{TRIGGER WARNING FOR INTENSE BULLYING AND HOMOPHOBIC ACTIONS}
It started small, but soon Jezebel's games turned vicious.
Yu's textbooks vanished from his desk one morning, only for him to find them later dumped in a bathroom sink, pages curling and ruined with ink. The following week, Yu arrived to class with faint scratches on his wrist, a bruise hidden under the sleeve of his cardigan. Taichi never saw—Yu was careful, always pulling the fabric down, always plastering on a smile when his boyfriend looked too closely.
Jezebel never touched him directly. She didn't have to. Her admirers did it for her, girls who laughed cruelly when Yu stumbled or boys who shoved him "accidentally" against lockers. Jezebel only ever stood back, arms folded, watching with eyes as cold and sharp as glass.
"See?"
She murmured once, her voice carrying just enough for Yu to hear as he knelt to gather his spilled books.
"You're fragile. Too fragile. You don't belong here. Why don't you make it easier for yourself and leave?"
Her words burrowed deep, no matter how hard Yu tried to push them away.
Still, every evening, Yu clung tighter to Taichi's arm as they walked home together, the warmth of his hand in Yu's the only thing that kept him from breaking.
---
On campus, Isuke's attacks took another shape.
He never raised a hand—he didn't need to. His weapon was his tongue, his precision.
One afternoon, Taichi was leaving the library, Yu's notes tucked carefully under his arm, when Isuke appeared leaning lazily against the railing.
"Carrying his books now? You treat him like a child."
Isuke's smirk was infuriatingly calm.
"What's next, Arifukua? Going to hold his umbrella when it rains? Maybe tie his shoes?"
Taichi's shoulders tensed, but he kept walking. Isuke fell into step beside him.
"You know, I don't get it. You're wasting all that fire of yours playing house with him."
His tone was mocking, sharp as glass.
"You used to be someone people feared. Now you're—what? His lapdog?"
Taichi stopped, turning slowly, his green eyes flaring.
"Better his lapdog than a disgusting lowly snake."
Isuke chuckled low, leaning close.
"Keep telling yourself that. But you and I both know what happens when dogs get too tame. They lose their bite."
He brushed past, leaving Taichi seething, knuckles white around Yu's notebook.
Isuke's plan wasn't to win outright. It was to wear him down. To drag Taichi back into old habits, into fights and chaos, until Yu saw him as the delinquent everyone else still remembered.
And between Jezebel's cruelty and Isuke's poison, the walls around Yu's fragile world grew thinner by the day.
---
The first year had been bearable, though far from easy. Yu had endured Jezebel Suzuki's schemes with quiet resilience, hiding the bruises of her cruelty behind soft smiles. But by the start of their second year, the bullying had sharpened, grown bolder, crueler. And cracks began to show—even to Taichi.
That afternoon, Taichi left his own lecture early, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He'd promised to meet Yu outside his classroom. He leaned casually against the wall, half-listening to the chatter of other students filing out. When the crowd thinned, his sharp eyes caught him—Yu, walking slowly toward him, eyes unfocused and dim.
Taichi's easy grin faltered. Yu's clothes were smeared with stains, his pale hair littered with scraps of paper and dust. It looked like someone had upended a trash can over him.
"Yu… what the hell?"
Taichi asked, brows knitting.
Yu froze—seamingly snapping back to his usual cheerful self—then laughed lightly, though the sound was brittle.
"Oh! This?"
He tugged at the stained sleeve of his cardigan, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.
"It's, um… it's a new fashion trend."
Taichi blinked. Then, with a short, incredulous laugh, he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"That's dumb."
The words, though tossed out carelessly, struck Yu like a pinprick. He forced a shaky smile.
"Y-yeah. I guess it's not really my style, huh? Maybe… maybe I'll change it back."
Taichi tilted his head, studying him with eyes softer than he realized. After a beat, his grin returned, crooked and boyish.
"Babe, you could wear a garbage bag and I'd still find you hot."
Yu's breath caught, and his blush deepened.
"S-same…"
He mumbled, voice tiny.
For a moment, the world was theirs again, warm and unshakable.
But not far away, hidden by the pillars of the building, Jezebel Suzuki stood with her arms folded, blue eyes narrowing like a hawk's. Beside her, Isuke Sasaki leaned against the wall, silent, but his jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
The sweetness of the scene before them—the quiet devotion between Yu and Taichi—stoked only venom in their veins.
Jezebel Suzuki's patience was wearing thin. Her manicured nails tapped against her arm, each click sharp with irritation.
"This is taking too long!"
She hissed, blue eyes narrowing.
