"Your having a fight" // Tokyo Revengers
Characters: Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Kazutora, Ran, Rindou Haitani, Kokonoi, Izana
Synopsis: One argument too many. One name whispered too soft. And suddenly, you’re pinned to the door while he kisses you like he needs you more than air.
CW: arguing, emotional distress, aggressive kissing, intense makeout, possessive behavior, physical tension (wall pinning), emotionally messy dynamics
Mikey (Manjiro Sano):
"Don’t Walk Away."
It wasn’t just the argument—it was everything beneath it.
The missed calls. The bruises he wouldn’t explain. The way he looked at you like you were already slipping away.
“You can’t keep shutting me out, Manjiro,” you hissed, voice tight, barely holding together the storm inside you. “You disappear, you won’t talk, and then you act like I’m the one doing something wrong.”
He stood at the far end of the room, half in shadow, face unreadable.
“That’s because you don’t understand what it’s like to lose everything,” he said softly.
You took a step forward, defiant. “No, you just think you’re the only one who hurts.”
That broke something.
His eyes snapped to yours, darker than you’d ever seen them. “You think this doesn’t kill me? Every time I get close to someone, they die. Or they leave. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
“Then stop pushing me away!”
He didn’t move. Not at first.
So you turned.
“I’m done,” you said, walking toward the door. “If all you’re going to do is punish yourself, I’m not going to stand here and watch.”
But your fingers had barely brushed the doorknob when you felt it.
His presence. Right behind you.
His hand slammed against the door just above your shoulder, caging you in. You felt the heat of him, the tremble in his fingers. His breath was unsteady.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “Then give me a reason to stay.”
A pause. One second. Two.
Then he spun you around and kissed you.
No hesitation. No soft buildup. It was fierce—hungry. Like a damn breaking inside him. Like he’d wanted this for so long it had become unbearable.
He kissed like someone who didn’t know if he'd ever get to again.
Your back hit the door, his body pressed against yours. His hands—trembling but firm—cradled your jaw, then slipped down to your waist, gripping like he needed to anchor himself or be swept away.
You gasped into his mouth, and he chased it—deepened the kiss, tongue dragging against yours like he was tasting a lifeline.
“Manjiro,” you whispered against his lips, barely a breath.
He stilled for half a heartbeat. His forehead rested against yours.
“Say it again,” he rasped.
“Manjiro.”
He groaned—low, guttural—and kissed you again, rougher this time. One hand slid under your shirt, not with lust, but desperation—skin to skin, he needed to feel you were real.
Your hands found his hair, tugging lightly as he deepened the kiss again, and again. He kissed like someone drowning—like you were oxygen.
His mouth left yours only to trail kisses along your jaw, down your neck. You felt his lips tremble slightly against your skin.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so—fucked up, but I—”
You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time, lingering.
“I don’t want perfect,” you whispered. “I just want you.”
He exhaled shakily, finally resting his full weight against you, forehead pressed to your collarbone.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he said.
You smiled sadly, fingers brushing through his hair. “Then let me. At least you’ll feel something.” And he pulled you back into his arms, into another kiss—this one slow, dragging, like he was memorizing you in pieces. He kissed you until the anger faded, until all that was left was want and ache and the quiet sound of your heart beating against his.
_________________________________________________________
Ken “Draken” Ryuguji:
"You Don’t Get to Choose for Me."
The door slammed behind you. Hard. Loud enough to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
He’d followed you back to the apartment after the fight with those guys at the bar—blood on his shirt, a cut on his cheek—but you were the one shaking.
“You had no right!” you shouted, pacing the living room like a live wire. “You don’t get to throw yourself into a fight on my behalf without telling me anything!”
Draken leaned against the door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed—but silent.
You hated that.
“Say something!” you snapped. “You always pull this silent treatment when I’m pissed, like I’m some overdramatic—”
“You are being overdramatic,” he said, calm but sharp. “I took care of it. No one laid a hand on you.”
“That’s not the point, Ken!” You used his real name on purpose. It cut. “You act like I’m some breakable doll who needs to be shielded from your world, but I’m already in it!”
