scars4
Scars - 4

The first girl had come to him before he had even hit puberty. Well, that was somewhat untrue. The first that had been serious had been when he was thirteen. His voice had not even started down the creaky staircase to manhood.

She had approached him outside of his last class, pressing a note into his hands, trembling. He had been puzzled. "What is this?"

"Just… read it," she had whispered to him hesitantly. Her eyes had widened with fear as he started to open it. "No!"

He looked up at her, confused. "You said to read it."

"When… after I leave… please…" It was her tone that stayed him, her frightened, pleading tone.

He had shrugged, pocketed the note, and gone on his way.

It wasn't the last note. Nor was it the last girl.

Nor was it the last box of chocolates, the last hand-made scarf, or the last tear-stained cheek.

He regarded Valentine's Day with a dread akin to seeing long-lost relatives – typically long-lost for a reason. Chocolate was good; certainly he didn't mind that. It was the gaggle of girls that waited outside the dorm and pounced on him as soon as he exited that he found distasteful. What had he ever done to them to warrant such abuse?

Of course he knew he was handsome. Every chance he got he used it to his advantage. But Ryukuto had been a kind of equalizer. No one was smitten by his beauty. No one was swayed by his sweet words. He felt, for the first time in his life, like he belonged someplace, like he was normal.

He hated their helpless feminine desperation, that pitiful longing that just desired, and did nothing to achieve this desire. Perhaps if one of them had bothered to get to know him, he might have relented. Perhaps if just one had seen past his golden veneer. Perhaps… but he would never know. He hated the shallowness.

A relationship had never been important to him. Maybe when he was in university it would seem important, but he simply did not have time to go off gallivanting with some girl that only saw a pretty face. Romance was not something to take lightly. Casual flings held no interest. He wanted an actual relationship, not a falsified mockery of love.

And now his best friend had just confessed love to him.

It was funny. Shinobu's head was bowed slightly, looking at his hands, in all likelihood tracing the line of his scars with his dark eyes. Was he too ashamed to look up?

But Shinobu was waiting for him to speak. He needed an answer, any answer.

But was there one?

~

Shinobu's breath had decided to lodge in his throat and was refusing to budge. His hands lay in his lap limply, like forsaken dolls. Mitsuru had been silent too long, though it had barely been a minute. This was his cue. This was the moment Mitsuru would abandon him.

Inwardly he clawed desperately to take back his words, begging time to renounce him just this once. Outwardly, his face was a complete mask, not even his eyes betraying him, just watching his hands dying on his lap.

Mitsuru cleared his throat, obviously feeling awkward. "Shinobu…"

"Don't worry about it."

Another awkward pause. Mitsuru was fumbling frantically for something to say. "Look, Shinobu-"

Flashing green eyes cut him off. "It doesn't matter."

That again. The blond was getting frustrated. "It does matter!" Why wouldn't Shinobu understand? Why wouldn't he even give him any time to think through this?

Ice. "I'm sorry I said anything, Mitsuru. I was wrong."

Mitsuru blinked. He was sorry? Why? Everything was too sudden. Shinobu loved him. So that left him… where? "No, I…"

Shinobu gave him a wan smile. "Breakfast will be over soon. You'd better hurry."

"You won't come?" Was that dismay edging into Mitsuru's voice?

"I'm not hungry."

Ah. Shinobu was giving him time to think then. Or else he was ending this conversation forever.

Mitsuru stood warily. "You'll be all right till I come back?"

Silly question. Of course he would be fine. He was always fine. If one couldn't feel, how could one be anything but fine? "Yes." Abrupt.

The blond's face flickered momentarily, but he then turned, stepping toward the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. He glanced back, as if he wanted to speak, but then opened the door, stepped out, and shut it. Yes. He would think. Breakfast would clear his mind and he would get some cold juice to clear his head. It was hot. Or was that his face?

Inside the room, Shinobu was gazing blankly at the wall, just for a moment, until he melted into tears.

~

Somehow, despite the heat, Mitsuru's rice had managed to get cold. He idly poked it with his chopsticks, noting that it was still sticky. One grain clung to a stick and he gazed at it balefully.

Shinobu loved him? Granted, the boy did not show much emotion, but he would have thought he could have picked that out. Was he really that oblivious?

But Shinobu was a boy. Why would he be looking for that in another boy?

But it wasn't offensive. No… the more he thought about it, the more flattered he felt. Shinobu was the boy everyone worshipped, the strong one, the smart one, Shinobu the infallible. Yet he would risk giving his heart to Mitsuru? It gave him a heady feeling.

But the problem that had presented itself was not one of his ego. It was the continuation of Shinobu's ego that he had to worry about. His roommate was on edge – even he could see that. The simple discovery of the scars had sent him healing back possibly years. Mitsuru shivered in the warm room. The humidity made the heat almost tangible and his shirt was sticking to him. What was he going to do about his best friend?

Where did friendship cross the line to love? Were they different? What differentiated them? He stabbed his chopsticks into the bowl viciously and plopped a sticky ball of rice into his mouth. Shinobu was crazy. Why on earth had he fallen in love with someone as stupid as Mitsuru? Frustrated, he took a swig of cold tea. That boy wasn't only suicidal – he was also insane.

The issue came down to one thing only – did Mitsuru love his roommate back?

That would certainly make things easier, he mused, and definitely liven up his night life. But he didn't want to risk either his or Shinobu's feelings unless he was sure of how he felt. That would be too unfair to both of them.

Yes. He would certainly have to think on this more. But first, he would have to tell Shinobu his concerns.

He stood, catching his tray in his hands and heading off to dispose of it. He would have to be honest, but that would be fine. Shinobu had placed so much trust in him by telling him. He wouldn't forget that easily.

His path led him back to their room.