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“I’m gay.”
Shit.
Yosuke’s fingers instinctively tightened around his chopsticks as he felt the bead of sweat roll down the side of his face, leaving a trail of regret in its wake. No matter how hard he stared at his well-done steak that his mother cooked, or tried to obscure his vision with the steam wafting up to the ceiling, or fidgeted in his seat in some effort to disappear, the heavy silence now mucking up the atmosphere over the dinner table could not, and would not, be avoided. His face burned with shame, red like the steak’s blood covering his plate, mingling with the steamed vegetables.
“What?” Yosuke’s mother stared, lipstick-covered lips pursing slightly to emphasize her surprise. His father slowly continued to chew his steak, gaze fixated on Yosuke without a shred of emotion. For some reason, that disturbed him more.
“I’m,” Yosuke started, but the words refused to budge, forever lodged in his throat where they would die. He restlessly avoided direct eye-contact with either of them as he struggled to put the syllables together to make meaningful sentences. Even Teddie, known to devour his food regardless of context, started to stare, cheek cartoonishly bulging from where his food took up space in his mouth. Goddammit. He clenched and unclenched his fists, chopsticks abandoned, appetite shriveled up into nothing.
“I am,” Yosuke said with a hard swallow, “dating a boy.”
He exhaled shakily as he let his proclamation settle into both of his parent’s brains. His mother continued to gape like a witness to a horrific car crash, his father continued to chew thoughtfully on his steak, Teddie blinked, appearing puzzled by what Yosuke meant, and—and he avoided looking next to him. He did not want to see Yu’s expression at that moment. Was it encouraging? Surprised? Outraged? Nothing at all? Yosuke wanted to look and see, but he could not muster up the courage to look at his partner. Instead, he steadily lifted his stare to his mother and father.
“I’m dating a boy,” he repeated with a firmer tone. “I, uh, don’t think I’m actually gay, or anything like that—it’s just, I…” Fuck, this was not what he wanted to display—a pathetic explanation of what he could or could not be, all while desperately trying not to trip and stumble his own words. He needed to be more confident, to show he was okay with this (somehow), and that his parents ought to be, too (also somehow). “I like him,” he managed, and laughed weakly before staring down at his thighs, where his white-knuckled hands pulled on the fabric of his red jeans out of nerves. “A lot,” he added a moment later.
More silence followed, interrupted by the sounds of his father chewing and cutting more pieces of steak. His mother seemed unable to function—her chopsticks limply supported themselves on her delicate fingers. She finally turned her head towards his father, who said nothing, before turning back to Yosuke. The pink-colored nails started tapping next to her plate—her nervous habit. She always tapped whenever she was worried about something.
“Are you…” She started, paused, and then shook her head before resuming. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he answered, almost a little too quickly. He was more than sure. Too sure. Scarily so. If he could be in lo—if he could like anyone else other than his partner, he would, but it could not be anyone else. Not even Rise, nor Chie, nor the unconquerable Yukiko Amagi. It had to be Yu, despite his sex. “Yes,” he said again quietly, biting his lower lip at the possible implications that entailed, “I’m sure.”
She hesitated, eyes flickering over to Yu, who remained silent. “Who?” she whispered, making Yosuke strain his hearing to catch the small, trembling question.
Yosuke steeled himself—fists balled on his thighs, teeth gritted together, jaw locked, shoulders squared—before slowly turning his head towards Yu.
Miraculously, Yu smiled at him gently, gaze calm, and body relaxed. How could someone seriously be this okay with anything? It slightly irked Yosuke how nothing appeared to faze his impenetrable Leader, though he knew that was not true. He gave a hesitant smile back before locking stares with his mother.
“You and… him?”
“Yes.”
“And you claim to like him?”
“I’m not claiming anything, Mom. I like him. It’s a fact.”
She rose from the table, knees banging against it harshly, making the glasses almost spill and the plates shudder a few centimeters closer to the edge. Her nostrils flared and some hairs escaped her tightly-wound bun. Her lips quivered, but with rage or sadness, Yosuke could not tell. He stopped breathing for a moment when she opened her mouth, as if to say something, but she stopped. Instead, she turned her back to him and made her way to the living room, where she paced in circles around the coffee table, biting her nails.
“Where,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “did I go wrong in raising you? In loving you?”
