#(i'm a carbon copy of him but if he came back Wrong)

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 9

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The silence and awkwardness were thick in the air. Jonathan looked at you and said, "Come with me."

You followed him to a private room. He leaned against the billiard table and crossed his arms. "Why are you doing this?"

He was actually impressed with you for having Bucky as your shield. But to take something from Victoria? It wasn't like you, since you usually chose to ignore her.

"Isn't it obvious?" you replied, standing your ground.

He smirked. The way he acted was not like a father talking to his daughter but more like a gangster addressing a subordinate.

"I'll see what you've got," Jonathan said, straightening his suit. He turned to leave the private room.

Before he opened the door, he heard you say, "I still don't understand what you see in her." Your voice was steady, but you didn't look at him.

Jonathan paused for a moment, his hand on the door handle.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He remembered the quiet days with Ophelia and you. It was peaceful but boring.

As a successful man, he wanted to face something that challenged his adrenaline. That's when he met Genevieve. She gave him something that he needed: excitement.

He admitted that he went out of control. That resulted in the death of his first wife. Ophelia's face was still engraved in his memory, especially since your face was a carbon copy of hers.

Ophelia was calm and patient but fragile. You used to act like her, too, and it scared the hell out of him. He wished you to be different from your mother.

Be careful what you wish for. Jonathan should have remembered that saying because you changed into something he couldn't control.

It was exhausting to keep you in place. So when you challenged him to leave the house, he accepted it. And he cut all your resources to see how long you would survive.

His calculations were wrong. You were so stubborn and chose to live with Cassandra, his mother-in-law. He hated that woman. She cursed him right to his face and blamed him for Ophelia's death.

Jonathan said, "I understand your hatred. But did you expect me to leave her?"

"Maybe. Perhaps one day you'll realize that your mistress is a Beelzebub," you replied.

"You're quite creative," he chuckled, then he left.

You turned around and stared at the closed door, clenching your fists. Every word that came out of his mouth made you hate him even more. Your jaw tightened, and you could feel your heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration.

After the empty talk with your father, you went back to be with Bucky. He saw the lifeless look in your eyes. The lively you had gone quiet. The short talk with your dad had drained your spirit.

Bucky felt your despair as if you were drowning in darkness. He gently touched your arm. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “I'm sorry I left you alone.” You felt something was missing, but also a sense of peace. Looking around, you noticed Genevieve was not here or your dad.

“She left,” Bucky said.

You raised your eyebrows. It seemed impossible, considering Genevieve loved to be the center of the party.

“I said something that hurt her feelings,” Bucky explained.

“Really?” you asked, surprised that Bucky had confronted Genevieve.

While you were talking with your dad, Genevieve had approached Bucky. “You're really nice for bringing her, but I wonder why you didn't bring Victoria with you? Since she's your fiancée.” She emphasized the word "fiancée."

Bucky was silent momentarily before responding, “I've already talked to Jonathan, and he's okay with it.”

Genevieve sneered, “I never thought a dignified man would act like this.”

“At least I didn’t destroy someone’s marriage,” Bucky retorted calmly.

Genevieve flinched. If someone else had mentioned this, she wouldn’t have been offended. But coming from someone like Bucky, someone more affluent and influential than her, brought back memories of when everyone had pointed fingers at her. She knew she had taken someone’s place—Ophelia, the true Madam Sinclair.

She huffed and left the party. That was when she saw her husband emerging from the private room.

You chuckled. All your life, you had called Genevieve a mistress, and she never budged. Instead, she would give you a look and say, “So what?” But with Bucky, she was so offended that she left the party.

Bucky recounted the exchange, and you laughed softly. “Pfft.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. “All my life, I’ve called her a mistress, and she never flinched. But one word from you, and she’s out the door.”

Bucky grinned. “Sometimes, it just takes the right person to say it.”

💋💋💋💋💋

Because of your grand entrance, everyone at the party—Celestial Enterprises employees and investors—now knew of your existence.

You were exhausted, and Bucky kindly drove you back to your place.

To be exact, a new home.

Bucky's family moved fast. They weren't kidding when they said they had prepared a reward for saving Bucky.

You walked out of the car and entered the house. The house they gave you was different from your grandmother's house. Your previous home had only two bedrooms and one bathroom, while this new house had four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The incredible thing was that Bucky had provided your grandmother with a 24/7 caretaker and had prepared the best doctor for her surgery.

When you entered the house, your grandma was awake, her bedroom door still open. It seemed she couldn’t sleep because she was in a new place. But her caretaker had done a good job of keeping Cassandra calm and not confused.

Cassandra widened her eyes when she saw you. She opened her arms. “My dear Ophelia. You look so beautiful.”

You smiled and gave her a hug. The dress you wore was designed by your grandmother. She was so talented. In her eyes right now, you were Ophelia wearing the dress.

She noticed someone standing behind you. She giggled and whispered, “You said he’s just a friend. But what is he doing here late at night?”

You blushed at her comment.

“But honey, you can’t let this go on. We’re going to meet the Sinclairs next month.” Cassandra looked at you sadly.

You were taken aback. Did this mean your mom had a boyfriend before she met your father?

You looked at Cassandra, who was already yawning and starting to feel sleepy. You didn’t dare to wake her up and ask what she meant.

Did seeing you with Bucky trigger your grandma’s memory?

💋💋💋💋

The next day, inside the bedroom of a penthouse in an elite neighborhood, outfits were scattered on the floor.

“Uurgh,” Victoria groaned as she woke up with a headache. She saw her phone showing 12 p.m. Shit. She was late for the office.

She pushed away the hand, hugging her waist. “Get up.”

After the humiliation at the party, she called her friends and went wild at the club, bringing home her friend with benefits. He didn't look as good as Bucky, but at least this guy could eliminate her loneliness.

‘Ring.’

“What?” she answered the call with a raspy voice.

“Why didn’t you pick up your phone? Don’t you know we’re facing a crisis? Come to Valerie. Now!” Genevieve sounded panicked.

Victoria could feel the anxiety. Despite the painful headache, she left the bed and threw on the first outfit she saw.

What had caused her mother to be this scared?

She soon found out the answer when she arrived at the company.

You were inside her office, walking back and forth while looking at a sketchbook.

Victoria stormed into her office. “What are you doing in my office?”

You smirked, letting out a small chuckle. “Didn’t you hear? I own 40% of Valerie's shares. That gives me the freedom to go wherever I want.”

Victoria gasped. How? How could you, who had no money, worked as a teacher, and had a limited budget for your grandmother’s medicine, acquire so much money to buy 40% of the shares?

The alcohol from last night clouded her judgment. She should’ve known the answer. It was all because of Bucky.

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[brotherwtf]

I'm thinking about Paulina. How the casting director thought to get an actress who has similar features to Gale. I'm 100% Bucky was thinking about Gale the whole time they were having sex. Probably cried out his name when he came and Paulina just silently took it because she was also just looking for some solence and company for the night. She didn't judge him just understood him and tried to make him understand why he needs to fight the war. And then the next morning he finds a reason to, Buck got shot down just like Paulina's husband so now he understands her too

nah that whole like 20 minutes is such fucking crazy work because WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE

the cuts are just insane because they're like "who's gonna tell Egan" and then they cut to him in a bed ALONE, reaching out for someone who isn't there after he just slept with a girl who looked exactly like his best friend, asking for her to stay and she just says "I know you'll understand" when she talks about her husband who was a pilot, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE'LL UNDERSTAND MY BROTHER IN CHRIST DOES HE HAVE A PILOT HES DESPERATELY MISSING RN???

but oh man anon I think you're a genius, he saw Paulina and couldn't help but compare her to a man he could never have, drank with her and danced with her and thought it was someone else in his arms instead, someone he wishes he could kiss and touch but he's so out of reach, both physically and metaphysically, and he's so down bad desperate that he has to fuck someone who looks like him just so he can get his kicks

but I definitely love the idea of him closing his eyes, gritting his teeth and imagining it's Gale beneath him, moaning quietly and holding onto his arms and back with strong arms, lips against his ear as he fucks into him, but it's not quite enough, Paulina is soft and beautiful curves while John knows Gale is sharp lines with a perfectly toned body, tries to imagine what it would be like to hold his waist and bite his neck, but even when Paulina urges John to open his eyes and look at her all he can see is Gale, both of their faces flitting in and out of focus like he's not sure who he's sleeping with

he catches glimpses of blond hair and blue eyes and soft pink lips and all he can think of is Gale, Gale, his best friend who he had fallen stupidly in love with, and he wonders if Paulina sees someone else too, because he certainly doesn't see her

and when he comes he cries on Gale's name, "fuck... Gale..." because that's all he can think about, wishes it was him below him instead of Paulina, and then he feels so instantly horrible because he probably ruined what was supposed to be a distraction for Paulina, but she only gives him a knowing smile, kisses his cheek and calls him a sweet man, tells him she misses someone too, we all have our vices in life and Johns left thinking about what he's going to tell Gale when he gets back to base, maybe he'll finally man up and tell him how he feels before one of them inevitably goes down, and he's worked up the courage to march right up to Gale and tell him before it's too late

but what John doesn't realize is that it's already too late, "He went down swinging" and John can feel his stomach violently turn, his throat close and his eyes water because it's too late... it was too late and he'll never see Gale again, he only has the faint fantasy of taking Gale to bed with him when it was really some dame, and now he's gone and John will never be able to tell Gale how he really feels, oh man oh dear

yeah but I wanna sit the fucking casting directors down because what the fuck they said "hmmm, let's make the girl Major Egan sleeps with a carbon copy of his boy best friend that he can't seem to get off of his mind" shaking my fist in the air mota writers one day you will pay of all of my anguish

[teyamloving12]

Bbbyyyy💕💕💕👀 Neteyam fic… all imma say is Neteyam fiiicc!!! 🔥🔥🔥 God damn i almost passed out reading it, that’s how good it is

Pleaseeee write more of him, i’m even gonna beg for it ❤️

Taking what is His

Warning: NSFW content (MDNI), cheating, arranged marriage, angst, breeding kink, angry!Neteyam, etc.

Pairing: Neteyam x Omatikaya!Reader

Synopsis: You were Neteyam's first but your parents promised you to another man. Like hell Neteyam will allow that to happen.

A/n: Your wish is my command sweetheart. Have some possessive Neteyam. 500 followers special!

You were Neteyam's but that "cunt" came in your life. Your relationship flourished beautifully before he left for the Metkayina clan. Distraught took over your soul. You mate-to-be was leaving. Would he come back to You? What if he found a woman more beautiful than you could ever be? Those were the question your younger self would ask herself.

It's been 8 years ever since that day. Probably he is living happily with a woman. No! You couldn't think about him. You had a mate. You didn't like him very much, he tries to be the carbon copy of Neteyam and continuously failing after you begged him to stop. He showed you off to his friends as you were his trophy and a prize that he won. Neteyam would never.

You went to the Tree of Souls praying your Neteyam, the man you truly love, would return to you in a safe conditions. You visited the Mountains and sat at the cliff waiting. About to give up, one day you saw ikrans flew to the west, towards the village. Your eyes widen, your Neteyam was finally back. You rushed down to the village. It was true. It was him. He looked different, tattoos were found on his stomach and face also with his arms and legs.

He was a warrior here and a warrior at sea. His handsome demeanor struck you unlike when you were with Ka'wan. He was good looking but could never compared to Neteyam. The girls beside you looked at him in awe stating how he become even more handsome. You walked away from the crowd, thinking Neteyam could never love you again. Maybe he had changed. Maybe he was not the same Neteyam 8 years ago.

Neteyam went straight to her grandmother's hut. "Where is she, grandmother? I have looked everywhere!", he asked in a panic. " She is a woman now, Neteyam. Do you still expect her to live with her parents?", she asked, making him realized what was happening. " So where is she?", he asked again.

" Do you see the hut over there?", she pointed. He nodded. "You will find her there but I warn you you may not like what you will hear.", Neteyam looked confused but heeded his grandmother's words. On his way, he saw a man exiting your hunt. Who was he?

You were cleaning up your hut until you felt a presence behind you. "Tìyawn, I have returned back to You!", he said hugging you from behind. Your Neteyam was here by your side and you smiled widely. He let you. He watched as you scanned your surroundings. "Neteyam, I'm so happy you're back but you can't stay here!", you whisper-yelled. Neteyam as angry, he was finally back yet you were pushed him away.

"What is wrong, ma syulang?", he questioned. "Neteyam I don't know how to say this but you can't call you yours anymore for I'm promised to someone.", you explained. That explained the man that walked out of your hut. He was furious, he backed you up to the hut's wall. You were scared. He grabbed you by your chin forcing you to look at him.

"So after I nearly died at the Metkayina and kept you in my heart for eight fucking years, you had the nerve, the enfrontery to mate with another man!", you trembled in his hands. Tears stung your eyes as he continued to shout at you. You tried to push him off you.

"Neteyam, please!", you begged. "It was my parents! They hoped you would come back earlier but they feared I would be lonely for the rest of my life!", you yelled back, Neteyam finally calmed down, letting up of your chin. "What! I'm the son of Toruk Makto, a mighty warrior yet they had no hope for me!", he yelled before tried to calm himself. He looked at you lovingly, backing you up towards the bed.

You fell on the bed and Neteyam crawled over you. He kissed your neck and then headed for your cheek and then your lips. "You were mine then and you are still mine now.", he said with your bottom lip touched yours. You closed your eyes and smiled remembering your sweet memories when you were teenagers in love. You loved him but Ka'wan was still a person.

"Wait! We can't do this, Neteyam. Ka'wan-", you tried to explain but you silenced you with her finger. He slowly tried your top. "You're as beautiful as I remember.", you kissed from your chest to your stomach and paused at your loincloth. He looked up at you for consent which you granted. He grabbed for his loincloth and pulled it out.

"You and I are meant to be.", he said sliding himself into you. You squealed as the pleasure of the man you truly loved was inside of you. You pulled him in for a kiss. This was meant to be. "Ma'Teyam, I'm yours.", you said. He thrusted inside of you. "You're mine, my mate, the mother of all my children!", he said as he rammed into you like a mad man. He grabbed your hips allowing him to go either further.

"I gonna make you get birth to MY children, not his!", you tried to push him. "No--ahh-- I will be a shame to my family--nnmgh-- the village people will talk!", you said through your moans. "I am future olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya, no one will have a word to say of you.", you felt your cunt giving wetter by his words. "Move your hips, tìyawn! Eywa made us for each other.", he stated with each thrust touching your womb. You grabbed the soft sheet on the bed, you closed your eyes from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

You felt your pussy clench around his cock. You came inside of you. You moaned from ecstasy. You wrapped your hand around Neteyam as he fell in your chest. "You are my woman, the mother of all my children, Tsahik !", he said. "We are meant to be, Ma'Teyam.", you whispered, not caring Ka'wan was the man you were promised to.

[youunravelme]

congrats on 1k, my sweet!!!! you deserve this and so much more for your amazing talent and kindness🫶🏼

but listen… hear me out… what about a cutie little fic where mat confides in mama bear for the first time about how he feels like a shit dad because he has to leave so often because of work and has missed many little “firsts” that ella has had? maybe he brings up how ella really likes her more than him again, but now he’s not saying it in a light harded joking manner?

DANI. A WOMAN AFTER MY OWN HEART!

there were a few things you'd gathered and learned about mat over the time you'd know him. you knew how he took his coffee (black) or the fact that he has a big sweet tooth (who puts nutella on bagels anyway?).

the obvious things you'd learn was how he was an insanely good hockey player and knew it too.

you, however, weren't expecting the insecurity that was shallowly hidden among the cocky smirks and jokes. the vulnerability he only shared with you after you'd gotten together.

it'd come to a head when ella refused to be held by him on the way to the park, insisting on clinging to you. in the moment, you didn't see the way mat's face fell, the way his jaw clenched before he slapped on an unbothered face. you didn't even notice anything was wrong until ella went to bed and it was just the two of you sitting on the couch.

"does she hate me?" mat asked.

your head immediately turned to focus on him, where you say lines being drawn between his brows. there was a tension in his shoulders you ached to unwind. "what?"

"i mean, i know i joke about her loving you more, but what if that's true. what if my own flesh and blood doesn't love me? and it's my fault really, i'm never home during the season. what if i turn into an absentee dad who can't even remember what she likes or what she's allergic to? what if--"

you climbed into his lap, straddling his legs. on instinct, his hands came up to rest on your hips. from this position, you could see the worry marring his face, you wanted nothing more than to make it dissolve.

"that little girl adores you, mathew barzal. you're all she wants when you're not home."

"but she wants nothing to do with me when i am home."

"i was the same way, according to my mom," you said. "but i loved my dad, i just wanted to love him on my own terms."

mat grunted but let it go.

as much as he could at least.

days passed and he didn't bring it up again, but you were more conscientious of what you and ella did around him. but it didn't matter, ella didn't seem to give two shits that her dad was distraught, but you knew it was because she was two and mat was doing his best to hide his devastation.

it wasn't until a week after the conversation that things changed.

you heard a scream from the other room at what had to be 2am. your heart was pounding in your chest before you recognized the cries as ella's. mat's arm tightened around you before he too realized it was ella probably having a nightmare.

the screaming and crying got louder until the door to your shared bedroom opened. and there stood ella, mat's carbon copy, full on sobbing with her stuffed hippo pulled into her chest. you immediately got out of bed and walked over to her.

"it's okay, ella bean. i'm here, we're here, you're safe."

but as soon as you reached out to touch her, she shrieked and backed away. "no!" she screamed. "daddy! i need daddy!"

mat was out of bed in an instant, scooping his daughter up and shushing her cries into his bare chest. "you're okay, baby," he said. "daddy won't let anything happen to you, i promise." he pressed kisses into the side of her head while he made eye contact with you.

see? you mouthed. she loves you.

[tenaciousduckpoetry]

ii. Caught in a Web

Previous Chapter here

Warnings: angst, reader isn't a good person, gender neutral, alluding to reader being morally grey, potential love triangle

A/n: 42 Miles is in bold.

"I just need to get home-"

You rolled your eyes.

"My dad is going to die!"

"And?" Your voice was filled with venom. Miles was so desperate. You were beginning to enjoy the pleading, panicked look in his eyes when he finally realised that you could care less in the moment. You offered a small smile, yet it wasn't comforting. "It's not my problem if your fucking dad dies." Your words came out harsh. The mention of Miles' dad had you glancing towards the other Miles, your Miles. He was hard to read, but with his brows furrowed and lips turned down, head tilted up, you knew your comment affected him in one way or another. You attempted to change the subject away from his dad. "You still haven't told us why you're here, Miles."

There was another flash of panic. What would happen if he mentioned the multiverse? The fact that there were people after him, lots of people whom would probably mistake the other Miles for himself. "I already told you! Please, I'm just trying to get home!" He groaned out, growing frustrated and annoyed, "I was trying to get home, and I ended up in the wrong universe." He finally admitted.

You weren't surprised. You figured that much out already. From the moment you saw him, to the moment you punched him in the face. Why else would Miles have a doppleganger? You seemed to be lost in your thoughts for a moment when your Miles spoke up.

"You work for someone?" He rose a brow, glancing towards the spandex suit his carbon copy was wearing before looking back into his eyes.

"No- no. Yes? No. Maybe." He stumbled over his words. "Listen, a bunch of other people like me are going to come find me. So, if you don't let me go you both are going to get in the middle of it." He tried to reason.

It looked as if you weren't listening, a cloudy look in your eyes. You were studying Miles so intensely. It felt like you had known him your whole life, and while you had known him in his universe, you didn't here. The feeling was uncomfortable and unexpected, something that left you with a subtle sense of curiousity to learn more about this undiscovered version of your best friend.

"Is our- sorry, your dad.. y'know?"

You quickly looked up to Miles, seeing the hesitant look in his eyes before he nodded. "Yeah. Place has gone to shit ever since." Miles frowned. "Mamá has been picking up more shifts at the hospital too." He figured as much. Maybe Miles wasn't as bad as he originally thought?

All while chatting up a storm with the alternate version of himself and you, he was working on the ties that held him to the punching back. He had gotten them loose enough to tug now. All Miles wanted was to get out of the restricting ropes that were now burning his wrists.

Your eyes ran from his face down to his arms. You then turned to your friend. "We could untie him.." you whispered, "What's he going to do anyway? He doesn't have a phone or a watch.. he can't contact anyone. Maybe he can help?"

You watched as his eyes widened. You were right. He couldn't contact anyone, and even if he wanted to fight his right shoulder was pretty banged up from his chase with Miguel. He heard the sigh that slipped past his doppelgangers frown and the quiet curse that followed.

They're going to let me go! The thought left as quickly as it came.

"Fuck. Okay."

You smiled.

"We're not letting you go. You're going to help us first, then we'll talk about freedom."

You knew he would agree with you, one way or another at the least. You moved around to where Miles was bound to the ever swaying punching bag. "You try anything and I'll hunt you down for sport, yeah?" Your words sounded so sincere, so Miles just agreed. He didn't want that to happen. Your hands brushed against his, inspecting the rope burn before you began to tug the loosened chords free.

Miles hissed as he fell to the floor, body glitching in a horrid fashion. Flashes of green, blue and red protruded from his body as he clutched his stomach. His mind flashed back to the moment of his first mission in Alchemex with Peter.

'Your cells are deteriorating as we speak. That must be so painful.'

Your brows raised and you almost felt pitiful. "You really aren't from here are you?" It was rhetorical. Your arm looped under his. You were quite strong, stronger than he expected as you helped pull himself up from the floor. There was a sudden urge to help him but you weren't entirely sure why. You chalked it up to the fact that he looked like your friend.

"What was that?" Miles spoke up. He looked at you and you almost went to open your mouth and answer until Miles beat you to it. "My atoms are deteriorating.." He sounded out of breath. Out of instincts you brought him over to the couch, helping him sit. For someone who had threatened to kill him just minutes earlier, you were being quite caring now.

Now being on the couch, Miles was able to finally take in his surroundings. Those speakers.. the purple couch, the red punching bag. This was his tio's place. "He's alive.." he muttered under his breath, eyes shutting for a moment to hold back any unshed tears that threatened to spill.

You and Miles squinted at him. Miles went to speak before there was a sudden knock at the door.

"I got it." You spoke quietly, nodding towards Miles who gave a small nod back. You walks towards the door as quietly as possible. You looked through the peep hole and your eyes widened. You turned back to Miles, shaking your head quickly.

"I know someone's in there!" The voice bellowed. That wasn't uncle Aaron's voice, Miles wasn't sure what to think anymore.

You moved back to Miles, watching as the other Miles stood up. You pulled your mask back over your face, watching as the two boys followed in suit.

"You take Miles. I'll take care of this." The prowler spoke, voice changed slightly deeper now that the mask was on.

"No- no. I'm not leaving you here. Something could happen-" Your sadistic tone from before turned into one of concern. So you really did care for him.. Miles smiled slightly, lost in his own thoughts until a bang came from the door. He jumped slightly. Why were his spider senses not helping?

"I'm not taking no for an answer. You need to watch Miles, make sure he doesn't try leaving just yet." He huffed out.

You went to object again, only to stop yourself halfway. You nodded. "Okay.. Be safe. Meet at the spot when you're done." You hummed.

You then turned towards Miles, your look sour again. You had practically began to drag him to the window. Shoving him onto the fire escape. He was shocked by your strength once again, however wasn't surprised at how pushy you were.

"You ready to fly?"

[clerkwithamouth]

In regards to that one OOC moment in Blood of Zeus between Persephone and Ares, I'm going to give benefit of the doubt to the writers for what they had Ares do, only because it seems that despite everyone's physical designs in that scene being exactly the same as current timeline, Ares still seemed young and entitled back then. Guy just wreaks of "Do you know who my father is?" energy. Perhaps there will be a storyline in season three that shows him develop and gain respect for women as he began his relationship with Aphrodite. Yes I'm very much aware of how their union came to be but the writers did such a great job with Hades and Persephone, despite my aneurysm inducing eye roll at the end on season one when it seemed like Hades was going to be just another Hollywood Satan carbon copy. That wasn't the case and I don't think that will be with Ares in the coming seasons. I could be dead wrong but again, benefit of the doubt.

[idabbleincrazy]

Since I finally worked thru the block I was having on Ageless:

The elder Kent sighed a heavy breath and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin before turning in his seat to face Lex more fully. A glimmer of what Lex could only read as shame rippled over Jonathan's sun-weathered features, and Lex felt confusion and a hint of worry tremble through from Clark.

"Look, Lu-Lex. It may have dawned on me that I've been neglecting to keep my end of an agreement." Lex set his fork down to give Jonathan his full attention, an eyebrow quirking in bemusement. "It may have only been a verbal request, but we shook on it nonetheless, and that's as good as any contract typed up on paper out here. When you came back from that disaster of a honeymoon, you had barely even recovered from the whole ordeal, and yet, one of the first things you did was gift us back our land. I know I agreed with only a minor hesitation when you claimed all you wanted in return was for us to treat you like family; I just, well, I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You may have done some questionable stunts over the past two years, but even with this debt between us, you never once tried to wheedle us into anything. I was wrong, Lex, to keep thinking you were just a carbon copy of Lionel. This dinner is long overdue, and I can't help but think that if I'd kept my end of the bargain, maybe some of the recent troubles between you and Clark, some of the less-than-ideal choices you made, could've been avoided. I may be set in my ways in a lot of things, but I know when to admit to my mistakes, and…I'm sorry, son, for holding the Luthor name against you before even giving you the chance to show us who you are. I'd forgotten how very young twenty-one truly is, and immediately treated you only as the full-grown adult you tried to show to the world. And, in the spirit of making amends and keeping the promise I made when I shook your hand, there's a standing invitation for you to join us for dinner whenever you'd like."

