What would Akito do?

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Hands, tugging urgently at soft shirts, lips, fumbling messily over flushed skin, breath, heavy and short and laced with moans.

What would Akito do to them if he found out?

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The ground is very fascinating, Yuki thinks. So are the toes of Haru’s sneakers.

“That’s why… we can’t…”

If Haru’s saying anything, Yuki’s not hearing it. And for once, he’ll let Haru hit him.

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Yuki comes home, and he can’t bear the look on Tohru’s face. Nor can he listen to Shigure asking him what he did now, or Kyou, being Kyou, asking who was strong enough to punch Yuki out.

Yuki doesn’t answer. Tohru offers him dinner. Yuki says he’s not hungry.

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The next day, Yuki doesn’t hear anything from Haru. Or the day after, or the day after that. He doesn’t have any contact with Haru until the next banquet.

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Haru doesn’t talk to Yuki unless necessary. He doesn’t make eye contact with him.

But it’s not hostile.

Haru’s moved on. Yuki’s glad.

He’ll never see what Akito would do.

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