Disclaimer: All the bolded, italicized words in the fic are from Halsey's songs, Hold Me Down, Trouble, and Is There Somewhere. I highly suggest listening to them if you want to get the full vibe of the fic. I made a playlist here: playlist?list=PL74BfVVr1pYxn9Z6ZWBrgkPiFPFiBZDOj

For a while now Yamaguchi had known trusting this man was a mistake. It had eaten at his gut, rattling his conscience, and putting up red warning flags—but the resulting realization that he had nothing else eroded any desire to flee.

He no longer had other options.

"Why're you staring so hard? Want to have a quickie before you go on stage?"

Yamaguchi shook his head, "No, Ryouji." His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

I'm helpless, clinging to a little bit of spine.

"Oh, come on." Ryouji reached over and yanked the small blue notebook out of Yamaguchi's hands, dropping it on the floor. He gripped Yamaguchi's chin, hard, and turned it towards him, a smirk playing out on his face, "Stop teasing."

"I'm not," Yamaguchi mumbled while trying to pry Ryouji's hands off his face, "Stop it. My voice will get hoarse if we do anything."

Ryouji nibbled on Yamaguchi's ear and trailed his tongue around the two silver hoops, "I can muffle you…you'd look so good with your cheeks flushed in that spotlight."

"No." Yamaguchi repeated, this time with more force and a slight shove. "You promised never to get in the way of my singing."

Ryouji let go of Yamaguchi's face and ran a hand through his own short black hair with a strained sigh, "I know what I promised you…" He shot his hand forward, grabbed a handful of Yamaguchi's hair, and wrenched it towards himself. Yamaguchi fell off his chair and landed on his knees in front of Ryouji, eyes teary, knees throbbing, and lips quivering. Ryouji bent forward, mouth right against Yamaguchi's ear and voice taut, "Don't tell me what I already know. I hate it when you get an attitude with me."

He let go, his booming laugh filling the room as he caressed Yamaguchi's cheek with his pointer finger, "But you are right, singing comes first."

I sold my soul to a three-piece, and he told me I was holy. He's got me down on both knees, but it's the devil that's tryna hold me down.

Ryouji stood up, "I'll go check on your call time, " and left the room.

Yamaguchi finally took a breath, letting his body slack and slump further into the floor. He made it out of that unscathed. If he had made Ryouji angrier he would have had to go on stage with a bruised cheek. Yamaguchi picked up his notebook and set it on his lap, running his thumb on the edges of the leather cover. That always calmed him down a bit. Breathe. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counting up to five, and then let it out, slowly opening his eyes again. He'd be just fine. All he had to do was go out on that stage and sing like he always did. The stage was his reprieve; he could find peace there and vent all his feelings—he was okay as long as there was a stage waiting for him.

Yamaguchi slipped his hairband off his wrist and gathered half of his neck-length hair into a half-up-half-down hairstyle. He walked over to the full-length mirror on the closet of the changing room and examined his face. His exhaustion pooled in the small bags under his eyes and the hollows of his sunken face, which in turn made his freckles even more prominent. These stupid freckles—Ryouji had suggested that when Yamaguchi debuts, they should use stage makeup to make his face look more 'normal'. Nothing changed since he was a kid, everyone, including himself, hated these ugly dots. Yet, he didn't want to hide them. They were an integral part of him; every dot was a flaw he dreamed of someone unconditionally accepting some day. But that would never happen.

Ryouji opened the door, "You're on in five minutes. Drink some water, smile more, and don't fuck up." He walked up to Yamaguchi and patted his cheek, "Remember how important these promotional shows are. You signed a contract so your fuckup falls on my shoulders and we don't want that happening, okay?"

Yamaguchi lowered his eyes and nodded, "I know already."

"Good." Ryouji licked his lips, "Now, give me a kiss. It'll calm you down."

It won't, quite the opposite, really.

Yamaguchi leaned forward, shutting his eyes before he could get a close look at those unfamiliar grey irises—he couldn't remember what he loved about these eyes anymore. They were rigid, dark, and filled with a twisted version of that love Ryouji had professed a few years ago. These rough hands on his neck pulling him forward in impatience used to ghost over his skin, scared to leave even one bruise. These lips and tongue so eager to assault him used to taste like caramel candy and cigarettes, but now their taste was muddled by the taste of all the other lips they've landed on. Yamaguchi broke the kiss just as the feeling of repulsion started to churn his stomach, "If I don't go I'll miss my cue."

Ryouji smacked him on the ass, "Go get 'em."

Yamaguchi forced a grin as he walked away, rubbing his lips with the back of his hand when he was out of sight. Breathe. He pulled up his jeans and fussed with his white V-neck behind the stage right curtains. This was just a restaurant & bar with a nice mahogany stage and a maximum of twenty to thirty people. He'd done this countless times. He closed his eyes and remembered the performance two months ago where a drunk guy climbed onto the stage and tried to make out with him right there. Well, it was the gay district so it didn't take him by complete surprise, but he'd never seen Ryouji blow such a fuse. He stormed on stage and flung the guy onto the table near the front, breaking it. Yamaguchi shook his head, straightened up, and walked onto the stage when he was called; his keyboard and audience was waiting.

