I BET ON LOSING DOGS. 1/?
pairing. junpei yoshino x reader.
words. 2.6k
summary. how it all began on a rainy afternoon - this is the day you realise both that junpei yoshino exists, and that someone has to look out for him.
content. bullying, cursing, smoking, reader is a lil fucked up and a lil delusional, but they mean well!!, a little violence and threats of violence, violence involving a toilet, allusions to stalking, light yandere themes.
masterlist. prev. next.
You really couldn't call it stalking.
It's not like you're breaking into his house and stealing his clothes, or anything. You're not hiding in the bushes with a periscope and a camera, watching the window and waiting for him to change in front of open curtains. You're not building a shrine with candles and candids and a piece of used gum that you clawed out of the bin at school.
You're just... looking after him a little bit. That's how you justify it to yourself - if you don't look after him, then by god, who will? People have had, what, sixteen years to step up and take care of that kid, and nobody's biting. So you have to step up and do your civic duty! That's all!
You first meet Junpei Yoshino in the middle of the school year.
It's raining, in that way that seems to drag the mood down with it. It's lunchtime, and you're standing alone in one of the eastern corridors, looking mournfully out the rain-spattered window at the spot on the roof where you usually duck out to eat your lunch. It's currently soaked, rainwater sliding down the gutters in earnest, and even you are not quite desperate enough to subject yourself to that for forty minutes.
So you walk. You wander. You ignore the growling of your stomach. And then you hear it.
A muffled sound, but one instantly, unnervingly recognisable. The meaty thud of flesh on flesh, one that sends your skin shivering with lightning. The bullies at this school mostly leave you alone - you freak them out, you think, or maybe the way that you don't react simply makes them bored - but you know the sound of it well. A hand on your collar, shoving you into a locker, pushing you by your hair into some filthy dank lukewarm toilet bowl, making you put out their lighters with your hand.
Two boys crash out of the nearest door, pale, frightened and sweating. One of them books it right down the hall without looking back - but another, shorter with shoulder-length hair, catches your eye.
"You should go," he wheezes, not quite stopping pace but slowing for just long enough to speak. "They're in a bad mood. Junpei's getting the worst of it, but you should go."
Junpei. The name rings a bell, but you can't quite conjure up a face to match the name. You open your mouth to ask, but the boy has turned on his heel with a sharp squeak on the linoleum and taken off after his friend.
There's a muffled shout from behind the door. Another thud. A yelp like a kicked dog. And because you have no survival instincts left, because they've all been scraped out of you by pretty girls with sharp nails and brutish boys with thick fists, you don't pay the kind boy's warning any heed. You don't go, like maybe you should. You step forward, toward the door.
The handle is cold beneath your hand. You barely come to this part of the school, and that added sense of not quite knowing the safe exit routes adds to the danger. Adds to the curiosity. You let it nudge you forward, one tentative footstep at a time, down a tiny cigarette-end corridor that only contains two sliding doors and a fire exit at the end.
The noises are coming from the door on the left; you recognise it as a classroom that never quite got finished renovating, leaving gaps in the ceiling for rain to fall through. Pretty soon the wood beaming was rotted through, but the school hasn't gotten around to dismantling it yet. Students sometimes come here to hook up or smoke, because there are no cameras or smoke alarms fitted, and teachers have stopped checking, either because it's too cold and dank, or the mould freaks them out, or because maybe they simply don't care.
You chance a peek around the rotten doorframe. The view is mostly obscured by two tall second-year boys and one girl. Her hair is in charming bunches tied with neat ribbons, her nails varnished a daring pastel pink. The two boys are smoking, sure enough, holding self-rolled cigarettes with stubby fingers as they cackle.
But it's the boy on the floor who catches your attention.
He's little more than a dark lump of matter, currently, knees tucked to his chest, head bent so that his curtain of fine, ink-dark hair obscures his face. Even in the semi-darkness of the classroom, you can tell he is shaking.
"I asked you a question, Yoshino," one of the second-years croons, stooping down to grab a fistful of dark hair. "Ichika here says you took some awful perverted photos of her changing after volleyball practise. Bet you have your own little peephole hidden somewhere, huh?"
"I - I don't," Junpei says through gritted teeth, though answering is futile. You wonder fleetingly if there is any truth to the accusation - you're certainly never one to dismiss a girl who claims stuff like this, but there's some mean glint in Ichika's smile that seeds you with doubt. "I didn't - take any photos."
