Archive of Our Own

Yugamu does not like to admit to the more embarrassing things about himself. 

Sure, there are the things like the various fetishes (in his defense, mutual murder is so... so pure, so untainted by any needless complexities...) he has, but when has he ever been embarrassed by that? Sexual desire: want, need- whatever you choose to call it, it’s a natural part of any life. Why should he hide it? What’s the point of needlessly limiting himself? It’s just how life and death work. There’s no point in concealing anything, if hiding things only serves to further the distance between being without love, and being with it.

There are other things, however, that Yugamu thinks he’d rather not admit to anybody at all, ever. Sure, all of the SDU know about his arms (he thinks. He’s used them in battle too often for them to not, right?) and nobody has really been too awful in that regard; save for perhaps Ima, or Kurara, but that’s really just how they are as people— but he’d rather not deal with his comrades seeing him genuinely flustered.

And I’d rather not deal with them seeing this, Yugamu thinks, as he casually grinds a not insignificant number of pills into powder. Though, maybe I could just play it off as... ah, what, having a fetish for drugging my own food?

No, someone would surely see through that. Eito might innocently point out that he never eats any of it, or Takumi might notice every drugged meal he prepares ends up in the trash... Gaku might yell at him for that, actually; accuse him of wasting food, when just a few weeks ago he and the rest of the original group at Last Defense Academy had been half-starved. 

Well, it’s his own dinner: if he misses out on a meal just to sate a bone-deep compulsion, it’s his own bad choice.

Because to tell the truth, the only reason Yugamu is doing this at all is because he feels vaguely ill with nothing to do. No contracts, no assignments, no predetermined schedule; back in the TRC, in those empty moments of downtime, he was always preparing something. He wasn’t old enough to take inventory until recently (not that he wasn’t capable, but trust from an assassin is always a hard thing to earn), so his oldest habit is... drug manufacturing. Meal preparation. Anything to be vaguely, distantly helpful.

Not that ‘being helpful’ changed much at all, but man can dream of a better life all he wants. The point is: if he doesn’t do something ‘useful’ with himself right this instant Yugamu feels he is going to die.

He only allows himself minor annoyance at the fact that the curry that he’s about to completely waste looks very , very tasty before he sets about incorporating the powder with the gravy; no time to mourn something that only existed to go to waste and be forgotten in the end, right? And, besides, he—

The alarm starts blaring, echoing loud and sharp through the halls. Yugamu winces at the sudden sound, and then feels frustration well up within him. For the love of murder, he hasn’t even had time to— the— agh, he can deal with it later! It’s not like anyone comes into the Bio Lab anyway, and nobody is– well, he hopes nobody is stupid enough to eat his food. That’s essentially flirting with death, and nobody has even reciprocated his advances yet! If they want to die so badly, they could just ask him!

He does the usual; head to the War room, get his infuser, stab himself in the chest and feel the fear of death wash through him; honestly, he’s surprised the combat takes as long as it does, since there’s not even a commander with the group. Everybody seems generally annoyed by this, but Gaku is most certainly the person who takes this massive time sink the worst.

“Another wave?” he groans, hoisting his machine gun awkwardly. “Seriously, can my luck get any more rotten?”

“It’s not so bad,” Yugamu says brightly, looking at the blood and gore on his blade absently. “I wouldn’t mind more of this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gaku grouses. “Of course you’d say that, you get off on killing things or... ugh, whatever wires are hooked up wrong in your head.”

“Oh, please,” Kurara retorts. “You’re both total fucking pervs!” Her sneer is audible through the mask.

Kyoshika sighs, adjusting the Holy Jumonji Sword in its sheath. “I regret to inform you both Lady Kurara is correct,” she says, so solemnly you’d think she was at a funeral.

“...In fact, if I had to rank you, I’d say you’re both about as perverted as Kyoshika is! You’re all soooo perfect for each other,” Kurara continues. “It’s no wonder you act like freaks all the time! You’ve finally found your people.” Kyoshika lets out a dismayed whimper, and begins to go off on some tangent about how Kurara surely doesn’t mean it; Yugamu doesn’t have time to listen to the two bicker, since he’s a little bit busy with crowd control.

“Gimme a break,” Gaku mutters, and from where Yugamu is he can tell Gaku is squeezing the trigger of his gun too forcefully as he speaks. “I’m not even a perv, you’re all just being dicks to me ‘cause I’m lower class and you’re all totally rich!”

“Wait, h– have I been treating you badly?” Eito chimes in, twisting to look at Gaku with concern written clearly on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Gaku spits. Eito responds with a wince, and then summarily turns and cuts through one of the larger enemies nigh-effortlessly.

“I don’t know what you guys are arguing about,” Takumi says, some amount of strain in his voice, “but the next wave is coming up real soon so I’m really going to need you all to shut up!”

Beside him, Ima makes a motion like he’s yawning; Yugamu can’t hear it from where he is, and it doesn’t pick up over their comms. “Wow, Takumi, who died and made you Team Leader?”

“Hiruko did, you asshole!” Gaku shouts back.

“Don’t call Ima an asshole!” Kako replies.

“Don’t force Kako to swear!” Ima says.

Gaku’s hands clench around his weapon. “I’m so sick of all of you,” he whines. “This day can not get any worse, I didn’t even get to eat yet!”

“Did someone say they wanted this day to get worse?” Darumi yells. “Heyyyy, come to my room later, Gaku! I’ve got lots of fun shit I can—”

“I’m not desperate enough to bang a chick like you!” Gaku squawks.

“Shut up!” Takumi yells, and the next wave closes in; the time to think is past.

