Chapter Text
The apartment smelled like rainwater left too long in a rusted sink.
Not sharp enough to be rotten, not strong enough to force anyone to clean it, just a stale heaviness that settled into the walls and stayed there like something exhausted. Curtains remained drawn over the windows despite the pale afternoon outside, turning the entire room dim and colorless except for the faint blue glow of Rin’s phone abandoned face-down near the edge of the couch. Empty bottles stood beside it like uneven towers. Some had tipped over days ago and rolled beneath the coffee table where dust had gathered thickly enough to soften their edges.
The television had been running without sound for nearly three hours.
Rin didn’t remember turning it on.
He sat on the floor instead of the couch because the couch was covered in unfolded laundry and old hoodies and dishes he kept meaning to move. One sock clung to the sleeve of a dark sweatshirt like it had been trapped there for days. Maybe weeks. Time had started slipping strangely recently. The apartment existed in permanent twilight regardless of whether it was morning or night, and Rin moved through it like someone underwater—slow, detached, limbs heavy with pressure.
The only thing in the room that looked untouched was the soccer ball resting near the hallway wall.
Even then, dust had started gathering over the white panels.
Rin stared at it for a long time without blinking.
Once, just looking at a ball had been enough.
That was the worst part.
Not the silence.
Not the loneliness.
Not even the aching exhaustion pressing into his chest every time he woke up and realized he still had another day to survive.
The worst part was remembering what it used to feel like.
The certainty.
The hunger.
The violent clarity soccer gave him.
Now every memory felt distant, warped around the edges, like he was recalling someone else’s life instead of his own.
His phone buzzed somewhere behind him.
Rin ignored it.
Another vibration followed.
Then another.
Eventually the sound stopped.
Good.
He leaned his head back against the side of the couch and closed his eyes. The fabric smelled faintly sour. Something near the kitchen sink dripped every few seconds with mechanical consistency. His apartment building was loud during the evenings—pipes groaning, neighbors arguing, footsteps above him—but during the middle of the day it became unnaturally still.
Still enough for thoughts to grow teeth.
Rin dragged a hand down his face.
His fingers trembled slightly.
He hadn’t slept properly in almost a week.
Every time he closed his eyes for too long his thoughts turned vicious. Sometimes memories surfaced without warning: Sae walking ahead of him without looking back, cold winter air burning his lungs after practice, Ego’s voice drilling into his skull about talent and obsession and becoming the best in the world.
Sometimes it wasn’t even memories.
Sometimes it was just this unbearable certainty that he had already ruined himself beyond repair.
The kitchen sink overflowed with dishes.
A bowl containing instant ramen broth had developed a thin cloudy film over the surface. Rin stared at it blankly earlier that morning before walking away because cleaning it felt impossible. Every task did lately.
Showering.
Eating.
Replying to messages.
Getting out of bed.
Everything arrived layered beneath this suffocating weight that made basic movement feel exhausting.
He knew people would call it burnout.
Stress.
Pressure.
Whatever label sounded temporary enough to be comforting.
But Rin knew it was deeper than that.
It felt like parts of him were quietly shutting down one after another.
His gaze drifted toward the hallway.
The bathroom light remained on.
A thin line of pale yellow spilled across the floorboards.
He stared at it too long.
Then looked away sharply.
His jaw tightened.
The inside of his forearm ached beneath the sleeve of his hoodie.
Not fresh.
Not enough to stain through fabric.
Just lingering soreness hidden beneath dark cotton and silence.
Rin pulled the sleeve lower instinctively.
No one was there to see it.
Still.
The apartment had become dangerous in quiet ways.
There were nights when the silence pressed so hard against his skull that he needed something—anything—to interrupt it. Something sharp enough to drag his thoughts away from the endless spiraling inside his head. He hated himself afterward every single time.
Hated the evidence.
Hated the relief.
Hated how temporary it was.
Because nothing actually changed afterward.
The room stayed dark.
His chest stayed heavy.
And morning always came eventually.
Rin pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until coloured spots burst behind them.
His breathing felt uneven.
Too fast.
He counted backward automatically.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
It didn’t help anymore either.
The phone buzzed again.
Longer this time.
A call.
Rin stared at the glowing screen from across the room.
Bachira.
The name remained there for several seconds before fading.
Then immediately returning.
Persistent.
Of course he was.
Rin almost laughed.
