NON - SEXUAL ACTS OF DOMINANCE ! accepting. calm your muse telling mine to ‘ just breathe ‘ .
BLOOD ROARS IN HIS EARS : SOMEONE’S GONNA DIE. at this point, maybe it wouldn’t even have to be kamoshida. the bastard’s words burn something AWFUL in his chest, like some wildfire left to raze the forests, the fields, someone’s childhood home, and he’s pissed. there’s a meanness coiling deep in his gut and pressing bright red crescents into his palms— maybe, ryuji thinks, and he swears he tastes something metallic clotting at the back of his throat: he could kill himself, or should. maybe things never would’ve gotten to this point if he’d never meddled in the first place, if he hadn’t been such a fucking idiot and ruined everything, or maybe if the old coach never quit, or if he didn’t take that scholarship and settled for mediocrity like he was SUPPOSED to. so many what - if’s. his eyes sting.
HOW DID HE BECOME SO USELESS ? he wants to cry, crush the chipped part of his heart into pieces under the heel of his trainers, be struck with a disaster that finally finishes what his father & kamoshida started. when did his hands start shaking ?
‘ just breathe. ’ the words have a nasty echo.
ryuji doesn’t hear akira at first— or doesn’t try to. it’s an unwelcome intrusion, coupled with the warmth of a calloused palm pressed to his forearm, and he’s about to snap a response when he seals his mouth sharply, half - afraid if he leaves his lips parted even a little, he’ll vent more poison into the air between them. a sigh: strained— his shoulders are still drawn taut, the burning in his palms from the uneven edges of chewed - on nails digging into the skin remains, but maybe he relaxes a little.
‘ akira … i fucked up. i really did. maybe i’m, like— not totally to blame, an’ i know you’re gonna say that, but— i’m gonna fix it. ’