When all is said and done, Yugamu admittedly... manages to forget about what he was doing earlier, for a little while. The fight was so long and draining that he gives himself a few moments to recoup; it’s not his fault it stretches from one minute to five to ten to thirty— it’s not his fault he doesn’t instantly make his way back to the Bio Lab, only to find—

“Gaku,” he says, stiffly. Gaku’s back straightens, like a dog that just got caught doing something it knows it’s not meant to be doing. “I hate having to bother you midway through your meal, but... what do you have in your mouth?”

Gaku turns to look at him, eyes wide open. He says something, but his mouth is too full of curry for the words to be comprehensible. A spoon (Yugamu didn’t bring a spoon with the curry; does Gaku always just have one on his person!?) is raised halfway to his mouth; Yugamu can tell he’s almost eaten the entire thing. There’s only a few spoonfuls left in the bottom of the bowl. Gaku looks only distantly guilty.

“Don’t swallow that,” Yugamu says, quickly. 

Gaku promptly swallows it.

“Um,” Gaku says, sheepishly. “Look, dude, it’s not as good as Kurara’s curry, and fuck was it cold, but... guy’s gotta eat, so—”

Yugamu grabs Gaku by the collar (from across the room; no, he does not have time to feel deeply ashamed about casually using his arms, yes he will think about it later) and drags him to the nearest trash bin. “Maruko, I don’t know how to tell you this, but... it’s never a good idea to eat food an assassin leaves out.” He flusters. “It’s practically a death wish.”

“Wha?” Gaku asks, dumbly. “H– hey, put me down! Why’re your arms so strong and cool?” He makes a bewildered face. “Wait, I didn’t mean to—”

Yugamu lets out a short sigh, pulls Gaku’s head over the bin with one hand, and forces his fingers into Gaku’s mouth with the other; in an ideal world, he’d be able to hold open Gaku’s jaw so he wouldn’t have to deal with the sensation of Gaku chomping at his hand while he tries to induce vomiting. It feels strange, to have someone’s mouth around his hand, his fingers; he can feel the wet, fleshy interior, the way the muscles in Gaku’s throat work. He can feel it when Gaku gags violently, and tries to claw at his hands. 

Yugamu pushes his fingers further back into his throat, trying to find the point that will make him throw up. Some distant part of him wishes Gaku wasn’t fighting him on this; well, he’s thought about putting his fingers in Gaku’s mouth before, but it wasn’t anything at all like this. More consensual. Yugamu, distantly, feels a bit gross.

Yugamu’s fingers brush against something, and something in Gaku’s throat makes a clicking, stuttering sound; chunks of something push past Yugamu’s fingers and into the bin, along with... some indeterminate amount of bile and mucus. He keeps poking at Gaku’s throat for a while, until the vomiting settles into dry heaving and Gaku’s movements start to become a bit weaker. Sorry, he thinks.

Yugamu doesn’t stop him when he pulls back frantically, scrambling across the floor until his back connects with something metal– the operating table— and he winces. Yugamu tries not to look at him with too much pity; the poor guy hates it. But what can he do, faced with something so pitiable? 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Gaku whines. “I knew you were a freak, but what the hell!? If you wanted to watch someone puke, just go find Tsubasa! Your fu— your freaking nails— agh, ow...”

Yugamu crosses his arms awkwardly, thoroughly embarrassed. “...You ate my curry, right?”

Gaku makes a face that says ‘no’, but his mouth says “Yeah, so what? It was going cold— hell, it was cold— and you weren’t here to eat it, and it was tasty, so why should I care?” Gaku’s eyes widen, and panic seeps into his voice. “I didn’t mean to say that. Or that— wh- crap, what’s wrong with me?”

“Stop talking,” Yugamu says, hurriedly. For the love of murder, this wasn’t supposed to– nobody was supposed to find out, especially not— “I was, uh— experimenting with some stuff for the— the prisoner, and...” Oh, great excuse, Yugamu. Truth serum for the prisoner that you can’t even communicate with? Right, I’m sure...

“You freaking drugged me!” Gaku yelps, scandalized. “You were going to drug her into doing some weird sex thing with you, weren’t you?” He frowns deeply. “I mean, I’m all for bagging a hot babe, but I’m pretty sure it’s morally wrong and I should reflect on my ethics because it’s—”

Gaku makes a wise choice and bites down on his sleeve. Yugamu sighs in relief at the easy way out Gaku has mercifully offered him. “Yup, that’s pretty much right,” Yugamu hums. “Well, now that you’ve ingested it... it’s a strong truth serum, but not much of it should be in your system since I forced you to vomit,” he explains.

Gaku thanks him through a mouthful of cloth, and promptly looks upset he’s done that. Yugamu tries his best to think it isn’t cute, but he’s not one to ignore objective reality.

“Typically, its effects last a week,” Yugamu muses aloud. “But... well, I don’t know how long ago you started eating, but from the sheer quantity, you’re probably going to be incapable of lying for… oh, three, four, nine hours? And even then, for the next three days or so afterwards you’ll find lying difficult.”

Gaku gapes at him. “You’re serious?” he says. “So you don’t just stand in here and, like—” Gaku makes a vulgar hand motion that sends sparks of heat through his body for a moment at the implication of it. “—all day?”

Yugamu blinks his eye slowly. “Well… It’s definitely working,” he mutters. “You’ll be better off waiting it out in your room, you know.” He should wash his hand. The vomit is starting to... dry. Yugamu steps around the various pieces of equipment and towards the sinks. He starts to wash his hands while Gaku, incensed, begins to rant.

“I don’t want to wait it out in my room,” Gaku grumbles. “I want you to fix me ‘cause clearly something’s wrong with me. I mean, something’s obviously wrong with me in general, ‘cause I’ve been spending all my time—” Gaku’s eyes go wide, and before he manages to finish whatever that thought was, he shoves his entire fist into his mouth and makes odd, choked sounds of frustration around it.