Bachira had always moved through the world like someone incapable of accepting closed doors. It didn’t matter how many times Rin ignored him during training. Bachira always came back smiling anyway, forcing conversations into existence with sheer stubbornness.
Back then it had been irritating.
Now it just made Rin tired.
The phone stopped ringing.
A message appeared instead.
You alive?
Another.
You disappeared again.
And then, after a minute:
I’m outside.
Rin froze.
His stomach twisted unpleasantly.
No.
No, absolutely not.
He pushed himself upright too quickly and dizziness crashed into him immediately. The apartment tilted sideways for half a second before settling again. Rin grabbed the edge of the couch hard enough for his knuckles to pale.
Outside.
Why the hell was Bachira outside?
Rin looked around the apartment with sudden horror.
The overflowing trash near the kitchenette.
The laundry.
The dishes.
The smell.
His own reflection in the dark television screen looked terrible—pale skin, hollow eyes, dark hair falling messily across his face like he hadn’t brushed it in days.
Because he probably hadn’t.
His phone buzzed once more.
Open up before I start kicking the door dramatically.
Rin stared at the message.
Then at the apartment.
Then back at the message.
His first instinct was to stay silent.
Pretend he wasn’t home.
Bachira would eventually leave.
Probably.
But another part of him—the smaller, quieter part he tried very hard not to acknowledge—felt something painful tighten beneath his ribs.
Because someone had noticed.
Someone had kept calling.
Someone had come all the way here.
Rin hated how much that mattered.
A knock sounded through the apartment.
Three quick taps.
“Rin?”
Even muffled through the door, Bachira’s voice carried warmth.
Rin closed his eyes.
“Go away,” he said hoarsely, though not loudly enough for Bachira to hear.
Another knock.
“Your neighbour looked at me like I’m a criminal,” Bachira announced through the door. “So if you don’t let me in soon I might actually become one.”
Silence.
Then quieter:
“You haven’t answered anyone in days.”
Rin’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
He hated this.
Hated concern.
Hated being perceived.
Because concern meant people were starting to notice the cracks he’d spent years trying to bury.
He looked down at his sleeves again.
The ache beneath them seemed suddenly unbearable.
Another knock.
Softer this time.
“Please?”
Rin stood motionless in the centre of the apartment for nearly thirty seconds.
Then finally dragged himself toward the door.
Each step felt reluctant.
Heavy.
Like his body itself was resisting being seen.
He unlocked the door without opening it immediately.
The metal clicked loudly in the silence.
On the other side, Bachira went quiet.
Rin opened the door halfway.
And immediately regretted it.
Bachira looked exactly the same as always.
Bright eyes.
Messy hair.
A hoodie too big for him.
Alive in a way Rin no longer understood.
The contrast between them felt brutal.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Bachira’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for Rin to realize exactly how awful he must look.
“Wow,” Bachira said softly.
Rin’s jaw tightened.
“If you’re here to lecture me, leave.”
Bachira ignored that completely and peered over Rin’s shoulder into the apartment.
His nose wrinkled.
“Your place looks haunted.”
Rin started closing the door.
Bachira shoved himself halfway through immediately.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “You already ignored me for four days. I earned at least five minutes.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
“Yeah, well.” Bachira kicked the door shut behind him. “You also didn’t answer your phone.”
Rin stared at him coldly.
Bachira stared back.
And then the silence shifted into something uncomfortable.
Because now Bachira could actually see it.
Not just the apartment.
Rin.
The exhaustion carved into his face.
The way his shoulders slumped slightly forward like he was trying to make himself smaller.
The dark circles beneath his eyes.
The emptiness.
Bachira’s expression softened.
Rin immediately looked away.
“I’m fine.”
It came out automatic.
Meaningless.
Bachira didn’t answer right away.
Instead he slowly set down the plastic convenience store bag he’d been carrying.
“You look like you haven’t eaten anything except instant noodles for a month.”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that already.”
Rin exhaled sharply through his nose.
Irritation sparked weakly beneath the exhaustion.
Good.
Anger was easier.
“What do you want?”
Bachira glanced around again.
“To make sure you’re alive, apparently.”
Rin scoffed.
But Bachira kept looking.
The apartment.
The mess.
The curtains.
The untouched soccer ball.
Something unreadable flickered across his face.
“You stopped coming to practice.”
Rin didn’t respond.
“You stopped answering messages.”
Silence.
“Shidou said you blocked his number.”
“Good.”
“And Isagi threatened to come here himself.”
