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classicrocknlove · 2 days ago

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~Jimmy Page Fanfiction~

Spread Your Wings

“I’m just looking for an angel with a broken wing…. But somehow, they always seem to fly, fly away…”

Chapter Sixteen

August 1st, 1973

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

“Jimmy-fucking-Page? You are actually shitting me!” Ellie exclaimed as she chomped on a few of the popped corn kernels left in our bowl.

I had a restless night. I couldn’t sleep, helplessly thinking about my charming - now absent - guitarist, whom I had become hopelessly beguiled with.

I had despairingly stayed awake the entire night prior, hoping Jimmy would somehow precariously show up at my door, as he had times before.

I hoped he’d be back, maybe even turn the plane around himself, and would be along soon to sweep me off my feet.

So, I laid, tossing and turning all night long, even imagining I had heard a knock at the door, Jimmy’s soft voice asking me to allow him in.

I found myself, barefoot and scantily-clad, sprinting to my door and swinging it open to find - certainly not my knight in shining armor - but, just the dimly lit, barren hallway of the fourth floor.

Yes, I was right, this was the worst, waste-case scenario that could have ever happened to me. How was I going to make it through this?

I sighed as Ellie ranted about her obsession of Led Zeppelin and how “un-fucking-fathomable” it was that I had actually had the Jimmy Page in ‘this very apartment’.

I regret telling her as she begins her crazy tantrum.

“Oh my God, did he sleep right here?” She started palming the couch, and I thought she may even strike up the nerve to start kissing it, considering how she thought Jimmy’s body may have imprinted itself upon it before.

“One night, yes… he did.” I admit and she eyed me, a crooked smirk plastering itself across her face.

An image of Jimmy flashed in my mind. His thrashing around on the couch as one of his frequent nightmares ensued, and I came to his assistance, holding him the rest of his and I’s slumber. Another image then flashed through my head… remembering our intimate morning together thereafter, my grinding on his lap and his coming in his underwear.

“Where did he sleep the other nights he visited?” She pondered, winking, and I rolled my eyes at her shameless immaturity.

“Oh my God, Cynthia, you had him in your bed! I knew it!” She half-shouted, realizing, then, “wait… how IS HE in bed?” She probed, and my cheeks immediately went a shade of cherry.

“Word’s around that he’s the fuck of the century. Perhaps you can… indulge me?” She proclaims, wiggling her eyebrows, trying her best to provoke any information out of me.

She was poking at me teasingly and I slapped her hands away gently, eyes still rolling to the ceiling and back as I waved her crude comments away.

“I wouldn’t know… and even if I did… why would I tell you? You are something else - you… you - ugh!” I declared, groaning with annoyance, taking the empty popcorn bowl out of her hands and to the kitchen sink.

The leftover butter that was splattered on the bowl left a greasy residue on my hands as I sauntered over to the sink to rinse it.

“Cynthia, Cynthia, Cynthia… so, you mean to tell me he left you with nothing to pine over, then?” She asks quizzically, unbelieving that I hadn’t gone all the way with him.

I’d never tell her just how much I am already missing his skillful touch and dirty mouth.

God forbid I tell her about all of the naughty things that Jimmy and I had done together… she’d be helplessly feral - and maybe even disapproving of my risqué behavior.

Considering that I had always refused every substance at any party, excused any slight interest a man had in me - other than Jack, and, not to mention, my usual my unwillingness to show much skin - unless it was for Jimmy.

So, ultimately, I decided to withhold certain details. My actions the past week would certainly be downright shocking to her, and, probably, send her to an early grave.

I remained private with Jimmy and I’s sultry encounters, as well as my indulgence of certain… substances. But, I did divulge her on a few of the activities we had partaken in together.

I proudly wore Jimmy’s pendant, displaying the necklace to her carefully and she observed it, studying the sigil closely.

“He gifted you his personal necklace for Christ’s sakes!” She said, mouth agape as she toyed with the pendant between her fingertips.

I told her all about Jimmy and I’s impromptu encounter with my parents at our favorite restaurant.

Her jaw was on the floor by the time I got around to telling her about my mother’s obnoxious inquiries of Jimmy, and our romantic walks along the park’s trail.

“He met your parents? Agreed to giving your dad guitar lessons? My God, he must really want to fuck you, somethin’ bad...” She laughs, and my mouth falls open.

She’s as just as ribald as Jimmy is!

Ellie and I had been friends for years, and she was always a bit more… amenable, more willing and coital when it came to sex, than I, and never held her assessments of any of it back.

Opposites certainly attract, and that is why Ellie and I work well together. Perhaps, that’s why Jimmy and I have taken such a fondness to each other, too. It was clear that he and I filled each other’s voids, fulfilling missing pieces within ourselves for the other.

I finally got Ellie to calm down, stopped her ranting and raving enough to have a meal.

I had finally gone shopping at the local grocery down the road, and prepared a quick meal for the both of us while reruns of The Honeymooners played in the background.

We had just began to clean up our mess on the small dining table when a loud knock ensued at the door. We both stopped in our tracks, peering over at each other with a feverish, curious look.

The knocks sounded upon the door again and Ellie hastily moved around the table, pushing me toward the door like a mad woman.

Was it him? My mystical man? Maybe with a guitar strapped to his back, suitcase in hand?

I breathed in before opening the door and was met with a young boy offering a small smile, holding a bouquet of mauve tulips and roses - my mind hummed with recognition - Jimmy.

“Delivery for a…” the boy lightly peers at the small envelope that held my fate.

“Cynthia Carpenter?” He finishes, and I nodded my head at him rapidly, swiftly taking the flowers from him, the smile on my face growing with anticipation.

“Thanks!” I mustered before shutting the door briskly, no intent to be rude, but was, at length, horribly enamored by this sudden delivery.

The flowers were beautiful, shades of mauve pinks scattered through the greenery. It wasn’t a uniform combination of flowers, and it was evident that Jimmy had clearly chosen and assembled these for a reason - they were the types of flowers that we had picked together in the park.

I was still holding onto and reminiscing the singular rose bud, that was now wilting, that Jimmy had strewn through my hair days before in the park.

I breathed in the scent of the fresh bouquet, the aroma of the florets bringing me back to better days.

It was suddenly vital that I read the attached card before I took another breath. And once I read it, it instantly took my breath away:

For you, Cyn, and to our days together, past and ahead. Sending All My Love…

- Jimmy xxxx

“Oh my God - LOVE?!” Ellie exclaims behind me, and I hadn’t realized that she had been peering over my shoulder, very nosy, looking at Jimmy’s handwritten note to me.

