Threads - AU - 2/2 (Subaru/Yasu)
Threads (Part 2 of 2)
Part 1
The following day, Yasu knocks on the door to Shige's office and peeks in.
"Shige?"
Shige looks up from his files to him and spins his chair around to face him. “Hey.”
“I thought about what you said yesterday,” Yasu begins and Shige nods attentively. “I can’t make him trust you. That’s just not how it works. Even if I tell you how it was for me, you and I are just too different. It’s probably better that way. But even if you don’t know how to make him trust you completely now, you still need to make him open up to you. Suba-Shibutani-san has a hard time expressing his feelings, but I thought about it and this is where I can help you.”
It takes a few seconds for Shige to react, stunned as he is by the rapid babble. “Ha?” he asks, not quite sure what part of the speech he’s supposed to react to.
Yasu takes a little breath. "Can I ask you a favour?" he asks, and he looks at Shige with big eager eyes.
Shige gulps. He’s long learned to be wary of such demands, to always ask for details before saying yes, but Yasu's trying to help and he is usually harmless, so he nods. Yasu's next words almost make him regret it.
"You're seeing him this afternoon, right? Could you give this to him?"
Yasu hands him a folded piece of paper.
"Yasu, I don't think I. . ."
But Yasu doesn't let him finish. "Look at it. If you think it's a bad idea, that it would go against your therapy, then don't give it to him, but. . ."
Shige hesitantly reaches for the piece of paper and unfolds it. On it are scribbled musical notes, guitar chords, Shige recognises. He gives Yasu a surprised look.
"He likes music. He's an awesome singer," Yasu says quietly, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
Between him and Subaru, Shige can sort of see why the director would want to separate them. Yet, at the same time. . .
"I want him to write lyrics for it," Yasu adds, and Shige nods again. It’s an interesting idea, slightly unorthodox, but at this point Shige is willing to try.
"Okay, I'll give him the message."
*
Shige glances at the folded piece of paper on the corner of his desk and wonders if he should give it to Subaru at the beginning or at the end of the session. Both have advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, giving it at the beginning would mean a precious occasion to develop a better therapeutic alliance. Surely such a thing would help Subaru trust him a little more. But chances are it would also bring great distraction. On the other hand, waiting for the end of the session would allow them to concentrate on other subjects (supposing that the patient was willing to cooperate).
And then Koyama’s cryptic comment comes back to Shige’s mind. It’s people you’re dealing with, not theories in books. Would Subaru forgive him if he hid this from him for the whole session?
He makes up his mind, and acts on it. And if he doubts his decision on the spot, he will later realise that it was the right thing to do.
When Subaru unfolds the music sheet, his hand shake so much that he’s almost afraid the paper is going to tear. His palms are wet too, and the paper creases dangerously in his grip. He can’t help it though, because if he doesn’t cling to this, it could very well disappear.
Shige looks at him attentively, but Subaru barely notices he’s in the room anymore.
“Yasuda-san would like you to write the lyrics to go with this,” Shige gestures to the paper in Subaru’s hand.
Subaru nods.
For the rest of the session, Subaru is in a sort of daze, his eyes constantly shifting back to the folded piece of paper now lying in his lap. He answers Shige’s questions though, and even if it’s mostly with unrevealing monosyllables, it’s still an improvement.
*
Subaru works on the song all evening, and then all night. At curfew, the lights go out, but Subaru uses the tiny neon lamp on his nightstand, sitting on his bed and bending in an awkward position to scribble words. It’s hard because he has no instrument and he’s never heard the song before. All he can do is hum the music softly and imagine Yasu’s hands working on his guitar.
The melody is sweet, but slow and sad. It’s a ballad. Subaru has to sing it to himself several times to get all the subtleties of it, but there is a feeling in there that Subaru can’t quite grasp. What is Yasu trying to say?
In the morning, he falls asleep with his head on the nightstand, words that don’t mean anything gruesomely pressed against his cheek. He doesn’t understand, and it irritates him.
*
It’s a sleep-deprived, adrenalin-driven, almost delusional Subaru who pounces on Yasu in the corridor mid-afternoon and pulls him into the nearest restroom. Yasu barely has time to protest more than a weak squeal before he is pushed against the wall of the handicap stall. Subaru’s lips crush his the next moment, and Yasu’s brain’s air supply is apparently cut short because he stops thinking and kisses back.
The kiss is intense, rushed, messy. Teeth clank, tongues tangle, breaths mingle in short pants against open lips as neither wants to pull away in order to breathe properly. Subaru is the one to break the kiss, but only to start showering Yasu’s face with kisses.
“I want you,” he says, voice hot and low, and he raises dark eyes to look at Yasu.
Only then does Yasu realise how tightly his hands are fisted in Subaru’s sweatshirt. He closes his eyes, tries to remember why Subaru’s lips against his skin are not a good thing, and forces his fingers to release their hold.
“I-Wait,” he manages to utter. “Wait.” But then he doesn’t know how to continue.
Subaru has stopped kissing him, at least, and if he’s still too close, he has stopped touching him too. He’s waiting. “You’re not my therapist anymore,” he mutters in a rather pathetic attempt to make this better. It fails though, and Yasu shakes his head and comes back to his senses.
“I-I guess this means therapy is going rather well,” he starts babbling and slowly inches away from Subaru. He’s not afraid, but he needs to put some distance between them, for his own sanity. This is too overwhelming. And he needs to do the right thing. “B-because, you know, you are more vigorous and, well, this means you are reconnecting with your body and your needs, a-and desires, and this is good, because your medication usually affects libido, and...”
And then he stops short and turns to give a horrified look at Subaru. “You’re still taking your meds, right?”
Subaru blinks. “Yes,” he answers strangely. Yasu considers him for a moment, and decides to attribute this reaction to surprise. It’s a silly question, after all. So Yasu smiles, relieved.
“Good,” he breathes. “Keep on doing that.”
In front of him, Subaru looks down. “You’re running away,” he mumbles.
Yasu starts. “I, no!” he tries to deny, but he is halfway to the door now. He looks down too, feeling strange and confused and ashamed and sad. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly. “I have to do the right thing, even if it’s hard.”
“You gave me the song,” Subaru speaks very quietly and Yasu almost wants to step forward, closer, but he is rooted to the spot.
“Yes,” he confirms with a slight nod.
“I don’t understand.”