Rin grimaced immediately.
“That sounds horrifying.”
“There you are.”
Rin frowned.
“What?”
Bachira smiled faintly.
“That sounded like an actual response instead of a dead person pretending to be human.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Rin looked away again.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Bachira walked toward the kitchen without asking permission and started gathering empty bottles from the counter.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
“Don’t.”
“You want to live in a biohazard forever?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. I don’t.”
Rin stared at him incredulously.
“You can’t just show up and start cleaning my apartment.”
“I literally can.”
Bachira held up two empty bottles triumphantly.
“See?”
Rin pressed fingers against his temple.
A headache pulsed there constantly lately.
“This is stupid.”
“Probably.”
Bachira tossed the bottles into a trash bag.
“But you’ve been alone too long.”
Something in Rin’s chest twisted painfully.
Too long.
Maybe.
Isolation had started intentionally.
At first he just wanted quiet.
Then he started ignoring calls because conversations felt exhausting.
Then days passed.
Then weeks.
And suddenly leaving the apartment felt impossible.
Every unanswered message became another reason not to reply.
Every missed practice became another reason not to return.
It stacked endlessly until isolation stopped feeling like a choice and started feeling like the only thing he knew how to maintain.
Bachira opened the fridge.
Then immediately closed it again.
“Oh my god.”
Rin said nothing.
“There’s a science experiment in there.”
“Then don’t touch it.”
“I’m absolutely touching it.”
Bachira tied the trash bag shut dramatically.
Rin watched him move through the apartment with unsettling ease.
Like he belonged there.
Like the silence coating everything didn’t bother him.
It should have.
The apartment felt suffocating even to Rin now.
The walls seemed smaller every day.
The air heavier.
Sometimes he lay awake at three in the morning staring at the ceiling while cars moved somewhere outside and genuinely wondered if he had disappeared already in every way that mattered.
His gaze drifted again.
Bathroom light.
Hallway.
Sleeves.
He tugged his hoodie cuffs lower.
Bachira noticed.
Rin knew immediately from the way his movements slowed.
Just slightly.
Too slight for anyone else to catch.
But Rin had always been painfully observant.
Their eyes met briefly.
Then Bachira looked away on purpose.
The gentleness of it felt unbearable.
Rin’s stomach churned.
He hated pity.
But this wasn’t pity.
That somehow felt worse.
Bachira carried the trash bag toward the front door.
“You should open your curtains.”
“No.”
“You’re becoming a cave cryptid.”
“I liked you better when you were quiet.”
“You’ve literally never liked me quiet.”
Fair.
Rin sank back onto the floor near the couch.
His limbs felt drained suddenly.
The small burst of energy from opening the door had disappeared.
Now only exhaustion remained.
Bachira returned from taking out the trash and paused when he saw Rin sitting there.
Curled inward unconsciously.
Head lowered.
The apartment was silent except for the muted television.
For a moment Bachira didn’t joke.
Didn’t smile.
He just looked at Rin with this quiet expression that made something sharp lodge beneath Rin’s ribs.
“You scared me.”
Rin stiffened.
The honesty in Bachira’s voice cut through him immediately.
“I’m not dying.”
It sounded defensive.
Weak.
Bachira sat down on the opposite side of the couch.
“You disappeared.”
“So?”
“So people care about you, idiot.”
Rin laughed once.
Dry.
Humorless.
“Bad decision on their part.”
Bachira frowned instantly.
“That’s not funny.”
Rin looked away.
He hadn’t meant it as a joke.
The silence stretched again.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.
Rin hadn’t even noticed it had started.
Bachira eventually leaned back against the couch cushions and stared at the ceiling.
“You know,” he said quietly, “when I was younger and things got bad, my mom used to leave lights on in the apartment.”
Rin didn’t answer.
“She said darkness lies to people.”
Rin’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
“That sounds stupid.”
“Yeah,” Bachira admitted. “But she was kinda right.”
Rin closed his eyes.
Darkness lies to people.
Maybe.
Or maybe darkness just said things nobody else wanted to admit.
He thought about the nights spent awake on the bathroom floor because the apartment felt too crushing to breathe in properly.
Thought about the sharp sting against skin followed by horrible fleeting relief.
Thought about staring at the marks afterward with equal parts disgust and numbness.
He never went deep.
Never enough to require stitches.
That wasn’t the point.
The point was interruption.
A violent break in the endless noise inside his head.
