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Title: Truth or Dare Fandom: Tokyo Ghoul :Re Pairing: Urie Kuki/everyone. Urie Kuki/Sasaki Haise, Urie Kuki/Shirazu Ginshi, Urie Kuki/Mutsuki Tooru, Urie Kuki/Yonebayashi Saiko. Rating: T Summary: But soon enough it’s his turn, and because he sat down again for this, he has to face the other squad members looking at him curiously. There’s no chance he’ll subject himself to whatever shitty dares they have in mind, so the less embarrassing option is just to give them a truthful answer. (Or he can lie, if he has to. He’s a good liar.)

“Truth,” he says.

Shirazu studies him for a second, then the corner of his mouth twitches up. “How many people in this room have you kissed?"

A/N: heya i’m Back at it again with the Bad Quinx Fic!!!! been meaning to write this one for at least a year, probably closer to 2. (AO3 link is in the title!)

Sasaki is regularly full of shitty ideas, so when he suggests that the squad come together for a night of games, Urie isn’t surprised—he’s not even disappointed, exactly, because it’s hard for his expectations to be any lower than they already are. (If anything, he’s happy that no one has used the phrase “team building exercise,” even though he suspects Sasaki is thinking about it.)

“I was planning on getting an early night,” he tells them over dinner, just to let them all know that he doesn’t care about them.

Sasaki (who never eats with them and thereby looks like a fucking creep as he leans over the table propped up on his elbows) adjusts his glasses so he can peer at their former squad leader. “You’ll still join us for a little while, though?”

Urie shrugs. “I’m sick of Mario Kart, so if it isn’t that (I still won’t be interested)…”

“Let’s play party games!” Saiko suggests, a distinction that Urie doesn’t quite understand. Judging by the blank looks on Mutsuki and Sasaki’s faces, he’s not the only one; it’s only Shirazu that seems to understand what makes a party game different from a regular game, because he’s grinning at the idea.

“Like either of you have ever been to a party.” Urie rolls his eyes.

“My mom made me go to a lot of birthday parties,” Saiko answers. “I think it’s because it was a free meal for me, and she didn’t have to look after me.”

An uncomfortable beat; everyone is staring at their plate.

“O-kay.” Sasaki forcefully injects cheer into his voice. It’s not contagious. “We can try some party games, Yonebayashi. If all of you help wash up, we can even drink the bottle of sake I’ve been saving.”

* * *

Urie does not help them wash up.

But Sasaki is soft and breaks under enough whining from Shirazu and Saiko, so the small bottle of sake comes out anyway. It makes a poor companion to the boring card game they play first, one which has Urie standing up and stretching his legs as he prepares to leave this shit behind for the night.

“No, wait!” Saiko protests, tugging on the leg of his pants. “We haven’t gotten to the fun stuff yet.”

“Sit down, Uribou,” Shirazu chimes in. “You have to play Truth or Dare with us.”

Urie has never played that game before. (Okay. He hasn’t played many games. But that’s not the point.) He knows the premise, though—it’s kind of like one of those moral dilemma exercises they teach in philosophy courses, because it sums up as a choice between two undesirable outcomes.

Fun? Please.

“One rule,” Sasaki says, holding up a finger to emphasize that he’s serious. “No dares that will cause anyone to get hurt. Understand?”

“I dare you to take that back!” Saiko giggles.

“Then I pick truth.”

“Am I your favorite member of the squad?” Saiko leans forward on the floor and props up her chin in her hands so that they frame her face, and then she tilts her head back and forth like a poodle.

“No.” Sasaki frowns. “I can’t pick favorites. You know that. Mucchan, truth or dare?”

Mutsuki flushes. “Um… dare?”

“I dare you to take off the eyepatch for the rest of the game!”

(This game is also stupid. Urie has regrets.)

But soon enough it’s his turn, and because he sat down again for this, he has to face the other squad members looking at him curiously. There’s no chance he’ll subject himself to whatever shitty dares they have in mind, so the less embarrassing option is just to give them a truthful answer. (Or he can lie, if he has to. He’s a good liar.)

