A/N : This was written for a tumblr anon who requested jealous anon. I took the prompt liberally and I'm pretty sure this wasn't the kind of jealousy the anon had in mind (forgive me).

The pacing of this story is going to be haphazard. I want to to tell their story, but it's going to be confusing for a while, a muddle of flashbacks, emotional scenes etc. Basically the timeline isn't necessarily chapter-wise. This story is as much of mess as Samejima is (and I am), but I apologize and hopefully I'll sort it out in due time.

Warning : This fic feat adults incapable of dealing with emotions, implied past abuse, sex, and a heartbroken Teacher, whom we all love too much.

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Throughout his life Shishio had never truly considered himself the jealous type.

Sure, he wasn't without a streak of possessiveness, but he had generally gone through life feeling happy for other people's fortune, and sad for their troubles.

But today, dressed neatly in a dress shirt, and dark formal trousers, hair long and neatly combed back, a strange bitterness creeps into him.

He knew it was wrong to feel this way, that it was a very important day for Tsubomi, and he should look beyond his own petty loneliness.

But it was hard to do, when she stood their with her partner, dressed in the sort of traditional attire he could have never imagined her in, blushing even, looking at her wife with tenderness.

He wonders if he will ever experience this, this joy of knowing that there will be one person by his side for the rest of his life. Someone whom he could wake up next to every single day.

And he knows he's not supposed to, but the thought of Samejima comes rushing, unbidden to his mind.

…

The changes were subtle, unnoticeable to another but if Shishio were honest with himself, he would have considerable cause for worry.

He liked this… Thing, he had with her, her invading his space, rummaging around his things…

He liked it even better when he was invading her.

There were so many times he tried to make an honest effort, to give some sort of hint that this relationship could go to some place more meaningful than just sex.

But as sincere as his intentions are, they vaporize rather quickly when she shimmies into his kitchen, under the pretext of making dinner, wearing little more than a sweatshirt, her long legs so provocatively bare. He tends to remember little else apart from the fact that he wants her, shamelessly, undeniably, wants what she so willingly offers.

Sometimes he chastises himself for playing so safe, not raising his voice because it's convenient, sticking to this arrangement they had agreed to. But he knows, in the tenebrous, more honest recesses of his mind, that it's just fear, the inherent consternation of rejection, mostly because she seems so content with the way things are.

The conflict rescinds when he puts his hands on her and she puts her mouth on him, and everything is okay, resigning back to their safe space where everything is tried, tested, and there is nothing to hurt them.

Only for Shishio, this comfort has turned to the most twisted pain, straining desperately for something deeper.

This arrangement of theirs - he had been the one to suggest it, saying in a bland tone that he cannot even talk to her anymore, that 'he doesn't want anything serious' and her too-eager approval, for she had been burnt far worse than him - had become a shackle, and his heart had turned into a large, uncontrollable, winged creature, struggling to break free, grating and drawing blood.

Slowly, He found himself wanting more often than not to have her stay over, to break the walls between their houses and get rid of everything that separates them.

When he comes home that day - and she is waiting for him of course - the concept of "your house, my house" long turned insignificant for them - he kisses her.

It is a kiss so gentle, it throws her.

Before she asks him anything or discards it with her usual caustic comments, he says, "Haven't you ever thought about it?"

She's slightly annoyed that his lips are busy with something else apart from her own, but she answers him anyway. "About what?"

"This," he says, gesturing to him and her, rather crudely, "us."

She looks at him, blinks, and to her credit, she is actually clueless. He lowers his eyes, unable to say the next words when he's actually looking at her.

"…A happy ending."

It takes her a moment to comprehend his meaning. It takes her another to put some space between them. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"You know exactly what I'm trying to say, Samejima."

She cringes visibly at the candor in his next question.

"What the hell are we doing together?"

Sleeping together, she wants to say. Having sex, if you hadn't dropped a bomb like this. She's even thought of calling him her boyfriend, but she knows that's not what they had talked about.

"If this is about not seeing other people, it's not like we ever even have time for anyone else," -

Her blankness only makes his blood boil further, anger rippling under his skin, that she refused to see what is so plainly visible to him.

"Dammit, Samejima," he cries, unable to manage the tumble of emotions within him, "I'm not worried about a bloody STD!"

The first dredges of fear start to slink their way across her features. The very thought of a conversation like this, with him - Yes, she'll never admit it, but they've crossed her mind, fleeting, brushing past her like a touch of silver wind, tempting but impossible - has her twisted into knots.

"… Then?"

"I want you," he says weakly, his head dropping to rest at her shoulder, "I want you all to myself, mine, everyday, every night, every morning, forever."

Her breath hitches at the word "forever", at the enormity of his confession and the commitment he wants from her. For a moment she thinks of giving in, of saying yes, of letting herself fall into this feeling she knows lives inside of herself as well.

"I love you," he says softly, kissing her even softer, and the affection, the pure tenderness… grates against her like a knife.

She's heard these words before, and she's run miles just to get away from them.

She's run for her life, away from the abuse that followed this proclamation, the bruises that were justification of 'love', of the sheer fucked-up-ness that made her say the same thing back to her ex-husband.

And she knows damn well she can't do it all over again.

"… I-I have to go."

She is out of his arms and out the door so fast, Shishio doesn't even have the time to feel his heart splinter into pieces.

A/N : This story was written when I was going through a break up and I was particularly angsty myself. Sorry for dumping it on you guys. .

I'd previously taken a break from writing but I'm back now and this story will be updated more frequently. Also, I'm basically just lazy with FFN but hit me up on tumblr if you wanna talk. ?