The lights on the small stage weren't blaring enough to blind him, the front row of tables still visible if he looked out, so he didn't. He reached the keyboard, tracing the silver edge closest to his body to calm his nerves, and adjusted the microphone to suit his height better.

"I'm Yamaguchi Tadashi. I am an up-and-coming singer. This song is called Trouble."

And he glanced into the audience out of courtesy, like he always did. But instead of glazing over the sea of drunken faces, his eyes landed on a head of yellow on the front row, off to the left. Even with the distance between them, Yamaguchi could almost feel those golden, glasses-framed eyes piercing him. The stranger swirled his pink drink with a bored expression on his face…and Yamaguchi wanted to change that.

Would you bleed for me? He started, eyes closed and voice thick with the jagged emotions Ryouji filled him with. Anger, pain, and regret lacing every intonation of his raw and resonant voice. His fingers glided on the piano in matched emotion—modulated, but wild, yet, low and pointed—and he opened his eyes to look at the blonde stranger. Yamaguchi met his eyes and held the gaze while his voice and lips flirted with the microphone.

I bet you kiss your knuckles right before they touch my cheek.

The stranger leaned forward on his table and set his glass down to give his full attention to Yamaguchi. He was listening. Now approaching the chorus, Yamaguchi let his fingers fall heavily on the keys and put full force behind his austere voice.

But I've got my mind made up this time. Cause there's a menace in my bed. Can you see his silhouette? Can you see his silhouette? Can you see his silhouette?

Yamaguchi lowered his gaze, afraid that the image of this stranger would change the tone of the song; there was a fire he hadn't felt for a long time forming in his gut. So, he thought of Ryouji to bring himself back to the moments when this song was written—back to the cut lips, sore wrists, and bruised face wet with tears. He thought of his own pitifulness, the suffocating loneliness, and that numb sensation that engulfed his heart whenever Ryouji embraced him. And he thought about leaving him, the vindictive tones highlighting every syllable in the lyrics. He emptied himself on this stage, a sense of relief overcoming him with every word that left his mouth. He unloaded his burdens and left them there so he could move again. Music breathed life into him, reinforcing his creaking bones and pulling him forward. Could he communicate this to his audience? Would they join him momentarily in this pain and soothe his worries? He whispered the last few words of he song with these thoughts in mind, his fingers dragging out the last note and gaze hazily lifting. His breath caught in his throat and heart clenched in his chest—the stranger was grinning.

Yamaguchi ripped his eyes away and bowed, ducking off stage in an unexplainable hurry. He needed to see Ryouji and anchor his wandering thoughts to the ground. After not having run into him backstage, which was predictable, Ryouji rarely watched his shows, Yamaguchi headed to the dressing room. But he wasn't there. Yamaguchi sighed and packed his bag; Ryouji was probably shacking up in some motel with the girl that guided them to the dressing room earlier today. Ryouji would be busy all night so Yamaguchi was free to do whatever he wanted. He'd get a drink (maybe that blonde guy was still around). He slung his bag on his shoulder and made his way to the main part of the bar. He scanned the room, spotting the blonde man at the bar counter, and wandered over. Be cool. He leaned on the counter and threw a nervous smile at the bartender who quickly came over to comment on how great his performance was. Yamaguchi thanked him, occasionally glancing at the blonde man a stool away, and ordered a ginger ale highball. What was he even doing? This guy didn't seem interested in anything, especially not a useless conversation with a stranger. Yamaguchi sat down with a heavy sigh and played with one of his earrings as he watched the bartender prepare the drink. Why was he so interested in this guy, well, aside from his being incredibly attractive? The bartender set Yamaguchi's drink in front of him and Yamaguchi brought it up to his lips, taking a sip while stealing another side-glance at the blonde guy. The man met his stare, swirling the pink concoction as he had earlier, a malicious glint in his eyes and lips curling into a small smirk. Yamaguchi coughed down the burning sip he had taken and quickly looked away, the hand holding up his glass slightly shaking.

"Your singing voice is ridiculously deceiving…"

Yamaguchi traced the rim of his glass, "Yeah, people often tell me I sound like a boy going through puberty when I'm not singing."

"I can see why they say that."

Yamaguchi lowered his head and bit his bottom lip, "What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Ah, I mean—

"Tsukishima." He took a sip of his drink and set it down, pushing his glasses up, "And although your normal voice sounds like a dying chicken…you have a wonderful singing voice."

Yamaguchi's eyes widened and he laughed through his nose, for the first time in a few months, maybe even a year, "Thank you, I guess."