"And, consider yourself unavailable for any non-LuthorCorp related holiday parties your father may ask you to attend in his stead", Martha tacked on as Lex absorbed Jonathan's speech. She flashed him a pointed look when he turned her way. "Welcome to the family, Lex."

Lex sat there, stunned, as he let the wave of emotions sweep through him, fighting back the slight sting of unexpected tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Son. Jonathan had called him son. All the moments of familial love he'd witnessed between these three and felt a pang of envy and longing. All the time he'd spent wondering how much more enjoyable his life would be if he'd had a family like the Kents instead of Lionel's twisted ideas of love and care. He felt a rush of happiness and warmth flow through him as Clark's face broke into a beaming smile, the teenager's feelings so powerful they bolstered his own. He'd spent four years striving and longing for acceptance and approval from the family circled around him, and now, he apparently had it. He couldn not let this fall apart.

@leatafandom

[carbonfcrged]

Altered Carbon: Download Blues memes.

"A friend of a friend recommended you. A businessman. Needlecast level."

"And don't go far. We may need to talk to you again."

"Can't really blame them. It fits well enough with what they think they know about me."

"Did you hear what I said, asshole? This is private property!"

"Do I know you? Or should I formally introduce you to my capable friends?"

"Does that make me shallow? Psychologically unevolved? I've been called worse."

"Environmentally triggered intuition off the charts and task-based responses at jacked up never-impulse speed."

"Gigs like this -- it's all about appearances."

"Home. It's a place you go back to. A canister you put the flesh in when it needs to rest. Somewhere you can disappear. After a fashion, anyway."

"I don't need my envoy intuition to pick up on the atmosphere when we hit police central plaza."

"Mamba Lev, One Hand Rending, the Icepick. All those pretty names."

"Mood I'm in, chemicals are going to play better."

"No shock, no jitters, no second guessing or alienation. Just functionality beyond anything humans had ever dreamed."

"No, K - and CS not CH at the end. People always get that wrong."

"Not quite as easy as tracking a wounded swamp panther through ankle deep mud in broad daylight .. but near enough."

"On me, it's stamped through what's left of my soul. It's what I am."

"Piss off, one-shot, and don't come back."

"Quit the envoys. Walk away. But you'll never really stop being one."

"sleeving tech didn't change any of that. It didn't set us free. It just supercharged every worst aspect of the same old game."

"So it's chemicals or sleep, take your pick."

"So yeah -- the thing about envoys is -- we don't do surprised."

"The envoy corps took disciplines known in eastern cultures for thousands of years, distilled them down, came up with the conditioning jackpot."

"There some part of 'shut the fuck up' you don't understand, asshole?"

"They're sleeves. Perfect copies, running tailored AI. They're programmed to our client's needs, but they think independently. To all intents and purposes, they are living things."

"This asshole's sleeve is going to give him some of the same instinctive tricks but on him, it's skin deep."

"What else she finds out is going to depend on her levels of access - but whatever she gets ought to make her curious."

"You realize I just handed myself in, right?"

"Your client can be assured any experience he has will be 100% secure and feel 100% real."

[uncanny-tranny]

It's always tempting to debate bigots about their bigotry, but honestly the best thing you can do is often to directly help those affected by said bigotry.

Bigotry doesn't exist to be debated. People who are bigots do not care about debate - they care about humiliating their opponents. You cannot outsmart somebody who doesn't give a flying fuck about their position being incorrect. You will be playing a completely different game by trying to debate somebody out of their bigotry.

The best thing you can do is to show up for the marginalized. Check in on them, talk to them, and engage with them as people. Ask them if they would like help and then respect their answer to the best of your capabilities. Oftentimes, that will be sufficient enough and will go a long way.

[hulijingemperor2]

A-qing arrives at the Jing Manor compound.

A-qing: hey dude, where's your Dianxia?

In his personal residence. And Huangdi is busy.

A-qing: Emps is busy. Shit!

You know I can't go through the palace without emps' approval!! Where's xue yang!

In town. Miss Qing I think you should wait in line or something. Until Huangdi or Dianxia is free.

A-qing: why the hell?!

Do I look like I have time to wait! I hitchhiked here so that I could surprise Dianxia.

Please try to cooperate.

Jingyi: what's up?

Greetings er Dianxia. *walks away*

A-qing: er Dianxia? Who's er Dianxia? There's only one Dianxia.

Jingyi: I'm his adopted younger brother.

A-qing: since when?!

Jingyi: liiikkkeee.....a few months ago.

A-qing: you look like an imposter.

Jingyi: and you look like you just rolled our of bed.

A-qing: excuse me?!!

Jingyi: why are you untidy?! And who do you want to meet?

A-qing: oh come on, you look more sloppy than me. I came to meet rich gege!

Jingyi: who the heck is Rich gege

A-qing: have respect for him.

Jingyi: you have respect got him!

You can't be going around calling him rich gege.

A-qing: dude you don't know who I'm talking about.

Jingyi: then tell me.

A-qing: Rusong! As in Rusong Dianxia. And my name is A-qing.

Jingyi: huh? Wait wait?? That girl that ouyang Zizhen described.

Well you are pretty as he said. But you don't have a good fashion sense.

A-qing: and what do you know about fashion?

Jingyi: Hanguang Jun is always neat and I just believe that everyone is wrong in front of him.

A-qing: the world doesn't revolve around your dear Hanguang Jun ok. And how did Emps adopt you. You bullied team dimple once, right?

Jingyi: you're not allowed to interrogate a prince!!!

Aqing: ok Mr. Prince privileges. Do you remember this?

"xue yang should die", "Su minshan is a sticky copycat carbon copy of Lan zhan" and "mo xuanyu is a madman?"

Jingyi: I....I got to do something....I left something unattended. *runs*

A-qing: rude guy.

Rusong: A-qing!! *smiling*

A-Qing: *runs in Rusong's arms* Rusong, Rusong!! My love!

Rusong: *hugs* Xiao Qing! How are you?!

A-Qing: I missed you. Rich gege, I hope you didn't see other girls.

Rusong: don't worry, A-qing. I haven't. *caresses her face*

A-qing: and see, I kept your comb.

But I carried it in a jewel box because I was afraid that I would get robbed by hooligans.

Rusong: mn. Good choice.

Now since you're here, I'll put it in your hair.

A-qing: *blushing*

Rusong: Qingqing, I have some great news!!

My A-niang is back!!

We'll meet her after we meet Nainai.

A-qing: *nervous* what?

Rusong: relax. I'll be there with you.

And A-niang is nice, A-qing.

A-qing: ok, Rusong!

Now we're going to meet your Nainai.

Rusong: yep.

A-qing:  A-qing: Jiggy's mom. I remember her!

Isn't she like a goddess?

Rusong: among hulijings, yes.

A-qing: I don't think she might like me.

Rusong: *laughing* but you met her already. When I came to meet you in yi city.

She's the same Nainai, A-qing.

A-qing: ohh, she's just like Jiggy.

Rusong: yup.

A-qing: well ok then!!

Rusong: also I got a brother now.

A-qing: awwww, team dimple finally did mpreg!! Which one of team dimple? Was it Minshan?

Rusong: nooo. You just saw him there!

He's my friend who A-Die had adopted.

A-qing: that rude guy?!! And he doesn't look like a supermodel like you.

Misusing his Wangzi privileges!

Was he rich?

Rusong: no. Well now he is.

But don't worry, he's really chill and witty when you get to know him better.

And I must say, he is a supermodel, even before joining the fam.

A-qing: Jiggy is such a family guy.

Rusong: indeed.

Jingyi: *confronting them* Rusong, I'm planning a party with the hulijings--

That chick!! Rusong, *wink* who's the chick?

A-qing: you!!!

Jingyi: you?!!!

Both: from Just now!!

Rusong: A-Yi, this is my girlfriend, A-qing.

Jingyi: who's the sister--in-law?

Rusong: she's from Yi city.

Jingyi: ohhh. That ghost town!

A-qing: hey! Yi city isn't a ghost town! Xue yang and Jiggy gad developed it.

Jingyi: it is! And it's Yao Huangdi.

A-qing: did you even visit.

Jingyi: duhh with some of my cultivator friends. The place is abandoned and Misty. I don't like the ambiance.

A-qing: you're really rude. Rusong he's being rude again!

Jingyi: I'm not!

Rusong: Jingyi, what party are you talking about?

Jingyi: I think we should have a bash with some hulijings and Kitsunes. To ease the stress.

Rusong: sounds lovely!

A-qing: you know I'm so there!

Rusong: of course, A-qing.

I'll buy some clothes for you later, so you may look the best.

A-qing: thank you rich gege.

Rusong: *opens fan* A-qing. Let's go meet Nainai. I really want you two to meet.

A-qing: yea. Let's go!

Rusong: I'll help you with the planning later, Jingyi.

Jingyi: yea dude.

Jingyi: this Rusong is a chick magnet for sure.

.......

On the other side~~

Rusong: *fanning himself, while walking in with A-qing*

A-Qing: *whispering* rich gege, can I call her Miss Jiggy? Since we're in the palace.

Rusong: heehee, she'll love that. But let's be formal first.

A-Qing: mn. Ok! By the way, she's very pretty. Like a female Jiggy.

Rusong: awww yes. Tell her that. She loves compliments.

Rusong: Nainai!

A-Qing: what's so formal about that!

Rusong: it's because she's my Nainai.

A-Qing: oh Rusong.

greetings Meng taihou. Remember me?

Meng Shi: aww, of course I remember my lovely pair!

Xue Chengmei's daughter from Yi city. Him and A-Yao told me more about you.

A-Qing: this xue yang could never keep his mouth shut. Anyways, you're the most beautiful hulijing, Miss Meng.

Meng Shi: thank you thank you. And yes, you can call me miss Jiggy.

A-Qing: yay!!

You know, I was really nervous to greet you when you came with Rusong.

Meng Shi: haha, don't be.

Rusong: how are you, Nainai?

And how's your health?

Meng Shi: everything is fine, My darling Dianxia baby.

But you know, if I wasn't the goddess of Hulijings, then that would be a different situation, heehee..

Rusong: ahahahaha. Good to hear Nainai.

Meng Shi: Xiao Qing. Are you officially my Song'er's girlfriend?

A-Qing: yes Miss Meng.

Meng Shi: how lovely.

You're so cute. Come, I have a gift for you.

A-Qing: *sits*

Meng Shi: *hands her a box* these are a pair of my golden earrings. They're yours now.

A-Qing: *opens* wow, it's beautiful. I...I don't deserve it!

Meng Shi: you do. And you make A-Song so happy.

Xiao Qing, don't be shy to come talk to me. We'll chat and laugh over tea ok.

A-Qing: thank you so much, Miss Jiggy.

Meng Shi: make sure to wear them ok. I'll love to see.

A-Qing: sure! And I won't pawn it. I don't pawn things again.

Meng Shi: what?! *laughing*

A-Qing: I wanted to be the richest person in the Jianghu. So I pawned a few gifts from Rusong. I'm sorry! I know it was a mistake!

Meng Shi: oh my.

But at least you have changed.

A-Qing: yea. I didn't know that this rich gege had a crush on me. I wouldn't have taken his love for granted.

Meng Shi: ah, everyone makes mistakes.

And you two are young. You'll mature together.

A-Qing: right!!

Rusong: definitely Nainai. May we take your leave?

Meng shi: *smile* sure.

A-Qing: so Jiggy got the dimples from you? Wowwww.

Meng Shi: mhm. Can guangshan ever have something as cute as a dimple.

Yao'er has my genes.

A-Qing: and it got passed on to Rusong. Not that I'm mad. Rusong is hot.

Rusong: *covering his laughter with his fan*

Meng Shi: hahaha, indeed.

A-Qing: see you soon Miss Meng!! Nice talking to you!!

Meng Shi: A-Qing, you can also call me Nainai. I would love that.

A-Qing: ahhh, ok.

.

Meng Shi: *amused*

Sisi: *pouring tea for Meng Shi*

Meng Shi: I have such an adorable family, A-Si.

Yao'er is Huangdi as well as Xuan'er. Also my Yao'er has his beautiful empress and his harem. Rusong is Taizi Dianxia, and Jingyi is also our pride. Rusong now has a girlfriend.

I'm just happy.

Sisi: because you're the Meng backbone. That's why.

Meng Shi: *sips tea* I can finally be at ease, seeing my Yao'er's position.

Sisi: he went a long way. And honoured you at the end.