“Truth,” he says.

Shirazu studies him for a second, then the corner of his mouth twitches up. “How many people in this room have you kissed?”

Urie freezes.

Yeah. That’s not fair.

(Jerk.)

“Four.”

There’s a moment of silence. Sasaki looks at the squad; the squad look at each other, then at Urie, then at Sasaki; Sasaki looks at Urie.

Urie checks his watch. It’s only 9:15 p.m.

“Four,” he repeats.

“That’s … everyone.” Shirazu’s jaw has dropped.

“So?”

“You don’t even say good morning to any of us, but you’ve kissed every single one of us?” Saiko’s eyes are blown wide as she asks.

“Thought the rule of the game is that you ask one question and I give you one answer.”

“Forget the game.” Sasaki swallows, clearly a nervous gesture. “We’re just curious.”

Yeah. Well. Clearly.

“Who was first?” Shirazu isn’t ready to drop it quite yet. “Was it me? Uribou, was I your first?”

“No, and also I pick dare for the next round, so that’s enough questions.”

“I dare you to answer our questions.” Saiko grins.

“I don’t think I agreed to this.” Urie crosses his arms defensively in front of his chest, drawing up his knees just a little bit. “Why do you all care so much? (I’m not dating any of you, so stop acting like I cheated or something.)”

“Accept my dare, Urie-kun.”

So far, a hole hasn’t opened up in the apartment floor to conveniently swallow him and remove him from this situation, so Urie sighs.

Fuck it. It’s not like they don’t already know one situation apiece, and they’ll compare notes anyway. So isn’t it better that he gets his version of the story out first?

* * *

It’s fitting, perhaps, that Sasaki was the first member of the squad that Urie kissed. How long after the formation of the squad? Ah … just a few months, probably. Long enough that he’d had time to realize what an annoying idiot Rank 1 was, long enough that he knew to reserve the face-to-face fights and confrontations for when they were really necessary (and the rest of the time it was better just to go behind his back and do whatever he wanted.)

It was kind of insulting, the assignments the squad was given. B-rate ghouls and lower, just gutter trash for them to sweep up. It didn’t really warrant squad meetings over at headquarters where they all compared notes—Urie was confident that this entire operation could be dealt with in the span of an afternoon.

He was confident, because he’d overlooked the evidence, mapped out the crime scenes and compared them to the bus routes and stops. All the notes he needed were handwritten and printed into his notebook, with a handful of relevant maps tucked between the pages.

He’d just made the mistake of leaving it open and sitting out on the kitchen counter while he made himself an afternoon cup of coffee, and grabbing for it so that Sasaki wouldn’t see it and interrogate him and take all the fucking credit for Urie’s own hard work—yeah. Alright. It looked suspicious.

“Urie-kun, where have you been? We were looking for you.” Sasaki’s brows were knitted together in concern under his round glasses, just covered by the end of his skunk-colored fringe.

“Doctor’s office,” Urie lied.

“You’ve been in there a lot. Is everything alright? The surgery…” Sasaki stepped closer.

“There was a form I was supposed to sign last week that he forgot to give to me.” Urie’s hand curled tighter around his notebook, and he drew it in towards his chest. A vision played out in his head where he’d reach for his freshly brewed cup of coffee, and step forward and really purposefully trip so that it splashed on Sasaki’s white shirt and into his face—

But even Urie wasn’t that petty.

“Oh. That’s a relief, I suppose!” Sasaki smiled. “Looks like you’ve been busy. I know you work hard, Urie-kun, but you shouldn’t overwork yourself-—”

Urie passed his tongue over his lips before he made his move.

He stepped forward, using his spare hand to lightly cup Sasaki’s cheek, then leaned in to press their lips together (eyes closed, so he wouldn’t have to look at those stupidly wide grey eyes any closer.) Just a second, nothing lingering or emotional, but firm enough that it would be convincing.

The movement gave Urie the momentum to step sideways around his mentor, leaning to the side just enough to snatch the coffee cup off the counter.

