rosiestdreams - Tumblr blog

rosiestdreams · 13 days ago

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family matters

you’re finally engaged to the love of your life, yoichi isagi—but being the youngest itoshi sibling comes with its challenges. while sae is supportive from the start, gaining rin’s blessing proves to be a battle of wills, full of teasing, chaos, and sibling “final boss” energy. can love—and a little clever scheming—win the day?

starring. isagi yoichi x fem!reader ft. itoshi rin and itoshi sae

genre. fluff, romance, crack.

wc. 8.2k

author's note: from this request!

You said yes.

At last, you said yes to your boyfriend—no, your fiancé—Isagi Yoichi.

Your gaze dropped to the diamond ring now glittering on your finger, the light from the hotel suite catching on its facets and scattering little stars across the room. It felt both impossibly heavy and impossibly perfect, a promise made solid and real.

When you looked up, Isagi was watching you with that earnest smile of his, the one that always made your heart trip. He looked almost dazed himself, like he couldn’t quite believe you had chosen him, like he was the one who had just been given a miracle.

He had gone through so much effort to pull this off—booking a room at one of the city’s finest hotels, arranging a candlelit dinner on the rooftop restaurant with the skyline glittering around you. He had stammered through his proposal, voice unsteady but eyes steady on yours, heart written in every word.

And you had said yes.

Now here you were, sitting together in the quiet after, the laughter and tears of a few minutes ago settling into a soft warmth that filled the room. Isagi reached over, brushing his thumb lightly over your hand, over the ring, as though to reassure himself that it was really there—that you were really his.

“You said yes,” he murmured, almost in awe, like he still couldn’t believe it.

“I did,” you answered softly, smiling at the way he looked at you. Then, after a pause, your smile curved into something a little more mischievous. “So… when are we going to tell my brothers?”

Isagi froze.

The warmth in his expression faltered just slightly as the reality of your words sank in. He hadn’t thought that far ahead—not really. In his mind, the hardest part was asking you, making sure you wanted this future with him. He was confident Sae would agree, maybe even proud to call him family.

But Rin.

That was a whole different story.

You watched the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his hand stilled over yours. He blinked once, twice, as if searching for an answer he hadn’t prepared.

“Well…” Isagi began, voice a touch higher than usual. “About that—”

“What are you planning, Yoichi?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, one brow arched in suspicion.

He gave a half-nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, hear me out… what if we just, you know—elope instead?”

Your jaw dropped. “Yoichi!”

You smacked him lightly on the arm, and he flinched with an exaggerated hiss of pain, immediately cradling the spot as though you’d just landed a knockout punch.

“Unbelievable. You just proposed to me and now you’re already suggesting running away from my family?” you said, half-exasperated, half-laughing.

“Hey, I was kidding!” he protested, though his grin gave him away. “Mostly kidding. But you have to admit, the idea has its perks. No death glares, no interrogation dinners, no Rin sharpening knives at the table…”

You swatted him again, though this time gentler, more playful. “My brother does not sharpen knives at the table.”

Isagi tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “He looks at me like he’s planning it.”

That made you laugh out loud, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it back. He watched you with that wide-eyed wonder again, the way he always did when you were laughing—like he was memorizing every second, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

But then you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, and gave him a look that sobered him up instantly. “You know we can’t avoid it, Yoichi. Rin’s opinion matters to me. He’s… he’s been there for me in ways most people don’t see. If I marry you, he’s marrying into your life too.”

Isagi’s smile faltered. His hand instinctively sought yours, thumb brushing over your ring again like a nervous tick. “I know. And I’ll face him. I swear I will. But—if I’m being honest—I’d still rather face Barou in a penalty shootout, with the World Cup on the line, than sit across from Rin in your living room.”

The thought of your aloof, razor-tongued brother versus your determined fiancé made you laugh again, even though a nervous flutter stirred in your chest. You could picture it too clearly: Rin’s icy stare, Isagi’s stubborn fire, and you stuck in the middle.

“You’ll survive,” you said finally, squeezing his hand. “You survived Blue Lock. You survived Rin on the pitch. You can survive Rin at the dinner table.”

Isagi groaned, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically. “I don’t know… Blue Lock was easier. At least there, I only had to win a game. Here, I have to win over your brother.”

You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Then win him over, Yoichi. Because you’ve already won me.”

He turned at that, meeting your eyes, and his smile softened into something more certain. “Right. I can do that. Even if it kills me.”

And judging by the way he shivered when you mentioned Rin again, you suspected he wasn’t entirely exaggerating.

You were Rin and Sae’s younger sister, the youngest Itoshi, and it was more than a little ironic that you had ended up dating—now engaged to—Rin’s greatest rival. The same rival Rin had ranted about to you for years, swearing he’d crush on the pitch, that he’d defeat, humiliate, and maybe even “kill,” though not literally. You’d heard those declarations so many times you could recite them in your sleep, and sometimes it felt like Isagi’s name was permanently etched into Rin’s vocabulary. Every training story, every post-match rant, every casual conversation with you somehow circled back to Isagi Yoichi.

So yes—you knew exactly how much Rin loathed the idea of you dating him.

But it wasn’t just about the rivalry. Rin had always been the one to step up when Sae left for Madrid. When your parents were busy, Rin was the one who made sure you ate your meals, who nagged you about keeping the doors locked, who walked you home if it got too late. He filled in that absence without ever saying he was doing it, quietly anchoring you to a sense of family when everything else felt distant. To Rin, your trust in him was something unspoken but absolute, and he took that responsibility seriously.

That was why, when you first told him about Isagi, the look on his face had been unforgettable. It wasn’t anger at first—it was hurt, a sharp flash of betrayal, like he couldn’t believe you’d chosen the one person he hated most. To Rin, it felt like Sae leaving all over again, another betrayal wrapped in different colors, another reminder that the people closest to him would always slip out of reach.

And yet, Rin hadn’t forbidden you. Not outright. He hadn’t shouted or demanded you break up with Isagi, though you could feel it in the tightness of his jaw, in the storm simmering behind his eyes. Maybe it was the way you had looked that day, smiling brighter than you had in a long time, your voice brimming with warmth and hope as you spoke about Isagi. Rin had always been sharp enough to recognize when something made you genuinely happy, even if he didn’t like it. And maybe, just maybe, he thought the whole thing wouldn’t last anyway. That sooner or later, Isagi would prove to be another temporary flame, someone who couldn’t keep up with you.

But weeks turned into months, months into years, and your relationship only grew stronger. Isagi was still there. He never wavered. Every time Rin saw you light up around him, every time he noticed the way Isagi shielded you in little, quiet ways, something twisted inside him. Rin let it slip because he believed it was temporary, but Isagi refused to fade. He dug his heels in, just like he always did on the field, selfishly carving out a place in your life.

And now, the ring on your finger gleamed every time the light caught it. Isagi wasn’t just your boyfriend anymore. He was your fiancé.

Which was exactly why, only a few days later, Isagi stood in the entryway of your family home. His palms were damp despite the cold air of the air-conditioning, his heart thudding like it was the final minute of stoppage time in a tied match. He had faced the fiercest defenders, the sharpest strikers, the brightest stars on the world stage, and never once felt nerves crawl under his skin the way they did now.

It wasn’t as if he had come unprepared. A few days earlier, Isagi had flown to Spain to meet with Sae first, knowing full well that if there was anyone in your family he could count on, it was the older Itoshi. And just as he had expected, the conversation with Sae went smoothly—shockingly smoothly, actually. Over coffee in a quiet Madrid café, Isagi had nervously laid it all out, stumbling through his carefully rehearsed lines about how much he loved you, how serious he was, and how he wanted to marry you with Sae’s blessing.

Sae had listened, face as unreadable as ever, but in the end his response had been calm, almost casual. “You’re Japan’s new hope. I believe in you. If she’s happy with you, then you have my support.”

Isagi had almost sagged with relief then and there. Sae even went so far as to clap him on the shoulder, a rare gesture of warmth that left Isagi stunned for the rest of the day. But Sae hadn’t let him leave without a warning.

“Don’t think Rin will be that easy,” he had said, eyes narrowing in thought. “You know how he is. If anything, telling him might be harder than the proposal itself. And if you really want my advice—don’t tell him alone. I’ll be flying back to Japan in a few days. Do it over a family dinner. It might soften the blow.”

Now those words were echoing in Isagi’s head like a mantra. Rin would be harder. Rin would not make this easy. Sae’s calm acceptance had been a blessing, but it was the younger Itoshi brother that haunted Isagi’s nerves, the one person standing between him and the future he wanted with you.

And standing there in your family’s home, sweaty palms shoved into his pockets as he waited for Rin to come downstairs, Isagi couldn’t help but think that maybe Sae was right—he might have been better off waiting for that family dinner.

You weren’t present today as you were still on your way back from a business trip abroad, but you had informed your parents and brothers that Isagi wanted to see them. You’d apologized for missing it, promised to make it up, and left Isagi to face the Itoshis alone.

So here he was, sitting stiffly at the dining table. Your mother had already served tea and snacks, welcoming him with a warm smile, while your father sat tall and measured, watching him the way he probably watched Rin and Sae’s matches—quiet, evaluative, impossible to read.

Across the table, Rin looked like he wanted to throw his tea in Isagi’s face. Arms folded tight, jaw clenched, his glare had not budged since Isagi walked in the door. Sae, meanwhile, was lounging in his chair, sipping calmly and letting Rin’s temper stew.

“So, Isagi-kun,” your mother began, voice gentle, “you asked to meet with us. Was there something you wanted to say?”

“Yes,” Isagi said quickly, voice an octave higher than usual. He swallowed, straightening his back as if it might stop his heart from pounding through his chest. “Yes, ma’am. There is.”

“Oh god,” Rin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Your father shot him a look. “Rin. Manners.”

Rin rolled his eyes but kept quiet—barely.

Isagi’s palms were damp as he clasped his hands together on the table. He forced himself to look directly at your parents, even with Rin’s glare boring into the side of his head.

“I wanted to talk to you about your daughter,” he said carefully, though his voice trembled a little. “She’s… she’s everything to me. I love her more than I can explain, and I want to spend my life with her. So I came here to ask for your blessing to marry her.”

There was a pause. Your mother’s expression softened immediately, her lips parting in quiet surprise. Your father raised his brows, considering him with a mixture of curiosity and gravity. Sae set his cup down with a faint clink, clearly unsurprised.

And Rin—Rin nearly fell out of his chair.

“What?” he barked, bolting upright. His chair screeched across the floor. “You? Marry her?”

“Yes,” Isagi said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Absolutely not,” Rin snapped, stabbing a finger across the table like he was calling a foul.

“Rin,” your mother scolded gently.

“No! He’s not even part of this family, and now he wants to marry into it?” Rin scoffed, folding his arms so tightly it looked like he was trying to snap them off. “This is a joke. It has to be.”

“Don’t be rude,” your father said sharply.

Sae, ever the instigator, added smoothly, “He’s serious. I knew the second he came to me in Spain. I already told him yes.”

Rin’s head snapped toward him, outrage painted across his face. “Of course you did. You just love watching me suffer, don’t you?”

Sae took another sip of tea, unbothered. “Maybe.”

Isagi inhaled shakily, pressing forward. “I know Rin doesn’t like me, and I know we’ve had our… history. But I love her, and I’ll prove myself for as long as it takes. I respect this family, and I wanted to do this properly.”

Your mother’s face softened further, her voice gentle. “Isagi-kun, you came here with honesty, and that says a lot. If she’s happy with you, then so are we.”

Your father finally nodded, folding his hands on the table. “You have my blessing as well. You’ve proven yourself in your own way, and I trust my daughter’s judgment.”

Isagi exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him—only to be cut short by Rin practically choking on air.

“You can’t be serious,” Rin hissed, whipping his head between his parents like they’d lost their minds. “You’re really blessing this guy? Yoichi ‘I’ll steal the ball right out from under you’ Isagi?”

“Rin,” your father warned, tone low.

“Unbelievable,” Rin muttered, dropping his face into his hands. “This is worse than when Sae left for Spain. At least he didn’t bring him back to the dinner table.”

Your mother chuckled softly, clearly entertained despite herself. “Rin, dear, you’ll survive. Besides, don’t you want your sister to be happy?”

Rin shot Isagi a death glare from behind his fingers. “Not with him.”

Dinner limped along after that, though “limped” might have been generous. Your mother tried to steer the conversation toward lighter things—asking about life in Germany, what foods Isagi missed, even if he could cook for himself. He answered politely, his nerves slowly ebbing now that he had your parents’ blessing.

Sae chimed in with a dry comment here and there, mostly just to poke Rin’s temper. When Isagi admitted he’d been learning to cook pasta, Sae smirked. “Good. That’ll keep her from starving.”

Rin nearly slammed his chopsticks down. “Stop helping him!”

By the time the plates were cleared, Isagi was cautiously optimistic. Your parents had smiled at him, your mother even thanking him for being so open. He thought maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten through the worst of it.

Then Rin stood abruptly, his chair scraping so hard against the floor that Isagi flinched.

“Oi, Yoichi.” Rin’s voice was sharp enough to slice glass. “Come out back.”

Isagi froze, looking at your parents for help, but Rin was already heading toward the sliding door.

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Sae murmured, looking entirely too pleased.

“Don’t encourage this,” Rin snapped from the doorway.

Isagi’s stomach twisted, his hands going clammy again. He pushed himself to his feet, muttering under his breath, “I knew I should’ve eloped.”

Your mother chuckled, patting your father’s hand. “Boys will be boys.”

Your father only sighed, watching Isagi trail after Rin into the backyard like a soldier marching toward certain doom.

The night air outside was crisp, carrying the faint hum of cicadas, though none of it helped ease the suffocating tension. Rin leaned against the stone wall with his arms crossed, face as closed-off as ever, his glare cutting sharper than the breeze. Isagi stopped a few steps away from him, his palms still clammy despite wiping them against his pants. It was ridiculous. He’d played in front of thousands, millions even, but nothing compared to the feeling of being cornered by Rin Itoshi in his own backyard.

“Sit,” Rin said flatly, pointing at one of the patio chairs. His voice carried the kind of authority that didn’t leave room for negotiation.

Isagi obeyed, lowering himself slowly, cautious, like even the chair might betray him. His chest felt tight, but he squared his shoulders anyway. He couldn’t back down now, not when this mattered so much.

The sliding door opened again, and Sae stepped out, teacup in hand, expression unreadable but eyes glinting with amusement. He moved like he owned the space, casual and quiet, before sitting down at the opposite end of the table. “Don’t mind me. I just want to hear how this goes.”

Isagi swallowed hard. He couldn’t bring himself to argue with Sae—he respected him too much. In fact, just seeing him here made his heart pound faster. Sae was the one who’d given him his blessing without hesitation when he went to Spain. Isagi had told you he was going there for extra training, which wasn’t technically a lie—it just wasn’t the full truth. He hadn’t dared tell you his real purpose, afraid you’d worry too much or stop him. You never suspected a thing.

Rin, on the other hand, was unmoved. “Let’s make this simple. If you want my blessing, you’re going to have to give me something in return.”

Isagi frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Lose to me,” Rin said immediately, as though he had been waiting all night to deliver the line. “Next time we face each other in the Champions League. Walk off. Hand it to me. Don’t even try.”

For a second, Isagi just blinked at him. Surely he didn’t just hear that right. “…You’re joking, right?”