Tsukishima ordered another strawberry soda and vodka cocktail. A sweet tooth, huh. Yamaguchi continued to sip his own drink, musing over the strange warmth in his chest and the persistent desire to know more about Tsukishima. He turned his torso and knees towards him, granted it was thanks to the alcohol calming his nerves a bit, and unreservedly stared at him. The man was tall, fit, and exuded a confident and nonchalant aura; his mysteriousness made people want to pry but the chilling indifference pushed everyone away. He also had long fingers and clean, short nails. Yamaguchi couldn't help but think how nice it'd be to have Tsukishima's hands running down his back and tugging at his clothes. Yamaguchi shook his head, his own thoughts embarrassing enough to bring a blush to his cheeks.

"How old are you?"

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, "You sure like asking stupid questions. I'm 27."

"So am I."

"I see."

Yamaguchi finished his drink in a gulp and nervously tapped the glass with his finger, fearing that Tsukishima was getting bored of him. "What do you do for work?"

"None of your business."

"Oh. Sorry…Um, I guess I should lea—

"You're not bothering me." Tsukishima muttered, "You just talk too much."

"Sor—

"And apologize too much."

Yamaguchi took a deep breath and exhaled as he hid his face in the curve of his arm. His face was burning up, probably as a result of the alcohol in combination with his current interaction, and his heartbeat was uneven. But he was feeling brave. Yamaguchi raised his gaze and looked up at Tsukishima through his eyelashes, lips slightly parted.

Tsukishima's eyes traced his lips, "Your face is annoying me."

"S-Sorry—

"That's not what I mean." Tsukishima clicked his tongue, "Your expression…you look like you want to ask me something else. Just spit it out."

My demons are begging me to open up my mouth. I need them, mechanically make the words come out.

Yamaguchi tucked some hair behind his ear and burrowed holes into the wooden counter, the question coming out as a tiny whisper, "Do you want to get out of here?"

Tsukishima cocked his head to the side, a sly grin playing out on his face, "Yeah."


At Yamaguchi's somewhat dubious request, they took the train and walked to a motel a few stations away. The pastel, two-floor motel was a block from the station, lighting up a dark, abandoned corner lined with fenced trees. They walked to the front counter and a chubby guy with chestnut hair greeted them, eyes lighting up by the rarity of a gay couple. Tsukishima took charge, figuring that Yamaguchi would be too nervous to even say one word, and asked for a room for the night. Yamaguchi quietly slid Tsukishima a few bills to cover half of the room cost. Tsukishima paid, snatched the room keys with a piercing glare at the over-excited cashier guy, and walked down the hall in search of room twenty-three. Yamaguchi toddled behind, biting his thumbnail, obviously sobering up, and eyes stuck to the floor. It was just a bit endearing how quickly he could shift from somewhat confident to a puddle of nerves. Tsukishima unlocked the door and looked behind him as he opened it, making sure Yamaguchi hadn't wandered somewhere else. They took off their shoes and walked in, Yamaguchi closing the door behind him and leaning on it while playing with the strap of his bag, pensive, worried, and face flushed.

White sheets, bright lights, crooked teeth, and the nightlife. You told me this this is right where it begins.

"You can back out of this, you know." Tsukishima stated, setting his bag down by the side of the bed. "It'd be annoying if you regret this tomorrow."

Yamaguchi shook his head, "No. I want to, it's just…" He took his bag off and walked over to the bed, dropping it near Tsukishima's, "I've never done something this crazy."

"Hm." Tsukishima sat on the edge of the bed, "Just stop overthinking it. You're being stupid."

"Yeah, that's true." Yamaguchi rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over to the bathroom, "I'll go take a shower, then."

Tsukishima's eyes followed Yamaguchi as he scampered to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. That guy was a mess and a half. So, what the hell was he doing in a motel room getting ready to have sex with this newborn fawn? Tsukishima lay back and stared at the crusty white ceiling, closing his eyes to reimagine Yamaguchi's singing voice. That's what made him so attracted to this stranger. His voice was raspy and ethereal, slipping into the ear and traveling straight down to the base of the chest, grabbing hold there, and resonating from within the listener. Tsukishima was quite proud of his varied taste in music, but he'd never been moved like he had been today. Mostly, it annoyed him, but it also piqued his interest. And he was rarely interested in anything, so he decided to go along with his gut feeling and find out what he really wanted to know: what did this guy sound like when moaning in bed? Not the most natural train of thought, he was quite aware of that, but it was the presiding thought in Tsukishima's head after Yamaguchi finished singing. It made it quite obvious that he'd been cooped up at home for way too long. Tsukishima took off his glasses and pinched his nose to try to focus his thoughts again. Hopefully Yamaguchi was good enough in bed to make all this hassle worth it.

The bathroom door creaked open, "All yours."

