It had been a quiet day after that.
Kenji barely spoke in meetings. Yuu didn't push. He just stayed close—offering glances, small notes, the quiet kind of presence that doesn't demand anything.
When the office lights began to dim and people started trickling out, Yuu stood and stretched. "I'm heading home," he said, soft and easy.
Kenji didn't respond at first.
But a minute later, just as Yuu was pulling on his coat, he heard footsteps behind him. Kenji was there, coat in hand, head slightly bowed. Without a word, he reached out—hesitantly—and linked his fingers with Yuu's.
The touch was light, almost tentative.
Yuu squeezed his hand gently.
They stepped into the elevator together. Neither spoke. It wasn't silence, exactly. More like a kind of shared pause, heavy but not hostile. A stillness held between them.
When the doors slid open to the ground floor, they started toward the exit—
And walked straight into Souta.
He was leaning against the glass doors like he belonged there. Like he was waiting.
Kenji's grip faltered.
Souta's eyes dropped to their linked hands. And he smiled.
"Well. That didn't take long, did it?" he said, voice smooth with something cruel beneath. "A rebound already?"
Yuu stepped slightly in front of Kenji, instinct flaring. "Back off."
Souta ignored him. His gaze stayed fixed on Kenji, sharp and unreadable. "You always did need someone to cling to. I thought maybe you just needed space, Kenji. Time. But we can fix this. You and me."
Kenji's voice was small, but firm. "No."
"What?"
"I said no." Kenji raised his head now, jaw tight. "We're not getting back together. I'm not yours."
Souta's smile vanished like someone flipped a switch.
In an instant, he stepped forward and—crack—struck Kenji across the face with an open palm.
The sound was sharp. Too loud in the quiet lobby.
Kenji staggered back a step, stunned, hand flying to his cheek.
Yuu's vision went white.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted, stepping between them. "You don't touch him. You don't look at him. Do you understand me?"
But Souta didn't back down. He glared past Yuu, teeth bared. "Maybe I should beat you up again, you piece of shit. Maybe that's the only language you understand."
Yuu lunged before he could think. Not to hit, but to shield.
He shoved Souta back, hard, voice shaking with rage. "Go near him again and I swear I'll make sure the next person you deal with is the police."
Souta stumbled, then straightened with a sneer—but he didn't move forward.
Security was already on its way, footsteps echoing through the lobby. The night guard had seen enough on the monitor to intervene.
Souta looked around, jaw clenching. Then he turned, muttering something venomous under his breath, and stormed out through the glass doors.
Gone.
Yuu turned to Kenji, heart still racing.
Kenji stood perfectly still, one hand pressed to his face, shoulders rigid. His eyes were wide and glassy—not crying. Just shocked.
"Hey," Yuu said gently, stepping close. "Kenji. Look at me."
Kenji blinked.
"I'm okay," he said, voice barely audible.
"You're not," Yuu replied, "but you will be."
Kenji's breath shuddered in his chest.
And then, quietly, brokenly, he let himself fall forward into Yuu's arms.
Not collapsing—just choosing, for once, to lean on someone.
Yuu held him tight.
He didn't say it would be okay. He didn't promise that the past was gone.
He just held Kenji like a promise:
You're safe. You're not alone. You don't have to go back.
Not ever again.