Meng Shi: mn.

~~~

Afterwards......

Yao: *reading while Qin Su gave him a shoulder massage.*

Wen Qing: guys, congrats on your wedding.

Yao: thank you.

Qin Su: and glad you were there. It made it more special.

Wen qing: aw.

Rusong: A-Die! Guess who's here.

Yao: *looks up and smiles*

A-Qing: heyy Emps!!!

Yao: A-Qing! I missed you.

Mo xuanyu: and so did we. How's it been?

A-Qing: everything's ok guys. And I missed Rusong.

Yao: aww.

Xue yang: little simp is back.

A-Qing: yes, big simp.

Do you have a problem?!

Mo xuanyu: isn't she fab!

Xue yang: a little bit bossy too.

Su she: welcome back A-Qing.

A-Qing: thank you very much team dimple, and xue yang.

Xue yang: aren't I a part of team dimple too?!

A-Qing: yea but you're a pest.

Yao: Qin gui fei, this is our Song'er's girlfriend.

Qin Su: aw, how lovely.

A-Qing: QIN GUI FEI?!! JIGGY YOU GOT A WIFE!!

Yao: yes. We remarried recently.

A-Qing: well obviously any person would indeed fall in love with you. You're smoking hot.

Is team dimple jealous of her???

Yao: doesn't seem so, which is surprising.

Su she: we don't bully women. And I respect Huangdi's decision. She's also Song'er's biological mom.

Xue yang: yea we only bully Lan lips.

Mo xuanyu: is calling her the other woman count?

A-Qing: hilarious!!!

Nice to meet you, Qin Huanghou. *bow*

Qin su: pleasure to meet you too.

You're the one who stole Song'er's heart?

A-qing: yes! *blushing*

Qin Su: delightful. I'm so happy for Song'er.

A-qing: you speak so proper. Are you an angel?

Su she: (I wonder the same....she's just like Huangdi)

Qin Su: *laughing* no dear.

And I will drill you in the future

A-qing: uhh!!

Qin Su: don't worry.

I must see if you're perfect for A-Song.

A-qing: Ok, Huanghou

Hey, Wen Qing, you're here too!

Xue yang used to work with you and he  had a crush on you?!

Xue yang: ssshhhh

Wen qing: *narrows eyes*

Xue yang: well since my secret is out.

Qingging, I still have a crush on you.

A-qing: you crazy simp!!!

Xue yang: that's why I called you Qing. After Wen qing. So you shouldn't tease me.

Wen qing: do you hear yourself, xue yang! And why do you think that I'll go out with a gremlin like you!

Xue yang: because I'm hot and you are too.

I like you and Jiggy. You two are sexy.

And when I mean sexy. I mean I want to make out with both of you at the same time.

Wen qing: behave yourself.

Qin Su: excuse me?

A-Qing: xue yang! You adopted me. I came with my name!

Xue yang: what part of "I gave birth to you" you don't understand?!

Have you been listening to Songlan again? Don't listen to a fierce corpse! They're zombies!

Sorry Spicy Qingqing, your brother is a strong and wonderful fierce corpse.

Wen qing: and may I ask who's the lucky person you got intimite with?

Xue yang: some woman I thought was xingchen.

Wen qing: HOW?! Now how did you make that mistake!!

Xue yang: I accidentally got blinding powder in my eyes, and was hella drunk. Then this woman came and said I was hot.

Well I know I'm hot, and she was smelling like xingchen!

Yet I wondered why did xingchen lose weight and got boobs. Maybe it was an experiment gone wrong.

Then bam! I was pregnant!

Yao: *cracking up*

Xue yang: Sadly the She-ingchen died or something.

Wen qing: now how did you get pregnant instead?

Xue yang: same way as Zixuan did.

Wen qing: sometimes I feel sorry for A-Yao. To hear you talking nonsense.

Xue yang: that's not nonsense! Those are my adventures!!

Have respect!

Yao: Chengmei, you're a classic! *laughing*

Mo xuanyu: xue yang definitely went through stuff. And xingchen was so nice to accept A-Qing as his own.

Su she: xiao xingchen is really ideal.

A-Qing: yea, and that's how I popped out of him.

Wen qing: then why are you simping for the emperor?

Xue yang: like look at Jiggy. He's omg! A supermodel.

He's too sexy to be left alone.

And Jiggy with his hulijing tail, ears, fangs and claws out, and those eyes! Oh goodness!

Wen qing: I know right.

Su she: *blushing*

Mo xuanyu: Yao gege is really hot.

Yao: they're not claws. They're just long sharp nails.

Sometimes I have my attendants sharpen them with razor guqin strings,

Xue yang: Gosh I love him.

I just want to stick my--

Mo xuanyu: Song'er is in the room, yangyang!!!

Xue yang; my tongue in his dimple.

Mo xuanyu: *rolls eyes*

A-Qing: is Rusong hot as a full hulijing too?

Rusong: hotness runs in the family.

A-Qing: I want to be railed by a hulijing too!!!! That would be life-changing!

Emps, don't get upset if I make out with your supermodel son ok. He's too sexy and I can't help it.

Rusong: *shocked*

Qin Su: your child seem a lot like you, xue yang.

Rusong: *laughing* Right! A-qing is very mischievous like you, uncle muffin.

A-Qing: Rusong!!!! Miss Qin!! Don't compare me to that!!

Xue yang: A-Qing! I gave you life!!!

Accept the reality!!!!

A-Qing: *rolls eyes*

Rusong: A-Die, I took her to meet Nainai. And she loves her!

Yao: oh that's great.

Yes A-niang is very friendly.

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Eleven - The Dar'Aliit (full ver.)

Since I forgot to post all of these Friday, two full chapters versions in one day! Sneak peak coming later tonight. 💕

20 BBY Coruscant, Lower Level

Zenden's Droid Den, Scrapyard and Spares. Catchy name, if not a little lengthy. Zenden himself is a hulking spacer, half human and I think possibly half Zabarack. No horns, but his shaven head is a reddish tan. He's muscled thick, dressed in a modest flight suit and waits for us outside the humble shop.

Us meaning me. The rest of my escort as General Nidor so tactfully referred to them, is lost somewhere in traffic. I haven't bought myself much time, but it's enough to prove I don't need dead weight.

I enter the shop alone. We were given clear instructions to blend in, but I can tell by the pointed look Zenden himself is giving me, nothing about my face is blending in. I'm a clone plain and simple. Not many people have seen us without helmets, but that doesn't mean they don't know what lies underneath. Carbon copies, one after another.

The plainclothes doesn't hide anything about my identity.

"Here about a droid?" Zenden lumbers forward. "Got your request."

"Yes," I cross my arms over my chest. "Is it here?"

"Well I've got a lot of that model, but your request said something with...grey markings?"

I nod.

Zenden side eyes me as he walks toward the crate I assume holds the captive droid. Why do we rely on those things anyway? It's an R3 model according to intel. I know the information it holds is important, but droids are easy to lose, and easy to destroy. The Republic would be better off without them trundling all over the place getting into trouble like this.

"Say, what's a republic clone want with an R3 droid with such specific markings? He special or something?"

"Need a replacement," I say bluntly. "Wanted something that looked familiar."

Zenden laughs. "That so?" He mulls it over, his hands lingering at his sides. Finally he squats down and opens up the crate. I half expected to see a bomb, maybe an IG-88 coiled up inside, or worse a BX.

It's just a grey painted droid. R3, exactly like the model. In fact it is the droid I'm looking for.

Zenden turns and there's the faintest click of a safety coming off. I look up into the business end of a holdout blaster.

"I know when I'm looking at something suspicious," Zenden says, his brow furrowed dangerously over his keen eyes. "And you're mighty suspicious, clone."

I stare cooly at the blaster. "I came to buy a droid. What's wrong with that?"

"A man wanting a replacement droid doesn't care what it looks like, you can paint 'em any color. Something tells me this droid is worth more than scrap. So why him?"

I can feel the eyes on the back of my neck. The commlink in my ear pings. They've caught up.

"Good in there, Kian?"

I look up at Zenden. "Fine," I say. I hope my tone warns them off. Zendin lifts a brow, though, expecting me to continue.

He's not the only one armed. The commlink pings again.

"We're parked just outside. We have the place surrounded and we can move in at any time."

I put my hand to the back of my hip and hope they can see it. I do not need help.

"Fine what?" Zenden snaps. "Cough up some answers or I'll put a bolt in your head right here, right now!"

He means it. Empty threats are usually easy to tell. The shaking in the hands, the sweat on the brow. This man has none of them. He will kill me, and he won't feel remorse over it.

So I won't either. My hand snaps up. My holdout recoils. Laser singes skin and Zenden shrieks as the bolt shaves his ear. He fires on instinct and I duck sideways to avoid being shot in the head.

"Kriffing clone!" He fires off a few more shots. I drop my holdout and charge him. As we collide, I wrap my arms around his middle. My momentum is enough to topple the monster and we slam into the ground. Laser bolts ping off the ceiling. I can't let him fire wild or he'll hurt someone.

I straddle Zenden and grab his arm, trapping it against my chest as we wrestle for his blaster. He roars and hauls me over onto my side. The blaster fires wild into the back of the shop.

Boots clamor across the floor. "Get the droid, we've got him!"

I don't need your help!

Zenden writhes. My leg is trapped under him, my holdout is somewhere on the floor and Zenden outclasses me in strength, but some lowlife smuggler can't have years of military training.

"I can't get a clear shot!"

"Get out of the way!"

I ignore the cries for me to extricate myself and I slam the backend of my elbow into Zenden's nose. He recoils, roaring, and blood spurts from his nostril. I disarm him quickly while he's stunned and stick the blaster under his chin.

Zenden's dazed eyes blink open wide and meet mine. I see him shiver in fear.

"I'll be taking that droid," I mutter. Slowly, I stand up. Zenden pants on the floor with blood running down his face. I look over and Headshot's already kneeling by the droid. He gives me a thumbs up. I try not to snarl at him.

Instead, I kneel, holdout pinning Zenden all the while, and not to Headshot to the droid on. He flips the switch and the R3 flickers to life with a disgruntled beep and a spin of its dome.

Looking back, the other two wait. They're not happy. I don't really care, they're alive. And they can handle a droid. "Take him back to the General," I mutter and stand back up. Turning to Zenden, I lower the holdout to my side.

Headshot ushers the R3 out. I don't like ordering them around. I don't enjoy their presence, but this will keep everyone safe.

Zenden chances sitting up. "Should've known you were no good," he spits blood and saliva on the floor before rubbing at his bleeding nose. I drop the holdout and kick it back to him. Then I take out the credits for the droid and drop them on the floor.

"We're done here." I turn around. My own holdout waits a few feet away. I retrieve it off the scuffed floor as the other troopers vanish back to their speeder with the droid safely back in their custody.

"I won't forget you!" Zenden calls out. "Good for nothing republic scum."

Pausing, I stare out at the crowds. I am just that. Republic scum. Better Republic scum than some brainwashed droid. I should just leave the insult and go, but my fully functional Republic scum senses are telling me this guy will be a problem if I leave him here.

Zenden is halfway up when I turn. He groans and straightens up. I flick the safety off my holdout and train it on him. He's got nothing to defend himself with except that hulking body of his. I should take the shot.

But I wait. I wait to see his yellowed eyes lock onto the fact he's on the wrong end of the blaster now. I wait to see him realize what people like him, brainless drones, have done to people like me. I wait until his eyes widen, just that inch, and fill up with fear.

Then, I pull the trigger.

#

"You shot him?"

I stiffen up under the spittle off the General's lips. His yellow eyes narrow close to my face. The other three are beside me.

"Yessir. He resisted."

General Nidor has the whole room at a stiff attention as I'm berated for my actions. The only creature not concerned by the display is the newly recovered R3 unit sitting in the corner waiting to be scanned.

"Resisted." The general's lips curl. I can see all his glimmering predatory teeth, sharp to a point. Perfect for tearing into unobedient troops.

I nod simply.

The general backhands across my face. The room goes quieter than a morgue. I can feel the stares of Headshot, and the other two troopers along with every other officer in the room.

"Disobey me again," Nidor hisses, "and see where it gets you. Civillians are not droids, trooper. That goes for all of you!" He snaps at the other three. I fight the urge to let my lip curl.

Civilian. The word grates on my nerves. That man was no civilian. Zenden was a threat. I know, I'm trained to find them. I'm trained to be��one. And no matter what I did, those three aren't to blame for it.

My face stings, the pain keeping me from making another rash decision as I blink a few times and center myself. I manage at least to hiss a low, "Yessir."

"Dismissed." Nidor spits in my face.

I about face. Three shadows follow as I leave. My heart pumps. So much for the Jedi being peacekeepers. They might shy from war, but they certainly won't shy from violence. They're the scum. I'm just doing my job.

I blow past the guards outside. Steps pound behind me, running catch up. "Kian," Headshot calls out. He's not alone. Two other pairs of boots approach me.

A hand grabs my shoulder and I stop dead in my tracks. I turn to face–I don't know his name. The trooper with the scars. It takes a moment to realize I'm seething in his face, my shoulders heaving.

"Don't let him get under your skin."

"Raf, just leave him alone," pipes up the last trooper.

Raf, however, stares me dead in the eyes. I don't know if he's trying to make me feel better, or if that's just what he does. I cut my gaze away and jerk out of his grasp.

"Leave me alone," I mutter. "All of you."

Raf crosses his arms over his chest. "You're just like us, Kian. We're all leftovers. The Dar'Aliit. And we've all been where you are."

I don't care.

We're clones. Of course we're all the same. I know I'm not the only person without a squad. I'm not the only survivor. War is all about death. If you don't get shot, the man next to you will. But I didn't ask for a bunch of replacements.

"Leave him alone," pipes up the fourth unnamed trooper. "Raf, he's not in the mood."

"I told you, antisocial," Headshot mutters.

I ought to slug him. I keep walking instead and make a beeline for the barracks. In the hollow of my ear, my comm crackles. Kriff, I forgot I had that thing in there.

"Well, wasn't that fun," someone sighs.

I should turn off the comm. I slam the door behind myself and lean back against it instead.

"He'll come around."

"Not everyone is as level headed as you, Raf."

"I really don't know why the General stuck us together, he could've assigned us anywhere."

I look down. I know why. Because the General is a liar. And the Jedi all have this inflated sense they can fix anything. Guess that extends to broken little toy soldiers too.

"I told you why," Raf's voice cuts in. "Because we're the Dar'Aliit of the group."

Headshot pipes up. "That some fancy words for misfits?"

"No."

Raf doesn't strike me as a reg trooper. I've heard something like that term before, but it was always in a whisper on Kamino. Something people said about those guys you'd see in the halls who weren't clones, but looked deadlier than them. The Cuy Val'Dar they were called. Mandalorians. They trained only the elite.

"It means we don't have a family, or a squad anymore," Raf says.

Someone huffs. "We've got this squad. We've got each other and we've got our decee's, that's all we do need."

"General Nidor's squad of survivors then," Headshot says. "The Dar'Aliit squad."

I break from listening and shake my head. I don't care. I wouldn't be here if it had just been me on that ship. If I hadn't sent Aftermath. These guys might be survivors, but at least they didn't get their only squadmate killed.

Snatching out the comm, I toss it on the floor and crush it under my boot. I stalk to my bed and grab the helmet tucked underneath–Aftermath's. Helmet in hand, I stalk back out.

A few troopers tried to get me to accompany them to a local bar two weeks back. I told them no, but I know where it is. There at least my face means I'll blend into a crowd. There I can be alone.

And two blocks down, right around the corner from the uniforms offices there it is, a haven of drunken solitude. The blinking sign is decrepit at best, the image of a dancing Twi'lek woman dressed in well...nothing, clinging to the letters "Bar".

It'll do.

I shove in the door and find myself in what could accurately be called the backside of the universe, and trust me, it has plenty of competition for that. Waitresses in skimpy clothing wander around bringing drinks to the dull eyed of Coruscant's underbelly. I avoid any familiar gazes and slip to the bar.

A brown eyed Zeltron woman with deep red skin looks me up and down. I set Aftermath's helmet on the bar. She likely assumes it's mine by the way she's eyeing it with...the kindest term would be, respect.

"What can I get for ya?" her drawl sounds fake, but I imagine someone out there finds it cute. She leans a little too far over the bar. Not that she's not well endowed.

"Beer," I mutter, distracted, and it's not until she leaves that I can really think clearly again. I put my hand to my cheek. What stings is the resentment leftover from the literal slap in my face.

I thought General Nidor would be different maybe. He seemed like a real commander, a man with a solid head on his shoulders. Certainly not another Krell. But Jedi only come in one breed it seems.

"One beer, on the house." The Zeltron is back, as is her allure. She slides the beer in front of me and I grip the glass with the desperation of a man holding onto his senses. No wonder they all come here. She's intoxicating. Even General Nidor wouldn't last against her wiles.

I watch as the waitress moves off, her fine boned hips swaying to the sound of the quiet low beat of cantina music. I sip on the beer absentmindedly. She vanishes into the crowd. I finish a couple swigs, and knock the glass against Aftermath's helmet in a silent toast. To not caring. To being alone. To surviving another day.

#

13 BBY Naboo Resort

I should know full well better than to get drunk on technical missions. There's the whole thing of being a Commander and setting a good example. Do I care? Less each day. It's not entirely my fault anyway. We're on shore leave, sort of.

I roll over, blinking my eyes. I need a shower or I'm going to be hungover all day.

Something moves under the covers. I turn to my right and catch the faintest glimpse of loose black hair sprawled over blue shoulders and it takes every ounce of composure not to panic.

The hell is Myren doing in my room?

She's still asleep, thankfully. I glance at my bare chest and a chill runs down my spine. As quietly as possible, and as normally as possible, I slip out of bed. I don't know what happened last night. I actually don't recall anything after we got to the bar, which is usually a sign of good drinking.

I glance back. Myren's still out. I take my chance and slip into the shower to clear my head. Cold water does a lot for a hangover, and for shock. By the time I'm out and dried off, I'm halfway sure I'm just still a bit drunk.

But she's still there when I get back. I'm going to have to act natural. Not that–okay, Myren's gorgeous. I've known her for a while now because she's our intel officer. It's not that I'm blind. It's just that we work together. We're professionals.

And her clothes are definitely on my floor.

I'm not going to wake her up. I cannot let anyone on the squad know anything, so I slip to the door and leave, as casually as a man finding a woman in his bedroom can. Dross is sitting outside. My hangover is returning slowly. I can see the leftover weariness in the eyes of those lingering around.

"Morning, Commander," Dross says without really looking up.

I sit down, not too close, and lean back. "So," I look around. "Everyone okay?"

"Yessir. Kanor took Esho and they're doing laps. Clearing their heads, Kanor says."

I nod. I look down at my shoulder.

I don't remember getting a tattoo. There's one clearly emblazoned there, though. A wampa skull. I look at Dross. "What did we...do last night?"

"Well, we got drunk," Dross flips to another record. "We all got tattoos except Zur, and well," Dross cuts off there. I nod.

"Right then, well–" movement catches my eye and for the briefest moment I can see Myren sneaking out. Dross doesn't even look up.

My chest tightens unconsciously and I lean back to compensate for the nerves. "We have a party today, right?" I look at Dross. "Imperial something or other?"

"Yessir. The Gala will be held downstairs in a few hours. Is there anything you'd like to do before that?" Dross looks up, his stiff face always the perfect image of regulation. "I would advise no further drinking."

"I'll stay here," I say. "We've only got a few hours."

Zur emerges, yawning. I lean back. There's no sign of Myren anymore, so I assume she made it back to her room safely. I exhale under my breath.

I really need to stop getting drunk on missions.

#

The suit is tight and mildly itchy. I know Myren tried. She's the best out of all of us at trying, but that does not change the fact a suit is a form of torture worse than slow death. I glance back.

Myren gives me a smug look, but her eyes are lingering.

Please tell me no one else can see this. The suit is about two times hotter now. If she keeps staring, I'll cook alive in this thing.

"Who all is going to be here?" Zur asks Dross behind me.

Myren pipes up and answers for Dross. "The elite of the Empire. Admirals, Grand Admirals, perhaps even the Moffs. We will need to be on our best behavior."

"I'll try." I turn around and realize the suit is going to make it a little hard to breathe. At least, so long as I'm looking at Myren. Her dress suits her, maybe a little too well.

Someone chuckles under their breath. I want to assume it's Zur. I choose not to assume, so my wrath isn't directed at anyone, but all of them.

We'll survive this. I'll survive this, because I have to. It's just another mission. All I have to do is look like I'm not a thirty-year old, disgruntled clone commander who's seen nearly ten years of war. Can't be too hard?

We file down the carpeted and lavish hallways. This place really isn't somewhere we should be, but secretly I'm very proud of getting in here. Accounting can chalk it up to mission expenses later. We needed this.

The lower dining halls have been converted into an open-air ballroom. A woman who looks oddly...ancient, sings from a small stage. Everyone here is in uniform, or a suit. I know my team is all uniformed, mostly because they're here keeping tabs on me. Why am I always suddenly the most important man in the room when it comes to Winterfang?

Stick me in a suit of armor. Then we can talk.

Myren wasn't lying when she said Elite. I recognize a few faces, not that I'd dare interact with them. Some of the Moffs and Admirals glance back at me. There are nods, and mutual looks of respect.

This room is stifling. I need to get some air, but I can't leave until I've made something of a good impression.

"Drowning out there yet, commander?" Dross asks over comms.

I choose to ignore him. I wander, smiling as best I can, nodding to the few who glance at my scars and acknowledge I've seen far more than the inside of a pretty council room. I've seen something half these men haven't.

Thrawn is here. He too takes note of me. I put on my best grimace for him, but he's interested in an art discussion. The man has a passion for it, if nothing else. That and military tactic. He's terrifying.

In the throngs of people I've lost track of Myren, which means she also likely has lost track of me. Now's my only chance. Everyone has spread out. Jay's over by the buffet, he'll occupy himself. Dross is in polite discussion and Zur seems taken by the stranger singer.

I chart my course for the door to the patio that opens out over the beach. There's hardly anyone out here so I wander to the railing and look over the edge. It really is peaceful out here. Hard to imagine amid a world so war torn as ours. Maybe I'm jaded, or maybe I simply haven't stopped long enough to really consider what a future without war could look like.

I know I thought about it once. What was I going to do when I got out of the military? If I got out of the military? It was never a guarantee. Still isn't. I shrug off my suit jacket and am granted a brief reprieve from torture. I loop it over my arm and watch the waves crash on the shore.

"Commander."

Thrawn has appeared soundlessly at my side. Even for someone of my perception, it's enough to make me stiffen as I glance at him.

"Sir."

Thrawn smiles, somewhat cruelly. "You know full well that Myren was found an orphan, and I helped raise her. Correct?"

"Uh," my brain racks for the information. I've read her dossier. I've read hundreds of dossiers. I never committed them to memory. "Yessir," I mutter eventually.

"Good. And you should know that while she has tried to assure me of nothing untoward, she is rather obvious, when she looks at you."

My face is heating up under my skin. Both of them, how do they do this? I look down at the waves and keep my posture and expression even.

"After all," Thrawn's voice is cool. "I taught her to lie."

I swallow, but I've been faced with tougher situations. I keep myself stiff, still, and wait for him to break the silence.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Sir," I snap to look at him and realize I've made the first mistake. Thrawn arches an eyebrow.

I clamp my lips together firm and resort to a grimace. "To keep her safe, sir."

"Good." Thrawn turns around. "Do your best, Commander."

As his steps recede, my commlink pings me and I realize I've forgotten it was there.

"Commander?" Zur is asking for me. I flush redder than I think I ever have. Thankfully there's no one to see it.

"Commander?"

"What?"

"I learned some...information. I'm going to follow up on it."

"Sure," I shake my head. My team knows what they're doing. "Inform me of the results later."

"Copy that, sir."

I turn around. Esho is sitting there with a plate and one leg crossed over the other. She smiles at me.

"Come out here to escape the crowds, Uncle Kian?"

"Yeah."

"I see you already wormed out of the suit." Esho laughs. She's in a dress too, her and Myren went shopping yesterday.

"It was hot!"

Esho laughs. "Myren's still inside. I'm pretty sure she's talking to everyone if you wanna find her."

"I don't—" I look down at Esho and she smirks. She looks like her father when she does that. Which goes to say she looks like every clone I've ever known.

I sigh and dump the jacket on the back of her chair. "Keep an eye on that."

"Yessir!" Esho salutes and goes back to eating.

I wander back inside. I have to try. After some wandering conversations, though, my trying is mostly failing. I have little tolerance for needless bureaucracy and that's all they talk about.

"Kian." Myren walks over in the midst of my conversation with a Grand Moff who's likely as old as the republic itself. I turn.

Myren smiles apologetically for interrupting. She puts her hand on my arm. "Care to dance?"

Dance. I stare at her.

Myren just nods and her hand slips down my bicep, to my forearm, and she finds my hand. And like that, she's leading me away. I've heard of dancing. I might've tried my hand a couple of times. Plenty of bars around have pretty girls to dance with.

But this isn't some barmaid, this is Myren.

She smiles as I somehow manage not to fumble the whole thing and we fall into a rather easy step. At least the music is slow. As we turn, though, I make eye contact with Jay.

Guilt flashes over his face. He's still by the buffet. I glare at him and try to pull Myren in another direction but it only gives me a full view of the rest of my team, lined up, and watching. My teeth grit.

I'm going to kill them.

Slowly.

In their sleep.

I glower at their insinuating grins. This isn't what it looks like. I wish commlinks had telepathy built in, but it would be no good. My insistence would be drowned out by the rest of the thoughts clogging up my head.

Is this what comes after the war?

Myren smiles as we step to the side. My scowl relaxes unconsciously and I smile back, timidly, afraid to even ask myself the biggest question of all. I'm a clone. I'm a soldier. I'm fighting a war. That's the truth and reality of the matter. But I know I had dreams once.

Will this one last?

Can it?

[ninjagirlstar5]

To answer your question about whether or not all the kids have magic powers: no, not all of them. Personally in my head, if magic were to ever exist in Danganronpa, I consider it to be a very rare trait to the point that barely anybody knew of it's existence in the modern day. The only exception seen so far was the lab that Shinra came from, and that is because the leader was finally able to gain the support and funding they needed to research the magic they've discovered through the Despairs, as in the normal world, no one ever believed him since magic is just fantasy, it isn't "real." The Despairs chose to help him because if it was real, it'd be a great asset to their terrorism, and if it isn't, hey, they get to watch him suffer in despair so it's a win-win in their book. And, well, I'm not familiar with the spin-offs in this franchise, but the fact that ghosts actually exist in this series is enough for me to go, "Well, what about magic?" So, I decided that it'd be fun to have some of the IRL Sannotori's kids have magic to represent that idea while also tying into AIkado's appearance as a wizard. But I didn't want them all to have magic since it's meant to be rare, so I only had three out of five of them have magic.

(Btw, if you haven't seen it yet, here's Part 2 to the IRL Sannotori fankids.)

And yeah, IRLkado definitely did not think that magic was real, although I was under the impression that AIkado made himself look like a wizard, not IRLkado? I could be wrong though, I'm still going through the game with a friend and I might've misremembered. Still, congratulations on becoming an actual magic dad, IRLkado, lol. It'll be quite the chaotic house with five kids, with or without magic. It's only natural considering they're still his kids, redemption or not. He's quite chaotic himself. But Teruya does his best to love and support every one of them cause they're his kids, too. :]

Yeah, that's what I was aiming for when designing the kids. Honestly, I've never been a fan of characters that look like carbon copies of only one of the parents. I just think that's? Uncreative? As rude as that sounds. I can accept it if it's relevant to the plot or ties into their character in some way. Hell, I have two OCs that are meant to look a lot more like their mothers than their father because their connection as half-siblings is meant to be a plot twist. But otherwise, I often feel as though the designers are being lazy when they make the kids look exactly like one of the parents instead of trying to mix their design elements together. Even if a character looks more like one parent, it'd be nice to see if they have some part of the other parent's appearance to show that they're related. But that's just how I feel when it comes to designing the kids of some parents. And those feelings influence how I designed these kids, mixing both of Teruya and IRLkado's design elements while trying to keep in mind that they're adopted, so I tried to make them slightly different to make that believable while they're fankids. (Also, I think you nailed this with Akira. I can tell that she's Ayame and Kizuna's kid while also having a unique design that I can believe she's adopted by them. It's also just a really cool design, I love her appearance a lot.)

Also:

I'm glad you liked reading my IRL Sannotori lore. It's something I've thought about for a whole year and a half. That's how bad the brainrot is. (Half-joking) Jokes aside, I like reading about people's thoughts on how these ships came to be and such. It feels like you're understanding their perspective on this particular ship and what it means to them in a way? Even if it's just for fun, it's fun to listen/read these headcanons because it feels like you're digging a little deeper into this ship. Digging into ships, how their relationship develops, how it falls apart, how it brings them back together or pushes them away in all sorts of ways...it just scratches that itch? You know? I hope I'm explaining myself well. But yeah, for this particular ship, I felt the need to really give the background to what their relationship is, how it came to be, and what kind of development these two have gone through. Especially for IRLkado, cause, in a way, if I don't specify why Mikado acts the way he does in the kids' backstory and why Teruya's relationship with him is healthy in this version, it wouldn't really make much sense with his canon character in mind. Cause let's be real here, Canon!Mikado would be...a questionable dad at best. A terrible one at worst. AIkado is a dick and while we don't get to spend a lot of time with IRLkado, I think it's safe to say that his morality is similar to AIkado's at least and LINUJ did say that he would make the same choices as AIkado (although I like to think that IRLkado has more flexibility as a human being and have an opportunity to change if he so desired). So I decided it was important to establish the backdrop of what kind of person IRLkado is and the development he went through alongside Teruya and his relationship with him. An IRLkado that went through a redemption arc is an interesting concept to me, especially with how it would contrast harshly with AIkado and the path he's taken both due to his own choices and the code he was created with, and his dynamic with Teruya made my brain latch onto them as a ship (alongside some admittedly cute art I found of them). And I came up with these fankids with that in mind, so since this topic is about them, I chose to share my headcanons about this ship. And I'm glad I did, it feels nice to share it with someone else outside of my Discord buddies.

