Haruto and I were talking about foreign movies through the phone one evening when he brought up German films. I mentioned not having watched many when I was growing up—removing the fine details like the fact it was the 1910s and 20s, and films being a widespread thing that you could access from the comfort of your home wasn't a thing yet.
"I watched a German film recently. It's a gay film, but it has a sad ending." He had paused as if thinking about what to say next. "Would you like to come over on Friday to watch it with me?"
Of course, I had said yes, and that was why at eight PM in the evening after work, I was standing in front of the door that led to Haruto's apartment. I had knocked a few times already and was waiting patiently as I clenched my fists and nibbled on my bottom lip. I had eaten at work—an abused greyhound that had been made to race on drugs like cocaine. I hadn't been hungry, but I had eaten just in case I found myself in a compromising position with Haruto. I didn't want to admit it but what Vincent had said was true. If anyone was a danger to Haruto, it was me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I was the one who ate him.
Haruto had opened the door for me with a smile on his face before stepping aside and letting me walk into his apartment. It reminded me a lot of my own, but you could tell that someone lived in his. I could smell spices from the kitchen, and the finishing in the living room outdid mine by miles.
The television was on, and Haruto had put some snacks on the center table.
"You can have some water before we start," he said, walking over to the sofa before taking a seat. "You can use the bathroom too."
I nodded, taking off my shoes and removing my coat before heading to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I took some deep breaths before looking at my reflection in the mirror. There was a string of a memory dangling from the toothbrush holder. Haruto was bent over a sink and choking on pills. I looked away, disgusted at the growling in my stomach.
This was Haruto's house. I swallowed. One could tell.
I walked back to the living room and took a seat beside Haruto. He had turned off every light but one dim one to make the colors on the TV screen 'pop more' as he had put it.
The film was fine. Haruto concentrated on the subtitles while I concentrated on Haruto, letting myself take in his deep-set eyes and strong jawline. Towards the end, I moved my attention to the screen. It blacked out after the scene of the man crying in his car. The living room had become quiet, and Haruto had moved to rest his head on my shoulder as he touched my thigh and gave it a squeeze.
My heart was beating fast, and I tried my best to not let Haruto know that I was nervous because he had his head on my shoulder. His memories were getting on the sleeve of my shirt, and my neck. They rattled like rusted chains that were being oiled for the first time in years—he was remembering something. I could tell that he had something on his mind and wanted to talk about it.
"Wern," Haruto said, almost in a whisper. "Did you have issues when you came out?"
"No," I got out, answering Haruto's question. My mother had been killed by the man she loved, and I still was in the closet then—not because I was afraid, more so because I didn't feel like it was something worth announcing. I wasn't seeing anyone then, and in all my, one hundred and an added few years of my life, I have only really been attracted to three people. Two had been other vampires that I had dated briefly and parted ways with and there was Haruto.
"What about you?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "Did you have any problems coming out?"
"No."
His answer shocked me. No? I wondered, squinting at the fragment of a memory of his that was just by my feet. Haruto was getting slapped around by a person I assumed had been his foster parent. Was Haruto... lying?
"When I was a child, up until I was thirteen years old, I lived in a brothel," Haruto started saying. His voice was clear, but you could hear the underlying hesitation and shakiness it held. "You know, men would come in on drugs and would want to hit the woman, but battered sex workers are hard to sell after, you know?"
No, I didn't know, but I nodded anyway.
"So, when men like that came in looking for someone to hit, the brothel owner would give me to them. They were too high to figure out if it was a man or a woman—" He paused, taking a deep breath. "An adult or a child..." he trailed off, licking his lips as he adjusted the position of his head on my shoulder.
"Despite all that, I have happy memories in that place, Wern," he said. "The women were nice to me. They would clean me off afterward, feed me, and call me their ototo." He said the last bit in a contrasting Japanese accent, and I made a mental note to google what that meant later.
"It was the same with my coming out," Haruto said. "Of course, my foster parents didn't take it well, but so remember coming out of that thinking, 'this wasn't so bad', I had expected the reaction to be much worse, but it was marginally better, so it was okay."
My heart was breaking, but I held it together, not wanting to let the hot angry tears held behind my lids to spill over. It wasn't fair. Haruto was so desensitized to suffering that what I was seeing in his memory—clear violent abuse—wasn't so 'bad' and wasn't an issue.
"Wern."
I blinked, turning to Haruto who had raised his head from my shoulder.
The man was giving me a concerned look. "Are you crying?"
"No," I said, blinking back the tears that had won the struggle with my life. "I'm just a bit shaken about what you said," I sniffed, forcing myself to smile.
Haruto didn't look convinced. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't bring things like that up—"
"No, I'm happy you're telling me all this," I said, cutting him off. "I like learning more about you."
Haruto smiled, reaching out to tuck a few stray strands of my hair behind my eyes. "And I like opening up to you." Haruto was so close now, that our lips almost touched. "That's why one day I hope you'll open up to me," he said in a low voice holding on to my face with both his hands so that I didn't have any open but to look at him. A part of me was panicking, but a part of me felt loved and cared for.
"I like you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. "I like you so much."
My stomach felt warm as my face burned up as he began to press his lips against my cheeks. My mouth waters, partly from the smell and hissing of his memories, and partly from the feeling of his lips leaving butterfly kisses all over my face.
I let out a sigh, reaching out to pull him closer, to guide him to lips that he had been frustrating me by intentionally avoiding. We kissed for a bit, clumsily trying to figure out the right pace as we sighed and groaned into each other's mouths. My heart stopped when I felt his hands move under my shirt to feel the skin of my back.
"Wern, I like you."
I don't know if Haruto was trying to give me a cardiac arrest with his words, but it was working.
"I like you," I found the voice to whisper back. "I love you," I said in an even lower voice, hoping that Haruto hadn't heard it, but he had.
He broke our kiss immediately, pulling away from me to stare at me with wide eyes and parted lips. "Really?"
Part of me wanted to deny it—wanted to claim that it had just popped out of my mouth because of the mood, but the pressure of monitoring and gating what feelings I could express around him was weighing down on my shoulders. I hated it. There was nothing wrong with him knowing. It was embarrassing to me, but Haruto wouldn't put me down because of it.
"Y-yes," I found the voice to say, watching as Haruto leaned in again to take my face in his hands before pushing me down gently until I was lying down on the sofa.
"I love you," he mused, smothering me with kisses as he let his hands travel up and down my sides. "Will you go out with me?"
"Y-yes," I said, despite everything in me that said it was a bad idea. Haruto still didn't know who I was. I wasn't boyfriend material, and. I was bound to hurt him someday, but God, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted Haruto so deeply that I ignored all the backlash my conscience was throwing my way.
Haruto let out a relieved laugh before pushing hair out of my face and pressing our lips together again. I let myself touch him—something that I had been afraid to do all this time because of fear of losing my mind and consuming him, but today was special.
The man I wanted, was mine.
All the paranoia and anxiety I usually felt could wait until tomorrow morning.
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