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It was nighttime.
Otogiri was lying on the floor, eyes closed, beer on his hand.
The place was messy, it was very messy. There were wrappers all around him, and a bunch of empty cans were cornered on one side of the room. The walls were dirty, a bunch of unopened mail was sitting on the table, and the whole place just reeked of tobacco. It was not a comfortable or warm apartment, not at all. It was the complete opposite, so uninviting it seemed impossible for anyone to ever call it home.
But well, Otogiri did.
Not that he actually meant it, of course. Having a home was a concept he wasn’t really familiar with. But this was the place he paid to stay at, and it was the closest thing he had to one, so it was just fair to call it that. He could think of a lot of things that could make it homelier, like maybe a warm toned clean wallpaper, or a soft rug under his feet. Or maybe, a sweet and loving family. Or maybe, just a sweet and loving person, who could send him off to work and greet him when he got home.
A person who would take care of him when he got home drunk, helping him rinse off and taking him to bed. A person who would cook meals for both of them and eat them with him while they talk about their day. A person who would listen to his worries and pains and offer support with them. A person he would be able to rely on. A person who loved him and that he loved back. A lover.
As his mind wandered on and on about that perfect person, Otogiri started imagining him, and all the ways he would improve his life. He would be caring, but also willing to reprimand him when he acted too spoiled. He would be shy, but quick to open himself up with the people he felt like he could trust. He would be clumsy, but always make up for himself and fix his mistakes. He would be scary looking and seem unfriendly to others, but actually be very sweet and kind when you got to know him. He would…
When Otogiri noticed who he was describing, he sighed. He was thinking about that boy again. He was thinking about his student again. He was fantasising about a relationship with Nakamura again. He had tried stopping, he had tried so many things to stop it, but he was doing it again. It was wrong, and very gross, but he just couldn't stop. Because he was broken. Because he was already so broken, even if he tried to fix himself as well as he could.
But Otogiri had one thing that he knew would be able to fix him. He had one thing that he knew would be able to purify him from all of these disgusting thoughts, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. Otogiri knew that Nakamura’s warm touch would help. Otogiri knew that Nakamura letting him cry in his arms would be the best thing to happen to him. But he also knew that was wrong, disgusting, and just downright immoral. He knew he wasn’t supposed to crave the touch of a teenage boy, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to want to touch that boy so bad that it hurt not only his heart, but his overall mental stability too.
Otogiri knew he wasn’t supposed to think this way about a fifteen year old, about one of his students. And he knew that all the poor children in his care deserved a better teacher, one that didn’t look at one of their classmates with such lustful and disgusting eyes. A teacher who was actually apt to be one, a teacher who’s a competent person that can clean their own apartment instead of just lying on their own filth.
And Otogiri was just oh so filthy. Alcoholizing himself to oblivion to try and escape his problems. Never cleaning, never taking care of the business he was supposed to take care of, and always pretending to be the coolest most perfect professor in front of his poor unsuspecting students who just believed every word he said without hesitation. Because he’s handsome. Because he’s a kind teacher. Because he’s funny and he cares about them unlike the other ones who just care about them finishing their homework instead of their actual feelings.
And while yes, he did care about what was going on in the lives of the kids he teaches to, it wasn’t because he was kind or noble or felt any actual sympathy for them. It was because his life was so pathetically empty and boring and lonely, that the only way for him to know how normal people are supposed to be is through teenagers whose biggest problem is to get enough money at their part time jobs so they can buy their loved ones a present by the end of the month.
Otogiri never had those problems. He was too busy beating people up and letting them beat him too to care about his family, who got tired of him always ruining everyone’s day and decided to exclude him. His problems at that age consisted of him facing the consequences of his own foolish and downright stupid actions, and blaming them on other people to try and avoid the imminent punishment that awaited him.
His punishment didn’t come in the form of his family’s hate or any of the wounds that he was left with after every fight. His punishment came in the form of love. His punishment was loving a boy who hated him, and hated him with a reason. His punishment was thinking he deserved love after all the different ways he had tried to make everyone’s lives a living hell just because he wanted to make them be like his own.
And now, that feeling was back, in a different but just as painful form. Now he yearned to lay in the thighs of this kid he was supposed to teach maths to. Now he yearned to kiss his lips and hold his hand while they walked around, carrying bags full of groceries and laughing together as they went to the same place at the same time, together. Otogiri yearned for Nakamura’s affection, and for his touch. He yearned for warmness and comfortableness and for everything he couldn’t have. For everything he shouldn’t have.
The man opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then, he shifted his gaze to his left hand, the one he was holding the beer can with. He let it go, barely noticing his own movements with the way the alcohol blurred everything around him, and with the limited light coming from the window. He turned the sides of his lips upwards, to form an expression that, while barely similar to a smiling one, was definitely not. It wasn’t genuine, it was actually a very painful sight to witness.