Ah, yes. Dooming OCs for plot reasons and also cause you can/think it would build an interesting narrative. That's something I do a lot, too. It's rare for OCs to ever have peace when you're a Creator that can do literally whatever you want to them (for better or for worse). Kinda reminds me of one of my OCs who's been through the ringer both in her backstory and the plot but at least she gets a happy ending out of all of that nonsense. ^^;

(I should post more about my fankids, tbh. I just worry about people's reactions to them even though the one ship I've been posting the most about for more than a year and a half resulted in...basically receiving zero fuss over it. To my surprise.)

Yeah like it's so easy to add trauma to ocs because you can do,, literally anything and sometimes you don't even realize it like when had just made Akira and was telling some friends about her lore it was only when they were like "oh poor thing :(" hearing about how she used to get bullied back in the orphanage as a kid that it dawned on me that oh yeah that's kinda fucked up. Guess I'm so used to fankids dying in straight up killing games because of nextgenronpa that non-KG related trauma flew completely over my head-

This ask also reminds me how a few years back i did this trend on Instagram where you try to find one oc you have with no trauma by going over this little list and there was one character who scored in every single trauma category and for months i had people asking me if she was ok- (surprisingly yes btw)

[zbeez-outlet]

Left Behind Pt. 4

<<< Part Three

Part Five >>>

Levi x FemReader

Established Relationship

Concept: You're gravely injured during an expedition that goes wrong, and in the confusion you're abandoned in Titan territory.

Pt. 4 Summary: Levi doesn't want to learn to live without you. He doesn't want your pillow to lose your scent or you clothes to gather dust or your journals to go unread and unfilled. He's terrified for the day Erwin replaces the you-shaped hole in his strategies with a new Squad Leader, a new set of soldiers in line to replace your subordinates, your friends, who are just as unaccounted for as you. Levi has to learn to breathe without you and, honestly, he'd rather suffocate in your loss than get used to a bed without you beside him.

Warnings: Angst, cursing, depression, angry outbursts, grief, suicidal ideations (but no actions), Levi is a sad boy in this one, graphic nightmares, self-destructive tendencies (If I missed anything, please let me know)

A/N: Part 4 everyone! Sorry it's been so long! We're almost finished, thank you so much to everyone who's enjoyed the series and sent me kind words. If you want to be added to the taglist, comment below! If you're interested in making a request, check out my page for more details (I work with a bunch of different fandoms and characters). This one was a bit of a challenge to write, I hope Levi isn't too OOC. I have mixed feelings about how this one turned out, it got a little away from me sometimes, but overall I'm happy with it! Thanks again! And yes, I have a soft spot for Mike. He died too soon!

Mike comes looking for him first, not that it's an especially difficult challenge. Between the giant man's canine sense of smell and the fact that Levi hasn't been able to leave his quarters since returning from his devastating visit to the infirmary, the biggest hurdle is the lock on his office door.

Which he didn't bother to actually lock, too busy wallowing in the reality of you, your body, crushed beyond the wall. Not buried, not even rotting because of the chill and the ice. Frozen in the last terrifying and agonizing moments of your life.

He doesn't even notice Mike has found him until the taller man sinks to the floor next to him. Levi hasn't been counting the seconds, minutes, hours, days since he sat down against the wall in your...in his bedroom, journal with that damning letter between its pages clutched to his chest and eyes locked on the bed he's too scared to approach.

Part of Levi is surprised Mike came to him before Hange or Erwin or any member of his own squad really. The two of them aren't exactly close, with an introduction stained in threats and gutter water and a deal that got his only friends killed. Levi has obviously grown to respect his comrade, but he can't think of a single one-on-one interaction with the man that wasn't work related.

But then he remembers that the two of you are friends - were friends - even before Levi was bullied into joining the scouts. You were on Mike's squad after Erwin rose to Commander before you graduated to a squad leader position. Any lingering surprise fades, but still, Levi is grateful for the half meter or so of space Mike leaves between them.

It's quiet for what feels like a long time, and Levi can't imagine being the one who breaks the silence. He thinks Mike must realize this because he just sits, heavy and warm and still, and he stares as resolutely at the bed as Levi does.

"Did she ever tell you we were in the training corps together?" Mike eventually asks, his deep voice uncharacteristically soft in the emptiness of the room like he doesn't want to disturb the air if he can help it.

Levi is thankful for the consideration and mumbles a barely-there 'no' in response.

"I joined later than most soldiers, nearly into my twenties actually," the blonde continues, keeping that gentle rumbling tone. "I have a big family back home. The second oldest of five, all boys, all practically carbon copies of me." He pauses here for a long enough moment that Levi wonders if that's really all he has to say. "I fight for humanity, fight as a scout because I believe in Erwin's cause, but I initially joined the military for a much less noble and much more selfish reason. I joined to get away from the plan my family had set out for me. I wanted to break the mold my brothers had all fallen into so easily."

"Tch, why are you telling me this?"

But Mike just pushes on like Levi hadn't spoken - maybe he hadn't, his tongue feels swollen and his throat tight. "Most cadets in the training corps start between the age of fourteen and sixteen on average, but there was this tiny twelve-year-old girl in our ranks that year. I'll give you one guess as to who that little girl became."

Your name gets stuck in his chest, but neither of them need to say it to imagine that small girl. Levi thinks about what you must have looked like at that age, probably too small and too innocent, all baby teeth and pigtails and thin limbs with none of the built up muscle he knows you to have, but still just as passionate and kind and you.

Picturing that tiny version of you standing at attention next to hardened cadets, whatever Commandant existed before Shadis screaming in your face to scare you, break you, mold you into the perfect soldier, and Levi thinks about if he could go back in time to warn that little girl away from her path to suicidal heroism even if it meant erasing all the time you shared together. At least you'd be alive, far away from the tragedy of this life. Maybe married, maybe with kids. Happy and safe.

Nausea crawls up Levi's throat when he realizes that picture doesn't include him. Selfishly, he can't wish for that reality either.

The sound of Mike taking a deep shaky breath brings Levi out of his spiral. He chances a glance to his left and holds back a frown at the despair he sees in Mike's posture.

"She was always the butt of the joke, y'know? Youngest, smallest, one of only a handful of girls. Easy target. Even to our instructors." Mike scoffs, large hand running through his hair. He has a smile curving his lips, but Levi can see the melancholic edge to it. He's never actually heard Mike speak this much before, let alone this familiarly. Levi isn't really sure how to feel about it. "I started eating lunch with her. I think I was hoping if everyone saw me, the oldest and biggest one there, favoring her then they'd back off. I didn't find out until years later that they all just got better at hiding it."

Levi frowns, wondering why you never told him about your time in the training corps, about the bullying, about Mike. But then, he never asked. Too busy wanting to know and love and cherish the you of now that he never thought much about the you of then. The past has always been something he wanted to leave behind, learning about yours prompted the possibility of inviting you into his own. A possibility that held him back from you for so long, too long. Wasted time. He wishes more than anything he could ask why you decided to join the military so young, what you were like as a child, as a cadet, how you became the person he loves so much.

He knows some of it. No siblings, dead parents, the hardest worker he's ever known. It's not enough, it'll never be enough. And now he can't ask you.

But he can ask Mike.

"What was she like?"

"Back then?" Mike seems to roll many possible answers between his teeth before he finally parts his lips. A sad smile pulls at his cheeks. "Small, smart, real quiet at first...so fucking strong. Not just with the bullying, I mean literally strong." He barks half a laugh, covering a sniffle with a swipe to his nose. "She took hand-to-hand combat so seriously during training, more than anyone. A few lessons in and she knocked me off my feet. I would have been embarrassed if she didn't look so proud. Not smug or arrogant. She, uh, she did this little dance, pumped her fist in the air, laughed. Not even at me, just laughed, like she couldn't believe what she did."

Levi can picture it, a smaller you and that little jig you do for every worthwhile accomplishment. You still do it, goofy and ridiculous, and he misses it. Every promotion, every bet you win against Hange, every time your squad comes back with no casualties. That thought has bile churning in his gut.

You did it the first time he kissed you, not that you knew he saw you do it. It's one of his favorite memories.

"I think it was that day," Mike's voice drifts, bringing Levi back into the moment, "she became more to me than just a fellow soldier. She's the little sister I never had and didn't realize I wanted, has been since she smiled and held out a hand like she could actually lift me to my feet and asking me if we could spar again."

"She was."

"Hm?"

"She was your little sister." The words taste bitter and bite like acid from his throat. "She can't be that anymore."

Levi's pretty sure under any other circumstances, Mike would have hit him. He can see the larger man in his periphery, fists clenching and unclenching on his knees, deep unsteady breaths ruffling his chest, eyes glaring hatefully at the floor.

It's a long anger-filled moment before Mike speaks again, his voice carefully controlled - more familiar to Levi than the soft grief he'd spoken with the last several minutes. "What each of us lost out there, it's different Levi. I lost a sister, Hange a friend, Erwin a trusted ally, you...you lost what you lost. I can't speak on that, on how you move forward from that. But me? I don't stop caring just because she isn't here to be cared for."

Levi swallows, eyes stinging as he stubbornly grapples with his grief. Part of him thinks it'd be easier to give up loving you now that you're gone. Because it hurts so fucking much and he doesn't know how to make it stop. The rest of him is terrified of who he'd become without that love. His fingers flex around the journal, hoping Mike doesn't ask about it next.

"She is my little sister, she'll always be my little sister, even if she isn't here to knock me on my ass and laugh."

Mike leaves Levi with those parting words and a brave hand gripping his shoulder, kindly closing the door behind him.

The room feels small without you to warm its corners. Quiet too. He stares at the bed the two of you shared for months now, trying to remember the last thing he said to you, wondering when he last told you he loved you, and realizes something he may have to actually thank Mike for later.

You are the love of his life, and that will never change. A tear warms his cheek, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. Levi wishes you were still here to be loved.

Nothing helps him move forward, but at least training keeps him busy. With the harsh weather wracking against the rickety walls, shuttering the windowpanes, and snow piling high like stones, Levi thrives in the chill settling in his bones amidst the raging storm and the extra challenge of the wind curving his swings unpredictably.

Levi doesn't order his squad to join him - not when his objective has more to do with the emptiness of you at his side than honing any actual skills - but they're behind him anyway. Dependable and strong and showcasing every reason why he chose them in the first place. Your squads were close, elite as they always have been, and he knows they're feeling a heavy loss as well.

He accidently walked in on Gunther comforting a sobbing Petra two days ago, drying tear tracks flashing on the taller man's cheeks. All Levi could do was clutch the letter in his pocket, now wrinkled and soft from being unfolded and read and folded over and over and over, while offering as understanding a nod as he could manage before leaving them to it. Normally he'd have a word or two of support, if not encouragement, but he hasn't managed more than a few syllables since his conversation with Mike.

The wind is sharp like razors, nipping at any weak points of exposure on their skin. Levi knows a kind of cold from his childhood, of loneliness and damp and death and no sun rising on any future days. This cold reminds of that. His heart withers at the reminder of future sunrises without you - the first sunrise without you.

He's grateful the clouds of every storm since their return, blizzards you once told him back when he didn't know what weather meant or how it felt, have blocked the sky and sun and the stars at night. Not ready to see them, to experience them, without you to point out fake constellations or make up stories about the sun chasing the moon, never catching it, but rising everyday to try again.

Somehow, he's become the sun in your relationship, and the reality of that has his throat tightening. Pulling air into his lungs burns more than it soothes.

When he finally notices the chattering teeth of his comrades, following a harsh wind and a fresh drenching of snow, he orders them inside to change, eat, and warm up. Petra asks if he's going inside too. He's never been a liar.

They stay out with him until he decides the chill of ice in his veins and snow in his eyes is no longer cold enough to numb him.

He's somewhere dark, so dark he can't see anything beyond his hand when he lifts it in front of him. Everything is empty, not cold or hot, wet or dry, or anything but the soft tickle of grass between his toes. Levi's brow furrows, looking down at the circler patch of green he's found himself standing in.

Why is he barefoot?

His lip curls at the thought of the filth he'll have to scrub away later. He's dressed in the pajamas you often coax him into wearing instead of his uniform to bed. Plush long pants, low on his hips with a drawstring and a material that feels just as good against your skin as it does his own when you twine your legs together throughout the night, and a simple t-shirt he tends to forgo in exchange for the relaxing tingle of your fingers dancing doodles onto his chest.

You.

Where are you? Why aren't you here with him? In this dark empty place. A place seemingly untouched by bad or evil or tragedy, but also unknown to goodness. Maybe that's why you aren't here, chased away because of your kindness and compassion and smile. The possibility has panic twitching under his skin. His fingers flex at his sides, itching to lace with yours and trail loving touches down your cheeks. He needs to find you, to see you.

Levi takes a cautious step forward, dew drops soaking into the soles of his feet that has his nose scrunching distastefully. He takes another. And another. And another.

Nothing changes. Not the light, not the grass, not the pitch blackness that seems to be drawing him in as much as it's pushing him away. But he's moving forward, or...it feels like he is.

There's a sudden pressure on his shoulder, but when he spins around, nothing is there and he wonders if he imagined it. A few more steps and then it's back, a gentle press of what feels like a hand between his shoulder blades. It's familiar and comforting and reminds him of a home Levi never thought he deserved, let alone could actually attain. He knows it's you.

It's you pressing into his back, now both of your hands kneading into his muscles, molding the sharp edges of his bones. His eyes drift closed. He feels a warm gust of your breath against his neck, instinctually tilting his head to give you more access, to feel you as much as you're willing to give him. A ghost of your lips brings goosebumps to his skin. Levi doesn't turn this time, doesn't open his eyes, terrified you'll disappear and he'll lose your touch, your breath, your warmth.

Your hands wind around his chest, tracing your name onto the spot his heart beats for you, the shape of your body he's come to learn so well pressed wholly against his back. A scent so uniquely you surrounds him, drawing him further into your arms that now cradle him so so perfectly. Your lips reach his ear, breath fanning across the ridge and he sighs in contentment, waiting for your voice to reach him.

"You abandoned me." It's a whisper, intimate and soft in his ear, but the words grate along his skin and make him freeze. "You left me to die." It's your voice - the voice that soothes him to sleep, that laughs at his jokes, that sobs and screams and sings and melts into his heart - but they're the wrong words, the worst words. Words you would never say because they could never be true.

Why are you saying those awful words? Why are you driving a blade into his chest, squeezing his lungs, tearing into his heart until his bleeding soul is exposed?

Levi's eyes snap open and he whirls around, but you're already gone and that same dark emptiness seems to expand around him, suffocating in a way it hadn't been before. He falls to his knees, trying to draw in breaths as he chokes on your name. The air feels heavier, pressing him down into the grass, snapping at his joints and crushing -

Crushing. That's right, you were crushed. You were alone and scared and crushed beyond the wall. And he left you out there.

Levi hears what sounds like a horse's hooves thundering on the ground, a sound as familiar to him as his own footsteps. He manages to look up despite the pressure of the air on his neck holding him down, gritting his teeth at the effort it takes.

He sees Bully. He sees you, fully decked out in your gear, rain plastering your hair to your skull, fresh blood steaming on your blades and your hands as proof of a recent kill. You don't see him, riding Bully directly passed his kneeling point, but he sees you and he screams. He screams so agonizingly his throat splits and blood pools on his tongue. He screams for you to stop. Stop stop stop STOP! Don't go! DON'T -

Levi sees the titan before you do, but the air is pinning him down and he has no gear, no horse, you're too far away, and the titan is raising its fist. The world cracks beneath him when the fist comes down, your blood and Bully's blood spraying the titan's skin in a macabre painting of gore. Nausea and horror attack his stomach, but nothing comes up except his pleas for you to come back to him.

The hoof beats start up again, Bully running by with you riding strong on her back. Levi fights against the air, clawing at the ground and his skin and wailing at you to slow down, to wait for him. He'll save you, he'll protect you, he'll -

The ground beneath him cracks again as the titan stomps on you this time, your limbs stuck between its toes and blood leaving prints in the grass as it runs.

And then Bully is back, coming from another direction, only to pass by Levi's begging pitiful form again. The earth splits a third time when Levi is forced to watch the titan grab for you, squeezing until you pop between its fingers and dribbling your remains down its throat.

He has to watch again and again and again as you're crushed over and over and over. With every death a new crack severs the ground below him, the air pushing him down and down and down.

Kicked into a tree.

Flattened between two heavy hands like a bug.

A casualty of a clumsy titan's tripping body.

Slapped into the ground.

Chewed and split between a titan's teeth.

He's forced to see every way your death could have happened, fingers knotted in his hair, his voice raspy and broken from his screaming, begging and begging and begging.

Eventually there are too many cracks, and the earth opens up below him, swallowing him whole.

Levi welcomes the fall, wondering if he'll see you at the bottom.

He blinks awake, a heaving breath expanding his chest and fingers grappling for some kind of purchase. Levi's nails dig into the plush blue arms of your reading chair he's taken to sleeping in on nights he can pull himself from his desk and dare to rest in the room you shared. It still smells like you, holds the shape of you in a way that's strangely comforting.

The bed stays untouched, gathering dust because Levi can't even bring himself to shake out the sheets.

He has this nightmare every time he sleeps for more than an hour. It tears into his heart and lingers, blackening any solace he tries to find in his days. He pretends a large part of him doesn't look forward to the dream because at least he gets to feel you, to see you, even if it kills him a little more each time.

Levi doesn't know how it happened, but he knows you were crushed. There are so many ways to be crushed.

He doesn't bother to wipe away the tears on his cheeks until the sun rises and the day starts, even though they make his skin sticky and his eyes crusty.

Levi is unwilling to risk the health and safety of his squad more than he has already - Oluo had a cold for days after the last impromptu training session in a blizzard - so instead he splits his knuckles in the gym and perspires enough that his sweat drips like fresh rain.

The sand bag is stained with his blood since he hadn't even bothered with wrappings to cushion his fists. He thinks his pinky might be broken on his right hand, it's purpling and bruised, but the pain spurs him on because you're not here to scold him or fix him or spot him when he trains. Maybe if he keeps going, you'll come barging in with a lecture on your lips and bandages in your hands because, no matter how angry you are, you would never leave him hurting.

Except he's hurting now, and you're nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Hange steps into the gym, a flask of water and a small bag under their arm that he knows is a first aid kit. They don't approach him. They don't stop him. They take a seat on one of the benches lined up against the back wall, set aside the supplies they brought, cross their arms and legs, and they watch him. They wait.

Levi pummels his knuckles until they're raw and numb and more red than flesh. He eventually drops down next to Hange when it takes more effort to breathe than it does to punch, bracing himself on his knees with his elbows. His hair has grown too long, untrimmed bangs hanging in front of his eyes when he leans forward, but he's more grateful for the barrier than he is annoyed by the length.

Without a word, Hange opens the kit they brought and pulls out some cloth, alcohol, and bandages. They soak one of the cloths in the alcohol and reach for the hand closest to them, which also happens to be the one with a broken finger.

Levi hisses between his teeth at the sting of the alcohol on his cuts, but otherwise doesn't protest or complain. Spotting the bright bruising on his pinky, Hange again reaches into the kit, and pulls out supplies for a small finger splint. The clean white bandages are speckled with his blood, but the process overall doesn't take long when neither of them are talking.

When Hange is finishing the wrappings on his broken finger, they sigh and gently hold his damaged hand between their ink stained palms. "I saw Oswin this morning too," they murmur, brow furrowing and rare frown pulling down their lips. "I wanted to tear her hair out as much as you probably did. I'm only half glad neither of us followed through."

Theodora Oswin had been reassigned to a new squad considering she was the last surviving member of yours and still far too green to take on any kind of leadership role. He hadn't seen much of her since the expedition, which he's grateful for, but that morning in the mess hall...

He'd gone for a fresh cup of tea, foolishly hoping this time it wouldn't be bitter like ash in his mouth, when he'd seen her with her new squad mates. Laughing.

The mental image of her jaw cracking under his fist was enough to have him turning on his heal and seeking out the gym, forgoing the tea because the cup would have shattered in his grip anyway.

Levi rumbles a noncommittal sound in his throat and lets Hange finish tying off the bandages on his other hand.

Neither of them move to stand. They sit until long after the sun has set and dinner is over and curfew is in effect. Levi doesn't say anything about the occasional sniffle that shakes Hange's shoulders. Hange doesn't say anything about the way he laces his fingers, gripping so tightly the bandages stain red.

Sometimes he stands in front of your collection of journals, itching to read them, to know parts of you he shamefully never asked about. Wanting to hear your voice in the words you wrote. But he doesn't because you never gave him permission into that part of you, not explicitly, not beyond a few pages. It feels like an invasion of privacy, and really, he would be disappointed no matter what he finds because it doesn't matter. Not when you aren't here to read the passages of your life to him. Not when you aren't here to add to the collection. Not when he can't be a part of every passage in your future.

But he does stare at them often.

When the snow starts melting and there are no clouds to block the sunrise, Levi hides away in his office so he doesn't have to watch it. Curtains closed, head in his hands, your goodbye letter unfairly crumpled in front of him. He's thought about burning it, about tearing it up, about writing back to you. He does none of those things and just reads it again.

There's a knock on his door, so he calls out a gruff, "Name and business," while frantically folding the letter and tucking it in his breast pocket.

No one answers him, but when Erwin walks in, any irritation on that matter fades quickly.

"The snow is melting," he says like Levi hasn't nearly slipped in the sludge and barked orders at fearful cadets to shovel the pathways. Levi nods at him to continue. "The next expedition is planned for three weeks from now so that enough of the excess water either dries up or soaks into the ground so our horses can travel safely."

Levi knows this procedure, it's the same every year. He's confused why Erwin feels the need to spell this out for him.

Absentmindedly, he thinks about how three weeks from now will be exactly three months since you...didn't come home.

"What's the point of this, Erwin? I already know all this shit."

"We're taking the same route as the last expedition." Levi's jaw locks, air stalling in his throat, and he barely hears when Erwin goes on. "It's still the quickest path to Wall Maria and Shiganshina, if we can make it work safely in our favor."

"We lost a third of our soldiers going that way, Erwin. We lost - I lost - "

"Which is why," Erwin interrupts with a condescendingly raised hand that has Levi curling his lip into a snarl, "you and your squad are staying behind. I can't afford you being distracted by what we might find."

Eyes wide in disbelief, Levi's on his feet and rounding his desk to spit fire at his Commander. "Are you fucking crazy? We're your best defense against those shit-ugly fucks and you want to bench us because you think we can't handle seeing our dead comrades? Like we haven't seen enough of them anyway."

"It's you, Levi. I don't think you can handle seeing her."

Levi shakes his head, willing his composure back into place. He can't prove Erwin right, he needs to calm down, needs to square his shoulders and hide the agitated trembling in his hands. "Leaving us behind is a death sentence for the rest of the battalion. Don't do it, Erwin, don't risk the lives of all those kids on some misguided feeling about what I can and can't handle." He takes a deep breath, meeting his Commander's eyes with a defiant jut of his chin. "Trust me, the way you have since the beginning."

A moment passes with Erwin studying Levi's resolve, eyes trailing across every twitch and line of his face in scrutiny. He eventually seems satisfied with his assessment, gives a final nod, and turns to the door.

But Levi has one last thing to say, something that he needs to spit out before it rots and spreads in his chest. Something he needs to ask his friend, not his superior. "Do you even care?" He doesn't have to say about what for Erwin to understand.

He eyes the way Erwin's hand tightens on the doorknob, the way his shoulders wilt the slightest bit. "Of course I do, Levi. You forget I knew her long before you did," he says softly, a deep sadness in his gaze that surprises him. "But someone in my position doesn't get the luxury of grieving. I thought you would have figured that out by now."

Levi knows that, of course he knows that. But this is you, and he can't imagine anyone not breaking under the oppressive weight your absence has caused. Maybe Erwin's broader shoulders are just better under the strain. Maybe the weight Levi carries is greater because of what you mean to him.

Maybe he's just so fucking tired and wants to know how Erwin keeps going each day like nothing happened while he can't even sleep in his own bed.

Maybe convincing him that he can hold it together on the expedition was a mistake.

It's not a mistake, but it feels like one.

Three weeks went by in a blur of training, prepping, and choking awake from nightmares before almost every dawn. Now they're outside Wall Rose, nearly halfway to the point of disaster that hit them last time, no rain in sight. They've managed to maneuver the formation around all but three titans, taken care of easily and quickly by the outer reconnaissance squads.

Levi can't decide if he's anticipating or dreading the inevitability of sinking his blades into a titan that gets too close. Energy is buzzing under his skin, the kind that shifts unpleasantly and threatens the stability of his hands.

He's not sure what he wants to find. If he even wants to find anything.

A purple flair in the direction of Erwin's squad at the front of the formation has Levi dialing in his focus, signaling his subordinates to make haste towards their Commander. His brow furrows, however, when they see two fallen and long since steaming titans. Erwin's squad stands unharmed but stationary between the two disintegrating corpses, Erwin himself looking rather contemplative with his arms crossed and his prominent brow angled harshly.

"No one looks like they're being torn apart," Levi grunts as he sidles up next to Erwin. "What's the situation?"

"There's someone alive out here."

"Tch, what the hell are you talking about?"

Erwin gestures at the two dead titans. "They were already down and steaming by the time we got here."

"You sure a squad didn't just break formation?"

"Pretty sure, we would have seen them pass. This is directly on the route we planned."

"That's definitely our gear though." The napes are sliced cleanly, clearly done with ODM equipment.

"It is."

Before Levi can say anything else, Eld gains their attention with a resounding, "Captain!" He's pointing towards the east where a cloud of steam rises from nowhere near any of part of the formation at its current pace.

"Guess we should go say 'hi' then, eh Erwin?" Levi grumbles, already directing his horse when he doesn't here any orders to stand down. His squad follows close behind, a brace against he's back that he's grateful for. He carefully smothers the warm feeling threatening the shield he's put around the pieces of his heart that are left, unwilling to allow even a drop of hope to settle in his eyes.

Hope is cruel. It will tear him apart from the inside out if he lets it. He can't afford that kind of devastation, not again. Putting himself back together won't be an option anymore if his pieces are dust.

They're coming up fast on the billowing ribbons of steam, two more titans having been felled by whoever got their hands on their gear. Both on the larger side, more than ten meters most likely, and pearly wild grins jutting towards the sky. Levi meticulously surveys the area as they get closer, narrowing his eyes at the flash of dark green through the thick rivulets of steam. He holds up a hand for his subordinates to wait as he dismounts his horse.