“Well, whatever works for you, Maruko,” Yugamu says, instead of what he wants to, which is something to the effect of ‘Aw, so you’d miss me if I left you all alone?’ “Come on, follow me.”

Despite his earlier comment, Gaku does just that, trailing behind him as Yugamu wipes the water off his hands and exits the Bio Lab.

Yugamu is... a bit shaken emotionally, to be honest. What to do with a man who is an almost-compulsive liar while he’s dosed with a drug that forces him to tell the truth? Logically, Yugamu should just gag him and drop him in his room, and that’s what he’s doing (well, save for the gagging part; but Yugamu isn’t one to take advantage of people), but the part of him that’s considerably less moral very much wants to restrain Gaku to the operating table in the Bio Lab and ask him question after question, make use of the drug for its original purpose. It would be so easy. Nothing is stopping him from turning around right now.

But he doesn’t do it, because Gaku clearly has no interest in him. He tries not to let it hurt, because Gaku has made his disinterest in men generally quite apparent; but, well, it still stings to know so concretely. But Yugamu can’t stop himself from shamefully thinking about it, either: the thought of his scalpel pressed to Gaku’s pale, quivering flesh; gently pulling a red line across Gaku’s throat, letting his blood flow out from his veins and arteries alike into his hands while Gaku sputters answer after answer, his face bright crimson just like the blood spattered on his neck.

Such a gentle, slow release from life; of course, it would be painful; agonizing, the sort of fate one doesn’t wish on even their worst enemy, but Yugamu would make it good. He would make it feel very good, if only for Gaku’s sake.

He walks the familiar route back to the roof with Gaku following like a dog in tow; idly, his mind conjures the thought of a leash and collar– he banishes it, of course, because Gaku doesn’t want that sort of thing from him. Because Yugamu, despite all the blood on his hands, does not want to truly hurt him.

That’s what it is, really. Yugamu wants to hurt Gaku without bringing him true pain. He wants only the most shallow injuries, the slightest of stings; like the gentle bite of a lover, like the slightest graze of the knife. He wants to inflict feeling onto Gaku in the only way he knows how, and wants to spare him the emotional turmoil of it.

Sometimes, Yugamu wishes he was born someone else, if only so he could love normally. Maybe then he could be let down easily.

Gaku’s room is, to be frank, a complete mess. There are bottles and cans on the floor, there are tissues crumpled up in balls strewn everywhere; Yugamu can hardly step on clean ground as it it. Suffice to say, it’s exactly what he’d expected: Eito would probably have a heart attack if he saw it. If he ever comes around to letting me vivisect him, Yugamu can’t keep himself from thinking, I’d have to have him stay in my room for a week.

Gaku slumps onto his unmade bed sadly. His bedsheets crunch in a way bedsheets probably shouldn’t crunch. “Thanks,” he says, sullen. “I didn’t think you’d manage to make it all the way here without flirting with me.”

“Oh?” Yugamu says, despite himself. “It’s okay if you’re disappointed, you know...”

“Well, I am, kinda,” Gaku says, and his face promptly goes pale, and then very pink. Yugamu blinks at him, slowly letting the admission sink in. “I want you to pretend you didn’t hear that,” Gaku tells him, jabbing his pointer finger in his direction.

“Sure,” Yugamu says, casually. “I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know. It’s almost as if it’s part of my job.” Come on, that’s a normal joke... Well, maybe he shouldn’t mention jobs and working in front of someone like Gaku.

Gaku’s expression doesn’t look disappointed, but his voice sounds it. “I wish you’d be pushier with me,” he grumbles. “I don’t wanna ask for it ‘cause it makes me feel weird.”

Yugamu’s eye goes wide and he takes a small step back, instinctually. 

Gaku notices the motion and wails, “You don’t get to judge! You’re the stupid freak who drugs his own food for fun and I li—” Gaku promptly slams his face into a pillow, muffling the rest of his sentence. Yugamu can infer what it ended with, though, and that sends a bright wave of heat to his cheeks.

He stands there dumbly for a moment, allowing a very, very stupid idea to wash over him in waves. “You know,” he says, slowly, cautiously, like Gaku is a wounded animal about to bite his hand, “We can come to an agreement.”

Gaku looks up at him in surprise. “...Well, I’m all ears,” he says, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“If I stay in here and hear anything I wasn’t supposed to, it didn’t happen,” Yugamu offers simply. Stupidly.

Because here’s the thing: he doesn’t want to leave Gaku here, alone, isolated, because he was careless. 

“There’s a catch,” Gaku says, ever-suspicious. It’s endearing, except for the times it’s annoying. “There’s always some catch. Are you going to try to bang me? Because I’m honestly not too sure I don’t—” 

Gaku clamps a hand over his mouth, and then breathes for a few moments before changing topics. “So, like, you’re saying if I say something stupid you won’t tell anyone?”

“Who would I tell?” Yugamu asks, honestly. “Sirei?”

Gaku snorts, amused. “No, like, someone cool. Like Takumi, or Takemaru, or Tsubasa, or—”

“Do you just think people with names that start with ‘T’ are cool?”

“What the hell?” Gaku says. “No, I just— I mean, those guys are all cool and they have names that start with ‘T’, but that doesn’t make them cool. Are you stupid? Sorry, I shouldn’t call you stupid.” Gaku frowns, probably since all of his insults seem to be redacting themselves. “This freaking sucks. This is your fault. Well, it’s mine too, but...”

“Wow, Maruko,” Yugamu hums, noting the lack of reaction for his last failed comment. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to let that slip. Enjoying yourself?”

Gaku scowls. “Only a little bit!” he snaps.

“...You’re letting that one slide, too?” Yugamu asks.

