Drunk

Damn it. 

My eyes were fixated on Hoshizora, drawn to her with an undeniable, fervent desire. Within me, a spark of something primal ignited—a raw instinct, an unyielding surge of arousal.

She lay on my pristine white bed, vulnerable and utterly captivating. The light, intoxicating scent of her perfume mingled with the natural, irresistible fragrance of her body, filling the air between us. Her porcelain skin, smooth and faintly flushed with a delicate, healthy glow, seemed almost ethereal.

Her youthful face was both innocent and enticing, framed by soft, rosy cheeks that carried a subtle hint of maturity. 

Her small lips—red, full, and inviting—looked as though they belonged in a dream, like the sweetest strawberries, ripe for the taking.

And her body—sensual, perfectly proportioned, with curves so flawless they felt unreal—was nothing short of mesmerizing.

It made me "hard."

I know. I know how vile it is to let my mind wander like this, to dissect every inch of Yuki's allure in such graphic detail. I know how disgusting it makes me.

There's no justification, no excuse for the thoughts swirling in my head. Yet here I am, unable to stop them.

Why? Why do I feel this way?

Maybe it's because I've spent so long suffocating under the weight of suppressed desires ever since I met her. 

Or perhaps it's the relentless grind of my workload, pushing my stress and sanity to their breaking points. Maybe I've been tainted by the dark energy I unknowingly absolved. Or perhaps… it's just the beer.

But no matter how I try to rationalize it, one thought claws its way to the surface: maybe it's because I like Yuki Hoshizora. Not in some tender, romantic way, but with a raw, physical longing that burns through me like wildfire.

Love? I don't know. This doesn't feel like love.

I'm drunk—undeniably drunk. Yet, in a twisted irony, I've never been more clear-headed in my life. And in this unsettling clarity, one thought consumes me entirely: "Take her. Devour her."

No.

Desperation overwhelmed me. I pressed my rough hands over my eyes, trying to block out the sight of her. But the effort was futile. 

Her image—seductive, irresistible—burned brighter in my mind's eye, haunting me. In my fractured imagination, I saw myself doing the unthinkable, overpowering her in a violent act of violation.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, gritting my teeth hard enough to draw pain. 

My body trembled, each shudder releasing waves of dark energy that pulsed uncontrollably through the room. My pupils narrowed into sharp slits, more animal than human, and my breath came in ragged gasps.

At that moment, I was no longer a man. I had become a beast—feral, savage, consumed by the chaos within.

I hate myself. I hate this desire that coils around my mind like a serpent. I can't let it consume me—I must suppress it, kill this burning lust before it destroys everything.

Perhaps it was the oppressive aura of dark energy radiating from me, or maybe the tension in the air, but she stirred. Her soft, sleepy voice broke through the haze, and those beautiful blue eyes—calm and full of gentle concern—locked onto mine.

"…Shinji?"

Her voice felt like a lifeline and a dagger at the same time.

Thank goodness she's awake. Please, just leave quickly. Don't linger here. My thoughts begged silently as I instinctively stepped back, needing space, needing to breathe.

"Yuki, can you go back to your room to sleep?" I asked, my voice taut with restraint. I forced a strained, awkward smile, summoning every ounce of willpower I had to make my tone seem calm, even normal.

She blinked, her gaze soft but unreadable as she looked at me, then at the clock on the wall. After a moment, she placed a finger on her lips and tilted her head, an innocent expression crossing her face.

"Um, can I sleep here with you tonight?"

The words hit me like a punch.

"No."

It wasn't enough. My voice faltered. I clenched my fists, trying to crush the impulse rising within me. "Get back to your room!" I snapped, louder and sharper than I intended.

Why? Why does she test me like this? Doesn't she see the storm raging inside me? I don't want to keep fighting against myself anymore. I can't.

But I wasn't truly angry at her. How could I be? My frustration, my rage—it was all directed inward.

Yuki flinched slightly but didn't argue. Her wide eyes betrayed a mixture of surprise and hurt, and the sight made my chest tighten with guilt. I hated myself even more for making her feel that way.

"I'm sorry," I whispered under my breath.

But whether she heard me or not, I didn't know.

***

***

***

Shinji, why do you always push yourself so hard? What is it for? Who are you trying to prove something to? I really don't understand.

Why do you have to keep everything at arm's length, always acting distant? Why can't you see the care and concern others have for you? It's so clear to me, yet you refuse to acknowledge it.

Day after day, I watched him. I watched that man, tirelessly trying, from morning until late at night. He pushed himself in everything he did—waking up early to prepare, forcing himself to exercise.

At school, he was always buried in work and study, his face a constant mask of exhaustion. There was no time for him to rest, not even during lunch. He'd spend that time buried in tasks. And after school? He worked part-time, continuing the cycle that seemed endless.

Now, I finally understand his mother's message... I understand what she meant when she spoke of him and of the burdens he silently carries.

I know that she saw him for what he was—someone who self-imposed a responsibility that wasn't his.

He's stubborn. His walls are high, and his heart is tightly shut. 