He shifted his head, to watch the ceiling again. In the shadows, he could barely make out any shapes, but the moldish stains he had procrastinated cleaning for months now were still very clearly visible. And they had gotten real bad, like really really bad. Otogiri told himself he would have to clean them up the next morning, but he knew he wasn’t going to. He knew he was going to forget again, like all the other times he had ever told himself to do something for his own good.
Or maybe forgetting isn’t the right word. Maybe it was on purpose, because he didn’t want to take care of himself, because he knew didn’t deserve it. Because he was gross and twisted and disgusting and filthy and a downright monster. Because he didn’t deserve anything good even if he wanted it so bad it made him cry and scream. He just didn’t.
He was a predator. Otogiri knew he was a predator. He knew that one day he was going to see Nakamura in class and stop being able to hold back his most animalistic, carnal desires. He knew he was going to do terrible things to this boy who he wanted to see smiling. To this boy who he loved, if you can call these unnatural, vulgar feelings that. They were awfully similar, after all. Even if they were fundamentally different.
But knowing it wasn’t love didn’t it make it hurt any less. It didn’t make any of this easier to handle, and it certainly didn’t calm Otogiri down at all.
He closed his eyes again.
And inhaled some of the room’s putrid air.
Exhaled it.
And he started to cry. Very fucking loudly.
The sounds of his despair resonated within the walls of the small, overpriced apartment. It was the only sound audible in the room, and probably the only sound being produced in the whole building. The sobs of this twenty-five year old man, crying and suffering for the stupid attachment he had developed for the fifteen year old boy he was assigned to be the homeroom teacher of. Pathetic, really. That he would let aside his pride as a man to cry over something so stupid, so dumb and pointless. That he was a grown man, with a job and many responsibilities, agonizing so much over his unrequited love for a teenager.
Outside the secluded walls of his home, he was seen as such a respectable man with a college degree, a teaching job, and a lot of admirers. What would the people that love him so much think if they saw him like this? Lying on the floor of an untidy, messy apartment, drunkenly weeping and sobbing and moaning over one of his underaged students? He would lose everything he had worked so hard for. And, even if he probably deserved losing everything, even if he totally deserved getting his life ruined again, he still didn’t want to. Because he was selfish and dumb and everything everyone said about him when he was younger was true.
In that moment, all he wanted was someone to comfort him. He wanted someone to be with him at his lowest.
He wanted Nakamura with him right now.
As he hiccuped repeatedly, and as he sobbed and moaned, with a frantic breath, he started to imagine.
He started to imagine the different ways Nakamura would try and cheer him up. He imagined how the boy would hold him in his arms and tell him everything would be okay. He imagined the child gently kissing him and telling him he loved him. Telling him just how loved he was.
He cried even louder. He let out a long, painful sound. He put both his hands on his face. And he let out moan after moan while imagining all the different ways he could be happy.
They all involved Nakamura.
Otogiri was sweaty, his hair was sticking to his forehead. And his hands were wet and sticky with a mixture of snot and tears. His head hurt from all the thinking. His back hurt from laying on the hard floor. His eyes hurt from rubbing them so much. His heart hurt from beating so fast. And his throat hurt from all the painful sounds he had been making. A miserable sight to witness, really. Pitiful, ugly, and revolting. Unlovable.
His breath started to calm down, it was not as quick and frenetic as when he had first started to cry, but his eyes were still swollen and wet, and he was still hiccuping a lot. His head was going around in circles, his eyes just wouldn’t focus no matter how hard he tried, and he felt so awfully sleepy that he felt he was about to pass out. His eyelids were heavy, and trying to concentrate his sight on anything hurt, so he just closed his eyes and started trying to stabilize his breath.
All the air absolutely reeked, so it was painful to inhale. But he did it anyway, because he was used to it, and he needed to actually breathe.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
He found himself calm again. Or, at least, the closest to calm he was able to be.
Otogiri turned his body around, to lie on his side instead of his back, and made himself comfortable. He was so sleepy he felt as if he was about to just faint, so it was out of the question trying to get up and drag himself to bed. He was just too goddamn tired to do anything, and he knew tomorrow everything would hurt no matter what he did, so suck it. He was sleeping on the floor tonight.
And, as his conscience started fading away, his mind was still loud, even if not as much as before. It was loud, with thoughts about a certain teenage boy. A certain fifteen year old kid, smiling and shining just as radiant as the sun.
And, as Otogiri slept, the can of the beer he drank stood as evidence of how he had done it again. When tomorrow came, that can would be placed with the rest of them in the corner. And then, another one would. They would be there as the proof of the vulgarity of the man that lived there, and of just how many times he would try to forget it himself, just to fail again and again. Just to fall onto the same cycle.
Just one week later, Otogiri would do the same thing as today.
And, just like this time, Nakamura wouldn’t be there to keep him company at all.