"Hey! Who's out here?!" He calls, one hand drifting to his holstered swords as a precaution, the other waving away the steam as he ventures further. "Think it's fun? Playing the hero with stolen gear!" Levi taunts, eyeing the veteran looking slices in the napes of the corpses. Another scrap of familiar green catches his eye. "Hey! You!"

A few quick steps and another wave of his hand because of the steam and he spots a figure messing with one of the blades for their gear. Maybe trying to decide if it's still useful as they swipe it back and forth, carefully looking at the now jagged edge. Must be too dull because the next second, Levi watches as they toss it too the ground and go for what looks like their last fresh blade.

"You're out of formation, Cadet," Levi chastises, raising an annoyed brow when whoever it is just ignores him in favor of replacing the blade. Confusion has him frowning when he eyes their uniform, because it's clearly the same pieces of the scouts uniform, but they're all out of order. Boots, one larger than the other. White pants cinched over top the boots instead of inside, obviously too large for the slighter frame of the wearer. More belts than the normal uniform calls for and in all the wrong places. Big sweater - backwards he notices - and the cropped scout jacket only has one sleeve. Green...gloves? He's pretty sure those were pieces of a cloak, though not the same one they're wearing. The cloak is bundled up around their shoulders and over their head, goggles hiding their eyes.

Familiar goggles. His breath catches in his throat, disbelief bleeding into his eyes.

"Mitchell? That you?" No response, but he can tell whoever it is is listening. "Hailey? Hailey Mitchell? It's Captain Levi," he holds up his hands placatingly, wracking his brain for some details you shared with him about the girl. "C'mon brat, let's go home, yeah? See your mom?" The figure seems to pause, and he's almost sure it must be her when the cloth covered head nods weirdly after a few muffled murmuring sounds. But then she plants the blade in the ground like a cane and starts limping away from him. Levi is shocked still, not understanding why she's moving in the opposite direction, away from him. Away from help.

He doesn't know how she survived out here, but it's just one of the many questions speeding behind his teeth at the moment. They'll all have to wait.

"Mitchell stop! I order you - tch, Hailey!" He chases after her, easily catching up when she has the obvious mobility disadvantage. Impressive really, that she managed to kill at least four titans with a busted leg. You'd be proud of her. When he reaches Hailey, he grabs for her wrist to stop her little adventure away from the people trying to help her. "Fucking brat, where do you think - "

Levi pauses, feeling the poor girl go completely rigid in his grasp. He curses himself for not thinking because, Walls, she must be so scared, so weak but -

But she's reaching for the goggles and the cloak. He doesn't know why he's holding his breath, but he is and his chest is burning and there's a stinging threatening his eyes and now he suddenly never ever ever wants to let go because...because...

He’s staring into a face he never thought he'd see again.

Hope is devastating, but it's also the only reason any of them have made it this far.

Taglist:

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[kii-nami]

The smart-ass remark is at the tip of your tongue, but you push the thought of anything like that away, squishing it at the bud. Bachira Meguru is Mikage Reo 2.0, reskinned, improved and actually – sadly and to your absolute horror a bit later when the realization of your thoughts hits you – attractive and you don’t even have the time to entertain his 1.0 version, so you decide to not humor the upgraded model any longer.

The one in which Asagiri [Name] would rather be a dull puppet than being used for others’ benefit; Bachira Meguru is a menace, a bastard, and a completely unhinged motherfucker; and nobody understands how Mikage Reo scored himself a wife before he turned 24. Or alternatively, the idle moments of Tokyo Kaisen’s on-sight medic and her mundane journey to freedom in a form of a three-act play with Bachira Meguru as the catalyst for it all.

cw: part one of bhcu; 29k words, yes it's not a typo; fem!reader; canon compliant post-canon au; smoking; no smut but miners stay the fuck away, i am not your mother and i'm not getting paid for babysitting; discord for waifu debates

ACT I: THE HAUNTING REALIZATION OF ONE’S EXISTENCE

You’re sixteen, and Grandma is right.

She’s right when she comforts your quiet tears. She’s right when she pushes you to the direction that you want to go yourself yet the one that your father will never approve of. She’s right when she congratulates you for your achievements and scolds your father for not doing the same. She’s right when she scoffs, fingers gliding lightly over the piano keys. She’s right because you were a child and you deserved to have someone to take care of you. She’s right, yet she must not be praised for doing the bare fucking minimum. Yet she still is, because even if it is not an achievement in the world of ordinary people, to you it is the best thing that has ever been thrown your way.

“That’s not what her mother would have wanted, Masaomi.” Grandma says. And she’s right, as she always is. But your father is stubborn in his ways, and the word of the woman that gave birth to him means little to nothing now that he holds so much power and influence.

“Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that.” He says, and sometimes you wonder if he even loved your mother at all. But he had to. Your late mother was a nobody that came from nowhere and got married to the son of a family with old money and outdated beliefs. Asagiri Rukia also died a nobody and went right back to where she came from the second she gave you your life. Grandma says you look just like her. A carbon copy with nothing of your own father except for the last name. And maybe that’s the problem.

“And what was mama like?” You ask.

He looks at you but he never actually sees you. He sees a chance wasted, an opportunity missed, a failure that could have been avoided, a legacy ignored. But he never sees you. It hurt then, it hurts now, and it probably will always hurt, no matter how much you like to pretend it doesn’t bother you. But now that you’re not a child anymore, you see things from a completely different perspective than you did before. Now you know that Grandma is right, and sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and do things your own way. You do not sing her praises, but you commend her common sense.

“Beautiful.” And he answers. It is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get. He ignores your question just as he always does you. “There’s still a chance to let your childish rebellion go, [Name].” He’s right. You know that. And if this was you from a couple of years ago, you would have agreed with him. But you are not. Grandma must not be praised, yet she is right, so you turn away.

“No, Father, there is not.” He ignores you, so you ignore him back. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. He says nothing. You keep your peace. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re eighteen and nothing is wrong.

It is, but you pretend like it is not. Grandma says it is your biggest flaw, and she is still as right as always in stating that. She’s also right in saying your new stepmother is not a good person. Asagiri Yua is not nice. Or maybe she is. You wouldn’t know, seeing as she never speaks to you. It doesn’t bother you as much as it should. University is hard enough as it is, and this heavily pregnant yet apathetic woman means very little in the grand scheme of things. Your life is not some sad backstory of a shounen manga protagonist and you will not cry over being ignored by a person who holds absolutely no sentimental value in your heart. There are other, more important things to worry about.

“How did the end of semester tests go?” Father asks but you know he doesn’t really care, because he still doesn’t look at you.

If before he stared right through you when he spoke to you, now he simply doesn’t even spare you a glance. His attention is all on Yua-san (it’s never stepmother, just Yua-san; not only because she dislikes the thought of being your mother, but also because you would never betray your own by calling this woman something like that) and their soon-to-be-born son. A son that will not be a disappointment. A son that will be a brother that you will probably never acknowledge as such. If this makes you a bad person too, you will gladly take it for what it is. Grandma says feeling that way does not make you evil just as it doesn’t make you a martyr. She says there’s a fine line between black and white and you have to learn to enjoy walking the grey area that never pressures you to be something you are not. It’s both easy and hard, yet sacrifices are to be made if you want to keep being honest and true to yourself.

Grandma is right, even now.

“Hundred percent.” Is all you say. Grandma smiles, because she already knows. Asagiri Yua’s face remains impassive as she picks up a piece of pickled radish with her chopsticks. Father nods.

“On each of them?” That’s all he really deems important, and sadly, you are too used to that to care at this point. It does not bother you even if it should. It bothers Grandma even if it should not.

“Achievements must be praised, Masaomi.” Grandma's voice is stern when she speaks to your father. It always is. You can’t help but think she is disappointed in the way he turned out to be due to the iron fist of your late grandfather whom you have never met. It sometimes makes you wonder if she even loves him in the first place. She must, she has to. Yet the doubt still lingers.

“This is a bare minimum for a family like ours.” Sometimes you forget Asagiri Yua can actually speak. That she is a real person with a voice and ambitions of her own. Ambitions that are very much like your father’s. Maybe that’s why they get along so well. Maybe that’s why Grandma dislikes her son’s new wife so much.

“Rukia would have spat in your face.” Grandma puts her chopsticks down with a click clank of porcelain. Father’s face is as emotionless as ever. You don’t think he would have reacted even if your dead mother descended from the heavens and did exactly what Grandma promised she would have done.

“Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that.” is all he says, and it truly speaks volumes about him as a person. Yua-san is sitting next to him and he still talks about his first wife, a woman with nothing to her name, with no shame at all.

“And what was mama like?” You ask, because maybe, just maybe, you aren’t that much different from your father.

“Gentle.” And he answers. It is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get. Asagiri Yua’s brows contort into a barely visible frown. She thinks nobody notices. You do. That brings a smile to your face but you never let it show. Grandma taught you better. You taught yourself better.

“Much to think about.” Yua-san is passive aggressive, so you return it right back. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. She says nothing. You keep your peace. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty and change is a faraway dream.

Everything is both loud and silent. It’s a contradiction that makes too much sense, and you may be smart, but you aren’t smart enough to figure it out. Not that you even want to. There’s this sense of ever progressing selfishness that keeps growing stronger the longer you spend away from your father and his new little family of three. Grandma used to say it’s a good thing. Being selfish. That sometimes it is necessary to live for nobody but yourself if you want to get far in life. At first you thought she was wrong for the very first time. You argued that being selfish was inherently evil in nature and that there was no good in putting yourself above all else. She just smiled and told you that one day you will see. It has been six years since that day and now you finally do. Grandma is right. She always is. That’s why when the music in the Tokyo Bunka Kaikan gets too booming and the silence of your father sitting to your left gets too much, you excuse yourself from the venue. He doesn’t reply because he doesn’t listen. Grandma says it’s okay. You walk out with a thought of never going back.

The air is heavy. It’s the humidity of the Japanese summers that you hate the most, despite growing up not knowing anything else. Click clank, click clank. You want to say you hate wearing heels, but you don’t. It’s a part of the life you were brought into, and somewhere along the way you learned to enjoy it. You might not love your father like a daughter should, but you sure love his money. And it is probably the only redeeming quality he has in your eyes.

Your life may be the same old one step forward, two steps back routine, but your relationship with your father is locked in a constant backwards motion. There’s no progress, only regression. At least his bank account is bottomless with free access for you to leech off of. That’s why your brand new bad habit comes in the form of an overpriced and menthol flavored one-way ticket to sure death.

You search your purse. The pack is there but the lighter isn’t. You sigh, but it’s more of a light exhale through your nose than anything. It’s the most disappointed you’ve felt in a while and you had to sit through almost all of the Coppélia with your father half turned away from you. Nicotine is addictive but so is the taste of just wanting to do things your father will not approve of for the sole sake of doing it. It’s childish and you are well aware, yet never once have you claimed to be mature. It’s a year too late to quit anyway.

“Here.” The distinct sound of the lighter cracking tears your eyes away from the unlit cigarette in-between your fingers.

“Thanks.” You take the chance you were given and then take a drag that shortens your lifespan by a couple of minutes, days, weeks, months, years or even decades. You want to say you don’t care but you do, yet quitting has never crossed your mind. Like any other addiction, smoking is a therapeutic form of escapism. Gods know you need one.

The girl shrugs. “No problem.” Her voice is a little lazy and she looks a little out of place with how casually she’s dressed in a venue like this, but there’s some odd charm in it somewhere. It’s a stark contrast to your prim and proper, and you envy her just a notch for how laid-back she seems.

“You’re staring.” You are, but she also stares back, so you guess it makes you two even. The green in her eyes reminds you of the moss in the Yakushima forest. Maybe that’s what caught your attention in the first place.

“Your eyes are pretty, that’s all.” She blinks. Then her brow quirks in a tiny depiction of amusement. It’s the small things that make the picture come together.

“Got them from my mom.” She’s so casual about things, you wish you could be at least half a person this girl is. “Setsuno Hitagi.” Maybe she recognizes you from all the tabloids that paint you to be some sort of a modern day royalty despite your father not having any connections to the Imperial family. Maybe it was written on your face that you are a pathetic loner with no friends or proper social skills that didn’t include a high-society boring talk about business and weather. But it feels nice when this girl – a complete stranger with no obligations to you – introduces herself. That’s what you get for never having proper friends.

“Asagiri [Name].” The smoke enters your lungs, coats them in tar and then goes back out in a grey cloud. Setsuno Hitagi lights herself a cigarette of her own. It vaguely smells like blueberry. Your own is laced with menthol. Maybe it’s an acquired taste. Maybe it’s a feminine thing to just not like the taste of pure tobacco. Maybe the two of you are just too weak.

“Wow, bigshot trust fund kid.” It doesn’t sound too mocking, but it also doesn’t sound amazed. You’ll take mockery over fascination with your father’s material assets any day. “Thought you looked familiar, Asagiri.” You hate that name. You hate the sound of it, and how the syllables connect to each other, and most of all you hate that you belong to that name but it is not yours to own or claim. You lost that right the second you chose your own path and there was nobody else to blame but yourself. It’s not as bad as it looks. You just hope to escape it for real one day.

“Just [Name].” Setsuno Hitagi stares again. Maybe you are being too laid-back right now. Maybe she didn’t expect you to reject the notion of hiding behind such a well-known name. You don’t know and you don’t care. This interaction with a stranger in a smoking area of a ballet venue is the first real conversation you have had with a person who isn’t your grandma or anyone school related. Nobody can blame you for being just a tad bit desperate, “Not a fan of ballet, Setsuno-san?”

“Too much of a hassle. I get enough of it at rehearsal.” She shrugs again, “And Hitagi is just fine. Don’t care about stuff like that.” Setsuno Hitagi is odd. You look at her and see yourself. Or rather what could have been you if you didn’t care as much as you actually do. Because you do care. You still do even if you know it would be so much better if you didn’t. It would have spared you sleepless nights of studying. Countless headaches caused by unwanted tears. If you just listened to Grandma all those years back and just stopped paying attention, things would have been different now. You know they would have been. You would have had actual friends to talk to and not just a bunch of numbers of the other trust fund kids that you are never going to dial saved in your phone. You would have had an easier time at school because you would not have pushed for that perfect 100% as much as you are doing now. Maybe you would have actually gone on a date for once in your life. But this life is your reality and you are here, trying to catch up with the years lost on the foolish naivetés of a child who didn’t know any better. It’s both tragic and pathetic. You’re glad nobody pities you.

“Never seen a smoker ballerina.” You muse, “Damaged lungs and all.”

“Nobody can keep up with me, anyway.” Hitagi laughs. It’s a little bitter, yet still extremely matter-of-factly casual. You know she’s not lying because of the way she carries herself. She knows she’s good, so she’s not afraid of admitting it. It’s confidence and not arrogance. Maybe a little bit of healthy egoism, too. “And you’re one to talk.”

In and out. Inhale and exhale. You don’t want to die but you also don’t want to quit. “Uni will kill me first.” And it probably will with how things are going. You want to say that at least you died doing something you enjoy, but that would be a lie. Nobody enjoys smoking. They come for the relief and stay for the addiction. You’re not an exception. You’re a part of the problem.

“Fair.” Hitagi loves shrugging, you notice. It’s probably an unconscious movement but it’s hard to miss when she does it so often. “Mom keeps telling me I’m gonna die before I’m thirty. Sorta makes me think.” She sounds wistful. Looks as such too. The true ending of her sentence has to be coaxed out of her.

“I sense a but.” It’s not like you at all, speaking to a complete stranger even if it is about something so harmless – it’s not – as smoking. Because for a reason unknown to you, it feels so much more intimate than it should be.

“She never quit so why should I? We're all gonna die in the end, anyway.” That’s a pretty morbid view on life for someone so young, but you can see the appeal. You don’t agree, but you can understand why Setsuno Hitagi thinks this way. It makes you wonder if your mother was alive, what her reaction would have been like. Nobody will ever know because the dead don’t talk. Your father is a whole other story, however.

You were out for too long. The heat of the withering cigarette is licking at the tips of your fingers. You take the last drag and throw the filter away. He’s still as impassive as the wall that you were leaning on just a second ago. Yua-san is nowhere to be seen, but Grandma is there. It doesn’t matter if he knows because Grandma does and you have never even tried hiding the fact you’ve been constantly poisoning yourself on a daily basis. Your father was just too uninterested in your life to notice.

“[Name].” You sigh. This time is actually audible. “You’re embarrassing this family. Let’s go.” Beside you Hitagi shakes her head, you sort of get the message. And you agree. She leaves as silently as she appeared. You just hope this won’t end up on the first pages of tomorrow’s newspapers.

“Rukia would have laughed if she saw you right now, Masaomi.” Grandma scoffs. You are almost impressed by the lengths she is willing to go just to berate her own son, even if for once in her life she partially agrees with him. Her knowing doesn’t mean she approves, after all.

“Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that.” He says and it’s like he has these two sentences programmed in his brain and they pop up every time someone mentions his first wife. Dead wife.

“And what was mama like?” You ask. It’s your annoying habit but when everyone refuses to give you the clear description except a dismissive outstanding physiotherapist and a good person, you are ought to capitalize on your father’s losses. It’s all just business. He, of all people, should know how it goes.

“Egotistical.” And he answers. It is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get. This is the first time in your life that you have heard him describe your mother in a negative light. But being selfish is not inherently evil. Grandma said so, and she is always right.

“Takes one to know one.” He’s changing and so are you. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. He says nothing. You keep your peace. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-two and freedom is an illusion.

It is actually not, because your teeth are sharp and your four-year-old brother – who is not your brother but just Asagiri Yua’s child – is the apple of your father’s eye. Asagiri Seijurou is a child prodigy and everything your father has ever wanted you to be. You are glad you are not. Being disregarded has its own perks, like being given the free will to choose as you please in a tight frame of delusional freedom. Being dismissed also doesn’t mean you can escape the clutches of a life-long plan that is years in the making. Everyone plays their own role in this world. Too bad you studied to be a doctor, not an actress.

“Seijurou-kun is too smart for his own good. I’m almost jealous.” Mikage Reo is sociable. Too sociable for your taste. You want to say too sociable in general, but you know it’s you who is the real problem. You’re the recluse, the antisocial nutcase who all the other rich girls in the circle advise the new kids to stay away from. And they all do. Except for Mikage Reo. Some other person would have thought it was because of your families and their tight corporate alliance or just simply pity. You know better.

Mikage Reo never does things because he’s told to. He does what he wants, gets what he wants and then throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way just to recover a second later and push his way to his goal one way or another. You can’t say he’s here out of the kindness of his heart but it’s not quite out of pity either. You have known each other all your lives, and maybe he considers you a friend. Despite him being the sanest person in this room full of enjoyers of their papa’s money, you cannot reciprocate the sentiment.

“Good for him, I guess.” You want a smoke break. And you will get one no matter what. You put the champagne glass back on the table despite not taking even a sip. One poison per person and you have chosen your own a long time ago. Reo follows you to the balcony without saying a word, despite you clearly giving him a way out of this absolutely one-sided conversation. But everything he has ever done in regards to you is for his benefit and his benefit only. You let him use you, despite realizing that clearly. Being the most decent person in this place has its merits, you muse.

“You’re so boring, [Name]-chan.” You know you are. You aren’t a great conversationalist and you know very little about things outside of your medical expertise. You don’t care about art and only follow politics just to answer any question your father’s bigoted friends might throw your way. You don’t have any hobbies and you haven’t played any sports in your life. You are the complete opposite of Mikage Reo, of course he would find you boring. You even think you made yourself this way precisely for that reason alone. “I just want to gossip.”

“Go to Kirie, then. You’ll be thoroughly entertained.” At the mention of your cousin, Reo makes a face. You almost do too. If there’s one person in this world who the both of you equally find annoying, it is Asagiri Kirie. Reo mumbles something about how low the mighty fall. You cringe. You hate the taste of tobacco. Yet the dizziness that comes after inhaling it in your lungs you enjoy too much to give it up just because your taste buds hate it. You blow the smoke away from Reo. Second-hand smoking is just as toxic as a straight up addiction, and you would feel a little responsible if the aspiring football star died of lung cancer because he enjoyed pestering you too much.

“You know I can’t.” You do know that. It’s all transparent and obvious. At these public events you’re all playing your given role. Reo is playing his by sticking by your side. You are playing yours by allowing him to. Neither of you is interested in doing so, but it is your job to go through with it until your contract expires.

“Three months.” You remind him. Reo nods. Three months until you enter your internship and move away from the Asagiri family home for good. You will miss the endless supply of money, but you will not be missing the haunting presence of the company any time soon.

“April is good for weddings, right?” It’s an open invitation that you will never take. Maybe Mikage Reo considers you a friend, but you do not. There’s an insatiable itch in your chest that comes up every time you think about leaving this life behind for good. And you want to. And you will. The day you will leave the manor is the day that you will cut ties with the Asagiri Group and everything that comes with it, dropping the responsibility on the shoulders of a four-year-old child. This also means you will cut ties with Mikage Reo. You can’t say you feel guilty for it.

“Congratulations.” Reo recognizes this as a rejection but he doesn’t look disappointed because he is not. He might consider you a friend, but you are still boring. And Mikage Reo doesn’t like boring. He likes special and enticing, and that commoner girl who he plans on proposing to despite his family’s disapproval is just that. You’re glad you are boring to him, because Mikage Reo is too much. And you don’t like intensity. Or at least you think you don’t. You know nothing about romance, anyway.

“Where to next?” Reo stares at the cigarette in-between your fingers. The athlete in him will never find the appeal, yet the tantrum-prone child has probably tried it once with his high-school seniors and didn’t like the taste. It’s better this way.

The sky is so blue and serene. It’s so peaceful out here that you can actually almost enjoy yourself for once. Only almost, because your father’s figure at the balcony entrance casts a shadow onto you and Reo in the most unpleasant of ways. Reo knows. You know. That’s why he asked that question and that’s also why you will give this answer, “Some pro football team med center. Grandma says this lady working there was my mother’s mentor.”

“I thought you were going to Hiroo?” You can’t blame him for thinking that when it’s your father’s only answer to your future career of choice. If you are not the heir to the Asagiri Group, then you’re an intern at one of the most renowned hospitals in Tokyo. The Asagiris cannot settle for anything else but something even beyond perfection. And you don’t actually wish to find yourself in the world of mediocrity, you just take any chance to cross your father by not being what he envisions you as. Maybe if your mother was alive, things would have been different. Yet you cannot help but feel like she abandoned you. Which is nothing but idiotic because Asagiri Rukia is dead and if anyone is to blame for her death it would be you, yourself.

“Well, I’m not.” It’s easy to say. You know you’re running away in some twisted sense, but it’s alright with you. You never asked to be an heir, and you are more than sure your father didn’t ask for you specifically as well. It’s all about the reputation and the public image. You care little about those things, but you still enjoy the luxury of them. Those will be missed dearly. Reo knows, and that’s why he laughs.

You can hear Grandma huff. She’s too old to be at the events such as this one, yet she still attends them because she has little to no trust in your father. It’s odd. It makes you wonder if this family even knows the definition of family bonds or what actual love feels like. “Don’t be stupid, [Name]. I told you this is not up for discussion.” He loves butting into conversations that do not concern him. Maybe he still feels like he owns you in some sort of way. Maybe he’s just that dedicated to playing his role. You care little about your father’s reasoning at this point. Three months. Three months is all he has left.

“You know well enough Rukia would not have sent her there, Masaomi.” Grandma shakes her head. Unlike Setsuno Hitagi, Mikage Reo stays and listens because he wants to be entertained, and gossip is peak entertainment in the world of money.

“Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that.” He says and you wonder where your father even met Asagiri Rukia in the first place. Your mother is nothing but a phantom you keep chasing yet never reach because your life is nothing but a one step forward, two steps back cycle. She’s the shadow in the corner of the room that disappears the second you glance her way.

“And what was mama like?” You ask because you wish she wasn’t. You feel absolutely nothing towards your father at this point. It’s all cold indifference and disinterest in anything he says when he opens his mouth. Your dead mother invokes this sense of loathing in you that she clearly doesn’t deserve. It’s unfair to her and you realize that, but you simply can’t help yourself.

“Dull.” And he answers. It is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get. Just like Mikage Reo’s mysterious lady, your mother was a nobody. No name to hold importance, no money to help her through life. But your father met her and asked her to marry him, despite your grandfather’s threats of disowning him and naming his youngest son the new heir to the family. Grandma loved her. Grandfather learned to respect her. Uncle never speaks ill of her till this day, despite his clear distaste for his older brother. So what happened?

“Glad we have something in common.” He’s not giving up and neither do you. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. He says nothing. You keep your peace. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-two, and your life finally begins.

Your apartment is cramped and idle, but it feels like home, something that you never really felt towards the Asagiri residence even if it was the most lavish thing one could possibly dream of. Now you have only two rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom, but it’s more than you could ever ask for. It might be a little hard right now, but you’re stubborn enough to get through it. There are plants that Grandma gifted to you sitting on your windowsill. You know nothing about taking care of them but you will learn eventually through a great deal of trial and error. The kitten you have taken in is a little too excitable for your tastes, but she seems to actually enjoy your company, and is always there at the front door waiting for you to come home. Grandma comes over almost daily just to have tea and ask about your day and how old Ichiji Mika is doing. Life is great. You wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Kon meows, jumping on one of the chairs in the kitchen. Grandma doesn’t swat her away. “Mika doesn’t overwork you, does she?” Ichiji-sensei does not. Ichiji-sensei – not Mika-san despite her asking you to call her that time and time again – is a good woman. Honest and hardworking, if not a little bit manic over her life’s passion she calls a job. You enjoy it. She’s bossy and meddling, but in a way that is strangely endearing for the most part. And she’s competent. You learned more from her than from all the years you have spent in university, and for that you are grateful. You go to work actually wanting to be there in that sterile office, and this is the biggest spit in the face of your father.

“I think she doesn’t give me enough, if anything.” Kon meows again. She’s too bright, orange and stupid. You picked her for that exact reason. “The team isn’t as accident-prone as one might think. Some players are a bit of a nuisance, however.”

Yes, the Tokyo Kaisen professional football team isn’t the most trauma-filled team in the world, but it has its moments. Their Chigiri Hyouma might as well live in the clinic at this point, but you completely understand where his fear is coming from. Ichiji-sensei is so done with him at this point, that from your first day with her it has been your job to check on his knee. Before practice and right after, all the way through any matches they might be having. Chigiri is there at least three times a day. Your saving grace is in the fact that despite his appearance, he is very much not a high-maintenance person. Which cannot be said for Mikage Reo.