I used to think, "How can I change him?" I thought there had to be a way to get through to him, to ease his pain. But now I realize I don't have the power to change him. I'm not strong enough to break through his defenses to shift his mindset.

So, I decided that, instead of trying to change him, I'd help carry some of the weight he's always shouldered. Let's consider it my way of repaying him for all the care he's shown me.

I can't change him, but maybe... I can help make things a little easier for him. I'll help him with his burdens and give him a break from his stress, even if only for a little while. 

Maybe, just maybe, that's enough.

"..."

That night, when he came home, he looked even more exhausted than usual. His clothes were disheveled, his face pale, and even his golden amber eyes, usually so bright and sharp, appeared dull. 

The usual warmth in his gaze was replaced with something distant, almost frightening in its emptiness. 

His steps were heavy, dragging with the weight of fatigue, and his posture slumped—no longer the usual elegant, composed Shinji I knew.

But perhaps this wasn't something rare. Maybe it was just that I had never seen him like this before.

When he noticed us, his brows furrowed slightly, and he forced a weak smile. He tried to respond, but the smile never quite reached his eyes.

And in those eyes, I saw it clearly—worry, strain, something buried deep. It was as though the smile he gave us was nothing but a mask, a fleeting attempt to pretend things weren't as bad as they seemed.

Please… don't make that face.

Seeing him like this—so tired, so worn—made my heart ache in ways I hadn't expected. When did I start feeling like this for him? I know it's love now, but when did it begin? When did I fall in love with Shinji?

But does it even matter when it started? You don't need a reason to love someone. Thinking about it, the timeline doesn't matter.

What matters now is that I have someone I can hold onto. Someone who, despite everything, can protect me, even when the world feels overwhelming.

At dinner, I watched him eat, his hunger insatiable, devouring more than I could manage. But there was no joy in his movements. No spark in his eyes. He ate because he had to, not because he enjoyed it. 

Perhaps it was because I cooked badly—how embarrassing. My mom and I had worked hard on the meal, but it clearly didn't leave the impression we hoped for.

I need to do better. I want to do better for him.

That's right. There are cookbooks in his room. Maybe I can take a quick look at them? It couldn't hurt.

And to this day, I still don't know Shinji's favorite dish. It's something I've wondered about for so long. 

I want to know, but asking him directly feels wrong—too forward. Right? But surely, if I paid attention to his habits, he'd appreciate it. He's not one to ask for help, but maybe he'd feel cared for if someone simply noticed.

With this thought, I snuck into his room. His door wasn't locked—not that it really mattered, I suppose. After all, no one ever enters, and he doesn't seem to mind if someone does.

But then again, maybe he does mind. Maybe he finds it all annoying, people poking around in his space. 

He's always so stern, so guarded. His face often carries an air of arrogance, as if he's hiding everything inside. Honestly, sometimes, I can't even begin to guess what he's thinking.

It should be fine, right? I hope?

"Why? I don't understand. Isn't it better to be stricter with yourself, to have higher obligations?"

I overheard their conversation from outside the door. Shinji's usual warm, composed voice was now unusually loud, filled with sharp frustration and a raw edge that I hadn't heard from him before. 

His words echoed in my mind, revealing a side of him I hadn't fully grasped.

But that was the last thing I heard before an uncomfortable silence took over the room. It seemed the conversation hadn't gone well. Mom had failed to change Shinji's stubborn mindset. 

Her attempts to push him had only led to a growing wall between them, one she couldn't break through.

…Maybe Mom crossed the line.

Shaking my head, I tried to push the worry aside and returned my attention to the book in my hands. The "Basic Cooking Guide." It seemed like such a simple title, but the content was more complex than I'd expected. 

It discussed things like the boiling point of oil, the science behind frying, and the chemical reactions that occur when you mix ingredients together.

So, cooking is actually a form of science? That's fascinating.

I continued reading, absorbed by the idea of cooking as an intricate process, something that required more than just following instructions.

It required understanding, precision, and care. As I learned, I felt a spark of excitement in my chest. Maybe I could improve, could actually make something worthy of Shinji's attention.

A while later, I heard the soft "click" of the door opening.

Shinji entered, his steps sluggish, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. He was holding a few cans of beer in one hand, his posture telling a story of weariness and defeat. 

The beer seemed to be the last comfort he was clinging to, an escape from the frustration and exhaustion that clung to him like a shadow.

So, it's the beer he's drinking? I had thought the beer in the fridge was meant for Uncle Masanori, but it turns out it was for Shinji.

Has he really become so tired that he needs this? My gaze turned to him, filled with worry. I could see the signs of someone who had pushed themselves too far, someone who had no more energy to give.

But then he looked back at me. His expression was more irritated than usual, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. It made me wonder—does Shinji find it annoying that I'm here?

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should speak up, but then I gently closed my book and asked him in a soft voice, "Shinji, can I borrow a few books?"

He nodded, his tone as indifferent as ever. "Sure."

He said nothing more as he sat down at the table, opening one of the beer cans and taking a long, tired gulp. The silence between us hung thick in the air. 

