His Meaning (Enmu x Douma)

3. I don't care if it hurts

Douma did NOT like geography. He found it boring. But like the perfect student that he was, he had of course selected an advanced course in this subject, among others. And like everything, it was easy for him. So Douma tried his best, and of course, proved himself as the best student in the course, even though he wasn't even putting that much effort into the things he did.

The only good thing about the advanced geography course was that for some reason, Enmu was here too. It didn't seem like he was interested in the subject or anything though, since he almost never participated in class.

Douma had no clue why he was even here, but that didn't matter. The course gave him an opportunity to be in Enmu's presence for a longer amount of time, and Douma could watch him without having to fear that he'd run away again.

The only problem was that Douma was sitting in the front row, and Enmu in the last one. There were two rows between them, and Douma didn't have a reasonable excuse to stare at him. It was extremely frustrating.

But of course, Douma still found moments to shoot glances at his crush. Because yes, even he was aware enough to realize that he had a crush on Enmu. Douma wouldn't deny how gay he was for him. The butterflies in his stomach said everything.

And whenever he looked at Enmu, he was assured of that again. Douma saw him sitting alone in the back row, staring blankly at the paper in front of him, his beautiful, cyan gaze lowered. Enmu didn't look happy, he never did, honestly, but if Douma wasn't wrong, he looked even more upset than usual.

The way he hid his face behind his hair, the way his eyes looked a little damp and like he hadn't slept properly. It was beautiful, yet Douma felt a pang of concern for Enmu. What was it that had made him upset?

Douma let his eyes muster the other further, while occasionally shooting glances to the front of the class where the teacher was explaining something. Enmu was resting his face on his right hand, while his left hand…

Wait.

What was that!?

Douma could have sworn that he'd seen something reddish on the back of Enmu's left hand, but before he could have identified it, Enmu had hidden it under his sleeve.

Or maybe…

Douma was just seeing things…?

But no!

There it was again!

Something dark red, in the form of a line.

But what was it?

After two more glances, Douma could be sure what it was.

It was a cut.

Confusion clouded his mind. A cut? Had Enmu cut himself?

But how…

Douma felt himself grow even more concerned than before. Apparently, Enmu had hurt his hand. But how exactly? And why hadn't he treated the wound properly? And had it even been Enmu himself or someone else who had given him the wound? And lastly… had the cut been an accident, or… intentional?

All of these questions overwhelmed Douma completely. He wasn't used to the feeling of worry, and now all of these questions distracted him so much that he couldn't concentrate on the lesson at all. He didn't know what to do, so he just continued shooting glances at Enmu, who still stubbornly stared at his notes.

Then, it suddenly hit him.

Douma quickly ripped a piece of paper out of his college block as an idea crossed his mind. He took out a pen and then quickly scribbled something onto the piece of paper. He folded it, wrote 'to Enmu' on top of it and then handed it to the girl who was sitting behind him.