He stepped forward.
“Yeah? And what happens when you get caught in the crossfire, huh? When some punk with a grudge decides you’re the best way to hurt me?”
“I’ll take that risk,” you said, chin high. “I’d rather bleed beside you than be treated like something you can just stash away until you’re done playing gang leader.”
His eyes burned. He walked up to you slowly, deliberately.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
You tried to brush past him, but he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firm. You looked down at his hand, then back at him.
“Let go.”
“Not until you listen.”
“You don't get to hold me back and shut me out.”
“And you don’t get to act like this is a damn game,” he snapped, voice finally cracking. “This isn’t some movie where the girl follows the guy into danger and they live happily ever after. This is real. I’ve seen people die. I’ve held bodies that used to have dreams and hearts and—and I’m not gonna let that happen to you.”
You stared at him. “You really think I don’t know what I’m walking into? You think I’d risk all this for someone I didn’t love?”
He froze.
And there it was.
The crack. The word neither of you had dared to say until it was too loud to ignore.
The next second, he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was teeth clashing, breath stealing, hands in hair, years of restraint shattering all at once. He walked you backward until your back hit the wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down your side to anchor you to him.
You gasped against his lips, and he took it like a challenge—mouth greedy, tongue hot, lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, like he was starved and you were the only thing that could feed him.
“Don’t say you love me,” he breathed against your neck, “unless you mean it.”
“I mean it,” you whispered, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Even when I hate you—I love you.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wild, pupils blown, lips swollen.
Then he kissed you again—slower this time. Deep. Thorough. Like he was kissing you for every time he hadn’t.
His hands slid under your shirt to rest warm on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmured between kisses.
“Good,” you said, breathless. “You deserve it.”
He laughed—low and rough against your lips—before kissing you again. And again. Until the fight was smoke in the air, and the only thing left was the way you fit perfectly against him.
_________________________________________________________
Mitsuya Takashi:
“I’m not made of glass, Takashi.”
You hadn’t meant to yell at him.
But the words were already out there, ringing through the quiet of his apartment. And Mitsuya—perfect, composed, always-in-control Mitsuya—just stood there, blinking at you like you’d spoken another language.
“I’m not your little sister,” you continued, voice shaking. “You don’t need to protect me from everything. I’m not a child. And I’m sure as hell not a side project you can just... fix.”
He didn’t respond.
He just turned back toward the sewing machine, like that was more important than you. Like finishing a hem was easier than facing how this fight had been building for weeks.
You felt your chest tighten. “There’s nothing more frustrating than watching someone you love—actually love—pretend you’re not worth the risk of being vulnerable.”
Still nothing.
His hands flexed, resting flat on the worktable. Shoulders tense. That vein in his neck—barely pulsing, but visible.
You walked closer, your voice quieter now, almost bitter. “God, Takashi. You don’t even let yourself feel unless it’s for someone else. When do you get to fall apart?”
That’s when it broke.
He spun around so fast it startled you. The look in his eyes wasn’t anger—not exactly. It was ache. Years of swallowed hurt and buried want carved into one expression.
“You think I don’t want to?” he said, voice hoarse. “You think I don’t lie awake wishing I could just say it—do something, anything—but every time I get close, I hear her voice—my mom, my sisters, everything I’ve ever held together—telling me to be the strong one?”
Your lips parted, breath caught.
“Mitsuya—”
“I’ve wanted you for months,” he snapped. “And I’ve been terrified of ruining the one place in my life that feels… safe. You. Us.”
You stepped forward, heart pounding. “So ruin it.”
“What?”
“Ruin it. Let it fall apart. Stop being so perfect for five seconds and kiss me like you actually want me.”
His hands were on you instantly.
One at your waist, the other threading through your hair as he pulled you in and kissed you like the world was ending. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was real.
Desperate. Hot. Slightly clumsy.
His lips were soft but feverish, dragging over yours again and again, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d held back. His hands roamed—tentative at first, then more sure, settling at your lower back, pulling you against him.
