you're running scared, i'm chasing a shadow [4/?]
title: you're running scared, i'm chasing a shadow
author: hika_nishi
pairing: masuda/tegoshi
rating: r
disclaimer: I own the computer I typed this on. That's it.
summary: Tonight he was running away. Away from school and the soccer club, away from mother and warm meals, away from a comfortable room and fancy designer clothes, away from flashing red and blue and sirens and blood.
note: I feel like I lost the ability to make sense halfway through the chapter, so I apologize if becomes messy and confusing XD. I'm thinking this fic is going to be five or six chapters, depends on how long the next chapter goes on. Considering these have been coming out longer than initially thought (this one the king at 2500 words XD) it will probably be six. And OMG thank you for the comments ♥ I was so not confident with the last chapter, so I’m really glad people liked it.
Previous: chapter 01 chapter 02 chapter 03
The first day had seemed like an eternity, a long dream that every so often would be interrupted by a horrendous nightmare. The second day wasn’t much better. Neither was the next week. Yuya spent nine days locked in Masuda’s house by his own will. Not one of those days included a decent night’s sleep, partially because Yamashita was still haunting his mind, mostly because he’d be relegated to what the owners had claimed was a pull out sofa, but Yuya had serious doubts about whether or not it was actually intended to be slept on.
Through all of the misery, however, there were two things Yuya loved to do. One was staring out that picture window that made up the back wall of what was essentially his bedroom. It calmed him, that view of sun and sand and greens blowing in a gentle breeze. There were some occasions when he considered sitting out on the porch, feeling that wind on his skin, the sun on his face, feeling - for a moment - alive. But he always brushed the idea away. That would mean being outside, where people could see him, identify him. Seeing it all through a pane of glass was fine for now.
The other thing Yuya loved, sometimes more that watching the world play before him like his own personal movie theater, was watching Masuda. In many ways, they two were similar. Yuya got the same calm pleasure watching the sunset as he did watching Masuda cook dinner. There was a difference though: the sun didn’t look at Yuya and smile. Masuda did.
++++
On the ninth night, he has a nightmare, not the usual replay of events that had plagued him for the last eight nights, but just as vivid, almost real. Yuya thinks he’s awake, staring at the ceiling, but it was missing the gently spinning, almost hypnotic, fan that would make in the ceiling of Masuda’s living room. This one was empty and white - Yamashita’s ceiling. Yuya could feel those lips on his neck, his collarbone. Those hands on his hips, his thighs. Every touch seems to burn his skin. When he looked at his own hand, it was dripping red. His chest, the white sheets, all covered in it, oozing out from a gap in Yamashita’s stomach. He closed his eyes and screamed.
When he opened them again, he could see the ceiling fan spinning, and breathed a heavy sigh. His clothes - or rather Masuda’s clothes - were damp, his whole body covered in a cold sweat. He kicked off the thin sheet that he thought was a sad excuse for a blanket, and ran into the bathroom.
He held up his hands in the light, in front of the mirror. They looked clean, but they felt dirty, sticky. Yuya turned the knob as far as it would go in the direction of hot and became scrubbing as hard as he could, mumbling to himself. The slurred words turned into sobs, tear fell freely down his pale cheeks, his lips seemed a darker shade of pink than usual. Steam started to rise from the faucet, clouding the mirror.
There was a soft knock on the door. Yuya ignored it. The was a soft voice asking if he was alright. He ignored that, too, continuing to scrub his hands as if taking off the skin would somehow make them feel pure and clean again. The door creaked open slowly, Masuda’s head popping in.
“Yuya?” For a moment, Masuda looked at him with pity. The next he was behind him, pulling Yuya away from the sink, turning him around to take his hands, warm and wet and raw.
Masuda didn’t saw another word, just held him tight, one hand gently stroking his hair. That was another thing he liked about Masuda. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t seem to care why Yuya screamed and cried at night. What he did care about, was making him feel better when he was. It confused Yuya, but he loved that about Masuda. He was different from anyone in Tokyo for that reason. His friends would always care if he was upset, but never unconditionally.
In moments like that Yuya thought he trusted Masuda enough to tell his the truth, to tell him everything. But at the same time, he was too scared to do it. Not because he might kick him out or call the cops or trick him on a train back to Tokyo to face justice, but because it would - in any likelihood - push Masuda away. It was a terrifying thought.