“Stop worrying,” he called over his shoulder as he left, paperwork still cradled against his body. “(You’re ugly when you frown.)”

* * *

If he was prone to bickering with Sasaki, it was a hundred times worse when it came to Shirazu.

At least the younger boy had the distinction of being the one member of the squad that Urie could tolerate training with. Which … admittedly was due to the fact that he was the only one besides Sasaki that ever made an attempt, because Saiko was always asleep and Mutsuki got panicky about the idea of fighting.

(Idiot chose the wrong career.)

There might have been something a little satisfying about tossing taunts back and forth across the gym, too, and having Shirazu rise to the challenge and spit back his own sharp-edged words. It would always start with little things, but on the good days, there would be real venom laced behind the words, so that it would hurt to match the intensity of their blows.

Urie tried not to consider what it meant that he liked how it felt both self-destructive and integral to his growth as an investigator at the same time.

Between the two of them, he was definitely stronger, but Shirazu could be surprisingly quick when he timed his moves right—and so today Urie didn’t see the kick coming, only felt the foot slamming into his ribcage and knocking him backwards.

Sent in another direction, he easily would’ve broken one of the tall glass-paneled windows. Instead, Urie was stopped by one of the solid walls, and he’d already slid down to hit the floor before he was able to take a breath.

Shirazu—that idiot—stopped.

Urie wheezed. “Keep—going. Fuck you.”

“Sorry—you okay?” Yeah. Now he was kneeling, jaw hanging open a little stupidly and one eye flooded black and red in a way that didn’t match the concern written everywhere else in his face. Beads of sweat around his hairline made his blond hair stick to his skin in funny ways, Urie noticed; wasn’t a good look.

His hand (still wrapped in his leather glove) shot out and grabbed the collar of Shirazu’s shirt, and he shoved as hard as he could, ignoring the protest of pain from his sternum. Shirazu probably could’ve stopped him if he wanted to, but it was his turn to fall backwards, Urie collapsing forward on top of him.

“Stop apologizing. (You’re holding the whole squad back when you hold yourself back.)”

Shirazu blinks. “What the hell is this? You gonna kiss me or something?”

Oh? Trust him to make a stupid joke at a time like this…

“You wish.”

Was—was Shirazu biting his lip now? And where was Urie supposed to look, if not at the way his sharp teeth made little indents? “Bet you’re scared to,” Shirazu taunted.

“I’m not—” But what good was that as a protest, if he didn’t follow through? Maybe this would make Shirazu regret—regret everything, hopefully.

Urie leaned down, making no effort to hold back the scrape of his own teeth on Shirazu’s lower lip, or to stop his gloved hand from tugging sharply at that stupid long hair, either.

* * *

Tensions might have been high before the Auction raid, but it was a different kind of tense afterwards.

It had been convenient, before, to ignore both Saiko and Mutsuki. But now they had both asserted themselves as part of the team, even to the point of receiving accolades in the latter case. Urie would only be insulting himself to think of them as competition, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his stomach twist just a little bit further now.

It was already doing quite a bit of twisting. He’d fucked up pretty badly, hadn’t he? And that was bad enough on its own, but then Mutsuki had seen it all firsthand. Not only seen how Urie had fucked up, but then watched him break down after it, and in truth that was the part that bothered him more.

It was one thing to be weak. It was another thing for someone to see him be weak.

With the eyepatch on, it meant that it was only half of a pitying gaze that would follow him around the room when the squad was together (but that was a hell of a lot of pity to be pressed into the space of one eye.)

(How unbearable.)

“Can we talk?” Urie finally asked, when the strain of it was finally too much. A few days since the Auction, when he couldn’t realistically claim he was resting from his injuries. They’d healed pretty quickly, after all (the physical wounds, at least.

“Whatever you need, Urie-kun.” Mutsuki rested a hand against Urie’s forearm, which Urie hastily snatched away.

“Come to my bedroom. It’s private.”

Mutsuki blinks, but he follows obediently, like Urie still has some sort of authority around here. It’s a nice thought, but probably not true.