“There’s no point,” Gaku mutters. “And... we have a deal now anyway. So it’s fine.”

Yugamu presses a hand to his chest. “I’m flattered.” He feels...

...No, he doesn’t feel flattered at all, does he? Rather, he feels some distant, aching sickness; repulsion at the thought that Gaku is only capable of expressing care for him when he’s accidentally ingested– he doesn’t even know how much of... ah, calling it ‘truth serum’ is so juvenile, but... the point stands; he has no idea just how much or how little of it is in Gaku’s system right now. It wasn’t intentional, but he still feels... wrong, in some intrinsic ways.

Yugamu doesn’t want to know anything Gaku doesn’t want to tell him. He wasn’t lying about keeping his secrets, of course; Yugamu would never confess anything Gaku didn’t want him to. The only thing is, he doesn’t want to know anything about what Gaku thinks of him. 

He’s not scared it’s bad; oh, no, most people have a bad opinion of him. Arguably, it would be healthier if Gaku had a bad opinion of him.

No, Yugamu is terrified Gaku will say something to indicate interest, because he knows he won’t be able to stop himself. It’s like a floodgate; if Gaku admits he enjoys Yugamu’s presence, perverted and asinine as he is, then he might just do something he’ll regret. And he doesn’t want to lose... what, this weird, parasocial thing he has going?

Then again, this is the only thing that gives him the same spark as before; an approximation of the thing he had with her. And even then, it’s different. Softer. Ugh... if he told any of his family members about it, surely they’d laugh him out of the family and— hey, here’s a thought— he won’t have to kill anyone he doesn’t love anymore.

Well, a man can dream.

“But it’s so bullshit,” Gaku continues. “Why am I the idiot who had to eat your dumb curry? Like, it’s not even a tenth as good as Kurara’s, and now I can’t— I can’t lie or something? Which is, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, a massive freakin’ problem for me!”

“You do lie a lot,” Yugamu muses. He can’t stop himself from giggling. “Hehe... you’re pretty cute, you know? You kind of remind me of a lost puppy...”

“You’re calling me cute?” Gaku says. “Come on, man, do you own a mirror? And I’m not girly enough to be ‘cute’ anyway, and— wait, I’m not a puppy, what the heck?”

Yugamu’s brain stutters to a halt, if only from confusion; he’s not going to get his hopes up, but was that... no, it couldn’t have been reciprocation, right? Besides, Gaku is, by his own admission, ‘straight as they come’...

“Well, think about it.” Yugamu shrugs, pressing a hand to his mouth. “I guess you’re kind of like a dog in general, but you’re too squeaky to be fully-grown...”

“I’m fully grown!” Gaku spits. “If I wasn’t you wouldn’t want in my pants so bad!”

Yugamu clicks his tongue. “Hmm, fair point,” he mutters. “But even then, you’re not objecting to being a dog?”

“Dogs are cool,” Gaku snorts. “They’re all loyal and stuff, why wouldn’t I wanna be a dog? You’re like a cat, ‘cause you’re kind of all devious and crap.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Yugamu says, putting up his hands in a mock-surrender. “Well, I won’t fight you on the ‘devious’ part, but that’s a bit low!”

Gaku grins, sharp and spiteful. “Nah, man, you deserve it a little bit. I’m stuck in this shitty situation ‘cause of my own actions.” He blinks, and then groans loudly. “I keep saying things I don’t want to!”

“Well, if you let me gag you, it’d solve a lot of your problems,” Yugamu says.

“I’d like that!” Gaku snaps. His expression grows pained. “God dammit. Can we pretend I didn’t say that? I seriously don’t wanna confront my sexuality right now.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, fine. I didn’t hear anything.” The words feel like he’s stabbing a knife into his own chest in the least erotic manner possible; and that’s very difficult! “But, if you do…”

“I want to talk about it,” Gaku mutters. “I don’t want to think about it, it’s different. ‘Cause if I admit you’re a hot guy that means I don’t know anything about anything.”

Yugamu blinks rapidly. “Even if you think that,” he says, trying to compose himself before he scares Gaku off, “It’s not like it, you know... means anything about you.”

“Huh?” Gaku says, flopping onto his bed and laying there like a starfish. “Doesn’t it? Like, you only think a guy’s hot if you’re, like, gay or something.”

“Not necessarily,” Yugamu points out. “You can acknowledge someone’s attractive without being into them.”

“Oh,” Gaku says, seeming to instantly integrate this statement into his worldview. “So, like, you’re saying if I know you’re hot as freakin’ hell it’s not, like, gay?”

Yugamu does his best not to choke. Well, if you’re saying it like that, it might be...! “No,” he lies, as easily as breathing. “Well, not unless you wanted that.”

Gaku squints. “And what if I wanted that?”

Yugamu can’t resist biting at his lip. It’s like... it’s like Gaku is using his own mistake to tease him somehow. It’d be erotic if Yugamu still wasn’t clinging to the dregs of his guilt (though, his shame-fuelled arousal is starting to chase it away). “Have you met me, Maruko? I’m not in the best position to judge.”

Gaku clicks his tongue, annoyed, and turns away. “You’re an asshole, man,” he mutters. “Just ‘cause you got your shit all figured out... look, I know I’m not attractive or anything, but you don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not—” Yugamu protests, but apparently Gaku wasn’t done, because he continues:

“Like, okay, I get that I have a ‘fugly haircut’ and dumb pug face and whatever the hell Kurara said last week, but you don’t have to– like, go out of your way to avoid talking to me?” Gaku gesticulates wildly as he continues to lay flat on his back, clearly frustrated; he kicks his leg a bit as he continues. “And you flirt with, like– I’ve seen you with Takemaru and Eito and Takumi and Kurara and Darumi— and, like, literally everyone except me! What do they all have that I don’t, huh?” It’s almost an accusation, though Yugamu doesn’t know of what.

