Chapter Text
Help. Please.
Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT!!!
Matsumura stared at his phone, reading the message. He had been trying to restrain the tension building inside him, forcibly easing and relaxing his expression as he sat patiently on the train.
It had not even been two days since Nakamura had lost his way and somehow landed at his apartment. Both of their clothes, stained by Nakamura’s guts, the remnants of his heartbreak flushed out of his system and mixed with beer were still even at the laundry shop.
He could still vividly remember everything.
He had scolded Nakamura the day after and told him the generalized version of what had happened, but some things could not even be put into words. There was simply no way to describe that night had been—how broken Nakamura was.
The sobbing mess. The painful cries that erupted every now and then. It was like the tides of a broken symphony, looping itself over and over. From wretched wails to softening trembling whimpers, until it was silenced by breathlessness.
Then came a brief moment of respite, staring into empty space. His body collapsed, surrendering to the suffering, momentarily. Only to breathe again. Revived. Remember, and break all over again.
Walking in, Nakamura had been so detached, speechless and tear-stained. He looked so fragile, as if waiting for a single push to break him completely. And maybe that had been his intention when he wandered into the place. But Matsumura had frozen at the sight, lips pursed, unable to utter any comfort. So instead he offered him a beer, to loosen him up and maybe get him to open up slowly.
“I’m still underage… I don’t drink,” Nakamura muttered refusing from the floor, his voice hoarse.
That’s... that’s frustrating. Matsumura would have respected it and cared less under normal circumstances, but at a time like this, when someone was offering something out of courtesy and concern, one should at least consider accepting it. Yet this broken intruder, who had barely developed any social skills since he met him, sitting on his floor was just being an annoyance.
Matsumura swallowed his insults and instead pushed the can of beer closer to him again.
“Drink,” he said.
Without pushing back, Nakamura accepted the beer with both hands. He just stared at it, making Matsumura sigh in discontent.
“Look, I’m not teaching you to become a drunkard or anything sort… but you should at least have some experience with drinking at your age. It’s part of social culture everywhere. And knowing your limits is a good thing too, so you don’t end up in a situation you’ll regret,” he advised. “But also… just drink up to your heart’s content if it helps.”
Reluctantly, the offer was finally accepted. Nakamura downed it in one go, in silence, while Matsumura awkwardly and worriedly watched him gulp it down.
Nakamura paused, then pressed the empty can until it crumpled in his hand.
“It’s bitter,” Nakamura mumbled.
Matsumura had been hoping it would at least help, or ease him in some way, since Nakamura still wasn’t talking. He was too calm. Too silent. Eerily still. Matsumura was also too shaken by the situation to know how to act around him. The plan seemed to be failing. He felt at his wits’ end, lost on what to do now.
“Beer…” Nakamura suddenly uttered again, barely above a whisper. He was still looking down at his lap where the can rested. “Can we—can we get more?” he asked, turning slightly to look at Matsumura beside him.
His eyes were pleading. His cheeks were red, puffed, and slightly swollen. His mouth was in a tight pout that made Matsumura swear the smell of alcohol lingering between them had somehow gotten to him too because suddenly, everything about the sulking man beside him felt almost unbearably cute, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny him.
But it was probably just his brain short-circuiting, mixed with pity and the stress of the situation. Nothing more.
And importantly, it was entirely wrong of him to think that way about someone who was breaking apart in front of him.
That was inappropriate.
And was too gay for some reason.
Ridiculous.
Not funny.
He shook the thoughts away.
“Are you drunk after just one can of beer? Are you that much of a light drinker? Did you even like it?” he questioned.
Nakamura shook his head. “I’m not drunk. I don’t really like it… but… I thought if I drank more…” He paused, sniffed. “If I had more… the bitterness might drown the pain in my heart…”
Nakamura clenched the empty can closer to his chest and looked up at Matsumura with a more hopeful gaze, like a ‘no’ would break the dam holding everything in.
“Beer… please…” he uttered, his voice shaking. “Matsumura…” Nakamura called his name in a broken plea, his hand reaching out to cling onto the taller man’s sleeve, tugging gently. “Beer…” Nakamura’s voice cracked again as he sniffled.
Matsumura was dumbfounded. “That’s—that’s not how that works,” he said, staring at him unamused, almost reprimanding. “That’s not how your digestive system works,” he reasoned, indirectly pointing out what this man’s begging would result in not something that would patch the pain, but rather something that would just assassinate his stomach and brain.
Then he saw it. The trembling lips. The brimming tears.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
He was already regretting the beer suggestion. He would definitely regret this even more.