Despite escaping your old life, you did not evade the clutches of Mikage Reo. It was a surprise for the both of you when he entered the clinic with a broken pinky finger and saw you there. He grinned and requested for you specifically to take care of him, Ichiji-sensei was glad – still is – to dump the prince onto your shoulders and forget about his unreasonable demands. Now that his broken finger has healed, he still comes over just to annoy you. Reo probably still thinks the two of you are friends. Even now you doubt that, because true friends don’t abandon each other like you so shamelessly did.

And if Reo is just an annoyance, Shidou Ryuusei is a disaster so graciously presented to you by Ichiji-sensei. She might love her job but you came to realize she doesn’t like the problem children – her own words – like Reo or Shidou, that’s why when you came, she gladly got rid of them with no remorse. You’re fine with it for the most part. The problem with Shidou comes from the fact that his injuries are not from the accident on the field but from physical altercations with other players. Often those who didn’t make it to the first string, and some of those who did make it as well. He’s odd and loves to stare at you when you patch him and his poor, unfortunate victim up, but he too doesn’t cause as much trouble as one might think he would.

Every other player is managed by Ichiji-sensei herself. Nagi Seishirou comes around when Reo is there but otherwise he’s not there often. Kunigami Rensuke might be the most rational person you have ever met when he’s outside the football field, and you wish you could trade Reo for him to bring peace and quiet back into your life. Niko Ikki is the least problematic person of Tokyo Kaisen but he has to check up on his eyesight constantly. And the rest have never shown up to the clinic outside of the scheduled check-ups that are all administered by Ichiji-sensei herself.

“There’s nothing you can’t take. She’d ease you into things well. Rukia would have been proud of you.” Grandma says it like she means it. And she does. But you can’t help but doubt her words once again like you did when you were still a child. Would Asagiri Rukia be proud of her only daughter still, if she knew that said daughter hates her? Hate is a strong word and you’re using it very lightly, but this feeling inside of you cannot be anything else. Maybe you’re still hurting. Maybe it’s all the what-ifs that run through your head before you close your eyes and drift to sleep. Maybe you just wish to have a mother to be proud of you and your accomplishments, because all you have ever had was simply a ghost to chase after in hopes of catching a glimpse of her.

Your father is not here to tell you two otherwise, but it somehow feels like he is. Sitting right where Kon is, looking down on and at you. Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. The words are left unsaid, but the two of you hear them anyway. “What was mama like?” You ask, because you need to be sure your mother would not have hated you for feeling betrayed by her, despite her having all the rights to do so.

“Stubborn.” And she answers. It is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get. Grandma sometimes speaks in riddles, but she only says things that actually matter. If she thinks you need to be more hard-headed, then you will become just that.

“I see.” She’s giving you a chance to have the life you deserve and you repay her with your hard work.

Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. She says nothing. You keep your peace. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

ACT II: THE CHILLING WARMTH OF HYPOTHERMIA

You’re twenty-four, and fate is a weird thing.

You don’t know that this is the true turning point of your life, so it’s just another day in-between many others that come and go. It’s a long and tiring process but you’re slowly getting used to communicating with people. You’re still very bad at it, but it’s notable progress from the you of two years ago. You still don’t really have friends – it’s by your own volition that you still refuse to call Reo a friend because it’s more comfortable to not have him as one – but you have people who come by the clinic just to greet you every morning and tell you goodbye. It’s a change, it’s odd, and you are still learning to accept it as a good thing. But you were never one to back out of hard work. So you press on.

It’s your first day working alone. Ichiji-sensei is on leave for the first time in the two years that you have been staying here. You have a growing suspicion that she’s planning to retire soon, with the birth of her only granddaughter’s first baby and all. So you’re bracing yourself for the impact it will make on your working process. It shouldn’t change much except for your workload. And the fact that you will have to be constantly present at the clinic without much chance to escape for a smoke break. It’s not like Reo won’t find you in the smoking area, anyway. You put your pen down, shaking your head. Small sacrifices must be made.

Someone screams. Mikage Reo must be chained and muffled. Muzzled even. He’s a danger to himself and to society. You know that because he’s announcing himself by a loud screech, disregarding any common sense, courtesy or simply manners. He doesn’t knock before entering the clinic, and if Ichiji-sensei were here, she would have scolded him for doing so. You don’t, because chastising Reo is useless and you would rather save your breath for something more important.

“[Name]-chan, we have a nutcase!” You sigh. It’s as heavy as the headache that you feel will be coming soon. Kunigami grumbles something you can’t quite hear, but it’s probably reasonable yet absolutely counterproductive, because Mikage Reo is hopeless. The door swings open. You wish you were allowed to smoke indoors.

“What is it this time, Reo? Your pride?” You open the drawer in your desk, pulling the band aid package that you keep there. “Want a band-aid?” Someone laughs, you don’t recognize the voice and when you turn to look at the three of them, you don’t recognize the face either. Well, you do, you have seen the files of each and every member of the team, but you have never seen the new guy in person. Kunigami is holding the New Guy™ up by the hand, Reo is just standing there to pretend he’s been doing something to help the New Guy™ in some way in order  to get the bragging rights later.

“Since when do you have a sense of humor, [Name]-chan?” Reo is pouting. You wish he wasn’t so cartoonishly childish sometimes.

“I wonder.” You mumble, ignoring your definitely-not friend, turning all of your attention towards the New Guy™ and Kunigami. “Get him to the bed, Kunigami-kun.” Kunigami nods, tugging at the New Guy™ - Bachira Meguru, you guess you have to drop the joke eventually – to the bed in the corner of the room, but Bachira doesn’t move, staring at the band-aids in your hand. They’re the Pokémon printed ones that Reo one day dropped on your lap as a gag gift – it was White Day and he has a very odd sense of humor – and you think he either likes them, or finds them amusing at the very least.

“Come on, Bachira, doc’s orders.” Kunigami mutters finally, and only then does Bachira move, limping on one leg to the bed. His ankle is a little swollen, but it doesn’t look bad enough for it to be broken, although it never hurts to check. They were professional players after all.

“Bachira-san, I’m going to check if it’s broken. It may hurt.” You say, leaning down to look at his leg properly. Your lab coat is pristinely white and your name plate is shiny, and you want to believe in the good of humanity and that he’s reading your name and doesn’t stare inside your blouse at your tits.

“I hope not as much as it did for you when you fell from heaven, Asagiri-sensei.” Your hand stops a hair’s breadth away from touching Bachira’s skin. Reo bursts into a fit of absolutely insane laughter, and even Kunigami – the only one who you had any respect for – looks to the side, hand covering his mouth. You blink, turning your gaze to look at Bachira Meguru properly. His eyes are already focused on you, half-closed and lazy just like the grin on his face. He so was staring at your tits back then. You just hope you don’t look as flustered as you’re feeling right now.

The smart-ass remark is at the tip of your tongue, but you push the thought of anything like that away, squishing it at the bud. Bachira Meguru is Mikage Reo 2.0, reskinned, improved and actually – sadly and to your absolute horror a bit later when the realization of your thoughts hits you – attractive and you don’t even have the time to entertain his 1.0 version, so you decide to not humor the upgraded model any longer. “I don’t think so.”

Then you turn away, hand reaching for his ankle, and it might just be the absolute bitch in you, but you twist it a little – a lot – harsher than necessary. Bachira yelps. You don’t apologize. The ankle is sprained but it’s, fortunately for him, not broken. You snap it into place with one quick motion. The joint clicks with a disgusting sound you spent years getting used to. Then you give him an ice pack and write the prescription for the pain relieving ointment, advising two weeks of rest with no practice, and send him on his merry way.

He doesn’t move from the bed, however, and it’s because just like Mikage Reo, Bachira Meguru is a menace, a bastard, and a completely unhinged motherfucker. The headache is here and the slight tremor in your hands can be easily fixed by a cigarette or two. This clinic without the watchful eye of Ichiji Mika is doomed.

“That’s all? You won’t even give me a band-aid for this deep, painful scratch, Asagiri-sensei?” Bachira is pressing his pointer finger right into the open scratch. It isn’t as deep as he is implying it is, and you cleaned it so he’s not going to die from infection any time soon, unless he keeps on poking it with his dirty fingers. Reo snickers like the disgusting hyena he is. You stare with unblinking eyes at your new problem child. How did Ichiji-sensei deal with this monster without getting grey hairs all over?

Bachira is still grinning. He’s unfairly, disgustingly cute for someone who has a personality of a new, clean sewer. You reach for the pack of band-aids still lying on your desk. They’re all ugly and childish, and you wish Reo went back to the life of a trust fund kid and left you alone. Ripping one out, you peel the protective layer off and slap the Pikachu themed band-aid right onto Bachira’s forehead with a straight face. “Here. All healed.” He laughs again. It’s such a nice laugh for the menace that he is, how unfair too. Then he jumps off the bed and reaches to Kunigami for support.

“See ya later, Asagiri-sensei! Thanks a bunch!” Bachira giggles – giggles, that absolute bastard– and waves goodbye excitedly. All you can do is stare, nothing on your face betraying the utter confusion you feel inside over this strange encounter with Bachira Meguru. Reo was so right when he said that you had a nutcase on your hands.

“Yeah, see ya later, Asagiri-sensei.” Reo grins. You wonder how much sulfuric acid it would take to dissolve the body of a grown man of above average height.

“Choke and die.” You mumble, but Reo is not there to hear you. Then you open the window and smoke right in the clinic. Rules be damned. You wonder if your mother would have done the same if she was in your place. If she would have caved under the pressure of such a weird encounter with an even stranger person. The voice in your head says no, she would not have. And it sounds eerily similar to your father’s.

Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. Maybe he is right for once. Maybe he is still wrong. You don’t know and Father is nothing but a voice in your head that belongs to your own consciousness. So you don’t ask your usual question, because your subconscious has no answer for it. If it was up to you, you would have liked to say unyielding. He would have probably said uncompromising.

And it is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get.

“Resolve is important.” He messed up your life, you messed up his plans. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Father is not here, so he says nothing. You keep your peace with shaking hands and lungs full of grey clouds. Bachira Meguru is forgotten not even an hour later. Not for long, however.

In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-four, and being annoying is a conscious decision.

Chigiri Hyouma is sitting in his usual spot. It’s his second visit to the clinic today, but you don’t mind it at all. He’s comforting company, rarely making small talk and only speaking when it really matters and on the topic that is relevant. His knee hurts a little, he says. There’s this chilling expression on his face that reminds you of the time you got 99% on one of your important tests in high school. Only, that test didn’t ruin your whole life because you made up for it with an extracurricular, and his knee pain just might. So you do your best to reassure both him and yourself that there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s neither swollen nor loose, yet you run an MRI scan anyway. It’s healthy and completely intact, but it still takes time to convince Chigiri that it's all okay. You do assign him to a week off from working that knee, however.

“Thanks, [Name].” Chigiri bows. It’s shallow and simply obligational and you like that. You like how casual he is and he doesn’t bother with the formalities. When you asked him to call you by your name he said nothing and then the next time he called out to greet you, it wasn’t Asagiri-sensei but just [Name]. Not even an honorific.

You say nothing to his gratitude, because it’s your job to care for him and just like with anything else in your life, you take it seriously. “Tell the coach it’s the bench for you. And come by after practice, I’ll reapply the compression bandages.” Chigiri nods, waves his hand and is out of the door the next moment. He’s still nonchalant and easygoing. Which can’t be said about Bachira Meguru (or Mikage Reo, but lately you like to pretend your totally not-friend does not exist, so he doesn’t count).

Bachira bursts into the clinic with a bright smile, all teeth and some sort of teasing angle to the left corner of his mouth. Then he plops himself onto the empty chair next to your desk and leans closer to you. Bachira Meguru has no knowledge about the concept of personal space and you learn it the hard way. Reo follows him close behind, leaning on the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. They’re both sweaty, red in the face, and absolutely annoying solely for the sake of being annoying. You sigh. Here we go again.

“Asagiri-sensei, hi!” Bachira Meguru cannot be described with words that make up your very limited vocabulary. He’s odd but in a strangely endearing way, so you can’t even bring yourself to call him a weirdo, because it would be simply insulting to do so. He probably wouldn’t even have been half as annoying if it wasn’t for Reo being a disgusting enabler. And Reo is such, because your suffering is his entertainment and Mikage Reo loves a good show.

When Bachira and his two knights in shining armor (or more accurate description would be one knight and a prince who is actually a court jester in disguise) walked out of your clinic that day you genuinely thought you wouldn’t be seeing him again. You were mistaken in that assumption. Bachira was back in the clinic not even three days later for the (unnecessary) ankle checkup. Then when the ankle was healed, it was a tiny scratch on his elbow and a snickering Reo behind his back supporting his antics. You gave him your – Reo’s – Pikachu band-aid and kicked the two out of your clinic (but only when Shidou walked in with bruised knuckles and Kunigami supporting one of the second string players by an elbow), although pulling that off was hard because the duo is an unmovable force of chaotic evil. He’s been paying the clinic a visit at least once a week religiously.

“Bachira-san.” You have no choice but to greet him back – you do, but you ignore the implications because avoiding them is easier than confronting them – and it’s only out of politeness. It’s not. Reo knows it, that’s why he snickers. That’s also when you address him, “Mild inconvenience.” Mikage Reo doesn’t even mind being called that. You think he started enjoying your company a lot more because you got a tad bit less boring to him, all thanks to Bachira Meguru and his ability to pull you out of the dull mindset you consciously subjected yourself to. How Reo managed to get himself a wife of all things by the age of 24 is beyond you. You commend her patience and her nerves of steel.

“Asagiri-sensei, I am in immense pain.” Bachira never calls you [Name] even if Reo told him you were okay with that. Not a lot of them are actually comfortable with doing that. Kunigami and Niko just call you Sensei; they can see you’re uncomfortable with them using your family name but still deem it inappropriate to call you by your given name. Shidou one day decided on a casual Assan, because apparently he is oddly sentimental when it comes to things so personal, and it’s okay with you because it’s sort of cute. Chigiri, Nagi and Reo are the only ones who actually don’t mind calling you [Name]. The rest of the football team is way too professional and you don’t care because you actually don’t even see them that often. That leaves only Bachira Meguru. And oh well. The Asagiri-sensei that leaves his lips is always teasing. With a little tilt of his head and half-lidded eyes. You don’t know what he is trying to achieve yet it somehow feels like he’s succeeding. “Please help me.” He says, leaning even closer. You stay still just to show resolve. To your left, you can almost see Reo grinning. Fucking bastard.

“Where does it hurt?” You shouldn’t be entertaining him, yet you ask anyway. Maybe you’re also just as guilty in enabling Bachira Meguru as Reo is. You need to stop doing that. You don’t.

Bachira nods, raising his hand from his lap and pointing right to where his heart is. “Right here.” Oh, that actually might be a real thing this time around. Running around so much is very taxing on one’s heart, and despite not seeing any history of heart problems in his file, there’s still a chance that they might pop up later in life. Or it might be his lungs burning, which is arguably even worse. That’s two possibilities too many. You frown, reaching for the stethoscope.

“Your beauty is too much for my poor heart to handle, Asagiri-sensei.” And then you stop. The sigh that escapes your mouth is heavy. Your fingers grab the lighter instead. Bachira Meguru grins.

“God bless you, Bachira.” Reo is a motherfucker that you can ignore. Bachira is a motherfucker that actually somehow gets to you. “This is so fun.” No, it is not. Well, it is, but definitely not for you at the very least. And that’s what actually matters.

“If that’s all, then please vacate the clinic.” Your voice is monotone and not amused in the slightest, yet Bachira Meguru doesn’t look bothered by it even one bit. Maybe he can see right through you. Maybe he is just searching for some type of reaction you aren’t sure you can give him.

“But I haven’t made you smile yet, Asagiri-sensei.” Bachira says it with a little pout on his lips. He’s still leaning way too close to you for it to be socially acceptable. If your father could see this, he would have mistaken the situation for something it is not.

“Our Sensei here doesn’t know what fun is, right, Unzarin-chan?” Reo teases. You know it isn’t supposed to be ill-minded in any way, but it still leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Your lips press into a thin line despite your trying to control your facial expressions as much as possible. Unzarin. Nobody has called you that to your face, but you know that’s what the other bigoted old money kids in your circle called you behind your back. Boring and tedious. Unzari was thrown your way one day – by Kirie no less – as an insult and then the word stuck as a play on your name. You knew they called you that and they knew you knew. Nobody cared. You pretended it didn’t bother you. Then you moved on from that socialite life and forgot about it. You also forgot who Mikage Reo really is. That’s why you will never call him your friend. Because no matter what, he’s not much different from the rest of them.

“Unzarin?” Bachira’s head tilts to the side. He reminds you of a curious little bird, if only he wasn’t as tall as he is. “Unzarin…” It takes some time for him to figure out the pun. Probably because he has never called you [Name] before. When it settles in, Bachira frowns. “That’s real fucking mean, Mikage.” It’s the first time you’ve heard Bachira swear. It’s also the first time you’ve heard someone from the team referring to Reo by his family name. Reo hates his family just as much as you do yours, so it must be a real punch to the gut, coming from someone who – from what you’ve seen so far – has no mean bone in their body.

“It’s not mean when it’s true.” Reo shrugs. You don’t argue with him because he is still right. You are boring. You have no hobbies, no passion in life, your personality is as dull as a rock and you haven’t smiled properly in years. You only push forward for the sake of a woman who will never be there to see the results of your hard work. It’s all useless, so there is no point to denying Reo’s statement. Words hurt, but they mean very little in the frame of the big picture. You keep telling yourself that, but you don’t know if you actually believe it.

Bachira Meguru clicks his tongue. There’s something in his eyes that you have never seen before. But you also don’t really know him as a person, so you can’t actually say it’s unusual for him to look like that. Your fingers are playing with the lighter, impatiently waiting for the moment the two will finally leave so you can smoke your worries away. Then Bachira leans even closer, hair brushing over your cheek, speaking right into your ear. “Someone with a monster inside of them can never be dull.” You don’t know what that means but you also have never heard Bachira Meguru’s voice sound like that. Before you can ask, he’s up on his feet, palm resting at the top of your head with a light touch and then he’s out of the door. “Come, Mikage. Don’t bother Sensei anymore.” The sharp edge of his tone that was there just a second ago is gone and Bachira is back to his carefree and light-hearted self. The choice of words hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Reo follows. It’s not because he was told to, but because he wants to. The childish part of you sort of wishes to never see him again. The rational part knows it’s idiotic to hold a grudge over something like that because ultimately, Mikage Reo is the only one in the right. The lighter screeches to life, flames flickering from yellow to orange. Smoke fills the room. You think you might get fired soon for smoking in the clinic, but you can’t force yourself to care.

What would Asagiri Rukia do? Your gut tells you she wouldn’t have let Mikage Reo’s words get to her. She would have forgotten but not forgiven and moved on with her life. The disembodied voice in your head still sounds like Father. Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. You escaped his presence yet you carry his spirit on your shoulders wherever you go like a curse.

“And what was mama like?” you mumble as the smoke escapes your lungs. The empty clinic gives you no answer, but your self-loathing in the form of your father’s voice says pitiful. Once again, it is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get. Just like you. He made his choice with no will to compromise and you still keep making yours. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Father is not here, so he says nothing. You keep your peace and refuse to mess your makeup up with useless tears. Everything is forgotten but never forgiven, as Shidou Ryuusei walks in with a busted lip and a hiss of yo, Assan, patch me up, will ya. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-four, and life is full of surprises.

“I’m sorry.” He says. You don’t understand.

You blink. It doesn’t make any sense. Mikage Reo doesn’t apologize. It’s not something that is in his vocabulary, because Reo is the Mikage heir, the precious son, the all-time favorite person of the general public of Japan. You put your handbag down on the table, and turn around to look at him. Reo says he is sorry, but you’re more than sure he doesn’t mean it. He says it because it’s some sort of a gift he’s giving you as a sign of peace so he can bother you again with a clear conscience. Reo’s apology is empty, and you don’t need it.

“Okay.” You accept it even though you have no use for it. Then you pick up your purse and walk out of the door. Reo follows you because he wants to. He knows you don’t believe him and it annoys him that he can’t get what he wants when it comes to you. You’re boring as a person, but you’re entertaining as an afterthought.

“I mean it.” He doesn’t. And if he somehow does, you still have no use for his words. All forgotten, but never forgiven. “That was a shitty thing to say to a friend. I was insensitive. I’m sorry.” Reo sounds sincere, but he is also a way better actor than you. You don’t stop nor look at him, you just open the door to the exit of the main hall and step outside.

“We aren’t friends, so it’s all okay.” You are casual. Matter-of-factly boring. It’s what you tell yourself you desire to be. It’s everything Mikage Reo’s wife is not. You like it this way. You want to keep it that way. You’re lying to yourself.

“Of course we’re friends, [Name]. We –” Reo stops speaking. Maybe he finally realizes the real nature of the relationship you two share. Around the corner Nagi Seishirou is waiting for him, sitting hunched on the bench and conversing with Bachira Meguru. It looks very much one-sided because Bachira talks more than enough for the both of them and Nagi doesn’t talk enough for even one. You hope Reo will drop the subject and go to his actual friend. Nagi lifts his eyes from his phone as if sensing Reo’s presence. You guess Genshin Impact is a little bit less fun to him when Mikage Reo is around. Bachira does the same when he notices Nagi stopped paying attention to his game and then waves his hand and calls out to the two of you. You give a shallow bow in return and when neither you nor Reo come over to the bench, Bachira gets up and skips over to you instead.

“I see you apologized, Mikage.” Bachira Meguru is smiling but somehow it just looks so extremely off.

Unsettling. A shiver runs down your spine and you grip the strap of your purse tighter. “All good, Asagiri-sensei?”

You nod, “All forgotten.” But not forgiven. The implications of your words are clear but in your mind they don’t really mean a thing. Beside you Reo is very stiff. You don’t know what happened in the span of those two days that you haven’t seen the odd dynamic duo – it looks like they’re not a duo anymore, but you digress – yet it is very much clear something did happen and it ended up not being in Reo’s favor.

Bachira frowns. It’s barely noticeable but you are a master of discreetly staring from under your eyelashes and you do enjoy doing just that to Tokyo Kaisen’s eccentric Bachira Meguru even if you would deny it if asked.

“’Twas a shitty apology then, Mikage.” His head lolled to the right, eyes half-lidded in his signature look. Whatever it is, you don’t want to be a part of it. Reo opens his mouth. Then he closes it. Tight lips and gritting teeth, he moves to Nagi’s side, muttering something under his breath that you can’t comprehend. “And there he goes, heh, boring.” Bachira shakes his head. You sigh. “Are you headed to the station, Asagiri-sensei?” It’s an innocent question. Somehow it feels like it isn’t.

“Yeah.” You have never been alone with Bachira Meguru before. If you couldn’t handle him with Reo’s somewhat comforting shadow looming over you, you sure as hell can’t handle him on your own.

“Then I’ll walk you there. It’s late.” It sounds like a statement, but you know that in reality it’s a question. You are free to say no. You don’t.

“If it’s convenient for you as well, Bachira-san.” You move ahead on the pavement in an oddly synchronized manner. The click clack of your heels is the only thing that is dissolving the silence yet your thoughts are too loud for you to actually hear them. Should you or should you not? How does one know what is the right thing and what is a mistake? Grandma says to take everything given to you and be selfish about it. You wonder if you’re capable of being that much of an egoist. The answer is yes. “Please call me [Name].” You hope the time span between those two sentences isn’t too long to make things awkward. The tiny laugh ringing to your right tells you it’s not.

“Thought you’d never ask.” You don’t understand but you also think you will never really be able to understand someone like Bachira Meguru. He’s not Mikage Reo. Reo is easy because he’s familiar. He’s what you would have been if your father actually loved you, so you can read through him and his every thought. Bachira Meguru might seem very similar to Reo, but at the end of the day, he is not.

“Reo told you to.” You remind him. Bachira nods, hiding his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. You wear nothing but a thin sweater because you like the cold.

“I know.” He says simply. And you think that’s it. You’re wrong. “You didn’t.” It takes a lot of practiced self-restraint to not stop right in your tracks. You don’t know what it is about those two words he said that takes your whole world and rearranges its pieces, but you think being hit by a truck has less life-changing consequences than hearing those. Your hand opens your handbag on complete autopilot and you’re tasting the menthol before your brain is finished processing Bachira Meguru’s sentence. It tastes like complete freedom. You don’t know if you’re ready to savor something like that in its fullest extent just yet.

“I do now, Bachira-san.” You rasp. You have never choked on tobacco smoke before – even when you tried it for the first time – but you feel like you are now. Even if Bachira is uncomfortable with you smoking next to him, he still says nothing. You make sure to finish this one as fast as you can.

“You’re too polite, [Name].” It’s stupid. Everything is so stupid. You’re twenty-four. A grown ass woman. A doctor. You have your shares in the Asagiri Group courtesy of your grandma despite your father’s protests. Your net worth is around 400 billion yen even if you are technically disowned by the family and will never own that money. So what the fuck gives? You blame your father for not allowing you to experience things every teenager should. It’s all his fault.

“Is it a bad thing, Bachira-kun?” You light another one up right after the first cigarette is nothing but a filter, mentally apologizing to Bachira Meguru’s lungs.

“It sure can be, [Name].” He’s grinning. It’s the one-sided one. The bastard one. The menace knows and he’s doing nothing about it. Or he’s doing something, it just doesn’t help you.

“If you say so, Bachira.” That is the furthest you are willing to go. It’s the furthest you will allow yourself to go. Because you’re a grown woman and not a high-school girl with a crush even though you might as well be one at this point. Pathetic. Bachira knows. That’s why he sighs.

“Eh, it was worth a shot.” Then he stops. The train station is bright and crowded despite it being way past the rush hour. Your train is waiting for you as it always does, and the women-only passenger car looks packed already. It’s only then you realize you took too much time getting to the station. “Let’s go. I take this one too.” He doesn’t. Unlike Reo, Bachira is a bad fucking liar. It’s all there on his face. And you should know better. You should say no and leave him be. He looks tired. He is tired. You weren’t the one who had been running around the football field for twelve hours straight. But you don’t want to know any better.

“If it’s okay with you.” You are trying to be cool about it. You are boring, after all. Impassive and emotionless. Unzarin. The problem lies in the fact that you are simply not.

“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” He lets you lean on the wall of the car and stands close beside you. The distance is socially inappropriate. If there are any shitty paparazzi around, the pictures will be plastered all over the yellow press by tomorrow morning. You let it be even if you do know better. You are selfish, after all and the rumors might actually bring some attention to your father’s business. Any publicity is good publicity; no matter what people say. Father should thank you for this one.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the ride. It’s out of Bachira’s character to keep his mouth shut for so long, but you guess that even extroverts like him need some peace once in a while. He walks out with you even though he said that’s the train he also takes to get home simply because he understands that you know he lied. Then he walks you to your apartment building and bids you goodnight with a pat on the head. You didn’t think it would be a habit but apparently it is now. Then he leaves. You bang your head on the front door with a stuttering heart and absolute embarrassment. Kon meows excitedly when she sees you. When you realize Bachira Meguru was walking in a pace comfortable for you to keep up with the heels on, you’re banging your head on the front door once again. Kon meows. You would say she thinks you’re slowly going insane, but you know there’s not even a thought behind those eyes.