"Oh?" gasps the other second-year - you think his name is Hachiro, actually - as he bends down mockingly. "So are you saying Ichika is lying? Is that what you're saying, big boy?"
There's a pause. For a moment, you think Junpei has given up.
And then he spits, "Yeah. I'm saying she's a filthy liar.”
Ichika gasps. Hachiro's eyes widen, and then he winds back his fists and sends it home with such prejudice that you hear Junpei's teeth clash against the linoleum, see the spray of blood across the dirty tile. You bite your lip.
Okay. Time to put a stop to this.
"You fucking bastard," the unknown second-year snarls. "I'm gonna mash your head into the concrete, you hear me? You're fucking dead!"
Quietly, you fish your lighter from your pocket, find an unlit cigarette in the lining of your jacket and light up. Ichika is the only one who hears the zip of your lighter over the commotion; her back straightens, she turns to the door, and her pretty face crinkles in confusion.
"What the fuck?" she spits. "How long have you been standing there, you fucking weirdo?"
You shrug, far more nonchalant than your racing heart seemed likely to allow. At her exclamation, Hachiro and his friend pause, fists wound back. Your eyes flick briefly to Junpei; one wide, dark eye glints out of a parting in his messed-up hair, the only glimpse of his face you've ever seen.
You decide it's lovely. And you're going to save it.
The cigarette is a kind of underhanded tactic to make them subconsciously let their guard down. If you're brazenly breaking the rules too, you have no high ground or authority over them, see? And then they can't get in trouble. It's almost like you're one of them, for a split second, even if you are laughably different.
Casually blowing out a plume of smoke, you say calmly, "Some first-year saw you guys through the window. She ran and got a teacher, they're on their way up. Just thought I'd let you know."
Ichika's eyes widen. "Fuck, really? 'Chiro, I can't get caught up here again—"
"But - he—" Hachiro looks down at Junpei, seemingly upset at losing contact with his human punching bag. Your stomach twists in disgust.
"Leave him!" Ichika says impatiently, already stomping towards the door. "He's always around, right? And there are plenty of pervs to beat up in this school. Come on already!"
"Fuck, fine," the other second-year grumbles. As he passes you out of the door, he looks you up and down, and, upon apparently deciding that he can do whatever he damn well likes and you can do nothing about it, he reaches out and yanks your cigarette out from between your fingers.
"Thanks, weirdo," he nods, the words emanating in puffs of grey smoke between his lips. "Owe you one."
"What's new?" you return, and he scoffs, knocking into your shoulder as he jogs after his friends. A moment later, they are gone out of the door.
It's just the two of you. Junpei's shallow breathing, the acrid taste of smoke cloying around your teeth, and the light tattoo of rainwater against the leaky ceiling.
You take a tentative step into the classroom, and Junpei flinches, so you keep a respectful distance between the two of you, kneeling down so you're at his eye level. He's still not quite looking up, wound tight like an elastic band about to snap, vibrating with tension.
"Hey there," you break the silence. "You okay?"
His shoulders hunch even tighter. "Shouldn't you be leaving as well?" he snaps, his voice rougher than you expected. "I - I'm sure you don't wanna get caught in here, either."
"Oh," you laugh. "Sorry, no, that was a lie. I lied just now. There's no teacher, or anything."
His pale, long fingers uncurl from their defensive position around his head; you watch interestedly as some of his chin-length hair is freed from the tight, tense grasp and joins the rest of the dark fall around his shadowed face. "Wh - you - why?"
You tilt your head. "To get them to go away, of course. You never answered my question."
"What question?" Junpei asks his knees.
"Are you okay?" you reiterate. And - finally - he moves. There's a slow unwinding, like carefully cocking back a shotgun, all the anticipation to the loosing of a bullet building as his arms return to their sides and his neck extends and his head tilts back and—
Your breath catches. Oh. Oh.
He's lovely.
Junpei looks at you with dark, watery eyes too big for his face - thin, pale, heart-shaped, flowering with an ugly purple bruise on the left vertice of his jaw. His lashes are long, delicate, stuck together with tears, and there are red marks beneath them, finger-shaped and blotchy. His hair falls asymmetrically over the right side of his face, hiding something, and you can guess what but you wish you couldn't.
He blinks owlishly at you, looking a little shellshocked. "You're - asking if I'm okay?"
Your heart thuds. You want to cry, suddenly, and you don't even know why.
You manage a nod. "They hit you?"
His fingers jerk to the new bruise automatically, and he hisses through his teeth when he grazes it. Must be tender. Must be angry. "It's - it's nothing. It's fine."