"I've tried everything, but that little doll just won't break. If I had one dark secret—just one—I could get her to leave school of her own free will."
Isuke stood beside her, silent at first, his expression a storm barely held in check. He thought of Yu—of the softness in his voice, the warmth in his smile, the way he clung to Taichi as if the rest of the world didn't exist. The memory twisted in his gut until it hurt.
Finally, he exhaled.
"There… is something."
Jezebel's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade.
"Oh? Then why haven't you said anything until now?"
His fists clenched. Saying it aloud felt like betrayal, but jealousy and desperation gnawed him hollow.
"Because it's not just a secret. It's the secret. The one Yu has been hiding since high school."
His voice dropped, heavy with reluctant weight.
"Yukio isn't a girl at all. He's a boy."
For a moment, Jezebel only stared at him—then she burst into delighted laughter, the sound high and cruel.
"A boy? That little thing?"
She covered her mouth, smirking.
"No one would ever believe it without proof. You're not just making this up, are you?"
Isuke's jaw tightened.
"I can get proof."
She arched a brow.
"Evidence, sweetie. That's the only thing that will tear down their perfect little romance."
And so he did. Isuke's mind reeled as he retraced old steps, back to the hospital halls he knew too well. Years spent tending to his mother had made the nurses and staff familiar faces; his grief and persistence had softened them to him. All it took was a favor—a whispered request—and doors that should have stayed locked cracked open.
The file was there, cold and clinical.
Hokohayashi, Yukio.
Biological Sex: Male (X).
When Isuke handed it over to Jezebel, she clutched the papers like a holy scripture. Her smile gleamed, sharp and merciless.
"With this, it's only a matter of time before that little fraud is gone for good."
Isuke didn't answer. His stomach twisted, his heart ached—but still, he let the pages slip from his fingers.
Isuke had thought betrayal would feel cleaner. A sharp cut, decisive. Instead it festered inside him like an old wound.
The hospital halls had been his second home once—years spent holding vigil for a mother slipping further from him each day. Those same corridors had carried his grief, his fury, his desperate prayers. To return there now after all this time, to call on familiar staff with a smile that felt like a lie, left him sick to his stomach. He hadn't just opened a door—he had torn one down.
The file's weight still haunted him. Cold, clinical letters, spelling out the truth Yu had fought so hard to keep hidden.
Biological Sex: Male (X).
When Jezebel's manicured hands snatched the paper from him, her grin wolfish, Isuke felt something in his chest splinter. He told himself it was for Yu—that if this secret came out now, Yu could no longer pretend, no longer cling to Taichi, and eventually… eventually Yu would come to him. But even that fantasy rang hollow. He knew the truth:
He was damning the very person he loved.
"Don't go too far."
He had muttered. The warning sounded weak even to his own ears.
Jezebel had only laughed.
"Sweetie, there's no such thing."
---
The whispers started small, as they always did. A murmur in the cosmetics department, a note scribbled and slipped into lockers, an Instagram story shared then deleted too late.
"He's not what he says he is."
"That "girl"? Not a girl at all."
"What kind of creep dresses up like that?"
The narrative spread like spilled ink, seeping into every corner of Yu's world. Jezebel was smart enough never to dirty her own hands, but her puppets moved at her command. A bump in the hall. A chair pulled from under Yu as he tried to sit. Lipsticks and powders thrown in the trash with his name sneered across the packaging.
The worst was the stares. Professors pausing a fraction too long. Classmates' whispers trailing behind him like smoke.
"A boy pretending to be a girl."
"...A freak."
"...A liar."
Yu forced smiles where he could, kept his trembling hidden, pressed his hands into his lap until the shakes stopped. He wanted to protect Taichi from this storm, to bear it himself—but each day it pressed heavier on his chest, and cracks began to form.
And somewhere in the shadows, Jezebel watched with satisfaction.
Isuke, though, found no such comfort. Every new rumor was another stone added to his own guilt, and still he couldn't look away.
---
The corridor had been loud with laughter, the kind that always made Yu shrink in on himself. He'd thought he could slip past it, keep his head down, just one more day—one more cruel day. But then a voice cut through the noise, sharp and eager:
"Hey, let's find out for real!"
Hands lunged at him. Fingers gripped the hem of his skirt. The world tilted into panic. Yu's cry caught in his throat as he shoved, twisted, fought with all the frantic strength in his body. His skirt tore in the struggle, fabric splitting with a sound that echoed in his ears louder than the laughter. Somehow, he wrenched free—legs burning, lungs screaming—and he ran.
