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The room was quiet - too quiet for someone like Kenta.
The ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead, its rhythm the only sign of life in Kim's otherwise minimalist apartment. A stray beam of moonlight filtered through the slits in the blinds, striping across the couch where Kenta lay curled up, blanket twisted around his legs, sweat staining his shirt collar.
He twitched once.
Then again.
His fingers jerked.
And then his lips parted with a hoarse gasp. His brows knitted as his breathing quickened, fists clenching at the frayed edges of the couch cushion. A tremble took over his body. It started from his shoulders and shivered all the way to his toes.
In his dream, the room was darker. The shadows were thicker. There was no moonlight - just Tony's voice.
"You know, Kenta..." Tony's voice was cold, even amused.
"You were my favorite pet."
Kenta was back there. In the glass-walled training room. Barefoot. Bare-souled. Eight years old again, holding the dull blade Tony had given him. Then ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty. Time blurred. The voice didn't change.
"Obedient. Loyal. Sharp. You were meant to be my weapon. My perfect little Dog."
He could smell the iron in the air. Blood. His? Someone else's? It didn't matter. It was everywhere.
Tony walked in circles around him like a man admiring a caged tiger.
"But you bit me."
The slap cracked across his face again, echoing with brutal familiarity.
"You. Bit. Me."
And then came the laugh - the one that had haunted him more than the bruises ever did.
"A pet that bites its master... must be put down."
Kenta flinched in his sleep, the sharp jerk sending the blanket half tumbling off the couch. He whimpered, breath catching. The memory's grip on his throat was vice-like.
"I should have put you down the day you looked at me like you had a heart."
"No-!" he gasped out loud, eyes snapping open. His chest heaved as he bolted upright. For a second, he didn't know where he was. Still trapped in that room. Still bleeding. Still eight. Still trying to please Tony.
But then-
Soft footsteps.
"Kenta?"
The voice. It wasn't Tony.
It was Kim.
Gentle, groggy, and close.
Kenta blinked, disoriented. He realized he was still on Kim's couch. The throw pillow was half on the floor, and his shirt was damp with sweat. His body felt heavy with the weight of the dream.
He turned his head, and there Kim was - dressed in a loose white T-shirt and pajama pants, hair tousled, eyes half-lidded with sleep but full of quiet concern.
Kenta sat frozen. "What... are you doing up?" His voice cracked on the words.
Kim didn't answer. Not immediately. He stepped closer, barefoot on the wooden floor, then knelt beside the couch, his gaze locked on Kenta's.
"Nightmare?" he asked softly.
Kenta tried to shake his head, tried to lie - but his throat betrayed him. It wavered, clamped, then gave in. He looked away.
Kim's hand was warm as it reached out, pressing gently to Kenta's sweat-slicked forehead. His touch was feather-light but grounding. It made Kenta blink back the burn behind his eyes.
"You're burning up," Kim whispered. "You shouldn't sleep like this. Come."
And before Kenta could react, Kim was standing, leaning in, sliding an arm behind Kenta's back and under his knees in a practiced motion.
Kenta tensed. "Wait-what are you doing?"
Kim didn't answer. He just whispered, "Shhh," and effortlessly lifted him from the couch.
Kenta's heart hammered in his chest. He wasn't weak - not anymore. But in that moment, something about being held like that made his defenses cave. He let Kim carry him, arms pressed to Kim's chest, head resting against his shoulder.
The walk to the bedroom wasn't long, but every step echoed in Kenta's ears like a secret being passed between them.
Kim nudged the door open with his foot and gently placed Kenta down on the bed, tugging the blanket back before pulling it over him.
Kenta blinked at him from the pillow, throat dry, heartbeat still uneven. He expected Kim to leave - to quietly return to sleep on the couch or the floor or wherever. But Kim just sat down at the edge of the bed, then leaned over, carefully brushing the hair off Kenta's damp forehead.
Kenta's voice was rough. "Why... are you being so nice to me?"
Kim paused, then looked down at his hands in his lap. He didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," Kim finally said. "Maybe because you've never been treated gently before."
Kenta almost laughed. A sharp, breathless kind of laugh. "Is that pity?"
"No," Kim said simply. "It's kindness. And if it makes you uncomfortable... I can stop."
But he didn't move.
Kenta's eyes softened for a moment. He wanted to say thank you, but the words got caught in his throat. So he stayed silent. The silence wasn't heavy though - not like Tony's silences, which were always the warning before pain.
