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Kei’s tired of bad things happening to him.
He wonders if there is some sort of cosmic imbalance in his karma, or if fate just enjoys watching him suffer. Perhaps that’s a little dramatic, but he isn’t sure what else it could be.
The last week has been nothing short of torture. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.
Kei has honestly never truly enjoyed his job. He works to pay the bills, and that’s it. He has his dreams and passions, but none of them align with the career he’s been pursuing for the last few years. He tries not to resent his lack of agency, but usually fails. He’s stuck at a job he hates and doesn’t even care enough to move on.
On top of that cycle of animosity that constantly brews like a cyclone in his mind, his personal life has been taking hit after hit recently.
It’s been a long time since he’s seen any of his friends. They’re all grown now, and none of them have the time to meet up anymore. Cities and oceans separate far too many of his closest relationships. He’s so pathetically and agonizingly lonely.
It doesn’t help that he’s currently trying to get over a messy breakup. It’s only been—how long? A few months, maybe. Kei’s lost track. All he knows is that he still can’t stop thinking about his ex-boyfriend. Kei may have been the one to end things, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret it.
Needless to say, he’s struggling. He’s so exhausted, so tired and frustrated. He wants a single, peaceful day. He wants all the anxiety inside his chest to disappear. He really thinks it’s unbecoming for someone like him.
What does that mean exactly? Kei couldn’t really tell you—he’s always been harder on himself than anyone else. He doesn’t enjoy feeling like this and he doesn’t think he’s that deserving. Things could be worse, yet they could be a lot, lot better.
These days, he’s afraid that things can only get worse.
Like tonight. He’s sitting in an empty parking lot far too many miles away from his home because one of his tires popped. His phone is about to die, and he doesn’t have a charger. There’s barely any gas left in his car, and he’s starving.
He’s freaking out. He’s on the verge of tears, but he hates that feeling so he’s been trying not to.
Kei doesn’t cry. He doesn’t cry and he doesn’t let himself feel the things that other people deserve. It should be fine. It shouldn’t hang so heavy on his chest, but he can’t control it. He feels useless, like his entire life is out of control.
It’s probably why he’s throwing bait towards the only person who would be able to help him. He’s using the last three percent of his battery on calling the one person who might drop everything he’s doing to come help him.
“Fuma,” Kei calls out as soon as the phone stops ringing, hoping it’s enough to get Fuma to bite.
“Kei?” Fuma immediately sounds alarmed, like he still might care. Kei knows that he does. He knows that Fuma still loves him. “What’s wrong?”
Kei feels like throwing up. Fuma’s kindness is going to be taken advantage of again, and he barely even feels that bad about it. He knows all too well that Fuma’s never been one to hold grudges for long. He knows everything about him, and maybe that’s why he keeps crawling back to him again and again.
“I need you to come pick me up,” Kei begs, hoping that Fuma can’t hear the way his voice wavers. “Please, Fuma. I have a flat tire or something, and I don’t know who to call or what to do. I’m—I don’t even know where I am. Some parking lot ten miles out from the city. I can give you my location, I just—”
“I’m on my way,” Fuma immediately cuts him off, and Kei’s hit with waves of relief. “Send me your location, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Really?” Kei hates how weak he sounds. He can tell he’s not going to be able to hold back the tears for much longer, and the last thing he needs is for Fuma to hear that.
“Of course,” Fuma’s voice carries through the phone with the same familiar, loving warmth. “Are you hurt at all? Are you safe?”
“I’m fine, honestly. I—I can tell you when you get here,” Kei sniffles. “My phone is about to die. I don’t know how much longer I can talk.”
“Alright, baby,” Fuma hums. “I’ll be there soon. Send me your location before it dies, alright?”
Kei’s chest constricts, tightening up and leaving his throat scratchy and raw. It’s just a pet name, one that’s slipped from Fuma’s lips a million different times. Yet, it’s a reassurance that Kei’s been desperate to hear again. Fuma’s always so calm and understanding, despite how highstrung and tense Kei can be.
“Okay,” Kei mumbles. “I will. Bye.”