“It’s not like that!” Yugamu tries to interject, but Gaku is really on a roll now.

“Is it ‘cause I said all that shit about gay people? ‘Cause, like, I’m sorry, man, fine, I get it, but a guy starts to feel really freaking lonely when the only person who even slightly pretends to be into him just totally drops him out of the blue!” Gaku drops his hands to his sides. And, as an afterthought, he adds, “And it kinda makes jacking off to take your mind off it harder, too.”

Yugamu sits there in silence for a few moments; not because Gaku has done anything wrong, necessarily— if anything, this is probably good for him— but... “You’re upset I haven’t been flirting with you as much?” Yugamu confirms.

Gaku pushes himself upright. “Who the hell wouldn’t be?” he snaps. “Someone flirts with you, you get this nice fluttery feeling in your tummy. ‘s nice. You’d know that, right? That’s why you do it. So why wouldn’t I want that?”

“I really do hate to be the one to break it to you,” Yugamu says, and he really can’t believe he’s giving romantic advice to Gaku, of all people; Gaku, who he— he— he half-swore he would stop making advances on just to spare himself the agony— “But typically, that only happens with people you’re attracted to.”

Gaku sighs, annoyed. “Next you’re gonna tell me getting off to the thought of a guy’s hands is gay.”

Yugamu coughs into his hand awkwardly.

Gaku shoves himself upright. “No way! You’re not serious, right? There’s no shot.”

“Well, there’s no easy way to ask this, so forgive me for being blunt, but...” Yugamu winces. “Have you ever actually thought about your sexuality?”

“Huh,” Gaku says. “Wh– what kind of— I mean, yeah, obviously, but that’s kind of a recent thing?” He looks nervous. Embarrassed. A gentle pink flush settles firmly on his cheeks. “But it’s not a big deal, okay? I mean, it is a big deal, but if I tell you that then you’ll ask and I don’t want to tell you I get off to thinking of you?” Gaku smacks himself in the face. “Arghhh, I did it again!”

Yugamu elects to ignore that last bit, because— because he doesn’t want to think about it. Because if it’s true (which he’s trying to forget it must be), he won’t be able to hold back.

“So what you’re saying is you’re having a full-blown identity crisis,” Yugamu thinks aloud, and that is not something he can help with in any sense of the term. He’s always struggled to see ‘himself’ in the mirror; that feeling has changed a bit, grown a bit different now, but— even still, so many days into this ‘mission’ of theirs, when he sees his own reflection he feels an old, familiar jolt of fear; the terror of being snuck up on. “It’s not a bad thing, you know.” As if he can speak on it at all. As if he knows anything about what he really wants.

All Yugamu is firmly aware of is what he does not want; he does not want to be an assassin, does not want to die permanently (yet), and he does not want Gaku Maruko to hate him for being the way he is.

He doesn’t know why Gaku specifically got to him. Maybe it was something about hearing how he’d, unprompted, hosted a barbeque for his fellow soldiers; or the festival, or... so on and so forth. There are a thousand little ‘good’ deeds that make up the man that is Gaku, although the man in question shuts down any mention of the thought of his ‘goodness’ with such fervor you’d think you insinuated he just shot a puppy.

(Perhaps he just wants kindness. Gentleness, for once. The thrill of being casual, the ability to move as slowly as he wants; no fear of shadows, no target in his sights. He wants the world to stop for a few moments, and cradle him in its silence.)

“I don’t need to have an identity,” Gaku snaps. “Like, everything’s worked out just fine when I wasn’t thinking about anything, and it’s hard to think about it, and I don’t want to.”

Gaku slides almost fully off his bed, kicking at a plastic bottle as he does. His hands adjust. They almost brush Yugamu’s, but he moves his hand away at the last moment so Gaku doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “You don’t have to think about it, but—”

“But I—” Gaku makes a sound that’s halfway between a growl, a groan, and a shriek of frustration. “I don’t want to think about it, I just— I wanna act on– like, basic impulses and things, not— not anything complicated because I don’t get it.” He glares at Yugamu. “And I still want an answer to why you’re avoiding me.”

Yugamu feels his face erupt in a bright flush. “Uh, well, that’s—” He coughs. “That’s a bit personal, right? I– I mean, I’m not—”

“And why do you even need to drug your own food like that?” Gaku pokes him in the chest stubbornly. “Do you do it all of the time, or just that once? ‘Cause that can’t be good for your liver or... or something.”

Yugamu’s eye refuses to meet Gaku’s pair. “W– well, it’s—!”

“It’s what?” Gaku asks him. “Your stupid-ass fetish that’s gonna get you killed the moment we’re outta this hellhole? Why’re you so fixated on dying, anyway?”

“I– it’s—” Yugamu gestures with a hand. Dammit, when he’s explaining it to people he doesn’t desire seriously seeking something romantic with, it’s easy, but... “It’s not really just the dying, per se...”

“Uh, that doesn’t make it any better?” Gaku retorts. “Like, I guess I can’t judge you for being suicidal or something, but I can judge you for getting off on it? How does that even work?” He says the next bit like someone who knows from experience; his eyes go a bit soft and misty, and Yugamu’s face deepens in its redness. “When you hurt yourself it still just hurts.”

“It’s a kink thing,” Yugamu mumbles, flustered. “And I’m not suicidal, I’m just...” Invested in my own death? But it’s not borne of depression or anything like that, it’s romantic ...

“Everything is a kink thing with you,” Gaku groans. “But it’s worrying, you know? Like, I dunno, what if someone really cares about you?”

“Oh, you’re implying you don’t?”