And for the first time Yasu sees actual tears in Subaru’s eyes. He breaks, reaches forward, catches himself just in time, and feels his whole world topple.
“There are things you need to figure out for yourself. There is only so much I can help you with. I can’t...”
“Be with me?” Subaru finishes for him. Yasu’s throat tightens and he nods. “Not now?” Subaru adds, and Yasu nods again.
*
The next day, a nurse discovers a stack of pills under Subaru’s pillow.
When Shige confronts him about it, Subaru doesn’t know what to say.
*
Yasu hears a nurse talking to Koyama in the corridor. Her voice is hushed, and Yasu wouldn’t normally pay it any aid, but words catch his attention and he finds himself rooted to the spot.
A patient has been caught disposing of several days’ worth of medication.
It could be anyone. She doesn’t mention a name, but one comes to Yasu’s mind instantly and he feels his heart stop in his chest.
It could be anyone. It could be anyone. He can’t just jump to conclusions like that. Subaru told him, after all...
But the look on Koyama’s face when he turns around and notices Yasu standing a mere few feet away says it all.
Briskly, Yasu turns on his heels and walks in the opposite direction.
By the time he reaches Shige’s office, he’s worked himself into such a state that he can barely see straight anymore. He doesn’t understand. He cannot understand. Subaru lied to him. And the implications of it make his head spin as he blindly grabs the door handle.
He doesn’t knock. He is furious beyond politeness. He just flings Shige’s office door open and slams it shut behind him. Shige jumps out of his chair, words of protest on his lips, but Yasu’s attention is already focused on Subaru.
“You bastard, you lied to me!” Yasu yells at him. And then all emotions break loose. “You said you were still taking them, but you aren’t and you lied! Why would you do that? I thought you trusted me. I thought you were trying. You told me you’d try! You promised me, Subaru! And then you fucking lied to me!”
Words tumble out, each with its charge of unsaid feelings. Yasu’s voice is hoarse, his face red, and there are tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, blurring the sight of Subaru’s face as it blanches a little more with each of Yasu’s words.
“Yasu,” Shige puts an hand on his shoulder, but Yasu shrugs him off briskly. His mind barely acknowledges his presence in the room, lost in this world where he and Subaru are alone and he’s just been betrayed.
He steps forward and fists his hands in Subaru’s shirt, clinging, needing to hold onto something that is real. “Were you only pretending for my sake? When you smiled, did you not mean it? When you said you wanted to find ways, reasons to go on, or when you sang about hope, about not only existing, but living on, or when you said... Were you lying too?”
Yasu pauses, his hands shaking in the folds of Subaru’s shirt. Subaru stands motionless, eyes wide, mouth open on an answer that never comes.
“I need to know,” Yasu asks desperately.
Hands wrap around Yasu’s, soft but firm. Not Subaru’s. Not Subaru’s, but someone else’s, someone who is untangling his fingers from reality and wants to take it away from him.
“No!” Yasu fights back blindly. “I need to know!” he cries. “Why would you do that? Why don’t you let others help you? Why do you close yourself to the rest of the world? Stop blaming yourself. If you think you did something wrong, make it better. If you think you’re not deserving, work to become a better person. Don’t just give up! Can’t you see you’re only hurting yourself and the people around you? People care!”
And Yasu keeps screaming, saying things that only make sense to the both of them, or maybe only to him, he keeps screaming and struggling until he’s finally pulled out of the office and the door closes between him and Subaru. Only then does he realise that it’s Koyama’s arms holding him and he gives a disoriented look at his surroundings before his legs give out under him and he collapses in a trembling mess to the ground.
*
In Shige’s office, Subaru has not said a word, eyes still locked on the door where Yasu has just disappeared, his knuckles as white as his face as he grips the back of his chair as if it’s the last thread tying him to himself.
Shige swallows. Through his own shock, he finds himself at a loss for words. Seconds tick by, maybe minutes, and Shige wonders if irreparable damage has been done...
Or if this will somehow bring an epiphany.
*
In the staff break room, Koyama is rather quiet for once. Yasu takes a sip of his cup of water and sinks a little lower in his seat.
“I...” he tries, but he doesn’t know what to say.
Koyama takes the seat across from him. He seems torn between sympathy, concern, and reproach. “I guess you’re lucky Kitagawa-sensei is away today,” he finally says.
Yasu bites his lower lip and looks down. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. He has never meant to cause trouble. He knows what he’s just done is very unprofessional, but under the circumstances it seems wrong to plead temporary insanity. Because he cares, and it has nothing to do with the patient-therapist relationship anymore, it’s way past that. It’s about two humans, connected souls, and maybe it’s all wrong to the rest of the world, but he can’t help but reach for Subaru. He can see Subaru reaching for him too, through the darkness, blindly holding out his hand. But he’s reaching in the wrong direction and Yasu just can’t grasp him from this far.
“I can’t help him if he doesn’t let me. I can’t, and it hurts because I want to help him so much,” Yasu says weakly, eyes watering again.
“I know,” Koyama says softly, reaching to pat his hand gently, “but it’s not your job anymore.”
Yasu hears the underlying meaning. “Forget about him,” it says, and Yasu feels his chest tightening painfully. He can’t. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. But, in the end, it all comes to the same thing: he won’t let go.
*
Subaru stands in front of the mirror that night, hands on the edge of the sink, just like he had done that time, all those nights ago. He looks at himself this time though, holds his own gaze and faces himself.
“Why?” he asks, but his lips do not move.
“I don’t know,” he wants to answer, but he doesn’t. It’s not enough. Not anymore.
His eyes are not so different from back then: dark, haunted by the shadows of sleepless nights. He looks tired, he notes absently. He wonders if he’s ever looked any other way, if he’s ever been different, if he’s ever been happy. He knows all of that, somehow, from a distant past, and he wonders what he really managed to kill that night.
“If you think you did something wrong, make it better.”
Yasu’s words sound so easy, but Subaru doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do it. He doesn’t know when or how things went wrong, what he did or didn’t do. It all seems like it belongs to another life to him, premortem.
Maybe he does want to make it better, but this is a new life, or it’s supposed to be. But starting from scratch is scary.
“You’re not alone.”
He has not always been like this. He used to have friends. He’s always been shy and socially awkward, but when had he started compulsively pushing everyone away? His mother, his friends, and now Yasu. He loved them all. He trusted them. He still does. So why?
“If you think you’re not deserving, work to become a better person,” Subaru hears himself voice Yasu’s words. “How?”
