((More of my writing, rating PGish, OCs, boring to everyone but me))
The whole thing had been a mistake. A simple mistake. And a simple mistake wasn’t something important enough to tell anyone about. That was what he constantly told himself. After all, it wasn’t as if he was planning on repeating the incident. He hadn't wanted to do it, hadn't liked doing it, and had no desire to do it again. Ever. There was no reason to dwell on it. So he made the decision on his way home that morning to keep it all a secret. It was for the best. And really, what could it hurt, keeping things quiet like this? It was just an accident.
But why then did he lie in bed with the weight of what he had done heavy enough to hold him still and stare unseeing at the same odd pattern found in the carpet for hours every night before exhaustion would finally kick in and allow him some sleep? The deep breathing next to him would make that weight all the more heavy and when an arm would drape unconsciously over him, it would become so unbearably crushing that it was hard to breathe. But he kept everything to himself because, if he didn't, he knew the weight would crush the other, too, and that was something he couldn’t bear.
It got worse as the week progressed. Everything went on as normal, but that normalcy started to stab at Akamaru. For some reason it hurt to see that he was so good at hiding and he felt himself half hoping for the other to ask him what was wrong, wanting the other to just see that something was different, changed. Because, mistake or not, things weren't the same anymore.
But they looked the same, and that was what got Akamaru. When they sat at the dinner table about a week later, eating leftover chicken teriyaki, everything was outwardly as it should have been. It was one of those rare times the other would dominate the conversation. These were the moments that Akamaru always loved most. He absolutely adored simply listening to the gentle hum of that voice as the other talked about the mundane things that made up their day. He always felt so included during these times and it made him feel special in a strange sort of way. He was the one the other was opening up to, and not anyone else.
But Akamaru wasn’t concentrating on the other's words today. He hardly heard the low voice over the buzzing in his head. Seeing the other laughing about a favorite professor set the weight pressing into Akamaru again, squeezing out his breath. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to enjoy these conversations, laugh together over their dinner, bicker good-naturedly over the mess in the living room. What had he done? This was never supposed to happen. He was supposed to have gone home that night or passed out on the couch like normal people did. Why was this so hard to keep from the other? It had been an accident! It shouldn’t matter if it was just an accident!
Panicked, Akamaru reached desperately for his ice water and gulped down a few mouthfuls, trying to focus on the zing of cold on his teeth rather than the overwhelming pressure in his chest. Normal. It's just like it always is.
But it wasn’t.
The other let out another deep laugh. Something about a startled squirrel.