“Goodbye,” Fuma says like it’s a kiss, and Kei wishes it was.
Kei immediately sends Fuma his location. He takes a deep breath, allowing himself to calm down as Fuma sends him a thumbs up and a heart. Kei watches his phone screen go black and prays it won’t take Fuma long to get there.
It feels like eternity, anyways. He’s too stressed to listen to any music, and the last thing he needs is his car battery to die. He’s far too unlucky, he doesn’t trust the universe to throw another knife at his head just to watch him dance.
Realistically, he knows it’s not a big deal. People get flat tires all the time, and he’s lucky enough to have someone who cares enough to pick him up. He probably has a spare in the back, but he’s never checked. He’s never been someone who’s prepared for bad things to happen, and maybe that’s why they always feel so life-crushing.
Fuma’s the complete opposite. He plans for every single scenario, making sure all bases are covered before he moves throughout the world. Kei’s always been envious of that, yet makes no effort to change. He isn’t even sure if he would call it being lazy. Maybe, he doesn’t want to manifest any misfortune. Yet, if he did, maybe he wouldn’t feel so helpless in the current moment.
Sometimes, he just likes having someone around that knows what to do. Fuma’s always prepared and calm, something Kei is not. Fuma may not have all the answers all the time, but he’ll always try and help find them.
Kei’s back to thinking about their relationship and why they broke up. Is there really a reason? Not particularly. Kei overthinks far too many things, and he’s always been terrible at being objective. Maybe there is a truth deep down inside his chest that explains why he continues to keep stringing Fuma along despite knowing they might be better off without each other.
Kei isn’t sure. See, they’ve broken up twice before. This time was the third, and Kei swore it was the last. He swore that he’d stop calling Fuma and be strong enough to exist on his own.
They’ve known each other for far too long. Fuma knows way too much about Kei, and maybe that’s what scares him. It’s also why he keeps crawling back to him. Kei doesn’t need to explain all his quirks and problems. Fuma already knows, and he accepts them.
Kei hates that, too. He loathes how easy it is to come crashing together. He isn’t even sure why it feels like such a big deal. He doesn’t even remember why they broke up this time. Probably over something stupid.
Fuma probably didn’t do anything wrong, but Kei was just looking for an excuse to run again. He runs and then regrets it, and begs Fuma to take him back with his tail between his legs. Fuma always lets him back into his life, and Kei wonders if some part of Fuma enjoys how neurotic Kei is.
It’s the only reason why Fuma would still love him. At least, that’s what Kei’s starting to think. He isn’t sure because he’s never asked. He doesn’t actually want to know the answer, because then it might scare him or break his heart.
All he knows is that Kei needs Fuma, and he resents him for that. He craves everything about Fuma, and yet, deprives himself of it. He doesn’t know why he is the way he is. He doesn’t want to know.
Before Kei can spiral even further, Fuma’s car drives up from out of the darkness and parks right next to him. Kei should probably be a little bit more nonchalant, but he can’t stop himself. He needs something, someone, any sort of reminder that there are good things in this universe—and that he deserves them.
Kei practically tears the door open and jumps out, running over to Fuma’s car. Fuma quickly gets out and meets Kei in front of his headlights.
“Kei—” Fuma starts, but Kei shuts him up with a tight embrace.
Kei throws his arms around Fuma and buries his face into the crook of his neck. Sometimes, Kei just wants to feel small. He wants to feel lesser than he does, and he just wants to be held. Fuma knows that all too well.
Fuma hugs him back with the same passion, rubbing soft circles against the base of Kei’s spine. Again—it’s familiar and sweet and Kei falls deeper and deeper into his arms.
Fuma must be alarmed at how clingy and desperate Kei’s being. “Hey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
Nothing is okay, but nothing is wrong. Kei wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain it, so he doesn’t even try. He just shakes his head and mumbles out a faint no.
Fuma understands him, regardless. “Oh, baby.”
Kei hates being patronized. Fuma isn’t even patronizing him, he’s just being the same person he’s always been. He’s being thoughtful and soft, forgiving and kind. He pulls Kei impossibly closer and somehow, it feels even more delicate.