Now that they were here, though, Urie wondered what exactly he was trying to put into words. He crossed his arms and leaned next to the closed door, which at the very least was an indication that Mutsuki shouldn’t take the liberty of going much further.

“Forget it happened,” Urie suggested. “All of it.”

Mutsuki’s mouth opened and closeds in quick succession, which begged the question of what he was holding back. “I’m sorry, Urie-kun, but I can’t do that. I … don’t think it would be good if I did, either.”

“Why not?”

“I meant it when I said you don’t have to be alone,” Mutsuki continued quietly. “It was hurting you. It’s still hurting you.”

Hard to deny.

Urie looked down.

“I shouldn’t have hurt you,” he muttered, and spared a quick glance towards Mutsuki’s face. So full of understanding… why? “You know I’m not asking you to forgive me, right? (I don’t want your pity…)”

“I know.” Mutsuki ran the fingers of one of his hands over his opposite wrist, but he smiled as he did it. (It still looked sad, somehow, unless that was Urie’s own turbulent emotions tainting his picture of things.) “But it’s hard for me … being mad. I don’t want to be mad.”

“…hey.” Urie swallowed, and reached out, lightly tapping the back of Mutsuki’s hand to indicate he should come closer. “I guess… what I mean is that I’m sorry (I really am). You’re, um. (You’re really too kind for your own good?)”

Except he wasn’t good with words, so what he meant to say died on his tongue. Sighing, Urie accepted a gesture would have to do instead, as much as he hated casual displays of affection.

It was meant to be a quick brush of lips against the cheek. It was that, even, but then Mutsuki moved, and then there was a repeat, but this time with lips against lips, which Urie really hadn’t planned.

Mutsuki froze. The chill was almost palpable, so Urie drew back, and shrugged.

“Thanks for not making a big deal over it.”

“Y-yeah.”

* * *

Despite making attempts to go to bed at a regular time every night, there were nights when Urie simply couldn’t sleep.

From what he gathered, it was the same for Saiko—except for her, it was almost every night, not just the intermittent bad one rearing its head every other month.

Wandering out of his bedroom at midnight to stare emptily into the fridge for a few seconds meant that he passed her bedroom on the way back, and this time he noticed a blue glow coming from under the door. No answer when he knocked, but Urie opened the door anyway, pleased to find that she hadn’t bothered to lock the squad out this time, the way she used to do when she was avoiding work.

A little yelp still escaped her when she noticed who was on the other side, but after quickly clapping her hands over her mouth, Saiko gestured for Urie to come inside and join her on the bed. She was sprawled on her stomach, ponytails streaming out over her shoulders, game controller in her hands.

“Pick up the other controller,” she instructed, pointing next to her television.

Honestly, they shouldn’t have let her put it in her bedroom—it was only encouraging her laziness. But Urie had advocated for that when the squad first started out, hoping she’d stay out of their way rather than holding the rest of them back, and now he’d just feel cruel trying to take it away.

Which normally wouldn’t be a problem; god, if it was Shirazu instead of Saiko, he’d have punched a hole through the screen months ago and made the younger boy clean it up.

Wordlessly, he picked up the controller like Saiko asked, and went to fold himself delicately next to her at the edge of her bed.

“What are we playing?”

“Mario Kart,” Saiko answered.

“Is that the racing one?”

“You’re so dumb, Uri.”

Okay. It was the racing one.

They fit in a couple of rounds, Urie losing every single one, until they were forced to watch a sequence of credits. A few victory laps, various creatures cheering from the stands, and a cute little animation of Princess Peach leaning in to kiss Mario on the cheek…

Next to Urie, Saiko pouted. “Hmmph.”

“What, is this going to be one of those things where you think she’d be better off with Luigi?” Urie teased quietly.

“No, Luigi is paired with Waluigi.”

“…that’s horrifying.”

“What’s horrifying is that Peach is probably younger than me, but she’s practically married to Mario and I haven’t kissed anyone!”