“Ugh… can you not do this right now?” I groan as I start to walk away from her, to my bedroom area so I could at least have a moment’s privacy.

I heard her mutter more nonsensical proclamations about Jimmy being totally ‘in L-O-V-E’ as I scurried away.

I turned the corner around the wall, finally looking down at Jimmy’s handwriting, picturing his long fingers grasping onto a pen to print each beautiful set of letters.

I held the note to my heart minutely before placing it on my nightstand lovingly next to the Polaroid I took of him yesterday.

I trotted back around to the living area where Ellie was waiting, surely to throw more of her senseless, illogical theories at me about Jimmy and I.

“Cynthia, you know, I am only teasing. I am glad you found someone who adores you, instead of settling for Jack’s worthless behind.” She says to me, her obnoxious way of reassuring me left me waning.

“And anyway, how is that asshole? Have you heard from him?” She asks curiously, leaning forward in her chair.

I shake my head. “Not for a week. He called asking to see me, talk about everything. But I just can’t. We’ll fall right back into the same cycle.” I sigh as I think about the last harsh words Jack and I shared.

“I haven’t even really thought about him, actually...” I ponder my thoughts, realizing that Jack had been the furthest thing from my mind, with Jimmy replacing every sound thought for the last week.

“Well, I can only imagine why not…” she scoffs, tone leading, referring to my whirlwind romance with Jimmy.

We continued our gossiping for a while longer, then Ellie had to go. She insisted on walking instead of taking the subway, and given the hour of the evening, close to ten, I told her to make sure she called once she arrived home safely.

I passed the time with finishing my cleaning, and I noticed that Jimmy’s scent was still plastered around the apartment, in my bed.

I reveled in the fluffy pillows, enjoying the sweet smell of Jimmy and his shampoo that had imprinted itself upon the pillowcases.

I laid for a while, almost falling into a slumber, a sleepy darkness about to take over, until the sheer sound of the telephone sounded from the kitchen.

It was surely Ellie, calling as she promised, and I sighed as I trudged to the phone, looking forward to hearing her assurance that she had made it home.

“Hello, Ellie?” I call into the receiver, but the voice on the other line was certainly not my best friend.

My heart lurched as the enrapturing, mystery voice floated through the speaker of the receiver.

“Well, love, I suppose I’m not whom you were expecting, but please, call me Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s soft, beautiful laughter sounded through the phone and I almost fainted at the tone.

I thought I was hallucinating, maybe somehow had fallen asleep on my bed waiting for Ellie’s call, and this was some kind of fever dream.

But, Jimmy’s soft accent followed through the receiver once again, reassuring me that what I was hearing, experiencing, was real.

And I couldn’t have been more enamored by that fact.

“Oh, Cyn, love, are you there? Have I lost you?” Jimmy speaks again and I shake my head of my overbearing thoughts, hurrying to muster a sentence before he had the chance to hang up.

“I’m here, I… Jimmy… hello.” I stammer, nervously, as if twenty four hours ago we hadn’t been nakedly cavorting in my shower together.

But, Jimmy, his sweetness, his mystifying nature, was enough to leave me completely enchanted, and I was taken aback by his phone call. I wondered how he’d acquired my phone number.

“Oh, Cyn, my girl, it’s so bloody good to hear your voice again… I assume you’ve received what I sent off?” He inquires, his soft voice making my stomach’s butterflies soar.

“Yes, yes… they are so beautiful, Jimmy. Thank you.” I say, still unbelieving that I am talking to him, my heart sinking as I thought about how far away he was from me.

“The pleasure is mine, Cyn. They remind me of our lovely walks in the park… of which I am reminicising as we speak. I miss you already, as silly as that may sound.” His words make my heart ache, yearning for his presence to be back with me once again.

“I miss you too, Jimmy. I was just thinking about you before you called…” I trailed off, sighing contentedly, hearing his hum from the other side of the phone.

“Cyn, love, you haven’t left my mind since my departure. But, I do bear good news.” He informs me and my face lights up, anticipating the information.

I wait for his retort.

“Well, you know, the whole money situation at The Drake has been furthered into some kind of civil suit… Peter must return back to Manhattan next week.” I nod, hoping he’ll continue, as if he could see me.

As this statement held nothing of significance for me, I hoped he’d indulge me of the rest of his proclamation in a hurry.

“And Richard is unable to attend. So, I took it upon myself to act as an escort of sorts… and will be back in your city in less than a week, my girl.” He tells me and my heart swells, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

I nearly jumped up and down at this, but I tried my best to remain calm, still trying to hold up some sense of mystery. But, my smile could have been seen from a million miles away.

“Cynthia… I can feel your darling smile through the phone, you little minx.” He teased and I couldn’t help the schoolgirl giggle that escaped my mouth.

I was, without a doubt, thrilled to hear that Jimmy would be returning, and oh-so soon.

As we continued our conversation for the next few minutes, I had already been daydreaming of our upcoming time together.

He had informed me that he had done a bit of research, seeking out my telephone number from the service operators of Manhattan.

He explained he had come up with some twisted little story, about ‘someone important, a distant aunt and uncle, had some important message, and a Miss Cynthia Carpenter must be contacted immediately.’

He also reveled about our time difference, and informed me that it was actually around three in the morning where he was.

He had been having a restless night. I knew the feeling.

My heart lunged within my chest, beating a hundred miles a minute, thinking about how Jimmy had called me in his time of need, seeking me to aid him with his restlessness, as I had during our nights together in the last week.

I longed to be back in my bed with Jimmy, feel his warm breath upon my neck, his arms around me as he expressed his soft snores into my hair.

Ellie had suddenly began to call, intruding on Jimmy and I’s conversation.

“Wait, love, you’ve got a pen? Write this number down…” He translated his personal landline over the phone, and I realized how different European phone numbers were from our American numbers.

“Darling, I will talk with you soon. I’ll be thinking of you… all the time.” He says, his velvety, accented tone like a smooth brush washing across a canvas.

We ended the call, with my hand hovering over the telephone for a moment, still unbelieving that he and I had just talked, he going as far as to seek me out, up against the tough phone service operators that aided the city. I was shocked that he had gotten through.

The flowers, his effort to search for my line, his eagerness to see me, all left me feeling dizzy and giddy.

Work would surely get in the way next week, and I realized that I must get everything done hastily, ahead of his arrival. I wanted to be with him as much as I could.

I made a note to stop into the office tomorrow, pick up some paperwork and extra things to work on, as Paul surely had a pile of mindless pads for me to complete.