You gasped, and he kissed down your jaw, his breath shaky.
“I’m not perfect,” he whispered between kisses. “I just didn’t want to break something beautiful.”
“You won’t,” you murmured, fingers curling in the back of his shirt. “But you’re allowed to be selfish for once.”
He rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.
And then he kissed you again—slower this time, like gratitude. Like apology. Like a thousand quiet promises, finally said out loud.
_______________________________________________________
Chifuyu Matsuno:
“If you didn’t want me to care, then you should’ve just stayed quiet.”
He said it before he could stop himself. That sharp sentence.
It hit like a slap, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Your brows drew together, lips parting—not from rage, but disbelief. “...Wow.”
Chifuyu immediately froze.
“No, I didn’t mean—” he started, reaching for you, but you stepped back.
“You didn’t mean it, or you didn’t mean to say it out loud?”
He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure whether to reach for you or let you leave.
You could see it on his face: the moment he realized he messed up. Not just a small oops—this was a crack down the middle of everything you’d been building.
All because he’d panicked.
“Don’t twist this, okay?” he snapped back, voice too sharp for how his eyes looked—wet and wide. “I only said that because I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had anyone—you—care this much about me, and it freaks me the fuck out.”
He was shaking his head, like he hated himself more than you ever could.
“You’re always calm, and patient, and I get overwhelmed and say dumb shit and—fuck,” he laughed bitterly, wiping his face with both hands. “I say things I don’t mean just to keep you from getting too close, because if you get close enough to leave... I don’t know what I’ll do.”
You stood there, stunned, fists clenched at your sides. “Then stop pushing me away.”
He looked up.
You said it again, firmer: “Stop pushing me away.”
And just like that, he moved.
There was no smooth lead-up. He walked across the room, grabbed your face like he thought you might disappear, and kissed you hard. It was unpolished—messy—and so full of emotion it made your knees buckle.
His lips were hot, soft, but desperate—tasting like every unspoken thing he’d kept buried for months. He kissed you like someone finally admitting they were afraid to be loved, but even more afraid to lose it.
His hands slid up into your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp—and he groaned into your mouth like that sound undid him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured between kisses. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You didn’t stop kissing him. You didn’t want to. You could feel the apology in every shaky exhale, every way his mouth softened the longer he kissed you.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered against your lips. “I just get scared.”
“I know,” you whispered back. “I do, too.”
And he kissed you again. Slower now. Gentler. Like he was trying to memorize your shape against him. His arms wrapped tight around you, like maybe if he held you hard enough, you’d never walk away.
You rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing fast.
“You always ruin my plans,” he whispered with a trembling smile.
“What plans?”
He laughed quietly. “The ones where I try not to fall in love with you.”
You kissed him again. This time, you didn’t stop.
_________________________________________________________
Kazutora Hanemiya:
"I never asked for this. I never wanted you to be a part of this fucking mess!"
Kazutora’s voice cracked, the words shooting out like daggers. The room felt suffocating. His face, usually so carefully unreadable, was twisted in frustration and something else—something darker.
You stood there, frozen in place, struggling to make sense of what he was saying. "What the hell are you talking about, Kazutora?"
His eyes flashed, pain flashing across his features before it was quickly covered by that mask of anger again. "You," he spat. "I keep dragging you into my shit, and all you ever do is... be there, be too kind, too fucking understanding. I can't keep doing this to you."
You could feel the tightness in your chest, the heat rising in your face. "Doing what, Kazutora? Being there for you? Supporting you when you push me away every damn time?"
His jaw clenched, fingers flexing against his own leg like he couldn’t decide whether to lash out or crumble.
"God, you don’t get it," he whispered, voice breaking. "I’m not good for you. I’m broken. I’ve always been. Everything I touch turns to shit."
“No,” you said, stepping forward. “You don’t get it. I’m here because I choose to be, Kazutora. Not because I’m being forced. I’m not some damn charity case you can keep pushing away and pretending I don’t care.”
His eyes flashed—hurt, rage, and something deeper. “But that’s exactly it, isn’t it? I don’t deserve you. I’ve hurt too many people... and you’re just—too good—too pure. You’re gonna leave when you see the truth.”
