Shige likes his own Yamapi better.
Yamapi can be vicious, in Shige's personal experience. Lovely and perfect and the kind of gorgeous that makes Shige want to reach out and touch, the kind that makes him shift uncomfortably whenever he allows himself to stare for too long, the kind that bursts into colors like fireworks when he closes his eyes. Because he can't get the images out of his mind. Of Yamapi spread out on crumpled white sheets beneath him, of licking soft, burning hot skin down his chest and his stomach until Yamapi arches off the bed. Those sorts of images. And these are the times Shige curses his vivid imagination.
Lovely and perfect and gorgeous, but vicious all the same.
No one seems to agree with him. Koyama laughs at him when Shige brings it up once, carefully, so carefully as though the thought might break. He doesn't particularly want to share it with the world because it seems to be only Shige's heart that Yamapi enjoys stomping on.
That makes him feel a little bit special and a little bit better, because Shige is a writer and he enjoys weaving the narratives around himself. Even the ones that plunge him into despair. They have a romance all of their own.
Mostly it makes him want to pretend that Yamapi doesn't exist; not as a living, breathing person who lives his own life. That's so much easier these days. He doesn't have to see him at all, as long as he doesn't turn on the television. But even television doesn't seem exactly real.
Shige enjoys watching Monsters. He can't exactly remember the plot, his mind full of images of wide eyes and full lips which look impossibly soft and Yamapi looks so, so eager to please. He groans. He usually ends up on his bed with his fist curled tightly around his cock before the episode is half over. He screws his eyes shut, the soft lines of Yamapi's face and body fresh in his memory.
The Yamapi who exists only in Shige's mind is infinitely preferable to the real one. Pliant and wanting, arching into his mouth and his touch, and he only ever belongs to Shige.