The sharp echo of the slap still hung in the air when Theo's voice cut through, cold and disbelieving.
"…Yu?"
Yu turned sharply, the sight of Theo's wide, wounded eyes striking straight through his chest. He didn't think. He didn't have to.
His survival instincts—the same ones he's beginning to hone through words of deception and performance—rose to the surface, shimmering like instinctive muscle memory.
He stumbled toward Theo, tears welling before he even realized they were falling. The fear and heartbreak he felt were real, but he let them spill in a way that looked almost too beautiful to be accidental—his lashes wet, his lips trembling, his voice breaking softly as he cried out.
"Theo!"
Theo flinched at the rawness in his tone. Yu practically threw himself into Theo's lap, his smaller frame curling against Theo's chest. His trembling hands clutched at Theo's nightshirt as sobs shook his shoulders.
"Darling, I'm so scared—hic, please—please make him go away!"