“Then show me the truth,” you snapped. “Stop hiding behind your guilt. Stop pushing me away and let me in, Kazutora.”
And just like that, the walls around him shattered.
Without another word, his body collided with yours. He pushed you back, not violently, but with an urgency that made your heart race. His lips found yours in a wild, desperate kiss—messy, frantic, and yet so fucking full of emotion it left you breathless.
Kazutora kissed like a man starved, every inch of him trembling as if he was trying to drown himself in you. His hands moved roughly over your body, desperate to hold you, to ground himself in something real, something he could keep.
“Don’t leave me,” he breathed between kisses, voice hoarse, cracked with emotion. His hands slid into your hair, gripping tight as if you were the only thing tethering him to the present. “Please... don’t leave me.”
You kissed him back, fiercely, pulling him closer. Every part of you screamed at him, not with anger anymore, but with love, frustration, and a raw need to make him understand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, feeling his pulse under your fingertips as your hands ran over the warmth of his skin. “I’ll never leave you, Kazutora.”
His breath caught at your words, and for a moment, he paused, his forehead pressed against yours, shaky breaths mingling. The softness of the moment was broken when he kissed you again—slower this time, but with a desperation that shook you both to your core.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your lips, hands smoothing over your back like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone... especially you.”
You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him in for one more kiss, this one more tender, more patient. You didn’t care about the past, the mistakes. You cared about this moment. You cared about him.
“I know,” you whispered against his lips. “But you’re here now. And that’s all that matters.”
Kazutora pulled back slightly, his gaze softening, though the confusion and pain still lingered behind his eyes. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath still shaky.
“I’ll never be good enough for you,” he murmured, voice breaking.
“Shut up,” you whispered. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
And he did.
__________________________________________________________
Ran Haitani:
"You don’t get to talk to me like that."
The words slipped out, harsh and cutting, before you could even think about what you were going to say.
Ran stood across from you, arms crossed, his usual smug expression replaced with something darker. His eyes bore into you, narrowing as he took in your flustered form.
“Don’t ever talk to me like that again,” he repeated, voice colder than usual. There was an edge to it, something unfamiliar. But his jaw was clenched tight, and his posture was tense, almost defensive.
You threw your hands up in frustration, unable to control the heat rising in your chest. “Why? Because you’re Ran Haitani? Because you think you can just brush me off whenever it’s convenient and then expect me to follow your lead?”
His lips curled into that signature smirk, but there was a trace of something more jagged beneath it. “You know who I am, don’t you? You’re the one who’s asking for this. I don’t owe anyone an explanation, especially not you.”
You narrowed your eyes, feeling your pulse quicken. “That’s the problem, Ran. You never think you owe anyone anything. You think you can push people away and keep them at arm’s length—especially me. And I’m so fucking sick of it.”
Ran took a step forward, his expression flickering from annoyance to something deeper. “Is that it? You think I push you away? You think I don’t—” He stopped himself, his words stalling in his throat. His gaze flickered, and for the first time, there was something unsteady in his eyes.
"Think what?" you challenged, stepping closer to him, refusing to back down. “What is it, Ran? You think you can just shut me out because it’s easier than letting someone close?”
The words hit harder than you expected, because in that moment, you saw it—the hesitation. The split second where he was about to open up, only to close it off again. He reached for his cigarette pack, flicking one out with shaky fingers.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, lighting the cigarette and inhaling deeply. His voice dropped to a low, almost inaudible tone as he exhaled. “You don’t understand. You really don’t.”
“No,” you shot back, not backing down. “I do understand. You think I don’t get it? You’re scared. Scared of letting anyone in because you’re worried they’ll leave you when they find out how fucked up you are. But I’m not going anywhere, Ran. Not until you tell me the truth.”
That was it. The moment the dam broke.
His cigarette dropped to the floor, forgotten. Without warning, he grabbed your arms, his hands tight but not painful, pulling you toward him with an intensity that stole your breath.