Yamaguchi awkwardly stood outside the bathroom, arms crossed at his bare chest, towel wrapped around his thin hips, and hair up in a messy bun. Tsukishima put on his glasses and stood up, pacing towards Yamaguchi while pointedly staring him up and down. He had a pretty fit body, though on the thinner side, and tiny freckles dusted every inch of his skin, clustering on his shoulder and back. Tsukishima couldn't help but think that it was unique, and strangely beautiful. He circled around Yamaguchi, tracing the trembling contours of his collarbone, shoulder, and shoulder blades with his index finger. Yamaguchi also had hickies and bruises speckled on his tan skin.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Tsukishima questioned, voice low and monotone.

Yamaguchi ducked his head, "Yeah…though I'm positive he's fucking some girl right now."

"What a shitty relationship."

"Exactly."

Tsukishima withdrew his hand and shrugged, walking into the bathroom, "I don't care either way."

When he came out of the shower, Yamaguchi was leaning on the backboard of the bed while sitting crossed-legged and staring holes into the closest wall. Although his ability to zone out at absolutely any moment, giving him a somewhat air-headed demeanor, was both irritating and cute, it wasn't helping the already lacking mood in the least. Tsukishima slammed the bathroom door behind him, startling Yamaguchi back to the present, and silently made his way to the bed after dimming the lights. He climbed on the nearest side of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking in the palpable tension, Yamaguchi's shaky breath becoming more audible the closer he inched, and he placed a gentle hand on Yamaguchi's cheek as he leaned in to kiss him. Yamaguchi's lips were quivering, just like the rest of him, and Tsukishima broke away with a sigh only moments after their lips touched.

"You're making me feel like I am forcing you to do this."

"You're not!" Yamaguchi furrowed his eyebrows, "I'm just excited and nervous. It's the first time I've been with someone other than my…boyfriend in a long time."

Tsukishima nodded and slid his hand down to Yamaguchi's neck, every millimeter drawn-out as he leaned in again, this time letting Yamaguchi's impatience ramp up enough that he was the one to close the distance between them. Yamaguchi's soft lips were still quivering, but they determinedly glided on Tsukishima's, settling into a calm as the kiss proceeded. Their mouths gently opened and closed against each other and Yamaguchi worked up enough courage to slide his hand to the back of Tsukishima's hair, just letting it sit there as the tension melted from their bodies. Tsukishima prodded his tongue into Yamaguchi's mouth and slid it against the rough, warm surface of Yamaguchi's tongue, slowly, carefully, savoring every flick Yamaguchi welcomed him with.

But your lips hang heavy underneath me.

Yamaguchi vigorously pressed his lips against Tsukishima's, his tongue tracing teeth and every corner of the blonde's mouth it could reach, his hand digging further into the mass of soft, golden hair, and his free hand playing with the loosening towel on Tsukishima's waist. Yamaguchi was a better kisser than his clumsy demeanor made him out to be, but still, there was room for improvement. Tsukishima feathered his other hand to the small of Yamaguchi's back and guided him closer, scooting himself back to lean on the backboard and hinting that Yamaguchi straddle him. Yamaguchi shifted a leg to the other side of Tsukishima's, towel falling off in the process, and bashfully kneeled right in front of him, hovering, unsure whether to sit on him right then. He was so damn awkward. But Tsukishima paid it no mind; those knees would be giving out soon anyway.

Tsukishima took off his foggy glasses, placed them on the nightstand, and moved the complimentary condoms and lube to arms-reach on the bed. Yamaguchi watched him, eyes half-lidded and glossy with lust, gaze a bit unsteady, and freckle-spotted cheeks a deep shade of crimson. The dimmed lights highlighted every blushing inch, ears, neck, shoulders, elbows, and even with his shitty vision, Tsukishima was sure he'd never seen a body so lovely. He placed a tender kiss on the thin collarbone, licking his way to the crook of Yamaguchi's neck and sucking harder with every shudder that escaped him. Yamaguchi let out blissful sighs, grasping at Tsukishima's shoulders and biceps, and letting himself sink, their bare skin now flush against each other. He whispered a small protest, reminding Tsukishima to not leave any marks. Albeit a tad bit disgruntled, Tsukishima understood the reality of what seemed to be an overly jealous boyfriend, and focused his attention elsewhere. He slicked a few fingers with lube and slowly circled the outer rim of Yamaguchi's entrance, teasingly pushing in the tip of his middle finger every so often. Yamaguchi curved his back and lewdly raised his ass to give Tsukishima more access, dick already smearing precome on Tsukishima's abs, and face buried in the crook of Tsukishima's neck. But he didn't so much as make a peep that resembled begging; instead, he mouthed at Tsukishima neck, biting and sucking, and dipped his fingers into Tsukishima's towel. This was certainly better than him being a dead fish.

