( there's a sliver of embarrassment, there, a little shameful--and for something that he swears he can't feel, anymore, it burns especially hot. it had been stupid to talk about any of this, and his only saving grace is the fact that fuuta is likely too blitzed by the alcohol to remember too much of it; there's plenty more left to the story, but leaving it like this is better. leaving it without the sordid, bloody details of the way his skin melted off or the weightless three-year coma or the fact that his grafts had once been tucked in, sutured and neat, rather than slipping off at the seams. going back home, seeing that nothing had changed, that his death really meant nothing at all: seeing his father beat the shit out of shouto, all of it. the way he paints it now sounds poetic, at least--reality is always dirtier, grittier, and he doesn't know that he likes fuuta knowing all that.
doesn't know how he'd feel, if he looked at him with disgust. looked at him with fear, again. looked at him in any way but this.
there's a soft breath of laughter, through his nose, but despite everything in him screaming that it's wrong, that it's weak, that it's dangerous: he wraps his arms around fuuta's shoulders, tucking him into his chest, holding him there in a half-twisted hug. )
I'm not gonna die here. ( not where fuuta can see it. it's the first time he thinks he's been relieved about being here: by the time he gets home, gets done with everything that has to get done, fuuta will be home, too. worlds apart. too far for him to see it when it happens. ) I am here, now.
( just like he said. with another soft breath, a sigh, he loosens his hold, slightly, just enough to try to lean back to look at fuuta's face, properly, where it's hidden in against his shoulder. )
You wanna find a place to crash out here? Pretty sure they wouldn't kick us out if we slept on the beach, but they have all those little beach houses or whatever.
( he doesn't know the right word for them--just knows that he doesn't want to have to force distance between them, doesn't want fuuta to go back to his little room, doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, with these feelings, with the heated memory of fuuta pressed so bodily up against him. )
Sorry. I'm the kind of guy that stays over on the first date, you're just gonna have to deal.
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doesn't know how he'd feel, if he looked at him with disgust. looked at him with fear, again. looked at him in any way but this.
there's a soft breath of laughter, through his nose, but despite everything in him screaming that it's wrong, that it's weak, that it's dangerous: he wraps his arms around fuuta's shoulders, tucking him into his chest, holding him there in a half-twisted hug. )
I'm not gonna die here. ( not where fuuta can see it. it's the first time he thinks he's been relieved about being here: by the time he gets home, gets done with everything that has to get done, fuuta will be home, too. worlds apart. too far for him to see it when it happens. ) I am here, now.
( just like he said. with another soft breath, a sigh, he loosens his hold, slightly, just enough to try to lean back to look at fuuta's face, properly, where it's hidden in against his shoulder. )
You wanna find a place to crash out here? Pretty sure they wouldn't kick us out if we slept on the beach, but they have all those little beach houses or whatever.
( he doesn't know the right word for them--just knows that he doesn't want to have to force distance between them, doesn't want fuuta to go back to his little room, doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, with these feelings, with the heated memory of fuuta pressed so bodily up against him. )
Sorry. I'm the kind of guy that stays over on the first date, you're just gonna have to deal.