CATCHFLY ver. Red | I Fall Victim

As the clock hits noon on a Sunday, the warm sun stays shrouded behind heavy curtains where Tsubaki sits at the computer desk of his studio apartment. The sound of clicks and keys echoes in the space as he edits the photos in his gallery to be posted to his Instagram account.

Today, he went through the photos taken during Ren’s birthday with a warm smile curled at the ends of his lips as he reminisced about the moments. Captured in each still photograph was a face of joy, laughter, friendship, and one more. One thing that makes his heart twinge in the memory.

His hand stops over the mouse as the last photo of that night is displayed on the screen, and his mind goes back to the night everyone gathered in celebration of the birthday boy. The six of them sat around the coffee table in the middle of the dorm, heads tilting back with drinks in hand. Sitting in front of Tsubaki’s view is his childhood friend Yuri, who doesn’t know he’s the subject of his gaze.

As he realizes Yuri’s eyes are set elsewhere, he fixes his eyes in the same direction where it lands on the birthday boy sitting at the end of the table, a bright and warm smile on his face from the genuine time spent with his friends on his special day.

Tsubaki raises the camera on his phone, and through the screen, it should’ve put his heart at ease to see such a beautiful sight—but his finger hovers over the button. His head turns, eyes returning to his childhood friend; the sight of the fond smile on his face, and Tsubaki snaps the photo.

The sound of his phone alarm going off wakes him from his daze, and a heavy breath leaves his lips as he leans back in his chair.

“It’s time to start heading to weekend practice,” he says to himself. “Get your head on straight, Tsubaki.”

He takes one last look at the photo of Yuri on his computer screen before sending it to deletion.

“What you are to me must only ever be what I am to you: A friend. Mine, and yours. Nothing less, but surely, nothing more.”

✻ ✻ ✻

When practice ends, the soccer team floods the locker rooms. While Tsubaki is the first to finish getting dressed, Yuri is occupied horseplaying with the rest of the team as they use their wet shirts to whack one another. The tiled room echoes with laughter and chaos as the shirtless soccer players run about the locker room aisles.

Not being in the mood, Tsubaki closes his locker and heads to the exit. That's when Yuri came around the corner running. Yuri quickly dodges one of his teammate's swings when he loses balance and slips, grabbing the closest thing to him as he goes tumbling down. One hand holds himself up on the bench for support as the other lays over the cold tile floor beneath him. He hears a pained groan beneath him and realizes Tsubaki had been what he grabbed on his way down. 

“Tsubaki!” He opens his eyes to the call of his name and a droplet hits his cheek as it falls from Yuri’s wet hair hovering above him. His eyes travel downwards to sweat running down his neck, to the exposed chest that breathed rapidly from running around, and he realizes the situation in the sound of Yuri’s panicked voice.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright, Tsubaki? Did you hit your head—” He’s pushed back as Tsubaki quickly puts distance between them, and he looks at him puzzled. “Tsubaki?”

Tsubaki’s head hangs low, the heat getting to his face while he tries to stand himself up. There’s a slight wobble, and he winces, his hand immediately holding onto his lower back.

“Hey, are you okay?!” Yuri steps closer, worry drawn all over his face as his hand reaches out, but Tsubaki stops him by the wrist.

“I’m fine!” he shouts, the booming sound stopping everyone in their tracks, and Yuri is left stunned.

As the locker room goes quiet, Tsubaki quickly grabs his belongings and leaves the room. Yuri’s at a loss and looks back at the others in the room, but they just shrug their shoulders.

In one of the empty department buildings nearby, Tsubaki throws his head under the faucet of the bathroom sink until the cold running water numbs his skin. He lifts his head, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, and in them, they tell him everything.

His hand turns the faucet off, and the water continues to drop slowly.

Drip.

.

.

Drip.

The water falls from his hair, soaking his shoulders in the frigid air, and all he can think about is Yuri. His bare post-practice upper body hovering over his own, and yet it was nothing he hadn't already seen before—so why? Why couldn’t he get the thought of his childhood friend out of his mind?

He lowers his body to the ground, and a hiss comes out of his mouth as pain emits from his lower back. As the last drop of water falls into the bottom of the sink, and he’s surrounded by the silence that comes after, a feeling of defeat comes over him—as if he’s lost a long-fighting war he’s surrendered to. 

He’s given up. He’s finally come to terms with something he’s buried deep down. He was numb. He couldn’t feel anger, disappointment, sadness, or regret. Nothing—he was numb.