Tsukishima rewarded his brave actions by thrusting in his middle finger and hooking it in search of Yamaguchi's prostate. He figured he found it when in one particular thrust Yamaguchi jerked forward and sunk his teeth deep enough to draw blood, murmuring an apology after Tsukishima cursed under his breath. Tsukishima pulled Yamaguchi off his throbbing neck, beyond bruised and red from all of the clumsy attention, and ducked down to suck on Yamaguchi's nipples, increasing the fingers that were thrusting into him by one. Yamauchi looped his arms around Tsukishima's neck to keep himself steady and met every thrust, tiny gasps and moans leaking out of his parted lips. Yamaguchi's moans were similar to his singing voice: breathy, thick, and absolutely enthralling. They were low, but they filled the air around them, echoed off the walls, and fed the impatience growing in Tsukishima. Everything was unbearably sticky and hot. Tsukishima pulled his fingers out, earning a dissatisfied whimper from Yamaguchi, and reached to the side for a condom. He started to roll it on but Yamaguchi slipped his hands in to hastily help him, and he grabbed the lube to slather on his dick after Yamauchi was done. Once done slicking himself up, he placed a hand on Yamaguchi's waist to help support him while he aligned himself over Tsukishima's dick. Yamaguchi closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip, yet the gasps slipped out as he lowered himself onto Tsukishima, paced, giving his body enough time to get used to his size and shape.

Tsukishima let out a low, muffled moan when he was fully in and pressed his fingers into the skin of Yamaguchi's waist, burying his other hand in Yamaguchi's messy, sweat-dampened hair. Yamaguchi ghosted his lips over Tsukishima's and placed a hand on his shoulder, lifting himself up a bit and then lowering himself with a throaty moan. Tsukishima could see Yamaguchi's expression clearly at this distance and he made sure to keep his eyes open, catching the hazy cloud over Yamaguchi's eyes, the lip biting, and the way his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure when Tsukishima thrust up into him. Their pace was leisurely but forceful, with Tsukishima almost slipping out completely and then slamming back in, consecutively hitting the spot that made Yamaguchi's legs tremble. But it wasn't enough. Yamaguchi clenched Tsukishima's dick, the word 'faster' hesitantly dripping from his lips, and reached down to give attention to the mess by Tsukishima's abs. Tsukishima stopped his hand, gripping the forearm with a steel grip, and licked up all of Yamaguchi's complaints in a sloppy kiss. He quickened his thrusts, the sound of flesh slapping flesh and Yamaguchi's strangled moans enshrouding them.

"T-Tsukishima..c-com—" Yamaguchi gasped, a sharp inhale cutting him off, and his body tensing as he came all over Tsukishima's lower stomach. Tsukishima climaxed shortly after with a husky grunt, fingers digging into Yamaguchi's skin, and he leaned back on the backboard to catch his breath, supporting a panting Yamaguchi with his face snuggled in the crook of his neck yet again. Tsukishima pulled out of Yamaguchi, another of Yamaguchi's sultry gasps filling the air shortly, and they stayed like that until their bodies settled.

Tsukishima cleared his throat, "I want to go shower again. Get off."

"Hm." Yamaguchi replied sleepily, shifting to the side to land on the bed. He turned on his side in fetal position, a few hair strands shadowing his eyes and that perpetual blush on his cheeks, "I'll shower tomorrow morning. Night."

Tsukishima slid off the bed and put on his glasses, taking one last glimpse at Yamaguchi's sleeping figure before heading into the bathroom. He was cute, really fucking cute. And it irritated Tsukishima to no end that he wouldn't have minded going for another round in the shower. He needed very cold water and sleep—his mind was clouded and musing stupid thoughts.

Not that he got much sleep. Since some freckled idiot liked waking up at an ungodly hour.

"Why…" Tsukishima peeked his head out of the covers, squinting up at the smiling guy standing over him, "…Why the fuck are you awake so early?"

Yamaguchi chuckled and slung his bag on his shoulder, "My boyfriend will start checking up on me soon."

"Okay."

"Yesterday was really…nice."

Tsukishima hid his face with the covers again, "Yeah, it was." It really wasn't out of embarrassment, there was barely a bone of that left in his body, it was only because the room was too freaking bright.

"If I give you my number, would you text me?" Yamaguchi mumbled.

"No." That was only a half-truth. But the whole angry boyfriend thing sounded like too much of a hassle.

"I figured." Yamaguchi scribbled down his number on the notepad on top of the nightstand, "I'll give it to you anyway." And after whispering a dejected 'goodbye', he closed the room door behind him.

Tsukishima just sighed and fell right back asleep.

If only things had ended there. All he had to do was stop himself from taking the notepad paper and stuffing it in his pocket as he walked out of the room. But he didn't. He also didn't throw it out in the closest trashcan; instead, he settled with calling himself an idiot and having stupid monologues about his lack of rationality.

He took the subway home, unconsciously patting his pocket ever so often to make sure the paper was still there. It was childish, irresolute, and uncharacteristic of him. Did he or did he not want to see that freckle-dotted idiot again.

He did. Granted, it took him a few restless days to realize that.

