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ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ

A/N: sorry y'all, I thought yesterday was Monday.

Apathy. 

It's the only word fitting enough for Masaru to describe the way that he feels upon listening to the violent and aggressive voice messages left in his voicemail by his angry wife. He and Shota both had suspected as much as she and almost every other narcissistic abuser on the face of the planet tend to be incredibly predictable. She threatens him, of course---screams and calls him out of his name in the most disrespectful way that she can think of. 

"You stupid, ungrateful slut! I give you a sliver of fuckin' freedom one time and you've got the fuckin' audacity to walk out on me?! I'm gonna fuckin' find you, bitch, just you fuckin' wai---" 

The message ends abruptly with him tapping the option to delete it, haphazardly tossing the phone and allowing it to go clattering onto the kitchen table. 

He's amazed with how desensitized he's becoming to her constant threats. 

"Are you alright?" Shota asks, having paused in preparing breakfast to carefully watch Masaru's reaction. The older omega sighs, eyes flickering up to see the way Shota's brows pinch together in concern and he can't help the way the corners of his mouth turn up at that. "I'm fine. I'm way too used to this by now. Usually I'd be worried. I'd be scared. But I can't really find it in myself to feel that right now. I wonder why." 

Shota's no psychologist, but got an idea that it's because Masaru knows that he's safe there. Mitsuki doesn't know Shota---or about him. Not a name. Not an address. Not even a face. She's just talking. She's got no idea where he is. 

And Shota's got a feeling that Ryuko won't spill a word of what she saw.

Shota doesn't even feel his own smile spreading, turning back to tend to the eggs. "I was gonna reassure you and tell you that it was gonna be fine---that you didn't have to worry---but I guess that won't be necessary." 

His breath catches in his throat as he feels arms looping around his waist, Masaru's chin resting on his shoulder. 

"Mm. She's going to beat me to a bloody mess either way." 

The ravenette aggressively turns the stove off, quickly flipping around in Masaru's arms to glare up at him. He folds his arms over his chest, a little annoyed at how amused the megane seems to be with his show of agitation. 

"You say that like you're going to be seeing her anytime soon. And don't fucking laugh at me; I'm not joking." 

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to laugh, really. You just---you're so adorable when you look all serious like that."

Shota doesn't need a mirror to know that his cheeks are flared an angry red...yet he's unable to tear his own eyes away from Masaru's. He doesn't have any snark or sarcasm to combat him, drawn into the endless pools of what reminds him of honey. He minutely catches himself flickering his gaze up from Masaru's lips, cursing himself mutely as he finally turns to look away.  

A gentle hand on his jaw refuses his refuge. 

His heart nearly jumps right into his throat, beating against his ribcage like a wild drum as Masaru's nose ghosts against his own.