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Toko sighed contentedly as she nestled into the bend of Byakuya’s arm, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. His arm circled her in a loose embrace. The film playing on the TV in front of them was of secondary importance, if that.
This had been Toko’s idea, of course. And what an excellent idea it was. A movie date—what could be simpler? Granted, the execution of her idea hadn’t been as simple as she had hoped; it had been one thing to persuade Byakuya that she should come over (“For what purpose?”), and another to convince him to watch a film (“And just what sort of film are we talking about?”). Getting him to choose a film to his liking had been a whole other drawn-out matter entirely.
But it was worth it. The film wasn’t the point, anyhow. Toko’s true objective was to continue to nurture the fragile, flickering flame of a relationship that had recently, miraculously sparked between them. She would not allow it to be starved of oxygen.
She had pulled this together, and she was proud to have done so. Toko was more than content being here, in his arms, even if that meant passively absorbing snippets of a kid getting yelled at, some adults smoking, and a lot of walking around.
Byakuya, for his part, had more interest in French New Wave cinema than she did. Still, the underlying motive wasn’t lost on him; he knew what he was in for when he agreed to this (or so he thought), and it was to his liking. He was enjoying holding Toko close, the gentle weight of her head against him, the subtle yet unmistakable scent of her hair. In fact, it had been a very long time since he had last allowed himself to feel this relaxed.
The afternoon was unfolding precisely as Toko had imagined. She could feel Byakuya’s heart beating steady and calm beneath her cheek, his body relaxed beside hers. And the film, meanwhile, was trapped in one of its many long, brooding lulls. Now was the perfect time to stoke the embers.
Taking the initiative, she reached out and captured Byakuya’s hand, drawing it to her lap, close against her body.
As she did, Byakuya felt a familiar unease begin to stir within him. He squeezed his eyelids shut, trying to crush the encroaching apprehension like an insect beneath his fist. He took a deep, steadying breath, and attempted to focus back on the mid-century melodrama.
Toko traced the ridges of his hand with her thumb, slowly and delicately. His hands were strong, yet smooth and clean, even his fingernails impeccably tidy. Beautiful, like every part of him. Toko thought of placing a soft kiss there, then on the inside of his wrist, and his forearm…his cheek, his jawline, his neck...
The thought spurred her on. She’d waited long enough. Her touch shifted from his hand to his shoulder, settling there with a possessive grip. She used this leverage to pull herself closer, half-straddling his thigh, meeting his gaze with a playful, lopsided smile and a teasing bite of her lower lip.
“...H-Hey…” she murmured, “This movie’s okay, but… don’t you wish it had a little more… action ?
Byakuya strained to look past her, to focus back on the dreary introspection of a troubled youth playing out on screen. A futile effort.
She was close now. Too close. His body was reacting to her proximity, and not just with the tension coiling up in his chest.
“Do you w-want to...” Toko murmured, trailing off as her fingertips trailed from his shoulder to his chest.
Years of ingrained beliefs screamed in Byakuya’s head.
Foolish. Repulsive. Weak.
He argued back.
I am not beholden to anyone. I am not a child seeking approval.
But the voice was relentless.
You’re a slave to your base desires. A traitor to your own cause. A fraud.
A wave of claustrophobia washed over him. His muscles tensed as Toko leaned forward, closing her eyes and pursing her lips, waiting to feel his mouth against hers.
What came instead were words that escaped Byakuya’s lips before he could stop them.
“W-What are you doing?” he snapped, his voice sharp and cold, pulling away abruptly. “Move. You’re suffocating me.”
Toko recoiled as if struck. “W-What? I didn’t do– I was just…” She trailed off, concluding with a faint, “ S-Sorry. ”
Byakuya felt a momentary satisfaction at the sting in his own voice; a familiar, comfortable defence mechanism. But the satisfaction was quickly replaced by shame. He grimaced.
God damn it.
His face burned. He desperately wanted to leave. He had nowhere to go; this was his apartment, shabby and wretched as it was. Wretched. Disappointing. Miserable. Inadequate . A hundred more disparaging words.
It wasn’t always like this. There were moments when Byakuya could override this self-sabotaging instinct, moments of impulsivity where he didn’t overthink his desires. That was how this had all started, after all—a spontaneous kiss, then another, and another. But when it was slow, deliberate…
Pathetic.
Her voice brought him back to the present.
“I-It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Toko had retreated to the furthest corner of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. She fought to hold back the tears stinging her eyes.
“I-I knew it...I-I should have known better...I knew I was d-delusional.” Between sobs, a bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Because why would...why would you …why would anyone ever want to be with me ?”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not at all.
For as long as she could remember knowing him, she had vividly dreamt of what it would be like to be with Byakuya. She had imagined him to be bold. Confident. Even dominant, demanding in his desire. Why shouldn’t he be? He was that way in every other aspect of his life, every other avenue that didn’t involve them.
Instead of boldness, there was hesitation; instead of passion, there was indifference. And every time she tore down one of the stubborn walls between them, she found more walls behind it. A cruel sort of nesting doll of emotional indifference.