Kei would never apologize in a way that’s meaningful. He mutters weak sorry’s when he hopes Fuma isn’t listening, and prays it’s enough. Fuma never says anything about it. He never demands an apology or an explanation. He accepts it all as it is, and Kei’s afraid that one day he’ll stop.
Fuma doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. He doesn’t even question it when Kei starts to cry into his shoulder. He doesn’t push him towards a conversation. He holds Kei like he’s still important to him, like he still lives inside his heart.
Kei knows he does. He has to. Fuma’s heart is his, and it makes him feel sick. Similarly, his heart belongs to Fuma. He just wishes that Fuma was just as selfish as he is.
Too much time passes, and Kei isn’t really sure what happens between standing in front of Fuma’s car to driving back to his apartment. Fuma probably solved the problem or came up with an idea that Kei didn’t, but he blanked out. Once he started crying, all his walls came up and he shut down.
For tonight, he’ll crawl back into Fuma’s bed like he’s not going to run from it in the morning. It’s all he has, and he thinks Fuma realizes that. It must be why Fuma holds his hand the entire walk up to his room.
Kei has lived in Fuma’s apartment longer than he’s lived inside his own. He isn’t sure if that’s actually true, but it feels like it. Everything about the walls and the furniture and the energy is familiar. It’s safe. It’s… home. The closest thing to it, at least.
That’s probably why Kei feels so comfortable grabbing onto Fuma’s shirt and shoving him against the wall. Fuma makes no complaints, easily bending to Kei’s will despite having calmed him down from a breakdown a mere twenty minutes prior.
Kei knows what he’s doing. He’s blurring the lines and taking what he wants. Except, he doesn’t even really know what that is. He just wants to forget about all the things on his mind. He wants to forget and relax for a single moment. He wants all the pain to go away, and he knows that Fuma can do that for him.
Fuma should be the mature one between them. He needs to realize what they’re doing is wrong, and they’re going to fall back into the same cycle they’ve been living in for the last three years.
He should stop Kei when he slams their lips together. Instead, he kisses him back, just as depraved and desperate as Kei.
Fuma’s starving for it, Kei thinks. Meanwhile, he’s drowning in Fuma’s presence. Fuma is so different from him, Kei forgets just how similar they really are. He’s just as passionate, just as addicted to Kei as Kei is to him.
“Baby,” Fuma whines, digging his thumb right against Kei’s hip. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, more,” Kei admits, far too honest than what feels comfortable.
Fuma groans into another kiss, and Kei shoves his thigh between Fuma’s legs. It’s all moving too fast, and Kei can barely handle it. He’s still sensitive and shaking from earlier, dried tearstains leaving him feeling disgusting. He wishes he could not only scrub it all off from his face, but also from Fuma’s memory.
It’s too late, and he’s already falling. He might as well pull Fuma down along with him.
“I need you,” Fuma whispers, mindlessly like he didn’t even mean to say it.
Kei should be upset. He should hate himself for how much he’s ruined Fuma. He deserves to loathe every part of his worthless soul. He’s ruined them both, and yet he doesn’t stop. He’ll never stop—he doesn’t know how.
Fuma doesn’t know how to push him away, so they continue to spiral—together.
“I know you do,” Kei hums, peppering Fuma’s face in soft kisses. “Say it again.”
“I need you, baby,” Fuma squeezes his eyes shut, like it hurts to admit. “I need you.”
Kei slides his hand underneath Fuma’s shirt, tracing his fingertips along his stomach. Fuma melts into the touch, wrapping an arm around Kei’s shoulders. Their bodies are pressed together, and Kei can feel everything. It never takes much to turn Fuma on.
It causes pride to swell up in his chest. He still has it, even though it’s only been a few months. It’s the longest time they’ve spent away from each other. The other breakups only lasted a week or two at most. A month without Fuma sounds like torture, while two months felt worse than that.
“Kei,” Fuma says again, like Kei might stop to listen.