Tsukishima would sit in front of his desktop, eyes glued to his monitors, trying to get the numbers and code to comfortably nestle themselves in his brain like they always did, but it was futile. He couldn't even do his fucking job in this mental state. He was a hacker for the Japanese Public Security Intelligence Agency; his job consisted of snooping into business' suspicious activities and periodically trying to hack the government's defense to spot holes and strengthen cyber security. Logical, systematic, and well paying—no job could suit him better.

And his superiors specifically valued his extraordinary ability to focus for long periods of time…something he was having trouble doing thanks to the lucid image of blushing, freckled skin in a dim motel room, and a persistent craving to hear that raspy singing voice.

And I try to refrain, but you're stuck in my brain.

So, just a mere week since their steamy rendezvous and despite promising himself he wouldn't, Tsukishima unwillingly texted Yamaguchi.

Is there somewhere you can meet me?

They worked around Yamaguchi's schedule, making sure to only meet up when his boyfriend was off banging someone or in some shady place getting high.

"I already told you he's my manager, right? Well, he's also a runner for a small mafia family in the prefecture over." Yamaguchi mumbled, grinding his nail on the edge of the bar counter. "He deals marijuana to young people in bars and to private clubs."

"If he gets caught he'll get a lot of years in jail."

"I wish." Yamaguchi spat, "But…I wonder what I'd do with myself if that actually happened."

Tsukishima looked away, "Who knows, be less stupid about your romantic relationships?"

"Yeah…"Yamaguchi tucked a bit of hair behind his ear and snickered, "That seems to be a bit impossible for me."

That was the usual nature of their conversations at the bar: dreary, sarcastic, and usually about Yamaguchi's sad-excuse-for-a-human-being boyfriend. Tsukishima didn't mind the one-sidedness, though his disdain was growing with every mention of the boyfriend's name, and he preferred listening to Yamaguchi babble than answer all of his nosy questions. It was only for an hour or so, anyway. Their routine was to get a few drinks in, then walk over to the familiar pastel motel and have sex until they were completely spent. Pleasurable and mutually beneficial—a transaction where Tsukishima could release stress, get some human interaction, and calm his libido, and Yamaguchi could vent about his boyfriend, and enjoy gentle sex. It was a deal, and it was precisely because they were desperately trying to keep it unemotional that they never cuddled or talked about anything meaningful pertaining to both of them. That's all it was, or at least, all it should have been.

The emotional shift began on a Friday night, the second month into their ambiguous and truly unhealthy relationship. They skipped the bar and headed straight to the motel, but instead of having sex like was part of that unsaid promise, Tsukishima just silently held a bruised, sobbing Yamaguchi in his arms. He knew he was diving too deep, getting involved in a mess he wasn't ready to deal with, but he couldn't help himself. When it came to Yamaguchi, he forgot what being indifferent felt like. Tsukishima carded his fingers through Yamaguchi's silky hair and planted soft kisses on his forehead. Yamaguchi's crying quieted to tiny sniffles and he buried his face further into Tsukishima's chest, humming the song that had moved Tsukishima so many nights ago. Broken, breathy, and cynical, by now Tsukishima understood that the song was about Ryouji; it was an embodiment of all the agony he's caused Yamaguchi.

And even more than the first time, it made Tsukishima's heart clench painfully.

I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go.

They started to cuddle after having sex—purposely ignorant of the boundaries they were crossing. Tsukishima liked the feeling of Yamaguchi's soft breath on his bare chest and the way he slightly shuddered when Tsukishima ran his hand up his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. Yamaguchi would sigh blissfully and nuzzle closer, nose tickling the base of Tsukishima's neck. There were even times, especially if he was nursing new bruises, that Yamaguchi would sing in that position, voice reverberating in his chest and Tsukishima's palm feeling every contraction that it took to produce such a beautiful sound. That voice would ring in his ears for days, and Tsukishima was finding it harder and harder to distract himself from it.

"Tsukki."

Somewhere in the third month, Yamaguchi murmured that nickname with a devious smile. Tsukishima didn't hate it so he just looked off to the side, catching a glimpse of a satisfied grin in his peripheral vision. They were sitting on the bed, backs against the backboard, with Yamaguchi resting his head on Tsukishima's shoulder. He was writing something into a blue leather notebook, music most likely, and would hum to himself occasionally.

"New song?"

Yamaguchi nodded, his head rubbing against Tsukishima's shoulder, "It's about us."

"Oh." Tsukishima leaned his head back and closed his eyes; his face felt hot.

He was anxious. Every time Yamaguchi looked at him like he wanted to tell him something, eyebrows deeply furrowed and gnawing at his bottom lip, he'd look away, finger pads pressed against each other. Don't say it.

They spooned on the bed, Yamaguchi's back flush against Tsukishima's chest and their hands tangled by Yamaguchi's stomach. Their hands idly traced each other's contours and rough patches, as if they couldn't already draw every crevices of the other's hand with their mind, the surface well seared into their memories. Tsukishima usually hated to be around people, but Yamaguchi was different— he felt essential, and Tsukishima had grown to love moments like this even more than sex. He nestled closer to Yamaguchi's vanilla-scented hair and placed a chaste kiss on the back of his neck. There were too many nights that he had stared at this spot and connected all the freckles as if they were hidden stars, the moonlight as his guide. He knew this body so well he had favorite freckles and he made it a habit to secretly kiss each of them when they had sex, though he was positive Yamauchi had caught on by now.