Yuya doesn’t go back to his pullout sofa that night. He falls asleep in peace on Masuda’s comfortable mattress, on a soft pillow, under a warm blanket, wrapped in Masuda’s strong arms.
++++
In the morning, as he unloaded Yuya’s clothes from the dryer for the ninth day in row, because he refused to borrow anyone else’s, Masuda decided to take Yuya shopping. Koyama joked that it could be a date. That made him smile.
It was trouble convincing him to go. Yuya shook his head, told Masuda to just get him something himself, threw a pillow at Masuda’s head. It was practically a tantrum, but somehow Masuda thought it was cute. Yuya eventually caved, agreeing to step outside only to get some clothes and only after Masuda lent the boy Koyama’s sunglasses and Kato’s hat.
He took Yuya to a strip mall less than five minutes down the road. Masuda actually learned something about Yuya that day: he knew what he liked and it wasn’t what he expected. He expected hoodies and loose jeans and tee shirts. Well, there were tee shirts and there were jeans, though they were a step above being too tight on him, but there were certainly no hoodies. Instead, Yuya went for various styles of jackets, ones that showed off how thin he was, which Masuda hadn’t really noticed before. He saw Yuya's smile in the mirror and that was enough to make him smile. And decide to break his promise and take Yuya out to lunch.
++++
That evening, he’s seated on the couch opposite Yuya watching some lady on a late night news program. Masuda pretended to be interested, really his mind was running of lists of things to be done the next day, what he was going to wear to work, whether he’d make dinner tomorrow or order out, how good Yuya’s ass looked in those new jeans.
His thoughts were interrupted by a pressure on his thigh. Yuya kicking his leg.
“I’m from Tokyo,” he said. Masuda looked at him, puzzled, mouth making questioning noises that didn’t pass for words. “The day we met,” Yuya went on. “You asked me where I was from and I didn’t tell you. But I figured, today you paid for my clothes and bought me a nice lunch, you let me stay in this house, I owe you some information.”
Masuda blinked a few times. It made sense, but the timing was surprising. “Okay…” he nodded, slowly.
“So,” Yuya shifted his position, kneeling on the couch, body turned toward Masuda, “ask me anything.”
“Uh,” Masuda stared at him. Was this some kind of trick, a joke? But this was the most he’d ever heard Yuya say in a single sitting and there was no better time than that to learn something about him. “What’s your last name?”
Yuya put a figure to his mouth. “Sorry, anything but that.”
Masuda sighed. “Why are you here?
“Escaping responsibility.”
“Responsibility for what?”
Yuya took a moment to respond, “Classified.”
“Okay,” he rolled his eyes, slightly hidden from Yuya behind his hair. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No. You?”
“What?” Masuda was surprised, Yuya was smiling, almost seductively. It didn’t help Masuda regain his train of thought. “I…no.”
“Ever been in love?” Yuya scooted closer to him.
“I thought I was supposed to…”
“I’m curious,” Yuya smiled, Masuda felt he had no choice but to play along.
“Once. You?”
The boy held up two fingers. “Twice. With who?”
“You only know three people here…”
“With who?”
++++
They stumbled down the hall amid a flurry of kisses and tangled limbs. Masuda was hazy on exactly how it had happened. One minute they were on the couch, the news lady on the television reporting the latest on that murder of a young guy in Tokyo, the next, Yuya was kissing him, pulling him away, toward the hall. Masuda took the hint, didn’t make a single motion of protest, just followed Yuya’s lead. This boy was intoxicating and much more forward than Masuda had previously thought. He usually hated people who were romantically aggressive, but somehow, with Yuya, it was perfect.
Masuda winced as his back found the knob of his door. His hand reached back, groped around for it, twisted it open. They fell inside and he kicked the door shut, loudly, behind them. For a mere second he felt sorry for all the noise Koyama and Kato were putting up with right now, but the thought was quickly gone, replaced by Yuya’s lips, his skin.
The backs of Yuya’s legs made contact with the bed and he fell back, falling into Masuda’s perfectly made sheets. Masuda grabbed his shirt, quickly pulling it over Yuya’s head. His hands wandered over soft skin, over Yuya’s rising and falling chest, his flat stomach, lips and tongue following. Yuya mumbled Massu, Massu over and over again. Masuda realized it was the first time he’d heard Yuya call him by that nickname. He cherished the sound.
When Masuda, looped his fingers under the waist of Yuya pants, the boy apparently changed his mind about the whole thing. His knee came up, hitting Masuda in the stomach. It wasn’t exactly the response he was expecting. Or hoping for.