“I don’t joke.”

“That’s insane!” Isagi burst out, eyes widening. “You actually want me to throw away everything I’ve worked for just so you can feel better about me marrying your sister?!”

“Exactly,” Rin said coolly, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Absolutely not!” Isagi shot back, sitting forward in his chair. “I’ll fight for her, I’ll prove myself, I’ll do anything—but I’m not losing on purpose. I’d rather die on the field than give up like that!”

“You already stole her from me,” Rin countered, voice hard, eyes flashing. “You don’t get to act noble now.”

Isagi’s fists tightened in his lap. “She’s not something to steal! She chose me! And I’d never disrespect her by treating her like a prize I just won off you!”

The two were locked in a standoff, tension thrumming like the charged air before lightning struck. Sae sipped his tea slowly, gaze flicking between the two of them. He didn’t interfere—at least, not directly—but there was a faint curve of his lips, like he was watching a theater performance rather than a family meltdown.

Rin leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. “You don’t deserve her.”

Isagi clenched his jaw, refusing to look away. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I do.”

The cicadas outside had gone quiet, the silence stretched so taut that even Sae finally set his cup down with a soft clink. “You two are ridiculous,” he murmured, his tone even but edged with amusement. “One of you’s acting like this is war, the other’s acting like he’s ready to die for love. It’s almost funny.”

Isagi ducked his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if I sound… dramatic,” he admitted, forcing his voice steady as he looked at Sae. “But I mean it. I’ll take care of her. Always. I’ll never run, I’ll never give up on her. That’s the one promise I’ll never break.”

Sae’s eyes softened, just barely, and that meant more to Isagi than he could put into words. Sae leaned back, tilting his head toward Rin. “Hear that? He’s stubborn. Just like you.”

Rin made a disgusted noise. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Why not? You both care about her more than anything. You just show it differently.”

Isagi bit the inside of his cheek, bracing himself for Rin’s next attack, but for once, Rin didn’t say anything. He just turned away sharply, jaw tight, as if the very thought of admitting Sae had a point was too much to handle.

When the night wound down, and Isagi finally excused himself, Rin stomped upstairs without a backward glance. Sae, however, stayed behind, offering Isagi the faintest nod before heading inside.

Later that night, when you had finally arrived back in Japan and were unpacking your suitcase, your phone buzzed. You answered without checking the ID, toothbrush in hand. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Sae’s voice said evenly.

You blinked in surprise. “Sae? You never call me this late. Did something happen?”

“Depends how you define ‘something.’” There was a hint of dry humor in his tone. “Your fiancé came over tonight.”

Your heart stopped. “Well, I did inform you guys."

“Mm,” Sae hummed, clearly amused. “Walked straight into Rin’s den like he thought he had a chance. It was… impressive, in a stupid kind of way.”

You groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “Oh god. Please tell me Rin didn’t—”

“Oh, he did,” Sae cut in smoothly. “Told him the only way to earn his blessing is to throw the Champions League.”

You almost choked. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Not even a little. Yoichi, of course, refused. Got all fiery about it. Honestly, he sounded like you.”

You were pacing the room now, toothbrush still dangling from your mouth. “Wait, wait, back up. You’re telling me Isagi went to Spain to meet you and ask for your blessing?”

“Yes.”

“And then tonight he came over to ask Rin’s?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t tell me any of this? I thought he was in Spain for training! I thought he just wanted to be polite to Mom and Dad when he asked to see them without me!”

“That’s what makes it funnier,” Sae said, deadpan. “He’s out here fighting boss battles with me and Rin like it’s a side quest, while you’re blissfully unaware.”

You groaned into your pillow. “I’m marrying a complete idiot.”

“Correct,” Sae said smoothly. “But he’s your idiot. And now, unfortunately, part of our family chaos.”

As if on cue, the door to the bedroom swung open, revealing the man himself standing in the doorway like he’d accidentally walked into the wrong crime scene.

You turned slowly in your desk chair, the phone still pressed to your ear. Your shared bedroom—the one you and Isagi had slowly made into a blend of both your personalities, his trophies lined up neatly on the shelf, your throw blankets and plants scattered everywhere—suddenly felt too small with him standing there looking like he’d been caught sneaking into his own house.

“…I’ll call you again later, Sae,” you muttered.

“Speak of the devil,” you added pointedly, eyes narrowing at Isagi.

Sae’s laugh crackled through the receiver, low and amused. “Good luck. Don’t kill him. Yet.”

Click. Call ended. Silence thickened in the room as you set the phone down on the nightstand.

Isagi stood frozen, hair still damp from his shower, white T-shirt sticking to his shoulders. He gave you a weak smile, the kind that screamed please don’t murder me in our penthouse tonight.

“You know…” you started slowly, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed. “I thought you went to Spain for training.”

His smile twitched. “…Technically, I did.”

“Technically?” Your tone sharpened, sweet but dangerous.

Isagi flinched like you’d just told him to mark Rin on a corner kick again. “Okay, okay—look. I did train. Honest! But also… I maybe went to, uh… ask Sae for his blessing. And then your parents. And Rin. At dinner. Without you.”

You blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then deadpan: “…You what?”

“I was trying to be respectful!” he yelped, hands waving frantically. “I wanted to do it the right way—y’know, like, prove to everyone that I deserve you. Even Rin. Especially Rin. He looks at me like he’s already planning my funeral every time I see him, and honestly I don’t even think he needs a shovel—he’d just glare me six feet under—”

“Yoichi.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly, your patience hanging by a single thread. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He froze. “…Yes? But it sounded a lot less suicidal in my head.”

You dragged yourself up from the chair and padded across the room, your soft socks making no sound against the polished hardwood. The bedroom smelled faintly of Isagi’s cologne and your favorite candle—warm, domestic, familiar. It was yours. The penthouse, the space, the life you were building together. Which made his idiocy all the more outrageous.

“Do you know what Sae told me just now?” you asked, folding your arms again as you stopped in front of him.

He swallowed hard, blue eyes darting nervously. “…That I’m an idiot?”

“Exactly that,” you replied flatly. “Which, unfortunately for me, is true.”

Isagi’s ears turned pink. “That… sounds like Sae.”

“And now I have to deal with the fact that while I was abroad, you went behind my back, begged for blessings, and nearly gave Rin a coronary in the process. Did you want to die before the wedding?”

“No!” he squeaked. Then softer, earnest: “I just… I didn’t want to blindside anyone. Especially Rin. I thought… if I could stand up to him, then I could stand up to anything. Even marriage.”

You blinked at him. “…So your logic was: survive Rin, survive matrimony?”

“...Yeah?” He winced. “Okay, I hear it now. Not great logic.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, before flopping onto the edge of the bed, staring at him like he was the dumbest genius alive. “You’re lucky I love you, Yoichi. Otherwise you’d be sleeping on the couch. In your own penthouse.”

His head shot up, panic flashing in his eyes. “You mean our penthouse, right? O-Our couch?”

You gave him a long look, then patted the empty space beside you. “Sit down before I change my mind.”

Isagi shuffled over like a schoolboy being scolded, perching on the edge of the mattress. You didn’t even hesitate—you smacked his arm lightly.

“Ow—hey!” He rubbed it, pouting.

“That’s for lying about training,” you said sternly. Then you smacked him again, lighter this time.

“Ow!”

“That’s for scaring my parents with your nervous wreck routine.”

“And the third one?” he asked warily, bracing himself.

You didn’t hit him again. Instead, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, catching him completely off-guard. “…That’s for somehow surviving Rin.”

He blinked, stunned, before a slow grin broke over his face. “So… you forgive me?”

“Forgive might be too strong,” you replied, though your lips twitched. “But I’ll let you off with a warning. This time.”

Isagi brightened instantly, scooting closer like a golden retriever who’d just been told he was still loved. “So… you’ll still marry me?”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest softened as you met his hopeful gaze. “You’re lucky you’re cute, striker boy. Otherwise, I’d make Rin plan the wedding just to spite you.”

Isagi blanched. “…Don’t joke about that. Please.”

You laughed, finally leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Relax. You’re stuck with me. Idiot or not.”

“Your idiot,” he whispered into your hair, his arm curling around you carefully.

“Exactly.”

Life went on after that, smooth in the way only chaos disguised as routine could be. You buried yourself in work while Isagi buried himself in training. He flew to Europe, chasing goals, chasing victories, chasing dreams you swore you could see in his eyes every time he came home late and collapsed into bed still buzzing with adrenaline. Months passed, and suddenly, the world was glued to the Champions League.

The final night was drenched in light and noise. Sae’s Re Al marched through like an unstoppable machine, lifting the trophy high with the icy composure that had made him a legend. Rin, playing with PXG, fought like a man who wanted to burn the pitch itself. And Isagi, Bastard München’s beating heart, scored and scored and scored until the world finally said his name with awe instead of surprise.

And yet, when the dust settled, it was Re Al that won the cup. And for the Golden Boot? Two names were announced.

Yoichi Isagi. Rin Itoshi.

The stadium roared. The cameras flashed. And Isagi, clutching his little golden trophy, turned to Rin with the kind of grin that said he thought—for once—he had Rin cornered.

“So…” he started, still catching his breath, “I tied with you. Same goals. Top scorer. You have to give me your blessing now, right?”

Rin, drenched in sweat, gave him a stare so flat it could have flattened mountains. “No.”

Isagi blinked. “What do you mean no? We tied!”

“That’s not winning,” Rin said, crossing his arms like the word itself was law. “We both lost. Sae’s team won. Therefore, no blessing.”

Isagi’s jaw dropped. “That’s not how math works!”

“That’s exactly how math works,” Rin shot back.

“You’re literally just making up rules as you go!”

“That’s called standards.”

“Oh my god, you’re insane!”

“You’re pathetic.”

They were bickering in the middle of the award ceremony, cameras catching every second of Rin’s stony glare and Isagi’s outraged flailing. To the public, it was rivalry drama of the highest order. To Sae, standing off to the side polishing his medal, it was comedy gold.

“Children,” Sae murmured, lips quirking as if this was the best post-match entertainment he’d ever gotten.

“I tied with you!” Isagi yelled, waving his trophy like a weapon. “That’s basically a win!”

Rin scoffed. “That’s basically nothing. Come back when you can actually beat me.”

“I literally scored the same number of goals as you!”

“And yet you still didn’t win.”

“That’s because Sae’s team won!”

“Sounds like a skill issue.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME—”

The two of them were nose-to-nose now, Rin standing there calm as a glacier, Isagi vibrating like he might explode into confetti at any second. Sae leaned against the barrier, medal glinting under the stadium lights, and actually laughed.

“You two are unbelievable,” he drawled. “The entire world just saw you share an award and all you can do is argue like toddlers fighting over the last cookie.”

“HE STARTED IT!” Isagi snapped, pointing furiously at Rin.

“Grow up,” Rin muttered, smacking his hand away.

“You’re impossible!”

“You’re annoying.”

Sae smirked. “You’re both losers. I’m the only one here who actually won.”

That shut them both up for a second, Rin glaring daggers at his older brother, Isagi sputtering like he’d been shot.

“…You’re insufferable,” Rin muttered.

Sae adjusted his medal with a shrug. “And you love me for it.”

A few days later, Isagi finally dragged himself back to Japan, still fuming like the storm cloud he’d apparently smuggled through customs. By the time he stumbled into the penthouse, he looked like a man who’d just survived war and lost the peace talks. You were curled up on the couch with your laptop, still working, when he dropped his bags by the door and collapsed face-first beside you.

“Welcome home,” you said, amused. “You look… destroyed. Did Rin tackle you off the plane?”

Isagi groaned into the cushions. “…Might as well have.”

You raised a brow. “What happened this time?”

He sat up dramatically, eyes wide, hair sticking up in every direction like a man on the edge. “We tied. We tied for top scorer. Same number of goals. And he STILL won’t give me his blessing!”

You blinked. “…That’s it?”

“That’s EVERYTHING!” Isagi shouted, sitting up suddenly and throwing his arms so wide he nearly knocked your laptop off your lap. “He said we both lost since Sae’s team won! He said—he said I have to actually lose to him if I want his blessing! Like tying with him in the UCL doesn’t count! Who even makes up rules like that?!”

“…Rin,” you answered simply.

“EXACTLY!” Isagi threw his head back in despair. “It’s like arguing with gravity!”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as you set your laptop aside. “So let me get this straight. You just played the best football of your life, tied with Rin, earned the Golden Boot, and came home sulking because your brother-in-law won’t say the magic words?”

“Yes!” he yelled, collapsing dramatically into your lap like a man defeated. “Because it’s Rin! He’s the final boss! The mountain that never moves! It’s not logical! It’s—ugh—it’s RIN!”

You stroked his hair, amused. “You know the only person who ever wins against Rin, right?”

He peeked up at you miserably. “…Who?”

“Me,” you said with a sweet smile.

Isagi stared at you, frozen for a moment, before cracking a grin despite himself. “…Yeah. That’s true.”

“Exactly. So stop sulking. You already got the most important blessing.”

He groaned but nuzzled deeper into your lap anyway, muttering like a sulky kid. “…Fine. But if Rin ever does give me his blessing, we’re throwing the biggest party this country has ever seen.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his messy hair. “Deal. Until then, you’ll just have to keep losing to me.”

Isagi sighed, finally relaxing against you, the tension melting from his shoulders as he muttered into your thigh. “…Best loss ever.”

You chuckled softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. Within minutes, his sulking had given way to quiet snores, his arm wrapped securely around your waist like even in sleep he was afraid Rin might suddenly materialize in the penthouse to revoke whatever scrap of pride he had left.

The following morning, sunlight spilled through the curtains. You carefully untangled yourself from Isagi’s death grip, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of bed. He made a faint, grumbly noise in his sleep, muttering something about “Rin’s stupid rules” before clutching your pillow like a lifeline. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight—your fiancé, Japan’s brightest star, utterly defeated by your brother’s sheer stubbornness.

You wheeled your suitcase to the door and glanced back at him one last time. “Hang in there, Yoichi. I’ll handle Rin,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were reassuring him… or yourself.

By the time your plane touched down in Paris, you were already exhausted and you hadn’t even seen Rin yet. After the long ride across the city, you dragged your suitcase through the familiar lobby of his apartment building and punched in his code like you owned the place. Because, honestly, at this point you sort of did. You’d crashed here so often on your Paris visits that even the doorman barely raised a brow when you breezed past.

When the door finally clicked open, Rin appeared in the hallway, hair tousled from training and hoodie hanging half-zipped. His eyes widened. “…What the hell are you doing here?”

You dropped your suitcase right in his doorway with a grin. “Surprise!”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he said flatly, stepping aside anyway.

“I never tell you I’m coming,” you shot back, rolling your suitcase in. “You should be used to this by now.”

Rin pinched the bridge of his nose but didn’t argue. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You say that every time, yet you still let me in,” you teased, plopping down on his couch and tossing your legs over the armrest.

“That’s because you’ll just break in if I don’t,” he muttered, heading to the kitchen.

“See? You do know me.” You leaned back with a triumphant smile.

Rin returned with a bottle of water, leaning against the counter. “So? Why are you here? Don’t tell me you flew all the way to Paris just to raid my fridge.”

“Please,” you scoffed. “I flew all the way here to deal with you.”

He blinked. “…What did I do?”