This silence felt... safe.
Kim looked over at him again. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Kenta swallowed. His lips parted. "He said I was his favorite."
Kim tilted his head slightly.
"In the dream," Kenta clarified. "Tony. He said I was his favorite... pet."
Kim's eyes darkened at the word.
"And then he said... I bit him. So I needed to be put down."
Kim didn't speak. He just moved closer, sitting properly on the bed now, one knee bent beside Kenta's. His hand found Kenta's - calloused meeting calloused - and didn't squeeze, just rested there.
Kenta stared at the ceiling. "I didn't even kill him properly."
"What do you mean?"
"They said he's alive. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting." He exhaled shakily. "And I keep wondering if he'll come back. If he'll make me regret it."
Kim finally gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Do you regret it?"
Kenta was silent for a long time. Then - "No. But I miss him."
Kim didn't flinch. He didn't judge. "You're allowed to."
Kenta turned his head, slowly, eyes locking with Kim's. "Even after what he did?"
Kim's voice was steady. "Trauma doesn't erase love. And love doesn't excuse trauma. You were a child. You loved the only person who ever looked at you like you mattered. And he used that."
Kenta felt his throat tighten. "I feel so-"
"Broken?" Kim asked softly.
Kenta nodded.
Kim leaned down slightly, not touching, just hovering close. "You're not broken, Kenta. You were broken open. That's different. That means something better can grow inside."
Kenta turned his head away again. "I don't know how to be better."
"You don't have to know right now. Just stay." Kim stood up, reaching for the spare pillow. "I'll be on the floor-"
"No," Kenta said quietly.
Kim froze.
Kenta's voice was softer than a whisper. "Just... stay here."
Kim hesitated for only a breath. Then he climbed into the bed, careful not to crowd. He lay on his side, facing away, giving Kenta space.
But a moment later, a hand reached out beneath the blanket - unsure, trembling - and found Kim's shirt.
Kenta's fingers curled in the fabric, the smallest tether between fear and safety.
Kim didn't speak.
He just let him hold on.
Somewhere in the apartment, a siren howled far in the distance.
But in that bed, wrapped in quiet and kindness, Kenta finally slept without dreaming.
~~~
The morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and reluctant. Kenta stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly as the last remnants of his nightmare faded into the quiet stillness of the room.
The blanket still clung to him, heavy and warm, but the bed felt different now. His head rested on the pillow, but his body felt strangely lighter, as if something had shifted in the night, some burden had been lifted without him realizing it.
He sat up carefully, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. The soft sheets, the warmth of Kim beside him, still lingered. His heart, though still heavy from the past, beat with an unfamiliar steadiness.
Kenta swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood, stretching the tension out of his muscles. The cool air of the apartment hit him, but it didn't feel as cold as it had the day before.
His clothes from the night before lay on the chair across the room. His black shirt, the one he always wore, the one he clung to like a shield against the world. It was the only color he knew - the only color that felt like him.
The rest of the world was too bright, too overwhelming with its hues and contradictions. But as he approached the chair to pick up his shirt, something caught his eye.
A bundle of clothes lay there, folded neatly.
A colorful shirt. And not just any shirt, but something bold. A pattern. Stripes of deep blues, reds, and yellows. Something completely unfamiliar to him, something that screamed out with the kind of vibrancy he had always rejected.
It was Kim's shirt. The one Kim had left out for him.
For a moment, Kenta just stood there, his fingers hovering over the fabric. He could already feel the unease gnawing at him, that instinctive reaction to the colors. It felt foreign. Alien. He hated how it seemed to demand his attention. It was just a shirt, but it wasn't like the ones he had worn for years. It wasn't... black.
His gaze flickered back to the black shirt, the safe one. But then, his fingers brushed against the colorful fabric, and something about the scent that clung to it stopped him. Kim's scent. The subtle mix of soap, something fresh and soft. It was like a warm embrace, an anchor in a world he had always kept at arm's length.
Kenta's breath hitched. He didn't know why, but the scent made something in his chest tighten. His stomach fluttered with nerves, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Something he didn't want to acknowledge, didn't want to feel.
But the scent.
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then, without thinking, his hands grabbed the shirt and pulled it over his head, the fabric settling against his skin. The colors were too bright, too vivid, but the scent on it - Kim's scent - wrapped around him like a blanket, soft and warm.