I called Ellie back, making sure she had gotten into her parents home safely, and she insisted on knowing why I hadn’t answered on the first ring.

I indulged her slightly on Jimmy and I’s unexpected phone call, and she was relentless on wanting to know details, of which, I held back.

Our phone call ended with promises of talking more tomorrow being made.

I plopped myself down onto the bed, hoping to receive at least a small bit of shut-eye, but was hopelessly still reeling from my telephone call with Jimmy.

I shifted to my side, fussing lightly over Jimmy’s pendant around my neck, my fingertips rubbing gently over the topaz stone, the intricate curves of the sigil.

Thoughts of Jimmy flooded my mind, reverting to dreams as the illumination of the moon and the wind howling against the blinds lulled me to sleep.

~~~

Night of August 2nd, 1973

Plumpton Place, East Sussex, England

Jimmy’s P.O.V.

Day fucking two.

I’m fucking stoned.

Cyn’s still in fucking New York.

And Charlotte’s back in my fucking bed.

I was almost afraid to tell her no, but she wasn’t prepared with anything to bloody leave anyways.

I let her stay, though my mind tormented me with the sight of her, especially with the clusterfuck that had ensued when she left.

And the events that have happened subsequently.

When her and Scar showed, it was clear Charlotte had been drinking, and her treacherous rendezvous with her French lover had seemingly ended.

Now, she wanted me, all of me, and was naked and willing in our bed as this moment turned to dark.

Fuck, she had been begging me to fuck her since her appearance this afternoon.

I had no intention of having her back here, especially in her condition, drunk and needy, showing up on my doorstep with little Scarlet upon my arrival.

But, Scarlet had been so excited to have me back, reaching out for me as Charlotte threw her into my arms and helped herself back into our - my - home.

I had set her up in the guest room down the hall, hoping she’d calm down a bit, stop her constant whimpering about how much she’s missed me, my cock, and her garden.

Scarlet’s just been put down to rest and I moved past Charlotte in her drunken stupor, led her to the bedroom, and slipped away before she could throw anymore affirmations toward me.

I sat on the back patio, staring out into the abyss of the night, Charlotte’s wilting marigold flowers sat aglow in the moonlight.

The joint I had been smoking was soon to be finished. I couldn’t stop my long drags of intense determination to reach the highest level of plastered as I could conceivably attain.

Bottle of Daniel’s occupied my other hand, sloshing around with each of my languid movements on the lounge, listening to the stream of water flow below.

Charlotte had brought the grass along with her, back from Paris, and bloody fuck, was it strong.

I hadn’t had grass like this in a while, since LA. And fuck, that made me do countless fucking things to those twats back at The Rainbow, the Hyatt, and in the limousine enroute to the plane.

And soon, I knew what would happen. This moment would be no different.

I would return to the bedroom, and Charlotte would talk me into it, as she usually did, and I’d fuck her into the mattress while her French tips dug into hips.

It’d be over before it really started, she’d get what she desired from me, and I could, possibly, get some sleep thereafter.

I was still experiencing the relentless fucking terrors during the night, with no Cyn to aid my fucked up mind.

Charlotte had no idea of these nightmares, of which I’d been especially reluctant to share with her. Especially since she had begun to… appear in them, as well.

God, what would Cyn think of me, if she saw me now? Knew what I was capable of doing? If only she knew how fucking close I was to going upstairs and… and… fuck, she’d never speak to me again.

Cyn wasn’t the type, surely nothing like Charlotte.

She wouldn’t have any of it, and would throw me out on my fucking ass without a day’s word.

Charlotte, bloody Charlotte, on the other hand, had become quite used to all of it. She accepted who I was, who I am, and went along with it all.

She had her theories, her beliefs, and she certainly believed in the conjecture - see no evil, hear no evil.

As long as she wasn’t there to witness my actions, never actually see my fucking around, she was okay. And we worked that way. It was alright.

But, I had started getting reckless, lazy, downright fucking haughty with it all. I knew it, and that fact was evident.

Any helpless bird that showed any slight interest in having her way with me - did.

And Charlotte had enough, for that time being. And she left several weeks ago, taking Scar with her, and moved back to Paris with some French bastard that she thought would save her from it all.

Not.

Here she was, as I knew she would be, back in England, back in my bed. She was ready to resume our sick, hopeless, dying fucking relationship that had been falling apart at the seems since Scarlet had been born.

And if this was before, if this was a couple weeks ago, before my meeting Cyn, I’d be more than willing to resume. But fuck, now the doubts were kicking in.

I took another swig of the bottle, drips smearing down my chin as I sipped and smoked, blowing out long drags of the joint, each smokey bubble symbolized a hazy thought as they escaped past my lips.

The cool breeze of the summer night was surprisingly calming, and I couldn’t help but to shut my eyes, minutely, hoping I could somehow gain a moment’s slumber before the night went south, as I knew it surely would.

The night’s darkness settled upon me, and I fell into a dazed, substance-induced sleep.

Then it began.

~~~

“Oh… What to do, what to do… what to do with her’s sweetness…” He had the same black cape on, spiderweb like lace covering the red of his eyes as he smoothed Scarlet’s hair. His voice spoke in a dark, raspy tone, fit for horror.

Scarlet squirmed under the touch of the blackened figure, wailing cries echoing in the dark bedroom of Boleskin House.

My eyes grew wide with fear, then a creak sounded at the door.

Charlotte appeared from the darkened doorway, wearing a similar black hooded robe, hers littered with red, stringy lining, crimson fringe hung hauntingly around the arms.

Her face was contorted, an evil sneer of a smile plastered onto it as she moved robotically, to the aid of the dark, red-eyed figure with Scarlet.

I tried to break free, the fucking ropes around my body crackling and imprinting red, burning smudges into my skin.

“Charlotte, fucking hell! Get Scar away from him!” I cried out, still trying to rip away from my confines, but to no avail.

“Oh, Jimmy. We will take her… bring her along with us… she’ll be safe… ne vous inquiétez pas…” Charlotte expressed lowly, then laughed a devilish, taunting laugh, ripping Scarlet out of her crib and into her arms.

“NO! Fucking leave her! What the bloody FUCK!” I was practically ripping my skin open as I continued to fight against my restraints.

Charlotte’s nails curled around Scarlet’s helpless, flailing body, long black squiggly nails protruding from her fingertips soaking into Scar’s skin.

“You fucking cunt! Give her to me!” I screamed, veins threatening to pop out of my neck’s dermis.