He didn't stop until the campus gates were behind him. Didn't stop until the familiar apartment door shut with a slam at his back. His body collapsed forward, curling against the floor as sobs broke out of him, raw and unrestrained. Hours slipped past in a haze of tears, his voice gone hoarse, his chest aching like it might never mend.
When the storm inside finally dulled into numbness, Yu dragged himself upright. His legs shook as he stumbled to the bathroom, and when he lifted his gaze to the mirror, a hollow stranger stared back. Dark circles pooled under his eyes. His hair clung damply to his cheeks. He looked… broken.
A soft chime from his phone.
My Taichi💚: Sorry, babe, gonna be late. Got extra assignments to finish. Head home without me, okay?
Yu's fingers moved automatically, crafting the reply he always gave—bright emojis, hearts, silly stickers.
My Angel Yu❤️: Aw, okay darling!🤗 I'll make your favorite for dinner.🥘😋 Get back safely.🤭🥰🥰 Good luck!!💚💚
He pressed send, but his reflection never changed, deadpan and lifeless.
He turned the shower on. Steam filled the room, blurring his outline. As the hot water cascaded over him, his body curled forward, and his tears mingled with the spray. Alone, safe where no one could see, Yu let himself fall apart again.
By the time Taichi returned, the apartment glowed with the illusion of warmth. A tidy table, neatly folded laundry by the sofa, the faint scent of detergent still clinging to the air. On the stove, a pot kept dinner warm, and beside Yu sat carefully plated dishes already waiting.
Yu looked up at him with a smile that seemed brighter than the lamplight. Notes were spread open before him, his pen tapping as if he had been in the middle of solving something. It was domestic perfection—so ordinary, so safe—that for a fleeting moment Taichi's chest eased.
"You've been busy."
Taichi said, unwinding his scarf, his mouth curving into a fond grin.
Yu chuckled lightly, almost airy.
"Just keeping myself occupied while waiting. Welcome home."
Taichi walked closer, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the crown of Yu's pale hair. The gesture was automatic now, ingrained. He didn't see the tightness in Yu's grip on the pen, or how his knuckles had gone bone-white. Didn't see the hollowness behind that practiced smile.
Instead, Taichi sat down, pulled the warm plate toward him, and dug in without hesitation.
"Looks amazing. You really spoil me, you know that?"
Yu's smile softened, but it never reached his eyes.
"I like spoiling you."
And just like that, to Taichi, the world was whole. He ate with easy appetite, speaking about his assignments and how tedious group work had been that day. Yu nodded at all the right places, hummed softly in agreement, laughed when expected.
The fragile cracks remained hidden beneath the plaster of a smile. The ugly claws had already sunk in, tearing deep, but in this tiny apartment with warm light and home-cooked food, Taichi was blind to it—believing still in the fragile peace they'd built.
For Yu, numbness was easier than truth.
---
The days blurred together, each one polished into the same hollow performance.
Yu cooked, cleaned, studied, smiled. He laughed in all the right places when Taichi told him stories from his classes, agreed when Fumiko and Sakura texted the group chat about weekend plans. He played the part so well that no one—not even Taichi—saw the glassy stillness in his eyes once he turned away.
Inside, the numbness gnawed. It was easier this way. Easier than feeling.
When bullies cornered him in the halls, he didn't fight back. He lowered his head, forced a laugh, pretended it was nothing. When whispers followed him, he drowned them in silence, clinging to the script he had made for himself.
'If I keep smiling, nothing can touch me.'
But then came the day it cracked.
Yu had ducked behind the stairwell, avoiding another group that had been whispering and pointing, when voices drifted down the corridor. Familiar voices.
"…I never should have told you!"
Isuke Sasaki's voice carried, rough and brittle.
"I ruined everything. If he—if Yu knew, he'd never forgive me. He was supposed to trust me."
Jezebel's laughter rang sharp as broken glass.
"Oh, don't cry over spilled milk, Sasaki. What's done is done. The truth is out. He's a boy pretending to be a girl—don't tell me you actually regret making that public? You should thank me! You'd never have the courage to cut him down on your own."
"You don't understand!"
Isuke snapped back, and Yu could hear the strain in his voice, the hint of something almost desperate.
"I loved him. I still—"
"Loved him?"
Jezebel scoffed.
"Don't make me laugh. If you really loved him, you wouldn't have let Arifukua keep him all these years. No, Sasaki, you were too weak. You handed me the knife, and I finished what you couldn't."
Their argument twisted down the hall, growing fainter, but Yu could hear every word, each syllable carving deeper.
His knees buckled.
'It was them...'
'Jezebel Suzuki. Isuke Sasaki.'
