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Arashi’s touch is gentle, featherlight as she smooths her thumbs over Yuzuru’s cheekbones. It's intimate and therapeutic in a way he's not quite familiar with, teasing in a way that's meant to draw smiles rather than humiliation. He knows the right thing, the proper thing to do is to melt into Arashi’s hands, to let his barriers fall away just as her own have, but being vulnerable doesn't come naturally to him. Yuzuru holds his breath, holds his back too rigid, and then —

“You deserve so much better than me.”

His voice doesn't break. Fushimi Yuzuru never breaks. But perhaps there's a crack in his mask, the slightest flicker in his eyes, as Arashi’s lips purse before her hand falls away.

“Darling,” she whispers, sardonic smile curling across her face, “You’re far from the only one with demons.”