But afterward the shame always arrived anyway.
Heavy.
Humiliating.
Proof that he was losing control of himself piece by piece.
Bachira spoke again before the silence could swallow them completely.
“You should probably see someone.”
Rin’s eyes opened immediately.
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“I said no.”
Bachira sighed.
“You can barely look at me.”
“Because you’re annoying.”
“You look exhausted all the time. You stopped answering everyone. Your apartment looks like depression itself pays rent here.”
Rin flinched slightly.
Tiny.
But enough.
Bachira noticed.
Of course he did.
The room became very quiet.
Rain continued against the windows.
Rin stared hard at the floorboards.
Splintered wood near the couch.
Tiny scratch marks.
Anything except Bachira.
Finally, quietly:
“I’m tired.”
The confession slipped out before he could stop it.
Bachira’s expression changed instantly.
Not triumphant.
Not relieved.
Just attentive.
Rin hated how careful that look made him feel.
“Tired how?”
Rin swallowed.
His chest suddenly felt unbearably tight.
He wanted Bachira to stop asking.
Wanted him to keep asking.
Both at once.
“I don’t know.”
It came out rough.
“Everything feels…”
Wrong.
Heavy.
Impossible.
He couldn’t find language big enough for it.
Bachira waited.
Rin laughed weakly instead and dragged a hand through his hair.
“Forget it.”
“I’m not gonna do that.”
“Why?”
The question came out sharper than intended.
Bachira blinked.
“Because you matter to me?”
Rin looked genuinely confused for half a second.
And that expression alone nearly broke something inside Bachira.
Because it wasn’t arrogance.
Or disbelief.
It looked like Rin genuinely could not understand why anyone would willingly stay.
Bachira leaned forward slowly.
“When was the last time you slept properly?”
Rin shrugged.
“When was the last time you went outside?”
Another shrug.
“When was the last—”
“Stop.”
The word cracked.
Bachira went quiet immediately.
Rin pressed his palms hard against his eyes again.
His breathing had turned uneven.
Embarrassingly close to panic.
“I can’t do this right now.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Bachira’s voice stayed calm.
Gentle.
No pressure.
That somehow made it worse.
Rin lowered his hands slowly.
His eyes burned.
The apartment blurred slightly around the edges.
He was so tired.
So unbelievably tired.
Bachira looked at him for a long moment before speaking again.
“You should at least eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s definitely a lie.”
Rin shrugged without looking at him.
The movement felt automatic now.
Everything did.
Conversations especially.
He’d learned quickly that if he kept answers short enough people eventually stopped asking questions. Most people hated silence. They rushed to fill it themselves. Bachira, unfortunately, was one of the only people stubborn enough to sit inside silence comfortably.
Which meant Rin had nowhere to hide.
Bachira moved toward the convenience store bag and crouched beside it.
“I brought food anyway.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Good thing I ignored that.”
Plastic rustled softly.
Rin watched without interest as Bachira unpacked random things onto the counter.
Rice balls.
Sports drinks.
Fruit.
Some packaged sandwiches.
The sight alone made Rin’s stomach twist unpleasantly.
Not from disgust.
Just absence.
Hunger barely registered lately until it became painful.
Even then eating felt more like maintenance than anything human.
Bachira glanced over his shoulder.
“When’s the last time you actually cooked?”
Rin didn’t answer.
Bachira sighed quietly.
“That long, huh?”
The apartment settled into silence again.
Rain pressed softly against the windows.
Cars hissed faintly on wet streets below.
Rin pulled his knees closer toward his chest without thinking.
The position made him feel smaller.
Safer.
He hated that Bachira was here.
Hated how visible everything suddenly felt.
The mess.
The exhaustion.
The ugly reality of what isolation had turned him into.
When Rin first stopped answering messages, it hadn’t even been intentional.
One missed reply became three.
Three became a week.
Eventually every notification started feeling accusatory.
Practice reminders.
Calls.
Texts asking where he was.
At some point he muted everything because hearing his phone vibrate made anxiety crawl beneath his skin.
Then the apartment became easier than people.
Inside these walls nobody expected anything from him.
Nobody watched him carefully.
Nobody noticed when he stopped functioning properly.
Bachira sat on the edge of the counter.
“You know everyone’s worried, right?”
Rin’s expression hardened immediately.
“I don’t care.”
Another lie.
The worst part was that Bachira knew it too.
“You blocked Aryu.”
“He talks too much.”