He kissed you fiercely, all pent-up frustration and longing crashing into you like a tidal wave. It wasn’t gentle—no, it was urgent, desperate, as if he was trying to prove something to himself as much as to you.
His lips were demanding, but there was a rawness to them that wasn’t like Ran at all. This was real.
You moaned softly, and that sound sent a ripple through him. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he needed to feel every part of you against him.
"Don’t fucking run from me," he growled against your lips, his voice a mix of anger and need. “Stop pretending like I don’t give a shit. You’re just as fucking important as everyone else, alright?”
His kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless, your body pressing into his as if there was nowhere else you’d rather be.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath ragged, eyes closed, his expression a twisted mix of relief and frustration.
“I don’t know how to fucking do this,” he muttered. “I don’t know how to let you in without pushing you away at the same time.”
You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his lips. “You’re already in, Ran. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. With you. All the way.”
His eyes opened slowly, locking onto yours, the raw vulnerability there almost too much to bear. For once, Ran wasn’t the smug, untouchable man he pretended to be. For once, he was just a guy who was scared to be loved.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice a soft plea that melted the remaining walls between you.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated, kissing him again, this time slower, deeper—a kiss that spoke of promises and confessions still hanging in the air.
And for the first time, you felt like maybe he wasn’t either.
________________________________________________________
Rindou Haitani:
“You think I don’t know what’s going on, huh?”
The moment the words left his mouth, you could feel the whole room shift. Rindou’s usually playful, cocky smirk was gone. His expression was sharp, eyes narrowed with an anger you’d never seen directed at you before.
You blinked, suddenly caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped, stalking closer. “You’ve been spending way too much time with him. You think I didn’t notice?”
Your pulse spiked. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. "Are you seriously accusing me of cheating?" You couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth. Rindou, of all people. Rindou Haitani—your Rindou—was jealous.
But there was something in his eyes now, something twisted and protective, as though he’d already made up his mind about everything. “What else am I supposed to think? I see the way you look at him. You think I’m stupid?”
You were taken aback by his cold tone. The Rindou you knew—the real him—wasn't like this. He wasn’t possessive, wasn’t controlling. But in that moment, his insecurities were spilling out in ways that felt foreign and raw.
“I’m not—” You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I’m not doing anything. You’re imagining things.”
He took another step closer, his chest now brushing yours, his gaze intense and piercing. “I don’t imagine things. I see them. You think I don’t notice the way he looks at you? You think I’m just gonna let it go?”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. It was clear he wasn’t just angry—he was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified of being vulnerable, and terrified of having his heart broken.
“Rindou…” you whispered, your heart racing. “It’s not what you think. You’re letting your insecurities get the best of you.”
“Don’t fucking tell me I’m insecure,” he growled, his hands coming up to grab your arms, his grip tighter than you’d expected. “I’ve spent my whole life trying not to care, trying to keep everything at arm’s length, and here you are—you—making me feel things I don’t want to. I don’t want to care about you this much, and yet, here I am, fucking losing my mind over some guy who barely knows you.”
Your heart ached, your voice softening. “Rindou… It’s just him. It’s not like that. I’m with you. You know that.”
But you saw the pain in his eyes, the way he was unraveling before you, and you knew that this fight wasn’t really about him being jealous. It was about him being afraid. Afraid of his feelings. Afraid that the walls he’d spent so long building were finally crumbling, and he wasn’t ready for the fall.
Before you could say anything else, he kissed you. It wasn’t soft, and it wasn’t sweet—it was rough, urgent, a collision of mouths and teeth, like he was trying to pull every ounce of emotion from you. His hands found their way into your hair, tugging you closer as if he wanted to bury himself in you, to erase every ounce of doubt that had crept between you both.
You kissed him back, your hands gripping his shirt, your body pressing against his as you tried to keep up with the desperation in his movements. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was everything he couldn’t say with words. It was all the frustration, the fear, the jealousy, and the desire he couldn’t control, spilling out in every kiss.
