Takiishi

Chapter 12 — The Shape of Not Wanting to Share

Chapter 12 — The Shape of Not Wanting to Share

Morning didn’t arrive quietly this time—it arrived with weight.

Not loud, not disruptive, but present in a way that pressed gently against everything. The light slipped through the curtains like it always did, soft and steady, stretching across the bed in pale lines that touched skin, sheets, and the quiet space between breaths. But it didn’t feel distant. It didn’t feel like something separate from them.

It felt like it was watching.

Takiishi became aware slowly, but not the same way he had before. There was no soft drift between sleep and waking, no gentle space where feeling came first and thought followed later. This time, awareness came sharper. Faster. It settled into him with a clarity that made his chest feel tight before he even understood why.

Then he noticed it.

The space beside him.

Empty.

Cool.

That was enough to pull him fully awake.

His eyes opened immediately, breath catching slightly as his body reacted before his thoughts could catch up. The absence was small—Endo wasn’t gone, not really—but it felt bigger than it should have. It felt wrong in a way he didn’t like.

“…Endo?” he called, his voice low, still rough with sleep.

“…Kitchen,” came the reply, steady, immediate.

The answer eased something, but not everything.

Takiishi sat up slowly, dragging a hand through his hair as he let himself adjust. The bed still held warmth, still carried traces of the night before—shared breaths, quiet closeness, something that had settled between them and refused to feel temporary. He lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, his fingers brushing lightly over the sheets where Endo had been, like he was confirming something he already knew.

Still here.

Still real.

Then he stood.

The floor was cool under his feet, grounding in a way that helped him move, helped him push past the strange tightness lingering in his chest. He stepped out of the room, following the faint sounds of movement, the quiet rhythm of something familiar.

Endo stood in the kitchen, back turned, moving with easy familiarity. Nothing about him looked different at first glance. His posture was relaxed, his movements steady, his presence filling the space in the same quiet way it always did.

But something felt off.

Not distant.

Not cold.

Just… not the same.

“…You didn’t wake me,” Takiishi said.

Endo glanced over his shoulder briefly. “…You were sleeping.”

“…You didn’t care about that before.”

Endo turned back to what he was doing, reaching for something without hesitation. “…You needed it.”

That answer should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

Takiishi stepped closer, slower this time, more aware of the space between them than he had been before. It wasn’t large, but it felt noticeable. It felt like something that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“…You’re doing it again,” he said quietly.

Endo paused slightly. “…Doing what?”

“…Creating space.”

Endo exhaled, setting something down before turning to face him fully. His expression wasn’t closed off. It wasn’t guarded.

But it wasn’t open either.

“…I’m not,” he said.

“…You are.”

A small silence followed, the kind that didn’t feel empty—it felt like something waiting.

Takiishi held his gaze this time, not letting it pass.

“…Say what’s wrong.”

Endo watched him for a moment longer than usual, something flickering beneath the surface of his expression.

“…Nothing’s wrong.”

Takiishi let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.

“…You’re worse at lying than you think.”

That almost earned a reaction.

Almost.

Endo’s jaw tightened just slightly, but he didn’t look away.

“…It’s nothing,” he repeated.

“…Then why does it feel like something?”

The silence that followed wasn’t soft.

It settled heavier.

Takiishi felt it in his chest, in the way his fingers curled slightly at his side, in the way his attention stayed fixed on Endo like he was trying to read something that wasn’t being said.

Then—

A vibration cut through the air.

Endo’s phone.

The sound was quiet, but it felt louder than it should have.

Endo glanced down.

And this time—

He didn’t ignore it.

Takiishi noticed immediately.

The shift in his focus.

The way his attention lingered there for just a second too long.

“…Who is that?” Takiishi asked.

Endo didn’t look up right away. “…Someone from work.”

“…You don’t usually answer this early.”

“…Didn’t think it mattered.”

Takiishi’s gaze sharpened slightly.

“…It does now.”

Endo looked up then, meeting his eyes.

“…You’re making it matter.”

That didn’t sit right.

“…No,” Takiishi said quietly. “…You are.”

A pause.

Then Endo exhaled, his gaze dropping briefly before returning.

“…It’s someone I used to see.”

The words were simple.

But they landed heavy.

Takiishi felt it immediately—something sharp, something unfamiliar, something that spread quietly through his chest before he could stop it.

“…Used to,” he repeated.

“…Yeah.”

“…And they’re texting you.”

“…Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, tight but controlled.

Takiishi looked away for a second, his thoughts catching up slower than the feeling in his chest. He didn’t like it. Not the situation. Not the reaction.

Not how much it mattered.

“…And you answer?” he asked.

Endo didn’t hesitate.

“…Sometimes.”

That was enough.

More than enough.

Takiishi exhaled slowly, his hand lifting to run through his hair again, but the motion didn’t ease anything. If anything, it made the feeling clearer.

“…I don’t like that,” he said.

Endo’s gaze sharpened slightly, more focused now.

“…You don’t like what?”

Takiishi stepped closer.

No hesitation.

No distance.

“…That someone else still thinks they can have your attention like that.”

The words came low, controlled—but there was heat beneath them now. Something that hadn’t been there before.

Endo noticed.

Of course he did.

“…You’re jealous,” he said.

Takiishi’s expression tightened immediately.

“…I’m not—”

“…You are.”

“…I’m not.”

Endo stepped closer too, closing the space between them until there was nothing left of it.

“…Then what is it?” he asked quietly.

Takiishi hesitated.

Just for a second.

Because the answer was already there.

And he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“…I don’t want to share,” he said.

The air shifted.

Immediately.

Endo didn’t move.