I guess this means he agrees, right? But why? After all the exhaustion, why is he still studying? Wouldn't it be better to rest for a while, at least?

I thought about saying something to him, to urge him to take a break, but then I stopped myself. I realized it probably wasn't my place to say anything, especially not now.

Shinji looked genuinely uncomfortable, as though every movement, every breath was taking effort. I didn't want to disturb him, not when he was already this on edge. 

I was afraid that if I spoke up, he might snap at me, and the thought of upsetting him made my stomach twist with unease.

Poor Shinji... what should I do now?

"..."

And then, as I was flipping through a page about chocolate recipes, an idea suddenly hit me. It was like a light bulb flickering on in my mind. Dark chocolate, I remembered, can stimulate the production of endorphins.

These endorphins not only reduce stress and fatigue, but they also increase feelings of happiness and even sexual desire.

What if I helped him relieve his stress in this way? What if I used something like chocolate to ease his tension? It seemed like such a simple solution, a small gesture, but maybe it would work.

But then a more troubling thought entered my mind.

Using my body to help him relieve his stress...

The idea hit me hard. My heart started racing, my breath caught in my throat, and my entire body seemed to heat up, almost as if I were physically reacting to the thought. 

I could feel the weight of the thought pressing against me, and it stirred something inside that I wasn't sure how to handle.

I shook my head quickly, trying to push the thought away. No. That's not something I should consider. He would never agree to something like that, and it would only make everything more complicated. 

Shinji is stubborn and independent—he'd never let me do something like that for him.

I sighed again, feeling that familiar ache in my chest as I looked at the boy I loved. Shinji was still focused on his work, his brow furrowed slightly as he sipped from his beer.

Strangely, though, his eyes had relaxed a little. The tension that had been there before seemed to have dissipated, replaced by something more at ease, almost like the pressure had been lifted.

In that moment, his face flushed ever so slightly—just a hint of color—softening his features.

He looked more charming than usual, in a way that made my heart flutter. There he was, no longer the stoic, tough version of Shinji I was used to, but the version that felt more… real, more human. Without the armor of his usual demeanor, he looked like someone who had let go of all the burdens he was always carrying.

He's so handsome...

I couldn't help myself. I just kept staring at him, this boy who worked harder than anyone else, who pushed himself past limits I couldn't even imagine. 

The one who gave everything to whatever he cared about, no matter the cost. He was the most stubborn, reckless person I had ever known.

But that was also part of what made him so incredible. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.

I didn't even realize when I had fallen into a deep, happy dream.

A dream where we had breakfast together every morning, where we lived together, and shared our lives, every night filled with happiness and warmth. 

A dream where we were a family—where we had a wedding and children, where everything was perfect and peaceful.

But then, as if it were an intrusive force, a familiar suffocating pressure flooded into my dream. It was like a storm, sudden and overwhelming, that darkened the once-rosy vision.

The pressure crushed my fantasy, ripping apart the dream I had just built.

It tore through my mind, shattering my thoughts, and pulled me away from the warmth I had felt just moments ago.

"...Shinji?"

I was jolted back to reality, my breath catching as I realized just how close his face was to mine. Shinji's eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, and his expression—sharp and terrifying—was something I had never seen before.

He was breathing heavily, almost like a predator who had cornered its prey. His golden eyes, usually calm and stoic, were now filled with a dangerous intensity. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine.

"Yuki, can you go back to your room and sleep?" He forced a strained smile, his voice betraying an underlying tension, a madness that I had witnessed just moments before but was now trying to suppress.

Why does he look like this? I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to piece together what had caused this shift. There was something in his eyes—a desperate, intense focus on me. It was like he was seeing right through me, as if I were the center of everything in his mind.

...Ah, I get it now. The realization hit me like a wave. The memory of that first night came flooding back, and suddenly everything clicked into place. 

Back then, Shinji had shown a genuine interest in me, but he had pulled back, clearly fighting some internal battle. And now, it was the same—but worse.

His dark, crimson magic was leaking out of him like an uncontrolled force, a physical manifestation of the desires he was struggling to suppress. It was more than just stress—it was something deeper, something more primal.

I glanced at the clock. The time—so late that I had only just woken from a deep sleep—confirmed what I feared. The pressure had reached its breaking point.

Shinji couldn't take it anymore. The weight of everything he had been pushing down had finally cracked, and the alcohol in his system had only blurred his mind further.

In that moment, I knew what I had to do.

I had to help him.

Without thinking, I placed my finger on my lips, adopting a soft, innocent expression and tilting my head slightly, the same way I always did when I wanted to appear vulnerable. "Um, can I sleep with you tonight?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and a sense of urgency rushed through me. Maybe it was the right thing to do. Maybe it would help him find some relief, ease the burden he was carrying.

I wanted to be there for him, to show him I cared in a way that went beyond just words.

But Shinji's reaction was immediate—sharp and cutting.

"No."

"Go back to your room!"

The words were almost a growl, and my heart skipped a beat. Did he just yell at me?

Shinji, the boy I had come to care for so deeply, had actually yelled at me.

Did I make him hate me now?