He's so wary. You're not quite sure what to say next. "Want a cigarette?"
He flinches back violently against the wall. "No."
"O-okay. Sorry." You shove your hands in your pocket, chewing your lip. He takes a steadying breath in, another, then shakes his head slowly.
"N-no, it's... I don't smoke," he manages. "But - but thanks. Uh. I just d-don't... yeah."
"Oh, okay," you smile gently. "That's fine. I won't smoke around you, either, if you're not comfortable with it. Your name's Junpei, right?"
The wariness had ebbed in favour of panic for a moment, but now it was back in full force. He backs up further against the wall, spine ramrod-straight, eyeing you uncertainly. "Y-yeah, I... how do you know my name?" He looks positively petrified, like he's just waiting for you to lash out and rake your nails down his soft porcelain cheek.
"One of your friends told me when they were running out of here," you explain. "Why'd they leave you all alone?"
Junpei swallows, scuffs the floor moodily with his battered shoe. "They were... just afraid. It's fine. I would've run too, if I was fast enough."
That's awfully forgiving of him. You have to admit, you'd be a little hesitant on the empathy if you'd just had your teeth knocked around your skull like Junpei has, but whatever. He must just be a nicer person than you. It's not a stretch.
This time, it's Junpei that breaks the silence with a soft clearing of his throat. "Is - is it still lunch?"
You check your watch. "Uh huh. Twelve minutes left. Are you going to eat?"
"Oh - no." He looks nauseated by the very prospect of going to the canteen after all that. One thing you have in common, at the very least. Still...
"You should eat," you tell him bluntly. "Why don't you bring your own food?"
He scowls, though you sense that the annoyance isn't directed at you. "I do. They take it."
"Oh. Well, here." And before you know what you're doing, you've shrugged your backpack off and you're rummaging through it for your still-wrapped lunch bag. Junpei's eyes widen as you pull out a tupperware box of agedashi, placing it deliberately on the floor between you two. It's just a box of steamed food, but you hope he sees it for what it truly is.
An olive branch. We come in peace.
"That's - what—" Junpei swallows dryly. "That's... your lunch."
You shrug without thinking. "It's okay. You can have it, if you want."
"...Why?" he asks faintly, and he's not looking at the box anymore, he's looking at you. And the one eye you can see is wide but pinched with a wealth of mistrust. Your heart pangs with the urge to sink this kid into a warm bath and make him forget every time he's ever been hurt, but you're not stupid enough to think it could be that easy. This is how it starts. One friend looking out for you. One act of kindness.
If only someone had shown you the same. If only—
"Because," you stay instead, unsure where you're going with this, "um. I know what it's like to be bullied, and stuff. And it stopped. But I remember how it felt. So I thought maybe you could use a friend."
Slowly, the soft apples of Junpei's cheeks darken; his mouth hangs slightly agape, and he stares at you like he can't quite believe you're real. The attention would be overwhelming coming from anyone else, but Junpei's gaze is tinged in a familiar loneliness that you understand well. So you don't flinch from it. You kneel your ground and you smile, gently.
"How?" he whispers reverently. "How did you make it stop?"
Sometimes, it is kind to lie. "I made a friend," you answer, and the words are bitter in your mouth. "Sometimes one is all you need. Just someone."
You wish somebody had been your friend. You wish someone had found you in the bathroom stall with your hair and uniform soaking wet from the boiling hot tap-water they'd drenched the bathroom floor with and made you lick up until your teeth were numb.
It just takes one person. But nobody cared.
Well. You'd be his one person, then. He looks like he needs it more than you ever did, anyway. He looks so breakable, so nervous, so tense. There's shyness in the way he looks at you, reverence like you've clawed the sun out of the void just for him, and there's anger, too, oh, there's anger lurking behind those long bangs on the right side of his face.
You want to help him realise it. You want - for some inexplicable reason - to keep him safe.
You stick out your hand. Junpei winces, but of course you don't hit him. "I'm Y/N," you smile warmly. "By the way."
Junpei looks at your hand for a good half-minute. He's still wildly uncertain, a little scared, a touch flustered judging by the red on his cheeks and the nervous way he fidgets with the hem of his uniform jacket. Just when you're about to retract your hand and apologise, his own flies up to meet you.
He's shaking. You fight the urge to squeeze protectively as his fingers curl uncertainly around yours.
"Junpei," he whispers in return. "Uh, but - you already knew that. Shit. Sorry."
"It's okay, Junpei," you smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
taglist. etc @uxavity @luke-rights
ASK TO JOIN