“Jimmy… Oh, Jimmy… isn’t this what you wanted, darling?” Charlotte lowered her dark, hollow eyes at me as she placed Scarlet into the arms of her evil consort.

“Charlotte, please…” I began to cry, tears streaming down my cheeks as I pleaded with her, looking behind her at my beloved child, begging for Scarlet to be left with me.

Charlotte began to creep toward me, a frightening look upon her face as she inched nearer and nearer, lowering to my level on the cold, damp floor of the pitch-black chamber.

Her long, skinny fingers, nails protruding for what seemed like miles, raised up to my chin, sharply caressing my jaw line.

“What shall we do with him, Your Excellency?” The dark figure said, hiding behind its black cloak, tone low and deep, coming toward Charlotte and I.

I thrashed at my imprisonment once again, for good measure, the sight of my pained daughter completely ruining me.

“Ah… Yours Highest, we shall leave him here to wilt away, come back along and fetch him once he’s withered enough.” Charlotte guffaws wickedly, pushing my body back, my head hitting the hard, wood floor beneath.

“Au revoir, pour l'instant…” Charlotte whispered to my lain body, unable to resume my previous position.

The ropes had twisted and kept me tight against the ground now, leaving me helplessly thrashing around on the wet, rickety floorboards.

I heard their footsteps travel away, out of the room, Scarlet’s cries echoing in the distance. I couldn’t help the eruptions of wails and screeching that emanated from my body, filling the void of the eerie quarters.

“FUCK!… NO!… PLEASE… BRING HER BACK! B-BRING HER BACK! PLEASE!……..” I cried and cried, my body pulsating and uncontrollably moving about.

This went on for long, until I was suddenly pulled from the darkness, from the barren of the moist room, back to reality.

“Jimmy! Shit, Jimmy, are you fucking alright?” Charlotte was shaking me viciously, hurriedly ridding me of my terror.

Her strawberry hair hung down in front of her as she stood above me, face soft and familiar, and I had the urge to pull her down, sorrowfully needing comfort.

I attempted to gain her embrace but she shrugged me off coldly, pulling me up and out of the lounge chair with haste.

“Jimmy, you fucking woke me. Come now, up to bed.” She pushed me along the path back to the French doors, slamming them behind us.

I felt like a helpless child as she took my arm in hers, guiding me up the stairs and to the bedroom, the sheets thrown about lazily.

She laid me down, this time, her touch gentle, and traveled around to the other side of the bed, pulling the sheets back.

She scooted closer to me, her body now cold with the night’s breeze that had boasted upon her bare skin, and she touched her hand to my chest, starting to unbutton my wrinkled shirt.

Fuck, here it goes.

Just let it go, Jim… this might help… maybe once you shag her, you’ll be quite exhausted, soothed enough to doze back off.

But I knew, even if I returned to a slumber, the nightmares would be back, in full swing, and I hadn’t my sweet Cyn and her kind, caring touch to soothe my nerves.

Christ, what a selfish fucking bastard I am.

Here I am, still out of breath from my nightly fucking torment, ready to fuck Charlotte, and still craving Cyn’s unwavering, soft touch.

But, Charlotte’s frigidity had alarmed me, caused me to halt her movements as she had just finished tearing my shirt off, and was working on my jeans’ zipper.

“Char, wait, please, love. I need… I…” My hands went to hers, stopping their movement and she peered up at me and I couldn’t help the horrified look that implanted itself onto my face.

It wasn’t her. It was, but it wasn’t.

The face of Charlotte from my nightmare, the fucking hellish grin that had been haunting me for weeks, was back, peering up at me - and I couldn’t stop my body from hastily jumping from the bed.

I fell to the ground and scurried back onto my two feet, staggering a sprint to the large wooden door of the room.

“What the fuck, Jimmy? What is going on? - WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Charlotte screamed, but I continued my fast stride out of the room and down the hall.

I prayed she hadn’t followed me as I continued my escape.

I pushed myself into Scarlet’s room with a quickness, closing and locking the door behind me.

I leaned against the door, chest heaving, drunk and high, struggling to contain my fright, feeling agitated and lost in whatever the fuck was happening to my bloody brain.

I turned towards my darling daughter who laid safe and sound in her bed, adorable and wrapped in the sheets, hair curly and halo-like upon her head.

My body immediately relaxed at the sight of her.

I heard Charlotte shout more acrimonious words from down the hall, before she finally gave up, her drunkenness making her shouts not an easy feat.

I softly placed myself onto the edge of Scarlet’s small bed, placing a light kiss upon her forehead, hoping I wouldn’t wake her next.

After the long travel, she needed her rest.

I felt manic and ultimately defeated as I laid and thought about what the actual fuck I am going to do about all of this.

Christ, I wish I had grabbed another bottle, maybe a couple of Charlotte’s pills, anything that may suffice, to help ease my plagued mind.

I shut my eyes, no longer attempting to sleep, but just to think.

I thought about what may come of my visit back to Manhattan the next week, and what Cyn may be up to at this very moment.

Fuck, did I miss her. Especially now. I thought about the things I would do to feel her touch, her petite body wrapped around me, her full lips against mine… and suddenly, the things that I would commit to have it all back, were limitless.

She was the only woman whom had actually shown a genuine interest in me, who I really am, and expressed her loving nature in such a pure, unfeigned manner. But, if she were find out who I really was, she’d surely keep her distance.

I had no fucking idea how I’d survive even another day in this house, in this bloody country, without her. I wondered if she’d be willing to come to England… maybe stay with me? Live with me…? Oh Christ, I was surely getting much ahead of where and how the fuck everything stood at this time.

But, days seemed like fucking years at this point, and I suddenly had the urge to completely end everything with Charlotte, amicably of course.

Christ, what a fucking mess this is.

I had never felt this way before. Charlotte had always been the woman I’d returned to, and found undenying comfort in. Especially after the long tours, countless hours of sweating and playing, venue after venue, line after line, plane ride after plane ride - everything seemed alright once I was back in her arms and she was back in my bed.

And she’d always take me back. Despite my continual deception toward her, she’d always welcomed me, and for that I was thankful.

But, as of late, our relationship was dwindling, the love we had for each other had since passed us by, and we were nothing but loving parents to our child… and possibly good roommates from time to time.

My mind was all over the place once I tried to settle it back on Cynthia.

I wanted much more than I had going with Cyn, yearned to see where this life could take us, and realized that I had to straighten up, fucking royally, before even thinking about diving into another relationship - especially with a woman like Cynthia.