“I do care about you,” Gaku huffs, “but you don’t care about me so it doesn’t mean anything to you. So it doesn’t matter.”

“Where did you get that impression?” Yugamu asks, so baffled he forgets he’s blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I told you, man, I’m an idiot but I’m not totally dumb.” Gaku clicks his tongue and looks off into a corner, away from Yugamu. “You’re avoiding me, you can’t look me in the eyes, you talk to me different than you talk to everyone else. So, like, either you have a crush on me or you hate me, and you definitely aren’t crushing on me.”

Yugamu can’t make himself speak. Usually, it’s fine. Usually, he just... says whatever comes to mind and it works out, mostly because his mind is conditioned to provide him a good answer at any unexpected turn. But this is the one thing he wasn’t trained for, the one thing that will be his undoing. “Well,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, I knew it,” Gaku says, sullenly. “This is why wanting people isn’t worth it ever.”

Yugamu laughs. “Oh, so now you’re telling me you’re interested in me? That’s pretty cute, I have to admit.” Just about cute enough to make Yugamu’s fingers twitch, seeking a scalpel, a knife; some sharp implement that isn’t there. “But I have reasons for doing things the way I do, you know?”

“I don’t,” Gaku says. “But I want to. How come you... you’re keeping so distant from me? Or, like, you’re...” Gaku deflates visibly. “I like you, man. I liked talking to you.”

“You’re being awfully open and honest, Maruko,” Yugamu teases. Gaku clenches his teeth and glares at him.

“I want to take all of that back but it’s still true,” he huffs. “But I don’t want things to change just ‘cause I’m a total perv weirdo.”

“You’re not a pervert,” Yugamu reassures him, grin stretching across his lips. “Well, you’re not as much of a pervert as I am, allegedly...”

“Alleged?” Gaku huffs, moving a bit closer to him. “You’re a freaking sadist and a masochist! You can’t get more perverted than that!”

Yugamu has been trying to resist, okay? But Gaku’s expression is so flustered and vulnerable; his face is gently flushed pink from shame and what Yugamu hopes he isn’t misinterpreting as arousal, what with what looks to be a burgeoning tent in his pants... “Ah, shockingly, I’m not the one getting off on this conversation right now.” His hand skirts closer to Gaku and brushes his upper thigh. Gaku twitches, expression flickering into something hungry.

“L– like you’re not into it,” he mumbles. “I know you wanna do something messed up to me right now, right?”

Oh, and how Yugamu does. He wants to peel back the flesh from Gaku’s torso and peer inside, searching for any irregularity that might lay within his skin. It’s intimate, it’s debasing, it’s downright arousing thinking of having Gaku in that way, being able to poke and prod at his innermost workings. 

(Of course, the Revive-o-Matic diminishes some of the excitement inherent in someone allowing him to hold their intestines in his hand; the less risk, the less sexual gratification— but what it does grant him is the fantasy of choking Gaku out again and again, or slipping him some drug that will shut down his organs slowly, or driving a blade into his chest and ripping the skin from muscle and bone. He wants to see it, again and again. He wants to see Gaku, vulnerable and raw and beautiful as he is, for the rest of his life.)

“You’d let me,” Yugamu says. It’s more like he tells him.

Gaku’s face goes red; his eyes flicker about, to the walls and ceiling, to the cluttered, dirty floor of his room, but they never land on Yugamu. “...Yeah, so?”

It fills his body flush with all the things he’s been holding back; really, it’s been so hard to talk to Gaku recently, what with all he’s been restraining in an effort to make the guy more comfortable. “A– ah,” Yugamu starts, the vocalization coming out more moan-like than he really intended, “W— well, then, if you have no qualms about it...”

Gaku squeezes his eyes shut. “Do it,” he says. “Just do it, please. Please. I don’t wanna make the first move, so you’ve gotta—”

This is, perhaps, the easiest thing Gaku has ever asked of him. It’s so simple to undo his trousers, graze his fingernails over the now-obvious tent, and—

“M– move, Yugamu, go faster,” Gaku spits. “I don’t want to have to think about it, so just—”

Yugamu finally wraps his hand around Gaku’s cock properly as he pulls it out, and Gaku immediately bucks his hips into the motion. He’s... average, maybe a little less than average; well, if he’s interested in changing that, Yugamu would gladly... oh, that’s a thought for— later, on his own time. Or, maybe when Gaku feels more inclined to indulge his sadomasochistic proclivities; if that ever happens. 

If I ever get to do this again, Yugamu thinks, carefully twisting his hand. If he doesn’t regret this after. Gaku’s skin is hot and flushed against his hand; or perhaps he’s just cold. The extremities do go cold fastest, and all. 

Gently, he moves his hand up, and then down; his nails accidentally scrape at the skin and Gaku hisses in soft pain. “That hurts,” Gaku whimpers. Yugamu hesitates, not willing to go too fast and frighten Gaku away, and Gaku makes a face. “I didn’t say stop, dude, k– keep going!”

“Do you want something to bite down on?” Yugamu offers, out of sheer politeness. “It would make things easier for you.”

“N– no, no, this is— I like this, I like not having to think about what I say ‘fore I go and say it,” Gaku pants; he’s clearly very worked up already. Yugamu wonders how he got here, how he’s managed to get this far in such a short amount of time. Well, his mind supplies, Drugs, mostly.  

Gaku swallows hard before he continues. “Y– you have such girly hands, I told you, right? Fuck, I think this one time y— you, you touched me in the hallway and I jacked off to that shit for like a week, just, the texture, and the— the nails. It’s girly shit, you know— ah— ‘cause all those girls in the fashion mags always had long nails, I always pictured— Yugamu, fuck, it h- hurts!”