He thought he get a sorry from Yuya, an explanation of how they were moving to fast or something. There was neither. Just the sound of his door opening, the bathroom door slamming shut, clicking locked. Masuda leaned his back against the wall, let himself slide down to the floor.
++++
There were tears and mucus dripping from his face as he coughed and gagged over the toilet. It wasn’t because of Masuda, oh god no. He was the bright spot in this nightmare. It wasn’t what he assumed Masuda was going to do, hell, Yuya wanted him to.
Part of it went back that night in Tokyo, to Yamashita touching him the way Masuda did, albeit rougher and faster. But mostly, he was just disgusted with himself. That woman on the news talked about Yamashita’s case, a suspect, a friend. Yuya was scared, terrified that Masuda would hear, that she’d say Tegoshi Yuya with a picture and background. He’d been in love twice in his life. Once was with Yamashita, second was with Masuda. He couldn’t lose him. Yuya hated himself for thinking those words.
++++
The light from the refrigerator illuminated the kitchen. Masuda dug in the back and pulled out a beer. He hated the stuff, but right now he thought the taste of it couldn’t be worse that being rejected by a guy who came onto him in the first place. He walked out into the living room, bottle in hand, collapsing into a chair. Masuda mumbled to himself, degraded himself, head leaning back, eyes on the ceiling.
Through the silence, there was strange sound that made Masuda pick his head up. It happened again and he started searching for the source. He found it, a phone - Yuya’s phone. He picked it up, stared at it, at the name Ryo glowing on the screen. For a moment, he has a debate with himself and decides, though it’s probably not right, to answer it.
“Hello?” he said quietly, waiting for a response.
“Tegoshi,” a man’s voice, an intimidating voice. “I’m here. I know you are, too.” Masuda didn’t say a word, just listened closely. “Please, Tegoshi, I just want to talk. Clear this whole thing up for me. There’s a café on the beach, I want you to meet me there tomorrow morning. Okay? Tegoshi? Promise me you’ll come.”
Masuda wonders for a second if he should answer, but settles on simply closing the phone.
++++
After crying out his current state of self-loathing and washing his face until he look at least vaguely presentable, Yuya turns the lock, and step into the hallway. There’s a light on in the living room. He assumes it’s Masuda. He’s right.
His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Massu…”
“Someone wants to meet you,” Masuda started, “at the café tomorrow, Tegoshi.”
Yuya’s body feels suddenly numb. “Te…Tegoshi?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it? The one you wouldn’t tell me.” Yuya tries desperately to determine Masuda’s emotion from his voice, hoping to whatever god there may be that it isn’t anger.
“Yes,” he answers quietly, eyes pointed down, the only part of Masuda is his vision being his feet and ankles. There’s a question on his mind, one he knows the answer to, but is almost too frightened to ask. “Who…wants to meet me?” he finally manages, his words partially choked in his throat.
“Some guy named Ryo.” It was exactly what Yuya was afraid of, but he finally understood how Masuda was feeling - hurt.
“Massu, I can’t…” he tried to hide the panic he was feeling, he didn’t do it very well. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Why?” he walked toward Yuya. “Why, Tegoshi? Don’t want your boyfriend to see you? Don’t want admit to him that you were going to sleep with an idiot who fell for the pretty face act? What is it?” He was inches away from Yuya’s face now and he noticed, Yuya didn’t look hurt or offended, which he should be from what Masuda was shouting at him. No. What Yuya looked was scared. Simply and purely terrified. Masuda’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Yuya?” he placed his hands on Yuya’s shoulders, looked him in the eye. “Yuya, did this guy hurt you? Did he threaten you? Make you do something you didn’t want to? Yuya, look at me.”
“Massu…” his voice and body were shaking, his breathing erratic. “Help me. Please help me…”
Masuda pulled him close, rocking him gently back and forth. “I want to. But I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m saving you from.”
Yuya pushed him away, just enough to look him straight in the eye. “Do you love me, Massu.”
“What kind of question…”
“Do you?” Yuya looked at him desperately.
“I do.”
“Would you even I did something terrible?”
“Yuya…”
“Massu, please!”
Masuda nodded quickly, took Yuya’s hands tightly in his. “I would.” The words seemed to come out on their own. “Yuya, what happened.”