“You gave my fiancé a complex,” you accused, sitting up dramatically. “Yoichi has been sulking for days! DAYS, Rin. Do you have any idea how tragic it is to watch Japan’s star striker collapse onto my lap like a soap opera lead because you won’t give him your blessing?”

Rin raised an eyebrow. “…Good.”

“Good?” You threw a pillow at him, which he batted away effortlessly. “Are you serious? He came home looking like he’d lost the World Cup, Rin! Over your petty rules!”

“They’re not petty,” Rin insisted, stubborn as ever. “If he wants my blessing, he has to lose to me. That’s it.”

You gawked at him. “…That’s the dumbest condition I’ve ever heard.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Rin shot back, crossing his arms.

“No, it doesn’t!” you argued, pointing at him. “It’s marriage, Rin, not a boss fight. You’re not some endgame raid in an RPG!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being insane!”

You both stared each other down, neither blinking, until you finally sighed and flopped back onto the couch. “You know what? I should start charging rent for how much space you take up in my relationship.”

Rin’s lips twitched—just barely—but you caught it.

“Was that a smile?” you gasped, sitting up again. “Oh my god, it was! You actually enjoy tormenting Yoichi!”

“I don’t,” Rin said immediately, turning his head away.

“You do!” you accused gleefully. “You’re actually having fun with this. You’re making him jump through hoops just to watch him flail!”

Rin didn’t answer, which was basically an admission of guilt.

You grabbed another pillow and hurled it at him, laughing. “You’re ridiculous, Rin. Absolutely ridiculous.”

He caught the pillow this time and tossed it back lazily. “…He’s the one marrying you. He should be able to handle worse than me.”

Your laughter softened, and you grinned. “Oh, trust me. He can handle anything… but he’ll never win against me. Which means technically, he’s already fulfilled your dumb condition.”

That made Rin falter, if only for a second. You saw the crack in his logic and pounced.

“Checkmate,” you said smugly.

“…You’re so annoying,” Rin muttered, but his ears were pink.

“And you love me,” you teased, throwing your arms out like you’d just won.

Rin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue—which, in your book, meant victory.

You leaned back on the couch, grinning. “You know what? I’m going to call Isagi. He’s already home by now.”

Rin froze, narrowing his eyes. “…Why?”

“Because,” you said, tilting your head innocently, “I texted him when I landed, and he said he was on his way to the gym. But I think he needs a little… motivation.”

Rin groaned. “Motivation?”

“Yes,” you said with a wicked smile. “You know—the only thing that will make him stop sulking and start smiling like an idiot again.”

He groaned louder. “You’re going to tell him yourself?”

“Nope,” you said, grabbing your phone and flipping it into your hand. “You are.”

Rin blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said sweetly, pointing at him. “Call him. Tell him you’re giving your blessing. It’s the fastest way to fix your future brother-in-law’s meltdown—and yes, you will do it. Consider it… sibling community service.”

Rin groaned again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” you countered, laughing. “Or do you want me to do it and watch him explode when he realizes you’re grinning the whole time?”

That finally got his attention. Rin’s jaw tightened, but there was a glint of reluctant amusement in his eyes. “…Fine,” he muttered, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “…I swear, I’m doing this under protest.”

You clapped your hands together. “Perfect. Go on, make his day, big brother. And remember… act like a responsible adult while you’re at it.”

Rin excused himself and went to his bedroom with his phone pressed to his ear. A few minutes later, he emerged and flopped onto his couch, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Done,” he announced, arms crossed over his chest, trying to make it sound like a punishment rather than a victory.

You grinned. “Perfect. Can’t wait to see the reaction.”

As if on cue, your phone rang. You snatched it up, already guessing who it was. Sure enough, the screen flashed your fiancé’s name.

“Babe! Oh my god, babe!” Isagi’s voice was barely contained excitement, bouncing across the line. “You won’t believe it—I finally got it! Rin actually said it! He—he gave me his blessing! I’m allowed! I can marry you! Can you believe it, my love? I—”

You laughed, holding the phone to your ear. “I can hear you. Slow down, Yoichi.”

“Can’t slow down! This is huge! Your brother actually approved! Approved! Approved!” He cheered into the phone, practically vibrating with energy. “I was expecting at least three more months of suffering, and he just—he just said yes!”

“You did it,” you said, still laughing. “Finally.”

“Yes! And I owe it all to you, baby! You and your sneaky little schemes!” He groaned dramatically, collapsing onto the sofa in Japan as if your voice alone was the final victory lap. “I was ready to beg, plead, even… okay, maybe crawl a little, but nope! You just made him do it!”

“Of course,” you teased. “Somebody had to show him how ridiculous he was being.”

“And you! You’re perfect, my love,” he said, voice softening into the kind of warmth that made your chest flutter. “You always know exactly how to fix everything. I swear, I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve me,” you shot back playfully. “You’re marrying me, remember?”

“I know! I know! But—ugh—I just can’t believe it. Rin actually said yes. My heart is—” He paused, groaning into the phone. “It’s pounding like crazy, baby! I think I might actually explode! You’re gonna have to calm me down when I get home!”

“You got it, Yoichi,” you said, grinning. “Come back and I’ll make sure you celebrate properly.”

“Celebration with you? Best. Thing. Ever. I love you so much, my darling, my love, my—ugh—I’m just gonna die of happiness!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll save a spot on the couch for you. Try not to hyperventilate before you get here.”

“I can’t promise anything!” he squealed. “I’m just too happy! I love you, love of my life, my everything!”

You couldn’t stop laughing as you hung up, knowing full well that when Isagi returned, he would be a whirlwind of energy, giddy and frantic all at once, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to calm him—except you, of course.

Rin stared at you, pinching the bridge of his nose, utterly unamused. Probably disgusted. Definitely judging.

You tilted your head innocently and smirked. “Really, my dearest older brother, me and Yoichi have been dating for years. Engaged, even. And yet… you still look at us with disgust. Why? Is it the way we breathe? Or how we exist in the same universe?”

Rin froze, blinking. “…I—It’s not disgust!”

“Oh, come on,” you said, laughing. “You can’t tell me that this face,” you gestured at your smiling self, “combined with this voice,” you made a dramatic swoon sound, “and the fact that Yoichi actually adores me so much it’s ridiculous—doesn’t make you slightly uncomfortable!”

“I’m… I’m not uncomfortable!” Rin snapped, though the faint pink in his ears betrayed him.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, leaning back casually. “It’s fine. I get it. You’re just old-fashioned. You’re thinking, ‘How dare my youngest sister be this ridiculously happy with her fiancé!’”

Rin groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me anyway,” you added cheerfully. “Admit it, big brother. Deep down, you’re proud… and also secretly terrified of Yoichi.”

“I am not terrified!” Rin said, though his eyes darted toward the doorway, probably imagining Isagi bursting in like a hurricane any second now.

You leaned forward, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You should be excited, actually. Just imagine… our future kids. They’d be little carbon copies of us. Your future niece or nephews? Totally Isagi Jr. But with a dash of your ridiculous stubbornness for flavor.”

Rin froze mid-sigh, glaring daggers at you. “…I would prefer if they looked more like you than him.”

You laughed, pointing at him. “Oh, come on! Admit it, they’d be adorable little clones of Isagi! Imagine the chaos! The energy! The endless, boundless optimism! You’d be thrilled… secretly.”

Rin groaned and flopped onto his couch dramatically. “I am not thrilled. I just… I just want them to be smart and capable like you, not—” He made a vague gesture toward the door, as if summoning all the chaos Isagi could muster.

“Exactly!” you said, grinning ear to ear. “Which is why you should be overjoyed, because whether you like it or not, Yoichi Jr. is going to be unstoppable, just like Daddy. And adorable. And annoyingly in love with me.”

Rin muttered something incomprehensible, probably cursing the day you and Isagi decided to exist, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch. Despite himself, he was flustered—and you were absolutely loving it.

“And,” you added, leaning back, “by the time Isagi gets here, you’ll see exactly how hopeless he is. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll start accepting that your future niece or nephew’s chaos comes from him, not you.”

Rin groaned again, hiding his face in his hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me,” you said sweetly, throwing him a wink.

He didn’t answer, muttering something about needing therapy, but you already knew the truth: he’d secretly enjoy watching you and Isagi, no matter how much he complained.

Once Rin’s blessing was finally done, a huge weight lifted off your shoulders—and Isagi’s too. After months of scheming, teasing, and ridiculous “final boss” tournaments, you could finally move forward. You began planning the wedding that had been delayed for far too long because of Rin’s stubbornness. Invitations were sent, dates finalized, and even Isagi’s over-the-top ideas for decorations were humorously negotiated.

The big day arrived with perfect weather and a buzz of excitement. You stood backstage, heart racing, adjusting the hem of your dress as Sae and Rin prepared to walk you down the aisle. Rin looked impossibly tense, jaw tight, while Sae looked calm, amused, and ready to catch any drama before it could start.

The music swelled, and the doors opened. You stepped forward, and there they were: your two older brothers, flanking you with matching, proud expressions. Rin’s grip on your arm was firm—too firm, almost as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go—while Sae offered the usual teasing smirk, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

As the three of you approached Isagi, his eyes practically sparkled, scanning you up and down as if confirming for the hundredth time that this was really happening. He caught Rin’s eye for a moment, and with the most mischievous smile, he mouthed: “I won.”

Rin’s jaw dropped, his face contorting in a mixture of disbelief, exasperation, and the very faint hint of pride. The urge to strangle Isagi right there in front of everyone was painfully obvious.

You noticed immediately. Sae did too. Before chaos could erupt, Sae gently placed a hand on Rin’s arm, giving him a pointed look that said, not here, not now. At the same time, you lightly touched Isagi’s hand, tilting your head and silently warning him: behave, or there will be consequences.

Isagi suppressed a laugh, still grinning, but held back just enough to keep the peace. Rin’s fists loosened slightly, his glare softening into the tiniest, reluctant smile as he finally let you go, giving your hand to Isagi.

“You’re in good hands,” Rin said quietly, almost under his breath, the protective older brother in him finally yielding.

Isagi squeezed your hand, whispering, “Forever.”

The officiant began speaking, the guests leaning in, and the moment felt like it was suspended in time. You glanced at Rin and Sae, both watching with their own mix of pride and amusement. Your brothers had fought hard for you in their own ways—Rin with his rules and stubbornness, Sae with his steady guidance—and now you were here, stepping into a new chapter with Isagi by your side.

And despite the chaos, the teasing, and the ridiculousness that had brought everyone to this point, everything felt absolutely, perfectly right.

304 notes · View notes

rosiestdreams · 13 days ago

Text

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: it's supposed to be a simple (enough) mission: a grade 1 curse, a quiet neighborhood in tokyo, midnight. instead, nanami finds something else. his ex-fiancee, bleeding, unconscious, five years having passed. word count: 13.1k+ (i'm so sorry!!!)

there's a certain quietness to midnights in tokyo that nanami can't get enough of.

the city's still buzzing with bright neon lights, flashing images painting the dark alleyways in blurs of red and orange, accompanied by the occasional flicker of the traffic lights. but the roads are quiet, the taxis few and far between, maybe a single drunk couple leaning against the walls of a closed cafe whispering to each other.

but with his mind on the mission, his surroundings are just that. background music fading to the sidelines, as he cranes his neck up at the night sky. it's a clear summer night, little clouds, a full moon with a harsh evening chill that makes his spine run cold.

the curses have been getting stronger recently. he thinks, fingers toying with the bottom of his necktie as he slowly loosens the fabric. after all, it's not every day that a grade 1 spirit appears in the middle of the night, curling itself in between half-finished houses and abandoned playgrounds.

the neighborhood he's been called to is just that on the surface: safe, normal, boring.

but the winds blow stronger, and there's an odd smell attacking his senses that makes his hairs stand up a little bit straighter. muted breaths accompany each careful step, his shadow illuminated by the half-empty vending machines lining the roads and the white streetlamps up ahead. muscles tensing, jaw clenched, mind already rushing with adrenaline for the fight ahead, nanami turns the corner and steps into the background with his arm outreached into a defensive position when-

it's empty.

well, almost.

the remains of the spirit can be seen even in the dark. whisps of black fog, curling away into the wind. burnt ash coating the sandbox that begins to slowly sink into the floor. the nearby grass slightly burnt and fraying at the edges.

and in the middle of it, standing in the wreckage.... a woman.

under the cover of the clouds, nanami can only roughly make out basic outline of her hair and face. the majority of her outfit is covered by a lengthy trenchcoat, billowing in the fierce winds, and her boots land heavy when she kicks the dust one more time - as if to make sure that the spirit was really gone.

and whilst nanami can't quite place his finger on it, there's something about her that seems... familiar.

he stands silently for a few more moments, monitoring the situation (and frankly, still at shock at the mysterious woman able to defeat a grade 1 curse by herself like it was nothing), until he notices that her steps seem... slower than usual.

heavy.

as if she's injured.

badly.

"are you alright?" he decides to speak up then, slowly approaching the stranger with concern.

then you turn around and he forgets how to breathe.

you look the same, and yet so different all at the same time. your face seems to have gotten sharper and more mature: eyes sunken in with determination, cheeks less babyish when you suck in to take a deep breath. your hair's slightly longer than the last time he's seen you (and maybe even in a different shade, though he's not too sure in the dark), and your sense of style seems to have done a 180. gone are the frilly lace tops and cut out jeans, replaced by sleek waistcoat top and dress pants.

even the way you're standing seems different: cold, tired, defensive.

"n...nanami?" you whisper out loud, in disbelief.

your name, a sacred prayer he's not dared to utter since he's last seen you five years ago, sits on the tip of his lips. but then your eyelids suddenly flutter shut and your body is heading straight to the ground.

with impossible speed, he manages to catch you before your head smashes against the pavement. his shaking hands cradling your body close to his chest to prevent any damage.

fuck.

he'd had no idea you would be here. he had no idea you were still fighting curses, let alone that you'd moved back to tokyo.

when the clouds in the sky part and the moonlight shines onto the playground again, he gets a better look at the long gash running up your left leg. the bleeding is quite significant, and the nasty swelling of your left calf tells him something was sprained.

mind swirling with a million unanswered questions and anxieties, he's determined to get you somewhere safe for now.

his apartment.

=====================

you were dreaming about something nice when your consciousness began to pull you back towards reality.

something pleasant. something sweet. someone's warm touch on your shoulder, pulling you onto their lap as you excitedly pointed to something in the sky. there was a bike ride surrounded by sakura trees, knees touching whilst sharing sandwiches overlooking the lake, a calloused hand coming up to cup your face. their face had come closer, your vision had blurred, and it was-

nanami.

you jolt awake immediately, your body already having gotten used to sleeply lightly on the edge. heartbeat racing in the dark, you can feel your back against something soft and cushy, and you're running the mental calculations of what the most likely worst case scenario you're in is.

sitting up straight, your eyes shut in reflex at the sharp pain running up your left leg. even without touching the tender skin, you can feel the brutal cut on your left leg, a pain excaberated when you try and roll your ankles and find one of them to be twisted.

gritting your teeth through the excruciating pain, you swing your legs over to the side of the sofa in an attempt to get up. hands feeling around in the dark, raw nails cicking against cement until you manage to feel something that feels like a light switch and flick it on-

shit.

far from being stuck in an unfamiliar place, when your eyes adjust to the light, you realize it's... your past home.

with everything somehow still in its place. the wallpaper still muted green and in perfect condition as if you've never left the place five years ago.

the stack of interior design books that neither of you ever read, but kept around because it looked good pressed up against the kitchen table. still there, not a single speck of dust on the cover.

the flower vase you'd refilled every friday when nanami would finish his weekly park run. now next to the tv, occupied by a single sunflower (your favorite).

the bookshelf he had spent an entire sunday building whilst you'd attempted (and failed) to help, reading out the instructions from the couch as he fumbled around with screws and wooden planks. emptier than usual, but still lining the wall facing the bedroom.

everywhere you look is a painful memory, a past joy that feels like a dagger to the heart and forces your legs forward towards the door.

you need to leave. now.

suppressing the urge to scream at the sharp pain shooting through your left leg with each brutal step, your arms shakily shoot out to grasp at the walls to support yourself. and you're almost at the front door when-

"what are you doing?" your ex-fiancee's voice rings out, stern and ticked off.

and there he is. the man who has haunted every dream you've had in the past five years, still tall, unwavering and handsome, staring you down with his arms crossed. you bite your lip to suppress a sigh, knowing it'd only piss him off more.