“Maybe if you left your bedroom more than twice a year,” Urie suggested solemnly, giving her a tiny shove with his elbow.

“But that’s so much effort. Why can’t the cute boys come to me?”

An eyebrow raise from Urie earned him a swift hit in the face with the nearest plush toy Saiko could grab; a dolphin, baby blue and smiling. “Ow?”

“I specified cute,” Saiko defended herself. “So you don’t count.”

“Wasn’t saying I did,” Urie grumbled. “Besides, kissing isn’t even that good. It’s just sharing spit with someone while you hold their hand.”

“Maybe you’re doing it wrong.” Saiko reached out to pat his hand sympathetically. “Do you need to practice?”

He felt like his mind needed a few seconds to catch up to that statement. “Are you … flirting with me?”

“I don’t want my first kiss to be with an ugly boy, but I could make a sacrifice to help you get stronger!”

“Yonebayashi, please shut up.”

What happened next was messy: “Make me,” Saiko teased, and then stuck her tongue out at the same moment Urie leaned in to give her the kiss she was obviously hinting at him to give. The result? Ah, a mouthful of tongue, and then he drew back spluttering while Saiko burst into a fit of giggles at his distress.

“See? You definitely need help. Come on, try again, Urie-kun. If you’re good I won’t laugh at you this time.”

* * *

“Satisfied?” Urie’s glare is challenging as he looks at the squad circled around him.

“It’s kind of sweet,” Shirazu decides, and Urie hates how serious he looks when he says it. (Yeah, fuck that. Nothing Urie Kuki does is sweet, or will ever be sweet, thank you very much.)

“So soft,” Saiko coos. “You’re like the grumpy cat meme, Urie.”

That’s probably that ugly thing she keeps posting in their group text conversation. Urie sighs, and passes a hand over his face. “I’ve had enough questions for the night. Please move on.”

Sasaki laughs. “Alright. Shirazu, I think you’re next. Truth or dare?”

Shirazu considers it, but not for long, because it’s Shirazu. “Dare."

There’s a moment of silence, but almost before anyone says it, Urie has a sinking feeling that he knows what’s coming.

“We dare you to kiss Urie again.”

Yeah. He knew he shouldn’t have played this game. What the fuck.

“I’m going to murder every last one of you,” Urie threatens before Shirazu is peeling his hands away from his face and descending on him, but it’s not before he hears it…

“So soft,” Saiko repeats.

#urie kuki #mutsurie #urisai #shiraurie #tokyo ghoul :re fic #hi i like to ... multiship

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sermichels-blog · 6 years

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once bitten / twice shy (urie/higemaru)

Title: Once Bitten / Twice Shy Fandom: Tokyo Ghoul :Re Pairing: Urie Kuki/Higemaru Touma Rating: T Summary: “Listen … here’s what you should know.” A cold tone of voice, to match the thermostat setting. Urie fixes his gaze somewhere on the back wall of his bedroom. “I don’t do dating. I’m not going to be anyone’s boyfriend. (Love is out of the question.) So if you try this, you’re just going to be disappointed in the end.” A/N: TG:Re fandom needs more Urie/Higemaru. I feel like I can’t be the only one shipping it. Right? ... Anyway, cue 2,500+ words, in which there’s kissing and Urie acting like an emotionally constipated dumbass (because that’s who he is.)

(Read on AO3)

Perhaps somewhere in the procedural handbooks, there are rules and guidelines for professional working relationships within the CCG. And within those handbooks, Urie is sure there might be a note about the dangers of romantic or sexual relations with your direct superior (or a member of your squad, if you are the direct superior.)

But those aren’t the procedures committed to his memory. They’re not relevant to fieldwork, for one thing, and won’t help him effectively kill more ghoul scum, so there’s not much point reading and taking notes to the point where he can quote exact subsections. Especially for him, because romance and sex have perpetually been off the radar of his priorities.

At least –– they’re supposed to be.

They’re supposed to be.

They’re going to be. (He knows the cost of slipping up.)