“You’re mine,” he growled, breaking the kiss to stare into your eyes. His face was flushed, breath heavy, his fingers trailing down your jaw in a way that made your pulse skip. “Do you fucking understand that? You’re mine.”
You nodded, breathless, your own heart racing as you tried to ground yourself in his words. “I’m yours, Rindou. Always.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, more tender, but there was still that same urgent need behind it. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t pull away from you even if he wanted to.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he muttered against your lips, his hands tracing the contours of your body, memorizing the feel of you.
You could feel the sincerity in his touch, the rawness in his voice. He was terrified. Terrified of being vulnerable, terrified of loving you with everything he had, because he didn’t know how to handle it. But here he was, in your arms, finally admitting it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, kissing him again with a softness that made him tremble. “I’m right here. With you.”
And for the first time, Rindou let himself believe it.
_______________________________________________________
Kokonoi Hajime:
"I’m not one of your fucking projects, Kokonoi."
The words were out before you could stop them, and they were sharper than you intended. Kokonoi’s eyes snapped to yours, and in that moment, you could feel the tension build between you like a storm about to break.
His usual calm, almost detached demeanor faltered for a fraction of a second before he regained control. But that flicker of frustration—raw frustration—was enough to make your stomach twist. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as he regarded you coolly, but you could see the way his eyes darkened, the way his lips pulled into a thin line.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, voice deceptively smooth. But there was an edge to it now, a tightness that suggested he wasn’t as composed as he wanted to be.
You didn’t back down. You were angry, hurt—and a little bit scared—but you refused to let him control the situation. “You treat everything like a fucking transaction. A business deal. People don’t just want to be managed, Kokonoi. Especially not me.”
He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to calm himself. His gaze turned away from you for a moment, and you saw the tiniest crack in his perfect mask. That was enough to make your anger surge again. “You always pull this shit—act like you’re above everything and everyone. You shut people out every time someone tries to get close to you, but then you wonder why things don’t work out. You can’t keep using people like this and expecting them to just… understand.”
Kokonoi’s gaze snapped back to yours, and for a moment, there was nothing but the storm of emotions swirling between you two. His eyes were unreadable, but you could see the flicker of something in them—something real.
“You think I don’t know that?” he muttered, almost to himself. His voice was low, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “I know what I do. I know how I am. But I can’t afford to let things get messy. I can’t afford to let people get in the way.”
You took a step forward, anger and confusion warring inside you. “But you’re letting me get in the way, Kokonoi. And I’m not going anywhere. But if you keep shutting me out like this… I won’t stick around forever.”
His eyes widened for a moment, something like panic flashing across his face, before it disappeared just as quickly. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was low and steady again, but with a palpable tension simmering beneath it.
“Don’t do this. Don’t make me say things I don’t want to say,” he growled.
You shook your head, feeling a mix of hurt and something else—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “I’m not making you do anything, Kokonoi. You don’t have to say anything. Just… stop pretending everything’s fine. Stop pretending you don’t care.”
The silence that followed was deafening, and you almost thought he wouldn’t respond. But then, without warning, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His hand shot out to grab your wrist, pulling you against him in a sudden movement that stole your breath.
Before you could even process what was happening, his lips were on yours.
It was a kiss full of heat, frustration, and something else—something deeper—that he’d clearly been holding back for too long. Kokonoi kissed you roughly, his mouth urgent and demanding as if he were trying to drown in you, to erase the tension and doubts that had been building between you both for far too long.
His hands were in your hair, his grip possessive, as he kissed you again and again—harder each time, like he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. There was no gentleness, no calculated control; just the rawness of everything he’d been holding in. His kiss spoke volumes, words he couldn’t say out loud, feelings he hadn’t known how to express until now.
When he pulled back, he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. His hand still gripped your wrist, and his other hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that took you by surprise.
“I’m not good at this,” he muttered, his voice rougher now. “I don’t know how to do this. How to let you in.”
You took a breath, still feeling the heat of his kiss on your lips. “You don’t have to be perfect, Kokonoi. Just stop shutting me out.”