“You blocked Chigiri.”
“He kept calling.”
“You blocked Isagi.”
“That one improved my life significantly.”
Bachira snorted despite himself.
Rin looked away before the tiny reaction could become anything more.
Even now, with exhaustion weighing down every part of him, instincts remained sharp. Deflect. Dismiss. Shut things down before they reached somewhere dangerous.
It was easier being cold.
People expected coldness from Rin.
Nobody questioned it.
Nobody looked too closely beneath it.
Except Bachira apparently.
Which was deeply unfortunate.
“You really wanna rot in here forever?” Bachira asked quietly.
Rin stared blankly at the television screen.
“Maybe.”
The answer came too honestly.
Bachira went still.
Rin regretted speaking immediately.
He dragged his sleeves lower again.
His skin felt hypersensitive suddenly.
Like Bachira could somehow see every ugly thought underneath it.
“I didn’t mean that,” Rin muttered.
Another lie.
Or maybe only half one.
He didn’t want to die.
Not exactly.
But lately existing felt unbearable in this dull aching way he couldn’t explain properly. Every morning arrived heavy. Every night stretched endlessly. Soccer, once the only thing capable of cutting through the noise in his head, had started feeling distant too.
That terrified him more than anything.
Because if he lost that—
Then what was left?
Bachira spoke carefully now.
“You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Rin laughed softly.
Humourless.
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Bachira’s expression shifted slightly.
Something hurt flickered there before disappearing.
“Try me.”
Rin’s jaw tightened.
He could feel irritation rising again.
Good.
Better than the alternative.
“There’s nothing to understand.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Rin finally looked at him.
The sharpness in Bachira’s voice surprised him.
Bachira rarely sounded angry.
Now frustration sat plainly across his face.
“You disappeared,” Bachira said. “You stopped talking to everyone. You look exhausted all the time and your apartment looks like you stopped caring whether you live here or not.”
Rin’s chest tightened violently.
“So what?”
“So I’m worried about you.”
“I didn’t ask you to be.”
“I know.”
That answer hit harder than yelling would have.
Rin looked away first.
Of course he did.
The room suddenly felt suffocating again.
Bachira stood slowly and walked toward the window.
Before Rin could react, he pulled the curtain open halfway.
Gray evening light spilled into the apartment immediately.
Rin flinched.
“Don’t.”
Bachira paused.
For a second he looked like he might argue.
Then he only opened it a little more.
Not fully.
Just enough for moonlight to cut through the darkness.
Dust floated visibly through the air.
The apartment looked worse illuminated.
Rin wrapped his arms tighter around himself.
“You’re acting like a vampire,” Bachira muttered.
“Shut up.”
But the insult lacked force.
Bachira leaned against the wall near the window instead of sitting again.
Like he was trying not to crowd him.
Rin noticed that too.
Every careful movement.
Every softened tone.
It made guilt coil unpleasantly inside his stomach.
Because Bachira shouldn’t have to navigate around him like this.
Rin used to be easier to exist around.
Didn’t he?
Now even breathing around other people felt exhausting.
Conversations became calculations.
How much eye contact looked normal.
How many words sounded believable.
How to hide trembling hands.
How to keep sleeves pulled low enough.
How to avoid mirrors.
His eyes drifted toward the hallway again unconsciously.
Bathroom light.
Yellow against darkness.
Bachira followed his gaze.
Rin immediately stood.
Too fast.
The sudden movement made both of them freeze.
“I need water,” Rin said quickly.
Bachira watched him for one long unreadable second.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Rin walked into the kitchen before the silence could sharpen further.
His hands shook while reaching for a glass.
He hated this.
Hated feeling exposed.
Hated the terrifying possibility that Bachira was beginning to understand how bad things actually were.
Because if Bachira knew everything—
Really knew—
Then he’d look at Rin differently forever.
And somehow that possibility scared Rin more than being alone did.
Behind him, Bachira stayed quiet.
No more questions.
No more pushing.
Only the sound of rain filling the apartment while Rin stood rigid at the sink pretending his chest wasn’t caving inward around itself.
The glass slipped from Rin’s hand before he even realized his fingers had loosened around it.
For a brief second it only tilted against his palm, cold water sliding over his knuckles while the world seemed to pause around the movement. Then gravity caught up to it. The glass hit the edge of the sink with a sharp crack that shattered violently through the apartment, splitting straight down the middle before collapsing into glittering fragments at the bottom of the basin. Water splashed everywhere—across the counter, across Rin’s sleeve, dripping steadily onto the kitchen floor in uneven rhythmic taps.