"thanks for catching me earlier." you grit out, pulling off your trenchcoat from the coat rack. fuck, you think. bastard still uses the same coat rack i bought for us when we first moved in here. "but i need to get going."

"with a twisted ankle and a heavy gash?"

he actually sounds worried, and your heart twinges at his tone, but you remind yourself that you've done fine by yourself the past five years.

you don't need anyone.

"yes, nanami. besides, it's not even that bad." you're lying through your teeth whilst staring up at him defiantly, hoping your legs aren't shaking as much as you think they are.

his eyes carefully survey you, lips thinning in an unreadable expression.

"listen, i'm... sure this must be really uncomfortable for you. and i won't force you to stay. but if you are going to leave, please at least let me drive you to the hospital so i know you're safe?"

you shake your head so fast you nearly strain your neck.

"no hospitals." you respond, already cringing at the image. you hate its sterile smells, its bright lights, the constant shuffling of people in hallways. it makes you feel trapped. watched. lonely.

nanami, stubborn as ever, doesn't seem keen on letting it go.

"but your injuries-"

"i said no hospitals!" you scream, and a rush of dizziness hits your head as your left leg suddenly gives out from under you. you can't even let out a gasp of surprise as quickly as nanami's strong arm encircling around your waist, him pulling you up into his embrace as you shakily grasp his sweater like it's a lifeline.

your breath coming out in short staccatos, his gaze as heavy as the oceans, you mumble into his chest. pleading, really.

"no hospitals. please."

you feel pathetic, begging him, but you're so tired and weak. and you honestly don't think you could manage to drag yourself out of the room if you wanted to.

nanami's heart breaks at how small you sound, exhaustion and pain evident in your voice, and though he'd really like to be able to take you to see a medical professional-

he accepts your answer.

"alright, alright. no hospitals. just... let me check on your bandages in the bathroom before you sleep?" he pauses, taking in a deep breath and flashing you a reassuring smile. "i'm not the best with treating injuries but.. i've been learning."

he smiles nervously at your careful nod, purposefully leaving out the part of saying how he's managed to learn first aid. of how he's learnt it all in the past five years - as he'd only ever bothered learning how to patch himself up after the breakup (once you were no longer there to kiss his injuries and heal his wounds).

too tired to argue, you let him carry you to the bathroom before he gingerly sits you down and flicks on the light. eyes shutting in exhaustion, you feel his light touches on your leg - respectful and soft - and hear the sounds of tape ripping and scissors cutting into a new roll of bandages. it's all happening in the dark to you, your sleep already rolling in in waves.

it's like your body knows, you're home. or at least, somewhere you used to call home. and the years and years of running has come to a temporary pause.

"all done." nanami whispers, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up. you flutter just your right eye open, staring down at his careful expression. "i've laid out your old clothes on the bed for you, okay? i'll be on the couch so if you need anything, just give me a shout."

you should've argued with him. you should've said that this was wildly inappropriate (for you to be sleeping over at your ex-fiancee's place for the first time in five years). that he shouldn't be sleeping on the couch of his own place, that you were fine with sleeping on the floor for all you care.

but your body is so heavy, the bedsheets too inviting in your exhausted state that all you can do is hum a quiet thank you and let him set you down on the bed before he gently shuts the door behind him.

the only thought you have before you drift off into a dreamless sleep is the realization that nanami kept some of your old clothes that you didn't collect.

funny, you thought he'd have thrown them away by now.

=====================

you wake, this time, not from a pleasant dream.

but to the sound of something hot sizzling in the pan and the clinking sound of dishware being shuffled around in the kitchen.

the air smells refreshing - fresh brewed coffee and citrus melting with the summer air - and there's a quiet jazz tune playing in the background (probably from the record player that nanami had always adored).

it's just like when you two were together.

pushing the silly memory away in your mind, cursing yourself under your breath for the flutter of warmth now occupying your stomach, you push yourself up into the bathroom to wash your face.

you'd hoped that a full night's rest might have miraculously healed some wounds (or at the very least given you some of your strength back), but you can barely make it to the door before you hear the stove being turned off and a door swinging open.

"good morning."

of course - nanami looks good, even at 8am on a saturday. his baby blue polo shirt slightly unbuttoned, rough hands lightly powdered in white sugar, muscular thighs hugged by a comfortable pair of green boxers.

diverting your gaze away from his body, you force yourself to mumble out a groan of acknowledgment. he holds your right arm up as you hobble over to the kitchen counter, your mind angry that you're letting him touch you, but your body grateful for the physical support to be able to move.

"i made your favorite." nanami softly admits, draping a kitchen towel over his shoulder. you blink at him surprised, staring down at the presentation of food in front of you. soft pancakes with strawberry jam, alongside a side of greek yoghurt and blueberries.

it's perfection.

"you don't need to take care of me, nanami." you grit your teeth, another headache starting to form at how domestic he's acting. all this tender affection and devoted attention is nauseating, especially when you recall how cold and uncaring your last moment with him was all those years ago.

the venom in your voice stings him, alongside your inability to unclench your jaw or look at him in the eyes. your entire body is tensed up like a bomb about to explode, it's as if nanami can hear the dynamite ticking in his brain as your fork carefully touches the food, knocking over the stack of pancakes in disdain.

had he really hurt you that much?

just as you had hurt him, all those years ago?

shaking those thoughts away, he reminds himself that his immediate focus has to be your health.

"i know you don't need anyone's help. but you're hurt, badly hurt at that. and nutrition, alongside rest, will aide in your recovery." he slowly explains, trying to keep his tone neutral.

you scowl, another bitter reply rising in your throat, only to be interrupted by the unmistakable growl of your empty stomach. truth be told, you hadn't had a proper meal before the mission. you weren't even supposed to be one to take care of the curse, but you'd been -

reckless.

it's amazing how reckless someone can get when they have no one to care for, no one to answer to.

"fine." you mutter out. "i'll eat."

you have to suppress an urge to cry upon taking the first bite, because the sweet syrup and soft batter brings about a wave of nostalgia. it tastes like lazy breakfasts in bed on kiss-filled weekend mornings, a taste you haven't had for years (as no matter how hard you tried, you could never recreate the taste of nanami's pancakes).

nanami retreats to the other side of the kitchen counter, eyes fixated on his own bowl of porridge and fruit, the sounds of chewing and clinking cutlery filling the otherwise silent room. it's painful for him, as it's not the safe, comfortable kind of silence you two used to have.

no, instead, this silence feels tense. rushed. thick enough to cut with a knife.

half an hour later, you two sit in complete silence, plates empty but neither of you wanting to be the first one to speak.

you're looking at anywhere but him, making a mental note of every small detail in the room. the crack in the innermost corner of the kitchen cabinet is still there. his choice of cologne hasn't changed, based on the nearly empty bottle sitting near the doorway. his shirt needs an iron, folded neatly over the armchair.

meanwhile, nanami is searching for the right words to say, mind still in disbelief that his ex-fiancee is sitting right in front of him. in their old apartment, one that he couldn't bear to let go even when you two had split up.

it's deja vu in all the worst ways.

surveying your face in the sunlight trickling through the curtains, he sees a small cut on your cheek. bruises on your upper thighs that look painful to the touch. a sharp scar that's barely noticeable now, mostly healed but permanent, kissing down your neck.

you're still beautiful, of course. but he can't deny-

you look rough.

you hadn't had any of these injuries on you five years ago.

what had happened in those years? he can't help but wonder.

"i can practically feel your thoughts screaming at me, you know." you snap, finally tired of the silence. "just say what's on your mind."

he stares at you for an extra moment, fabric rustling when he shifts in his seat.

"i think you should stay. at least, until you're better."

your body tenses up at the suggestion, eyes finally drifting away from your surroundings to stare directly into his eyes.

"are you insane?! nanami, i'm not gonna stay here one more night. this-" you gesture to the apartment. "was a last minute decision made by you. and i was too tired to decline last night, but now i'm fine."

nanami's jaw clenches at that, eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

"i understand, but i had no other choice. you were badly hurt, unresponsive, and i had to make sure you were safe." he lets out a deep sigh, trying to calm himself down. he knows how stubborn you can be, and how he's not going to get anywhere if he's too stern with his words.

"and thank you for that. but now, i'm going to leave."

"and go where?" he retorts, sharp as a knife.

it's an innocent and straightforward question. but it feels like a blow to your chest, because you know the truth: you have nowhere else to go. no one else to run to. you had no apartment in tokyo, having made peace with awful sleep in cheap motels, and your life was a never-ending string of missions of killing curses, bento meals for one, constantly bouncing from one city to another.

"i'll... i'll figure it out." you mumble out, ashamed.

it doesn't escape nanami's mind that you haven't said you'll go home. you haven't even said you have somewhere to stay in tokyo.

so maybe she hasn't come back, permanently at least, nanami thinks.

nanami is practically pleading at you with his intense, sorrowful gaze, and you wish he'd yell at you instead. you can't stand the weight of his worry, the heaviness of his disappointment.

"i'll be fine just by myself. i never stay too long in one place anyways." you grit out, trying to hide the sharp pain you feel when you twist your leg around to glare at him.

nanami holds your angry gaze for a few moments, sighs, his lips thinning into a straight line. his palms are now resting on his knees, massaging circles onto his skin, his habit for when he's nervous.

"i'm aware that we don't owe each other anything anymore." the confession hurts both of you, but nanami continues speaking. "but i wouldn't be able to sleep or get anything done if i knew that letting you leave this house would mean you dragging your injured, tired body to the next city, the next motel to brave by yourself. that's-"

he pauses, and in between the flash of hurt and worry, you swear his eyes become watery and his voice splits into a shaky whisper.

"that's how people get killed, (y/n)."

maybe it's how he said your first name suddenly and unceremoniously.

or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, begging, eyes glistening and head hanging low in defeat.

or maybe it's that damn heart of yours, aching to be closer with your ex-lover, resolve dissipating into thin air when your mind starts to think of... not running constantly, for once.

"all i would like, is to know you are safe and resting. the spare key is yours to use, and you know this area as well as i do. so when i am gone, you are free to use this space as you would please. the next door neighbor is a nurse, so she can drop by occasionally to keep an eye on your recovery. i spoke to her this morning and she said an injury of your scale might take a month or so to heal. a month, and then-"

he takes in a sharp breath.

"then you can leave. i won't complain, i will not put up a fight, i will consider the agreement finished. from one sorcerer to another. one person, looking out for another."

nanami genuinely can't read your expression when he finishes his speech. his blood is rushing so loud he can hear it in between his ears, heart thrumming at a million miles a minute. you seem to have an internal debate with yourself, teeth poking out to bite your bottom lip, before you huff and meet his eyes.

he knows he's won before you even speak.

"fine." you groan, and a smile automatically spreads across his lips. "but just a month, nanami. once i'm better, i'm out. deal?" you ask, cocking your head sideways.

"deal."

========================

as expected, the first week is rough.

you find yourself not being able to do much because of your leg injury. nanami's left you with a mountain of ice packs and strict orders to rest your feet by propping them up on pillows wherever you can.

mostly, that's meant being sofa-bound. flicking through a few TV channels whilst laying on your side. reading through a few books on the bookshelf - a book on historical trade routes, a political analysis of asia, a collection of essays on grief. on a good day, you even find yourself sitting on the kitchen counter, counting and re-organizing all the kitchenware in the drawers so you'd have something physical to do.

but mostly, you spend your days staring up at the ceiling, reflecting.

the rain had been brutal. a downpour, vicious thunderstorm, winds so strong that you could barely hear yourself speak over the chaos.

but it felt like nothing compared to how nanami was looking at you, quiet and unmoving despite the storm.

"i don't understand what you want from me anymore, kento." you'd said, exhaustion weighing your shoulders down. "it's always 'we'll go next week.' or 'i'll make it up to you soon-"

"you know how important our mission is." he'd gravely said, his voice strangled. you clenched your jaw so hard it hurt, your eyes unblinking despite the torrent of raindrops blurrying your vision.

"and i'm not doubting that. i'm there with you, for fuck's sake, but god, sometimes it feels like these damn curses see you more than i do!" your anger is rolling off of your tongue in waves, the months of resentment and swallowed apologies spilling out in angry tides.

"i'm sorry, honey-" nanami had reached out his left arm to cup your face, but you stepped back, hating his touch and his sweet words at the moment.

"and when i needed you today." the tears come out now, messy and uncontrolled. "w-when i genuinely thought maybe, this was it, i had finally met a spirit i couldn't exorcise by myself-" you choked, the brief flashes of terror replaying in your mind. "where were you?"

he pauses, face falling in sadness.

"... the higher ups had informed me that you had it under control."

you let out a broken laugh at that. a harsh, humorless sound that made nanami flinch.

"the higher ups said. so that's it. what they say goes above me."

"again, i truly apologize, but you must understand this is bigger than both of us-"

it was your time to flinch at the way he said it.

"you're right." you cut him off, standing up straight. he'd tensed at your sudden change of tone, no longer resentful and emotional, but cut and dry. "this is bigger than both of us. so big, apparently, that you're incapable of choosing me over it. and i'm-"

you paused. you couldn't hear your thoughts with the constant rumbling of thunder up ahead, combined with the cacophony of clashing sounds of rushing water and hissing winds. but your heart felt heavy and your mind, foggy as it was, was determined to take a stance.

"i'm done."

you removed your engagement ring, the small piece of jewelry suddenly feeling like several tons in your shaking hands, and threw it on the floor.

"d-darling-" he was choking up too, and you had to physically turn away to shield yourself from that sound, the god awful sound of him crying.

"goodbye, nanami."

heartbroken, confused, and fearful, nanami felt himself sinking to his knees in the rain as you walked away.

gaze blurry from the salty mix of tears and raindrops, you swore to yourself you were going to forget him, forget tokyo, forget the life you two had built and wanted to continue building.

you'd disappear.

you have to admit, in the present, that there is a great sense of irony in creating multiple identities, severing all your friendships in tokyo, and overloading yourself with missions to avoid staying in the same city for more than a few days for five years...

only to eventually end up back at your ex's place.

rolling over to your side again, you stare up at the ceiling, head lost in the clouds. you're not sure how much time has passed until the sudden jingling of keys forces you to sit up, and nanami walks through the door with a reserved smile.

surprised, you glance at the clock on the wall. 5pm.

"you're off work early." you note passively, remembering that it was a tuesday.

