Thanks for staying with me

The streets of Tokyo were crowded with people doing their last Christmas shopping as the sun set, painting the sky with vibrant hues and contrasting vividly with the towering skyscrapers.

Jiro was returning home from one of his most intense therapy sessions after sitting down with the same kind-natured psychiatrist he had sought help from years earlier.

She was the only one who believed him when he spoke about his uncle's abuse and manipulation. The young man had seen her every week for the last few months, and without her, he would be battling a lot more demons and struggling to find a way to cope with the traumatic events of his past.

His mind drifted back to his roommate waiting for him and his fingers squeezed the pockets of his leather jacket.

Nakashima seemed like a completely different person than the one he had seen at school - his arrogant smirk had changed to a thin line on his lips and he no longer had a hint of pride or mischief in his eyes. When Jiro approached him too closely, the bully would only flinch away from him, averting his attention and covering his blushing cheeks with hair.

And it was somehow strangely endearing to see him shy away like a frightened animal.

Jiro tried his best to talk to the other man, but he was reluctant to open up even though they had been living together for several days. He would often deflect from the conversation or stay quiet, not wanting to reveal anything about his past or his thoughts.

The man walking down the busy street was thinking of a plan. He decided to start by being vulnerable and sharing more of his own story with Nakashima - slowly but surely, he hoped to gain the person's trust so that he could finally achieve revenge.

The memory of the bully's sudden apology made him curse inwardly - he still had so much anger and hurt in his heart that he couldn't seem to let go of it, but his sincerely expressed words had made things a bit more challenging. He had expected Nakashima to act aloof and defensive, but instead, the other man had surprised him with his unexpected show of emotion.

He was greeted by a strong, burnt smell upon entering the penthouse - the intense odor seemed to be coming from the kitchen, so he rushed over to investigate.

"What the hell, why won't it come off?"

The house owner surveyed how the slender shoulders tried to scrub something in the sink, completely unaware of his presence - Natsuo had an apron around his waist and his head was bowed down as he vigorously scraped a pan with a brush. He could see the man's delicate hands working with determination and Jiro couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of his diligence.

"Do you need help with that?"

Natsuo, who had been so deep in concentration, jumped at the sound of his roommate's voice and the skillet in his hands clattered against the sink as he dropped it in surprise.

"Uh, hey, I didn't hear you coming in," he murmured as he quickly undressed the gray apron and adjusted his shirt.

"I didn't want to ruin the clothes after you bought them, so I borrowed this for a moment," the brunet continued as he started to fold the apron, his fingers slightly trembling as he didn't know how to do it.

Jiro gently took the cloth from his moist hands and folded it for him.

"It's alright. I'm glad you found it useful."

His pale brown eyes noticed a couple of pots with black residues of burnt rice and a pile of discarded paper towels used to clean them.

"I tried to do my part, but I'm not very good at this," the shorter man explained in a weak voice and avoided the taller one's gaze as he shifted uncomfortably.

"I appreciate the thought. How about we order takeout tonight?" Jiro suggested, trying to hide his amusement as he looked at the jumble of dishes and heaps of trash in his kitchen.

His hand reached for the sake bottle and he proposed they have a drink while they decide what to order. Natsuo looked up at him, a bit puzzled by the idea.

"You mean, just the two of us?" he asked rather timidly.

"Why not? I think we both deserve a drink," the multimillionaire smiled as he uncorked the faint green bottle and poured the liquid into two glasses.

The slim figure cautiously picked up his cup, brought it close to his nose, and sniffed the contents carefully - he had never tasted alcohol before, but something about the sweet, slightly musty smell intrigued him.

The man still wearing his leather jacket silently toasted and took the first sip, taking pleasure in the fruity taste of the liquor. He glanced at his acquaintance who was observing him with an inquisitive expression and smiled encouragingly at him.

"Go on, it's not so bad," he said with a slight chuckle.

Natsuo hesitantly placed the glass to his lips, tasted it, and let out a soft breath as the aroma spread throughout his mouth.

(Later that night)

Jiro glanced as Nakashima slowly dozed off, the effects of the alcohol visible in the faint redness of his cheeks and the slight unsteadiness of his breath.

The brown-haired man had taken three drinks of sake, but instead of loosening up as the other had expected, he only became more silent - he had listened intently to everything said to him, but he remained too shy to join in the conversation, offering only short answers and averting his gaze whenever their eyes met.

"Hey, Natsuo?"

"Huh?" he mumbled, closing his eyes as he struggled to fight off the sleep that was threatening to overtake him.

The tattooed man turned off the television and admitted to himself that it was somehow comforting to come home and find someone waiting for him, no matter how terrible the mess or smell was.

He had been alone for so long - in childhood and in his early adulthood - that he had forgotten what it was like to have someone to come home to, someone he didn't fear, someone who wouldn't judge him. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would feel so comfortable living with someone he had despised for years.

"Thanks for staying with me," the man said, perked his head to his side, and discovered his drunken roommate had curled up on the corner of the couch, his head resting against the cushion and his eyes firmly shut.

Jiro sighed and got up from the sofa, glancing at the wool blanket - he hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be worth the trouble to at least cover his former tormentor so he wouldn't be cold.

He shook his head in disbelief, wondering why he turned back when he was already a few steps away, but he approached the sleeping figure and spread the cloth over Natsuo's bare ankles.

His eyes glistened as he watched the other's peaceful face, almost wishing he could turn back time and set things right between them. There was a part of him that knew that this was his last chance to repair the mistakes of the past, but he also accepted that it was too late for them to become true friends.