"You are the girl of my dreams. I know this love ain't real, but make-believe is good enough for me…"


"I love you."

The words hung in the air between you for the longest time. You could only stare at him, unable to speak. Your heart was beating eccentrically. You felt something in your throat. A ball of wax. So thick, you could barely swallow. Barely breathe.

He had written those same words in the note from history class. When you'd seen them in longhand, you'd gotten a jolt. But it hadn't meant that he really loved you; he had only been a friend telling you how much you meant to him.

Or had it?

You realized that the whole friend aspect of the note had been your conclusion. You had wanted to believe that he had no interest in pursuing a romance with you. You wanted to believe that so badly because the pain of knowing he loved you was much worse than no love at all.

"Yama-kun…" It fell from your lips before you even had time to stop yourself. His eyes swung your way. They were like snowstorms—clear and pale and full of depth. You could easily lose yourself in them.

You looked away so he couldn't read your expression, and that was when you caught it.

The thick, cloying scent of something that had become poison to you.

You swung around to face him, horror in both your expression and your voice. "You're drunk."

"(Y/n)—"

"You're drunk," you repeated, and your initial horror blossomed into anger. Your anger spiraled upward into full-out fury. The beer was heavy on his breath. You didn't know how you could've missed it.

Yamamoto started to say something, but you cut him off before he could even attempt to explain.

"You promised you'd stay away from the alcohol!" you cried. "You promised me, Yama-kun! I can't believe you! You know how much I hate alcohol!" Your voice broke as a sob forced its way out from your mouth as a harsh gasp. "After all the things he's done to me, you still…"

He was silent for a moment, watching you with those probing ambers. Then he reached out and touched your shoulder. "I didn't mean to get drunk," he said, and for a moment, he could've passed as sober. "But I only drank for your benefit—"

You yanked backward from his touch, like he'd come fresh from the oven. "No! That's ridiculous! You don't drink for someone else's benefit, and certainly not mine!" Your emotions were a mess now, and you didn't know what to feel. You felt everything. And you felt nothing but a deep, wallowing despair.

And a rage was exploding in your heart, burning your limbs.

Then you realized something else. "You say you love me, yet you're drunk," you murmured, suddenly unable to speak anymore. "Are your words just a lie? Are they something you won't even remember when you wake up tomorrow morning?"

About a million colors passed over his face. He began by sighing, and that turned into a laugh. His brow furrowed for a second, and then his eyes seemed to cloud, like he might cry. But his voice was steady when he said, "No. I wasn't lying when I said that. I mean it, (y/n). I love you and I always have."

You didn't doubt his words. There was too much truth, too much dripping honesty, and it hurt. But the anger was easier to hold on to—and you were pissed.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cold and direct. "I don't love you, Yama-kun."

Because he was Yamamoto, you expected a quiet and peaceful reaction.

But when he smiled, you felt a clench of fear in your stomach. The dim light being cast from inside the house made his smile look wicked, like it had been cut into his face with a knife. His smile wasn't friendly; it was a smile that smelled trouble. With a promise.

"You're lying," he said lowly.

"I'm not," you responded quickly.

"I may be drunk right now, but that doesn't mean I can't tell apart fact from fiction." He was looking at you dead on, delightfully shameless, and his words brought yet another cold realization. You'd seen what beer could do to a person. It brought out the worse in them.

Like your father, would Yamamoto fall prey to its embrace?

He stepped closer to you. You backed up against the door, suddenly afraid. You knew of Yamamoto's strength, and the thought of what he could do to you scared you more than your father's intoxication ever had.

His hand shot forward.

You flinched hard, eyes clenching shut in terror.

But he didn't hit you. Instead, Yamamoto ran his finger down your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips. His touch was so light, you could barely feel it. It took the bones out of your legs.

You kept your eyes closed and didn't move as his fingertips brushed the line of your jaw, sending delightful shivers throughout your body. You realized your head had fallen back.

"You're so tense," he murmured, and you heard the sadness in his voice. "I would never hurt you, (y/n)."

He had you completely cornered against the door. There was nowhere for you to run. You couldn't move, and even if you wanted to, you found that you wouldn't have. As Yamamoto brushed his thumb gently over the corner of your lips, you fought hard to stay silent. You felt the touch everywhere: from your fingertips to your throat to the heat in between your legs.

You didn't want this—if he kept touching you like that, touching you like you were something made from glass, you would go insane. Your anger was gone, replaced by desire. And it was the craziest thing, but your fingers itched to run themselves through his hair, to stroke the plane of his back and to dig into his back—

And then he leaned forward. His mouth slid against yours. You'd meant to gasp, to cry out, but your lips opened, soft and yielding. Your teeth clinked with his and you tasted every dark thought he'd ever had.

Electricity coursed your veins instead of blood. You jerked backward, breaking the kiss.

"Stop," you gasped. "Yama-kun—"

"I love you," he said again, and the words rolled from his lips like a promise, desire thick upon layer after layer.

His hands slid down your neck, searing hot. He grasped your shoulder with one hand, and, using the other, he gently tipped your head back. His lips came against you so hard that he stopped whatever you'd been about to say from coming out. Ever so slowly, his hands dropped down, skimming your arms, and they came to rest at the small of your back. Little shivers of pleasure shot through you.

Gone was your resistance. Gone was your anger. You couldn't think of anything beyond the way he kissed you, softly but firmly. He held you carefully, and you loved that. You knew you shouldn't have been responding, but you couldn't help yourself as you answered to the demand of his teeth and tongue with your own.

Yamamoto pulled away that time. You opened your eyes to look at him. His expression made you want to cry, laugh, run, dance, and moan, all at the same time.

"Yama-kun," you began.

He cut you off again. "Can I come inside?" he asked, with a hint of a crooked grin. "It's freezing out here."

You wanted to kiss him again. The desire rushed through your body, leaving you breathless. Oh, you badly wanted to kiss him, to feel his skin against yours, to open up entirely to him—

"Yes," you whispered, and even as you spoke the words, you knew you'd regret them. "Come inside."