Chapter Text
The movie flickered on in the background, casting warm shadows across the room.
It was the second movie night—at least officially. Tendou had called it “part two of the world’s weirdest courtship ritual,” grinning when Wakatoshi answered the door. He breezed in like he lived there, arms full of snacks and cheap DVD rentals.
Wakatoshi let him.
He still didn’t understand why.
They sat in silence for most of the film. Tendou’s running commentary was softer than usual tonight, less teasing, more comfortable. Wakatoshi listened, said nothing. He told himself this was fine. This was safe. Tendou wasn’t asking for anything. Tendou knew not to push.
The movie was ridiculous—some surreal, offbeat romcom with talking animals and overly dramatic monologues about fate and soulmates. Wakatoshi didn’t care for it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Not when the two leads kissed in the rain, and not when they shouted I love you across a bridge with orchestral strings swelling behind them.
Tendou threw popcorn at the screen. “So dramatic. Honestly, I want that. Just once. Someone grabbing me by the shirt like, ‘I love you, you idiot!’” He grinned. “You’d be terrifying at it, though. Totally serious. Deadpan. Probably make the other person cry.”
Wakatoshi’s mouth opened before he thought to stop it.
“I love you.”
It slipped out. Flat. Raw.
Tendou blinked, mid-laugh. “…Wait, what?”
Wakatoshi’s whole body had gone rigid. His heart thundered behind his ribs. “Forget it.”
“Waka—”
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
He stood abruptly. The air felt thick, unbreathable. “I didn’t mean it.”
Tendou was still staring, smile fading. “Didn’t mean it like… at all?”
Wakatoshi looked away. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t feel this. It’s not right.”
And Tendou went still.
“…This is about middle school, isn’t it?”
Wakatoshi’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t know what happened.”
“I know a little,” Tendou said. “You told me a little. You got hurt.”
“I got punished,” Wakatoshi snapped, the word sharp like glass. “For being disgusting. For thinking someone could ever feel the same way about me. I was wrong. I am wrong.”
The room was too quiet now. Tendou had stood, but hadn’t come closer yet.
“I thought it was love,” Wakatoshi continued. “Back then. I thought if I was honest, if I said it out loud, it would… mean something.”
He laughed, short and broken.
“I told a boy I liked him and he dragged me down a stairwell and laughed while his friends carved it into me. You’re disgusting. I still hear it. Every time I feel anything like this—every time I look at you—I hear it again.”
Tendou’s voice was quiet. “Waka…”
“I’m not supposed to feel this way. That’s what they made sure of.”
The weight of the confession crushed the air between them.
Finally, Tendou moved—slow, deliberate steps until he was close enough to reach out but didn’t.
“Wakatoshi,” he said, voice steady, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it. You were just a kid.”
Wakatoshi shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Tendou’s voice broke. “Of course it does.”
Something cracked in Wakatoshi’s chest. It didn’t shatter, not yet—but it cracked enough for him to feel the pain that had been rotting there, deep and buried.
Tendou stepped closer. “You don’t have to run. Not from me. Not tonight.”
Wakatoshi hesitated.
Then, wordless, he let himself be pulled in.
Tendou guided him to the bed again like he had that night, gentle, no questions asked. They lay there, face to face in the dark, the movie still flickering in the background.
Fingers brushed under Wakatoshi’s shirt again. This time, he didn’t flinch.
Tendou’s hand moved slowly, tracing a scar across his ribs with unbearable softness. Then another. Then another. As if mapping pain and erasing it in equal measure.
“This doesn’t scare me,” Tendou whispered.
Wakatoshi’s voice trembled. “It scares me.”
“I know.”
“I want to love you. I just—” His breath hitched. “I don’t know how to not be afraid.”
Tendou exhaled. “Then we’ll figure it out. Slowly. I’m not going anywhere.”
Wakatoshi’s eyes shut tight, his entire body aching with the weight of all he’d held in for so long. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he had to hold it alone.
He fell asleep like that—in Tendou’s arms, scarred and ashamed, but still held. Still wanted.
Tendou’s fingers kept tracing over his skin long after his breathing evened out.
Not to fix anything.
Just to say: I’m here. I see you. And you are not wrong.