Two of a Kind

[madimpossibledreamer]

I wasn’t expecting the ending, but it’d threatened to get too sappy and Mashita decided to opt out at that point. (He also would rather die than ask out loud but he actually is paying attention and if Yashiki seemed uncomfortable he’d back off and let Kujou do the talking.)
I don’t think it was happening on the sites I was on, so...but I’ve put it in the calendar for next year so I don’t miss it next time. (It is kind of on-brand for me to import everything and get ready for International Fanworks Day...only to forget to look up what day it happens on. Whoops.)

Main Points:
Death Mark/Shiin
Follow-up to Food for Thought
Chapter Summary: It takes some work, given that they're both prone to just talking around issues, but they finally say a few things straight out.  It's not going to be perfect, but things might actually work out.
Word Count: 1589
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Yashiki/Mashita, confession
Spoilers: Post Good Ending, so identity spoilers, ending spoilers, general game spoilers...
Warnings: touching on game concepts (Mashita's accusations) and generally for Mashita

 

         Looks like Yashiki’s finished his bowl, anyway, so he can move on from that whole depressing train of thought. “It sounds like you’ve already made your choice. I don’t know what you need me for.”
         Yashiki laughs, but there’s absolutely no mirth in it, just something hollow and almost void of life. “My whole life, I’ve never been able to do something on my own, never trusted myself to make any sort of decision. I always had to rely on Saya. Even now, I don’t…” the man’s voice dies in his throat. “I don’t feel like I have any right to make this decision on my own. The last time I did that…” he closes his eyes, clenches his hands, “...the last time I did that, a lot of people died.”
         He’s still feeling lost. He doesn’t have to know who he is, really, but if it’s still bothering him then he still needs something, even if Mashita’s fairly certain he shouldn’t be the one giving it. “Maybe you’re thinking about this all wrong,” Mashita changes his approach. “You’ve been angry at Kujou, like he set this all rolling and got out of it unscathed, but maybe that’s false.” He ignores the fact that Yashiki flinches at that. He’s an ass, sure, but not enough of one to throw a dead sister in the man’s face. “He died, so you could live. You’ve been talking a lot about how you hate him, but given what you’ve said about the guy, I get the feeling he wouldn’t like you either, and wouldn’t have wanted you to have his life. So go to town.”
         “That’s not—” Yashiki begins, before frowning thoughtfully. “I’d like to say that, but it wouldn’t be true, would it? I would like nothing more than to just be Yashiki Kazuo, without the burdens or cares of Kujou Masamune, but I can’t. I’ve seen how you’ve looked at me a couple times tonight. I’m not Yashiki anymore, am I?”
         Mashita tries to hide his relief that he wasn’t getting called out on those looks. He’s not sure how successful he is, but he can stubbornly pretend nothing’s going on with the best of them. “Never met the guy, but I’m pretty sure you’re not Kujou, either. You care about more than Kujou’s sister. You’re lousy at hiding your thoughts, even if they’re creepy.”
         Yashiki stares distantly, eyes vague behind the glasses as he ponders that, before he smiles. It’s a small smile and it has no right to have as much impact on Mashita’s mental state as it does, but it’s hopeful and it’s the first time since he arrived that the man’s looked like that, and that was all Mashita’s doing, so he’ll take that as a victory, too. “I suppose you’re right. So...I’m both and neither, I suppose, which doesn’t really help my question, but maybe it’s not meant to be settled. Many cultures the world over have a sort of...rebirthing ceremony, where the old you dies so a new you can be reborn. I complicated it slightly by staying in the transition period long enough to form a sort of in-between identity, and this definitely isn’t the recommended method, but a lot of the elements are the same, stripping away everything external to reveal the true self beneath, which then lets you focus on that and decide what’s worth keeping…”
         He trails off and coughs, blushing, when he realizes he’s been rambling and Mashita’s just been watching, a sardonic grin on his face. He’s enjoying it, actually, not like he’s gonna admit to that. His feelings for this older guy are embarrassing enough as it is. “Sorry, I—I’m tired and rambling and I think I might be a lightweight.”
         “Might?” Mashita just raises an eyebrow. Surely he should know by now?
         “Kujou didn’t see a point in drinking, so he—I—didn’t. I don’t know my limits,” he explains, face flushed.
         Mashita nods. He didn’t really care, but it’s probably good for the guy to know anyway.  He had brought some of the stronger stuff, but given how little Yashiki’d had, it’s probably just the fact that he sleeps so little he’s probably getting delirious. Not that Mashita’s going to point that one out. It’ll be funny to hold it over him. “Anyway, don’t worry about being a burden, or whatever. You saved my life, on multiple occasions, and helped me find the answers to two cases that have haunted me for years, plus you bought me dinner. Least I can do is help you out a bit.”
