Not Ready | Japan X Reader

    It felt like a sword pierced me straight through my chest when my significant other’s eyes began to glisten with a fresh layer of translucent tears. They looked so done – so helpless; so hurt; so confused – with me and my antics, yet all I could do was calmly stand before them and suppress everything my heart wanted my mouth to scream. All my burning emotions were buried beneath the mask that was my nonchalant, unchanging expression, and all I wanted to do was tell the person whom I cared about the most the truth. But I could not do that. It was against the rules—not my rules, but my family’s rules.

     “I am not ready,” I simply replied.

    Liar, liar, liar. That is such a weak, disgusting lie. Of course I was ready to kiss them—I wanted to right from the moment they enveloped me in their arms and told me everything was going to be okay. The only thing that is keeping me grounded here is the unmistakable, inextinguishable fire that is my love and devotion for this amazing person. My one wish is to one day be able to kiss them and get intimate with them to show them my true love for them. But I cannot—not here, not now. Not in this life.

    “You always say that!” they protested. Their elbows locked and straightened beside them, their fists clenching so tightly that their knuckles turned white. “That’s what you always say…”

    It is true. That is what I have always said. If only I had been smart enough to come up with a different excuse each time I found myself having this exact same conversation with them, I would not have been in this position. But I did not because each time this topic came up in our everyday conversations, my brain supposedly stopped working and I would go back to the same excuse: ‘I am not ready.’

    “I am sorry. I just do not think that I am ready to kiss you.” The convoluted mess of words fell out of my mouth hurriedly in an attempt to rescue myself from the hole I was digging myself deeper into.

    “But I’m ready to kiss you!” they cried. “You wouldn’t even need to do anything.” They took a deep breath through their nose, their chest falling heavily when they exhaled. “Our lips could just meet; there wouldn’t even be any tongue or anything—”

    I quickly cut them off before I could let them change my mind. “[F/n], I apologise deeply, but I told you that I am simply not ready to ki—”

    “Then when will you be ready? When will you be ready to show me you love me? When will you show that you care about me and want me in your life? When will we be able to kiss? When will you be ready to be kissed? When will you be ready to openly be mine?” I winced as they lost it at me, stepping forward and tightly gripping my shoulders. Hot, angry tears streamed down their cheeks from their eyes as they screamed. “I’m tired of waiting, Kiku! It’s been two years! Two years, Kiku, and I haven’t been able to kiss you. I was able to handle it for the first few months, but then a year passed, and you said you ‘weren’t ready’, and then more months passed, and you said you ‘weren’t ready’, and now it’s been two goddamn years and you’re still not ready!”

    “Please stop yelli—”

    “No, I will not stop yelling!” they screeched. There was a brief pause before they continued to vent to me in an infuriated manner. “How long until you’re ‘ready’? I can’t keep waiting for you like this! Believe me, I love you so much, but if you’re not going to show me you love me as much as I love you, then is there really any point to this anymore? I have my own life to attend to, and if your feelings for me don’t match mine for you, then why are we still here? Why is ‘us’ still a thing? Why are ‘we’ still a thing? Tell me why, Kiku, tell me why.”

    I put my hands on the arms on my shoulders. “[F/n], please believe me when I say I have my reasons for not kissing you.” I bit my tongue. “It’s just that I cannot kiss you—not yet. I am not ready.”

    There it was again. ‘I am not ready’: the sentence I have let leave my mouth nonsensically for two years on end. I could understand why they thought I did not love them. It pained me to think that they thought I did not love them. After all, after you have been in a relationship for two years and still have not kissed – not even once – that would lead one into thinking ‘not being ready’ was just an excuse that would be used because one person did not want to kiss the other at all.

    But my reasons were legitimate; I literally could not kiss them, no matter how much I wanted to.

    They slowly removed their limbs from my shoulders. They stepped backwards, the behinds of their knees hugging the back of my bed. In one swift motion, their knees gave in, and they plonked down onto the mattress. They rested their elbows on their thighs and buried their head in their hands. Their muffled sobs reverberated throughout my bedroom, and I cringed. It hurt me seeing them so angry and confused.

    I sat down next to them. Their form, despite being larger than mine, looked so debilitated, fragile, and weak. Their back was completely curved, and I placed my cold hand on their spine. My stomach dropped when I felt their back heave with each sob they managed to choke out.

    “What did I do wrong?” they whispered between gasps for air. “Did I do something wrong? Am I…not kissable?”

    I kept my voice unwavering as I answered and consoled them. “No, [F/n], not at all. You did not do anything wrong. It is not you, it is me.”

    “Everyone says that when they wanna break up.” Even though I could not see their eyes nor their face, I could hear the despair in the voice when they asked, “You don’t wanna break up, do you?”