The thought of your mother crosses your mind for a fleeting moment. You habitually wonder what she would have done if she were in your place. Your first guess is that Asagiri Rukia would have taken the bait and went for it. The self-doubt faking your father’s voice disagrees.

Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. Then what was she like? Nobody tells you anything useful about her and she is your mother, for fuck’s sake. You’re getting tired and Father’s voice keeps repeating delusional over and over and over. And yet another time, it is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever get.

“It’s always good to have a healthy imagination.” He won’t ruin this for you because you are very much capable of doing it yourself. For the first time it’s not eye for an eye or leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Father is not here, so he says nothing despite you hearing his evil cackling at your misery that is so out-of-character to his true personality. You keep your peace and almost crack your forehead on the metal of the front door. Delusional might just be the right description. You wish it wasn’t, so you swat the fantasies away. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-four, and ignorance is bliss.

The number of calls left unanswered by you is one hundred and forty-seven in total and it’s only 6 PM. You sort of know why he’s been calling, you just like to pretend you have no idea. It feels like some kind of revenge for all the years he’s been neglecting you; which is odd in itself because you have never thought of yourself as a person who holds grudges. Apparently you are.

Someone is running in the corridor. It’s neither Bachira nor Reo because the first one skips when he hurries and the other is an egotistical maniac who got his feelings hurt so he won’t be coming over any time soon. The door opens. Niko Ikki is a little disheveled and panting, and you guess all that running finally got to him. You also guess there’s an emergency. You get up to search for your first aid kit, Niko shakes his head, “No time, Sensei. Let’s go.” You nod and follow him despite not really getting why you don’t have time to bring a med kit when you clearly need it.

Turns out, you don’t.

Nagi Seishirou is holding Reo up by the hem of his shirt like a cat would her kitten. Bachira Meguru has his hands locked behind his back by Kunigami. Chigiri is standing between the two of them like some sort of peace-keeper, which is arguably not the role he should ever be assigned to. Shidou is sitting on the bench, watching everything from the sidelines in amusement. Then he scoots over to make some space for you. He snickers, mumbling something about having the most fun of his life and how you definitely shouldn’t calm Reo down. And you almost get the appeal. Almost, because Mikage Reo – always an idiot – opens his mouth.

“Is this some sort of revenge for voting Rin out?” You don’t know what’s going on and who this Rin person is, but those who are involved in separating Reo and Bachira look almost ashamed when the name is mentioned. Truthfully, you know nothing about the origins of the football club except for the fact that it was one of the teams established by Ego Jinpachi five years ago, after the whole conundrum with the Neo Egoist League and the World Cup had ended. At least that’s what you’ve been told. You don’t care about football enough to do research. “My vote was to choose one and I picked the person who would work the best with Shidou. You know that, forward. Haven’t you learned to play for yourself yet? Or do you need Isagi to hold your hand through every goal?”

Bachira scoffs, the bruise on his cheek might not be visible right now, but in a couple of hours it would be very noticeable. “I’m playing for myself only.” That’s a troublingly egotistical statement for someone who is playing a team sport. Or at least you think so. Way back when you and Kirie still had an okay relationship, the core thing you learned from her was the fact that teamwork is everything. It might have worked with volleyball, but looking at things now, you don’t know if it can be applied to football as well. “I don’t need neither Isagi nor you, or anyone for that matter. You take everything so fucking personally, Mikage. For me alone, it’s all forgotten.” But not forgiven. You understand this because you know what it feels like. Reo cannot read between the lines.

You don’t know why nobody stops their back and forth. Nagi clearly saw you entering the field with Niko. They should have dropped the argument and just let you take Bachira to the clinic. You should have been the responsible one and stopped them. But you don’t do that. And you learn more about yourself in the upcoming short few minutes than you have learned in the whole 24 years of your life because of it.

“Then why? Why her of all people? Need public attention that bad?” Reo sounds desperate but he looks angry. It’s a strange mix that you have never seen from him yet. When you realize he’s talking about you and the newspaper article that you refuse to acknowledge, you don’t know how to feel about it.

Bachira grins. “You don’t like it when you don’t get things your way, huh?” Of course he doesn’t. You may not be able to read Reo’s thoughts, but you can easily put yourself in his shoes. It’s not that hard to imagine the frustration of something not going as you wanted it to, especially with the upbringing the two of you have. What you can’t imagine, however, is how something that Mikage Reo wants can concern you in any possible way.

And it seems Reo feels the same, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He’s so explosive and furious. Sometimes you wonder if being good at everything but excellent at nothing messes up his self-esteem. You can’t understand his mindset because everything you have ever achieved was the result of your hard work. Every perfect mark, every word, every move, every decision that led you away from the Asagiri family home was just you pushing through life. Reo, on the other hand, was given it all for free. And when something is being taken away, he gets defensive.

Only Bachira Meguru seems to be reading things from a different perspective. He shakes his head, it’s both mocking and amused, and you know he’s provoking Reo for another outburst that shows his inner immaturity. “Don’t you have a wife, Mikage Reo?” The implications of his words are foreign to you. “Getting a wife and still thinking about another woman. How vulgar.” Mikage Reo finding you, of all people, fascinating enough to take interest in is impossible and improbable. You know that for sure because it was the first thing you have accounted for when your father mentioned the marriage. If you’re not an heir, you’re a useful tool for a partnership. You refuse to be one even if it kills you, Reo shares the sentiment.

“Don’t provoke him, Bachira.” Kunigami tugs Bachira back when Reo lunges forward at the mention of his wife. You have never met the woman and you don’t care to even know her name, but you sometimes feel sorry for her and her predicament. It’s both heartbreaking and pathetic, the lengths she is willing to go just to stay by Reo’s side. You wonder how hard he had to fight for it himself.

“What the fuck are you insinuating, Bachira?” Nagi lifts Reo up from his feet by the collar, and he dangles in the air like a ragdoll. Shidou cackles at the absolute shitshow playing right before his eyes. You would have laughed too if it didn’t somewhat concern you. “Get Mikan’s name out of your mouth.”

Bachira hums, pursing his lips, “See, that’s what I don’t understand. You call [Name] boring and then you go and swing your fists when you see some pictures in a newspaper.” If Reo notices the [Name] instead of Asagiri-sensei, he doesn’t show it. Probably because there is no more emotion that can fit on his already expressive face. “How come?” You want to ask the same question, yet you also think you won’t ever get the answer. Reo does things because he wants to. But why would he?

Bachira doesn’t get his answer as well. Reo is a master of avoiding things and changing the trajectory of the conversation. “That’s the thing I don’t understand. She is boring. Of all people you could have chosen, you’re telling me you wanted Asagiri [Name]. Please. There’s no way it isn’t about me.” You feel stupid for entertaining the thought of Reo being right, but you simply can’t help yourself. You’ve known Reo all your life and he knew Bachira Meguru a lot longer than you did. It’s childish yet it also makes sense. These five short months that you and Bachira knew each other were nothing but him pestering you and you doing what you know best, being boring. So what sparked his interest in the first place? There has to be something. It has to, or Mikage Reo is right. And no matter what you say or do, you don’t want Reo to be right this time.

Nagi sighs. “Reo, the world doesn’t revolve around you. You’re not the main character.” He’s so monotone and blunt when he says it. Like he’s stating a universal fact and not shattering his best friend’s ego. Reo opens his mouth to talk again, but Nagi just slaps Reo on the back of the head to stop him from talking any longer. “Calm down. And stop insulting our doctor. It makes you look pathetic. No wonder [Name] doesn’t think you’re friends.”

This team has changed Mikage Reo. Blue Lock, whatever it was, changed Mikage Reo. Because you know for sure if you said something like that to a sixteen-year-old Reo before he went for that training camp, he would have sulked in the corner like an abandoned puppy. Twenty-four-year-old Reo bites back. “Don’t butt in, Nagi. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nagi Seishirou doesn’t, but he’s also right, so it doesn’t matter what Reo thinks. “I’ve known her all my life. She’s like a blank sheet of paper with nothing to even make her remotely interesting. There’s no passion or life’s purpose. Have you heard her speak? She’s like an android. Are you telling me he looked at her once and decided he likes that?” You hate that he’s right. You hate it but you can’t blame him for thinking that because it’s your own conscious decision he sees you in this light. It doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt, despite it being your own fault.

You also don’t think Reo realizes you’re standing right there by the benches. Niko, despite you not even seeing half his face, somehow still manages to look apologetic for bringing you here in hopes of pacifying Reo. Even Shidou, who’s sitting next to you on that very bench winces and offhandedly asks – in exact words – if you want him to beat Reo up for what that purple turnip shitted out. You tell him no. He shrugs and tells you – once again a quote – that if someone had said something like that about Koi, he would have killed the guy, so Bachira better put out. You don’t know who Koi is, but you think it’s cute because he’s blushing like crazy. You also think nothing that ties you and Bachira Meguru is worth enough to throw fists.

You cannot see what Bachira Meguru sees. Your line of sight is very limited, and sometimes to such an extent that you think you might have developed tunnel vision. So you have no idea what he’s talking about when he says his next line, “There are different passions in life, Mikage. And all of them are worth acknowledging.” Bachira calls Reo by his family name to hurt him. Everyone knows it because it’s as obvious as day. Because just like you, he said it’s all forgotten and not once mentioned forgiveness. It might not be about Reo, but it is still somehow about those two other people he mentioned. And the worst thing of all is that you can’t even feel mad about being used. Because it doesn’t feel like it at all.

“Don’t call me –” Reo is a nuclear reactor on the verge of blowing up and coating everything in ashes. This is his tipping point and Bachira Meguru may be kind but he’s not generous enough to grant kindness to the people who wronged him. It’s not really about you, yet it also is. You don’t understand what he sees, but you want to.

“Shut the fuck up, second choice.” It’s so forceful and commanding, that for once in his life Mikage Reo does what he’s told. Even if for a split moment, it is enough to show where the two of them stand. “If you’re blind and can’t see Asagiri [Name]’s passion, then it’s your problem. Don’t group me with the likes of you.”

Reo is so close to losing it. You know because you were there when the engagement was announced and he was there when you refused to be the sacrificial lamb to corporate life and walked out of the room. “And what is that so-called passion, since you can clearly see it?” Reo is good at mocking people, but he’s not good enough to be able to get to Bachira Meguru. If anything, it’s been the other way around this whole time.

“Freedom.” It’s short and simple, and yet you are very much taken aback by what he said. Freedom. Liberty to choose and make decisions for yourself. Something you never truly had despite fighting tooth and nail to get it out of your father’s greedy hands. Freedom. The only thing you are truly striving for. Complete independence from the clutches of your family who were never truly there for you. Freedom. The need for emancipation from the family name, and to create the path for yourself and by yourself no matter the obstacles on your way. If this is what true passion feels like, then you have one and you are still fighting for it till this very moment. If this is what true passion is like, you want to have it, to taste it, to keep it for yourself and never let it go. Egotistical and selfish, you will get what you want. You will find yourself in this world through freedom, and you will find your true place and purpose, and then –

“That’s –” Reo’s voice tugs you away from your thoughts as violently as always. Bachira Meguru shakes his head.

“I’m done here.” He says. It sounds like the end of the final sentence of the one-million-word novel. “I’m calm, Kunigami.” Kunigami reluctantly lets go of Bachira’s wrists. You make a mental note to check on those joints later. Then he moves from the center of the field to the benches. Shidou elbows you to the side lightly with a crooked grin. You’re almost surprised he can control his brute strength with someone who, so painfully obviously, is a lot weaker than he is.

“I’m still talking, Bachira –” Reo calls out. Nagi is still holding him up by his shirt. Bachira doesn’t take the bait of continuing the pointless fight. You would have never thought there would be a day you would call Bachira Meguru mature, but right now he’s the most emotionally intelligent person out of everyone involved. Because Reo is the proactive character who instigates the conflict, the rest are the passive witnesses and Bachira is the one who is forced to react, and he shuts everything down.

When he reaches the benches, Bachira tilts his head to the side, eyes unblinkingly staring into yours as if searching for something. You think he finds what he’s been looking for, because he grins in that lopsided way of his, “Well, I have this bruise I need to take care of. Will you do the honors, [Name]?” You almost understand. The answer is not quite there yet, but you are half-way to the finishing line. Bachira Meguru might just hold the answer to the questions you have been seeking all your life and you need them all resolved one way or another. You won’t stop until you get what you want. Selfishness is a good thing.

Grandma says so. And she’s always right.

“Yeah.” You nod and get up on your feet. “Let’s go, Meguru.” Bachira Meguru expected this, you come to realize. He might know you more than you know yourself and you need to understand how that is even possible. That’s why you go with him and not once do you turn around to look at Mikage Reo.

“Heh.” His arm slings over your shoulder. “That’s gotta hurt.” You know. You wonder if your mother would have been this cruel if she were to be in your place right now. You want to think she would have been even worse than this. That she would not have the silent anger that had been simmering for a long time. That she would have had it in her to speak up right away. Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. The curse on your shoulders is heavy and burdensome. You wish there was some handsome jujutsu sorcerer to exorcise it and rid you of your oppressive baggage. But this is real life and the voice in your head is still your own even if it doesn’t sound like it. Spiteful, it says. You agree because you will be the head of the only dictatorship overseeing your life soon. Even if it is not the answer you seek, it is the only one you will ever get. And you are fine with it this time.

“I hope it does.” His tyrannical rule is coming to an end and you are planning to take the throne as the rightful heir. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Father is not here to counter your claims, so he says nothing. You keep your peace with the absolute plans of establishing a totalitarian regime over your own life. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-four, and the world is yours.

Or it will be. It’s all just a matter of time, just like everything else in your life. The cigarette in your fingers is sizzling with a barely visible stream of smoke. Bachira Meguru holds the ice pack to his cheek. It will be black and blue by tomorrow morning no matter what, but it won’t be the ugliest shade of green, so you count it as a win anyway. It’s silent and you can’t help but wonder why Bachira – you guess it’s Meguru now after the stunt you pulled earlier – likes to stay silent with you specifically. The answer comes when you least expect, but it comes no matter what. Because Bachira Meguru is the only person who gives them to you right away without hiding behind the wall of mysterious riddles. Maybe that’s what you like about him; the straightforward approach with no shame whatsoever. A thing you have never experienced before.

“I’m not using you, you know. It’s just an added bonus for the whole thing.” You’re not looking at him because you’re too busy with blowing smoke out of the window. Meguru doesn’t look at you because you’re not doing the same back. “I actually like you. A lot.”

“Why?” You ask because you know he will give you the answers you are looking for. The anticipation is tingling in your bloodstream and biting at the tips of your fingers in the form of a dying heat. You have never felt more alive in your life.

“We’re the same. You and I.” He laughs even if it probably hurts. He also gives you the key to the answer you are searching for and leaves you to figure it out on your own because he knows you need to do that this way. “We’ve met before.” Bachira Meguru says then, and you know for sure you have never seen his face before that time in the clinic because you would have remembered him for sure. Meguru knows you don’t remember. You don’t know how. Maybe it’s the sixth sense of his, to read you like an open book, maybe you’re just way too easy. “Chigiri and I were waiting in the hallway. I don’t think you noticed me ‘cause you were too busy giving a reality check to that green-haired girl. You said she needed to stop playing the martyr. She said you were better when you were yourself. And I thought you were trying to keep the façade calm and collected too perfectly for it not to be a fluke. She stormed out. I said it was better to leave you alone so we left.” Oh. Oh. You remember this day clearly. Kirie was being an insufferable nuisance just like always, you were trying to explain how the world is not her possession and that she needs to be mindful of others. But you don’t remember Bachira Meguru. You wish you did. “I kept tabs on you after that.”

“Kirie.” You say, gliding over the fact that he knew of you way before you have seen him – a whole year and a half longer – and how easily he could see right through the role you were playing. Or the borderline admitting basically stalking you. “My cousin.”

He nods. You know that because he winces after moving his head and the icepack probably presses itself right to the most painful spot of his bruise. “Yeah, her. Did you know Chigiri’s fucking this cousin, by the way?” No, you did not. You drop the filter in the ashtray and light another one right after. It’s not information you can process right away, because Chigiri Hyouma and Asagiri Kirie together just do not make any sense. A sensible yet mean realist Chigiri and an easily wounded pride turned god complex Kirie should never be a thing. She cannot handle criticism and Chigiri can’t stand stupidity. You wonder how, but also don’t care enough to dwell deeper.

“Praying for him.” You mumble, mentally lighting a candle and praying for his mental health despite not even being Christian or even religious in the first place.

“Amen.” Meguru giggles. The chair screeches when he stands up to come closer to you and the cloud of menthol smoke. You really don’t want his lungs to suffer, yet you’re too much of an egoistic bitch to put it out for his sake.

“Bachira –” you begin on complete reflex; a finger digs into your side quite painfully. You shake off any ash from the burning end of the cigarette.

“Meguru.” He reminds you. It’s all too fast, too sudden, and it’s not how you imagined your first ever relationship would be like. You thought it would be a slow process of getting to know each other, becoming friends, exchanging fleeting touches and little smiles. Not the nose dive right into it with little to no hesitation from the both of you. You thought you were emotionally unavailable, Grandma used to say you just haven’t met the right person. And now that Bachira Meguru stands behind you with his chin resting on top of your head, you know who the right person is. You can’t even force yourself to pretend like he’s not.

Instead of reacting, you take a drag and hold it in your lungs until you get almost dizzy from the lack of oxygen and your body demands for you to breathe. “What did you mean about the monster in me, Meguru?”

“Just that.” His cold hand reaches for the cigarette you’re holding, twirling it in his fingers. You don’t know if it’s cold because of the ice pack or if he is just naturally like that, but you like it either way. You let him take it with a complete belief he will not put it out because he respects your choices and your freedom to slowly kill yourself with the nicotine even if he would never follow that path with you. You don’t know where all this trust is coming from and it scares you in a way that you have never experienced before, but you are willing to explore it with him simply because it’s him. And true to your expectation, Meguru returns the cigarette to you not even a second later. “There’s a monster in you. Not in the literal sense, of course. It’s more of a voice you can’t get rid of. It gives you momentary stability but it’s also holding you back from achieving your fullest potential.” You don’t know how he knows this, yet it makes you feel seen in a way you have never been before. It’s both terrifying and exciting, and you don’t know what else to do but to inhale the toxic smoke to deal with it. “You need to learn to listen to yourself and not the monster. That way you will be finally free for real. I know that, because I was the same once.”

“So I’m a charity case?” You ask, because deep inside your heart, you’re a cynical little bitch who depends on nobody but yourself, and men – no matter how they present themselves – will always remind you of your shitty father one way or another. They might not be even remotely similar, yet you will look for those similarities with a metaphorical magnifying glass. Because you’re scared. It’s not hesitation, but self-preservation.

“No.” Bachira Meguru says it like he means it. You want to believe him, so you do. Even if you will get burned and it all ends in a complete travesty with your heart broken, you’ll just take it as a learning experience since you have never done anything like that in your teenage years. The years which are reserved specifically for trivial things like these. The thing is, you don’t want it to end like that. You’re old enough to crave stability and something to keep as a constant in your life. You don’t need a fleeting romance that ends as fast as it begins. It looks like Bachira Meguru thinks the same. “I might not look the part, but just like the rest of us, I’m a complete egoist. I don’t do charity. Only investment in my future. I can see you as a possibility of a constant in my future. And I like that possibility. I want it, so I go for it.” It sounds so simple when he says it. You wonder how hard it is to turn that from an abstract idea into the real thing. You guess it takes some trial and error; and just like with everything else in your life, you are willing to try if he’s willing to fight for it as well.

“I see…” The sky is so blue. The sun is already far beyond the horizon and it coats the sky in its purest shades of blue creating the phenomenon they call l'heure bleue. The blue hour. And you guess it’s for your own benefit that the color is so dominant right now of all times. A lucky charm and a metaphorical green light for the go ahead. A sign from the gods above that finally decided to look upon you with favor in their hearts. “And how do I kill it, this voice?” You ask, yet you already suspect he will not give you a clear answer because despite Bachira Meguru seeing himself in you, the two of you are completely different people with different curses. He fought his and won. You’re still fighting yours with no weapons to combat it. Meguru doesn’t ask what that monster in your head is like because he doesn’t need to know. You don’t ask how he got rid of his because it doesn’t matter. Bringing up buried skeletons is never a good thing. They were put six feet under for a reason.

“Only you know how.” His fingers are too cold when they take the burned filter away and discard it with the rest in the ashtray. You don’t light another one. “We can search for it together though. Wanna go on a date?” That’s an nteresting way of liberation Bachira Meguru has in mind; but like anything else that you’ve learned about him so far, it’s very much him.

“I’ve never done this before.” It’s not really about your lack of dating knowledge and more about the fact that you have never had someone actively help you with your search for freedom. Grandma was there yet she has still never given you any clear answers or signs for the direction you needed to take. This is different. Foreign. You will have to get used to not being so completely self-sufficient now. And you don’t really have any idea how this one will work out. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Eh, me neither.” Despite getting the meaning, Meguru doesn’t pay it any attention. It’s for the best he doesn’t. “They think I’m too much of a selfish bastard and get scared easily.” The both of you are used to relying on no one but yourselves. Independence can be just as much of a crutch to lean on as being dependent on someone else is. They’re the two sides of the same  coin.

“Is that a bad thing?” Being selfish is okay. Grandma says so and she’s always right. It doesn’t make you evil, and it doesn’t make you a saint. You are just as important as other people, and you need to strive to be the main character of your own life, or everything will fall apart with your freedom taken away from you. It’s at this very moment you finally realize that the first step towards your independence is not leaving the Asagiri family home, but abandoning the fear of fitting into the frame of what Mikage Reo might find interesting. You have played your role well, and now it was the time to drop the mask and just be yourself. You just need to find yourself first.

“Why don’t you find out?” It’s as teasing as always and you suppress your laugh out of the habit you forced yourself to learn. What would Asagiri Rukia do right now, if it was her standing here? You think she would have let herself be because she was not ashamed of anything that made her a real person and not just a puppet on a string. Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. The voice is back. It sounds like Father yet it is not, because the monster inside your head is simply your own fears trying to get you as far as possible from the freedom of change. You know this, so you don’t ask your usual question and paint a glorified picture of your mother yourself with your own thoughts.

Independent. It is not the answer you seek but it is the only one you will ever need.

“Why not?” He is not leaving your mind despite not keeping you in his, so you get rid of him yourself. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Father is not here, so he says nothing; and even if he was, you would not have listened to a single word of his. You keep your peace with the heavy weight on your shoulders that for once is not your doubt, but just Bachira Meguru foolishly thinking your weak muscles and fragile bones are capable of supporting his whole athlete’s body. You lose your balance and almost crack your jaw on the windowsill. Meguru giggles like a motherfucker than he is. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-four and it’s always calm before the storm.

Chigiri gags, standing up from his seat when you finally finish up with his knee. It’s not your presence that sends the poor man into a fit of disgust, but the fact that everyone is completely done with the fact you and Bachira Meguru are now a thing and he’s not ashamed to make it everyone else’s problem. Chigiri leaves without another word and in a hurry to get the fuck away from overly affectionate Meguru. You also can’t help but think that your quirked brow and offhanded question of how’s Kirie doing gave him PTSD and he’s suffering war flashbacks every time he sees you now.

“You’re spending too much time here, Meguru. They might kick you out or something.” You don’t know if it’s Bachira Meguru who gets progressively worse with each day or if you’re just unconsciously enabling his bastard ways thus giving him the go ahead to continue being a menace. It’s probably both, to be completely honest.

Meguru shakes his head. There’s a cup of hot tea in his hands. It’s been getting colder lately and he has little to no resistance to any weather below 18 degrees Celsius despite being so freezing to the touch all the time. “I’m their best player, y’know.” It’s a pointless brag because Tokyo Kaisen is composed of the best of the best. It also might just mean he is the best between the best of those who are the best. That thought alone makes your head spin and despite having a footballer for a boyfriend, you still know absolutely nothing about the sport. Meguru doesn’t force you to learn and you don’t bother to despite it probably being a good thing if you did. It sort of keeps the fun going. “They’ll drop dead without me.”

“I thought Shidou-kun was the center or whatever it’s called.” You’re sorting through the team’s medical files. A couple of new members were recruited into the new U-20 string. You don’t know how Ichiji-sensei dealt with all of this alone and are silently planning on looking for an assistant just to help you with running the clinic more smoothly.

“Striker.” He reminds you. You forget it the second after. He knows it and still somehow isn’t bothered by it. Maybe it’s because you let him talk about the thing he likes and still ask questions despite not understanding even a thing. You do the same to him, fully expecting Meguru to forget the boring medical jargon as soon as it enters his ears. And he does. And it’s okay. Because the two of you are both way too self-sufficient egoistic adults who indulge in the peace of each other’s company just to leave the other alone with a complete trust in them to return. And that’s okay too. Because that’s how the two of you operate. “And yeah, but I’m still better than Antennae Freak #3.” Nobody in the team really likes Shidou Ryuusei, despite playing with him for years. Meguru says the guy is just a vessel for them to score easy goals through him. Because the team was built around Shidou at its core with a full intent of utilizing Meguru’s own ability to satisfy the guy in a way only Itoshi Sae could before. You don’t really comprehend the details – nor do you know who Itoshi Sae is – but it seems like the selfish way of playing sometimes gets a little too selfish even for a team in which every single player is an egoist.

You put down the file on the desk, looking over your shoulder to the right where Meguru is sitting. “He’s #11 though?” And although you have a feeling the not-so-pleasant nickname has something to do with mysterious Blue Lock and the history behind it that neither of them like to mention, you ask anyway because you’re curious. And with this searching of yourself that you have been doing lately, you came to realize you enjoyed getting to know other people a lot more than you initially thought. Or maybe you just really like Bachira Meguru specifically. It’s probably the case. You know it is.

“It’s a long story.” As expected, Meguru swipes the Blue Lock question under the rug, gulping the remains of the piping hot tea down in one go. He might have burned every tissue possible, but at least he’s now fully free to indulge himself. “And can’t I visit my girlfriend on my break? Is that a crime?” He leans closer to you. You laugh. Chigiri Hyouma surely thinks of it as a crime against humanity.