"i am." he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it neatly by the front door. "i was able to shift some sick days around." to come see you, he wants to say, but he isn't quite ready to admit that the thought of you alone in his apartment (bored and tortured with nothing to do) was eating him alive.

you hum to conceal your surprise - nanami kento, using his sick days to get out of work early? that was highly unlike him.

though, you supposed, five years could do a lot to a person.

"would you like to have dinner outside today?" he questions from the bathroom, fingers working to undo his tie. "being pent up in the apartment probably won't do you any good."

dinner with your ex-fiancee is probably a terrible idea, but you also can't ignore the glittering opportunity to actually leave the apartment and wonder outside for a few hours.

"...sure." you end up mumbling, as if it pains you to admit it. "but did you forget my swollen ankle?" you sass, when nanami exits the bathroom and gives you his signature smirk.

"ah, i have a solution to that."

"...you're fucking kidding me."

you can't conceal your surprise when nanami carefully walks you over to the parking lot of his apartment, where his two seater bike is left chained up.

"what are we, 10? nanami, i can't ride this." you're flustered and angry, but you're also cursing at yourself when you're bombarded with a flood of memories of riding this bike with nanami through various parks in tokyo on your precious days off.

he just looks at you, amused, before cocking his head to the side.

"well, given your leg, it was either this or... i give you a piggy back ride to the restaurant."

cursing under your breath, you shove his shoulder with yours in a weak manner.

"fine. but you're doing all the pedaling."

he just smiles at you, bright and boyish, and you both pretend you feel no sparks of electricity when his fingers brush over yours whilst handing off the helmet.

the restaurant he takes you to is nice. it's small, family owned, overlooking the bay area. nanami has to stop himself from instinctively reaching out to pull your seat out for you, and you stare at the menu for an ungodly amount of time to avoid looking at how perfectly nanami's sculptured face evens out when he is concentrating.

"i think you'd like the stir fried noodles. second from bottom." nanami suddenly speaks up from behind his menu.

you're grateful that the thin paper menu is concealing your look of surprise, as he's pointed out the dish you've been eyeing silently.

"how can you be so sure?" you posit quietly, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. he seems to pause at your question, lowering his menu to the table as a serious gaze takes over his eyes. there's a mix of emotions evident on his face, perhaps a mix of regret and longing, when he responds so tenderly.

"because i know you."

you swallow the heavy feeling threatening to rise from your chest.

"knew me, nanami." again, you use the menu to shield your face from his piercing gaze. "it's been five years. a lot can happen in five years, you know."

"i know."

a beat of silence passes before the waiter is asking for the orders to be placed, the menus are cleared and the table is re-set for the dishes to come. you can't stop yourself from fidgeting in your seat and nanami isn't subtle with how he's staring at you, a million questions sitting on the top of his tongue.

he's sorry.

he's hurt.

he's missed you.

he wants to know how you'd disappeared off the face of the earth, wiping any trace of yourself from tokyo. not even your friends and family had known where you'd went, only an occasional postcard with your simple signature signalling your safety. a friend of a friend said you'd moved abroad and settled in germany. another claimed to have seen you in a shopping mall in osaka, selling perfume. he'd thought maybe you'd finally quit sorcery and moved to a quite seaside town to open a bakery.

but no, here you were.

alive, breathing, so different and confusing.

"i... i'm taking a month off of work." he decides to say, slowly testing the waters. your eyes snap to his, your lips immediately parting in shock at his confession. "i wanted to ensure i could be there for you in your recovery."

warmth blossoms across your chest at that, at the soft way in which his eyes are enveloping your figure, how his fingers are nervously thrumming against the table when admitting this to you.

"you didn't need to do that." you mutter, embarrassed.

"i wanted to." he admits, even softer.

you can't help but let out a small chuckle at that, taking a sip of your water whilst shaking your head.

"the nanami kento, taking a full month off of work for me? who are you?"

it's his turn to chuckle.

"well... like you said-" he pauses, pursed lips parting for a brief second. "a lot can happen in five years."

dinner happens in relative silence as that comment hangs in the air, neither suffocating nor light.

but it does leave a warm feeling in your stomach that is hard to ignore.

================

the second week, you've learned, is when the routines start being established.

every day at 8, you wake to the sound of jazz music and nanami rustling around in the kitchen. you know to not put too much pressure on your left ankle as you hobble over to the bathroom and check on your bandages, ensuring nothing has bled through or come undone over the night.

breakfasts are no longer completely silent, instead being filled with short exchanges of information. whether it's nanami recounting of your schedule for the day (gentle yoga, your pills in the upper cabinet after lunch, the evening walk in the park) or you reminding him that he was running low on kitchen towels.

neither of you bring up the past, and neither of you push.

nanami steals more glances at you out of the corner of his eyes then he'd like to admit, but he forces himself to maintain that distance from you to ensure you're comfortable. he plans things to do during the day whilst you're busy, pre-cooks meals in the fridge in case you don't want to eat out in the open, and continues to sleep away from you (alternating between the sofa and the guest room).

it's a small sacrifice, he considers, in exchange to see you getting better.

whilst you find yourself starting to regain your strength, your wounds starting to fade back into your skin and your ankle no longer screaming out in pain every time you took a step.

you hate to admit it, but nanami's meticulous planning - signing you up for local yoga classes to build by mobility, his careful distribution of medication, and recommendation of daily gentle walks - has really helped.

looking at the clock on the wall, you see that it's 6:30pm - 30 minutes after your usual scheduled evening walk, as you'd been pre-occupied with a random fiction book you'd picked up from underneath nanami's pile of clothes in the bedroom. placing the book back down on the bed, you walk over towards the entry way and see nanami bent over tying his shoes with a few grocery bags in his hand.

"are you heading out?" he asks, straightening up.

"yeah. evening walk." you respond, carefully sliding past him to reach for your own shoes. you're dressed simply in baggy pants and a tank top, perfect for a breezy summer evening, whilst he irons out the creases of leather jacket and cotton slacks with his right hand.

"mind i join you?" he asks casually, the question escaping his lips faster than he can regret it. "the supermarket is on the way to the park, so i shall not bother you for too long." he corrects himself, trying not to seem too desparate.

you shrug, ignoring how warm his body is against yours when you slide past him to sit on the floor to tie your laces.

"sure. whatever's easiest, i guess."

"great."

the walk to the park is usually 20 minutes, but it feels much longer. particularly when you two are walking side by side: close enough to feel each other's presence, but too far away to touch.

it's far too unbearable for both of you, in different ways.

"how was your yoga class?" nanami decides to ask. ask her a safe question. an easy, non-intrusive question. he thinks, carefully surveying your reaction (and nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you shrug).

"uh, it was good. you picked a nice studio, i really like my instructor." a beat. "thank you for signing me up."

"it's my pleasure."

then it's back to silence, the city buzzing with life around you. rowdy school children pushing past each other on a bridge, taxi drivers speeding through flashing lights, exhausted businessmen exiting train platforms in droves... it's overwhelming and you almost don't realize you are walking into traffic until nanami's hand grabs your wrist and gently pulls you backwards.

"t-thanks." you manage to stutter out, his touch leaving a burning sensation on your skin. his hand disappears from your wrist as soon as the bus passes, but your mind can't help but linger on it, and with how he'd flashed a small smile your way.

the same smile you fell in love with all those years ago.

you nearly want to cry with relief when you see the familiar glittering outline of the supermarket, signaling the end to the semi-awkward walk.

"i guess i'll see you back home?" you posit, shifting your weight nervously under his quiet gaze. and, of course, the moment you say that so you can begin to walk towards the park-

it starts raining.

hard.

the kind of downpour that pelts the ground and sends crowds of people running into the nearest store, including you, dragging nanami into the supermarket to avoid the sudden downpour.

"i cannot believe this." you grumble, staring up at the now splotchy grey sky. "there was no rain forecast, i literally checked right before we left the apartment!"

nanami chuckles at your anger - he's reminded of how cute he thought you looked whenever you got angry, cheeks squished as you suck in your tongue, glittery eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"perhaps it'll stop in a bit?" he suggests, picking up a basket. "you're more than welcome to stick around as i shop."

giving in (as the only other option is to stay out in the rain), you trail behind nanami like a lost puppy. the blonde man moves with the speed and fluidity of a local, knowing where every produce is and what brand to buy (making his decisions within five seconds), whilst you helplessly follow behind him looking completely lost.

eventually, you get distracted by the desserts aisle and drift away for him for a bit, your eyes fixated on the assortment of mochi packs on the top shelf.

"(y/n)?" nanami questions aloud, surprised at your sudden disappearance. he spins around once in a full circle, before poking his head at the next aisle, then the second next, going through every corner of the store before he finds you squatted down low. eyebrows fixed in concentration, eyes seemingly zeroed in on comparing two mochi brands.

nostalgia hits him like a truck, pinning him to his spot.

it was autumn. you were wearing a hoodie with sleeves far too long with your hands, red checkered pajama pants you hadn't bothered to change out of. grinning face bare and glowing with mischief when you'd turned from your spot in the grocery store to stare up at nanami.

"kenny, matcha or vanilla?"

he'd laughed quietly under his breath.

"darling, don't you think we have enough mochi back home?"

your face had scrunched up in faux disgust, and you grabbed your chest dramatically as if you'd been shot.

"are you trying to insinuate that we have an excess amount of mochi? my heart! how could my husband say that."

his heart had skipped a beat at that, his engagement ring clinking against yours when he held your hand lovingly.

"not your husband yet, my sweet. still two months."

"mmm... i do tend to be impatient, don't i, my dear husband?"

he'd narrowed his eyes at you.

"... you're just using that to get me to agree to us buying more mochi, aren't you?"

he'd meant to scold you, but with the way you were smiling at him, digging your face closer into his chest... suddenly all his words were mush.

"is it working?" you'd asked, seemingly already knowing the answer.

"yes."

"I used to love this brand." you say fondly in the present, snapping nanami out of his recollections. he isn't hard to find with his striking blonde hair and tall stature, as well as the fact that your body seems to have a sixth sense for where he is at all times.

nanami swallows nervously when you shift the box in your hands to show him. he recognizes that logo, all right. it was the same brand of mochi you'd beg nanami to buy every thursday when the supermarket would re-stock.

sakura for the spring, strawberries for the summer, matcha for the fall, and sesame for the winter.

you'd stack them neatly on the upper left corner of the kitchen counter, a hazardous but neat stack of half-empty boxes always occupying the kitchen.

his heart aches at the soft memory, a stark contrast to the sad smile on your face as you place the box back down.

"let's get one." he suddenly says, voice slightly strangled with emotion.

you look up at him, surprised.

"i thought we were only here to stock up on missing ingredients for the rest of the week."

he shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant.

"perhaps old traditions aren't so bad."

old traditions - the phrase leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth, a flash of memories entering your mind of shared bites in the park on hot summer days, him carefully arranging your favorite flavors on a plate and sliding it under the door when you were bedridden from the flu, a friday night when nanami had braved a snowstorm to get you the newest flavor of mochi from a supermarket 30 minutes away.

"maybe so." is all you can offer in response, fingers lightly brushing against his when you pass him the box.

the rest of the groceries are gathered within ten minutes and the check-out takes another ten, the skies still an angry grey and spewing down hell. staring up at the sky from the safety of the cover of the supermarket, you look back at nanami with the grocery bags in his hands, cocking your head.

"what now?"

"would you like to finish your walk?" he suggests weakly, already knowing your answer.

"think that's a bit pointless with the rain." you muse, rolling your eyes. "i don't know, uh... did you bring any cash for a taxi maybe?"

he shakes his head sideways.

"not enough for what'd be required in the rain and this distance." he responds, craning his neck to the side to catch glimpses of young couples down the street screaming and giggling furiously whilst ducking into the nearest shop to avoid the rain. it leaves a slight pain in his chest, seeing couples in love frolicking in the rain, while his ex-fiancee stares him down from the side with an unreadable look on her face.

"a bus then? if we run for it, we could make the next one that stops in front of the library?"

nanami's eyes nearly bulge out of his head at your suggestion.

"the library is at least a 15 minute walk from here."

you roll your eyes playfully, and there's a glint in your eyes that makes his heart race with nerves and excitement.

"which will be 5 if we run."

and before he can even begin to go through the list of (many) reasons why running in your condition would be a bad idea, the potential to catch a cold in the rain, the worries of you worsening your injury by tripping over your feet - you're off. sprinting down the sidewalk, leaving nanami to silently curse under his breath before running after you in equal pace.

you eventually have to give up a few minutes away from the library, your left leg protesting at the sudden burst of exercise, forcing you to slow down enough to let nanami catch up to you.

rain has soaked your entire body from head to toe, tank top clinging tight to your waist and raindrops clouding your eyes, but you can't help but grin when nanami begins to scold you in his angry tone.

"do you understand how reckless that was, running into the rain when it is slippery and you are injured-"

"it's going to help us catch the bus on time though, is it not?" you tease, poking him on the side.

he narrows his eyes at you, sighing, before taking off his jacket to wrap it gently around your head.

"don't run off anymore, please. and stay close." nanami mumbles quietly as your fingers find their way towards clutching the lapels of his jacket, bringing it slightly over your head to shield yourself from the rain. and when he notices you walking a little more slowly than usual, awkwardly walking in a way to avoid putting too much pressure on your left foot, he wordlessly puts his arm around your shoulder to prop you upwards.

the bus eventually does come, and nanami helps you board the bus before giving up the only spare seat on there for you, his warm hands lingering on your back. it's an uninterrupted, but comfortable, silence as the bus slows down into your neighborhood and he grabs the grocery bags in one hand.

and grabs your hand with the other, ensuring that you step off the bus safely.

when the apartment door finally closes behind you, both of you dripping water onto the floor and completely drenched from the storm outside, you glance at him for a moment. his neat blonde hair now a wet mess sticking out in odd directions and your pink shirt now an angry red color - you both burst out laughing.

it might've been the twitch of nanami's eyebrows. or the way you bit your bottom lip at him, the first sign of a dangerous laughing fit incoming. or the way you both stared at each other, unmoving but breathing, taking in the sudden silence of the apartment in complete contrast to the chaos outside (harsh rains, screeching tires, and the hurried footsteps of civilians).

but now you both can't stop laughing, your stomach hurting so much that you have to bend yourself over and nanami is grasping at the empty wall, leaning against the cement to support himself.

it feels warm. it feels right. but most importantly, it feels like all the slight tension and worries of the previous weeks have melted away.

"you're- you're unbelievable." he says, trying to calm himself by running a hand through his hair, but there's no bite to his words. if anything, he's staring at you with a blend of amusement and awe, a way that still makes your stomach flutter five years later.

"and you're just as insane for following after me."

he pauses, taking off his shoes on the drying rack and spinning around to smile at you so brightly your mind blanks for a second.

"perhaps i am."

you take in a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down.

"wash clothes, warm bath, lazy dinner in?" you suggest, already shrugging off your socks and tossing it into the washing machine. it's as if you read his mind, and he nods, mind already spinning with options of what to make for dinner.

"sounds perfect."

dinner that night ends up being the most lively yet. a candle lit mid-way, the sounds of rain enveloping the apartment, mixed with soft jazz and inside jokes revitalized from memories past.