He looked at you for a moment, his gaze softening just the slightest bit. “I don’t know how to do anything but push people away,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But when it’s you... I don’t want to push you away.”
You smiled gently, your heart aching for him. “Then stop. You don’t have to keep pretending.”
He kissed you again, this time slower, softer, but with the same depth of feeling. And for the first time in a long time, Kokonoi Hajime let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let someone in.
_________________________________________________________
Izana Kurokawa:
Izana doesn’t argue like others do. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t lash out. He just goes cold, distant — an unreadable mask hiding everything that’s wrong inside of him.
The argument doesn’t start with any real venom. A few clipped words. A bitter silence hanging between you both, like an invisible thread about to snap. But Izana, ever the master of restraint, lets you do the talking. Letting you say everything you need to say, no matter how much it stings. He stays quiet, letting it all land on him — the weight of your words, the sharpness of your anger. It’s easier this way, he tells himself. You’re angry, and he doesn’t know how to fix it, so he’ll let you have your say. He’ll take it. Let you vent. Let you go.
But when you finally say it — the words that break him — it’s like a switch is flipped inside him. You’ve had enough. You’re done. You’re walking away.
“I’m leaving, Izana. I can’t do this anymore.”
For the first time in years, he’s truly scared. You don’t see it, but he’s trembling, his fists clenched at his sides. You think this fight is over. You think you’ve won. You think you’ve broken free from him.
But the second you reach for the door handle?
Izana is on you.
He’s across the room in the blink of an eye, his hand slamming against the door, blocking your escape. The cold look on his face is replaced with a dangerous flicker in his eyes — something desperate, something you’ve never seen before.
“You don’t get to leave. Not you. Not after everything.”
The words are sharp, strained, like they’re clawing their way out of him. He’s terrified. Terrified that you’ll walk out of his life like everyone else did. He can’t lose you, not like this. Not now.
Before you can say anything, before you even know what’s happening, he’s kissing you.
Hard. Rough. Desperate.
His lips are on yours with such force that it’s almost painful. You can feel the heat of his body pressing against you, his hands gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. It’s not tender. It’s not loving. It’s raw. Desperate. He doesn’t know how else to make you stay, to make you feel the weight of how much he needs you.
You try to pull away. You try to breathe. But he won’t let you. Not until you’re gasping for air, until your hands are clutching his shirt, until you realize that this isn’t just a kiss — it’s everything he’s been holding back. The anger, the fear, the hurt. All of it pouring into you with every frantic kiss.
He pulls away just enough to speak, his breath shaky, his eyes wild with emotion. There’s a break in his voice, a crack that betrays the mask he’s been wearing for so long.
“I can’t lose you. I can’t... I can’t go through that again.”
It’s not an excuse. It’s not a plea. It’s a broken confession. A raw, desperate admission that he is just as fragile as everyone else. That he, too, has fears he can’t manage. That you — you — are the one person who’s kept him tethered to this world.
He doesn’t know how to be gentle. Doesn’t know how to show you how much you mean to him without this overwhelming need to hold on — to make you stay. His lips find yours again, softer this time, but still just as needy. His hand cradles your face, almost tenderly, as if he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you, of having you.
But it’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough.
He pulls back again, his forehead resting against yours. You can feel his heart racing. His hands tremble, not from anger, but from something far more terrifying to him — the fear of losing you.
“Please... don’t leave me.”
The words are quieter this time. They hang in the air between you, full of a desperate vulnerability that he’s never shown anyone. He’s frightened. Frightened of being abandoned again. Frightened that you’ll be just another person who walks away when things get too hard.
You look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. He’s still holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear at any moment. And for the first time in his life, he lets you see all of him — the broken parts, the terrified, desperate man hiding behind the control.
He kisses you one more time. Softly. Gently. A kiss that isn’t about holding on anymore. It’s about wanting. Wanting you to stay. Wanting to fix what’s broken inside of him. Wanting to believe that maybe — just maybe — someone could love him without running away.
But even in this moment of quiet, his hands are still on you. His grip is still firm, because he knows — deep down — that he can’t let you go. Not like this. Not ever.