I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight.

"Tsukki?"

He could pretend he was asleep and enjoy this night without feeling like he swallowed a rock. But that would only push Yamaguchi to mention it in the morning, when the room was bright enough for him to see Tsukishima's face.

"What?"

Yamaguchi tensed up and squeezed Tsukishima's hand, as if he wasn't expecting a response and had to scramble for courage he never had in the first place. "…I-If I told you that I wanted us to stop this, what would you say?"

"This kind of question is very typical of you."

"Why."

Tsukishima sighed, "Because you're putting me first. If I told you I wanted us to continue this, you'd do it. Even if you know that's the riskier option, right?"

"Yeah."

"And if I told you I wanted us to stop because it's getting bothersome, you'd stop seeing me."

"Y-Yeah." Yamaguchi muffled, voice a bit shaky, "So, which one would you say?"

Tsukishima tightened his embrace, "I'd lie."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"You should know the answer by now, idiot."

I didn't mean to fall in love tonight.


Two weeks had passed since he last saw Tsukishima. Ryouji had increased the promotional performances, going as far as to book them in other prefectures, so Yamaguchi had absolutely no way of getting out of his sight for more than a few minutes. It was suffocating. Yamaguchi had no idea how he put up with this before he met Tsukishima. Sure, he always had his music to console him, but that gentle, warm body with very dry humor made him feel like he was on cloud nine. But that exactly was the problem—he was becoming too dependent. How long until Tsukishima got sick of him and his shitty situation? And then there was the growing issue of Ryouji's mercy and prudence deteriorating exponentially by the day.

"Ryouji…"

Yamaguchi sat at the edge of the wooden desk and messed with his cuticles while staring holes into Ryouji's back. They were in the tiny, cluttered office adjoined to Ryouji's decently sized recording studio, where they often met up for Ryouji to scream at him, coerce him into having sex, or very occasionally talk about their plans for the future. But that last one was rare; Ryouji never told him anything.

"Ryouji."

"What?" He spat, turning his attention from the cabinet to Yamaguchi, "You're going to waste my name."

Yamaguchi looked down at his hands, "You haven't given me this month's stipend…I need to pay the bills and buy food."

Ryouji raised an eyebrow, "You know, about that. How about you just come live with me? I can take care of paying all your bills and food. It saves us more money that way."

"H-Huh?" Yamaguchi shook his head, "No, I'd rather not."

"Why not?" He placed a heavy hand on Yamaguchi's shoulder, "You know, you've been off for the last few weeks. There is this weird look in your eye."

Yamaguchi squeezed his bag strap, his eyes looking everywhere but at Ryouji's face, "I've been the same."

"No you haven't. Look at me."

Yamaguchi gulped, "I-

"Look at me!" He yelled, grabbing Yamaguchi by the back of his hair and forcing him to face him, "I'm not stupid, you know. You've been humming to yourself. What are you so happy about, huh?"

"N-Nothing, I promise, nothing."

"Listen well." Ryouji pulled Yamaguchi closer to the cabinet, patting the top shelf with his free hand, and he took out a document, "You remember this, right? It's your fucking contract. You are my property."

Yamaguchi yanked Ryouji's hand out of his hair and took a few steps back, "Please…stop being so rough."

"Oh?' Ryouji laughed, his voice tight, "You think you can order me around now." He rolled his shoulder, slowly, not once taking his steely eyes off of Yamaguchi, "You've grown a pair of balls recently, haven't you." And suddenly he stepped forward, swinging his hand to slap Yamaguchi so hard that it sent him tumbling to the floor.

"Pl—" Yamaguchi sputtered, holding his aching cheek with his hand, "Please, s-stop."

"You still have that look in your eye." Ryouji got on all fours over Yamaguchi, wrapping his arms around his neck and pushing him to lay flat on the floor, "A look of disgust."

Yamaguchi clawed at his hands, nails cutting skin and drawing blood, but they were only getting tighter. The man that was crouching over him was almost a stranger. His face was puffy and red, teeth snarling like some animal, and his eyes were unfocused.

"Ryo—"

Ryouji was crushing his windpipe. Yamaguchi tried hitting Ryouji's arms with his hands and slapping his face, but he wouldn't budge. His vision was starting to get hazy and he could feel the strength slowly leave his limbs. If he didn't do anything, Ryouji was going to kill him right here. He had to do something. Yamaguchi tensed his arm and jabbed his palm straight up, hitting Ryouji in the nose with the heel of his hand. Ryouji reeled back, cursing in anger, and in that moment Yamaguchi pulled his leg from underneath him and kicked him in the groin with all the strength he could muster. Then he got up, grabbed the contract from the table, and ran out of the office at full speed.