If this is a new life, then how come it doesn’t feel like living? How can he become a better person if he can only exist?
“Don’t just give up.”
*
Subaru seems different when he walks in for his session the following Thursday. Something about his body language... He looks nervous, but also surprisingly determined. Shige observes attentively as Subaru sits down, takes a deep breath and looks Shige straight in the eyes.
“I want to go home,” he announces.
“Home?” Shige is shocked.
“Yes, home, to my apartment.”
This is big. For Subaru, this is a change of monumental importance. Shige examines Subaru’s face, his steady gaze, the resolute line of his eyebrows. He has given this much though, it seems. But Shige knows not to get excited too easily. He is still dealing with the same Subaru who can’t but hide his hands in his sleeves and who stopped taking his medication on a whim. Shige leans in.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t really live as long as I’m here; I can only exist. And I want to try,” Subaru says quietly. He looks shy, but sincere.
“What brought this on?” Shige asks. He has a good idea as to what did, but he still has to hear Subaru’s take on it.
Subaru hesitates, shifting in his chair, eyes flickering. It’s as if he’s afraid his answer would hinder the credibility of his arguments.
“I made a promise,” he finally says.
Shige nods. “Is that enough?” He doesn’t mean to doubt, but this is a matter that can’t be taken lightly.
“I made mistakes, and I want to make up for it. I... I don’t know if I can be a better person, but I want to do my best.”
“And what happens when times are tough again?” Shige pushes. He needs to test the limits of Subaru’s resolution, know how well he’s actually prepared for reality.
Subaru frowns. “I... I have people who can help me. I’m not alone anymore.” There is a slight hesitation in his voice, turning his last word into a half question.
“No, you’re not,” Shige confirms, and Subaru relaxes visibly. “But you need to work on your social life outside too. You have to make friends,” Shige points out.
Subaru’s face falls a bit. He doesn’t look too pleased with the idea, but he nods nonetheless. “I have friends... had friends,” he mutters.
“And you don’t think they want to be your friends anymore?” Shige asks.
“I don’t know,” Subaru grumbles and shrugs.
“What about your medication?”
Subaru looks a bit annoyed now, but he answers: “Took it this morning, and I’m going to continue taking it as I’m supposed to.”
Shige suspects it’s the whole “do as you’re told” thing that irritates him most, but being contrary can’t do any good in his case. “Why?” he asks. Subaru lied about it once, after all.
“What do you mean, why?” Subaru looks affronted. “I said I’d try, didn’t I?”
Shige smiles a bit. At least, there is some improvement.
“Okay. I’m taking all of this into account, but I’m not going to recommend that you leave just yet.” Subaru is about to say something, to protest, but Shige goes on. “You have to show me that you’re ready. I want to see you work toward your goal. Things don’t always come easy and I need to see if you’re willing to put in the effort.”
In the doorway, on his way out, Subaru turns and looks at Shige with firm determination written all over his face. A new determination.
“I’m not going to kill myself again, you know,” he says.
Shige smiles. “Good.”
*
When Subaru unfolds the music sheet again, everything is suddenly clear: this song, Yasu’s intentions. He starts writing immediately, scribbling furiously, and ideas tumble onto the paper in a downpour of emotions. This song is about him, about his own feelings, his experience. It’s the way Yasu has found to help him express himself, because he knows music is the only way Subaru can feel comfortable about it.
So he writes.
He writes about setting your own world up for its fall. He writes about destroying everything in your life that is worth living for by a series of small things, wrong decisions, or even by simply refusing to make choices. He writes about closing yourself down, pushing everyone away for fear of losing them. He also writes about change, and how by rejecting change, you end up changing anyway, becoming more and more rigid until you can no longer move.
Life is absurd unless you give it a meaning. Subaru lost that meaning long ago, and he can’t get it back. Meaning, like dreams, is made of the ungraspable. You can’t hold on to it. Yet, if you let it, it will envelop you naturally, like a comfortable blanket, not pain proof, but thick enough to keep you warm in times of need.
With this song, Subaru is making sense out of himself and knitting the first threads of his new meaning.
*
With the song folded as neatly as possible in his pocket, Subaru feels more confident than he has in years. For the first time in so long, he feels like he has a way, something tangible he can hold onto. Things around him seem different too, when he dares to look around. And he finds new reasons to smile.
*
When Shige lets Subaru into his office, he is slightly unsettled by the way his patient is smiling. It is an unexpected and sudden development, but a good one. He expects even less Subaru’s first words, though, and the shock is much less of a good one.
"So, you and the nurse, huh?" Subaru grins.
Shige blushes and flails his arms around a bit. "What? How? No!"
Subaru's grin widens. "I saw him grope your ass in the corridor."
Shige's blush only intensifies and he shifts a bit in his chair. "It's not what you think."
"Right," Subaru nods knowingly.
"Anyway, we're not here to discuss my sex life."
"So it's a sex thing."
"No! No, it's not. It's not anything. It's nothing." Shige flails more and he can't believe his patient is cackling at him.
"You seem in a good mood."
"I had a free show," Subaru replies, making suggestive gestures with his hands and wriggling his eyebrows.
"Don't tell anyone, okay," Shige finally groans.
Subaru flashes him a grin and a thumb up.
*
When Subaru shows the song to him, Shige nods, but doesn’t say anything. Subaru wonders if he is touched, because there is a strange look on his face.
“Do you understand?” he asks, and is almost surprised to hear his voice sound so eager.
Shige opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, but nothing comes out. “Aah,” he lets out finally, probably not quite as eloquent as he was hoping, and he shakes his head slightly. “I-I could tell you what I see here, on a professional basis, but I feel like that’s not what you want to know.”
Subaru tilts his head, considers Shige in this new light, and nods. “Tell me what you think,” he says.
Shige looks a bit taken aback, almost flustered, and Subaru thinks it’s nice to see him drop the act, be a little more like himself. He thinks that, maybe, he too can be honest.
“Well,” Shige begins, and seems to be looking for his words, “it’s a very good song, that’s for sure.” And he lets out a nervous little laugh. Subaru smiles shyly. “I think you need to explain it to me. There is a lot in here that I can’t possibly understand, because I have no idea what it’s like, except maybe what I’ve learned at school, but... I want you to tell me.”
Subaru hesitates. Shige looks sincere, but just how much can he trust him?