Rin flinched so hard his shoulder slammed against the sink.
“Shit—”
The word came out breathless.
Not because of the glass.
Not because of the noise.
Because suddenly his pulse was everywhere.
In his throat.
Behind his eyes.
Hammering violently beneath skin already stretched too tight from weeks of exhaustion and isolation and sleepless nights spent trapped inside his own head. He grabbed the edge of the counter hard enough for his fingers to ache, staring down at the broken pieces in the sink while his breathing turned shallow almost immediately.
Behind him, Bachira pushed himself away from the wall near the window.
“You okay?”
“I said I’m fine.”
The response came too quickly.
Too sharp.
Rin kept his back turned while reaching automatically toward the faucet to shut the water off. Tiny streams still trickled from the cracked remains of the glass, slipping between scattered shards before disappearing down the drain. His sleeve, damp from the spill, had ridden upward slightly from the movement.
Not enough for most people to notice immediately.
Still enough.
The silence that followed felt wrong instantly.
Not empty.
Not casual.
Heavy.
The kind of silence that arrived when something irreversible had entered the room.
Rin felt every muscle in his body lock.
Behind him, Bachira stopped moving altogether.
The rain outside suddenly sounded deafening against the windows.
Cars hissed faintly through wet streets several floors below the apartment building, distant enough to feel unreal. Somewhere nearby, pipes groaned inside the walls. The television in the living room continued flickering silently against dark furniture and unfolded laundry and empty bottles scattered across the floor.
Rin stared down at the sink without blinking.
At fractured glass.
At water slipping pink against his knuckles where one shard had nicked him without him noticing.
At his reflection warped faintly in the dark kitchen window above the counter.
And slowly—horrifyingly slowly—he became aware of the exposed strip of skin above his wrist.
Thin red lines crossed pale skin unevenly.
Some faded nearly white with time.
Some darker.
Some newer.
Some not fully healed.
For one terrible second nobody spoke.
Then Bachira inhaled softly behind him.
Not dramatic.
Not shocked.
Worse.
Careful.
Rin yanked his sleeve down so fast it almost hurt.
His stomach dropped violently enough to make him dizzy.
No.
No no no.
The apartment suddenly felt too small to breathe inside.
Heat flooded his chest while panic crawled sharp and ugly beneath his skin, twisting itself around every exhausted nerve ending until his thoughts blurred together into static. He could feel Bachira looking now. Really looking.
Not at the apartment.
Not at the mess.
At him.
The thing Rin had spent months hiding sat exposed between them now anyway, dragged suddenly into the open by one stupid careless movement. His mind flashed violently through every excuse he could make and discarded them all instantly because none sounded believable enough.
The silence kept stretching.
That made it worse.
Because if Bachira yelled, Rin could yell back.
If Bachira looked disgusted, Rin could shut down.
If Bachira laughed, Rin could throw him out.
But this—
This terrible quiet understanding settling into the room—
Rin couldn’t survive that.
He spun around too quickly.
“Don’t.”
The word came out harsher than intended.
Bachira froze immediately.
His expression had gone unreadable in the way it always did when something genuinely serious caught him off guard. The usual brightness in his face had dimmed into something quieter now. Softer.
Rin hated it instantly.
Not disgust.
Not fear.
Something infinitely worse.
Concern.
“Rin—”
“Don’t.”
The second time the word cracked.
Rin took an immediate step backward when Bachira shifted even slightly, his shoulder hitting the refrigerator hard enough to rattle magnets loose against the metal surface.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Bachira frowned faintly. “I’m not—”
“Yes you are.”
Rin’s breathing was getting bad now.
Too fast.
His chest hurt.
Each inhale felt thin and uneven, like his lungs couldn’t expand properly anymore. The kitchen suddenly seemed unbearably bright despite the dim apartment around them. Rainlight filtered weakly through the partially opened curtains behind Bachira, casting pale gray across the room and making everything feel cold.
Bachira’s voice softened carefully. “I’m not judging you.”
“Then stop staring.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Get out.”
The words came instantly.
Violently.
Like panic itself had spoken through him.
Bachira blinked once, clearly startled. “What?”
“I said get out.”
Humiliation spread through Rin so intensely it bordered on physical pain. Heat crawled violently up his neck while something awful twisted beneath his ribs. He should never have opened the door earlier. Never let Bachira inside. Never let anyone see the apartment like this.