But something in his expression changed—something deeper, something that settled into the space between them without needing to be explained.

“…You think you are?” he asked.

Takiishi’s gaze didn’t waver.

“…Aren’t I?”

Endo stepped even closer, if that was possible, his presence pressing into Takiishi’s in a way that felt grounding instead of overwhelming.

“…No,” he said softly.

That didn’t feel right.

Takiishi’s chest tightened.

“…Then why does it feel like it?”

Endo’s hand lifted slowly, resting against Takiishi’s side—not casually, not lightly, but deliberately.

Grounding.

Certain.

“…Because you’re starting to care more than you planned to,” he said.

That landed deeper than anything else.

Takiishi’s breath caught slightly.

But he didn’t step back.

He didn’t pull away.

“…Then maybe I don’t want to pretend I don’t,” he said.

Endo’s fingers pressed just slightly against him.

“…You’re not pretending anymore.”

“…No.”

A pause followed, but it didn’t feel distant.

It felt close.

Too close to ignore.

Takiishi stepped forward again, closing a space that didn’t exist anymore but making it feel like he was claiming it anyway.

“…Then stop answering them,” he said quietly.

Endo stilled.

Not defensive.

Not tense.

Just still.

“…You want me to cut them off.”

“…Yes.”

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

Just truth.

Endo searched his face, like he was looking for doubt.

There wasn’t any.

“…Because you don’t trust me?” he asked.

Takiishi shook his head slightly.

“…Because I want this to be mine.”

That—

That changed everything.

Endo’s breath shifted, subtle but noticeable.

His hand tightened slightly at Takiishi’s side.

“…It already is,” he said quietly.

Takiishi’s gaze dropped briefly—to Endo’s lips—then back up again.

“…Then make it feel like it.”

The words were softer.

But heavier.

Endo didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he reached for his phone.

Unlocked it.

Opened the messages.

Paused.

Then—

Blocked the contact.

Just like that.

No hesitation.

No second thought.

Takiishi watched everything.

Felt something deep in his chest shift—tension unraveling into something warmer, something steadier.

“…You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

Endo looked at him.

“…I know.”

“…Then why—”

Endo stepped closer, cutting him off—not with words, but with presence.

“…Because I want you more.”

That was it.

Simple.

Heavy.

Real.

And it hit harder than anything else.

Takiishi didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He closed the space between them and kissed him.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

But it wasn’t rushed either.

It carried everything—jealousy, relief, wanting, something deeper than either of them had said out loud.

Endo responded immediately, his hand sliding from Takiishi’s side to his back, pulling him closer with a certainty that didn’t leave room for doubt.

There was no space between them.

None at all.

Takiishi’s fingers tightened against him, holding on in a way that felt instinctive, not forced.

The kiss deepened slowly, naturally, like something that had been building all morning and finally had somewhere to go.

When they pulled back, it wasn’t far.

Their breathing uneven.

Close enough to feel it.

“…Still don’t want to share?” Endo murmured.

Takiishi shook his head slightly, their foreheads brushing.

“…No.”

Endo’s thumb moved slowly along his side.

“…Good.”

—

The rest of the day didn’t feel tense anymore.

It felt… grounded.

The earlier sharpness softened into something steadier, something that didn’t need to be questioned anymore. Takiishi noticed it in the way Endo stayed close without hesitation, in the way their hands brushed and didn’t pull away, in the way the quiet between them felt full instead of uncertain.

By afternoon, when Takiishi found himself by the window again, it didn’t feel like distance.

It felt like pause.

Endo joined him without thinking.

And this time—

Takiishi moved first.

Closing the space.

Endo noticed immediately.

“…You’re not waiting anymore,” he said.

“…Didn’t feel like it,” Takiishi replied.

Endo’s gaze softened slightly.

“…Good.”

Takiishi leaned into him just slightly, his shoulder brushing Endo’s.

“…You’re still here,” Endo murmured.

“…Yeah.”

“…You didn’t leave.”

Takiishi huffed softly.

“…I told you I wouldn’t.”

Endo’s hand found his, fingers lacing together naturally.

“…I know.”

—

That night, everything felt softer.

Not less intense.

Just… deeper.

When they moved to the bed, there was no hesitation, no tension, no uncertainty left behind.

Takiishi turned toward him first.

Endo responded immediately.

Their hands found each other, but it didn’t stop there. Takiishi’s fingers traced along Endo’s arm slowly, like he was memorizing something he didn’t want to lose.

Endo’s breath shifted.

“…You’re doing that again,” he murmured.

“…You’re noticing again.”

Endo huffed softly.

“…You’re not making this easy.”

Takiishi leaned in, his lips brushing his.

“…You said you didn’t want easy.”

Endo didn’t argue.

He kissed him instead.

This time, it was slower.

Deeper.

Not rushed.

Not hesitant.

Just… right.

Takiishi didn’t pull away.

Didn’t overthink.

He just stayed.

And this time—

That wasn’t something he was afraid of.

It was something he wanted.

Later, when everything settled, the quiet returned again.

But it wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Takiishi rested against Endo, his head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath him.

Still there.

Still real.

“…Endo.”

“…Mm.”

“…I meant it.”

Endo’s hand moved slowly along his back.

“…I know.”

A pause.

“…I don’t want to share.”

Endo’s grip tightened slightly.

Not restrictive.

Just certain.

“…You don’t have to.”

And this time—

There was no doubt.

Takiishi closed his eyes, letting that settle completely.

Because this wasn’t fragile anymore.

It wasn’t something slipping through his hands.

It was something real.

Something chosen.

And something that, for once—

Was choosing him back just as strongly.