========================

the third week is when things feel normal.

he stops asking if he can touch you when he extends his arm forward as a support, letting your fingers wrap around his bicep as you navigate in the dark or step off of a high ladder.

you start leaving the bedroom door open, not caring if he needs to come in to grab a spare tie or to check his face in the bathroom mirror one last time before he heads out.

old routines start to come alive - how you'd neatly pressed and ironed his favorite polo shirts and placed them in the top left corner, nanami's precisely cut mochi squares left untouched and perfectly preserved in the fridge, you being careful to place his good shoes on the top of the shoe rack so he could reach for them easier.

one night, you ask him to keep you company after a bad dream. he stays lying next to you, convincing himself to try and fall asleep, pretending like his skin isn't on fire. when you two wake up the next day, his left arm is thrown above your waist and your face right up against his chest.

you never ask him to move back to the sofa. so he doesn't.

it's easy, this life. you rarely have to ask for everything, with nanami seemingly having the gift of understanding everything you could need and when, and nanami feels his body melting into the domesticity of it all.

hell, he's even humming to himself in the mornings now. the barista at the local coffee place where he's a regular asks if he's gotten good news lately, when nanami sports an ear-splitting grin every morning when entering the store.

it's so good, that you've almost forgotten what you ran away from. so shielded by the warm and familiarty of nanami and this apartment, that when your phone buzzes, you don't for a second think it's about hunting curses.

unknown number. typical.

but based on the message, you know who it's from.

"special grade curse floating around south of the harbor. the usual?"

your jaw clenches at the end of the sentence, those two crude words 'the usual' referring to the vast amounts of money they'd offer to taking out the most dangerous of curses. the catch being, you'd have to be the first sorcerer to do it and it had to be done alone.

it was a betting pool of sorts, a competitive ego race connected by loose messages and a vast underground network of sorcerers egging each other to take on more dangerous missions in return for money, recognition, and power.

you hadn't meant to fall into it.

it was a seedy secret you'd stumbled into when you'd first beaten a curse on a windy night in kyoto, only to be sworn at by a clearly more seasoned sorcerer strapped for cash.

"killing curses first for money? that's absurd." you'd dismissed it, your tongue darting out to lick your dry lips. it was freezing, a windy winter night on the top of a mountain, and the aged sorcerer smiled at you so wide like a predator who had found its prey.

"think about it, child. everyone gets an equal chance. the money is quiet, but huge. collected within the first hour of the announcement, no questions asked." the man had paused, scanning you up and down with a serious look on his face. "nothing to lose, everything to gain."

you'd clenched your jaw so tight it hurt.

"how do you know i have nothing to lose?" you'd questioned.

he didn't even flinch at your sharp questioning.

"simple. from your eyes."

craning your neck discreetly to the side, you find nanami sleeping quietly on his side of the bed. he'd insisted on putting a movie on that you'd like, a lazy sunday morning being enjoyed with slow cooked pancakes and warm coffee, and you already feel bad about how much he's had to dote over you for the past few weeks. you can see the fatigue on his face - his proportionate and sculpted face drawn into thin lines, his head sinking into the comforting pillows of the bed.

even now, you must admit, he's devastatingly handsome. and without really thinking about it, you find yourself unfolding a blanket from beneath you and draping it over him to shield him from the cold.

your entire body is begging you to stay. to finish the movie with him on the bed, the distance small but still existent, to sink back into the domesticity of it all.

but your mind can't help but race, re-playing the words of the text in your mind, thoughts racing with anxieties about the future.

before you can even process what you're doing, you call the number back.

"i told you to stop texting me." you curse into the receiver, slipping into the balcony so that nanami wouldn't hear you. the masculine voice on the other side chuckles, clearly amused.

"thought you died or something. haven't seen you claim a curse in weeks."

"well, i've..." your eyes drift back to the bedroom. "i've been busy."

"hm." is all the guy says on the other end, intrigued and unconvinced. "whatever the case, clearly you're still interested as you've not blocked this number."

"i can't keep doing this you know." you grit your teeth, frustrated by his smug voice. the man only laughs at the other end of the line.

"hey, you're free to leave any time. just don't come crawling back to the club when you're eventually broke and lonely."

your eyes narrowing back in on nanami's sleeping figure, a sinking realization spread across your chest.

because you should know better. know, that this can't last.

that once you leave, you'll be back to zero. some money wouldn't hurt, let alone if it's a special grade curse. the betting pool would be significant, enough money that could get you going for at least a few weeks. a city or three, with motels and food included.

you can't get too attached to this life, (y/n). you scold yourself, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. your weak heart causes you to look back at nanami, at the sleeping face of your ex-fiancee, as you're reminded that this isn't permanent.

it's temporary.

and just like last time, it'd end with someone walking away.

you hang up without speaking and quietly dim the lights, before slipping away.

twenty minutes later, nanami wakes to eerie silence.

and it's not the comforting, alluring type of silence he's gotten accustomed to in the past few weeks with you around.

instead, it's the type of silence that sends a chill down his spine, a silence that hints at something - someone - missing.

he sits up in a panic, his hands reaching out for you in the dark. nothing. your phone is still sitting on the table, cold to the touch - you weren't on it recently. but your favorite jacket is still folded over the desk chair and he knows you'd never go anywhere without it.

there's a pit in his stomach signaling that something is wrong, a bitter taste in his mouth which follows.

he scans his mind for the most reasonable explanation for your disappearance. a random walk perhaps. the fridge was empty and you needed more groceries. a neighbor wanted to invite you for coffee.

your phone screen lights up as if on cue.

leaning closer, he sees it's a random number not added to your contacts. curiously, however, the message seems to indicate the sender knows you.

"you taking it or not?" is all the text says, but something feels off.

biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he snatches up your phone and guesses your pass code. your birthday.

wrong.

his birthday.

wrong.

come on. he scolds himself.

he knows there's only a few more incorrect guesses he can make before the phone locks him out, so he thinks of what date could have the most significance to you.

hands trembling, he types in the date you left.

0818.

your phone unlocks.

reading the second to last message about a special curse floating around the harbor sends a shiver down his spine. he'd heard rumors about this amongst the sorcerer circles. some underground gambling. sorcerers getting off on seeing each other get hurt, some even die, from taking on special curses by themselves. he hadn't thought much of it.

let alone, consider, that you'd somehow be a part of it.

his mind works overtime, movements fluid and natural, as he changes his clothes and dashes out the door to find you.

a crash - something blasts into the right side of where you're standing, hot flames missing you by a few inches. there's a dark figure with glowing red eyes advancing in on you, your fingers wrapping so hard around your blade you swear it leaves a dent on your skin.

"i'm going to enjoy killing you, little girl."

"go fuck yourself." you curse, swinging the metal to cut into its side. you only get a few cuts in, in between the dodging of its claws and ducking under shipping containers, but the curse is incredibly fast. dissipating into the dark, dark tendrils spreading out over the cement before it reappears, even bigger, to your right.

before you can even blink, it throws you against the wall a few feet away, your body taking the full hit at the sudden force. your head is throbbing, and you feel a trickle of blood run down your head, but thankfully, you know nothing is broken by the way you're able to stand back up (gritting your teeth through the pain).

curse my still healing ankle, you think, as you tunnel your way into the maze of ships laying around the yard. you can hear the curse's voice taunting you, skipping from one container to another, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing through the yard.

"you know, i always thought you sorcerers were a lot stronger than this." you hear its ugly voice from a few meters away, your boots digging into the sand. "but i'm getting quite tired of this game of cat and mouse, aren't you?"

limping on your left leg, you wonder if you're starting to run out of options. your headache's getting worse, there's a dead end up ahead, and your hands are shaking so hard you can barely conjure a spark.

"there you are."

there's shattering glass and then the heavy drop of a slimy body, your determined eyes unwavering from its beady red ones. if you're going to go down, you think, you might as well die in a fight. right hand raised with the blade, your left hand wiping the blood dripping from your head, you take the first step when-

the curse goes up in a blue flame.

it screeches, screaming in pain as it jumps back, and a familiar blonde figure steps in front of you.

you expect him to sternly tell you to stay put. maybe yell. maybe scold you.

hell, if he's really angry, even curse. but he doesn't.

he doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at you.

just wraps his tie around his right hand one more time, entire body ablaze in a blue flame, the curse having no fighting chance with the sheer amount of power radiating off of nanami. his eyes - usually filled with so much warmth and honey - cold. focused.

you're forced to watch as the curse becomes ash, nothingness swept away by the sea breeze, before he turns around and roughly pulls you up with his wrist.

"nanami, before you say anything-" you start, already anticipating his protests.

he simply glares at you. the sharp, disappointed, brimming with intensity type of glare that makes the rest of the words die in your mouth.

"we're going home." is all he says, before he takes off his jacket and orders you to wrap it around your head and apply pressure.

the entire journey home, you keep on glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes, nervous and frustrated by his silence. but your ex-fiancee refuses to look at you. simply standing upright with his jaw clenched, his knuckles bruised, eyes staring dead straight ahead with the diligence of a soldier at war.

it's only when he opens the door to his apartment, and you clamber in behind him, head hanging low... that he explodes.

"how could you." he starts, low, clicking the door behind him with a firm shove.

you have to scream at every bone in your body to not flinch, because this level of anger is rare with nanami. he's usually so poised. so rational. so level-headed, that even major annoyances become inconvenient for him to express in a few minutes.

you don't even have to raise your eyes to meet his to know that he's furious - furious beyond words.

"i-"

"do you know you could've died if i didn't intervene?" he adds, stepping closer to you as you sit down on the couch, your legs giving out from under you. "that curse was feeding off your fear, a special curse at that, hunting it down on an injury-"

"i could've handled i-"

he laughs. a cold, dark laugh that makes your shoulders shiver.

"really? you could've handled it yourself? even when its claws were a few centimeters away from puncturing your skin?"

his words dig in like knives into your heart. calloused, sharp, but true. it makes it all the more uncomfortable as you shift into the cushions, wishing you could be anywhere but this room.

"and i..." his hands grip at his hair, furious and confused. "i can't believe you'd put your life at risk for what, some, some money?!" he scolds you, voice starting to raise slightly higher. "god, i thought i knew you better-"

"WELL YOU DON'T KNOW ME AT ALL, NANAMI." you burst out, no longer able to stand his anger.

your sudden outburst seems to stop him in his tracks, his fury dissipating into shock.

"whatever person you think i am, that person is dead. a lot has happened in five years, nanami. i've changed. i've-" you swallow a sob, hating yourself for getting emotional. steely determination settles over your beating heart. "i've had to."

he just nervously licks his lips, sensing the shift in atmosphere in the room.

"(y/n)-"

"do you know what leaving you meant?" you accuse, veins alight with anger. it's coming out of you, all at once, this waterfall of hurt and trauma, fuelling you to stand back up and glare into his now concerned eyes. "it meant leaving behind tokyo. our apartment was in your name, kento."

you spit out his first name like it's an insult, and he flinches.

"our bank account, your name. fuck's sake, my phone bill, in your name." you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head sideways. "i cut off absolutely everyone i knew in tokyo and moved to the other side of the country with nothing but a few pairs of clothes and an old id card in a backpack."

you breathe slowly, bitterness now fuelling you more than sadness, before taking a step closer to nanami as you jab a finger onto his chest.

"i was alone, tired, with no money and no friends to rely on. so i had to get creative." you spit, shoulders tensing. "so sue me, kento. i know you despise what i've become. but i've had to do it to survive. it was survive, o-or-"

fuck. you feel tears welling up in your eyes, forcing you to look away and blink fast to force it away. you refuse to lose your upper ground to him right now in this argument, especially with the way his face is overcome with an unreadable expression.

"or perish. and i refused to perish."

your body feels like it's been tightly wound up, chest compressed and ablaze with anger, your shoulder rising and falling with your heavy breaths as you stare up at nanami in defiance. he blinks at you wordlessly, once or twice, as you brace yourself for another fury storm of anger and moral righteousness-

but instead, he hugs you.

with so much force your back hits the back of the sofa, his muscular arms wrapping around your waist, his chest heaving with sobs that his whole body shakes.

"i'm so sorry, love."

it's the first time he's called you anything other than your name the whole time, your anger quickly melting into the summer air.

"i'm so sorry you've had to deal with all that since we broke up. i'm sorry you felt that you had to survive, and survival meant giving up everything and living on the run. i'm sorry t-that-" he puts his head into the crevice of your neck, murmuring a million apologies into your skin, your eyes now also stinging with tears. "that i hurt you so bad you felt like you couldn't come back to tokyo."

he sinks into the floor, and you go down with him. you bite your lower lip, unsure of what to do with this revelation.

"i... i wanted to come back. i did, and so badly. but the whole city reminds me of you, and i was never brave enough."

he shakes his head at that, pulling you in closer and onto his lap.

"it wasn't about bravery, darling. it was about me being a coward. i've spent every day since you left regretting not putting you first. of not listening to you when you needed me, of always thinking other people had the right answers instead."

his hands clasps your shaking ones, cold hands gripped by warm ones.

"and i'm sorry i yelled at you. it's just, god, when i saw that fucking curse about to strike with blood pouring out of your head all i could think was-" his voice wavers and he swallows the sob, your fingers rubbing smoothing circles onto his skin as he blinks away his tears. "that i was going to lose you again."

swallowing down your own tears, you stare him square in the eyes, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. to show him that you were still here. and that you cared, deeply, about him.

"but you haven't. i'm still here."

and just when you say that, the clouds part, the moonlight hits the crown of your head and he's reminded of the first time he's ever seen you laugh. head thrown back at something gojo said, the summer sun glittering on your face, an ethereal glow around you.

"i love you." he blurts out, breath heavy and uncontrolled, his demeanor unwavering in response to your widening eyes.

"that's not fair." is all you can say, your heart splitting in two. all you can think to yourself is you can't go through another heartbreak. another letdown. you can't be at the receiving end of his cruel goodbye even one more time, the thought sending shivers down your spine.

"i know." he says, before nervously swallowing. "but i still do."

the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. you force yourself to look away from his burning gaze, afraid of making any rash decisions.

"let's get you to bed." you say quietly, standing up whilst avoiding his gaze.

you don't, however, let go of his hand.

======================

the fourth week drags.

it feels as if time is mocking you, each day feeling excruciatingly long and suffocating.

nanami's sensed your shift in attitude. he moves his pillow from the bed where you lie back to the guest room, making sure to knock on the door before entering each time. he's careful with you, wording every sentence in advance and being sure to time his return to the apartment around the times you'd be up and moving. on the odd day he finds you on the couch, reading a book in a sweater and comfy pants - he sits on the far end of the couch, opening up a computer and typing away.

it's as if two strangers are living in the same space together.

and it's killing him.

surely, nanami thinks, this is the worst of it all.

not having you - when you physically were gone, disappeared without a trace, was one kind of hell.

but to have you next to him, to be able to hear your breathing on the other side of the room, to have your warm presence and vanilla scented shampoo invade all of his senses whilst you refuse to acknowledge his presence...

is a different kind of heartbreak.

he slaps himself at night for it. why, why did he have to say he still loved you? when he can't sleep, he forces himself into a cold shower and stays unmoving in front of the mirror, watching the water droplets slowly fall from his face until his skin is completely dry. all he can hear is the winds from that night, how shallow your breathing had gotten, how crimson the blood falling from your head was-

his knuckles around the sink tighten.

if keeping you safe meant you hating him, he'd have to live with it.

little does nanami know, however, you're far from hating him.

you had returned home that night and refused to let him touch you up, his love confession tearing a new hole in your fragile heart. having his warm eyes stare into yours under the glow of the night light, his deft fingers carefully patching your wounds, would've made it worse.

so you 'kicked him out' of the shared bedroom, insisting that you could address your own wounds.

you'd made sure to cry into a pillow that night, so that he couldn't hear you.

your head still hurts, softly, enough to take painkillers every day alongside the breakfast nanami still sets out for you (but that you leave half of. if it is out of spite or out of sadness, you're not sure).

you want to forgive him.

god, a part of you wants to say hell to the high ground. and to immediately invite him in back to the bed, to forego the past you've been running from, and recommit to the man who was once your fiancee.

but a bigger part of you, the wounded heart, the woman who had tore herself from everyone she knew in tokyo and lived a life of a traveler without a purpose for years - grounded only by exorcisms and the next flush of cash - is not ready to forgive.

because when you picture nanami's face, you can't see the sweet, doting, and gentle man who has put his job on pause for you.

instead, you still see the remnants of the unmoving man that rainy night five years ago. the one who chose his work above you and changed the course of your life forever.

the ache claws at your stomach and heart, a persistent state of nausea plaguing your every waking moment. you can't help but keep on glancing at the calendar on the wall, counting down the final days of the month.

