Disclaimer: As we all know, Yami no Matsuei is property of Matsushita-sensei.
Warning: Implied m/m sex, kinda. Angst. Fragmented writing.
Wall
..
.
He is shaking.
Half-naked, embarrassed and scared, he is not looking at me. I am silent.
I've told him we can take it slowly, but he wants to do this. And yet, now, he is shaking.
I want to ask him if he is sure, but I've asked that over and again before this, and he's sure to take the next one as an insult. So I keep silent.
Clutching the sheets in a movement he thinks I cannot see, he lifts his head in a questioning manner: I haven't made a move for too long.
I smile disarmingly, and the fear seems to lessen in his eyes-- but not enough.
I'm not going to do this.
His eyes widen in disbelief, a betrayed look across his face. He must have read me.
He throws his head to the side, breaking the eye contact. His trembling gets more visible as his fists tighten on the crumpled sheets, but he's definitely not going to show those tears to me.
He is angry at his own weakness more than he's angry at my refusal. And it is worse because it means there's nothing I can do about it.
He breathes deeply, trying to compose himself. I want to touch him so badly-- to take him in a tight embrace and comfort him with the sweet nonsense I'm so good at-- but touch is not a good idea when I've just denied him intimacy.
Without looking at me, he gathers his clothes and leaves the bed hastily.
I don't have the heart to suggest a next try.
I, too, am scared. I have no confidence that I'll be able to heal his scar.
He has built a wall around the shards, but never rebuilt the ruins. When I break that wall down, won't I be taking him down with it?
.
..