Kei does, but only to grab onto his hand and pull him into his bedroom. “I’ve got you.”
It’s ironic, because he’s saying the words that he wishes were said to him.
Maybe if Kei weren’t so on edge, he could accept submitting to Fuma. He could get on his hands and knees and beg Fuma to pamper him. In his wildest dreams, Fuma is the one taking care of him. In those fantasies, he allows Fuma to take root inside him—completely.
He would never be able to calm down enough to let it happen. Despite it being everything he could ever want, his mind and heart just won’t let him. His body sweats and his stomach drops at the idea. It feels wrong, oh, so wrong. He could never.
Yet, he wishes he could. While he’s pulling Fuma’s shirt off and admiring the sight in front of him, Kei wonders if Fuma’s never wanted the same thing. Maybe Fuma’s tired of submitting to Kei’s will. He’s never once complained about it or begged for more, but Kei’s never really given him the stage to do that.
Fuma wants what Kei wants. It’s always been like that. Kei tries not to feel guilty over never stopping to listen and hear what Fuma truly desires, underneath the addiction to people-pleasing. Fuma lives to make other people happy, and never once begs for something for himself.
Kei wonders how it feels living like that. He hopes he’s fulfilled, because Kei can never change. He knows that for a fact. He’ll always be selfish, yet not in a way that serves Fuma well.
Fuma falls back onto the bed after having his clothes torn off, looking up at Kei with the same excitement that always flickers to life when Kei comes back. It’s hopeful, like a prayer that Kei will stay this time. Kei tries not to loathe it, but he fails.
Taking off his clothes in front of Fuma feels like second nature at this point. They’ve been in this position so many times. It’s a cycle. Rinse and repeat. He tugs his shirt off and drops his pants, and doesn’t even try to act coy.
He knows where the lube is, and he knows that Fuma would beg if he asked. He wants to ask, but he feels too on edge tonight. He knows that Fuma would never deny Kei of what he wants, yet for some reason a voice is telling him that he might.
Kei reaches over to the bedside drawer and pulls out the half-used bottle of lube. It hasn’t been used since the last time Kei fucked Fuma. That’s the kind of thing Kei takes note of for reasons he can’t quite describe.
Fuma’s twitching, desperate to be touched. Kei has no self restraint to hold back tonight. He squirts far too much lube on his fingers and dives right in. Maybe he should be a little more gentle, but he knows that Fuma likes it rough. He likes being marked up and he loves feeling it not only in the moment, but after.
There are some things Kei doesn’t know, but he does know how to make Fuma feel good. It’s one of the things he’s proud of. He can unravel him with a single touch.
Kei shoves two fingers into Fuma’s hole. Immediately, he knew it was too fast. Fuma groans, throwing his head back in a harsh wince. He’s impossibly tight, and Kei almost forgets that it’s been two months since they’ve last found each other like this.
Kei offers Fuma a tender kiss as an apology, while he slowly jerks his fingers in and out of his entrance. Fuma reaches out for Kei, grabbing onto his shoulder. Kei deepens the kiss until they’re making out, sloppily sliding their mouths together.
Kissing Fuma always feels like heaven. He doesn’t think that’ll ever change. Everything about this feels so right, so perfect. It’s the only constant Kei knows.
“Kei,” Fuma moans against Kei’s lips.
“Fuma,” Kei returns, adding a third finger once Fuma relaxes.
Fuma’s always so pliant in his arms. He easily relents, in love with the speed that Kei sets. Kei always worries that he takes too much too fast, but Fuma’s just as needy and impatient. He wants it just as much, if not more.
Kei’s already wasted too much time. He’s wasted two months worth.
He uses the excess lube on his cock, stroking himself until he’s completely covered. He pushes Fuma’s thighs apart, digging his nails into the underside. Once he lines himself up with Fuma’s hole, he’s hit with just how familiar this all is.
Fuma’s underneath him, looking up with hope inside his eyes. Kei’s staring down with faux indifference, yet this time there is some sort of rawness in his eyes. He’s still sore from the hug, still awkward and regretful.
