motherfucker=redeemer

Articles wouldn't do. Bots wouldn't do. I needed advice. Right now.

I looked up online group chats and tapped the first thing I found. My timer was the bath; once it filled, I'd go back to the living room. I would. Na—Youji would most likely be there, still, waiting. HELP, I typed. 

It appeared to be that they were talking about feet. Best not to scroll up. They ignored me, so I deployed the heavy artillery: HELP ME PLEASE THERE'S SOMEONE IMPORTANT TO ME AT THE LIVING ROOM AND HE SAID 'COME HERE' AND THAT HE WAS SINGLE BUT I FLED BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO HELP WHAT DO I TELL HIM

About three messages later, someone replied: just fuck

Then somebody else: What are you even doing here? I'd be so pissed off if I was in his shoes. 

Me too.

A third person: what do YOU want to do?

My hands shook a lot, so i dropped my phone. Thankfully, it didn't get wet. Or break. It was hard to type. I want to

Half-full.

I just don't want him to leave

The person who'd said they'd get angry if they were in Youji's place said: Then why are you here and not with him?

The first person's opinion on the matter was: fuck and tell us how it went 

It was obvious, even by someone who relied on bots and strangers for advice, that they held a degree of closeness to each other, that which allowed for inner jokes and friendly jabs, and which I'd long since forgotten. Okay, I replied. I will.

I would.

Go.

Talk.

I would. It was obvious, even as someone with so little positive experiences on the matter, that I tired and frustrated him constantly, and that at this rate, he'd leave not because it 'you're a great guy, but...' or because 'there are better people out there for you', but because I pushed him away, even when I wanted anything but. I had to go and talk. I had to apologize. I had to...

...and if he'd left already?

He hadn't. Without checking to see how full the tub was, I closed the faucet, I left the bathroom, and he was there. Youji had brought the crazy girl's manga with him against all common sense. He read it until he saw me, wherein he smiled. Of course he did. Of course. "Ready?" He asked. 

I nodded. 

On my way to the couch, I tossed my phone on top of the coffee table. What was a socially acceptable distance to—oh, whatever. I sat next to him. 

Too bad that heroic determination paled against the way the mind was a plaything of the body: I literally could not speak after that. 

"...you really don't have to push yourself."

That was Youji. 

"Could I...?"

Could he what?

Talk. 

Please.

"Isao..."

I knew that tone. 'You're a nice guy, but...'

"Please answer this honestly: do I scare you? You just... always act that way around me. Literally. Is it something I did?"

Please talk please talk please don't betray me you stupid vocal chords he's gonna leave and it'll all be your fault and I'll rip you guys out and turn you into omurice. 

"I can't tell if you like or hate me, to be honest."

"Ah—" Throat.exe stopped working. "I. Nn."

"It's okay if you do, by the way. That's fine. It's just that the way you act sometimes is so confusing, and... I don't know what to do anymore. If you tell me what I'm doing wrong, I can stop. If you want me to stop talking to y—"

So I rammed myself against him, intentionally this time. To be specific, my head. The one above. Thinking of it this way made it easier to do. He didn't topple over or anything, because of course he didn't, but to say this startled him would be an understatement. I did that a lot, too—scaring, not getting scared, or... well, both things. I wished I was a plant. I shouldn't have done this. But then what? Die? I wished I was a plant.

I didn't realize I hugged him as tightly as I did until he shifted a bit, nor that I'd begun to shake my head. Right. I didn't move away, though, mostly because I couldn't. Move. Or speak. Or breathe. Leave it to me to make hugs weird. I liked them a lot, but I didn't get them often, for obvious reasons. That might have been why I let him do it the day we met. Human warmth was nice. I missed it. I wished I could hug while sober without making it awkward and weird.

The worst part about all of this was that N—Youji didn't hug back. He was like a doll. I couldn't even know if I'd crushed him to death because I heard my heart and breathing above everything else, but probably not, because I wasn't that strong. Sometimes I struggled to open bottles. That could be a metaphor for something. I wished he'd hug back. Or talk. Or cry. Anything. "Sorry," I managed.

"Uh. For...?"