'just a few more days.' is your mantra.

as you avoid his gaze.

and limit your answers to a few words.

and pretend not to notice his shaking hands when he sits down next to you, his not-so-obvious glances at you from the corner of his eyes.

it's 10pm. on a friday. the tv isn't muted but the volume is so low it might as well be, a cool breeze flowing in through the gap in the open window which makes your eyelids flutter closed and open inconsistently. from where you're laying down on the couch, you see that the bedroom light in the guest room isn't on.

that's odd, you think to yourself, before redirecting your attention to the tv. perhaps he was out for a mission tonight. maybe he was meeting friends. a night walk to clear his head.

but then it becomes 11pm. 11:30pm. midnight.

your texts are delivered, but not read.

your calls go through, but lead to a voicemail.

when the clock strikes 1am, you're wide awake and panicking, heart torn at whether to call emergency services or to throw on a jacket and shoes to go looking for the man yourself.

it's not like nanami to go somewhere without telling you, or at least, he'd leave a note behind.

as if on cue, it's then that the front door swings open and nanami comes in stumbling in.

flushed cheeks, his hair wildly swept to the side, tie slightly undone. his long legs shaking as he waddles into the room, his drunken eyes lighting up in recognition when he spots your frozen figure in the middle of the room.

"oh! my darling!"

before you can even say anything else his lips are on yours, fire and electricity rolled into one, the intensity of his force causing you to bump up against the wall. his right arm comes down to immediately catch your waist, left smoothing down your hair whilst he smiles at you lovingly.

"i missed you so much, m'wife."

"we're not married, nanami." you say, quietly, trying to ignore the rush of joy prickling at your skin.

"not yet." is all he says, spinning you around so that you're both sitting on the couch. when you try and remove your hands from his grasp he groans, like a small child being denied their candy, and he moves in obnoxiously closer.

"w-what are you doing?" you find yourself asking, breath hitching at the sudden proximity.

he's now so close that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, his face somehow finding its way in between the crevice of your neck and shoulder. you can't move, body tensing at the warm contact, mind fuzzying at how domestic this all is.

"i've been... a bad husband." is all he says.

his tone is light, whiny even, but the sincerity of his tone catches you off guard.

you stay silent, unsure of what he means, and he doesn't move an inch from where he's sitting. holding you tight, his voice reverberating against your skin.

"i let you down five years ago and thought i could win you back with just some apologies and an i love you. but i know that's not enough. it could never be enough. you, my darling-"

he places his hands on your cheeks, his cold hands a stark contrast from your warm face.

"deserve the whole world. not some workaholic coward who needs to drink six bottles of soju to tell you the truth."

"why didn't you look for me?" you ask, voice breaking under his warm gaze. he looks so sweet, so genuine, his sleepy eyes drinking you in as his arms curl around your waist, his head against your chest. you're not even sure where you can put your hands, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, when he speaks.

"i did. but clearly, i didn't try hard enough." he lets out a bitter laugh at that, but with his drunken state, it comes out as more of a wheeze. "but i deserved that. the five years of loneliness and regret. i don't regret that."

you blink, surprised.

"you don't regret it?"

he suddenly stands up, and you swear he's no longer drunk, eyes as clear as the day you first met him.

"what i regret is how it left you, alone and scared for five years."

you stutter, taken back.

"all i've been doing is hurting you when you least deserve it. so i get it."

he looks like a kicked puppy, his head hanging low, voice so sad and pitiful. your doubts about whether he's drunk flies out the window when he suddenly stands up and rushes to the bathroom, the sound of his violent throwing up causing you to cringe.

quickly filling up a glass of water and grabbing a packet of tylenol for the next morning, you slowly approach him in the shared bathroom, your fingers first touching his suit jacket to remove it from his trembling frame.

"s-sorry you had to see this." he groans, face now pink and sickly. "it's not... very... becoming."

"no it is not." you admit, now undoing his tie and taking off his socks for him. "can you stand up by yourself in the shower?" you worry out loud, standing up.

"mm... i don't know." he groans, grasping his head dramatically. "my head hurts."

sighing, you roll up your sleeves and decide to run a bath. his dirtied clothes in the washing machine, your anxious fingers thrumming along the side of the bath tub as the water fills up past his knees. he gives you a cheeky grin, the daze of drunkenness and love still fogging his senses, which causes you to lightly poke his head.

"get your mind out the gutter, nanami. i'm just washing you."

"i know." he admits, tilting his head back. "but i missed your touch."

you pretend that the comment doesn't cause your heart to skip a beat, your shaky fingers starting to rub shampoo into his scalp. your eyes laser focused on the bubbles on his head, you force yourself to focus on the task at hand and not the loving way with which he keeps peeking at you.

"i'd quit my job for you, you know."

you almost drop the bar of soap in your hands.

"that's not funny, nanami." you quip, washing your hands in the sink. but he just hums, content, as if what he said was as casual as describing today's weather.

a silent beat passes, and you wonder if he'll continue the serious conversation.

"i'm hungry." he laments when you finish rinsing his entire body, his sleepy eyelids batting at you pathetically.

"i'll see what's in the fridge, okay?" you sigh, tossing him a towel. he looks like an overgrown child as he stumbles into his pajamas and brushes his teeth in the mirror, grumpily. you disappear into the kitchen for a few moments to quickly assemble a sandwich, only to re-open the bedroom door and see him passed out on your side of the bed.

the bastard.

sighing, you carefully wrap the sandwich in wrapping and return to the bedroom to turn off the lights.

you jump when his left hand shoots out and grabs your wrist.

"don't go."

"nanam-"

"please." he doesn't open his eyes, but his grip is strong. "just for tonight."

"okay." you admit, curling into him carefully.

and for the next few hours, his drunken words replay in your mind, the haunting green glow of the alarm clock next to you reminding you that tomorrow was the final day of the month.

===================

nanami wakes up and feels two things.

one, a splitting headache. judging by the burning in his throat and the nausea bubbling in his stomach, he'd gone overboard with the alcohol last night.

two, the warm body sleeping next to him is now gone, the sheets cold with the imprint of a person who previously laid there.

his heart sinks, realization weighing on him like a heavy stone.

you'd left.

he should've known. he had gone out drinking precisely because he knew the deal was almost up. it'd be a month since your arrival and you'd leave just as quickly as you came, and he'd had the foolish hope that you'd stay.

worst of all, he showed himself as a drunken, bumbling idiot on your final night together.

slapping himself on the forehead, he curses his choices. why the hell would he think that's a good idea? what was he thinking? god, what had he even said last nig-

"morning."

surely, nanami thinks, he must be hallucinating.

because there you are. standing in one of his spare dress shirts, eyes half-awake from sleep, a steaming cup of coffee in your hands as you lean against the door frame.

"you... you didn't leave." is all that comes out of his mouth.

he's shocked. in disbelief. thanking whatever gods are up there.

you chuckle, shaking your head.

"i didn't."

"w...why?"

"i... think i'm ready to try again. if you are." you slowly admit, sitting down on the mattress next to him as you carefully place down your mug on the side table. "they say drunk words are sober thoughts and i guess i... i was too afraid of repeating the past that i missed out on what could happening now, in the present."

"oh, honey..." he grabs your hands in his, bringing his chapped lips to shakily kiss your skin. "you have no idea how happy that makes me. i will do you right. i will spend every day of the next month, year, five years, decades, making it right with you."

"you better."

he tastes like peppermint and salty tears when you kiss him this time. soft and hesitant, but strong.

he tastes like home.

the kind you don't run away from.

but the one you run towards.

and when ten years later your daugher tugs at your shirt, asking why every anniversary with you and nanami starts at a random playground in tokyo, he shoots you a low, loving smile.

============================

a/n: ahhhh i am so sorry for the long wait on this slow burn fic my lovelies!!!! not only did it take so long because it ended up being over 10k, but i was working full time + sorting out a move to a new place + getting ready to study a new program from september + it was my birthday this week so i had literally no time off!!! but i missed you all so much and i am very happy to be able to post something for you all today. i am totally unsure of how this turned out but i am happy that i challenged myself and hope you enjoyed it too :) slow burn exes to lovers for the win!!!

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

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rosiestdreams · 13 days ago

Text

punkrocker | bakugo katsuki (03)

—there was a time during Bakugo Katsuki's rookie years as a pro-hero, when he ran away. Far from the pressure, the memories, and the weight of the world... He disappeared. And for a while, people thought that the explosive hero Dynamight would never come back. But fate has other plans... and maybe all Bakugo needed was a little soul searching to get him back on track.

↳ pairing: bakugo katsuki x f!journalist! reader

↳ genre: fluff, angst, romance, time-skip au!, strangers to lovers au!

↳ word count: 4.4k+

↳ warnings: cursing, mentions of hook-ups

↳ rosie's notes: WOW THIS IS SO LATEEE i'm so sorry!!! senior year in college is not for the week. i'll try to upload the next chapter as early as I can, because this one's more of a set-up! but so thankful for everyone who's enjoying the story so far. it's a lot of lore. a lot of new characters, but i can't wait for you all to see how it turns out!

bnha masterlist | previous | next

It’s warm.

The sun’s rays shine through the blinds in bright strips. It illuminates the silent room, warmth spreading through the morning chill.

You stir, the rays awakening you from your slumber. You don’t really like waking up at all, if you could help it. Whether it be naturally, on your own terms, or through your stupid alarm clock… waking up was a nightmare when you barely got any sleep to begin with.

Groggy, you turn to your side, blinking the sleepy haze away. The first thing that enters your sight once clarity returns is a gray ceiling. A plain gray ceiling. Drab, boring, void of life. A ceiling you were definitely not familiar with.

You blink, eyes boring on the hypnotizing gray that stares back at you. Wait a minute. You blink again. That isn’t your ceiling.

You sit up staring at the room around you. There was no personality. No life. Just plain walls. A luggage unpacked at the side. You laid on a futon. Warm, clean, fresh from the laundry. This wasn’t your room.

You bolt upright, getting straight out of bed. What happened last night? Where were you? The last thing you remembered was drinking beer and eating some stale convenience store snacks at your favorite spot alongside…

Shit. Right.

Bakugo Katsuki. Pro-Hero Dynamight.

You just shittalked a pro-hero to his face. The same pro-hero you had to write a story about for work.

Work.

Oh my god work.

It was still a weekday. You grabbed your phone, battery hanging on for dear life at 5%. 10 missed calls, what looks like a gajillion text messages. All from Tachibana. You were late for work.

Desperate, you called him back. Unlike you who had slept peacefully through the loud, insistent rings of his calls, he picked up on the first.

“(Y/N) where the fuck are you?” Tachibana hisses, voice in a whisper. “Boss man has been asking about you, and he’s not in a good mood today.”

“Are you serious?” You groan, hand running through your hair in frustration. “Oh God, what if he suspends me… or better yet… fires me?”

This was your worst nightmare. While working for the town’s paper wasn’t exactly the best job in the world…. It was the only job in this measly, small town that you could tolerate. It wasn’t like you could transfer to a new city when your income was laughable to most and barely enough to live a decent life. You needed this job to build your stability before you finally had the balls to move elsewhere.

“Then you better go get yourself a stellar story before you come here girl, because he’s really not in a great mood.” He says calmly. “I don’t know how his wife puts up with his moody ass…”

It’s offhanded, but it’s exactly the kind of comment you needed to quell your worries. You take a deep breath, calming yourself down. It was a herculean task, in your opinion. A good story was hard to come by with someone as picky and judgemental as your boss. But you had to think of something. Anything.

Maybe meeting Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

But where was he? How did you even get here? Oh my god… did he bring you home? Did the two of you…

The door slams open and you shriek in surprise. There, clad in a simple blank tank and gray sweatpants, was the very man you had made a fool of yourself to.

Bakugo looks at you with disdain. His jaw is clenched, his spiky hair tousled. He too, looked like he had just woken up from an uneventful sleep not of his will.

The two of you stare at each other, words unspoken. You blink, your earlier thoughts coming back to you. There was no way, right? You didn’t… He didn’t… Right?

Stupidly you gape at him. “Did we…” is all you ask. A lingering question. A nightmare waiting to unfold. It doesn’t register straight away. But when it does, Bakuto jolts in surprise, appalled by your assumption.

“Fuck no. Do I look like the kind of person who would take advantage of a damn drunkard?” You flinched, the sudden raise in volume piercing through the air.

“Well I wouldn’t put it past you…” you said, clutching your phone to your chest. “You’re a man… after all…”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bakugo asks, exasperated. “You were the one who went on a drunken spiral accusing me of being the reason for every single problem in your life when I don’t even know who you are! If anything I wouldn’t put it past you to make a move when it seems like you’re so fucking obsessed with me.”

“Excuse me?” There was no way he called you obsessed. You were anything but obsessed with him. You hated him. No matter how objectively good-looking Bakugo Katsuki was, you would never ever even think of sleeping with him. Not with that awful personality of his. “I am not like your googly-eyed fan girls.”

The two of you reach a standstill. Glares deliberately still on either of your faces. Not wanting to back down. Not wanting to give up. There was something about the argument that made you not want to give in. But then, of all times, in the most embarrassing way known to man, your stomach growled.

Bakugo breaks eye contact with you. Eyes trailing down to your stomach out of instinct, which you cover with one arm, a bright red flush shown on your cheeks. Bakugo relaxes, shoulders slumping, choosing to give up on the situation.

“You passed out, shithead,” He says, a bit of a bite in his tone. “Didn’t know where the fuck you lived so I brought you here.” He turns around, hands slipping into his pocket, not wanting you to see his face. “Breakfast is ready. Better eat before you get the fuck out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for you. He doesn’t want to. Without looking back, he heads towards the living area. He wasn’t even supposed to be the one to fetch you. But his aunt had gotten the wrong idea for some reason.

When you passed out on him the night prior, he had no choice but to call a taxi and bring you back to Miharu’s place. It was late, the moon and stars high in the sky. There was barely anyone left in the park save for the couple on the other side going out on a late night date.

Your phone was locked, and Bakugo had no idea who you knew and where he could take you. So he brought you home.

Embarrassingly enough, Miharu was still up, watching a midnight cooking competition with rigored zeal and interest. The moment the door opened, she looked up, expecting to greet her nephew, grumpy alone. So imagine her shock when on his first night as a guest, her nephew brought home a girl.