Kei tries to shove out all the guilt from his body as he pushes forward. His cockhead spreads Fuma apart, and he’s sinking in all at once. He lets out a long, airy moan, biting his bottom lip from the sensation.
It’s perfect. Fuma always feels so perfect, so right. This is right, and it’s never, ever felt wrong. In moments like this, Fuma feels perfect for him. He knows that he is and he always will be, no matter how much Kei tries to pretend like he isn’t.
“Baby,” Fuma exhales. “I missed this. Missed you.”
Kei begins to thrust once Fuma relaxes, chasing the feeling without hurting him. “I did, too.”
At moments like these, Kei allows himself to be honest. He allows the mask to fall and the facade to crack. Fuma deserves it, and Kei never has the strength to pretend. He rarely does as it is, but he likes to pretend to have more control over how he feels.
Kei’s drunk off the feeling. He’s been addicted to Fuma since the day he met him. He knew he needed to take up all the space inside his heart. Even now, it doesn’t feel like enough. He wants more, but he doesn’t know how much more he could possibly have.
Fuma would give him anything and everything. Kei just has to ask. He hopes he gains the courage one day.
It’s a passing thought, one mixed between all the lust burning up his neck. He’s sped up to a more comfortable pace, dragging his cock in and out of Fuma just how he likes it. It’s rough and sporadic, full of passion and unspoken words.
There is so much Kei yearns to say, but nothing comes out. He can’t really focus, turning all his attention on fucking Fuma like he’s in heat. He might as well be, far too pent up and needy. Fuma is, too, and that’s probably why he’s moaning like he’s a pornstar.
Or maybe it’s because Fuma knows that Kei loves hearing his voice. He loves hearing him give up control and hand it over to Kei—who demands far too much of it. There are far too many maybes, and Kei doesn’t particularly care. All he cares about is making Fuma feel good.
On the other hand, Fuma’s never shy from saying too much. He’s always so vocal, despite being quiet everywhere else. His entire world seems a little quieter than Kei’s, he can only imagine what the inside of his brain sounds like.
He knows that’s not fair, and Fuma is just as complex as he is. Yet, Fuma always appears so composed and confident on the outside. Kei really envies that.
He envies so much about Fuma. He falls apart underneath him so easily, unafraid from being left in pieces. He takes each thrust like he was made for it, and even if he weren’t, he’d take it just for Kei.
Kei loses track of thought, his mind focusing on the way Fuma clenches around him. He’s so tight that Kei doesn’t think he’ll be able to last much longer.
Right as he shoves his cock deeper, Fuma falls further apart.
“I love you,” Fuma moans out. He’s chanting it in the hopes that it’s a spell that’ll ring throughout Kei’s ears. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Kei almost freezes, heart skipping several beats and chasing the next as he slams his hips forward. Fuma won’t stop saying it, and Kei can’t handle it. Between each moan, he declares it again and again.
It’s not like they’ve never said it before. They’ve said they love each other millions of times in the past, in several different ways. Kei knows that he loves Fuma. He knows that Fuma loves him, and yet this time feels different.
Fuma’s desperate. He sounds afraid—no, terrified that Kei isn’t listening. He thinks that Kei doesn’t hear what he’s saying, and he just wants to be heard.
“I love you,” Fuma reaches up and cups Kei’s cheek. “I love you, baby. I love you.”
Kei’s eyes fly open and he glances over at Fuma’s hand. He pauses for a moment, before turning his gaze back down to Fuma’s face.
He’s smiling. His eyes are glossed over and his face is flushed, and his hair is sprawled out over the silk pillowcases. He looks beautiful, and yet he looks frantic. He just wants to be heard. He wants Kei to hear him. The thought keeps ringing through his head, and Kei’s heart snaps.
Before he can even realize what’s happening, he comes. He comes so fast and so hot, his body curls over Fuma and he grabs onto the bedsheets. His head falls against Fuma’s chest, and his vision goes blurry. It’s too intense, too overwhelming. He can’t feel his hands, and—
Kei starts to sob. He tries to hold himself up, but he loses all the strength in his arms. His face squishes against Fuma’s chest. The position hurts, and he should really pull out, but he can’t even think straight. He’s crying and it just won’t stop.
