Yata is loud and brash and reckless. He is violent and emotional and stupid. But that's what makes Yata, Yata.

He knows this; maybe that's why he's so intent on chasing everyone away, why he's so intent on finding fights and collecting bruises. He wears his heart on his sleeve and shows all his cards to anyone who passes by. No one wants to be friends with someone like that, Yata knows. He knows that no one wants to be friends with someone like him, who has nothing to offer and will only take, take, take.

So, he is surprised when the boy who was made to sit beside him doesn't leave, he is surprised when Fushimi greets him and talks to him and helps him. But he doesn't brush him off, doesn't threaten to hurt him or beat him if he doesn't leave him alone. Maybe it's the way that Fushimi holds himself, maybe it's the way that Fushimi doesn't have a cluster of others around him, maybe it's the way that Yata knows they're both the same. Both alone. Both struggling.

And like that, slowly, slowly, they become friends.

But Yata knows. He knows this isn't enough, he knows that his friendship isn't enough for everything that Fushimi gives him. If there's one thing he learned in school, it's that he's worth very, very little to other people. He's not enough.

All he does is take.

Even if Fushimi doesn't complain when he spends countless hours going over basic concepts in math, when braves the cold while Yata plays around, Yata knows it's not enough.

He is nothing, he barely has a home to go back to. He has no money, no friends, not even the brains to carry him through to the end of junior high. What can he give to Fushimi?

So Yata gives him the only thing he can: he gives him loyalty. If the whole world abandoned Fushimi, Yata would not. Because that's the only thing he can give. It's not enough.

"Why do you hang around me, huh, Saru?" He once asked, on a cold, winter day. I'm not good enough for you, stupid, is what he wants to say. "Isn't there better shit you could be doing?"

Fushimi shrugged, leaning over on the ice-glazed bench they were sharing, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm happy here." He replied simply, before pulling down Yata's hat, earning an indignant huff from the ginger-haired boy. "You're not getting bored of me, are you, Misaki?"

Yata shook his head vigorously, of course not. "Never," he'd vowed.

But that isn't enough. No, obviously not. Maybe Yata's foolish in thinking it is. HOMRA. Mikoto. SCEPTER 4. In that world, their friendship is lost.

Eventually, Fushimi leaves. He leaves HOMRA. He leaves Mikoto. He leaves Yata.

Even though Yata is angry—he is far more angry than he shows, actually—he is also hurting. But he is laughing as well, laughing at himself for being so stupid.

"Never," he'd vowed, and yet he couldn't keep Fushimi by his side. It wasn't enough.

And he knows it's because all he's done was take, take, take and he's never given back before. Fushimi is tired of that, he knows, so even if he calls his friend a traitor, Yata knows it is his fault.

All his fault.

Which is why he'll keep chasing and searching and cursing and hating, because that's what Yata—stupid, worthless Yata—does best. Because it's his turn to give and Fushimi can have it all.