“I’m not Yasuda, and I’m not going to try to be like him, but there is nothing I can do if you don’t trust me. Maybe I do have certain things to learn from him, and you can help me with that. Do you think we could use this song as a basis for your therapy?”
Subaru chews on his lips, thoughtful. This is where he gets to prove that he is willing to work toward his goal. He nods, once, curt, but clear enough to make his approbation known.
*
The way Shige sees it, they had to find a balance between two extremes. On one side, Subaru, his natural quirks and his mistrust for conventions; on the other, orderly, conventional Shige. Both rigid in their ways. It was bound to clash. Yet, somehow, they are finally finding ways to compromise. It works, maybe not always smoothly, but that’s all right.
Humans are adaptable creatures. This, here, is not only about a patient and his symptoms, and it’s not only about a therapist and his theories either. It’s about taking a bit of both, working together, and accepting being influenced by the other.
Subaru answers Shige’s question now, somewhat reluctantly sometimes, but still. Shige softens up his approach, puts his notepad down, learns to follow his instinct.
“What if I tell you you can’t be with Yasuda-san even when you’re out of here?” Shige’s question comes out a bit roughly, but that’s the price to pay for not planning so much in advance. He will have to get used to it.
Subaru, though, doesn’t seem to appreciate it. “What? What the hell?” he cries out, somewhere between outrage and panic.
“It’s a what-if situation,” Shige tries to rectify the situation quickly. “I just need to know if you only want out because you think...”
“If you want to know something, ask it straight out,” Subaru interrupts, glaring. “Don’t play with my feelings like that.”
Shige chews on his lower lip. So Subaru is still not an easy case, but at least now he speaks up. Shige remembers how impassive Subaru used to look, and he is almost amused at the sulking child he sees in front of him. There is progress, he supposes.
“Okay, tell me, can you consider the eventuality that it might not work between you and him?” he reformulates.
“Why wouldn’t it work?”
“Because sometimes relationships don’t work. Did he tell you clearly that he wants to be with you? And what if the two of you don’t get along as well as you thought?” Shige doesn’t want to be the bad guy, but this is the kind of thing Subaru has to be conscious of.
“You’re not very supportive for a therapist, you know?” Subaru mutters.
“I’m a realist. I’m not here to be your rose-tinted glasses,” Shige points out. “I need to make sure you’re not going to break if things don’t go the way you want them to.”
“When did you become so confident? I liked you better when I could make you squirm,” Subaru says, but Shige knows it’s not true.
“You asked me to be straightforward.”
“Yeah, well...” Subaru pouts a little, before he sighs and turns very serious again. It takes a moment, long seconds where he seems lost very deep in his thoughts, and then he grudgingly admits. “Maybe it won’t work.”
Shige nods. “What would you do, then?”
“I don’t want out for him, or not just for him, at least. I want out because I need to do things for myself,” he says and Shige nods again. “If it doesn’t work with Yasu,” he starts again, more slowly this time, more hesitant too, like the words take much effort to formulate. “I’ll survive,” he finally finishes, grimacing. He casts a tentative glance at Shige, wrings his hands nervously, then adds, “I’ll just have to make sure I have enough reasons to. And you’re not going anywhere, are you?”
Shige smiles. “Does this mean that you trust me?”
The corners of Subaru’s lips quirk up a little. “Maybe.”
*
Shige is smiling when he signs Subaru’s leave form.
*
Subaru doesn’t have much to pack, so he spends the last hour he has sitting on his bed, fiddling in nervous excitement with the music sheet, folding and unfolding it, glancing at his lyrics, humming Yasu’s melody.
This song is like a bridge linking a dark past to a hopeful future. He can see it now, such a long way to walk still, but there is a destination, not something to fight, but something to reach for.
In an hour, old friends, ones he had lost contact with for so long, ones who do not hold grudges against him for what he did, for what he was, like Subaru always assumed, are going to pick him up at the entrance. He’ll have to come back, of course, once a week for a while, but he will never see the light blue walls of room 102 again, the bed that didn’t squeak when he tossed and turned, the window he never looked at but always saw anyway. The metal bars seem further apart today. Between them, Subaru sees the world instead of the reflection of his inner demons. It makes him want to scream, loud and clear, not in pain or despair, but just to prove that he’s alive after all, not just existing anymore. Life, in all its absurdity and imperfection, makes his finger tingle. He’s okay. He’ll be fine.
“You can’t go forward if you don’t want to in the first place,” Yasu had said, and Subaru finds he doesn’t have to hate himself so much anymore. He can take it slow. Changes don’t have to be drastic as long as he keeps moving in the right direction.
“Do you think you’ll make friends outside?” Shige had asked during their last session.
Subaru had made a contemplative noise. “If I want to,” he had said with a little smile.
Omake 1
“That’s for disappearing suddenly and not calling us,” Hina says, hitting Subaru over the head.
“Hit him again, for me,” says Yoko.
And Subaru smiles.
Omake 2
“You’ve got a nice place,” Yasu says, standing in the middle of Subaru’s living room, hands on hips, looking at the glass door leading to the balcony.
“Mm,” Subaru says absentely, twining his fingers with Yasu’s and tugging on his arm. “Bedroom’s this way.”
Yasu lets out a short laugh. “So subtle, Shibuyan.”
Subaru grins. “I just want to show you my bedsheets and how soft they feel when you’re naked.”
Omake 3
“Subaru,” Yasu begins softly, his fingers threading through Subaru’s hair, caressing his nape gently. Subaru makes a noise and moves closer still, head pillowed on Yasu’s shoulder, nose buried in his neck and lips pressed against his throat. “I think we should take things slow. You know, do things right, maybe date or something...”
Subaru hums thoughtfully and the vibrations tickle a bit. Yasu’s fingers stop moving but remain tangled in Subaru’s hair.
“Do I get to kiss you?” Subaru asks slowly. He doesn’t want to step back now that they’re finally free to be together.
“Mm,” Yasu nods, “yeah.” Even he doesn’t want to go that slow. He twirls a dark strand of hair around his finger, letting his nail graze Subaru’s scalp. Pressed against him, he feels Subaru’s body react to the tiniest touch.
“Do I get to touch you?” Subaru asks, still not quite trusting this “going slow” idea. He flattens his palm on Yasu’s stomach and lets it slide down slowly. Emphatically.
Yasu catches it before it reaches its destination. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Subaru replies, tilting his head back to look at Yasu.
Subaru’s gaze is intense and unwavering. Yasu can’t be sure it will never move on to someone else, but nothing ever happens if you’re not willing to try.