He’s wailing, if anything. He’s heaving while each sound that escapes from his lips sounds inhuman. He feels like he’s getting stabbed, but by nothing. By himself, maybe. Or by Fuma’s desperation.
Whatever it is, it’s too much.
Fuma’s hands never leave him. One stays planted firmly on his face, holding his head in his palms. The other snakes around his back. That familiar placement, the one at the base of his spine, causes Kei to cry even harder.
Fuma’s coddling him like he deserves it. He’s whispering sweet nothings into his ear and Kei feels like he’s going to explode. His head is pounding, and his chest hurts. All the while, Fuma tries to calm the storm.
“I’ve got you,” Fuma hums, “I love you, baby. I love you, forever. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I love you.”
Kei doesn’t get why he’s apologizing. He doesn’t get much of anything these days, and he’s never been able to fully understand Fuma. It’s one of the reasons why he’s always been so on edge in front of him. Fuma knows everything, while Kei knows nothing.
He finally gains the strength to wrap his arms around Fuma’s torso. He holds onto him like he’s a liferaft, and he might as well be. He feels filthy, overstimulated and wet. He can’t even imagine how Fuma feels, but he never once stops his breakdown to check.
Fuma wouldn’t complain, anyway. He just holds onto Kei and offers him love in the only way he knows how. Kei feels guilty, but he always feels guilty. This time, it’s so much worse. He took everything he wanted, and left Fuma with nothing. It’s ridiculous, and there are so many other things he should be freaking out about, but he’s stuck on one thing.
Fuma didn’t even come. He’s still underneath him, body hot. Kei’s starting to go soft, probably from how disgusting he feels. He couldn’t even get Fuma off if he tried. He wants to, so desperately, but he can’t stop crying.
Fuma wouldn’t even want it. He knows that he wouldn’t—not when Kei’s so emotional. Fuma’s not even hard anymore against his stomach, and Kei wonders if Fuma ever gets tired of being used so much. He must not be, not with the way he’s holding onto Kei. Not with how desperately he tells Kei he loves him.
Kei eventually gains enough brainpower to realize just how badly he’s ruined things. He goes to pull away, ready to prepare himself to apologize for leaving Fuma unsatisfied. Yet as he tries, Fuma doesn’t let him.
“Please,” Fuma whispers. “Stay.”
“I’m—” Kei says, and he hates how shaky his voice is. He coughs, and it’s so gross, yet Fuma doesn’t care.
“Stay inside,” Fuma awkwardly begs, seemingly embarrassed at the request. “Please.”
Kei’s far too exhausted and in no place to ask questions. Either way, he can barely move.
They stay locked in each other's embrace. Fuma tells Kei he loves him over and over, and Kei listens. He hears Fuma, and lets it sit deep within his heart. Only when they’re on the cusp of slumber does Kei finally remember to tell him he loves him, too.
Fuma might be asleep already, or maybe he just sits with it like Kei did.
Kei knows that he doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t need to be so outright with how he’s feeling because Fuma will always know either way. Fuma understands him on a deeper level than Kei will ever realize or be able to comprehend.
He resents it, and he loves it. He’s conflicted. He doesn’t even know what he feels, honestly.
For right now, he needs to rest. He’s had a terrible week, and he just wants to be held. Fuma’s holding him, and that’s enough. Fuma’s brushing his bangs away from his face while he’s rubbing soft, slow circles against his back.
It’s the warmest Kei’s felt in a while.
In the morning, Kei stays.
He doesn’t have a car, and it’s not like he’d ever steal Fuma’s.
It’s probably better this way. The universe decided his fate, and that fate is to stay another day with Fuma. In the myriad of misfortune orchestrating his life, Fuma is the one reprieve that remains. Constant and familiar.
And so Kei stays. He holds onto Fuma like he’d never leave him, and he prays that maybe this time he won’t.
Maybe this’ll be the last time—or rather, the first.