And, I had to set Charlotte straight.

And that was going to be no walk in the fucking park.

~~~

August 3rd, 1973

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

It had been almost two days since I last heard from Jimmy.

I was busying myself with work, but couldn’t get him off of my mind, as hard as I tried.

I figured he was probably busy, finally getting a chance to see his daughter and relax.

Or, perhaps, he decided to take everything he said back, fly it to the wind and forget about me at once.

Or worse yet, he had reunited with his estranged girlfriend, and they were now frolicking along together back in England.

These theories twisted around in my stomach, making me feel rather queasy as I sat, aimlessly writing away at the conclusion of my Zeppelin article.

I paced back and forth around my apartment, my mind on only one thing, and I couldn’t help but stare at the telephone across the room, dying to make the phone call.

I had an aching in my heart, dying to hear his voice, his accent that always left me burning with warmth and fondness.

I strolled to the phone, walking away, then walking back to it again, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

I thumbed the small piece of paper between my fingertips as I dialed the numbers written upon it.

The receiver began to communicate a ringing with me and my nervous state got the best of me. I slammed the phone back down onto the receiver before anyone could pick up.

Oh my God, what are you doing? Just call him!

I shake my head and dial again, this time, determined to stay on the line and wait for Jimmy to pick up. Once I hear his voice, I knew everything would be alright.

I anticipate his answering on the line as I tap my fingernails against the countertop, leaning over onto it as the phone rang and rang.

Finally, there was a clattering on the line, somebody had finally picked up, and my heart drops as the voice sounds through the receiver.

“Hullo?” A woman’s voice, deep and accentuated, resonated through the speaker of my telephone.

I gulped, mouth going dry, heart in my stomach, and then the voice sounds again.

“Hullo? Anyone there?” The woman speaks and I clear my throat, having to come up with something quick.

“Yes, hello, is a Mr. Page present?” I ask, my voice becoming uppity, the words unnatural, hoping that I’ll pass as some saleswoman or something.

“He is not. May I take a message?” I noticed the French accent immediately, and I hadn’t an exact idea whom the mystery woman was, but I had a tinge, and was driven on finding out for certain.

“Uh - yes, please - uhm, inform him that the article about he and his band will be published by the end of the week.” I tell her, then a wave of inquisitiveness coursed through me… and I had to know.

“Okay, I will provide him the message. Bye, b-“ I interrupted her before she could end the call.

“For communication purposes, just someone to reference in case I need to call back, may I have your name, ma’am?” I ask, still playing it up.

Suddenly, my heart was fully lost, dropping into the pit of my stomach, and shattering into pieces as she spoke her name.

“Very well - my name is Charlotte.” My face fell with realization, yet I somehow already knew it was her.

She hung up the phone, the receiver soon returning to a monotone drone as I still held it up to my ear with sheer dejection.

Now I knew why Jimmy had paused our communication, why I hadn’t heard from him. He was with her.

I couldn’t blame him, after all, that’s his family. She’s the mother of his child, and I suppose that their history was much stronger than our fresh connection. But, the uncontrollable wave of misery washed through me, and I began to feel as if I had been used, then discarded of with no warning.

I slide down the door of the old fridge in my kitchen, head falling into my hands, my lap acting as a leverage point to lean into.

I cried and cried, chest heaving, regretting every single thing I had allowed while he was here, and promised myself then - that I would never let another man fool me again.

Soon, there was a knock at the door and I sniffled, wiping my wetness on the sleeve of my sweater, and strolled over to the entrance door.

I couldn’t have been bothered to look through the peephole at whom it was at the door and I swung it open with haste, finding Roger on the other side of it.

He was peering down at, yet another, floral arrangement, that I assumed Jimmy had sent.

“Cynthia, I believe this may been delivered to my door on accid- my God, Cynthia, are you okay?” He gasps at the sight of me and I don’t answer him, instead the tears begin falling like a personal tsunami.

Roger pulls me in for a friendly, caring hug and held me while I heaved and wailed, rubbing my back and soon leading us into my apartment, dragging the vase of floors across the floor, leaving them by the mat.

He sat me down on the couch gently, fetching water for me across the room.

Soon, I explained the story to him, start to finish, Jimmy and I’s relationship utterly shocking him. But, he stayed poised, non-judging, and very understanding as I ended off with indulging him about my very telling phone call with Jimmy’s girlfriend.

“Cynthia, it seems you’ve gotten yourself in a real mess.” He shakes his head, sighing heavily, as he rubs my shoulder fondly.

“I know… God, I’m so stupid.” I cried, still wiping tears that helplessly fell down my cheeks, pooling into my linen pants.

He shook his head with disagreement as he embraced me, his shoulder a great force to cry on. I continued my episode minutely before pulling away, sniffling, rubbing at my leaking nose and eyes.

“Roger, you must think much differently of me now…” I muster, shaking and bowing my head.

“Of course I don’t, Cynthia. It’s all going to be okay… don’t let this get you down.” He tells me, soft hand rubbing circles into my upper back.

“Oh, Roger, you are a saint, you know that? Thank you…” I say, patting his shoulder, trying to rid the wetness of my tears upon it.

“Try to stay busy, Cynthia. Keep your mind off of this. And anyway, he’s thousands of miles away, and he’ll soon be traveling around… moving on. You must, too.” He informs me, trying to delicately feed the logical statement to me, and it hurt - because it was true.

I nodded, and Roger continued his comforting of me, and I was more than thankful for his company.

I remembered how cruel Jimmy had been to him, when Roger was merely curious about us, and was only probably concerned. Which, now, makes total sense - given Jimmy’s oust of me.

I soon departed from Roger, leaving the house and heading down to the local café, suddenly needy of a drink, anything with some caffeine in it that would boost my diminished energy.

As I stood in line, waiting for my coffee, a tap on my shoulder ensued and I whipped around to a sight before me that I hadn’t perceived in a long while, and certainly hadn’t been expecting.

“Cynthia, what a coincidence seeing you here…” he softly approaches, standing in front of me, appearing in much better shape and demeanor than before.

“Jack…” I stood stunned, not ready for what kind of encounter was about to spring for our first time meeting since our ruthless break-up.

I expected some kind of outburst from him, really. But he surprised me, his tone soft and gentle, and he smiled down at me with a hint of warmth.

“How’ve you been?” He asks as I snag my coffee from the barista, stepping back so the next person in line could retrieve their order.

“I’ve been… good, great, actually. You?” I ask him, my mind still hazy, eyes still slightly bloodshot from my hours of crying over Jimmy. If only he knew.

“Hanging in there.” He nods, looking around shyly, avoiding my gaze as we stood in the middle of the café.