Every breath felt like fire but he kept running until he reached the closest train station. He jogged to the taxi parking and opened the door, sliding himself inside. He told the driver to drive away from the area for now and dialed Tsukishima's number.

"Yamaguchi?"

"Tsukki…" He sobbed, the adrenaline leaving his body and shock taking its place, "I-I need to see you. Please."

"Sure. Of course, I'll text you my address. But are you okay?"

Yamaguchi rubbed his eyes, "Y-Yeah, for now. I'll explain when I see you."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

The drive was around forty minutes and Yamaguchi sighed with relief when the cash that was left in his bag was just enough to cover the ride. He thanked the driver and closed the door, taking his time to climb the steps of the apartment complex. He was pathetic and had to yet again trouble Tsukishima with his problems. What if this time around Tsukishima said he had enough already? Yamaguchi mused his hair with a groan and dialed the numbers of Tsukishima's apartment into the intercom. Tsukishima wouldn't do that.

"Here."

Yamaguchi grabbed the cooling pack from Tsukishima's hand with a tiny smile, "Thanks."

"So…" Tsukishima sat in front of Yamaguchi on the bed, legs crossed, "What did the asshole do this time?"

"He strangled me." Yamaguchi muttered, tears brimming his eyes.

"What?" Tsukishima softly lifted Yamaguchi's chin up and clicked his tongue at the bruised, freckled neck. "Leave him."

Yamaguchi took Tsukishima's hand away from his chin and squeezed it, "I want to. I even stole the contract from him. But he also has a scan of it on the office computer."

"You stole the contract? Where is it?"

"In my bag."

Tsukishima brushed the hair away from Yamaguchi's eyes, "Perfect. We'll burn it later. Just leave the rest to me." He stood up from his bed and walked the few steps to his desktop, "This job is right up my alley."

"Huh? Up your alley?" Yamaguchi followed Tsukishima, looking over his shoulder at the monitors, "Your computer is so fancy."

"That's because I'm a hacker for the government."

Yamaguchi chuckled, "No way, you're kidding…right?"

"No."

"Okay…" Yamaguchi returned to the bed, laying down on his side while watching Tsukishima type away at his keyboard, "What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to send that asshole an email as if it was from you. When he clicks the link that's supposedly going to give him your current location, my virus will be installed. Once I am in, I can erase the contract scan and mess with him in any way I please."

"Wow. That's amazing Tsukki." Yamaguchi shuffled around, burying himself under the covers, "But…what am I going to do after that? He'll kill me next time he sees me."

"Don't worry about it. Just take a nap; you're distracting me."

"Hm." Yamaguchi closed his eyes and let the clacking of the keyboard lull him to sleep.

He woke up to the covers rustling and mattress creaking under Tsukishima's weight. The room was pitch black, but since Tsukishima never opened his window shades, it could be any time of the day. Yamaguchi made space for Tsukishima and cuddled close to him, face nuzzled in his warm chest, the soothing melody of Tsukishima's heartbeats syncing with his own.

"What time is it?" Yamaguchi whispered.

"3 A.M. But I was able to destroy the scan and any other records he had of yours. You're free."

Yamaguchi shifted up and placed a kiss on Tsukishima's lips; they tasted like coffee, "Thank you so much."

"Also, " Tsukishima opened his eyes, golden irises shinning brightly in the darkness, "I sent some emails and personal pictures as proof of Ryouji distributing marijuana to a friend of mine in the police department. He's probably getting arrested as of now."

"Seriously?" Yamaguchi pressed his forehead to Tsukishima's, "I mean, I'm happy that I'm free. But I'm officially unemployed."

"You're stupid." Tsukishima muttered sleepily, his lips forming a small smirk.

"Hey, I'm really worried here you meanie."

Tsukishima pulled Yamaguchi down to his chest again and placed a long kiss on his forehead; "I'll take care of you until you're back on your feet. For now, lets take a vacation to my uncle's place in Kyoto. I haven't taken a vacation in years and I have a ton of money saved up."

"You must be talking in your sleep." Yamaguchi gasped, as if that was the only explanation for Tsukishima's strange suggestion.

"…I'm going to kick you. You need to get out of this area for now. Do you have family you can stay with?"

Yamaguchi played with the hem of Tsukishima's shirt, "No. They disowned me a few years back."

"Well, you're stuck with me, then. I'll pull some connections and we'll head out tomorrow."

"What about the other logistics?" Yamaguchi chuckled, "My passport and clothes? They're at my apartment."

Tsukishima groaned, "I'll go get them after we've confirmed the asshole is in jail. Now shut up. I want to sleep."

"Okay." Yamaguchi sniffled, "Thank you, Tsukki."

Tsukishima sighed, "And now you're crying. Does your dense head finally understand how much I love you?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Tsukishima's skin smelled like home.

Finally, he found it.