Part 1
The following day, Yasu knocks on the door to Shige's office and peeks in.
"Shige?"
Shige looks up from his files to him and spins his chair around to face him. “Hey.”
“I thought about what you said yesterday,” Yasu begins and Shige nods attentively. “I can’t make him trust you. That’s just not how it works. Even if I tell you how it was for me, you and I are just too different. It’s probably better that way. But even if you don’t know how to make him trust you completely now, you still need to make him open up to you. Suba-Shibutani-san has a hard time expressing his feelings, but I thought about it and this is where I can help you.”
It takes a few seconds for Shige to react, stunned as he is by the rapid babble. “Ha?” he asks, not quite sure what part of the speech he’s supposed to react to.
Yasu takes a little breath. "Can I ask you a favour?" he asks, and he looks at Shige with big eager eyes.
Shige gulps. He’s long learned to be wary of such demands, to always ask for details before saying yes, but Yasu's trying to help and he is usually harmless, so he nods. Yasu's next words almost make him regret it.
"You're seeing him this afternoon, right? Could you give this to him?"
Yasu hands him a folded piece of paper.
"Yasu, I don't think I. . ."
But Yasu doesn't let him finish. "Look at it. If you think it's a bad idea, that it would go against your therapy, then don't give it to him, but. . ."
Shige hesitantly reaches for the piece of paper and unfolds it. On it are scribbled musical notes, guitar chords, Shige recognises. He gives Yasu a surprised look.
"He likes music. He's an awesome singer," Yasu says quietly, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
Between him and Subaru, Shige can sort of see why the director would want to separate them. Yet, at the same time. . .
"I want him to write lyrics for it," Yasu adds, and Shige nods again. It’s an interesting idea, slightly unorthodox, but at this point Shige is willing to try.
"Okay, I'll give him the message."
*
Shige glances at the folded piece of paper on the corner of his desk and wonders if he should give it to Subaru at the beginning or at the end of the session. Both have advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, giving it at the beginning would mean a precious occasion to develop a better therapeutic alliance. Surely such a thing would help Subaru trust him a little more. But chances are it would also bring great distraction. On the other hand, waiting for the end of the session would allow them to concentrate on other subjects (supposing that the patient was willing to cooperate).
And then Koyama’s cryptic comment comes back to Shige’s mind. It’s people you’re dealing with, not theories in books. Would Subaru forgive him if he hid this from him for the whole session?
He makes up his mind, and acts on it. And if he doubts his decision on the spot, he will later realise that it was the right thing to do.
When Subaru unfolds the music sheet, his hand shake so much that he’s almost afraid the paper is going to tear. His palms are wet too, and the paper creases dangerously in his grip. He can’t help it though, because if he doesn’t cling to this, it could very well disappear.
Shige looks at him attentively, but Subaru barely notices he’s in the room anymore.
“Yasuda-san would like you to write the lyrics to go with this,” Shige gestures to the paper in Subaru’s hand.
Subaru nods.
For the rest of the session, Subaru is in a sort of daze, his eyes constantly shifting back to the folded piece of paper now lying in his lap. He answers Shige’s questions though, and even if it’s mostly with unrevealing monosyllables, it’s still an improvement.
*
Subaru works on the song all evening, and then all night. At curfew, the lights go out, but Subaru uses the tiny neon lamp on his nightstand, sitting on his bed and bending in an awkward position to scribble words. It’s hard because he has no instrument and he’s never heard the song before. All he can do is hum the music softly and imagine Yasu’s hands working on his guitar.
The melody is sweet, but slow and sad. It’s a ballad. Subaru has to sing it to himself several times to get all the subtleties of it, but there is a feeling in there that Subaru can’t quite grasp. What is Yasu trying to say?
In the morning, he falls asleep with his head on the nightstand, words that don’t mean anything gruesomely pressed against his cheek. He doesn’t understand, and it irritates him.
*
It’s a sleep-deprived, adrenalin-driven, almost delusional Subaru who pounces on Yasu in the corridor mid-afternoon and pulls him into the nearest restroom. Yasu barely has time to protest more than a weak squeal before he is pushed against the wall of the handicap stall. Subaru’s lips crush his the next moment, and Yasu’s brain’s air supply is apparently cut short because he stops thinking and kisses back.
The kiss is intense, rushed, messy. Teeth clank, tongues tangle, breaths mingle in short pants against open lips as neither wants to pull away in order to breathe properly. Subaru is the one to break the kiss, but only to start showering Yasu’s face with kisses.
“I want you,” he says, voice hot and low, and he raises dark eyes to look at Yasu.
Only then does Yasu realise how tightly his hands are fisted in Subaru’s sweatshirt. He closes his eyes, tries to remember why Subaru’s lips against his skin are not a good thing, and forces his fingers to release their hold.
“I-Wait,” he manages to utter. “Wait.” But then he doesn’t know how to continue.
Subaru has stopped kissing him, at least, and if he’s still too close, he has stopped touching him too. He’s waiting. “You’re not my therapist anymore,” he mutters in a rather pathetic attempt to make this better. It fails though, and Yasu shakes his head and comes back to his senses.
“I-I guess this means therapy is going rather well,” he starts babbling and slowly inches away from Subaru. He’s not afraid, but he needs to put some distance between them, for his own sanity. This is too overwhelming. And he needs to do the right thing. “B-because, you know, you are more vigorous and, well, this means you are reconnecting with your body and your needs, a-and desires, and this is good, because your medication usually affects libido, and...”
And then he stops short and turns to give a horrified look at Subaru. “You’re still taking your meds, right?”
Subaru blinks. “Yes,” he answers strangely. Yasu considers him for a moment, and decides to attribute this reaction to surprise. It’s a silly question, after all. So Yasu smiles, relieved.
“Good,” he breathes. “Keep on doing that.”
In front of him, Subaru looks down. “You’re running away,” he mumbles.
Yasu starts. “I, no!” he tries to deny, but he is halfway to the door now. He looks down too, feeling strange and confused and ashamed and sad. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly. “I have to do the right thing, even if it’s hard.”
“You gave me the song,” Subaru speaks very quietly and Yasu almost wants to step forward, closer, but he is rooted to the spot.
“Yes,” he confirms with a slight nod.
“I don’t understand.”
And for the first time Yasu sees actual tears in Subaru’s eyes. He breaks, reaches forward, catches himself just in time, and feels his whole world topple.