         Yashiki opens his mouth and hesitates.
         “I don’t have a right to get mad at someone for speaking their mind,” Mashita states carelessly. It helps.
         “It’s...not just a debt, right?” Yashiki is doing his best to sound detached, but like the detective said, the man’s lousy at trying to hide how he really feels.
         He could play it off, but the man’s lonely and he absolutely will take it personally if Mashita keeps doing this. Not like he’d take offense; more like he’d sadly take it as a confirmation even this new self isn’t a good fit for society.
         So instead, he’s as honest as he can let himself be in this situation. “You’re the closest thing a guy like me has to a friend.”
         He absolutely has to take a drink at that smile, though. He’s not equipped to handle this.
         “If that’s the case, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
         “Not gonna stop you,” the detective throws out carelessly.
         “I was reading about your case.” Yashiki’s tone is idle, but the topic is anything but casual, and the ex-detective stiffens. “Mashita, the accusation of sexual harassment. Was it actually because you like men?” That’s…more honest and straightforward than the man’s ever been.
         He weighs answering honestly, but from the sound of it the older man already knows the answer. Why even bother? “Yeah. I was seeing a subordinate—not someone reporting to me, but a guy lower down the ladder. I wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, but I didn’t harass him or anything like that. It’s not like either of us had illusions about love, which is why he felt so free to take that principal’s cold, hard cash. Fit neatly into the little story they wanted to spin.”
         He dares to glance up, and Yashiki’s expression is compassionate. He nods, as if it confirms every suspicion he’d had, but there’s no way the man could possibly have figured out all that with such certainty simply from reading about it. He’d talked with people, done actual legwork. Maybe even found evidence of the payment. Which...is interesting, because from the way Yashiki had put it, he’d made it seem like the only thing he was doing after he’d regained his memories was researching Mary.
         “You don’t find it disgusting?” Mashita asks after a moment, because Yashiki is definitely not condemning him.
         “You’re the one who finds everything disgusting,” Yashiki responds. The words are playful, but he’s deadly serious. “In any case, I’m not sure how I fall, myself.”
         That’s...different. “Another thing that changed?”
         “…Yes and no.” He smiles and looks down at his hands, shifting in his chair, at Mashita’s glower. “Kujou—no. The man who I used to be didn’t see a point, with the way everyone stared. I heard how useless I was as a hikikomori so often that, well. But perhaps that didn’t come first. I didn’t look because I didn’t see a point, or perhaps I didn’t see a point and that merely reinforced it.”
         Pathetic, Mashita thinks, but not with his usual sneer, because yes, he pities this rich, sheltered boy who’s anything but a snob.
         “I...suppose that’s why I didn’t call, you most of all. I didn’t want you do judge me like everyone always judged me. Somewhere along the line...your opinion began to matter.” He sounds detached, like he’s trying to distance himself from this, again, from the pain, even if he doesn’t necessarily know it.
         Okay, this has gone far enough. “Yashiki, say it,” Mashita snarls, because he’d been fine living in this limbo, for a bit, but it’s getting to be too much. He can’t handle it, not this.
         He doesn’t flinch, this time. Like he’d been expecting it. “I think...you’re the first person I’ve ever had feelings for.”
         “Gross,” is the first word out of Mashita’s mouth. He can’t take it back, now, as it sits in the air, heavy and unwanted. “You have terrible taste,” are his next words, and those, at least, are somewhere in the vicinity of what he actually wants to say.
         “Probably.” The man looks far too happy about his, so maybe he’d figured out how Mashita feels. “I don’t want to move too fast; there’s so much to do and I’m inexperienced, after all. But I want you to know that I’m still relying on you and that I hope you care enough to—”
         Okay, they can’t both be continuing this pity party; this is pathetic. “Stop talking,” Mashita growls and launches himself out of his chair, because their mouths have better things to do and now that he’s been given permission he’s going to act on the thoughts have been carving out a place in his head all night.
         Yashiki seems pleasantly surprised, which was the point. Sure, there’s more to do, but the ex-detective prefers kissing the man senseless, anyway, and maybe feeling him up a little, since he’s been good and patient.