He was not sure how it happened—all he knew was his plate shattered on the floor, his chair toppled over to its side, and his stomping feet resonated in the stairwell as he heard Teddie cry, “Yosuke, wait! What’s going on?”
He slammed the door to his room shut, eyes stinging with hate-filled tears. He hoped that seeing his personal space—the posters, the stack of CDs, the bike, his bed—would relax him, but no such luck. He heard someone coming upstairs—his father, maybe? He did not care. He did not want to see anyone—not even Yu, who got him into this mess in the first place. Granted, Yu did not make him outright tell his parents about their relationship, but still, Yosuke could not bring himself to see him.
Fighting back the urge to either destroy all of his belongings or cry, he crawled into Teddie’s temporary living space—the closet—and closed the door, secluding himself in the welcomed darkness. All sounds became muffled, if not muted, as the steady pattern of his breathing overrode all other noise. In, out. In, out. Inhale, exhale. A never-ending cycle, never once disappointing him.
“Yosuke?” He heard Yu bumbling around the room outside his smaller world of darkness. “Yosuke, where did you go? Come out, we need to talk about what just happened.”
No, they didn’t. Yosuke pulled his knees up to his chest, forcing himself to breathe quieter. Had it always been such a chore to do that? His heart rate felt like it escalated by at least ninety percent, and his hands shook with small tremors. His brain felt stuck in mud, unable to string coherent thoughts together.
“Yosuke?” The closet door slid open, and Yosuke looked up reluctantly. Yu, face shadowed, blinked once, then knelt in front of him, eyes laced with unwanted concern. “Yosuke, you’re shaking.”
“Not,” he argued, but it came out in a weak whimper as his body shuddered harder. Was it always so cold before? His teeth chattered together, threatening to break his molars into pieces.
“Yes, you are. I think you’re having a panic attack.” Yu pulled on one of Yosuke’s arms, urging him to stand, but he did not. “Yosuke, come out. Your dad is waiting downstairs to talk to you, and we really should talk this out. This is not something to be ignored, okay?”
“No,” he obstinately replied, tugging his arm free. “No, I don’t want to go back downstairs. I-I want to stay… to stay here, a-away from them.” Fuck, why was his voice doing that weird stutter?
Yu wrapped his arms around Yosuke—gentle, always gentle, mustn’t break the precious, weak Yosuke—before pecking a kiss on his cheek. The persistent flurry of kisses marked Yosuke’s ears, jaw, neck, and chin before finally pressing against his lips, ignoring the quiet noises of disapproval. Those noises became swallowed up in teeth and tongue, forcing them into Yosuke’s mouth, obliterating the sickly choir in the back of his mind that chanted, You screwed up again, your parents hate you, you’re worthless, go die in a hole.
The kisses slowly moved down to Yosuke’s collarbone, and he tugged irritably at Yu’s hair—“Seriously, stop it, I don’t—”—only to find himself moaning when a harsh bite nipped at some skin. Protests gave way to little breathless moans and whimpers, making him no longer want to cry, but to get into Yu’s pants and… His train of thought veered into dangerous territory as Yu finally let up, pushing himself back as he stared steadily at Yosuke.
“Feeling better?”
Yosuke attempted to recollect himself—the breathing still posed as a small chore, but the cold chill that seized him vanished. Giving a small nod, he replied, “I-I guess.”
Yu only smiled, offering a hand, which Yosuke hesitated to take. They stood together, fingers intertwined with one another.
“Don’t worry,” his partner said reassuringly, brushing a thumb over Yosuke’s knuckles, “I’ve got your back. We can do this together.”
“Together,” Yosuke echoed, and Yu nodded in affirmation.
“Together.”
Pushing the discouraging thoughts that barraged his head as far as he could (which was not that much at all), he stepped out of the closet and stared at the door that separated him from the real world. He tensed briefly, then, with unsteady fingers, he grasped the doorknob. Inhaling sharply, he looked over his shoulder at Yu, who squeezed his hand—You can do this.
Nodding, he turned the doorknob, and stepped out the door, holding Yu’s hand for support as he descended the stairs to face his parents.
Together. He entered the kitchen, where his father was, but his mother was nowhere to be seen. Teddie looked at him anxiously, eyebrows pushed upward.
Together.
With Yu at his side, he realized as he smiled weakly at his father, he really could do this.
I can do this, he thought as he sat across from his father.
After all, Yu thinks I can.