“There are things you need to figure out for yourself. There is only so much I can help you with. I can’t...”
“Be with me?” Subaru finishes for him. Yasu’s throat tightens and he nods. “Not now?” Subaru adds, and Yasu nods again.
*
The next day, a nurse discovers a stack of pills under Subaru’s pillow.
When Shige confronts him about it, Subaru doesn’t know what to say.
*
Yasu hears a nurse talking to Koyama in the corridor. Her voice is hushed, and Yasu wouldn’t normally pay it any aid, but words catch his attention and he finds himself rooted to the spot.
A patient has been caught disposing of several days’ worth of medication.
It could be anyone. She doesn’t mention a name, but one comes to Yasu’s mind instantly and he feels his heart stop in his chest.
It could be anyone. It could be anyone. He can’t just jump to conclusions like that. Subaru told him, after all...
But the look on Koyama’s face when he turns around and notices Yasu standing a mere few feet away says it all.
Briskly, Yasu turns on his heels and walks in the opposite direction.
By the time he reaches Shige’s office, he’s worked himself into such a state that he can barely see straight anymore. He doesn’t understand. He cannot understand. Subaru lied to him. And the implications of it make his head spin as he blindly grabs the door handle.
He doesn’t knock. He is furious beyond politeness. He just flings Shige’s office door open and slams it shut behind him. Shige jumps out of his chair, words of protest on his lips, but Yasu’s attention is already focused on Subaru.
“You bastard, you lied to me!” Yasu yells at him. And then all emotions break loose. “You said you were still taking them, but you aren’t and you lied! Why would you do that? I thought you trusted me. I thought you were trying. You told me you’d try! You promised me, Subaru! And then you fucking lied to me!”
Words tumble out, each with its charge of unsaid feelings. Yasu’s voice is hoarse, his face red, and there are tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, blurring the sight of Subaru’s face as it blanches a little more with each of Yasu’s words.
“Yasu,” Shige puts an hand on his shoulder, but Yasu shrugs him off briskly. His mind barely acknowledges his presence in the room, lost in this world where he and Subaru are alone and he’s just been betrayed.
He steps forward and fists his hands in Subaru’s shirt, clinging, needing to hold onto something that is real. “Were you only pretending for my sake? When you smiled, did you not mean it? When you said you wanted to find ways, reasons to go on, or when you sang about hope, about not only existing, but living on, or when you said... Were you lying too?”
Yasu pauses, his hands shaking in the folds of Subaru’s shirt. Subaru stands motionless, eyes wide, mouth open on an answer that never comes.
“I need to know,” Yasu asks desperately.
Hands wrap around Yasu’s, soft but firm. Not Subaru’s. Not Subaru’s, but someone else’s, someone who is untangling his fingers from reality and wants to take it away from him.
“No!” Yasu fights back blindly. “I need to know!” he cries. “Why would you do that? Why don’t you let others help you? Why do you close yourself to the rest of the world? Stop blaming yourself. If you think you did something wrong, make it better. If you think you’re not deserving, work to become a better person. Don’t just give up! Can’t you see you’re only hurting yourself and the people around you? People care!”
And Yasu keeps screaming, saying things that only make sense to the both of them, or maybe only to him, he keeps screaming and struggling until he’s finally pulled out of the office and the door closes between him and Subaru. Only then does he realise that it’s Koyama’s arms holding him and he gives a disoriented look at his surroundings before his legs give out under him and he collapses in a trembling mess to the ground.
*
In Shige’s office, Subaru has not said a word, eyes still locked on the door where Yasu has just disappeared, his knuckles as white as his face as he grips the back of his chair as if it’s the last thread tying him to himself.
Shige swallows. Through his own shock, he finds himself at a loss for words. Seconds tick by, maybe minutes, and Shige wonders if irreparable damage has been done...
Or if this will somehow bring an epiphany.
*
In the staff break room, Koyama is rather quiet for once. Yasu takes a sip of his cup of water and sinks a little lower in his seat.
“I...” he tries, but he doesn’t know what to say.
Koyama takes the seat across from him. He seems torn between sympathy, concern, and reproach. “I guess you’re lucky Kitagawa-sensei is away today,” he finally says.
Yasu bites his lower lip and looks down. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. He has never meant to cause trouble. He knows what he’s just done is very unprofessional, but under the circumstances it seems wrong to plead temporary insanity. Because he cares, and it has nothing to do with the patient-therapist relationship anymore, it’s way past that. It’s about two humans, connected souls, and maybe it’s all wrong to the rest of the world, but he can’t help but reach for Subaru. He can see Subaru reaching for him too, through the darkness, blindly holding out his hand. But he’s reaching in the wrong direction and Yasu just can’t grasp him from this far.
“I can’t help him if he doesn’t let me. I can’t, and it hurts because I want to help him so much,” Yasu says weakly, eyes watering again.
“I know,” Koyama says softly, reaching to pat his hand gently, “but it’s not your job anymore.”
Yasu hears the underlying meaning. “Forget about him,” it says, and Yasu feels his chest tightening painfully. He can’t. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. But, in the end, it all comes to the same thing: he won’t let go.
*
Subaru stands in front of the mirror that night, hands on the edge of the sink, just like he had done that time, all those nights ago. He looks at himself this time though, holds his own gaze and faces himself.
“Why?” he asks, but his lips do not move.
“I don’t know,” he wants to answer, but he doesn’t. It’s not enough. Not anymore.
His eyes are not so different from back then: dark, haunted by the shadows of sleepless nights. He looks tired, he notes absently. He wonders if he’s ever looked any other way, if he’s ever been different, if he’s ever been happy. He knows all of that, somehow, from a distant past, and he wonders what he really managed to kill that night.
“If you think you did something wrong, make it better.”
Yasu’s words sound so easy, but Subaru doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do it. He doesn’t know when or how things went wrong, what he did or didn’t do. It all seems like it belongs to another life to him, premortem.
Maybe he does want to make it better, but this is a new life, or it’s supposed to be. But starting from scratch is scary.
“You’re not alone.”
He has not always been like this. He used to have friends. He’s always been shy and socially awkward, but when had he started compulsively pushing everyone away? His mother, his friends, and now Yasu. He loved them all. He trusted them. He still does. So why?
“If you think you’re not deserving, work to become a better person,” Subaru hears himself voice Yasu’s words. “How?”
If this is a new life, then how come it doesn’t feel like living? How can he become a better person if he can only exist?
