Just A Little Bit Shy

Self-Control - 14 (Part 1)

Fuck.

Haru had retreated into the hallway bathroom only a minute ago. He was leaned over the sink, the heels of his palms supporting himself, fingers curled around the counter's edge. The sink was running, depositing cool water into the ceramic basin below.

I am terrible, Haru decided, looking himself in the eye; the mirror above the sink had a few smudges on it, blurring the distinct line of his nose. I am neither good at setting boundaries nor maintaining them — what is wrong with me? Y/n is supposed to be a friend. I said it to myself that he's...

...A very attractive friend, Haru's line of thought took on a resigned tone. A very attractive friend who is currently in my bed — who I nearly mauled on that bed —

Oh god. Just remembering that had a flush spreading over Haru's cheeks. A hand rose to cover his mouth. When he squeezed his eyes shut, all Haru could see was Y/n. The sound of Y/n's soft laughter when Haru, embarrassed, entreated him not to tease him, and the overwhelming sense of relief that followed. Haru couldn't even remember when Y/n last smiled, never mind laughed. Even if it was barely existent; even if it was just because Haru laughed first — I don't care, I just want him to laugh more.

And then, naturally, Haru couldn't even manage to act like the (h/c) boy's friend for five minutes after that. He had blatantly, shamelessly flirted. He still remembered the heat radiating off Y/n's cheek when Haru told him, so very straightforwardly, that he absolutely adored the quiet types. The quiet, shy types, who weren't so hopelessly socially inept as to not react to Haru's indirect confession. Y/n's response had told Haru that much, if not more. On some level, Y/n definitely understood Haru was... acting affectionately towards him. Him, alone.

Of course, Haru's next actions were to nearly pin Y/n to his mattress and — in the moment, Haru hadn't thought further — hadn't been thinking at all, really. But now? In the privacy of the hallway bathroom?

Is it easier than I think it is?

The hand dropped from covering Haru's face. His stare, intense, settled on himself first, before flicking over to the locked door. Thankfully, the only sound present was of the water rushing through the pipes in the wall, out from the faucet in the sink, and emptying through the polished drain. Haru couldn't handle any auditory reminders that Y/n was right there; that they were alone, and Y/n was sitting cross-legged on his bed. The same bed that Haru had touched himself in, night after night, absorbed in fantasies featuring the (h/c) boy.

Would it have been easy? Haru wondered, dangerously. Would it have been easy to lower himself, to plant his own mouth on that heated, flushed skin? To feel that burn and salt against his tongue? Would Y/n even fight him?

Or, would Y/n release another pretty noise from his throat, trying so hard not to writhe and give himself away? Fuck, I can't think about this...

Yet, all Haru could focus on was how long he had hesitated. Even when he had found himself a second away from pinning Y/n to his bed, Haru had hesitated to let him go. Even when Y/n's eyes were large and round, Haru's own eyes were caught on the few strands of that (h/c) hair trapped in his grip, glinting between the flesh of his fingers. One move — Haru's hand reaching over to sink into all that soft hair, fingers tightening until Y/n had no choice but stay still as —

Haru more than thought of it; more than fantasized —

My self-control is a joke, he realized, suddenly shutting off the sink. The water flow cut at once, the final wave vanishing down the drain in loud liquid gasps. The point that Sara had been trying to nail into his thick head had finally hit home. Haru sighed, glanced at himself in the mirror. The flush had mostly disappeared from his skin...