yes to things he knew would probably kill him. Tobi threw away the last scraps of his pride for the sake of his own desires. Was it selfish? Yes, but not entirely––and it was that knowledge that let him push through. Fuchi had wanted to help. If that was the case, then so be it.

“Ready?” Fuchi murmured, voice flowing into Tobi’s ear.

Tobi shivered. “Ready.”

Hesitantly, Fuchi’s hands slid up under his shirt, warm against his cold skin. Gently, the fingers pushed into the base of his spine, rubbing in circles. The tiny movement built up a pressure that expanded like foam, rapidly filling in every crease of Tobi’s brain. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to snap.

Possibly the worst thing he had ever uttered was coaxed out of his throat. “Hah––Fuchi––” Tobi groaned, the noise deep and guttural, and his back arched.

“Sorry,” Fuchi yelped, both arms flying away.

“No, it’s nice,” Tobi gasped out. “Just… slower, please.”

The hands crept back into position. Tobi grabbed a fistful of Fuchi’s shirt and squeezed it until his knuckles went white. Fingers gently slid up the bumps of his spine, along with the broad base of two palms. Eventually they halted, awaiting further orders. Tobi couldn’t respond, not while his thoughts were going haywire.

The rational part of his mind was screaming. This was completely absurd––what the hell were they doing on the floor of the bathroom, talking like that, acting like that, hadn’t they agreed this was none of that? The forever-unnamed part of his mind was giddy with glee. This was incredible and he wanted more, more, more, for those hands to explore and caress every inch of him––with a grimace, he shut that thought down immediately. He settled on the middle ground: this was kind of weird, but it felt nice.

“You can keep going,” he said after he composed himself.

The hands continued their journey, sliding up his back at a snail’s pace. Tobi let go of himself, fully sinking into Fuchi’s weight. At some point, the tension melted into warmth. There it was––the nice feeling he had been chasing since the beginning. It was like giving himself away. He was in someone else’s hands. He didn’t have to worry about what to say, about what came next, about what the future entailed. He could just relax as Fuchi’s hands swept the burdens off his back.

“Like this,” he sighed, falling deeper into the hug. “Just like this.”

Fuchi continued to hold him; Tobi closed his eyes. All the pains in his body––the scratches, the bruises, the hunger––quieted. The hands rose, then fell, then rose, then fell, like they were rocking him to sleep.

“Thank you for this,” Tobi said.

Fuchi hummed. “Of course.”

“...Are you going to be able to make it home alright?”

Fuchi laughed. It was tiny––more of a soft exhale out the nose, if anything––but it made Tobi’s heart swell. “You should worry about yourself more,” he said.

A complaint formed on Tobi’s tongue. He swallowed it down. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “Thanks, Fuchi.”

He didn’t know when it happened, but eventually, Tobi sank into a deep slumber. His empty stomach didn’t even rumble once as he drifted off to sleep. His appetite was sated by thoughts of warm hugs, massages, and hands with gray scars.