“Don’t just give up.”
*
Subaru seems different when he walks in for his session the following Thursday. Something about his body language... He looks nervous, but also surprisingly determined. Shige observes attentively as Subaru sits down, takes a deep breath and looks Shige straight in the eyes.
“I want to go home,” he announces.
“Home?” Shige is shocked.
“Yes, home, to my apartment.”
This is big. For Subaru, this is a change of monumental importance. Shige examines Subaru’s face, his steady gaze, the resolute line of his eyebrows. He has given this much though, it seems. But Shige knows not to get excited too easily. He is still dealing with the same Subaru who can’t but hide his hands in his sleeves and who stopped taking his medication on a whim. Shige leans in.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t really live as long as I’m here; I can only exist. And I want to try,” Subaru says quietly. He looks shy, but sincere.
“What brought this on?” Shige asks. He has a good idea as to what did, but he still has to hear Subaru’s take on it.
Subaru hesitates, shifting in his chair, eyes flickering. It’s as if he’s afraid his answer would hinder the credibility of his arguments.
“I made a promise,” he finally says.
Shige nods. “Is that enough?” He doesn’t mean to doubt, but this is a matter that can’t be taken lightly.
“I made mistakes, and I want to make up for it. I... I don’t know if I can be a better person, but I want to do my best.”
“And what happens when times are tough again?” Shige pushes. He needs to test the limits of Subaru’s resolution, know how well he’s actually prepared for reality.
Subaru frowns. “I... I have people who can help me. I’m not alone anymore.” There is a slight hesitation in his voice, turning his last word into a half question.
“No, you’re not,” Shige confirms, and Subaru relaxes visibly. “But you need to work on your social life outside too. You have to make friends,” Shige points out.
Subaru’s face falls a bit. He doesn’t look too pleased with the idea, but he nods nonetheless. “I have friends... had friends,” he mutters.
“And you don’t think they want to be your friends anymore?” Shige asks.
“I don’t know,” Subaru grumbles and shrugs.
“What about your medication?”
Subaru looks a bit annoyed now, but he answers: “Took it this morning, and I’m going to continue taking it as I’m supposed to.”
Shige suspects it’s the whole “do as you’re told” thing that irritates him most, but being contrary can’t do any good in his case. “Why?” he asks. Subaru lied about it once, after all.
“What do you mean, why?” Subaru looks affronted. “I said I’d try, didn’t I?”
Shige smiles a bit. At least, there is some improvement.
“Okay. I’m taking all of this into account, but I’m not going to recommend that you leave just yet.” Subaru is about to say something, to protest, but Shige goes on. “You have to show me that you’re ready. I want to see you work toward your goal. Things don’t always come easy and I need to see if you’re willing to put in the effort.”
In the doorway, on his way out, Subaru turns and looks at Shige with firm determination written all over his face. A new determination.
“I’m not going to kill myself again, you know,” he says.
Shige smiles. “Good.”
*
When Subaru unfolds the music sheet again, everything is suddenly clear: this song, Yasu’s intentions. He starts writing immediately, scribbling furiously, and ideas tumble onto the paper in a downpour of emotions. This song is about him, about his own feelings, his experience. It’s the way Yasu has found to help him express himself, because he knows music is the only way Subaru can feel comfortable about it.
So he writes.
He writes about setting your own world up for its fall. He writes about destroying everything in your life that is worth living for by a series of small things, wrong decisions, or even by simply refusing to make choices. He writes about closing yourself down, pushing everyone away for fear of losing them. He also writes about change, and how by rejecting change, you end up changing anyway, becoming more and more rigid until you can no longer move.
Life is absurd unless you give it a meaning. Subaru lost that meaning long ago, and he can’t get it back. Meaning, like dreams, is made of the ungraspable. You can’t hold on to it. Yet, if you let it, it will envelop you naturally, like a comfortable blanket, not pain proof, but thick enough to keep you warm in times of need.
With this song, Subaru is making sense out of himself and knitting the first threads of his new meaning.
*
With the song folded as neatly as possible in his pocket, Subaru feels more confident than he has in years. For the first time in so long, he feels like he has a way, something tangible he can hold onto. Things around him seem different too, when he dares to look around. And he finds new reasons to smile.
*
When Shige lets Subaru into his office, he is slightly unsettled by the way his patient is smiling. It is an unexpected and sudden development, but a good one. He expects even less Subaru’s first words, though, and the shock is much less of a good one.
"So, you and the nurse, huh?" Subaru grins.
Shige blushes and flails his arms around a bit. "What? How? No!"
Subaru's grin widens. "I saw him grope your ass in the corridor."
Shige's blush only intensifies and he shifts a bit in his chair. "It's not what you think."
"Right," Subaru nods knowingly.
"Anyway, we're not here to discuss my sex life."
"So it's a sex thing."
"No! No, it's not. It's not anything. It's nothing." Shige flails more and he can't believe his patient is cackling at him.
"You seem in a good mood."
"I had a free show," Subaru replies, making suggestive gestures with his hands and wriggling his eyebrows.
"Don't tell anyone, okay," Shige finally groans.
Subaru flashes him a grin and a thumb up.
*
When Subaru shows the song to him, Shige nods, but doesn’t say anything. Subaru wonders if he is touched, because there is a strange look on his face.
“Do you understand?” he asks, and is almost surprised to hear his voice sound so eager.
Shige opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, but nothing comes out. “Aah,” he lets out finally, probably not quite as eloquent as he was hoping, and he shakes his head slightly. “I-I could tell you what I see here, on a professional basis, but I feel like that’s not what you want to know.”
Subaru tilts his head, considers Shige in this new light, and nods. “Tell me what you think,” he says.
Shige looks a bit taken aback, almost flustered, and Subaru thinks it’s nice to see him drop the act, be a little more like himself. He thinks that, maybe, he too can be honest.
“Well,” Shige begins, and seems to be looking for his words, “it’s a very good song, that’s for sure.” And he lets out a nervous little laugh. Subaru smiles shyly. “I think you need to explain it to me. There is a lot in here that I can’t possibly understand, because I have no idea what it’s like, except maybe what I’ve learned at school, but... I want you to tell me.”
Subaru hesitates. Shige looks sincere, but just how much can he trust him?
“I’m not Yasuda, and I’m not going to try to be like him, but there is nothing I can do if you don’t trust me. Maybe I do have certain things to learn from him, and you can help me with that. Do you think we could use this song as a basis for your therapy?”
