Link: (•˕ •マⳊ
The first thing Yudai thinks when he meets Fuma is: wow, this guy is handsome.
His second thought is: wow, why is a guy this clean-cut standing in my filthy little garage workshop?
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or: the one where Yudai is a mechanic, artist, and prosthetic expert on a junker planet on the edge of the solar system and Fuma is a handsome client from downtown looking for a new arm.
Link: (•˕ •マⳊ
Perhaps Yudai needs the release, but Fuma needs this: to prostrate himself at the altar of the only god that he has ever believed in.
fuma finds his faith in his oldest member’s bed.
Link: (•˕ •マⳊ
Yudai won’t risk it. He can’t risk it. Not just on principle, but mentally, physically, he can’t. The very idea makes his throat close up, that lump swelling even larger, a tumour of guilt and shame.
Drunk words, sober thoughts.
Sometimes, Fuma looks at Yudai like he’s seeing right through him. Like he’s reading Yudai’s mind the way he would a book. Skimming the thoughts as they’re written across the wrinkles of his brain.
Yudai doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. Fuma decides to take it from him anyways.
Link: (•˕ •マⳊ