Why had Byakuya even opened that door for her in the first place? Why dangle the possibility of something between them, only to shut it in her face?
“I hate this,” Toko continued her voice cracking on the word ‘hate’. “I hate myself. I hate this stupid, pathetic, worthless—”
“Stop it,” Byakuya cut her off sharply. He always loathed these self-pitying spirals. But this one wasn’t entirely unfounded, and touched a nerve in him as well.
How to address this? How much to say? This was entirely uncharted territory. He swallowed hard, a knot of tension tightening in his throat, and let out a ragged sigh.
“It’s not you. I…I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Toko said quietly, her gaze fixed on her hands. “You think I’m disgusting. I know you do. You’re ashamed to be seen with me, ashamed to touch me. I should just—”
“I told you, stop—”
“No, I get it. I-It’s late, I can leave. I—”
“ Stop. You don’t get it at all,” he said firmly.
“Yes, I do.” Her voice was rising now with each accusing word. “Y-You don’t have to say it. I-It’s written all over your face.”
“No, you…damn it, just shut up. Just listen.” The words were harsher than he intended, but he needed to stop this spiral. Now. “You’re not the problem. It’s me.”
He wavered on just how much to reveal. The years of repression, of both overt and subtle conditioning, had surfaced every time he’d tried to connect with anyone, not just her. Byakuya had only barely begun to reckon with this, and there was no telling how long it would take to unravel.
He settled for a partial truth.
“I’m... not good at... this.” Byakuya explained, gesturing vaguely between them before returning his hands to his lap, clenching them into fists. “That’s not your fault.”
He paused, hoping that would be sufficient. It wasn’t. Toko remained silent, her gaze fixed on him, waiting for more. He took another deep breath and forced himself to continue.
“It’s how I was raised. It was in complete opposition to...” The words trailed off, unfinished. If there were anyone in the world he would confide in, it would be Toko. But he simply wasn’t ready.
“Damn it, just…” he muttered, shaking his head in frustration. “Just believe me when I say that the issue is not you. I want you here.”
That was it. It would have to suffice. He couldn’t bring himself to delve any deeper.
“Do you mean that?” Toko asked cautiously.
“Yes,” Byakuya answered without hesitation. “The very fact that you are here should be evidence enough. It’s just so damned difficult to let myself…” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “...Want that.”
He searched her face for some sign of acceptance. If he didn’t find it, Byakuya decided, he would simply put this entire relational endeavor out of its misery. He had the power to do that, at least.
Toko’s eyes flickered through a whirlwind of emotions—hurt, hope, skepticism—until finally, she offered him a watery, uncertain smile.
“...Can you say it again?” she whispered.
“...Say what again?”
“ I want you. ”
Byakuya scoffed, releasing a sigh he hadn’t realized he needed. “I said, ‘I want you here, ’” he corrected.
Toko giggled softly, slipping off her smudged glasses and wiping her face with her sleeve. She didn’t fully understand—perhaps she never would—but for now, it sufficed. She knew about as much about Byakuya’s upbringing as anyone, which wasn’t much, but enough to believe. It was, if nothing else, a start.
She moved closer, hesitantly, and reached out to touch his tightly clenched hand. Byakuya unfurled his fingers, taking her hand in his (despite its proximity to her grubby sleeve) and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Toko said, “I-I get scared, too, sometimes.”
“I’m not scared,” Byakuya retorted instantly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“R-Right, of course you’re not,” Toko cooed softly. “You’re strong. So, so strong…”
“I’m serious.” This time, Byakuya’s voice held a hint of his usual authority, tension fading in lieu of familiar composure.
“No, I-I believe you! Really.” Toko bit her lip, her playful grin betraying her skepticism. “We can talk about this another time. I can go, if you want.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Byakuya said. He gave her hand another squeeze.
“Then, I’m not leaving,” At ease, Toko leaned in and kissed his cheek, her hand caressing the side of his face.
For a moment, Byakuya’s body tensed again, anticipating the internal blowback. This time, it came in the form of butterflies—a faint twinge of discomfort. He let his eyes close and leaned into her warm, soft touch.
Toko pulled back slowly, her heart racing with the thrill of success. This time, her boldness had paid off. She shifted closer, her thigh brushing against his.
“I’m going to stay right here, whether you like it or not,” she declared.
This, too, felt right, and Byakuya’s relief gave way to something like satisfaction.
“I like it,” he murmured.
“What was that?” Toko asked, genuinely surprised.
“ I. Like. It ,” Byakuya repeated, louder this time. “How many times must I repeat myself? Your listening comprehension is sorely lacking today.”
Toko snorted, a joyful grin spreading across her face. Byakuya rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but return a small smile.
She rested her head against his shoulder again, her body nestled comfortably against his. Byakuya wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her closer. The slow, Parisian drama flickered on, unnoticed. They were back to where they had started, in a sense, and in another sense quite far away.