Matsumura patted Nakamura’s head, threading his fingers through the thick, fluffy hair and rubbing gently. Initially, he had the urge to smack him for being troublesome, but instead he found his hand being instinctively kind to his unannounced guest. Maybe he’d save it for the next morning so he could unleash it all in one go. For now, he’d tolerate Nakamura and be his support.
“Fine,” he gave in. “You’re going to owe me for this.”
…
Soon, they were downstairs at the nearest convenience store.
Nakamura was still walking and moving like he was out of himself, and now his only goal was what was making his feet keep moving.
✨ Beer✨.
Matsumura had not taken a single sip, and yet just having to stand and watch Nakamura like this already made his head ache, like a hangover was already taking effect before they could even reach the counter to pay.
Not to mention the utterly absorbed, dead-set beer hoarder right then, who was already stacking two packs of beer in the store corner, hadn’t brought his money. Again, he was using only his tearful face toward Matsumura apologetically, and it was doing its job again, like free credit card.
And when Matsumura gave him the money so he could pay, since Nakamura is a broken hearted, not a drunk, not disabled, and therefore should be able to pay for his own purchase. Nakamura just stood there again, looking down while clutching his packs of beer like a lifeline. For the third time, he looked up with a pleading stare.
“I can’t pay for these… I’m only 19…” he murmured weakly, as if reality had just dawned on him and was breaking him apart. “My—beer…” A sob escaped.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry in here. Oh Gahd. Fuck—
Matsumura panicked and halfheartedly took all the beer into his hands, then hurriedly carried it to the cashier before his sanity and reason could rush back in.
Nakamura is 19, and he’s about to turn 20 in a few months. He could easily play it off just to get it done. But he didn’t. He couldn’t—because he’s too honest and too nice to lie. Meanwhile, he, the one Nakamura is leeching off and depending on right now, is just 18. He’s turning 19 soon too, but still—
Augh.
What is happening?
Why is he handling the wreckage of Hirose getting into a relationship?
He’s broken too. He was hurt too.
And yet he couldn’t help taking care of his rival. Or ex-rival, now that their long rivalry had come to an end. Now they were basically turning into drinking buddies, or founding some broken-hearted club with its only two gay members.
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes in exasperation.
But really, oddly, with how Nakamura was right now…it felt like he was taking the hurt for both of them, while Matsumura was the one who’s handling damage control. He was heartbroken too, but his feelings were being drowned out by dealing with Nakamura’s fall.
As if helping him recover was his own way of healing too.
What a fucking way to cope.
He snorted, feeling ridiculous at his own thoughts, and gave a grim smile at the cashier, pulling off his menacing I’m-an-adult- dealing-with-shits-don’t-talk-to-me face.
Beer acquired!!
…
The bottles are emptying fast. Nakamura is now out of his shirt, which he is using to mop up the beer he spilled in front of him. Matsumura just wants to pass out from drinking and disconnect from whatever is happening right now.
“Hirose…”
That's all Nakamura has been crying out repeatedly as tears keep falling endlessly from his sunken eyes, mixing with the drinks spilled across the floor.
Not another word. Not complaints. Not grievances. Nothing but that name alone.
Matsumura could never have imagined there would come a time when he hated hearing that name and just wanted it to stop.
Messages from his neighbors keep coming in, concerned about the loud crying and occasional noise complaints. Some even personally come by to check on the commotion coming from his unit, and all Matsumura can do is bow his head and apologize profusely.
By the third knock, well past 10 p.m., Matsumura can no longer bring himself to stand and come up with another excuse for the noise. Instead, he crawls toward the source of it and offers the only solution he can think of to quiet it down.
He pulls Nakamura into a hug.
His head is swimming, but he can feel Nakamura slowly melt into him. And his body… his body just fits beneath him perfectly, enough for Matsumura to rest his chin on top of his head. His nose settles into Nakamura's hair. It smells nice. Compared to the overpowering odor of alcohol lingering everywhere, burying his face in that warmth feels better.
It was a strange sensation, the way everything seemed to slow, as he noticed such small, mundane details, he found himself physically drawn in. He nuzzled closer and breathed him in.
Matsumura holds him firmly enough that his presence becomes grounding, assuring him that Nakamura isn't alone. Both arms encircle him. One rests against Nakamura's lower back, just above his waist, while the other cradles the back of his head, gently angling him into a more comfortable position. It was steady and secure, yet loose enough that Nakamura still has room to pull away if the gesture was unwanted.
Nakamura is still shaking. Matsumura can still hear the whimpers and the cracks in his voice vibrating through his own body. Matsumura wanted to pull him even closer and silence the crying. But his fingers hesitate, wary of the last bit of gap they are about to erase.
