to me, he should try better." His barely there parents for a time try, a stuffed toy in the next birthday, a tasteful set of spin tops or the next fad for children. Satoru ends up breaking them all in a month of his ownership. Satoru itched for his childhood to end,

the age of being too young to be independent, but being formidable enough to be feared. It was either one thing or another, like the grown-ups around him couldn't decide. His time passes in a blur. Satoru is an adult, and he's no longer given knick knacks but people.

He still ends up breaking them. Too callous, too self-absorbed, too difficult-- few of the many justifications acquaintances and lovers alike would remark with expressions from disdain to pity. Well Satoru could have appreciated the honesty, if only it extended to both ends.

Because you see, shallowness and opportunity was a common thread in people. Satoru was handsome. Satoru represented power. Satoru held money. But Satoru was temporary, a means to an end, but not the end itself, and that was alright, because he used them too.

Then came an idiot boy who committed an idiotic act and cared an idiotic amount. Yuuji pushes Satoru off-center, all blazing smiles and worryingly selfless. He says things and means them, refreshingly straightforward and adorably curious.

Satoru waits for the punchline, a favor for a favor. It never comes in, and he's left lost in the face of interaction without the nature of transaction. It reminds him of highschool, the mayhem of a sweet tooth among smokers. But more than that--

Satoru learns to redirect his restless discontentment into healthier, less destructive outlets. If Yuuji has his kindness, Satoru has fascination. Fascination as to the longevity a person, of a thing. So few survive him. (He tries not to think of second year, or the receding

figure of his best friend.) Yuuji's open enough that Satoru doesn't really have to force a revelation out of him. No he doesn't push, he just watches, and watches as there is a starburst of expressions and contradictions in his erstwhile companion.

Yuuji's eyes glitter when he smiles, and he has a bit of a dimple when he favors a lopsided grin to the left. When Satoru decides to be a bit mischievous, his face cycles through outrage then indignation and finally settle at exasperation in seconds.

Yuuji won't mind how Satoru hogs the blankets at the sofa but will slap the latter's wrist in warning when he tries to taste the food directly from the ladle. Yuuji's hands are toughened from labor and yet still babyish to Satoru's own hands.

Satoru knows all of it is useless information, but he hasn't lost the novelty of Yuuji. He's still waiting for the punchline after all. They continue their little game, whatever it is. Let this be a reminder: Satoru is not a gentle handler.

This point is made when he brings home a potential fuck. It has nothing to do with the fact that Yuuji and Nanami are getting along well, or the fact that Satoru is starting to regret introducing them to each other.

Satoru's beginning to itch again with an unrivalled compulsion. It shows in his passive aggressive words, his deliberate apathy. Yuuji is patient, but he has a limit to his patience. He's made himself sparse on the area when Satoru's around.

Well what do you know, people really go away if you tell them to. Big surprise. Satoru is aware on some level that whatever he's doing now is something he won't be able to bounce back from.

Yuuji is his cohabitant, yes, and maybe even his friend, if a student could count, but they weren't-- they weren't anything. He was just the boy Satoru watched movies with. Just the boy who Satoru is supposed to look after and study the way cats do with their next shiny.

He could forgive Satoru one night of indulgence. (But Satoru could've picked a hotel, another property, and the fact that he's made the choice to invite a stranger here, in this house, in the home they shared no matter how briefly--)

Then something catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Satoru unceremoniously walks away from the stranger's eager touches, much to her dismay. He ignores it in favor of going to the counter that had tupperware and a note.

It's written in Yuuji's neat hand, the contents instructions of how long to reheat it and pressing how Satoru should stop eating so late. It's standard fare. It's enough to make Satoru tell the other person to leave.

___ He opens the door a crack, as quietly as possible. The lump on the bed softly tells him to come in. "Have you eaten sensei?" "No," Satoru replies, voice on the wrong side of raw and hoarse.

"It can't be helped," Yuuji sleepily rouses from the bed, yawning as he slips into his house slippers. "What d'you want?" His voice slurs at the edges, but it's clear. It's present. Satoru envelops him in a bone-crushing hug. Yuuji's properly awake now, he thinks.

Yuuji's sharp intake of breath breaks into sweet laughter, and even as he is amused by Satoru's sudden behavior, there's a hand that reaches for him. It caresses at his back tenderly, the way a guardian would do for a child. Satoru likes the attention, but hates its intention.

Now, he's a bit more put off to admit what disturbs him the most. While Satoru wanted everything from Yuuji, Yuuji, not at once wanted anything from him. The desire for tutelage, for company-- counts for nothing when it's necessity.

But pure, selfish want, spontaneous and eating... Yuuji doesn't have it, doesn't see Satoru the same way the latter does him. It's frustrating, yet it's in a way karmic justice, befitting for someone who's played people most of his life and now, he's little more than a toy,

whose happiness has centered on its unaware, cruelly kind, owner. The only question he has now is when Yuuji will get bored of him. "I won't," Yuuji steadily replies. Satoru bows his head further. He wasn't aware he said that aloud. He really should've avoided drinking.

"Sensei, look at me." Yuuji's hands cradle Satoru's face, guiding his eyes toward him. His cowlick would be distracting if not for how his gaze near burns with genuine concern. "What brought this on? Hm?" "Drank," Satoru explains, but that was more like an excuse, if anything.

"No, something's up." Yuuji searches his face, then sighs, "But I understand if you don't want to tell me now." "You're so mature Yuuji-kun." "And you're a kid," Yuuji smiles as Satoru makes a face. "It's nice though." "What do you mean?" "I'm glad you can depend on me."

Yuuji steers Satoru to the kitchen with quiet determination, and in no time there's a plate in front of Satoru. Satoru eats slowly under Yuuji's careful gaze, endeared instead of bothered at the scrutiny. When he sets the fork down, quietly, he confesses,

"I brought someone home, earlier." The wooden surface of the counter is suddenly so interesting. "Okay." Yuuji says after a time. "I sent them back." Then, a longer period of silence. "Why?" "Yuuji," Satoru breathes, vulnerable and uncharacteristically serious.

It doesn't take a genius to figure it out." "Did you just insult me?" Yuuji huffs without any real heat. Too callous, too self-absorbed, too difficult--

Or he was. What was callousness when the intimacy of touch and truths seemed a normal language between them? And while Satoru is vain, he's certain that majority of his time is spent thinking of Yuuji. Not all, but majority of it.

@ginghamchicken I need a moment to process because I’m so very weak to this specific dynamic of goyuu 😭