    I quickly shook my head. “No, I do not want to break up.”

    They breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

*

[F/n] left the apartment half an hour later because they said they had something to do. When they exited the front door, I pressed my back against it and exhaled deeply, my eyes closed. I knew that I would have to tell them the truth some time or another. They deserved to know the truth; I could not just continue to be a nonchalant idiot when faced with their crying disposition time and time again. But would they be able to handle the truth? What would become of us? If they found out the truth, there is no telling what would happen to our relationship.

    After regaining my posture, I joined my roommate in sitting down on one of the couches in the living room. He looked up from his book, and when I noticed he was staring at me, I let my head fall into my hands.

    “I heard everything,” he said after a few moments. “Sorry.”

    I shook my head, sitting upright once more. “There is no need to apologise.” My gaze drifted to the floor. “Besides, they do not know—yet.”

    He sighed. He laid his book face-down on the couch. “Kiku,” he began, his British accent as clear as day, “you know I don’t usually get involved with your business, but I do think that you need to tell them soon. It’s not fair on them.”

    I nodded. “I was just thinking that.” I pursed my lips together.  “They said that they were tired of waiting for me to ‘be ready’.”

    “Honestly, I would be, too,” my roommate cautiously commented.

    “I agree.” I paused, bringing my hands to my lap. “I do not know how to tell them, though.”

    He shook his sandy-blond hair out of his emerald eyes. “Just…tell them. Just try being honest with them. Tell them everything, right from the beginning. They love you enough to understand where you’re coming from.”

    My gaze dropped to the floor once more. “I do not know how to be honest with them.”

    “Pardon?” His voice was quizzical.

    “I do not know how to be honest with them because I have lied to them every day I have been with them.”

    There was a silence between Arthur and I. I could sense that he was trying to think of something consoling to say, but was ultimately failing. What I said was true: ever since [F/n] and I met, I have lied straight to their face. I am not like them, and they are not like me.

    “I am sorry,” I said after a little while. I stood up and bowed slightly. “Thank you for your advice, Arthur. I am going to go to my room to think.”

    He nodded. “Don’t mention it. I’ll be here if you need me.”

    I exited the living room, walked past our kitchen, and opened the door to my room. Only a half hour before, my significant other was tightly gripping my shoulders, purposely invading my personal space, and yelling at me because they did not think I cared about them; now, there I was, re-thinking everything I had ever told them—or rather, what I had not. I sat at the edge of my bed where I had attempted to console them as they cried their heart out. I sat there, merely staring at my bare, white bedroom wall, unable to erase the image of their torn, impatient, hurt face out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. That anguished disposition of theirs lingered in the back of mind, haunting me and reminding me that I was lying to them about everything.

    Suddenly, a loud, melodic chiming of bells snapped me out of my deep, hypnotised state. As I was hauled back to reality and out of my mind, I realised that it was my phone that was blaring. I glanced over at my desk and saw that I had received several text messages from [F/n]. I picked my phone up and slid the latest notification to the right to properly read them.

(3:21 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: Hey

(3:21 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: Sorry for blowing up at you before

(3:21 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: It’s not your fault you’re not ready

(3:21 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: I was just being selfish like usual

(3:21 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: Can we forget today happened?

(3:21 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: Please?

     My lips drew into a tight line as I read their texts. I found myself in another state of existentialism, staring blankly at the words enclosed in the green bubbles without really reading them.

(3:23 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: I know you’re there, you read my message

(3:23 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: Are you angry at me?

(3:23 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: If you are, I’m sorry

(3:24 p.m.) Me: No, I am not angry at you, and you are not being selfish. I understand how hard this must be on you. In fact, I am the one who is being selfish.

    My fingers lightly shook as I typed out the lengthy reply. I waited in anticipation as the three dots showed up at the bottom of my text.

(3:25 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: So we can forget today?

(3:26 p.m.) Me: Yes, we may forget about today.

(3:26 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: Thank you

(3:27 p.m.) [F/n] [L/n]: I love you so much

 (3:27 p.m.) Me: I love you, too.

    Although I smiled, the nagging feeling at the back of my mind repeatedly yelled at me, letting it be known loud and clear that one day, we would have the same conversation and same fight as we did a mere half hour prior, and it would be left off on an even worse state than this. I tried to dismiss the thought, but I could not help but agree with it. On that fateful day, there would be no more ‘I love you’s and no more ‘I’m sorry’ texts to try and reconcile with me because they would have given up on me. They would have gotten tired of waiting for me to ‘be ready’; either that, or I would have finally told them the truth, and they would become agitated at me because I have been keeping this from them for so long. However, the longer I wait to tell them the truth, the angrier they will be when we have that inevitable conversation.

    But today is not that day.

(3:28 p.m.) Me: One day, I will be ready. I promise.