Yay for longfic? This is another BBBH fill. There is some rather sexually explicit stuff in one particular part of this story (although I will be putting a warning up once it gets near), so please read at your own discretion! Let me know if you enjoy! It's nice to hear from people who agree that Namatame is a really interesting piece of the Persona 4 experience.

Repeating my 'THAR BE GAY PAST THIS HERE POINT' warning! Consider yourselves thoroughly prepared. Although I like to think there's a healthy bit of character study here too.


There's a saying that his Mom liked to use on occasion. 'Time heals all wounds'.

It was just one platitude among many that his parents would whip out whenever the ostracizing of his family became too much, but Yosuke had been thinking about it more and more lately. It was a comforting notion, that ones mistakes or hurts would shrink with each passing day until they were too small to matter. When he was younger, Yosuke would track these problems obsessively. Each day brought a new opportunity to check if, maybe, they were on the road to being forgotten. The habit persisted until, one day, Souji pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms to stop picking at old scabs.

And he did. For the most part.

There was just one wound he could never seem to ignore; a small seed of doubt he'd planted in not only the others, but himself as well. Something that most people only considered in the midst of a philosophy class or drinking game. 'Would you ever kill a man'?

Yosuke didn't even have to think twice. He was that person. The person who would cast aside humanity and compassion in favor of the instant gratification of taking another life. Souji tried for years to make him believe he wasn't like that. That, if he was, no amount of convincing would have made him stop. Yosuke wanted to believe him; tried desperately to believe him. But with every attempt, he kept coming back around to the same image.

Namatame, huddled in the corner, wholly consumed with fear. Fear of him. Because where Namatame had endangered lives through a genuine desire to help them, Yosuke merely wanted blood. He was the murderer, not Namatame.

And if Namatame deserved death, Yosuke didn't want to imagine what he deserved.

---

"Yosuke." Nothing. "Yosuke."

A lump in the blankets shifted slightly, followed by a lingering, whiny groan that sounded something like a basketball deflating. Souji tried a second time, taking the initiative to yank the comforter from the lump's firm, unyielding grip. It took several sharp tugs before it finally gave way to reveal a human being, although that was a generous title this early in the morning.

"Nngh," Yosuke groaned, feeling around for the blanket with his eyes stubbornly shut, but Souji had already pushed it far from his reach. With a dissatisfied puff of air, the brunette finally opened his eyes. Souji was hovering over him, already dressed, with a cup of coffee in hand. Apparently he'd already drunk his own cup, because in a matter of seconds Yosuke found the warm mug pressed into his own hands.

"I've got to go to work," Souji explained, gesturing towards the blinking digital clock mere inches from Yosuke's sleep-tousled head, "And so do you."

"Mmf, why?" Yosuke mumbled, his words slurring together as he sniffed deeply from the cup. The aroma was enough to coax some alertness out of him, albeit not much. With one hand he reached up blindly and gripped Souji's lapel, which the other man reacted to with only a sigh as he tried to extradite his jacket from Yosuke's death grip.

"So we can get paid, so we aren't late on our rent, so I won't have to flirt with the landlady to keep us from being evicted…again." Yosuke finally allowed Souji to pry his fingers away, letting his hand fall dramatically back to the mattress with a huff.

"Fine, fine," he relented, sitting up and taking a sip of the strong brew, "Don't let the kids strong-arm you, teach."

"I'll try to come home in one piece," Souji smirked, leaning down without fuss to press a kiss against Yosuke's mouth just as the rim of the mug left his lips. The kiss was short and routine, but the brunette was smiling all the same when Souji pulled away. The latter merely wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Ugh, brush your teeth," he muttered after wiping his lips. Yosuke would've probably taken offense if it wasn't so early, but as it was he only managed a single roll of the eyes.

"Love you too. Now get out of here."

Souji smiled again, touching Yosuke's cheek briefly before gathering up a few papers he'd been grading and heading for the door. But not before turning back around and calling back a stern reminder not to be late. Yosuke grunted in reply, and began the long and arduous process that was his morning routine.

A shower, four pieces of toast (the first two burned and somehow found their way into the cat's bowl), and about ten outfit changes later, Yosuke finally emerged from the small apartment he and Souji shared. Being a bike messenger at 27 meant you were often on the receiving end of rather confused looks, most frequently his parents', but Yosuke wouldn't change careers for the world. There was always somewhere new to go, someone new to meet, something new to deliver. Sure, all the boxes looked the same, but Yosuke wasn't above at least imagining what might be inside. Not to mention, riding a bike for a living? Yosuke was living every little boy's dream.

Unfortunately, with that dream came an unsavory supervisor who smelled perpetually of tuna. Okamoto was overwhelmingly fat, with rings of blubber hanging from his neck and arms, and towers of paperwork surrounding him at all times. Yosuke would occasionally wonder just how he got into a business that conjured up fit young men and women delivering packages through hell or high water, but he learned a long time ago that you didn't ask Okamoto questions.

"You're late, Hanamura," he barked, the moment Yosuke poked his head in the door. With a sheepish smile, the brunette didn't bother to explain the whys or hows of his lateness (the whys and hows being, he wanted to get a doughnut and the line had been a mile long), merely moving towards his locker and retrieving his uniform. Another thing you didn't do was try and explain yourself to Okamoto. Ever.

"Got a big job for you," his boss continued, shuffling through a tall stack of papers, "A legal aid office needs some files delivered." Yosuke was buttoning up his shirt when the bomb hit. "You need to give them to some guy named…uhm," there was a pause as Okamoto shuffled through papers, "Taro Namatame."

Yosuke didn't even notice as the hanger he was holding slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

"What's with you, Hanamura?" Okamoto groused, his loud asthmatic breathing echoing in the cramped office as Yosuke remained perfectly still, "Pull it together; I've gotten enough complaints about your work ethic to justify firing you if there are any more screw ups."

Yosuke reached down and shakily picked up the hanger, putting it back in his locker. He knew Okamoto was lying; there had only been two complaints filed against him in the five years he'd worked there, one of which was for damaging a parcel that was dented up before he received it and the other for when he never showed up due to being hit by a car. Still, he nodded and took the work assignment without a word, scanning it just to see if it was true. And, indeed, there was the name. Taro Namatame. It took Yosuke three gulps to completely swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

"They're expecting it by 10:30, so you better hustle," Okamoto wheezed, shooing him away with a wave of his sausage-like fingers. Yosuke nodded, still silent, as he raked a hand through his hair and continued to stare at the name. He didn't manage to look away until he was back on his bike, parcel in hand, kicking off the pavement and into the flow of traffic.


This story is indeed finished, but I figure its more exciting to upload a chapter a day. Not to mention, it's so nice to hear feedback! I hope to hear from a few of you. Maybe. Possibly. If you feel like it. 3