YOU, ME, US [ okkotsu yuuta x reader ]

15: EAT THE OBSESSION, MUTILATE THE LOVE

It's dark.

Whenever sight surrenders, all the other senses become greedy. The cicadas grow louder than before, the remnants of citrus stinging your nose with the familiarity of junior high, of daylight and rooftops and sunsets.

Beep. Beep. The heart monitor sings a finite tune. You wonder when Ieri-sensei is going to turn it off, because you've been nothing but stable these past couple days.

The only time there's a discrepancy in the rhythm is when Panda comes in and does some stupid shit. Or when Maki cracks her knuckles; although she's told you she finds no pleasure in whooping an injured person's ass, chills always trickle down your spine.

After all, you're not just any injured person. You're a beautiful injured person.

"[Name]-san, can I come in?" someone calls from outside your room. Beep. Beep! The heart monitor responds in your stead, and you wait for the spasming line to ease over before answering.

"Yeah."

The door swings open, and Okkotsu Yuta emerges from the darkness. He leans over the lamp at the doorway, adjusting its light to barely above a flicker, the warm tone illuminating his face and springing him to life.

He's different. His trembling pupils have become stable, his figure noticeably more toned than before. Yuta looks unlike himself; he stands a little straighter, a little taller, and his countenance—which was once shrouded in uncertainty and fear—has now been replaced with a steady, gentle smile.

Truthfully, you can hardly recognize him now. Yuta's different, too different. Because you left him as a timid, meek boy who had just started living, a boy who's been plagued by fear and regret and despair. You left him when he was just beginning to heal, when stars began to form in his dark irises.

Now, there are more than just stars in his eyes—there are galaxies. When you look at Yuta, you can see the cosmos, the creation and end of the universe. You can see everything and nothing all at once because his eyes are like a vacuum, greedily taking everything in.

"[Name]-san." You look away.

"[Name]," you correct. "That's what—"

"They called you in Italy, right?" he finishes, smiling bashfully. "Sorry, [Name]."

I hope you're sorry for interrupting me, you think.

His voice slips into a whisper whenever he utters your name. Yuta has always been like that—he's always said your name as if it were something sacred. As if the syllables were more than sounds, as if they could produce vibrations and music when your name has never been anything more than what it is: a couple of used characters, a temporary identity.

"[Name]-sa..." Yuta trails off, shrinking away from the glare you give him. "[Name]. Would you, uh, would you like an orange?"

The boy stands awkwardly at the doorway, waiting for you to invite him in. His weight shifts from side to side, his gaze fixed on you and attempting to run whenever you notice. But Yuta has always been clumsy, evident in the way his pupils linger for a second too long, enough for you to catch him in the act.

"What if I said no?" you reply, staring at the orange in his hand. He hides the fruit behind his back.

"O-Oh, then I'll go. Sorry to bother you, [Name]!"

"I was just kidding." Your stomach growls. "Orange."

His face lights up, making the lamp pale in comparison to his fantastic radiance. Yuta approaches you hesitantly, finding solace in the chair at your bedside, gaze cast downwards to peel the orange steadily. A saccharine scent fills the air, somehow becoming even more pungent than before.