Yuya took a deep breath, eyes never leaving Masuda’s gaze, “The first person I loved, I killed him.”
author: hika_nishi
pairing: masuda/tegoshi
rating: r
disclaimer: I own the computer I typed this on. That's it.
summary: Tonight he was running away. Away from school and the soccer club, away from mother and warm meals, away from a comfortable room and fancy designer clothes, away from flashing red and blue and sirens and blood.
note: I feel like I lost the ability to make sense halfway through the chapter, so I apologize if becomes messy and confusing XD. I'm thinking this fic is going to be five or six chapters, depends on how long the next chapter goes on. Considering these have been coming out longer than initially thought (this one the king at 2500 words XD) it will probably be six. And OMG thank you for the comments ♥ I was so not confident with the last chapter, so I’m really glad people liked it.
Previous: chapter 01 chapter 02 chapter 03
The first day had seemed like an eternity, a long dream that every so often would be interrupted by a horrendous nightmare. The second day wasn’t much better. Neither was the next week. Yuya spent nine days locked in Masuda’s house by his own will. Not one of those days included a decent night’s sleep, partially because Yamashita was still haunting his mind, mostly because he’d be relegated to what the owners had claimed was a pull out sofa, but Yuya had serious doubts about whether or not it was actually intended to be slept on.
Through all of the misery, however, there were two things Yuya loved to do. One was staring out that picture window that made up the back wall of what was essentially his bedroom. It calmed him, that view of sun and sand and greens blowing in a gentle breeze. There were some occasions when he considered sitting out on the porch, feeling that wind on his skin, the sun on his face, feeling - for a moment - alive. But he always brushed the idea away. That would mean being outside, where people could see him, identify him. Seeing it all through a pane of glass was fine for now.
The other thing Yuya loved, sometimes more that watching the world play before him like his own personal movie theater, was watching Masuda. In many ways, they two were similar. Yuya got the same calm pleasure watching the sunset as he did watching Masuda cook dinner. There was a difference though: the sun didn’t look at Yuya and smile. Masuda did.
++++
On the ninth night, he has a nightmare, not the usual replay of events that had plagued him for the last eight nights, but just as vivid, almost real. Yuya thinks he’s awake, staring at the ceiling, but it was missing the gently spinning, almost hypnotic, fan that would make in the ceiling of Masuda’s living room. This one was empty and white - Yamashita’s ceiling. Yuya could feel those lips on his neck, his collarbone. Those hands on his hips, his thighs. Every touch seems to burn his skin. When he looked at his own hand, it was dripping red. His chest, the white sheets, all covered in it, oozing out from a gap in Yamashita’s stomach. He closed his eyes and screamed.
When he opened them again, he could see the ceiling fan spinning, and breathed a heavy sigh. His clothes - or rather Masuda’s clothes - were damp, his whole body covered in a cold sweat. He kicked off the thin sheet that he thought was a sad excuse for a blanket, and ran into the bathroom.
He held up his hands in the light, in front of the mirror. They looked clean, but they felt dirty, sticky. Yuya turned the knob as far as it would go in the direction of hot and became scrubbing as hard as he could, mumbling to himself. The slurred words turned into sobs, tear fell freely down his pale cheeks, his lips seemed a darker shade of pink than usual. Steam started to rise from the faucet, clouding the mirror.
There was a soft knock on the door. Yuya ignored it. The was a soft voice asking if he was alright. He ignored that, too, continuing to scrub his hands as if taking off the skin would somehow make them feel pure and clean again. The door creaked open slowly, Masuda’s head popping in.
“Yuya?” For a moment, Masuda looked at him with pity. The next he was behind him, pulling Yuya away from the sink, turning him around to take his hands, warm and wet and raw.
Masuda didn’t saw another word, just held him tight, one hand gently stroking his hair. That was another thing he liked about Masuda. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t seem to care why Yuya screamed and cried at night. What he did care about, was making him feel better when he was. It confused Yuya, but he loved that about Masuda. He was different from anyone in Tokyo for that reason. His friends would always care if he was upset, but never unconditionally.
In moments like that Yuya thought he trusted Masuda enough to tell his the truth, to tell him everything. But at the same time, he was too scared to do it. Not because he might kick him out or call the cops or trick him on a train back to Tokyo to face justice, but because it would - in any likelihood - push Masuda away. It was a terrifying thought.
Yuya doesn’t go back to his pullout sofa that night. He falls asleep in peace on Masuda’s comfortable mattress, on a soft pillow, under a warm blanket, wrapped in Masuda’s strong arms.
