Feeling safe near your partner, feeling at home, is essential. Trusting in yourself, and your mind is equally important.
After nearly a year of dating Suguru Daishou, Motoya Komori's sense of security, both in his own mind and with his partner, started to painfully slip through his fingers.
And he was the only one to blame.
Daishou'd done nearly wrong. Other than entrap Motoya's heart behind the mighty barred cage of his Herculean love. Motoya was just a naturally, pathetically insecure fellow.
Any reason you'd give him not to trust you, or himself, he would take it and run.
Run his mind into the ground, that is.
At the speed of an olympic sprinter, Motoya would abandon any perception of self-actualization and drive a mental eighteen-wheeler of composure off of a cliff.
And now that he had a consistent stream of validation (i.e, a boyfriend) he was somehow even more self-effacing.
Everything felt like a risk, a chance to make a fool of himself in front of his beloved Suguru.
All things felt like a tripwire, and when triggered by even a wisp of wind, Suguru would up and leave Motoya in the dust.
The distance between them, albeit short, only worsened his crippling uncertainty.
The only thing that was more panic-inducing was Suguru's ex-girlfriend, Mika Yamaka.
The two Nohebi third-years had forged and maintained a healthy friendship in the months after their civil breakup, in light of Suguru's self-discovery.
Yamaka was in a new correspondence, with someone else. She had moved on, but the one thing Motoya couldn't determine was whether Suguru had.
He caught every single glance, every induction of Yamaka into their supposedly private dates.
And while one part of Motoya's brain knew that, beyond doubt, Yamaka and Suguru's relations were purely platonic. Yamaka was with another man, and so was Suguru.
Yamaka was perfectly sweet, and nothing but good-natured towards Motoya. But the other sliver of self-doubt shrieked that they were eye-fucking each other every time Motoya so much as blinked.
And stupidly, Motoya felt like listening to that pitiable sliver in his frontal lobe.
What color underwear did she wear, Suguru? What flavor lip gloss? No point in using the word "did", is there? Since you too are so obviously still intimate.
Even the thought of Suguru and Yamaka's lips touching made the pit of jealousy in Motoya's stomach rise into his throat. Confronting Suguru would only douse the baking soda with vinegar.
"You're crazy," Suguru would spit, adding the perfect measurements of both spite and venom. "And I'm leaving you.
" And he would, slamming the door behind him and stomping into the stormy weather. And Motoya would be alone, all alone.
He'd have to go back to using Suguru's surname and bathe in the gravy bath of loneliness and shame while Sugu- Daishou and Yamaka romped in a field of daisies together and fantasize about
their shared future.
And Motoya Komori would be dancing in the world alone, Daishou-less.