Subaru chews on his lips, thoughtful. This is where he gets to prove that he is willing to work toward his goal. He nods, once, curt, but clear enough to make his approbation known.
*
The way Shige sees it, they had to find a balance between two extremes. On one side, Subaru, his natural quirks and his mistrust for conventions; on the other, orderly, conventional Shige. Both rigid in their ways. It was bound to clash. Yet, somehow, they are finally finding ways to compromise. It works, maybe not always smoothly, but that’s all right.
Humans are adaptable creatures. This, here, is not only about a patient and his symptoms, and it’s not only about a therapist and his theories either. It’s about taking a bit of both, working together, and accepting being influenced by the other.
Subaru answers Shige’s question now, somewhat reluctantly sometimes, but still. Shige softens up his approach, puts his notepad down, learns to follow his instinct.
“What if I tell you you can’t be with Yasuda-san even when you’re out of here?” Shige’s question comes out a bit roughly, but that’s the price to pay for not planning so much in advance. He will have to get used to it.
Subaru, though, doesn’t seem to appreciate it. “What? What the hell?” he cries out, somewhere between outrage and panic.
“It’s a what-if situation,” Shige tries to rectify the situation quickly. “I just need to know if you only want out because you think...”
“If you want to know something, ask it straight out,” Subaru interrupts, glaring. “Don’t play with my feelings like that.”
Shige chews on his lower lip. So Subaru is still not an easy case, but at least now he speaks up. Shige remembers how impassive Subaru used to look, and he is almost amused at the sulking child he sees in front of him. There is progress, he supposes.
“Okay, tell me, can you consider the eventuality that it might not work between you and him?” he reformulates.
“Why wouldn’t it work?”
“Because sometimes relationships don’t work. Did he tell you clearly that he wants to be with you? And what if the two of you don’t get along as well as you thought?” Shige doesn’t want to be the bad guy, but this is the kind of thing Subaru has to be conscious of.
“You’re not very supportive for a therapist, you know?” Subaru mutters.
“I’m a realist. I’m not here to be your rose-tinted glasses,” Shige points out. “I need to make sure you’re not going to break if things don’t go the way you want them to.”
“When did you become so confident? I liked you better when I could make you squirm,” Subaru says, but Shige knows it’s not true.
“You asked me to be straightforward.”
“Yeah, well...” Subaru pouts a little, before he sighs and turns very serious again. It takes a moment, long seconds where he seems lost very deep in his thoughts, and then he grudgingly admits. “Maybe it won’t work.”
Shige nods. “What would you do, then?”
“I don’t want out for him, or not just for him, at least. I want out because I need to do things for myself,” he says and Shige nods again. “If it doesn’t work with Yasu,” he starts again, more slowly this time, more hesitant too, like the words take much effort to formulate. “I’ll survive,” he finally finishes, grimacing. He casts a tentative glance at Shige, wrings his hands nervously, then adds, “I’ll just have to make sure I have enough reasons to. And you’re not going anywhere, are you?”
Shige smiles. “Does this mean that you trust me?”
The corners of Subaru’s lips quirk up a little. “Maybe.”
*
Shige is smiling when he signs Subaru’s leave form.
*
Subaru doesn’t have much to pack, so he spends the last hour he has sitting on his bed, fiddling in nervous excitement with the music sheet, folding and unfolding it, glancing at his lyrics, humming Yasu’s melody.
This song is like a bridge linking a dark past to a hopeful future. He can see it now, such a long way to walk still, but there is a destination, not something to fight, but something to reach for.
In an hour, old friends, ones he had lost contact with for so long, ones who do not hold grudges against him for what he did, for what he was, like Subaru always assumed, are going to pick him up at the entrance. He’ll have to come back, of course, once a week for a while, but he will never see the light blue walls of room 102 again, the bed that didn’t squeak when he tossed and turned, the window he never looked at but always saw anyway. The metal bars seem further apart today. Between them, Subaru sees the world instead of the reflection of his inner demons. It makes him want to scream, loud and clear, not in pain or despair, but just to prove that he’s alive after all, not just existing anymore. Life, in all its absurdity and imperfection, makes his finger tingle. He’s okay. He’ll be fine.
“You can’t go forward if you don’t want to in the first place,” Yasu had said, and Subaru finds he doesn’t have to hate himself so much anymore. He can take it slow. Changes don’t have to be drastic as long as he keeps moving in the right direction.
“Do you think you’ll make friends outside?” Shige had asked during their last session.
Subaru had made a contemplative noise. “If I want to,” he had said with a little smile.
Omake 1
“That’s for disappearing suddenly and not calling us,” Hina says, hitting Subaru over the head.
“Hit him again, for me,” says Yoko.
And Subaru smiles.
Omake 2
“You’ve got a nice place,” Yasu says, standing in the middle of Subaru’s living room, hands on hips, looking at the glass door leading to the balcony.
“Mm,” Subaru says absentely, twining his fingers with Yasu’s and tugging on his arm. “Bedroom’s this way.”
Yasu lets out a short laugh. “So subtle, Shibuyan.”
Subaru grins. “I just want to show you my bedsheets and how soft they feel when you’re naked.”
Omake 3
“Subaru,” Yasu begins softly, his fingers threading through Subaru’s hair, caressing his nape gently. Subaru makes a noise and moves closer still, head pillowed on Yasu’s shoulder, nose buried in his neck and lips pressed against his throat. “I think we should take things slow. You know, do things right, maybe date or something...”
Subaru hums thoughtfully and the vibrations tickle a bit. Yasu’s fingers stop moving but remain tangled in Subaru’s hair.
“Do I get to kiss you?” Subaru asks slowly. He doesn’t want to step back now that they’re finally free to be together.
“Mm,” Yasu nods, “yeah.” Even he doesn’t want to go that slow. He twirls a dark strand of hair around his finger, letting his nail graze Subaru’s scalp. Pressed against him, he feels Subaru’s body react to the tiniest touch.
“Do I get to touch you?” Subaru asks, still not quite trusting this “going slow” idea. He flattens his palm on Yasu’s stomach and lets it slide down slowly. Emphatically.
Yasu catches it before it reaches its destination. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Subaru replies, tilting his head back to look at Yasu.
Subaru’s gaze is intense and unwavering. Yasu can’t be sure it will never move on to someone else, but nothing ever happens if you’re not willing to try.