++++
In the morning, as he unloaded Yuya’s clothes from the dryer for the ninth day in row, because he refused to borrow anyone else’s, Masuda decided to take Yuya shopping. Koyama joked that it could be a date. That made him smile.
It was trouble convincing him to go. Yuya shook his head, told Masuda to just get him something himself, threw a pillow at Masuda’s head. It was practically a tantrum, but somehow Masuda thought it was cute. Yuya eventually caved, agreeing to step outside only to get some clothes and only after Masuda lent the boy Koyama’s sunglasses and Kato’s hat.
He took Yuya to a strip mall less than five minutes down the road. Masuda actually learned something about Yuya that day: he knew what he liked and it wasn’t what he expected. He expected hoodies and loose jeans and tee shirts. Well, there were tee shirts and there were jeans, though they were a step above being too tight on him, but there were certainly no hoodies. Instead, Yuya went for various styles of jackets, ones that showed off how thin he was, which Masuda hadn’t really noticed before. He saw Yuya's smile in the mirror and that was enough to make him smile. And decide to break his promise and take Yuya out to lunch.
++++
That evening, he’s seated on the couch opposite Yuya watching some lady on a late night news program. Masuda pretended to be interested, really his mind was running of lists of things to be done the next day, what he was going to wear to work, whether he’d make dinner tomorrow or order out, how good Yuya’s ass looked in those new jeans.
His thoughts were interrupted by a pressure on his thigh. Yuya kicking his leg.
“I’m from Tokyo,” he said. Masuda looked at him, puzzled, mouth making questioning noises that didn’t pass for words. “The day we met,” Yuya went on. “You asked me where I was from and I didn’t tell you. But I figured, today you paid for my clothes and bought me a nice lunch, you let me stay in this house, I owe you some information.”
Masuda blinked a few times. It made sense, but the timing was surprising. “Okay…” he nodded, slowly.
“So,” Yuya shifted his position, kneeling on the couch, body turned toward Masuda, “ask me anything.”
“Uh,” Masuda stared at him. Was this some kind of trick, a joke? But this was the most he’d ever heard Yuya say in a single sitting and there was no better time than that to learn something about him. “What’s your last name?”
Yuya put a figure to his mouth. “Sorry, anything but that.”
Masuda sighed. “Why are you here?
“Escaping responsibility.”
“Responsibility for what?”
Yuya took a moment to respond, “Classified.”
“Okay,” he rolled his eyes, slightly hidden from Yuya behind his hair. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No. You?”
“What?” Masuda was surprised, Yuya was smiling, almost seductively. It didn’t help Masuda regain his train of thought. “I…no.”
“Ever been in love?” Yuya scooted closer to him.
“I thought I was supposed to…”
“I’m curious,” Yuya smiled, Masuda felt he had no choice but to play along.
“Once. You?”
The boy held up two fingers. “Twice. With who?”
“You only know three people here…”
“With who?”
++++
They stumbled down the hall amid a flurry of kisses and tangled limbs. Masuda was hazy on exactly how it had happened. One minute they were on the couch, the news lady on the television reporting the latest on that murder of a young guy in Tokyo, the next, Yuya was kissing him, pulling him away, toward the hall. Masuda took the hint, didn’t make a single motion of protest, just followed Yuya’s lead. This boy was intoxicating and much more forward than Masuda had previously thought. He usually hated people who were romantically aggressive, but somehow, with Yuya, it was perfect.
Masuda winced as his back found the knob of his door. His hand reached back, groped around for it, twisted it open. They fell inside and he kicked the door shut, loudly, behind them. For a mere second he felt sorry for all the noise Koyama and Kato were putting up with right now, but the thought was quickly gone, replaced by Yuya’s lips, his skin.
The backs of Yuya’s legs made contact with the bed and he fell back, falling into Masuda’s perfectly made sheets. Masuda grabbed his shirt, quickly pulling it over Yuya’s head. His hands wandered over soft skin, over Yuya’s rising and falling chest, his flat stomach, lips and tongue following. Yuya mumbled Massu, Massu over and over again. Masuda realized it was the first time he’d heard Yuya call him by that nickname. He cherished the sound.
When Masuda, looped his fingers under the waist of Yuya pants, the boy apparently changed his mind about the whole thing. His knee came up, hitting Masuda in the stomach. It wasn’t exactly the response he was expecting. Or hoping for.