A drunk girl at that.

“You did not just bring home a girl…” Miharu says, staring at disbelief. Out of instinct she approaches Bakugo and you, going to your other side and supporting you alongside him.

“Does it look like I wanted to?” Bakugo asks, irritated. “She drank until she passed out. Was I just supposed to leave her there?”

He had a point.

“Still.. This… You know what. I won’t question it anymore. If you want to bring a hook-up home on your first night then who am I to stop you?”

“I wasn’t going to hook up with her!” Bakugo whisper-screams, as he sets you down in his own futon. “I’m not that fucked up.”

Miharu leaves it at that, leaving to get back to her show after tucking you into the futon. Bakugo lingers at the door, taking your sleeping form in. You were in bliss, completely unaware of the predicament you had put him in. You were drooling, turning to your side as you settled deeper into the futon.

Well, this was at the very least better than him wandering off to his thoughts of the past. He hadn’t thought of that incident since the moment you decided to barge into his life, claiming he was stealing your favorite spot. Having to deal with your antics, even as a complete stranger was enough of a distraction.

For once, he didn’t lose himself to his misery.

And he supposed that’s more than enough to warrant a bit more kindness to you. Also what kind of man would he be if he left you passed out in the park, anyways?

His mom would literally send him to the fiery pits of hell if Miharu didn’t beat her to it.

Bakugo grumbles as he settles into his seat at the dining table, fairly grumpy from his exchange with you mere moments ago.

He couldn’t believe it. Rather, he couldn’t accept it. How could both you and his aunt think that he was the type of person to sleep around with a girl he barely knew and just met? He may look brash. He may look like he would break someone’s heart without a care in the world. But he had a conscience. He would never exchange fleeting pleasure for something so… painful and messy.

Breakfast today was simple. Mackerel, fresh from the market. Rice drizzled with sesame oil. Homemade miso soup. A simple garden salad. A small plate of fresh watermelon. Scrambled eggs. Black coffee. A pretty standard breakfast that was honestly mouthwatering.

“Is she up?” Miharu asks, placing some toast on the table. Like clockwork, she grabs the pot of drip coffee and pours herself a cup. No milk. No sugar. Guess the fondness for pure caffeine was shared amongst his family.

Bakugo nodded, taking a sip of his own cup of joe. “Idiot accused me of sleeping with her.”

Miharu chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past her. She did wake up in a stranger’s house after all. Poor girl.”

On cue, you walked into the living room, still clad in your clothes from yesterday. Your face a little damp. You must have washed it in an attempt to wake yourself up from this embarrassing nightmare.

“Hi dear,” Miharu says, greeting you with a warm smile. The kind of smile that lowered down one’s guard and made you feel comfortable. “How are you feeling?”

She gestured to you to sit, and you begrudgingly took a seat beside Bakugo. He didn’t acknowledge you, merely looking at his plate of food and taking a bite of his mackerel.

“Like my head is going to split in half,” you admit honestly. “I’m so sorry that you had to let me stay the night. My name is (Y/N).”

Bakugo stands up, much to your surprise and makes his way to the kitchen. Miharu doesn’t seem to mind much, eyes locked on your form, a small smile on her lips. Calm and reassuring. “Miharu. And it’s no problem at all, dearie. I’m just glad my nephew was there to bring you here when you passed out. Who knows what would happen if you were left for yourself?”

It’s kind of embarrassing, you realize, cheeks flushing as you remembered your stupidity. You weren’t the type to get that drunk to the point where you would pass out and be at the mercy of strangers you’ve never met before. But yesterday felt like you were taking a blunt and going through the motions. Unreal. A fever dream.

Bakugo returns amidst the silence and awkward laughter, a cold sports drink in hand. Without saying anything, he sits down and passes the bottle to you. “For your hangover,” is all he says, going back to his meal.

Miharu chuckles at this, pleased. “Well aren’t you a sweetie pie Katsuki!” Bakugo flushes, trying to brush it off like it was nothing. “Shut up. It’s literally not a big deal.”

But it was, you think to yourself. It was a big deal.

For as much as you shat on him last night, accused him of ruining your life and what not, he was still kind enough to bring you to the safest place he could find, and help you out when your raging hangover was killing you. A complete stranger.

“Thank you,” you say, accepting the drink, gratitude bleeding out through your words. Bakugo merely grunts in acknowledgement, drinking his soup.

“I’m sorry for my nephew here,” Mihary says, cutting through the silence. “He appears grumpy and broody all the time, but he’s a gentleman.” Bakugo glares but Miharu doesn’t waver, continuing to make small talk with you. “If you don’t mind me asking, what got you in a drinking frenzy last night?”

Oh. Do you really have to relive that? Do you really have to tell this woman that you drank yourself to oblivion because you were ranting about her nephew? You stay silent, finding yourself making contact with Bakugo who only gave you a daring stare.

Go ahead. Tell her the truth. His eyes say, taunting.

“I was just frustrated,” you mutter, resigning yourself to your fate. “My boss was making me write an article on…” you glance nervously, eyes darting to Bakugo, his aunt, and back to your lap. “Bakugo-san… but I didn’t want to. I was having a hard time seeing the point when he doesn’t live here anyway.”

You chuckle, the irony sinking in. “Looks like I was completely wrong about that.”

“Article?” Miharu asks. “You a journalist?” When you nod, it’s like a switch is flipped. From her polite demeanor, Miharu looks incredibly annoyed. “Let me guess,” she says, already rolling her eyes. “That bastard Uzaki is your boss?”

“How did you know?” You say shocked. You feel yourself relaxing a bit. It seemed like she shared similar sentiments with you about your boss. And nothing united people together than a shared disdain for another.

Miharu snorts. “He was my ex.”

You blink in surprise. Even Bakugo looks up in interest.

“He’s from one of the few families in this town who are actually rich so he always walked around treating others as if he were more superior than them. Can’t believe he’s still running the paper.” She looks at you sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that, hon. I too would be drinking like there’s no tomorrow if he was my boss.”

Huh. Someone actually gets it.

“Well, it’s good that Katsuki is here then,” Miharu says, not skipping a beat. “You’ll help the poor girl with her article, won’t you?”

“Hah?!” The both of you say at the same time, baffled. There was no way in hell Bakugo would help you. Subsequently, you really did not want to write this article. Her suggestion was oddly groundbreaking. Shattering this odd but peaceful silence you three had sitting at the dining table.

“There’s no way in hell–”

“--Well, why not?” Miharu asks, cutting Bakugo off, not really seeing the problem with her suggestion. “Two birds in one stone. She’ll get the article she needs to rub in that stupid Uzaki’s face, and you’ll have something to actually do!”

In theory, Miharu was making a lot of sense. You needed a story that would make your boss ignore the fact that you were late to work. The article he so desperately wanted to be written would be enough to not only prevent you from getting fired, but perhaps enough to get you a bonus.

Whereas Bakugo needed a distraction. He needed something to do to get his head out of the gutter. Not because he wanted to. But he owed it to the people he loved– his family, his stupid friends, the people who looked up at him– to try. To get better. To return to being the top hero people could count on.

Logically, helping you out made sense. But just because something made sense, doesn’t mean he (nor you) wanted to do it.

Before he could protest, the doorbell rings, and Miharu leaves to see who is at the door. The two of you are left at the dinner table, stunned. The spoonful of rice you were about to eat left on the plate. A half-eaten slice of watermelon on Bakugo’s.

Warily you look at him. Miharu’s proposition made too much sense. And you were in a precarious position. If you didn’t swallow your pride and push through with this, then you might as well kiss your stability goodbye.

“Don’t.” Bakugo says, before you could even say anything to him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on,” you protest. “I know I’ve been a bit much to deal with…” Bakugo looks at you with a pointed stare at your words. “Okay, I have a lot to deal with, fine!” You admit, sighing. “But I just need one article. One article to save me from being fired.”

In all honesty. Bakugo genuinely doesn’t want to. Why should he care if you were about to get fired? You were a stranger who outwardly ranted right to his face about how much you didn’t like him. If you were willing to do that in public, drunk. Who knows what you would write about him if given the chance? He’s seen it before.

Journalists who had no care of his integrity and his being writing whatever they wanted for a chance to grasp the public’s attention.

Headlines that spoke of actions that he’s never done, words that he's never said. Beliefs that he didn’t hold. He’s met a lot of journalists who tore his reputation apart. Why would he willingly let one write an article about him?

But there was something about the way you asked him. Your words from last night played over and over, like a broken record. You look like shit. I bet everyone’s worried about you. Not as an insult. Not even as mockery.

But as a drunken stranger, who knew nothing about him, but still cared. There was gentleness in your drunken tone. Something that spoke of untapped understanding. Something that didn’t see him as a shining trophy. A one-way ticket to success.

Rather, your annoyance towards him was grounded on the fact that you didn’t want to write about someone who was treated as a commodity.

Before he can answer you, Miharu returns, with a man in tow. Clad in a black kimono, the man towered with a presence that made Bakugo stand up a little straighter, almost as if he was amidst someone who warranted a vast amount of respect. He commanded the room, demanding his awe.

And it was obvious why when you stood up from your seat, shocked. Your body is tense, rigid with respect, as you bow towards the man.

“Uncle Domei,” you call fondly. “What are you doing here?”

The said man, Domei, looks at you with similar intrigue.

“I could say the same to you, young (Y/N). I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with Miharu.”

“It’s a long story,” you say sheepishly, not wanting to tell the man about your stupid antics the night before.

“What a small world!” Miharu says, smiling. “How do the two of you know each other?”

“She and Anko are close friends.” Domei says before you could explain.

You wanted to correct him. You weren’t friends with Anko anymore. Ever since her mom died all those years ago, she had distanced herself. Buried her heart deep within her chest. Now the two of you barely talked. The only time you would see her was when she donned her hero suit, following her dad around in patrol.

“Really?” Miharu says, pleasantly surprised. She turns to Bakugo, eyes amused. “What a small world. Anyways, I’m glad you’ve decided to visit, Domei! I’d like you to meet my nephew, Katsuki. He’ll be staying with me for a while.”

Domei extends a hand for Bakugo to shake, which he accepts reverently. “It’s good to meet you. Dynamight, yes?” Bakugo nods. “Your aunt talks about you often. It’s good to meet a fellow pro-hero.”

Questioningly, Bakugo looks at his aunt for an explanation. “Domei is the city’s hero– he goes by the name Grave Rock.”

It makes sense, Bakugo thinks to himself. Domei looked and felt like he was a protector of peace, a champion of the masses. It made sense for him to be a hero, just like he was. If he can even call himself a hero, that is. Especially when compared to the man in front of him.

“Anyways, please join us! Have you eaten?” Miharu busies herself with pouring another bowl of miso soup, and grabbing a small bowl of fresh fruits she had hidden in the fridge, setting it in front of the stoic hero. “How is Anko?” a frown forms on Domei’s face at the mention of his daughter, troubled and worried.

“In all honesty, I came here to ask if she’s stopped by or if you’ve seen her,” he says, causing you to look at him, suddenly all the more interested. There was a shift in the air. Something daunting that was looming at the horizon.

“She didn’t show up for morning patrol. By the time I woke up, she was gone. She didn’t even pack up her wooden katana from training last night.”

He was worried, rightfully so. You grew up visiting the dojo and hanging around at the Kuroyami residence back when you and Anko were the best of friends. There was a time where you were in their home more than you were at yours. You knew Domei better than most. He may be a stoic man, a pillar of the town, but he was a soft-hearted man once you really got to know him. He cared for the people around him deeply.

“Maybe she went somewhere to clear her head?” Miharu suggested. “Being a hero can be overwhelming for some. Katsuki would know. That’s why he’s here.”

Bakugo is baffled. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was taken aback by how easily his aunt had thrown him under the bus. He turned to you, eyes questioning, not really understanding the full picture.

Reluctantly, you whisper to him. “Anko, his daughter, is also a pro-hero. Her hero name is Mizuki.”

Bakugo nods, understanding the situation a bit more. Questions roamed his mind as well as yours. Did something happen? Why was she so overwhelmed? The Anko you knew wasn't the kind of person who would run away when things got rough. The Anko you knew was someone who faced her troubles head on, and as much as possible, alone.

More than that, Domei wasn’t the type of person to fuss over something unless it was dire. Unless he was sure that something was wrong. He wasn’t the kind of man who came up with assumptions unless he was 100% certain that things were amiss.

“But she didn’t leave a note,” he says, worrying, piercing the silence. “She always leaves a note, or at least informs me when she needs a moment to herself. She doesn’t just… leave.”

The more he speaks, the more you grow worried. Because he was right. Anko wouldn’t change her habits unless she was intentional with it, or in the worst case scenario, in trouble. You understand where Domei was coming from.

“I see,” Miharu says, eyes furrowing in concern. “Do you know where else she could be?”

“Unfortunately, no. That’s why I wanted to check if you’ve seen her. Maybe she dropped by the area?”

Miharu looks at you and Bakugo. The two of you shake your head simultaneously. You hadn’t left the house since you woke up. There was no way you would have noticed Anko around the area when you were dealing with a head-splitting hangover.

Bakugo, while going on his morning jog, hadn’t noticed anything either. Rather, he wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, thoughts consumed with the horrors that plague him. But from his periphery, he didn’t notice anything unusual.

“I’m so sorry, Domei. I haven’t seen her.” Miharu says, apologetic. “I’m sure it will be alright, though. Anko’s a smart and tough girl. She’ll be just fine.”

It was a good attempt to cheer the gruff man up. But he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw his daughter safe and sound. A solemn silence envelops the four of you, until Miharu gets a bright idea.

“Maybe (Y/N) and Katsuki can help you out! You and Anko are close, right?” She says turning to you and putting you on the spot. “Perhaps there are some secret spots you know of where she goes to?”

Bakugo was glaring at her, silently asking her why he had to be involved, but Miharu paid no mind. To her, the same sentiment stood as her earlier suggestion. Logically, it made sense for the two of you to help Domei with his dilemma. As the sole pro-hero of the town, Domei couldn’t possibly look for his daughter when the town relied on him day and night. He didn’t even know where to start. It was a big burden on him.

So if (to Miharu’s understanding) his daughter’s best friend could help him, and bring Katsuki in tow with her to help out, then Anko would be found in no time at all.

It was beneficial to all parties involved. It was a no-brainer.

“Would you?” Domei says, turning towards the two of you, hope hidden within his eyes. “I know it might seem like I’m overreacting, but my instincts are telling me something may be wrong. Anko’s all I have left. It would kill me if something were to happen to her.”

There was something about his plea that tugged at your heartstrings. Everyone in town knew of the tragedy that had befallen the Kuroyami family six years ago. Domei was a strong man, someone who held firm even through the toughest of storms. He remained a steadfast pillar, even when he was grieving his wife. His wife whom he loved wholeheartedly. He was trying to hide it, but he was wavering. You’ve grown up around him. He was like a second father to you. You can tell when his anxieties were beginning to unfold.

And even if Anko had cut you off and distanced herself from you, you still cared deeply for her. If you had to let go of your pride, and work with Bakugo to alleviate Domei’s worries, then you would do so.

“Alright,” you say, much to Domei and Miharu’s surprise, and Bakugo’s shock.

“I’ll do it. I’ll help you out Uncle Domei.”

And Bakugo has no choice but to follow suit.

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#bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader

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