“Would you like to sit… catch up a bit? I don’t have to be back to work for a few…” He asked and stomach twisted with indecision.

“Unless you… you have to…” he trailed off awkwardly, assuming I was going to turn his offer down.

Maybe I should have.

But, I lightly smiled and nodded, and he sighed a grateful breath and led me to a small booth framed by a large picture window.

My mind flashed with images of Jimmy, and how his raging jealousy would surely cause him to turn this bistro upside down if he saw Jack and I.

I tried my best to push him out of my mind, remembering Jimmy’s current situation, and his inconsideration to me, and allowed myself to live in the moment.

Our conversation flowed easily, the familiar nature of Jack filled me with strange content, and we soon began to reminisce about “old times”.

Soon, Jack had to get back to work, and our pleasant conversation came to a close.

We strolled out of the door of the café, exchanging fond goodbyes, until Jack turned back around on the pavement, calling out to me.

“Cynthia, uh, would you like to maybe, possibly, have dinner or something next week? I have a few days off, figured we could continue our catching up…” he suggested, eyes hopeful and longing for my attention.

I hesitated for a moment, deciding if I should further our linking. I thought back to my previous thoughts about Jack, and everyone’s advice to stay away, because of how heartbroken I had been when he left.

But, what use was all this, now? My heart was now scorned once again anyways. What difference would this make? Besides, it’s an innocent dinner… I’m not getting engaged.

Surely though, my sorrow-filled and scorned heart - by the force of Jimmy’s disregard of me, was fueling my irrational, sudden decision.

“Sure, just stop in at the office next week around four or five. We can leave from there.” I nod, smiling, hoping that I was making the right decision.

“Sounds perfect.” He nods, then, “God, it was great seeing you again, Cynthia. You look good.” He concludes, leaning forward and placing a light kiss on my cheek before hastily dawdling back down the pavement.

I stood, minutely, his kiss reddening my cheeks bashfully.

I trudged back down the walkway to my apartment, empty coffee cup in hand. I began to think about what a messy cluster life has been in the last couple of weeks.

I fall for one guy, he breaks my heart. Fall for another, he shatters it, maybe beyond repair.

I couldn’t win, it seemed. So, I figured, I should just let things flow naturally, deviate from my, otherwise, strict and timid behavior.

Once I arrived home, I couldn’t control my emotions, the view of Jimmy’s delivery of florets and his handwritten notes causing me to spiral once again.

I ripped the phone from the wall in anger, the phone coming down to clatter and break on the wood floor.

I would certainly have to travel down to the pavement, to the pay phone below, to make any calls, and I regretted my angst once the feverish despair had made its way out of my body.

I plunged into my bed languidly, pulling the covers up and over, my head in a daze of thoughts of Jimmy - Jack - Jimmy - Jimmy - damned Jimmy - more Jimmy.

I couldn’t get Jimmy’s face out of my head, wishing I could run my fingers through his raven locks. I fell into a spill of a tantrum on the bed, soon exhausting my efforts into a sleepy mess in the sheets.

Darkness became my only solitude as I fell into an afflicted slumber, eyes surely to be swollen by tomorrow.

A/N

PHEW… chapter sixteen is among us… and there was MUCH to take in.

Please, please, pleeeease let me know your thoughts, I thoroughly enjoy them :D

Thank you for reading, as always. Hope you all know how much I appreciate your following along with me.

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dragomfry · 5 months ago

Text

Discussion on Doumeki’s Current Treatment of Yashiro

(And what it means for the story’s mature themes + Tangent on Romance and BL as genres and how I interpret Saezuru)

This continues the conversation from @nanayashi-agenda’s reply. Thank you for replying, you’ve given me lots to think about. It seems my views on Doumeki’s treatment of Yashiro are similar to yours. Speaking to all: I’m always open to hearing the diverse opinions of others and broadening my own views, so please, keep giving your honest thoughts on the story and what it means to you. I think it’s wonderful that we can interpret this story in a multitude of ways; it’s what makes the story so compelling to me.

Disclaimer: I’m going to be very harsh on Doumeki in this post. In no way am I trying to take away from anyone’s enjoyment of the story, and if you interpret it differently than me, that’s cool! I’m just giving my opinions in this post, and we can agree or disagree. Please, if you’re sensitive to a harsh look at Doumeki’s actions or your reading of the story is more idealistic, I kindly suggest you move past this post. But if you’re open to a critical reading of Doumeki’s actions, this post has a ton of thoughts that I hope are interesting.

Just to be clear, I believe he’s a very well-written character, and I still like him. But he is very flawed, just like other characters. Even though I understand his actions, I don’t believe they are the most moral. Basically, this post analyzes and aims to understand the complicated why and how of Doumeki’s actions, and I give my opinions on them while being as understanding as possible.

TW for themes of sexual violence and abuse

Full disclosure: I am of the opinion that the first time they *made love was non-consensual and almost every sexual act Doumeki has made on Yashiro after the timeskip has been dub-con at best… and rape at worst.

I mentioned this before, but I think Yoneda-sensei is the only writer that can make me acknowledge the apparent toxicity of the relationship yet still have me actively wanting the characters to get married. Never before have I encountered a romance that is hindered by such realistic, unavoidable barriers and misunderstandings that it makes complete sense for both partners to act and feel in the controversial ways they do; therefore, the drama never feels unnecessary or gratuitous for the sake of the audience. Based on my interpretation, the slow burn and controversial drama exists because anything else to advance their relationship would be antithetical to their characters. And all while we understand the complex reasons for their actions, it seems Yoneda-sensei never attempts to romanticize the toxic behaviors, either. If there are any other stories or authors that do this, I wouldn’t mind some recommendations…

Sorry for the slightly related tangent in the next 4 paragraphs within the lines. You can just skip those if you want to jump right away into the topic of discussion. My thoughts overwhelm me a lot, too…

———————————————————————————

Ig there is quite a bit of context as to why I asked for your thoughts on this topic in the first place. This tangent is related to my general views about how I interpret Saezuru as a whole and what that means for this topic.