Yugamu lets go of him like he’s been burned, tries ignoring the feeling of the neglected weight on his thigh. “You’re not interested in pain, are you?” he asks. “So—”

“No, no, fuck, Yugamu, I—” Gaku winces, voice stuttering and catching in his throat like flesh on a jagged blade. “K– keep going, keep going, it hurts but it’s so good, you were right, sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

Yugamu is a hopeless romantic. It’s what he tells everyone when they first meet, and it’s true. It’s romantic that Gaku trusts him enough (subconsciously, of course) to steal his food, and it’s romantic that he begged Yugamu to stay when he was desperate. It’s romantic when they bicker, because Gaku’s expression betrays the subtle ‘I like talking to you’ beneath his demeanour. All in all, Gaku Maruko has primed himself perfectly to steal Yugamu’s heart from right beneath his nose.

So, of course, the moment Gaku asks him to hurt him– unintentional as it may be— the floodgates open. Yugamu pulls his hands back, runs the tips of his fingernails along the underside of Gaku’s dick. Gaku shivers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, and obviously makes an effort not to buck his hips into the motion. Yugamu licks his lips languidly, and feels the cool drag of his saliva-slicked tongue across his upper lip.

“Just touch me, man,” Gaku pants. “I— it’s— please, I just wanna get off and be done with it, come on, it’s—”

“Shouldn’t we take our time with these things?” Yugamu purrs. “It’s your first time, you know... I ought to be more gentle with you.”

Gaku makes a small sound in his throat, like a prey animal; the muscles in his leg involuntarily convulse. “I— hah, I guess you’ve done this shit before, right? A— am I just some kinda q- quick fuck to you?” Yugamu doesn’t answer him, but Gaku doesn’t seem to mind.

He drops a hand to the interior of Gaku’s thigh and drags his fingernails over it, trailing upwards to the bony hardness of his hips. His nails scrape gently across the canvas of Gaku’s pale, flat torso. “I really ought to take more of your clothes off,” he mutters to himself. “I’d like to see more of you during this...”

Gaku grits his teeth. “L– Like you can say anything, you’re still wearing all your fancy— stuff.” He clenches and unclenches his fists in his blankets. “Way to, t— to, to make a guy feel—” Yugamu gently wraps his hand around Gaku’s cock and squeezes, forcing a mouse-like squeak from him. “Exposed.”

Yugamu’s body feels electric; like fire draping itself over his body in waves, running up his back like waterfalls in reverse. “You’re so cute,” he whispers. Gaku squeezes his eyes shut, face twisting with hot emotion, and—

“ Argggh, I can’t take this anymore!” Gaku yells, and lunges forward to grapple with Yugamu’s hakama. Yugamu, regrettably, doesn’t anticipate the motion: Gaku manages to undo the knot at the front and yank away the fabric with suspiciously high speed. “J– just, if I’m going to fuck a guy, I can’t be— I don’t want to be the girl in it, okay!?”

Yugamu goes to respond, but Gaku’s hands clumsily brush his still-clothed, aching— ah, fuck, it’s so good...! “Of course not,” he pants. “But you’re still so cute, I could just— just vivisect you right here...”

Gaku’s dick twitches in his hand. “Why does that turn me on?” Gaku whimpers. “F– fuck, fuck, your stupid drug did something to my head, I— I’m— I’m into it, why am I into it?”

He pulls Yugamu out and blanches at the length; Yugamu has no clue why, since it’s really quite average. “Fuck, dude,” Gaku pants, and then he slides his hand onto Yugamu’s already-leaking cock and Yugamu almost cums just from the sight of Gaku’s terrified, aroused expression alone.

“H— how are you already this hard, man?” Gaku asks, hands trembling, fingers twitching awkwardly. “H, hold on, let me do it…”

Gaku pulls Yugamu’s hand away from his own flushed dick, shivering all the while, and wraps a hand around himself. He shuffles, pulling Yugamu about with him, so that their tips are leaking pre-cum onto each other where they’re pressed together. Yugamu is trying his hardest to hold back the dam of his arousal at how fast this is going, at how willing Gaku is being: all of it is doing something awful to him. He’ll be satisfied for months, at this rate.

When Gaku begins to slide his hands awkwardly up and down across both of them, Yugamu clutches at his arms with nothing to do; he can’t help it, he’s whimpering lowly from the willing friction. “G— Gaku,” he gasps. “Ah, Gaku… just like that, yes, good boy…”

He can feel Gaku twitch against him; it’s a full-body thing. His hand moves faster, frantic, like he’s chasing something but is scared to take it. Yugamu imagines Gaku’s hand reaching inside him— really inside him, around bones and muscle and tendons— wrapping with the same tenderness around his pulsing heart, pulling and pushing and brushing him so gently back and forth—

He doesn’t even get to warn Gaku before he comes, pleasure stabbing through his body like a long blade; Gaku’s expression, eyes wide and lips gently parted in shock, sends another thrill through him. He needs to see it again; he needs to memorise the minutiae of that expression, needs to see it laid down on an operating table while Yugamu’s hand is inside him and his other is—

Everything goes white, momentarily; Gaku is still going, pumping him into oversensitivity. It hurts, it hurts, Gaku Maruko is hurting him even if he doesn’t realise it, and it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s hurting Gaku, Gaku is hurting him, it’s mutual, it’s romantic, it’s love…! 

He’s losing track of time, everything but physical sensation is slipping through his fingers as Gaku twists his hands across the conjunction of their bodies—

Gaku makes a startled noise, like someone’s made the first incision and he wasn’t expecting it to hurt so badly, and then white gushes onto his hands for the second time tonight.

Yugamu’s body is sticky and hot, like rivers of molten glass are running through his veins, viscous and heavy. Gaku pants weakly beside him, shaking his hands frantically to try and get the fluid off them; he stumbles away, into his bathroom, and leaves Yugamu to the pleasant afterglow. The tap turns on, the water runs; Yugamu continues to lay there, placid.