Kenta let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. He hated it. And yet... he didn't. He didn't know what to do with the feelings it stirred in him, but for some reason, he couldn't take the shirt off. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He finished getting dressed, his usual black trousers now paired with the brightly colored shirt. His eyes darted nervously over his reflection in the mirror, taking in the strange contrast between the colors and his usual somber demeanor.
It felt wrong. But also right.
Kenta took a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling. It was only a shirt. It was just clothes.
And yet, it wasn't.
He stepped downstairs, the familiar hum of the apartment now tinged with the strange sensation of something new. He made his way into the kitchen, where the scent of something unfamiliar wafted in the air. Kim was already there, moving around the stove with practiced ease.
Kenta stopped in the doorway, momentarily frozen.
Kim was preparing food. But not just any food - something strange, something Kenta had never seen before. Kim picked up a piece of meat with chopsticks, then gently placed it into a green leaf.
He added something that looked like vegetables, folded the leaf, and then, with a focused look on his face, he lifted it to his mouth and ate it, seemingly content.
Kenta couldn't stop staring. His mind was too foggy to fully process what was happening, but something about the way Kim moved so effortlessly, so calmly, was enough to make him forget about the discomfort of his own skin for a moment.
He didn't realize how long he had been watching until Kim turned and caught his gaze, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"You're staring," Kim said with a teasing glint in his eyes. He didn't sound embarrassed, just amused.
Kenta quickly averted his eyes, his face flushing despite himself. "I-sorry, I didn't mean to."
Kim just chuckled softly. "It's fine. I didn't think you'd like this kind of food anyway, but it's what I made." He lifted another leaf-wrapped bundle and held it out toward Kenta. "Here. Open your mouth."
Kenta froze. His eyes flickered between Kim's face and the green leaf in his hand. "What is it?"
"I don't know if you'll like it," Kim said, his voice soft and nonchalant, though there was a slight hint of nervousness underneath. "It's just something I made with whatever was in the fridge."
Kenta stared at the leaf for a long moment, uncertainty swirling inside him. It wasn't the food that made him hesitate. It was the gesture. The way Kim was so... gentle with him. Offering him something that Kenta had never once considered eating - let alone accepting.
The gesture felt too intimate. Too much like something he had never allowed himself to experience before.
But then, the memory of the night before, the warmth of Kim's hand on his forehead, the way he had held him without asking for anything in return, bubbled up inside Kenta. Something about it felt... right.
He slowly parted his lips, eyes still locked on Kim's, as he accepted the food. Kim's fingers brushed against his chin for just a second as he fed him, and Kenta could feel the electricity of the touch buzz under his skin.
It wasn't the food that made his heart race. It was the quiet, unspoken connection. The way Kim didn't need anything from him, didn't ask for anything in return. He just... cared. And that was something Kenta wasn't used to.
Kenta chewed slowly, the taste unfamiliar. The meat, the vegetables, the spices - they all mixed together in a way that felt both strange and comforting. It was different from anything he had ever eaten, but it wasn't bad. It wasn't anything like the bland meals he had always eaten in his isolation.
Kim's smile widened as Kenta swallowed and looked back at him.
"So?" Kim asked, his voice light. "You like it?"
Kenta didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his lap, unsure of how to respond. The food was fine - good, even. But it wasn't the food that mattered.
It was Kim.
And Kenta wasn't sure how to feel about that. How to even begin to explain it.
So, he just nodded.
"It's... fine," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kim chuckled again, as if he already knew Kenta's answer, and took another bite of his own food. There was a calmness between them, a space that wasn't awkward, even if Kenta couldn't quite figure out why.
And for the first time in a long time, Kenta felt the weight of his past, his trauma, the walls he had built around himself, all... loosen.
~~~
The last bite of breakfast was a warm hum in Kenta's chest. The flavors still lingered on his tongue, unfamiliar but comforting, like everything else in Kim's world.
Kenta kept tugging at the sleeves absentmindedly, trying not to acknowledge how the colors still made him feel exposed, as if he were lit up like a warning sign. He didn't belong in colors. He never had.
But Kim kept stealing glances. And smiling.
Kenta pushed his plate away with a quiet clink. "I'll clean up," he mumbled, standing.
Kim didn't move from where he sat across the table, legs stretched out comfortably, eyes trained on Kenta with a familiar mischief dancing just behind his lashes. "You really wore it."