It was the fragile figure beneath him that reached out and filled the remaining distance. Arms slipped around Matsumura, trembling as he clung to his back, fingers frail but clawing deeper as he pressed his face further in. Nakamura fully embraced him, holding on like he had finally found a place where he could safely let go.
Every quake of Nakamura’s cries was muffled as they pressed together, collapsing into Matsumura’s body. He felt like he could hold some of the hurt Nakamura was carrying. Matsumura’s hold tightened, hands moving in a slow, comforting motion along Nakamura’s back.
Finally it subside.
The tremors and unease in his body were gone, leaving only the full weight of trust Nakamura had finally settled into Matsumura’s arms. He’s breathing even out and better now.
Matsumura’s eyes fluttered open as he slowly woke in the middle of the night, his whole body aching from the discomfort of the hard floor where they had fallen asleep. The arm Nakamura was resting on had gone completely numb, and he could barely feel his fingers anymore. Their bodies were tangled together, limbs loosely caught in each other’s space. One of Matsumura’s legs hooked against Nakamura’s as they shifted in sleep locking their intimate space.
Their faces were too close. Matsumura couldn’t quite see Nakamura’s expression, but his lips were settled in him, and he could feel the warmth of his steady, peaceful breathing against his skin.
…
Nakamura was still dysfunctionally occupied after the reality finally sank in the next morning, after Matsumura had explained everything. He couldn’t even eat the soup Matsumura had made without staring at his spoon for a good few seconds until it went cold. Matsumura had to scold him multiple times to eat, or else he’d shove it in himself just to feed him.
Nakamura left just as quietly as he had entered. Matsumura wanted to walk him to the station, but he was already outside, almost as if running away. He insisted he had already taken too much of Matsumura’s time and kindness, and that he couldn’t intrude any further or cause more inconvenience.
Nakamura forced a smile as he stood at the doorstep, looking pale with swollen eyes. Nothing about him looked alright, even as he claimed he was fine.
Matsumura just wanted to yell at him for thinking such things when he obviously needed help—NO, Nakamura needed him specifically. That was the whole point why he was even here. Why they had even shared that cold night together.
And this Bakamura was trying to deny himself that comfort. Throwing it away—throwing HIM? Like nothing? Like he hadn’t held him last night?
Why did this feel like he was being indirectly dumped for the second time?
He took a step closer to Nakamura. His fingers twitched, the urge to hold him once more and snap some sense into him, to remind him he existed, that he could ask for him and that his arms were open for Nakamura—Matsumura was here. But he withdrew, his hands forming into fists for control.
Matsumura sighed and reached out, flicking Nakamura’s forehead.
“Call me whenever you need me.”
…
Chief clerk of the Mitsui family, later moved to Edo and was adopted as the son-in-law of Kinokuniya Rihachi at age 25. Opened a money-changing business in 1852 and later became head of the Minomura family, taking the name Nakamura Okuto.
In 1866, he became head of the Mitsui Goyōsho. Nakamura Okuto later helped modernize Mitsui after the Meiji Restoration through political and business connections. Nakamura Oku—
What?
Matsumura blinked and stepped away from his notes laid out on his table, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked up for relief. Once he shook off the tension, he returned to his work, pen back in hand, trying to assess with more clarity the intrusion disrupting his studies.
Nakamura Okuto.
Ughhhhhhhhhhh.
He had written that in his notes…one, two… no. There was too much of it. Why was he writing Nakamura’s name subconsciously in his notes? He rechecked the book he had been summarizing and searched for the error. There was definitely no Nakamura Okuto in that period. Damn it.
Minomura Rizaemon.
Pen slipped from his hand as he collapsed completely, letting his head fall dramatically onto the useless notes. It was all tampered with identity fraud as Nakamura was plastered all over instead of historical figure.
Fuck. He’s gonna fail over his intrusive thoughts. Awesome.
Nakamura… The name filled his thoughts. He really hadn’t messaged since that weekend.
Matsumura raised his head and tried to sit properly. He picked up his pen again, which had rolled off and fallen to the ground, and started correcting his notebook.
Should he message him first? That guy is awful at connecting with people.
He stopped his schoolwork and took his phone, fiddling with it until he reached the messenger.
You’re still alive? he typed, but quickly deleted it.
Are you okay? he typed and deleted that too.
I’m free. You can come over. Deleted as well.
Hey, I got beer. Nope. Deleted.
Maybe you should confess to Hirose…No, no, no. Deleted that too. If he was going to advise that, he should talk to Nakamura personally, not over text.
But that shit isn’t even reaching out. Ugh. Bakamura. Stupid. Stupid idiot.
Then his notification bell rang.
Message from Nakamura.
