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“Tachibana-kun,” Midori shouts. “Tachibana-kun, it’s Matsuoka.”

“What have you done to him?” Tachibana snarls. Midori slows to a halt and raises his hands.

“There’s no time for that,” he says. “I found him passed out in the changing rooms. He’s got concussion and some really bad bruises. I think he was injured during the tournament.”

Tachibana has already sprinted off to find Matsuoka, shrieking for Yukimura and Haruki. Yukimura would never have believed Matsuoka’s injuries had nothing to do with him, but Tachibana was willing to believe the best of everyone.

Even him.

Her mistake.

 

“No.”

“No?”

Matsuoka nearly wavers. Nearly gives in to the terror that’s conditioned to run through him when he sees Midori smile like that. He digs his nails into his palms and stands up a little straighter.

“No. I’m not coming with you.” He almost tacks an explanation on the end, almost explains to Midori that he’s going out with Yukki and Hotaru and Haruki tonight and that they’ve had these plans for weeks, and that he’s not missing them just because Midori was bored and because he was too weak to say no.

He keeps his mouth shut. Midori doesn’t need an explanation.

“No? That’s interesting.” Midori’s eyes glint like crushed glass. “You’ve never said that before. Is something happening tonight?”

It’s just a moment. A single second for which Matsuoka’s eyes flicker away, and the  rush of hatred that Midori knows exactly what he doesn’t want him to, and then Midori is standing a lot closer to him than he had been a moment before.

“Yes. It is,” Matsuoka says. His mouth is dry. “So I’m not going with you.”

His voice cracks. He wants to turn around and walk away but there’s no way he would be able to turn his back on Midori and Midori doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Midori’s hand comes up to brush against his face. “Very interesting,” he says. “I suppose it’s Tachibana that gave you the courage to do this.” Matsuoka flinches back. He’s right. Of course he’s right. Perhaps now, if he can borrow a little of her courage, he’ll be able to end this for good.

“Say it again.”

“I – What?”

“Say no again. Say that you’re not coming with me. That you don’t want me to do anything to you.” Matsuoka can feel his hands shaking with adrenaline and Midori’s breath is hot on his face.

“I’m…” He takes a breath. “I’m not going with you. I don’t want you to do anything. I have to go now.”

Midori leans in. “Good boy,” he whispers. His teeth graze Matsuoka’s ear.

For a brief, brief moment, Matsuoka thought that Midori would let him leave after that.

His legs give out underneath him. Midori’s amicably smiling face seems to tumble up and away from him, though he knows he’s the one falling. Just before he hits the floor he feels the pain in his right knee, where Midori must have kicked him, and he curls in on himself reflexively.

His landing is awkward and he’ll have bruises but he’s not injured, he’s not hurt. He’s not hurt until Midori kicks him in the ribs hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs, hard enough for him to collapse back onto the floor.

“Say it again,” Midori says. “Masamune, tell me no again.”

“Stop,” Matsuoka rasps. “Please stop this, Midori-san.”

Midori’s eyes are burning with curiosity. “Excellent.”

He moves to stand above Matsuoka, one foot either side of his chest, and drops to the floor so that his knees slam into Matsuoka’s abdomen. Any hope of recovering his breath is expelled along with the last of his air and Matsuoka slumps, limp, gasping.

“You’ve never done this before,” Midori says cheerfully. “I wonder how you’ll react.”

Matsuoka’s arms come up, pushing at Midori. His mouth forms the word stop, though no sound comes out, and he twists as much as he can with the weight on him and with no air in his lungs.

“Masamune,” Midori says, and his voice is less cheerful now. “Stay still.”

Matsuoka shoves Midori’s leg. “Get off me,” he manages. “Get off.”

Midori grabs Matsuoka’s head and slams it into the floor. Matsuoka goes limp.

For an eternity and for no time at all, Matsuoka can see nothing but stars and feel nothing but the stabbing pain in the back of his head. In the distance he can hear Midori moving but it seems very irrelevant compared to the pain that has taken over his consciousness. His blind eyes are watering and he’s vaguely aware of hands on his skin, but he can’t tell anything apart from that.

They’re not out in the open but anyone could walk in. Matsuoka remembers this as he realises that Midori has pulled his pants down and flipped him onto his front.

He tried to push upwards, into a sitting position, but Midori shoves him hard in the middle of his back and it’s all he can do to stop his face slamming into the floor. His legs are spread as far apart as they can be with his pants around his knees and his hips are in the air.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do it.”

Midori ignores him. His fingers are cold. He forces three in at once, slippery with lube he must have covered them with when Matsuoka was barely conscious. He must be concussed. He can’t see properly, can’t think straight.

“Now, Masamune,” Midori says, and pulls his fingers out. “You need to know this isn’t a punishment.” Matsuoka can hear the clink of his belt-buckle and realises through the fog in his mind what’s coming. There’s a slippery, squelching sound and then Midori is pushing into him, fast and uncaring. There isn’t even time for Matsuoka to try and twist him off.

Midori leans over him, pressing his chest against Matsuoka’s back. He’s cold through their shirts. “This is a lesson.”

He digs his nails into Matsuoka’s hips and shoves forward. It hurts, it fucking hurts. It’s deliberate, Matsuoka knows, the way he’d barely prepared him and used too little lube and is moving as fast and hard as he can.

“Get off me,” he snarls. “Get the fuck off me.” His voice comes out weak and fragile, cracking around the words. Midori laughs at it. Midori laughs at him.

He pushes up onto all fours, trying to get Midori off of him. Midori slams a fist down on the back of his neck and he collapses again, and Midori keeps moving. Midori’s hands are keeping his hips in the air but the agony he’s in is eating away at any energy he might have had left, and he’s in too much pain to keep fighting. His lungs ache. Everything aches.

Midori comes. He’d worn a condom, so Matsuoka doesn’t have to deal with the mess that he would have otherwise made. He’s pretty sure that he’s bleeding.

Midori rolls him over and leans in so that his face is barely an inch from Matsuoka’s. His very breath feels like needles stabbed into Matsuoka’s skin and his genial façade has been stripped to reveal the horrendous smile he has at the sight of Matsuoka, bloody on the floor. “You need to learn how to say no.”

Matsuoka passes out.