It’s an unusual day that sees them flushing out Aogiri agents in the middle of the afternoon. Ghouls aren’t nocturnal, but it seems like darkness tends to embolden them to go creeping outside with their masks and shroud-like clothing. But the squad had a reliable tip-off, ambushing a group outside a hideout in the 12th Ward.

Complete annihilation before 6 p.m. is a reasonable accomplishment.

It makes for a strange evening, though. Urie’s stomach turns as he cuts up meat for their dinner (although it even churns at the smell of plain white rice). As usual, Yonebayashi is no help; he nearly trips over her as she hangs around the kitchen. Aura pisses him off by breathing, although he’s at least dutifully washing all the utensils Urie hands his way.

There isn’t room for everyone to be here helping, and the tally of the number of times Higemaru has accidentally brushed Urie’s hands, his biceps, his ass … it’s reached double digits. (Halfway there was already too much.)

Urie excuses himself as soon as he’s finished eating, leaving the rest of the washing up for the squad to complete. “I’m taking a shower,” he announces, and even though he means it as a deterrent, he can tell whose attention he’s piqued.

“Please relax and enjoy it, squad leader!” Higemaru flashes a smile.

In tandem, Urie and Hsiao roll their eyes.

But ultimately he ends up following that advice, even if it has nothing to do with Higemaru’s request. It’s actually his third shower today: one in the morning (customary); one after their mission (for removing sweat and blood from the afternoon’s operations). This time it’s just to turn the water up to the highest heat his skin can tolerate, and hope that it burns away some of the tension knotted deep into the muscles of his back and the base of his neck.

It helps.

For all that he appreciates buttoning himself into uniform and going to work, it is nice sometimes to slip on an old t-shirt, soft around the edges from a few dozen cycles in the washing machine, athletic pants rather than tailored slacks, and a navy blue sweatshirt that declares his affiliation to the CCG’s 7th Junior Academy. His hair falls into his eyes now when he doesn’t style and gel it, so that’s not ideal …

Urie is staring at his paints, mentally weighing up the advantages to spending a little time on one of his canvases before he attempts to sleep, when he hears a soft yet deliberate knock on his bedroom door. Saiko probably wouldn’t knock at all, and would simply let herself in, while Aura is too stupid to knock, so it leaves one of the other recruits as options. (It won’t be Mutsuki, either. He and Urie have a wordless and mutual understanding to stay out of one another’s private space.)

Rose hair and a hopeful smile greet Urie, which makes him reconsider his choice to answer. Higemaru is so …

So bright, sometimes. He’s wrapped into a sweater that’s clearly too big for him, which seems like a waste, given the prominent designer’s emblem stitched near the hem, but that gives him the effect of looking smaller than he is.

“Squad leader, are you busy?”

Urie hesitates long enough for it to be an obvious no. (He blames the fact that he’s tired.) “What’s this about?”

“I wanted to ask what I can do to improve,” Higemaru declares.

It’s hard to find fault with that question, admittedly (even if Urie is sure that his own bedroom isn’t the right setting for them to discuss it). The boy is far from perfect, and could really use some improvement –– physically, tactically ––

“Listen to instructions?” Urie suggests.

He steps away, but behind him, the door stays open. It’s as close as he gets to making straight up invitations.

Higemaru takes a few curious steps inside, pausing to look at the canvases lined up by the wall. Urie is glad none of them are in such a state of completion to reveal the subject matter; those are questions he doesn’t want to field right now. (Or ever.)

“I try.” Higemaru frowns as he skips ahead a few steps to get closer to Urie. “But–– you know how it is in the heat of the moment. Sometimes the instructions aren’t …” He flushes, and backtracks. “I don’t mean to say you’re wrong! It’s just that if the plan has to change, I don’t think I’m good at improvising. But you always seem to know how to adapt, Urie-senpai.”

He can say that, Urie thinks, because he didn’t see what it was like that time.

Something gnaws at the inside of him.

“You were a good student,” Urie says, surprised at the patience in his own voice. “You have to be so confident in your own knowledge that it becomes instinct. The heat of the moment doesn’t matter –– what you learned will keep you alive, if you can do it right.”