His heart lurched as he almost fell from his seat.
He stared at the unopened message, not opening it yet, just admiring the name ‘Nakamura’ highlighted on his phone. He couldn’t help but grin triumphantly.
Ha! I knew it. It’ll be sooner or later, Nakamura!! Ha… ha!
Matsumura laughed inside as he stood up, holding his phone high in a victory pose.
Now the message.
He opened it. There were only two words:
Help. Please.
He closed it.
Put it in his pocket. Gathered all his notes, dumped them into his bag, zipped it up, and before he could even process what he was feeling or let sanity catch up, he found himself already moving—to Nakamura.
The cries, the way he clung desperately, choking on his own voice and breath, it all came flashing back to Matsumura, and he couldn’t even bring himself to curse Nakamura or place blame like he used to. He was just worried. And he needed to be with him now.
Black pants, white shirt uniform with tie and ugly green Crocs sandals. In his rush, he had forgotten to put on his proper shoes and had only stepped out in his indoor slippers. He stared down at them as he sat on the train heading to Nakamura’s campus.
He had been texting him, but there was still no response. Once he got off the train, he started calling, but there was still no answer.
It was almost 4 p.m., and he wasn’t sure if Nakamura had classes at that time. Thankfully, the dorm he stayed in was also near the campus, so he might check there first. His steps grew longer by the second, faster, even as he felt the discomfort building in his calves from the oversized slippers, his socks constantly slipping. It hurt. He could feel blisters forming on his feet.
He should have thrown these damn slippers away long ago. But it was a gift…from Nakamura himself.
Back when their friend group had exchanged Christmas gifts, and they happened to drawn each other’s names. And, to keep up the heated fire of their rivalry, they had given each other stupid presents.
These ugly oversized Crocs for him were a gift from Nakamura, while he had given Nakamura an ugly, meme-filled Christmas sweater. Too bad that guy was socially inept both in the real world and online, which meant the random animal memes printed all over it were interpreted as just a strange design choice. Even worse, Nakamura liked the animals.
And even if Takeuchi and Hirose had laughed at it, they also seemed impressed in their own way. For Nakamura, though, it was simply a cute gift, which made him regret his own gift for Matsumura and end up apologizing for the mis-sized present, then treating him to ice cream when they walked home.
The memory comforted him and made him calm for a moment. Matsumura started to call Nakamura, and this time, he answered.
“Where the hell are you!?” Matsumura stopped walking and called out as soon as he registered it was picked up.
There was breathing and silence on the other end of the line. Matsumura could immediately tell it was wrong of him to yell, even out of panic and concern. He exhaled, recomposing himself.
“Nakamura… please tell me. What’s happening?” he asked, this time softly. “I’m already just outside your dorm.”
“Mm… ah… I…” Nakamura started to mumble at the end of the line. Matsumura could immediately tell Nakamura was shaking right now—panicked, with no way to calm down. He started walking again, hurriedly.
“Ah… I’m at the… the public library hall. Hirose… Hirose… is here too… I… i… i… I was asked to come for group study with others… and they’re concerned about me. Hirose—he—he’s concerned… about my grades—and I can’t refuse… I… I can’t back away… I can’t say no… but I’m scared… my chest hurts… my stomach too… I don’t know what to do… I don’t know what this is… Matsumura… I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”
That apology stung the most of all.
Matsumura couldn’t even answer. He bit the inside of his lip, trying to hold back everything building inside him—rage, panic, helplessness with nowhere to release it. The only thing that mattered was getting to Nakamura.
Panting, running, Matsumura finally found him.
Nakamura was curled up, sitting on the pavement, hugging his knees, face buried in them. He was between the parking area and the bushes, at the corner outside the public library.
He was alone. Suffering alone, like always.
Closing in, his aching legs slowing, Matsumura stepped closer—until something caught his eye, making his heart spike.
“Nakamura!!!” he screamed, trying to get his attention, picking up his speed again until one of his slippers completely fell off and flew somewhere.
Nakamura raised his head, which had been settled on his knees. His eyes searched until they found and locked onto the voice that had called him. Shakily, he stood, but before he could fully do so, he collided with arms wrapping tightly around him. He allowed himself to be carried and hugged back helplessly. Clinging to Matsumura, he let go and started to feel safe enough to cry again.
Matsumura held him close. This time, with no more inch of doubt. Fingers slipped into Nakamura’s hair at the back, letting him bury his face on his chest and settle there in safety. His face pressed softly against the locks of hair he had been claiming. Hands steady, fingers to palms, he held onto every part of Nakamura he could reach—all for Nakamura, but his eyes stayed fixed on the third presence that had come, someone he had made sure to outpace—Hirose.