He thought he get a sorry from Yuya, an explanation of how they were moving to fast or something. There was neither. Just the sound of his door opening, the bathroom door slamming shut, clicking locked. Masuda leaned his back against the wall, let himself slide down to the floor.
++++
There were tears and mucus dripping from his face as he coughed and gagged over the toilet. It wasn’t because of Masuda, oh god no. He was the bright spot in this nightmare. It wasn’t what he assumed Masuda was going to do, hell, Yuya wanted him to.
Part of it went back that night in Tokyo, to Yamashita touching him the way Masuda did, albeit rougher and faster. But mostly, he was just disgusted with himself. That woman on the news talked about Yamashita’s case, a suspect, a friend. Yuya was scared, terrified that Masuda would hear, that she’d say Tegoshi Yuya with a picture and background. He’d been in love twice in his life. Once was with Yamashita, second was with Masuda. He couldn’t lose him. Yuya hated himself for thinking those words.
++++
The light from the refrigerator illuminated the kitchen. Masuda dug in the back and pulled out a beer. He hated the stuff, but right now he thought the taste of it couldn’t be worse that being rejected by a guy who came onto him in the first place. He walked out into the living room, bottle in hand, collapsing into a chair. Masuda mumbled to himself, degraded himself, head leaning back, eyes on the ceiling.
Through the silence, there was strange sound that made Masuda pick his head up. It happened again and he started searching for the source. He found it, a phone - Yuya’s phone. He picked it up, stared at it, at the name Ryo glowing on the screen. For a moment, he has a debate with himself and decides, though it’s probably not right, to answer it.
“Hello?” he said quietly, waiting for a response.
“Tegoshi,” a man’s voice, an intimidating voice. “I’m here. I know you are, too.” Masuda didn’t say a word, just listened closely. “Please, Tegoshi, I just want to talk. Clear this whole thing up for me. There’s a café on the beach, I want you to meet me there tomorrow morning. Okay? Tegoshi? Promise me you’ll come.”
Masuda wonders for a second if he should answer, but settles on simply closing the phone.
++++
After crying out his current state of self-loathing and washing his face until he look at least vaguely presentable, Yuya turns the lock, and step into the hallway. There’s a light on in the living room. He assumes it’s Masuda. He’s right.
His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Massu…”
“Someone wants to meet you,” Masuda started, “at the café tomorrow, Tegoshi.”
Yuya’s body feels suddenly numb. “Te…Tegoshi?”
“That’s your name, isn’t it? The one you wouldn’t tell me.” Yuya tries desperately to determine Masuda’s emotion from his voice, hoping to whatever god there may be that it isn’t anger.
“Yes,” he answers quietly, eyes pointed down, the only part of Masuda is his vision being his feet and ankles. There’s a question on his mind, one he knows the answer to, but is almost too frightened to ask. “Who…wants to meet me?” he finally manages, his words partially choked in his throat.
“Some guy named Ryo.” It was exactly what Yuya was afraid of, but he finally understood how Masuda was feeling - hurt.
“Massu, I can’t…” he tried to hide the panic he was feeling, he didn’t do it very well. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Why?” he walked toward Yuya. “Why, Tegoshi? Don’t want your boyfriend to see you? Don’t want admit to him that you were going to sleep with an idiot who fell for the pretty face act? What is it?” He was inches away from Yuya’s face now and he noticed, Yuya didn’t look hurt or offended, which he should be from what Masuda was shouting at him. No. What Yuya looked was scared. Simply and purely terrified. Masuda’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Yuya?” he placed his hands on Yuya’s shoulders, looked him in the eye. “Yuya, did this guy hurt you? Did he threaten you? Make you do something you didn’t want to? Yuya, look at me.”
“Massu…” his voice and body were shaking, his breathing erratic. “Help me. Please help me…”
Masuda pulled him close, rocking him gently back and forth. “I want to. But I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m saving you from.”
Yuya pushed him away, just enough to look him straight in the eye. “Do you love me, Massu.”
“What kind of question…”
“Do you?” Yuya looked at him desperately.
“I do.”
“Would you even I did something terrible?”
“Yuya…”
“Massu, please!”
Masuda nodded quickly, took Yuya’s hands tightly in his. “I would.” The words seemed to come out on their own. “Yuya, what happened.”
Yuya took a deep breath, eyes never leaving Masuda’s gaze, “The first person I loved, I killed him.”