Just A Little Bit Shy

Things Forgotten, Which Want Remembered - 13

I hurt him anyway.

Y/n was deeply disturbed by this revelation; by Ahane's absent smile and withdrawn expression. He was exponentially stunned — thrown off balance once more, left with no ground beneath his feet — to hear, from Ahane's own mouth, that Y/n had hurt him, through leaving.

Were there no right answers? Nothing Y/n could do to...? I just don't want to hurt him. It should be simple.

It feels hopeless.

Ahane's warm breath was puffing against his neck, those arms wrapped firmly around him again. Y/n was perpetually unprepared for Ahane's more tactile nature. It wasn't as if the (h/c) boy hadn't seen it many times for himself, Ahane freely touching his friends or his passing interests, Y/n just didn't expect for that to translate so effortlessly unto him.

To Ahane embracing him for a second time; to a nose brushing fleetingly along Y/n's throat — a shiver ran down Y/n's spine, tingling and overwhelming at the same time. Y/n's hand reflexively grabbed at the nearest thing to ground him, and wounded up with a fistful of Ahane's blazer, his arm around the other boy's waist. A throaty noise left Ahane, vibrating against Y/n's skin.

The second he did — the second Y/n realized what he was doing, Y/n immediately released his grip. He felt off kilter as the fabric of Ahane's blazer slid free from his fingers once more.

What was that? What am I doing? he thought, horrified with himself. He shouldn't — he shouldn't touch Ahane like that. No matter how much Y/n's body resonated with the impulse to clutch at Ahane, to sink his fingers right into that soft fabric (into bone) and hold him tighter — to not let him run off — who should care if Y/n left them, after all? All that matters is Ahane doesn't leave him. Not in any lasting way. Not in the way everyone else calls Y/n a freak — better to be distant, so Ahane can't see his freakishness. Better to be detached so Y/n doesn't get so angry when... (if I let myself get out control, there's no telling what I might do — what I might do again).

Can't — won't touch him; won't get that close. Can't get that... Y/n's hand still hovered over Ahane's back. The (h/c) boy was torn. The voice in his head was cruel:

As if he'd ever want to be yours.

A helpless breed of anger surged through Y/n's chest, but he clenched his jaw and forced his hands to retreat, at his sides, where they would do the least amount of harm. It's true, after all. Ahane likes other people; Ahane likes everyone. Ahane — Y/n bit the inside of his own cheek so he wouldn't do something he'd regret. Even if Ahane demands I stay close, that I be his friend, it doesn't mean he's mine — or that he desires to be. Y/n had to remember that. Forgetting that the last time had caused... problems.

Unexpectedly, just as that rumination passed, Ahane's arms moved. Y/n exhaled steadily, anticipating the end of their hug — but. Ahane's arms didn't loosen, they readjusted; they tightened — or was it Y/n's imagination? Was it Y/n's mind running wild when Ahane's next inhale seemed a little too long; a little too deep, and the other boy's chest rose, pressing firmly against his own? Or was it real? Real in the way Ahane's nose glanced over the slope of his neck again and something volcanic licked down Y/n's spine? A tiny flinch reverberating across his skin, over-aware and over-sensitized. And the (h/c) boy's next breath was shaky. The volatile thoughts melted into a mess of incoherency. Ahane remained a firm warmth around him.

"I'm sorry," Ahane was too close. His words humid and tickling over Y/n's skin. Y/n's fingers slowly clenched and unclenched. "I invited you in and then..." Ahane's head slowly rose, his lips releasing a self-deprecating laugh, "freaked out on you. I'm not being a very good host, am I?"