Higemaru’s eyes widen, and he nods. “That’s–– ”

(Don’t say it’s cool.)

“That’s why training your body is important,” Urie interrupts so Higemaru can’t finish the statement. “You can know everything there is to know, and it’s useless if you can’t keep up physically. The same goes in reverse. Being physically strong is useless without the tactical knowledge to back it up.”

There’s another nod. Urie isn’t sure if he likes the way Higemaru is looking at him now, with such wide-eyed admiration … it’s not like he doubts his own talent, but he’s aware enough of his own limitations to know when hero worship isn’t justified.

And besides, it reminds him just a little bit of how he used to be able to say absolutely anything (any bullshit) he wanted and Shira––

Urie places a hand on Higemaru’s shoulder, intending to guide him back towards the door and out to the hallway, where without saying so many words, he’ll make the message clear: goodnight, we’re done talking.

He sees Higemaru’s eyes flicker downwards as he does so. Urie’s eyes similarly flicker lower, and it’s stupid, because he can tell Hige is looking at his lips, which he obviously can’t see himself, but he can mirror it and see the younger boy’s pout. He can also glance up in time to see Hige meet his gaze, and it’s mostly an accident of timing that sends his head tilting left when they lean in.

For some reason, it still surprises Urie when their lips meet.

Higemaru is soft, and tastes like rosewater; he wonders if he’s put on some kind of lip balm, and if he did that because he was anticipating this. It’s slow, careful, and exploratory at first, while Urie’s mind races –– no, it’s more of a languid crawl, isn’t it? –– to catch up. He can hear the sound of their breaths, and open eyes catch Higemaru’s girlishly long eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. Even with his stupid wide-eyed expressions, he’s undeniably pretty, even if Urie is adamant about having no time for romance.

In fact, he’s usually the type to dodge the embraces his teammates try to throw his way, so Higemaru’s hand steadying itself on his waist while his own hand (he’s forgotten his gloves, he notes with a moment’s panic, and feels like he might as well be standing here naked) still balances on his shoulder is practically electric.

Deepen the kiss, he thinks.

It would be nice to ignore everything for a little while. The kiss feels nice, and Urie’s had so few fucking comforts lately. Less than once a week, he might take an extra hour in bed … but that’s it, that’s all that amounts to an indulgence while his life otherwise churns ahead at a grueling pace.

Higemaru’s hand tightens on his hoodie while the press of his lips gets insistent. Somehow trying to breathe through his nose no longer feels adequate, and Urie is forced to open his mouth and gasp for air, but that leaves an opening for his younger squad mate’s tongue to give a teasing flick.

The fact is, Urie can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he’s been kissed. Forgetting to breathe might be making his head spin, but something that’s more of a feeling than a coherent train of thought forces itself to the forefront.

It’s a feeling that whatever Higemaru is looking for, Urie won’t be able to give it to him (even if he wanted to, and that’s a separate issue, something that he’ll need time to pick over like a case file). A feeling that it’ll only allow him to grow more attached than he already is (bare minimum though he’s permitted himself).

A feeling that Higemaru in particular, with his reckless, stupid behavior on missions, is likely to end up bleeding and in pieces while Urie screams himself hoarse for it all to stop, stop, stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it

“I can’t,” Urie gasps as he pulls his head away and squeezes his eyes shut. The closed eyes are kind of an involuntary reaction, but he’s glad of it, even so; he doesn’t want to know what Higemaru’s expression looks like right now.

“I––squad leader, I’m sorry,” Higemaru stutters. He takes a step backwards. Urie keeps the thermostat low enough in the chateau that the air feels like a cold punch. “I just … knew I had to try?”

(Idiot; why does it sound like a question?)

“It’s not you,” Urie says, surprised at how nonchalant he can make it sound when his head feels like it’s ringing as loud as the emergency alarm systems in headquarters. “I don’t care…”

He doesn’t really mean it like that, but it’s effective. His eyes reluctantly open in time to see Hige’s expression fall.