"For. F-for. I. Ex..." Great. I couldn't talk again. Just say something, come on. Stupid. Moron. Imebecile. Just be normal. For once. "Existing?" NOT THAT. "For. Um. For." 'I'm sorry for existing' seemed about right at the moment. I'd be easier to talk if I could get enough oxygen to my brain. Hopefully he wouldn't notice that my hands shook, clammy and cold as though I'd just run a marathon under a snowfall without gloves.

"It's fine."

NO IT WASN'T SHUT THE—wait, no, it wasn't his fault. Okay. 

Okay. 

Deep breaths.

This was as good time as any to ask if he hated me, but even if he did, he'd lie. It's just that the thought of me holding him like this while he secretly hated it ate away at my psyche like a prion disease, so maybe... talk? Yeah? I could talk? And ask? If he hated me? "Do you. Um. Do. Do you."

"I don't hate you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Why not?"

"Why yes? Hey, can I hug you back?"

"Yesplease."

He did. This was a terrible thing to do to somebody who couldn't breathe, but I didn't give a shit at the moment. I closed my eyes. He didn't feel as tense anymore. Natsume Youji was very nice. Maybe that's why he didn't hate me. Probably. I tended to think about that a lot. I tended to think about him a lot, but since it was only in my thoughts and no one would find out unless they had telepathy, it was okay. To think. To exist. It was okay. 

I didn't realize I'd been gripping on his clothes until I loosened the vicegrip. Well, that was embarrassing. If nothing else. I wished I could look at his face without having to show mine. He was cute. Like a knife. Like a cute knife. With blood but also a strawberry-scented bow at the handle.

I could breathe again. 

"Uh. Youji."

"Uh. Isao."

He liked mimicking me a lot, but that was okay. "I don't hate you."

"I don't hate you, either."

"I know."

"Good."

I agreed. Okay. Time to speak. Courage and stuff. "I don't hate you. Sorry, I already said that. But. Just don't, um. Just don't take it personally maybe. Wait, that sounds bad. I didn't mean it like that, just. I'm like that with everyone."

"Really?"

I nodded.

"With your family?"

"Well... no, but they're my family, so it doesn't count."

"Your friends?"

"I don't have any." 

"Oh, come on. That's impossible."

"Fuck off," I told him before I could think again. 

That shut Youji up for some time. GREAT. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I-I know."

"So... no one? From school? College? Neighbors? Anything?"

"No one. It's not really that surprising. You're just lucky you can think that way. Don't offer to be my friend or I'll kill us both."

Somehow, this didn't deter him. Moreover, I felt him rub my back, slowly. Condescending as it could be, I didn't tell him to stop, because I kind of needed it at the moment. I couldn't remember anyone ever doing that to me before. It was nice. "Do you get along with your family, at least?" He asked.

I nodded. "How about you?"

"Yeah. They just live far away so I can't visit them often. I miss them sometimes."

"Me too. To both things."

"Isao."

"Natsume Y—sorry. I forgot. Yes?"

"...nothing. Never mind."

"What? What is it?"

"Not the best time to ask."

"You already did. Start what you finished. Wait."

That made him snort. It hadn't been on purpose, but it reduced my body weight in half anyway. "Fine, just... don't take this the wrong way."

As easily as that, my body weight doubled. Great. Here it came, the 'You're a good guy, but...'. Just when I thought I could be happy for longer than three minutes at a time. "Sure. I won't."

"Back when you made up the Tanaka... guy...? And you started describing him, you, uh. I'm just not sure if it was intentional. Probably not. Ugh. Whatever. Point is, you started talking in second person instead. Why?"

"...huh."

"'You're this, you're that' kind of thing."

"No, I know that. But. What. No?" I squinted. I remembered describing Tanaka, but not Youji. Okay, fine, I'd ended up describing Youji, but that's because I couldn't come up with anything for Tanaka and he was right there. I didn't remember talking about him, though. Explicitly. 

...wait. Could that...?

...so that's why he'd been so nervous? Because he thought I'd indirectly confessed to him.

"O-okay."

So he'd been so nice and patient in order to properly reject me now, and this had all been a trap, but it's not like I had admitted to anything. I'd never said anything. I'd told him I didn't like men. I'd never said anything. I didn't even know him. That's probably what he thought, too, that he didn't even know me, and that he had three hundred boyfriends at the same time anyway. Besides, it's not like...

"Okay."

Fine.

"I think I like you."