Kenta froze, one hand reaching for a cup, the other gripping the edge of the table just a little too tight. He didn't look at Kim.
"I left it for you on purpose," Kim continued, voice light but unmistakably pointed. "Didn't think you'd actually put it on. You hate color. You've told me that, like, five times."
Kenta's jaw tensed. "It was just there," he muttered.
"Still chose it."
Kenta felt a warmth creep up his neck, beneath the collar of the too-vivid shirt. "You didn't leave me anything else."
Kim tilted his head. "My point exactly."
Kenta shot him a glare, but Kim only grinned wider.
"And you look good in it," Kim added, leaning forward on his elbows. "Like... really good. You should keep it. Actually-" his eyes narrowed slightly, playfully, "-you should wear it often. Especially when you're trying not to be adorable."
"I'm not adorable," Kenta said quickly, his voice sharp, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him.
Kim hummed, standing slowly, deliberately. "Sure, sure," he said. "You're cold. And scary. And all serious."
He circled the table casually as Kenta stood frozen in place, unsure whether to escape or brace for another teasing comment.
But Kim didn't say anything else. Not right away.
Instead, he reached out, fingers curling loosely around Kenta's wrist.
Kenta stiffened. "Kim-what-"
"Sit," Kim said, gently pulling.
Before Kenta could respond, he was tugged forward and down, with Kim settling him firmly onto his lap. Kenta froze, both hands bracing against Kim's shoulders in a sudden panic of limbs and awkward closeness.
"I'm too heavy," he muttered, eyes flicking away.
"You're not," Kim said, voice suddenly softer, lower. "You're just right."
Kenta's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't used to being touched like this - like he was something gentle, something wanted. Even now, sitting like this, his taller frame awkwardly trying to avoid pressing too close, he could feel Kim's warmth seep into him like sunlight through a window.
"Seriously-" Kenta tried to rise, but Kim's arm slid securely around his waist.
"You're wearing my shirt," Kim whispered, his lips brushing close to Kenta's ear. "Don't you like it... wearing something that smells like me?"
Kenta sucked in a breath, his body going stiff again.
Kim leaned closer, mouth ghosting against the edge of Kenta's ear before he murmured, "Does it make you feel mine?"
The bite that followed wasn't hard - just enough for Kenta to flinch, just enough to make his carefully constructed blank facade wobble.
"Kim-" he started, low and strained, but it came out more like a breath than a protest.
"Say you like it," Kim whispered, his voice wrapping around Kenta like silk. "Say you like wearing something that's mine."
Kenta bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep it in, to hold onto the quiet emptiness he always clung to. But his body betrayed him. His breath stuttered. His shoulders trembled.
Kim's fingers brushed under the hem of the shirt slightly, against his waist - warm, grounding.
"Say it."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't..." Kenta's voice cracked. "I don't say things like that."
Kim's hand slid up his back, gently, comfortingly. "You don't have to say it all at once," he said, his tone still soft, but teasing again. "Just... this one thing."
Kenta remained still for a beat too long.
And then he shuddered.
Because something inside him wanted to say it. Wanted to let it slip out, to admit the warmth, the comfort, the flickering hope he didn't know what to do with.
But admitting meant surrendering. And surrendering meant trust. And trust had always gotten him hurt.
Still... he let his eyes drift shut, just for a moment.
His head tilted slightly toward Kim's. His voice barely made it past his lips.
"...I like it."
Kim stilled.
Then his hold tightened slightly, and Kenta felt the deep breath that Kim took against his back. When he pulled back just enough to look into Kenta's eyes, there was something almost reverent in his expression - playful still, but touched by something deeper.
"I knew you did," Kim whispered.
Kenta swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"Don't make me say it again," he muttered, barely holding his composure.
Kim smirked. "No promises."
Kenta groaned and tried to push off his lap, but Kim only laughed, pulling him back down.
"You know what would look even better on you?" Kim asked.
Kenta gave him a suspicious side glance. "Don't."
Kim grinned, leaning in again, lips brushing the side of Kenta's neck. "Me."
"You're insufferable," Kenta muttered, but the words had no real venom. His voice was already too breathless to carry weight.
And Kim, seeing that blank facade finally crumble just a little more, couldn't help the fond, smug smile that bloomed on his face.
~~~
I don't even know why did I even wrote this. I can't even write anything except Angst. I can already feel it's really boring and I am already regretting.
*Sigh*