“Listen … here’s what you should know.” A cold tone of voice, to match the thermostat setting. Urie fixes his gaze somewhere on the back wall of his bedroom. “I don’t do dating. I’m not going to be anyone’s boyfriend. (Love is out of the question.) So if you try this, you’re just going to be disappointed in the end.”

He knows it’s a jump, to go from one experimental kiss to considering dates and relationships, but what’s the point otherwise? What’s the fucking point of getting close to someone if there’s no goal in sight?

Higemaru is breathing too loudly (Urie has the sudden horrible realization that he might cry, and no, he’s not dealing with that right now!) and fluttering his eyelashes at a rate that would’ve made more sense before the kiss. But what he says somehow manages to cut like a scalpel.

“You’re afraid.”

Urie can see the pieces falling together, written in the expression on Hige’s face. With his bright colours and games and excited smiles, it’s easy to forget that he can claim one of the Academy’s sharpest intuitions, even though his rank is still low and untested. Still, Urie knows from his own experience that emotion is ignored, even suppressed in Academy lessons. It shouldn’t be that easy for the younger boy to pick up the depth of his fears. (Does that mean they’re obvious? Fuck that …)

Losing his father had ripped a hole in him, a hole that he’d only been able to stitch back together with perfect scores on exam papers and a vague notion of how to drag his way up the ranks into S3. So what if that was really as shallow as the others had accused? He’d been happy … right? It hadn’t been complicated, at least.

And then Shirazu Ginshi, with that rare talent of his, had managed to tear it all down. Stupid boy, good for wrecking things and not much else.

Shirazu hadn’t even been his close friend; Urie had been secretly hoping until a matter of minutes before his death to overcome him, to watch him fail and lose the leadership position he’d never been suited for. He’d planned to revel in that. Except then he had to go and die, and his death had still ripped into Urie, cutting through all the paper-thin walls he’d set up to try and protect himself. (And then Sasaki had lit the match and thrown it onto the ruins, cut the sinews of whatever dignity he’d been clinging to, and now here he is staggering along like his hamstrings have been severed.)

The problem isn’t that he can’t love. It’s that he can’t let himself. There aren’t any whole pieces to give away anymore, if there had been any to begin with. And anyway, it’s too much to worry about right now, after something as insignificant as a kiss.

But Higemaru has just drawn back the curtain and seen how pitiful he really is, and Urie hates him for it, with an intensity that surprises him. (Objectively thinking, Hige hasn’t done anything wrong, and it’s not his fault that his squad leader is a fucking mess of a person, but stress has a way of washing out Urie’s reasonable side.)

“ –– Get the fuck out of my sight,” he hisses.

His eyes are clenched shut by the time the sentence fully escapes his lips, so he misses the younger man’s response. It’ll be bad enough to have the image of his pitying expression from a few moments ago burned onto his eyelids, even without offence and betrayal tossed into the mix. The door doesn’t slam (Hige’s been brought up better than that) but a few seconds after it clicks shut, Urie allows himself to let out the breath he holds.

Fuck.

Being alone at least allows him to clear his head. For a few minutes, he sits staring down at his hands; without the leather of his gloves protecting them, he knows his fingernails would have gouged half-circles into the skin of his palm.

Saiko will be upset, he reflects. (It’s not her business anyway. She shouldn’t be encouraging Hige, and he knows she does.) Mutsuki would probably be disappointed by this display too, but maybe he would understand; they’ve found common ground before with their propensity for pushing others away, though Urie still isn’t ready to delve into the full irony of how that realization has brought the two of them closer.

He sighs, shoulders slumping as the ragged breath forces its way out.

What he should have protested about was the fact that Hige is good at kissing, which means he’s done this before. (With who?! He’s too young––)

(It’s not that Urie is jealous.)

(Ah … he’s fucked. He’s so, so fucked.)

#urie kuki #higemaru touma #quinx squad #tokyo ghoul :re #tokyo ghoul :re fic #uh do they. even have a ship name. i doubt it #fics by me #anyway uh leave comments so i know if this is worth continuing?

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