See him like this.
Now Bachira knew.
Now there would always be this moment hanging between them.
The ugly reality Rin had hidden beneath long sleeves and isolation and silence sat fully exposed now anyway, impossible to take back.
Bachira took one cautious step forward.
“Rin, calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!”
The shout exploded through the apartment hard enough to echo off the walls.
Both of them froze afterward.
Rin rarely yelled.
Not like this.
Not loud enough for his throat to burn afterward.
But adrenaline surged violently through him now, twisting humiliation into anger because anger was easier to survive. Easier than fear. Easier than shame. Easier than the unbearable feeling of being seen too clearly.
“You need to leave.”
Bachira’s face tightened slightly.
“I’m not leaving you alone like this.”
Rin laughed harshly.
The sound barely resembled humor.
“Like what?”
Silence again.
That silence.
Rin hated it.
Hated how careful Bachira suddenly looked, like he was standing too close to the edge of something fragile. Like one wrong sentence might shatter the entire room apart.
“You think I’m insane now?” Rin snapped.
“What? No.”
“You saw one thing and suddenly you’re acting like I’m gonna fucking collapse.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then stop looking at me like that!”
Bachira opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
That hesitation alone made something inside Rin twist violently.
Because Bachira didn’t know what to say anymore.
Nobody ever knew what to say once they found out.
The air inside the apartment felt unbearably suffocating now. Rin could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. His hands shook visibly at his sides before he shoved them deep into his sleeves again on instinct.
Hidden.
Covered.
Safe.
Or safer.
Rain battered harder against the windows outside, the sound filling every silence with static. Somewhere far below the apartment building, a siren wailed faintly through wet city streets before disappearing again.
Rin suddenly felt trapped inside his own skin.
The apartment walls pressed inward around him.
The kitchen.
The dim light.
Bachira standing there with too much understanding in his eyes.
Everything felt unbearably close.
“It’s not a big deal,” Rin muttered finally.
The words sounded pathetic even to himself.
Bachira stared at him quietly.
Rin looked away immediately.
Because saying it aloud made the reality uglier somehow.
Not a big deal.
Thin red lines hidden beneath sleeves.
Bathroom floors cold against bare legs at three in the morning.
Hands shaking afterward.
Cleaning blood from skin before sunlight arrived.
Staring at himself in the mirror afterward with dull exhausted disgust while the apartment sat silent around him.
Not a big deal.
Except it was.
Otherwise he wouldn’t have hidden it so desperately.
Bachira stepped closer again.
Slowly this time.
Carefully.
“Rin.”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something fragile.”
Bachira’s expression tightened. “You’re hurt.”
“No shit.”
“I mean mentally, idiot.”
The words landed harder than intended.
Rin physically recoiled.
Something dark crossed his face instantly.
Not anger at first.
Shame.
Raw and immediate and unbearable.
Bachira regretted the sentence the second he saw that expression.
Rin turned away sharply, dragging both hands through his hair hard enough to tug painfully at the roots.
“Just leave.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Tough.”
Rin laughed again.
Short.
Empty.
Exhausted.
“You really don’t know when to quit.”
“Nope.”
“Why.”
The question came out suddenly.
Quiet this time.
Not angry.
Just tired.
Bachira blinked.
Rin still faced away from him, shoulders tense beneath oversized black fabric, body drawn inward like he was physically trying to disappear inside himself.
“Why are you even here?” Rin asked quietly. “Seriously.”
Bachira frowned faintly. “What kind of question is that?”
“You should’ve left already.”
“I’m not gonna leave you alone when you’re obviously struggling.”
“Why not?”
“Because you matter to me.”
“There’s no reason for that.”
The apartment fell silent again.
Bachira stared at Rin’s back.
At the rigid set of his shoulders.
At the way he stood like someone permanently braced for impact.
And suddenly something awful clicked into place inside Bachira’s chest.
Rin genuinely believed that.
Not fishing for reassurance.
Not trying to be dramatic.
Actual belief.
Like somewhere along the line Rin had convinced himself he existed as something fundamentally unworthy of care.
Bachira swallowed hard.
“Did someone tell you that?” he asked softly.
Rin stiffened immediately.
Defensive again in seconds.
“What?”
“That you don’t matter.”
Rin scoffed harshly. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I wrong?”
No answer came.
The silence itself became answer enough.