The Truth and What Happens Because of It

They barely spoke on the train.

Kenji kept his head down, the red mark on his cheek fading slowly under the dim glow of the carriage lights. Yuu stayed close, not touching this time, just there. Watching. Protecting. Breathing slowly so Kenji might find rhythm in it, if he needed to.

When they reached Yuu's apartment, Kenji moved like a sleepwalker.

He dropped his coat by the door and stood in the living room, uncertain. Yuu said nothing—just stepped in front of him, wrapped both arms around his waist, and held him.

Not tight.

Not fragile.

Just present.

And Kenji stood there in the circle of Yuu's arms like it was the first safe place he'd seen in years.

Minutes passed.

The silence was full, not empty. Until, at last, Kenji spoke.

"I met him in college," he said. His voice was rough—dry, almost cracking. "We were both in a branding seminar. He sat next to me, called my ideas smart. Said I had presence."

Yuu didn't move. Just listened.

"We got together halfway through second year. He was charming then. Always the loudest in the room. I thought that meant he was confident." Kenji exhaled. "Turns out he was just loud."

He pulled back slightly so he could look down, not quite meeting Yuu's eyes.

"I thought I was in love. I was in love, maybe. I let so much go. The cheating. The way he'd talk over me. Joke about me. He said I was too cold, too stiff. He liked to make me feel small. And when I tried to pull away, he'd always reel me back in with just enough softness to make me question everything."

Yuu's fingers tightened slightly around his back.

Kenji swallowed. "The first time he hit me, he cried about it. I thought—maybe it was a mistake. Just stress. He'd never done it before."

A pause.

"The last time," he said, quieter now, "he cracked two ribs. I was in the hospital for four days. Told the nurses I'd fallen. They knew I was lying. I could see it in their eyes."

He looked up finally, and Yuu saw it—guilt, shame, and something deeper. A grief that had turned itself inside out over time.

"That's when I left. Cut him off. Blocked everything. Moved cities. Changed jobs. Aizawa & Partners was a new start."

Yuu didn't ask why Kenji hadn't told anyone sooner. He knew the answer already. Some things don't come out until there's someone who stays after the telling.

"I'm sorry," Yuu said softly. "That you went through that. That no one was there for you then."

Kenji shook his head. "You're here now."

Yuu nodded, and pulled him close again.

They stood like that for a long time, in the dim quiet of the room—Kenji held not like something broken, but something still healing.

And for the first time since the past had come clawing back through the glass doors of the office, Kenji didn't feel afraid.

Not because it wasn't still hard.

But because now, someone was holding the weight with him.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Kenji said quietly.

Yuu opened his mouth, but then closed it again. He understood.

They were still standing in the soft light of the living room. Kenji looked calmer now, not untouched by what he'd shared, but steadier—like naming the pain had taken some of its power away.

Then Kenji leaned forward and kissed Yuu gently on the cheek.

It was feather-light. Just skin to skin, no words. But it landed with the weight of something solid—trust, maybe. Or a beginning.

They went to bed soon after. No drama, no late-night wine or whispered confessions. Just the hush of two people breathing beside each other in the dark, holding on to something that felt, for once, like a choice.

The next morning, Kenji left earlier than usual.

He didn't say much—just smoothed his shirt, nodded at Yuu, and gave a small, unreadable smile before heading out the door.

Yuu didn't think much of it at the time.

But when he arrived at the office an hour later, the atmosphere felt… wrong.

Tense. Muted. Like the buzz of a normal morning had been dialed down just enough to raise the hairs on his arms.

Then he saw it.

Souta.

Sitting—sitting—at a desk in the creative bullpen like he belonged there, flipping through one of the brand pitch decks like he was reviewing a menu.

Yuu's stomach dropped.

But Kenji was already there, halfway across the floor, his posture rigid, his face unreadable as he walked straight toward him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kenji asked, voice low but firm.

Souta looked up slowly, that same toxic smirk spreading across his face. "You didn't return my messages. So I figured if I came through the front door like a good little client, maybe you'd listen."

Yuu started forward—but before he could reach them, it happened.

Slap.

The sound echoed.

Kenji's head jerked sideways. Souta had stood up and hit him hard across the face. No warning. Just violence—again.

And then—thud—a punch straight to Kenji's gut.

Kenji doubled over slightly, coughing, one hand braced on the desk to stay upright.

"How dare you tell that bastard about us?" Souta hissed. "That's our story, Kenji. Mine to tell. You don't get to play the victim."

Yuu was running now, fury blazing through him.

But Kenji… Kenji straightened.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. One of Souta's rings had scratched him. The red was thin, but visible.

And then—calmly, coldly—he said, "Are you stalking me?"

The words cut through the room like a wire pulled tight.

People were watching now. The designers, the interns, even Aizawa herself had stepped out of her office, eyes narrowed.

Souta blinked. "What?"

Kenji's voice didn't waver. "You show up uninvited. You wait for me in lobbies. You enter this workspace under false pretenses. You lay your hands on me in front of witnesses."

He turned to look at the team. "Anyone want to deny what they just saw?"

No one moved. A few shook their heads. One of the interns pulled out their phone, recording silently.

Yuu was at Kenji's side now, hand hovering protectively.

Kenji didn't look at him. He didn't need to.

He was done being silent.

"You're done here, Souta," he said. "Don't come back. Don't call. The next contact you make with me will go through a lawyer."

Souta's smirk cracked, just for a second, something dark and desperate behind his eyes.

"Fine," he spat. "You always were good at pretending to be the victim. Let's see how long that lasts."

Then he turned and stormed out, again—but this time, without the swagger.

This time, he didn't win.

Kenji stood still for a moment longer, breathing through the sting of his injuries, blood still fresh on his cheek.

Yuu touched his arm gently. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Kenji nodded.

And for the first time, he let someone walk beside him without flinching.