The two names rattled in his skull, louder than the voices that had once whispered "Bella" with admiration. They weren't just strangers anymore—they had stolen the last fragile shield he had left, the lie he thought he could keep, the part of himself that wasn't supposed to matter.
And Isuke… Isuke, who he had pitied, had even once thought of forgiving and befriending him. Going so far as to have a slight argument with Taichi over…
'I'm so stupid…'
Yu pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, but the sob tore through anyway. Betrayal cracked his numbness wide open.
He couldn't keep smiling anymore.
He couldn't keep pretending.
By the time the hallway emptied, Yu had already made his decision. He would leave. College, the campus, all of it—he couldn't stay. He couldn't face their eyes, their whispers, their hands pulling at his skirts and hair. He couldn't face humans at all.
They were terrifying again.
---
Yu sat in the administration office, hands folded tightly in his lap, the form before him stark and final. Withdrawal Request. The words blurred when he stared at them too long.
His pen hovered, trembling.
The clerk behind the desk didn't look twice at him, simply asked.
"Do you need help filling it out?"
"No."
Yu whispered. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
It was easy, far too easy. A signature, a date, a stamp. Just like that, all the months of trying to belong, to keep smiling, to keep playing the role—they dissolved. By the time Yu stepped back outside, the spring air felt sharper, almost too clean, like it was scouring him bare.
He didn't tell Taichi.
It was frightening how simple the lie came. Their majors were in different buildings, their schedules different enough that Taichi never questioned Yu leaving campus earlier than him. When they met for dinner, Yu smiled, chatted, made sure Taichi's meals were hot and ready. He leaned over Taichi's notes, feigning interest in his classes, and kissed his cheek when Taichi groaned about professors or exams.
Nothing seemed out of place.
But the days stretched long when Taichi was gone.
Alone in the apartment, Yu drifted through chores like a ghost. The stove hissed, the washing machine churned, the clock ticked—all of it muted, background noise to a silence that pressed too heavy on his chest. He didn't want to leave the apartment. Not anymore. Not after the campus had spat him out with such venom.
Humans were awful. They always had been. He had been foolish to think otherwise.
And yet…
When Taichi came home, the world softened again. Yu clung to him more openly now, following him area to area in their small studio, pressing into his side on the couch, curling into his lap whenever Taichi sat down. He'd lace their fingers together while Taichi studied, rest his chin on Taichi's shoulder while he attempted to cook, trail after him in the morning just to steal one more hug before Taichi left for class.
Taichi never complained. He only smiled, ruffled Yu's hair, kissed his forehead. He thought it was endearing, maybe even sweet—that Yu was finally learning to rely on him so openly.
Yu never corrected him.
Because it was true, in its own way. Taichi was the exception. The one proof that not all humans were cruel. That love—real love—could exist without pain.
Yu burrowed deeper into that warmth every night, terrified of the day Taichi might discover just how much of his world outside their apartment had already crumbled.
---
The days blurred, gentle and hollow, as Yu wrapped himself tighter into the cocoon of their apartment. He still woke with Taichi in the mornings, still saw him out the door with a kiss and a smile, but once the door shut behind him the silence pressed in like a weight.
For a long time, Yu couldn't even bring himself to open the group chat. The thought of words on a screen—friendly, teasing, caring—made something twist inside him. But one evening, when the loneliness pooled too heavily in his chest, he typed a simple:
Yu: How's everyone doing?
The responses came quickly.
Sakura Sato flooded him with heart emojis, Fumiko Fujimori sent a picture of her latest makeup work, Yamato Yamada cracked a dumb joke, Souma Satou bragged about a basketball game, and Haruka Minami—now studying abroad—sent a photo of herself in front of a European cathedral, waving brightly at the camera.
Yu stared at their messages, his lips curling faintly. But the warmth he expected didn't come. The words felt far away, like voices muffled by glass. He typed back polite replies, emojis, stickers, even laughter—but none of it reached him.
The distance between them had become more than miles.
Haruka was oceans away. The others were buried in their own colleges, their own assignments, their own growing lives. C College might as well have been a world apart; spontaneous hangouts were impossible, meetups rare. Their voices in the chat were sweet, but they faded too quickly, leaving Yu alone again in the small apartment that smelled faintly of laundry and the meals he cooked for Taichi.
He folded deeper into the rhythm he had made:
Cleaning, cooking, studying alone, waiting. His world shrank until it was only four walls and the sound of Taichi's key in the lock at night.
Taichi became his sun. His anchor. His everything.
And Yu clung to that light with quiet desperation, never daring to show how dark the shadows grew when Taichi wasn't there.