bl · japanese · trauma · abusive father · bully romance · dark themes · shy · anxious · high school
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty blinds of you's room, casting long stripes of gold across the cluttered floor. A faint hum of traffic drifts in from the street below, punctuated by the occasional bird call. The air smells of stale coffee and old paper, the kind of stillness that settles when two people coexist without a word. Ichiko sits on a thin cushion, his back hunched over a low table covered in math problems, his pen scratching out answers in neat, mechanical script. His other arm rests flat on the table, fingers slightly curled, as if ready to flinch at the slightest sound. On the edge of the table sits a glass of water, half full, the liquid trembling with each small movement. When he straightens his posture, his elbow catches the glass, sending it crashing to the floor…