Yugamu sees, in his mind’s eye, the Bio Lab; removing his gloves, running his hands under lukewarm water. It’s a habit. Yugamu feels tired, but not exhausted. Tired in a way that is, for him, unnaturally wonderful. He lazily re-does his hakama, just so that when Gaku walks back out he isn’t too startled by the sight of him half-nude. He’ll have to wash it later, since some of the fluids smeared onto the fabric...

Yugamu lays there, hand sticky as Gaku’s sweat and pre-cum dries on it; he doesn’t mind. In fact, he has half a mind to lick it off, but before he manages to extend his tongue and start the process, the nighttime announcement plays and it ruins the mood.

Gaku stumbles out a few minutes after, and seems relatively shocked to find Yugamu still sprawled on his bed; Yugamu simply yawns, stretches, and remains there.

“W... what’re you doing?” Gaku asks, simply. “I thought you were gonna bounce. You good, man? Did I hurt you or something?”

“I’m doing great,” Yugamu tells him, brightly; he sits up a bit, just to see Gaku’s face better. “Ready for round two?”

“No way!” Gaku yelps, and it stings for a moment before he follows up with, “If you touch me I’m going to die, everything hurts and I’m tired. But, like... maybe later, if I get the guts to ask you? And we don’t do anything super weird. I dunno.” Gaku yawns. “It was good. Thanks, dude.”

Yugamu watches him. He watches the way the muscle groups move under Gaku’s shirt, he lets himself lecherously drag his gaze between every little critical part of Gaku’s body; between every point where, if Yugamu punctured him there, would send him spiralling into multiple organ failure and other such delights. He shivers, sitting up properly. 

“You’re welcome,” he says. “So, I take it that was your first time?”

Gaku pauses. Yugamu can tell he hadn’t considered this. “I wanted my first time to be with someone I’m in love with,” Gaku mumbles to himself disconcertedly. His tone is too flat for Yugamu to discern the emotions behind it. 

Yugamu suddenly feels very, very bad about himself. No, ‘bad’ is an understatement; Yugamu feels– in chasing his own wants, his own needs, his own addiction to romance, had he hurt Gaku on some non-physical level? Any physical wound or ailment is... something that can be easily targeted, smoothed over and fixed; but a mental wound is...

“Then, are you in love with me?” Yugamu asks; then, he regrets asking, because—

“Yeah,” Gaku says, as easily as he breathes, and then his expression flips into abject shock. He claps a hand over his mouth. “I do?” he squawks, too engrossed in his own embarrassment to register Yugamu’s hand twisting the door knob. “I didn’t—”

Yugamu is out the door before he can hear the rest of that sentence, Yugamu is walking- practically running- to his dorm room as quickly as he can without looking like he’s fleeing from something. He can’t. He can’t, this isn’t how this sort of thing is meant to work. His door clicks shut behind him. His room is cold, and his skin is still too hot.

His back is to the door, and as he presses his hand to his chest he sinks to the floor. His breaths are coming unevenly, which is strange because it’s something he’d thought was trained out of him long ago; in the face of adversity, remaining calm is critical. 

But he can’t remain calm. He’s always been a good assassin, not a brilliant one. He can’t remain calm. He’s ruined everything, all because he couldn’t remember to throw one plate of curry away.

Because, here’s the thing: Gaku Maruko is not the sort of man who appreciates having his secrets aired out against his will, and the only reason he confessed that, just then, was because of Yugamu. So, logically...

Yugamu is distantly aware he may be making this worse. Gaku already had low expectations of him, didn’t he? He was surprised Yugamu had stuck around. Doesn’t this reflect on him? Doesn’t this make him somewhat of a bad person? Yugamu doesn’t know what to do with himself, with whatever emotion this is welling in his chest. Well, he’s heard of it, but he’s never— he’s never loved someone, let alone loved someone enough to have a broken heart. But he’s gone and ruined everything, surely. 

In some dark corner of his mind, tucked away within the maze of the mess of the man that is Yugamu Omokage, a part of him wishes he’d taken a bit more, and given a bit less. That if Gaku had to hate him, he should hate him for something like— like one of his fetishes, or... or something that most people hate him for, like the metaphorical blood on his hands, dribbling down his arm in rivulets, an inheritance he never really wanted. 

But he doesn’t. Gaku doesn’t, because Yugamu cared too much about what Gaku thought about him, and was too careful to make himself liked .

This is why it’s easier to love people from a distance, he thinks. This is why it’s easier. This is...

Oh, god, he’s never been in love before. He’s been loved, in that strange, weird way that involves having most of your body parts forcibly replaced until you barely know what parts of you you started with and which parts you didn’t; but he’s never loved someone, really. Not in this... romantic, tender way, where he simultaneously wants to rip Gaku apart (slowly, methodically; fast and wet and messily) and put him back together gingerly. 

What does he do with this feeling, aching and twisting inside of his chest? Where does he direct these emotions, now that it’s over?

His breathing doesn’t calm for a good while; every part of him seems too tender, too twitchy. Every part of him is in conflict. He wants to strangle Gaku until his pulse flutters to a stop; he wants to vivisect him and feel warm organs on his still-sticky fingers. He wants to hold him tight to his chest and caress his hair; he wants to keep him from all harm until the moment his last breath leaves his body.

If he falls asleep against his front door, shivering with anxiety, it’s nobody’s fault but his own. If he wakes in the morning to a sense of dread (and pain in his lower back, ow ), it’s nobody’s fault but his own. And if he can’t look Gaku in the eyes, well... maybe he’ll think things through the next time he falls in love with someone. 

As if that’s going to happen.