Let’s just say I was not all that interested in romance as a genre. I have nothing against romance (and I should probably read more of it to get a better idea on the genre as a whole), it’s just that I’ve always associated it with contemporary issues, not much conflict, and a predictable structure that typically ends happily with a stereotypically heterosexual couple getting together, which doesn’t interest me too much. Why read a romance when you already know how it ends? Rhetorical question, it’s the journey, but I like many of my journeys to have substantial bumps in it and at least some food for thought, yknow? Anyways, I didn’t think BL would interest me at all for a similar reason. Furthermore, I’ve heard many negative traits about the genre. That it romanticizes abuse, depicts gay people unrealistically, and is just gay porn with no substance. Also I heard rape was such a common backstory trope that it became banal… which is just awful to me, especially with how it mostly isn’t given the same sensitive treatment as I believe it is in Saezuru. Rape should never just be something to add to a story for worthless drama. With all this, it’s almost like BL would be anathema to me… until I found one that surprised me with its themes (which I’ll write a review for), and then found Saezuru. Saezuru is just different from the others (I sounded like Doumeki there, huh), and I believe it’s an anomaly in terms of the romance department and storytelling generally. I could quite literally talk about this series for hours and not get bored. Apologies, my blog is basically all those random thoughts… tl;dr: Saezuru seems to defy its genre conventions, critique them, or give a nuanced perspective on them, where others have failed to do so, which makes the story infinitely more interesting to me.

In terms of “ships,” I personally cannot ship anything unless there is substantial evidence in the canon to suggest the couple can exist realistically. Also, I try to look at characters as objectively as possible. I try to understand the characters for what they’re written as, not as my own interpretation or to reduce them to just a ship. This is why it’s so hard for me to read fan fiction. I can’t read or mentally accept stories of the characters when they don’t act like themselves.

So anyways, these views are why I can’t help but be critical of Doumeki’s actions and words towards Yashiro. I feel, in being able to view Doumeki as a sex offender and Yashiro as a victim, I can derive a more meaningful interpretation of Saezuru’s story and not have rose-tinted glasses when I pair the two together. I suppose we’ll have to see what Yoneda-sensei has in store for the ending to see if she really aligns with my interpretation of the story’s themes, but judging by how she’s managed to so delicately handle many of the controversial themes she presents (and how she clearly cares about her characters, how she handles rape, and how she wants to deliver a satisfying end to the story), I have reason to believe she could pull it off. I am cautiously optimistic.

Jeez I went overboard

———————————————————————————

After having binged all of Saezuru from chapters 1-58 in like a week, my thoughts were going haywire. The main thought on my mind though, was this: Why was Doumeki treating Yashiro so callously when he loves him and treated him so gently beforehand? Turns out, this is quite the loaded question, so I broke it down into 3 parts below.

I stumbled upon this old interview and was even more confused when I considered this quote from Yoneda-sensei:

When I was thinking about whom I should pair Yashiro with, this is the kind of character that turned out.

Doumeki is a character originating from Yashiro.

It's like he started functioning because Yashiro existed.

…So the two are literally made for each other, but now Doumeki is sexually abusing Yashiro? How can that be his ideal partner? Why can’t he just let the poor guy sleep??

Well, I reason that it’s because of the super complicated tangle of emotions and effects of the upbringings of Doumeki and Yashiro that this is their situation in the story. I also think Yoneda-sensei is giving some concrete commentary on rape culture.

I believe that Doumeki’s actions are based on a large mix of what you said.

Here are the questions I’m tackling:

Why does Doumeki treat Yashiro that way?

Why won’t Doumeki abide by Yashiro’s requests to not have sex?

Why hasn’t Doumeki questioned the morality of his actions?

1.) Why does Doumeki treat Yashiro that way?

The conversation with Nanahara and Doumeki’s takeaways are still very mysterious, but it’s undeniable that it influenced his views and behaviors towards Yashiro now. Sidenote: did we get to see Doumeki’s reply to Nanahara at the end of the extra yet?

I agree with your statement here:

he thinks that "kind" and gentle treatment is what made yashiro leave. doumeki's main concern now is not letting him "run away" again. […] and by that logic, cruelty and sex are the best tool

Adding on, I think there are 2 main reasons in Doumeki’s head that he uses to justify the cruelty and sex: 1.) Doumeki does not want to hurt Yashiro again by treating him gently because Yashiro perceived that as rape (which is a belief I will tackle later), and 2.) he still believes Yashiro hasn’t changed because of Yashiro’s words and his sleeping with Inami/other men. The second reason in itself, oh my, is another entire post on how the misunderstandings in Saezuru are actually realistic and compelling and not stupid for the sake of relationship drama, but I digress.

Ch. 43 (top) and ch. 46

Because “Yashiro hasn’t changed,” he still thinks Yashiro doesn’t like serious relationships. He still thinks Yashiro will only have sex with men who are rough and don’t care about him (Inami, Kido) because that’s Yashiro’s coping mechanism. So, to not hurt Yashiro with gentleness, to prevent other men from hurting him, to be as close as possible to him, to keep him from running away, and to appeal to his coping mechanism, he uses cruelty and sex.

It’s very backwards. Hurting to prevent hurt... Similarly, being hurt to prevent hurt…

Doumeki and Yashiro’s fortes. These two are the best worst match, truly.

I didn’t even mention the slut-shaming, but I believe that lies in his jealousy, possessiveness, and hurt from being tossed away mostly.

2.) Why won’t Doumeki abide by Yashiro’s requests to not have sex?

doumeki assumes with confidence what yashiro wants and needs, and then acts on those assumptions.

Agree. It doesn’t matter what Yashiro says he wants Doumeki to do or not to do, Doumeki will act the way he does so he “helps” Yashiro realize what he “actually wants and needs” because he thinks Yashiro isn’t capable of that.

To Doumeki, he thinks Yashiro wants what he says he doesn’t want. I believe this is what he realized on the rooftop with Nana.

It always puzzled me why Doumeki didn’t take into consideration that time Yashiro told him he got raped by his stepfather in his realization of… something… after Nana told him this. In ch. 4 we are aware that Doumeki knows about how Yashiro’s stepfather raped him (“This man went through the same things as my sister”), so surely he should have considered that part of his past’s effect on his twisted perception of sex??

But now, I think my interpretation—that Doumeki is acting deliberately against what Yashiro says he doesn’t want because, on the rooftop, Doumeki concluded that that’s what Yashiro actually wants—makes sense as to why that scene isn’t considered here, when it really should have been.

Upon this false realization, he is willing to ignore Yashiro’s protests for the purpose of getting him to realize what it is he desires. He’s forcing him to admit his feelings for him, so that he can accept love. He isn’t wrong that Yashiro is in love with him and has trouble accepting Doumeki’s love and realizing his own feelings of love, but that doesn’t mean he can choose when Yashiro should accept these feelings. That is Yashiro’s choice to make.

My thoughts are the same as yours here:

there's the well-meaning read on this of course, about how doumeki simply wants to protect yashiro from "other men", make sure he doesn't seek them out by satisfying his, as always assumed, needs. and sure, i won't deny that protectiveness is part of it. i don't think it amounts to much, though. this isn't how you help someone you love. nanahara compared yashiro having sex with men to smoking, and he's right. here's the thing: forcibly taking away someone's cigarettes (or "cigarettes", you know), disregarding their personal autonomy, shaming them for their habit and making them feel like shit without addressing the underlying issues doesn't really accomplish much. yashiro starts smoking immediately after doumeki leaves in ch 57, and seeks out inami and kido "despite" his needs supposedly being satisfied for a reason after all

I also read his actions as him partly trying to protect Yashiro from other men by satisfying his sexual desires, but I don’t condone this at all. You can’t sexually abuse someone you love because you think others will. And yes it is very telling how even though Doumeki is there to take away his “cigarettes,” Yashiro still “smokes.” Even though Yashiro’s body seems to enjoy all their sexual encounters, his mind knows there’s something wrong. He knows he doesn’t want sex with Doumeki in these instances, and Doumeki should have respected that.

It’s important to point out how rape victims can still have their bodies “enjoy” the sex, but they really don’t.

We saw this theme at the very start of the story in volume 2… It’s when Yashiro gets raped by his stepfather. His body enjoyed it, but we clearly know it is NOT what he wanted. There was both blood and cum depicted in those panels for a reason… And these contradictory feelings—the crux of Yashiro’s character—cause rape victims to feel worthless and guilty when it was NEVER their fault. This is EXACTLY what Yashiro was feeling at the end of ch. 57. Doumeki needs to realize this…

What makes his actions so messy and you can argue morally gray is that there has been progress, in terms of getting Yashiro to realize things about himself. But I don’t condone his actions and argue Yashiro could definitely have realized these things without the sex. I’m sure that even if Doumeki didn’t make love with Yashiro the first time, Yashiro could still realize and eventually accept that he wanted gentle affection through non-sexual acts. In fact, he was starting to, with liking and eventually loving Doumeki when he was impotent in the first place. Yashiro is perfectly capable of realizing his true wants and needs. To think that he isn’t, is a huge flaw. To think that rape victims can’t figure out what they really want by themselves makes you infantilize them, ignore their voice, and grossly disregard their autonomy. But because Doumeki escalated to sex that first time, and now his discovery of Yashiro’s impotence with others proves to him that he did something that changed Yashiro, he keeps using this same method… believing it will cause him to change again.

This could also explain why he asks about when Yashiro became impotent in ch. 56. He wants to see if Yashiro’s impotence with other men was his doing, so he can prove that he means something to Yashiro and that his current method of using sex has caused Yashiro to change, so that his actions weren’t worthless and he can absolve his own guilt.

most of his actions after the time skip revolve not around trying to understand yashiro, but rather trying to get him to say or admit what doumeki has already assumed

Again, I agree. It’s as you said, Doumeki is self-centered and thinks he knows best, and I’ll address this flaw in my answer to the last and imo most important question.

3.) Why hasn’t Doumeki questioned the morality of his actions?

Surely his actions should remind him of his father in some fucked up way? And surely this would mean that he should realize that and stop treating Yashiro so horribly?

I believe his persistence with the way he currently treats Yashiro stems from, besides the reasons said above, this false belief that he has yet to properly confront: that it wasn’t his fault for Yashiro to consider the time they made love as rape, it was Yashiro’s fault because of his trauma. What he fails to understand is that he actually did rape Yashiro, and it was his fault.

This false belief stems from how he wants to absolve himself of guilt.

he struggles to understand other people's feelings, and sometimes doesn't seem to even consider them in the first place

Yes, it seems this character flaw has been evident ever since we first saw it with Aoi. Because he is self-centered, he can’t understand the feelings of others nor consider them, and he feels guilty when that lack of understanding results in those he loves getting hurt. He then blames himself. It’s an uncomfortably realistic flaw… It’s too hard for him to accept being the one at fault. What’s most important is how he tries to deflect this guilt from himself. With Aoi, he couldn’t understand her crush on him and ignored her, and when he found out what his father was doing, he blamed himself for ignoring her all those years and became impotent. As a result, he vowed to never be like his father to absolve his guilt. This way of absolving his guilt plays directly into how he views and treats Yashiro now.

With Yashiro, he wanted to express his love to him by having sex, but Yashiro never consented to it and was traumatized by both the non consensual aspect and the realization that he never liked cruel treatment to begin with. It broke Yashiro, and Doumeki felt horribly guilty for that. But Doumeki only considers the latter aspect and not the first. The first is too hard to accept for him. It would mean he is like his father, that all his efforts to prevent becoming like his father were for naught, that he is trash who’s barely worth living. But…

…after ch 25, after the damage is already done, but there is still hope for the answer to "am i like my father?" to be "no" (i hope i don't need to say what that question actually stands for, what doumeki actually asks in ch 32, and why it matters that yashiro takes note of it but doesn't answer one way or another).

You refer to this part of ch. 32?

I see what you mean, with not wanting to point out the question. Yes, what Doumeki implicitly asks here is the uncomfortable question, the question both of them already know the answer to. It’s the ugly truth.

“Did I rape you?”

“Yes.”

But Yashiro didn’t answer.

Both of them are willingly denying something here, and these are both of the things I believe they must accept in the end. They must accept these facts in order to truly heal and, if Yashiro wishes, develop a stable romantic relationship between them. Doumeki must come to terms with the fact that he is like his father in that way, and Yashiro must come to terms with the fact that he is a victim.

Even after these dark realizations that they can’t yet accept, this scene occurs…

They just can’t help but want the other.

God. They’re so fucked up…

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In the end, I reallyyyyyy hope we see this side of Doumeki again. I really want him to wholeheartedly apologize in the end and make up for the wrong things he did. I really want him to forgive himself enough to start properly loving Yashiro. And when Doumeki accepts this, I want Yashiro to slap the shit out of him.

*When I refer to the time they made love, I mean chapter 24/25. I use this term rather than “have sex” because it was emotionally deeper than the more clinical approach Doumeki is taking now. This article explains why I chose the term “make love” and makes the distinction between making love and having sex, while also acknowledging the two terms’ changing connotations. I used the phrase “make love” to simplify the term “emotionally connected sex” and apply the positive connotation, without disregarding the non consensual aspect of the moment.

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