“Your break ended ten minutes ago.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek. It’s easy to feel happy when things are just so very effortless. You enjoy this to a dangerously unhealthy degree. You enjoy this so much that sometimes you catch yourself before a smile creeps onto your lips just to not look too desperate.

“Why didn’t you say so, [Name]?” He’s panicking a little because being on time is actually pretty important – he doesn’t want to do any extra laps around the field for being late and you truly feel sorry for him, but you like his company a little bit more than you feel sympathy – and it is sort of cute yet useless. Because if he were in any trouble, Kunigami would have been already here to take him away by the ear like he usually does now. The captain might be the biggest victim of Bachira Meguru’s love life crimes against Tokyo Kaisen football club as of yet.

“Was waiting for you to notice.” You shrug, trying to keep your façade of nonchalance. It keeps getting harder and harder with each day. Not even two months ago, it was all you’d ever known.

“Evil.” Meguru calls you that, yet the both of you are well aware he is the evil one in this relationship. He is the snake in the apple orchard and you’re but a clueless creation of god who gets tempted with a taste of freedom. Only you’re not made of any man’s rib and you’re not planning on leaving the Garden of Eden any time soon because you are the sole ruler of its land.

“Oh am I now?” It’s you who leans closer this time. It’s you who teases back. It's completely out of character for the person you have been before that fateful blue hour day. You don’t want to ever go back to that woman ever again.

Bachira Meguru nods. His face is so close; you can feel his breath on your lips. “Absolutely.” He mumbles against your mouth. And then the door opens. And the moment is over.

Your grandmother doesn’t wear heels, so you don’t hear the usual click clcnk of them. “[Name].” You do hear her voice that makes you almost jump in your seat and scoot as far away from Bachira Meguru as it is physically possible. Which is not a lot, considering he does nothing to help you out. “And a gentleman I know nothing about. Hello.”

“Grandma.” There’s air stuck somewhere in your throat. Heavy and solid. Which cannot be possible by the laws of physics. “I –” You don’t even know what you’re trying to explain to her. You don’t even know why she’s here in the first place, especially if you haven’t been in contact since that fiasco with the train photos. And oh, of course –

“Relax.” She says. You don’t. Meguru offers her his chair silently, she takes it with no words as well. When Grandma introduces herself, she looks not at you but at Bachira Meguru standing to your right. “Asagiri Nao, [Name]’s grandmother. And you must be the train boy.” The train boy sounds as mocking as one could imagine. Your grandmother might be a good woman and a mother figure to you, but she is an even bigger bitch than you or even Yua-san when she wants to be.

“Eh?” Meguru tilts his head to the side lightheartedly. “Could have done better with that name.” You force yourself to not shake your head. Of course he would not fall for the obvious bait. He’s been playing with Mikage Reo for far too long to be bothered by something like this. His hand rests on your shoulder, playing with the collar of your blouse. “Bachira Meguru. Nice to meet you, Grandmother.” You blink. Then you cough, choking on your own saliva. The choice of words is both bold and very opportunistic. Egotistical and greedy. The essence of what Bachira Meguru is. You know you should apologize on his behalf. You don’t.

Grandma only laughs. “Oh my… Didn’t even hesitate.”

You nod with a small smile on your lips, “He does this a lot.”

Grandma notices. You think she knows and understands very well where things are now at this moment in time. So it’s no surprise that she brings it up right away, “You seem brighter, granddaughter. Life’s treating you well.”

“I’m –” You don’t really know how to describe what you’re feeling with words and not sound juvenile and immature at the same time. Simply saying you are happy doesn’t cut it. Singing praises about your love life seems too much. You settle for mediocrity for the first and final time, “I’m doing great.” You say, yet you don’t like how that amused curve is fading away from the corner of her mouth. Deep down you know Grandma would not have come all the way here to just have a cup of tea. There must be something more to it, you even have a vague idea of what it might be. You just don’t want to acknowledge it any time soon.

“Not for long, I’m afraid.” And there it is. The calm before the storm has ceased and the droplets are falling down one by one, growing more rapid with each one. “I have some not so great news for you and my newly acquired grandson.” Grandma says grandson in hopes of making Bachira Meguru embarrassed. She doesn’t succeed because there’s not a lot of things that can achieve something like that. “Masaomi is furious, [Name]. You haven’t picked up a single call of ours and my foolish eldest keeps chewing on my ears.”

You shrug, the mask of indifference is back on your face is a disappointingly fast motion. “Let him. I don’t care.” You do care, you just don’t want to. It’s all in the semantic, yet you wish there was not even a possibility of you giving a single fuck.

“I do.” Grandma sighs. You truly think she’s too old to be involved in all of this mess. “Yua’s pregnant again.” You wish Meguru wasn’t here to witness your family dilemmas, but you also know Grandma is the best and mildest introduction to the Asagiris one could possibly get. And if the two of you are planning to keep going steady like you’re doing so far, he will have to get to know your family one day, no matter if you want that or not.

“Oh.” It’s the most you can do. “Good for them?” Another prodigious child to the family of the absolutely insane. You even hope it’s a daughter so she can be married off to some old money family for a business partnership just like you were. You hope they force her into vigorous study sessions and then berate her for not understanding advanced math at an extremely young age. You hope they make her learn to play the piano and then strike her palms with a ruler as a punishment for messing up, simply because her fingers are too short. You hope she ends up just like you so you can laugh about it. It’s not a mindset one should have, but it’s the one you want. You are very tired of everything.

“Indeed.” Grandma nods. She’s just as tired – if not even more – as you are. “Not for us, however. They’ve been planning a family celebration for the past six weeks since you’ve been MIA.” The hand on your shoulder is stable and steady. You use it as an anchor to reality and not just pulling a pack from your drawer instead, to deal with the news in the only way you’ve been dealing with all your issues so far.

“I’ll be there, just give me the date.” You say, hoping it would make her leave sooner. It doesn’t. You don’t know why you want your grandmother to leave despite not seeing her for weeks. You love your grandmother, you truly do. Yet looking at her now just reminds you of your father and all the unanswered questions you still have. The questions you asked her. The questions she refused to answer.

“It’s today. 9 PM sharp.” Of course. You feel the irritation growing little by little. It’s your own fault for not picking up the calls, but she also could have come over sooner than this. Could have given you a heads-up. She didn’t. You hate it.

“I will be there.” You give Grandma a warning. You know she gets it by the way her brows twitch for a split second. You also know she rejects that very warning.

“The two of you.” This time her intentions are obvious because they are not her own. Grandma is nothing but a messenger sent by your father, since he fully knows she’s the only person who you will not outright ignore. It also sends you over the edge.

Your whole body jerks to stand up from your chair, the chilling hand on your shoulder stops you from moving and forces you to stay in your seat. It’s for your own good and you realize it very well. Bachira Meguru can’t stop you from blowing up, however, “There’s no fucking need to subject him to that circus! Tell my father to go fuck himself, if you enjoy playing homing pigeon so fucking much.” It’s the first time in your life that you raised your voice at your grandmother. You both know that. That’s why you shut your mouth and sink back into your chair, eyes wide and hands trembling. That’s why Grandma simply laughs.

“You’ve grown a lot since the last time I saw you, [Name].” It’s like you didn’t just indirectly insult her. It’s like she’s been waiting for this moment all her life. You think it just might be the case. “I’m proud.” You’re grateful for her words but you don’t want to hear them now when she refuses to listen to you.

You think your whole body might just be shaking at this point, not just your hands. “Grandma –” You’re trying to reason. You are truly trying. You may enjoy Bachira Meguru’s company, and he may like you as well, but he simply isn’t ready to meet your father just yet. Especially along with Yua-san and their child. And Uncle. And Kirie. He doesn’t even know anything yet. It’s just a sure way of ruining your relationship that has just barely started. And you don’t want that. You really don’t fucking want that to happen because you’re happy. You’re so happy. You haven’t been this happy since… since ever. So no, over your dead fucking body. Your father can spit on your grave later, knowing full well that that very grave will also be his one day. And it will be your –

Bachira Meguru leans down to press his lips to your ear in a little whisper, “Calm down, [Name].” Then he stands taller and you can’t see him, but you can look at your grandmother’s reaction. He must be grinning in that very Bachira Meguru way, because she’s way too amused. “We’ll be there. I love family drama.”

Meguru also loves biting more than he can chew just because it’s a challenge and he enjoys those tremendously. Grandma is satisfied. You are not. She doesn’t care, so she stands up and heads for the exit of the clinic as if she didn’t just single handedly ruin your day. “Then you’ll have plenty on your plate, Bachira Meguru. Wear a suit if you want them to like you.” It’s not advice but a test. You all know that.

You wonder if it ever crossed her mind that Bachira Meguru isn’t as stupid as she thinks he is.

“And if I don’t?” He answers in a way she doesn’t expect and he passes automatically. The notion that he doesn’t want your family to like him is strangely comforting. You don’t want them to like him either. If they do, it would mean you made the wrong choice in trusting him. And you don’t want that to happen.

Grandma snickers, “They will hate you either way.” It’s a confirmation that makes your whole body relax, leaving only the slight tremor in your hands that you will fix the second she finally leaves the damn room.

Bachira Meguru plays along. It’s a sight you thought you would never see, yet here you are, watching your boyfriend banter with your grandmother, and her actually not only tolerating it, but truly enjoying it. “Oh, am I not Mikage Reo enough? Should I pull up my bank account balance just in case?” You can’t force yourself to suppress a quiet laugh, but you also guess it has been his plan all along.

Grandma laughs too, “Good luck, grandson. You’ll need it.” This time grandson has a completely different connotation to it. And you suddenly have to lose a lot more than what was originally at stake. You see Grandma out with a simple look. She closes the door behind her and your hands do their habitual routine of lighting a cigarette.

“Stop worrying.” You bring your hand to your mouth for another drag, his hand follows yours. It’s some odd way of holding hands, but there is no ordinary bone in Bachira Meguru’s body, so you allow him to do as he pleases.

“I’m not.” You refuse and lie at the same time. You’re still a doctor and not an actress, so he sees right through you.

“You are.” Bachira Meguru calls you out on your bullshit because it’s beneficial to you and your character development. You are grateful yet you also hate him for this just a little. Hate is a strong word and once again, you’re using it very lightly. And you also think it is very much impossible to hate someone like Meguru. It’s also impossible to argue with him, because he’s persistent, annoying and egotistical in pursuing his point when he knows he’s right.

“I am.” You admit it reluctantly and have no desire to do so. That’s also precisely why you’re doing it. Because that’s what the you from before would never have done.

“It’s gonna be just fine, y’know.” You are more than sure if your mother was in your place, she would not have worried about this as much as you are doing right now, because she would have been strong enough to deal with anything thrown her way. Then you do not know Rukia at all. She was nothing like that. The voice cannot leave you alone and you’re still searching for a way to get rid of it. There is no progress on that one so far, so you just swat it away and continue painting an idolized picture of the dead woman you are continuously putting on the pedestal. You say tenacious. The voice keeps saying weak. It is not the answer you seek and it is also the one you don’t care to hear.

“It will.” He won’t ruin this good thing for you, because you will ruin his whole life if he even tries. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Father is not here, so he says nothing; and even if he was, you would have treated him like the pesky fly that he is. You keep your peace with Bachira Meguru’s lips pressed against your own. The family dinner is bound to end in a complete disaster. And it does. Yet, in the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

You’re twenty-four, but it feels like you’re fourteen again.

You’re late but it’s completely on purpose. You dragged your feet, took too long to choose a dress and did your makeup twice from scratch before even entertaining the thought of putting your shoes on and walking out of your apartment. Yet here you are still, hand in hand with Bachira Meguru at the doorstep of your family’s home. You don’t want to be here and neither does he, but he is still holding your hand because he has a growing suspicion it would have been a lot worse if neither of you showed up.

You don’t have a key since you left it on the desk in your old bedroom the day you moved out, so you knock on the hard wood with your knuckles. It’s your uncle who opens the front door for you. You don’t expect it to be anyone else. “[Name], my favorite niece!” You’re not even remotely close to being his favorite – it’s Kirie, his beloved daughter – yet you’re his only niece so far, so it automatically makes you win the contest. The grin drops from his face in a split second, and you have a momentary front view for the true extent of his exhaustion. “You’re late.” Uncle reminds you. You know it has caused some trouble for him and Grandma, you also can’t force yourself to feel sympathy.

“Didn’t want to come.” It’s honest and offhanded, with a little shrug of your shoulders.

“That makes two of us.” Uncle admits just as casually.

Meguru sighs, tugging at the end of his coat’s sleeve. “Make it three, actually.”

“Mother warned me, of course, yet it’s still hard to believe…” Uncle mumbles, looking over Meguru with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s not all ill minded. Out of everyone in your father’s immediate family, he likes you the most. Sometimes he has it in him to look out for you. “I see you have brought a date, after all.”

“Not out of my own volition.” You admit, knowing that he most likely is already filled in on all the details imaginable.

“That much was expected.” Uncle agrees, and then ushers you two inside. “Come on, that chalk of a woman is running high on hormones already, I don’t want her becoming any more irritating than she already is.” You take off your shoes and coat, putting them all away and refusing any help given to you. Uncles still stares Meguru down as if he recognizes him. “You look familiar, nephew.” And as it turns out, he does.

“The name’s Bachira Meguru, Uncle.” Meguru has a terrifyingly keen sense when it comes to reading people, you realize at that very moment. He differentiates the right from wrong and the good from bad very easily. It’s a good thing to have when entering the lion’s den of the Asagiri family home. You have hope in getting through this dinner with minimal casualties. You just need to warn Meguru to not drink anything that Uncle of yours offers him.

Uncle blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. It’s a family thing. Father does it, you do it, Uncle does it, and even Kirie – who is a god above all men – does it as well. You don’t know if it’s nature or nurture, yet it is a fascinating habit nonetheless. When he pieces everything together in his head, there’s a metaphorical lightbulb above his head. “Oh, Hyouma’s teammate.” It takes you a good while to comprehend that Uncle is talking about Chigiri Hyouma. Your Chigiri. When the realization sinks in, you pretend you aren’t completely flabbergasted by the fact that Chigiri and Kirie apparently have something more than just a casual fling. “Good, good. Nice to know our little [Name]-chan is in good hands.”

It’s as if she senses you’re thinking about her, Kirie pops out from around the corner. Hair swaying behind her back in the unruly ocean of green wines, the god of all and then some rushes forward to the genkan with swift feet and a dress in the shade of red that is way too familiar to you. “Oi, Unzarin, long time no see. Still alive and kicking?” She’s the only one who calls you Unzarin to your face because there are no repercussions too tough for Kirie to handle. You don’t care – for real this time – because Asagiri Kirie might think of herself as holier than thou, yet you were there the day she was brought home from the hospital and you know better. Kirie is nothing but a mildly irritating inconvenience that needs to get over herself. “No plans of killing yourself any time soon?” She’s also vulgar and crude and you truly wonder how Chigiri can stand her company for more than five minutes without trying to rip her tongue out.

“Hello to you too, nuisance.” You hold no malice towards Kirie. She’s your cousin, after all and you sort of feel sorry for her more than anything. So you play along sometimes. And sometimes chastise her like an older sister should. “How’s the conquering of the world coming along? Chigiri hasn’t escaped your tyrannical leash yet?” At the mention of Chigiri Hyouma, your cousin goes red in the face. You don’t know if it’s because of her underlying anger issues or because she likes him that much. You’re almost ready to tease her about it too, except Chigiri Hyouma fucking walks out of the bathroom door at the end of the long hallway. He notices you right away. It’s awkward as fuck and he probably wants to clarify that no, they were not hooking up in the bathroom again, but you refuse to acknowledge the fact that it happened even once. So you silence him right away, “No, I don’t need to know. I know too much as it is.”

Chigiri gets the memo, turning his attention to Meguru. “Bachira. Got roped into the rich people gatherings too?”

“Yo, Chigiri.” The bastard sounds like he expected to see Chigiri here. It makes you wonder if he keeps in contact with your volleyball-for-brains cousin. Probably not, since she hates everyone who isn’t Uncle and, you guess, now Chigiri too. “More like getting violently invited, but yeah.” You can hear Seijurou talking animatedly with Grandma about something. It sounds vaguely like some football jargon and Chigiri Hyouma’s given name with fucking oniisama of all things smashed right after it. Then you hear your own name and the oneesama that you hate so much. You calm your simmering loathing and take it as a cue to go show yourself to your father and the second wife. Only there must be something troubling on your face that you forget to suppress, because Meguru reaches his hand for you. Chigiri groans at the public display of affection. “[Name]? You okay?”

You nod, not paying his words much attention and untangle yourself from his hold as gently as possible. You are not rejecting him, there are just some things you would rather do alone. “Stay with them, Meguru. I’ll be right back.” He looks at you with a confused tilt of his head. You throw a glare your uncle’s way as a warning to not even think about pulling anything. “Don’t drink anything Uncle gives you. I mean it.” Then you turn a fleeting glance to your cousin, asking – more like threatening – her to keep Meguru safe from the clutches of her father and his bartending skills. “Kirie, watch him or I’ll tear you apart.” And those who know what your relationship with her is like, understand just how much you care about Bachira Meguru at that exact moment.

Meguru lets out a bewildered little eh. Chigiri sighs, most likely already accustomed to Uncle’s deathly concoctions first hand. “Just listen to her, it’s a long story.” You mentally pray for his sanity and taste buds. Then you’re off to the dining room that looks more like a banquet hall than a kitchen in someone’s home.

Father is talking with Yua-san. Seijurou is running around the table, while your grandma is pretending to chase him. She loves that boy because he is her grandson and he is not at fault for his parents’ wrongdoings. You hate that child because he is everything you will never be. If it makes you evil, then so be it. Hell is nothing but a man-made concept anyway.

Yua-san notices you first, whispering something into Father’s ear. He turns to look in your general direction but never straight at you. “[Name]. You should have been here an hour ago.” You want to say he should be grateful you even showed up. You don’t.

Instead you bow. It’s shallow and obligatory, yet it is still a bow nonetheless. “Father.” And then you nod. It’s a simple dip of your chin and then you’re looking her straight in the eyes, because you do not respect her even one bit. “Yua-san.” She doesn’t even bother to return the favor, so it makes you a better person by default. “The traffic is quite unfortunate at this hour, I must apologize.” Father opens his mouth to speak. Something collides with your side in a tight grip of an overbearing hug and you cannot stand the heat.

“Big sister, you’re back!” Seijurou clings to you and you force yourself to not make a face of disgust, waiting patiently for the appropriate moment to untangle yourself from him. “I missed you.” You didn’t. You hate when this child touches you. You hate when people touch you in general. Bachira Meguru is an exception because his hands are always cold despite running around so much. You checked him for any possible illness that might have caused that symptom yet found nothing troubling for you to worry about. You’re still looking for something that might be the reason. He says that it’s a sign you were made for each other. It’s cheesy and trivial, yet you love it anyway.

“Yeah.” You mumble, finally stepping aside and freeing yourself from his grabby little hands. “Don’t get used to it.” You know he’s only six and he doesn’t really understand that his precious oneesama despises him, yet you cannot help but await the day when he gets old enough to comprehend it by himself so he stops trying so hard to connect with you. Because his efforts are futile. Asagiri Yua’s son is just an extra in your life and you are not ashamed by not wanting him to be anything more.

“Big sister…” he starts like that when he wants something from you. You already know your answer will be no either way, yet still ask because deep down, you are very, very cruel.

“What is it, Seijurou?” You are strict with him. Stricter than anyone else in his life. You know he has to wonder why his beloved oneesama is so tough, but right now he probably thinks it’s because tough love is a thing. There will be a day when the realization of your true opinion on him sinks in. You won’t be there to witness it but you bet all your chips it would be very entertaining to watch.

“Is that Bachira Meguru with big sister Kirie?” His finger is pointing in the direction of the hallway. He’s old enough to understand that pointing is rude yet he disregards this because a gift like him is allowed exceptions. “It is, isn’t it? Can you introduce me? Please? I want an autograph!” Seijurou is nothing like you. He is way more alike Mikage Reo than anyone else you have ever met. He’s the golden child, the literal prophecy in the flesh, and he is allowed such frivolous things as whining when he wishes to get something.

“No.” It’s short and simple. You will never do anything Asagiri Yua’s son asks you to. Not because introducing Meguru to him is burdensome, but purely out of spite.

“But –” Seijurou argues with you because he thinks you are a lot more lenient than Father is. It is his mistake, because you are not. If anything, you are a hundred times harsher than he is.

“Quit whining, you’re the Asagiri heir.” You remind him and for a split second you hear your father’s voice coming out of your mouth instead of your own.

You think Yua-san hears it too, because she finally butts into the conversation with a desire to chastise you for being mean to her only flesh and blood. This only makes you wish you were even more severe.

“[Name], that’s not how you treat children.”

You simply shrug, giving her some empty words to make useless amends. “My apologies. And sincere congratulations. I really hope it’s a long-expected daughter.” You also hope she is smart enough to read between the lines to notice just how happy for her you truly are.

And she is. It’s both a blessing and a curse. “Me too.”

You nod. The message was received and now that she understands where the two of you stand in all of this, you are a little more ready to throw Bachira Meguru right to the wolves. “Please come with me, I wish to introduce you to my suitor.” Father sends Seijurou to Grandma and the golden boy does not protest like he’d done with you. You lead them to the corner where Kirie keeps vigilant watch over Chigiri and Bachira who, in turn, talk about some upcoming scheduled game against Osaka Kaijuu. Kirie notices you first, sends you a sharp look as if graciously confirming that Bachira Meguru did not ingest any suspicious substances while you had been absent. You nod in a meaningless expression of gratitude and ever so politely excuse Meguru from the conversation. “If you please excuse us, Chigiri-kun.” Chigiri Hyouma knows a lot more about your family than meets the eye. He shakes his head while walking away – or more precisely – being dragged by Kirie like a ragdoll. Bachira Meguru takes your hand. You let him despite it being frowned upon. “This is my father, Asagiri Masaomi. And his second wife, Asagiri Yua.” The roles are assigned clearly and you leave it to him to do the thinking himself. He is smart enough to figure things out without you guiding him through it all.

“Bachira Meguru, [Name]’s boyfriend.” There’s a shallow nod. Not a bow. His dominant hand is still tightly holding yours so he doesn’t go for a handshake either. “The train boy, if you will. Pleasure meeting you, Asagiri-san.” Father nods back. Yua-san says nothing. So far so good. The boundaries are established. Your father’s apathetic face shows neither approval nor distaste. It’s the smoothest the introduction could have possibly gone, yet you know better and aren’t hasty to celebrate it as a win just yet.

“Shall we start on the dinner, husband?” Yua-san turns around and leaves the conversation before the answer could be given to her. Father does the same, motioning you to follow him to the table. The hell begins the second everyone picks up their chopsticks. The seating arrangement is awful, not only because you’re sitting right beside Kirie who is known to be the most stereotypical ADHD case with not even a second spent sitting still, but you’re also directly opposite your father. The table is round and there is no real head of the table, which is arguably even worse. Kirie shuffles in her seat for the fifth time in the span of two minutes. Meguru’s fingers painfully pinch the tender skin of your thigh as if reminding you to get over it.

It’s silent and everything is even more uncomfortably embarrassing because of it. Uncle clears his throat, resting his chopsticks on the hashioki beside his plate. “Bachira-kun, since you and my Hyouma are playing for the same team…” Chigiri chokes on his fermented shiso leaves. Kirie gets even more fidgety, which you forgot was even possible with how passive she has become after the accident. Meguru forces down a maniacal cackle with a piece of fried tofu. “Tell us more about yourself, it’s not often we meet people who our unapproachable [Name] deems worthy.”

Meguru tilts his head to the side, the corner of his lips turning upwards in a very familiar way. “There’s a lot to say and I love talking. You gotta be more specific with that one, Uncle.” You already can feel it all will end in a complete fiasco. This is not a family dinner one should have, especially concerning the fact that it was supposed to be a celebration of Asagiri Yua’s pregnancy.

Uncle clicks his tongue. “[Name] has never brought anyone home before, you know. Makes me wonder what is so special about you, that’s all.” He was always the involved one, if you can call it that. Kirie is the apple of his eye and he’s interested in anything and everything she is willing to share. Which is arguably too much sometimes. You never really liked his meddling. You don’t like it now either.

Your uncle’s curiosity is nothing new for Bachira Meguru. He’s the one in charge of being interviewed after games because he’s the assigned extrovert with a ton of knowledge, keen reflexes and ability to never get tired of speaking. Catching him on the spot is not a thing that is easily achieved. Even by those with a tongue as silver as your uncle’s. “I’m one of a kind, egotistical footballer the likes of which the world has not seen yet. It’s hard to resist such a natural charm.” You would have loved to slap another one of those Pikachu band-aids right across his mouth to keep him from bragging so much, however not only do you not have those on your hands right now, but you also kind of like it in a way. You watch Chigiri roll his eyes, mouthing the word show-off silently. You agree yet you also know he’s exactly the same.

Uncle laughs. It’s lighthearted and easy, and even Grandma seems a little less tense sitting beside Seijurou. “You’re a funny one, aintcha?” Meguru has a comeback for it, of course, even tries to voice it out too, only to be cut off by Asagiri Yua. She’s a lot more vocal now, compared to the earlier years. So much more talkative now, in fact, that you wish she could just shut the fuck up and stop polluting the air with unnecessary noise.

“What are your plans for your future, Bachira-kun?” She asks like she cares. Every single person – with the exception of Seijurou – knows she does not. She cares for nobody but herself and her children. Even your father is nothing but a stepping stool to the higher floors of her already luxurious life. You don’t care if she uses him, but you do care when Yua drags Bachira Meguru into the cold war you two have been so passive-aggressively playing for years now. Meguru hums some odd sound that is supposed to seem like a question, but it’s hard to understand him when he’s clearly here for your grandma’s soy-sauce marinated crab and to hold your hand through the obviously unpleasant company. “Your aspirations. How do you see yourself by the time you’re 30?”

It’s the boring question of a woman who knows nothing but a corporate life full of mundane idle chats. It’s so boring that Kirie – of all people at this wretched table – shakes her head and puts some ginger pork on your plate right after doing the same to Chigiri. “I don’t know.” Meguru is still chewing on that crab leg. If it isn’t the sign of his level of emotional involvement in the topic, you don’t know what is. “Playing football. Winning another World Cup. Getting married. Having kids. The usual stuff.” Winning the World Cup doesn’t seem like the usual stuff – as he put it – but you get the sentiment. The quiet life mixed with excitement of it being peaceful but not mediocre. Because to Bachira Meguru – just like to Mikage Reo – mediocre means boring, and he would never settle for anything like that. The only difference between them is the fact that you wished Reo thought of you as dull, with Meguru you want nothing of the sort.

“I see you have your priorities straight.” Yua-san hums in approval. You don’t think she would have been nodding like that if she knew the motherfucker that is Bachira Meguru, hiding behind that little grin of his.

“Well, obviously.” From the corner of your eye you can see Uncle shake his head. You reach for a piece of grilled fish and watch Grandma purse her lips in what you can only describe as anticipation of yet another disappointment. “Don’t we all?” Something is clearly wrong and they know exactly what it is. When you figure it out, it’s a little bit too late and the gears are all set in motion with no breaks to stop the chain from going. It hurts tremendously and sends your hands in a fit of overwhelming tremor, but when it’s all over, there’s a completely different future you never thought could ever be possible.

“Why are you with my daughter, Bachira Meguru?” Father asks like even the very notion of you having a stable relationship with someone who isn’t contractually obligated to do so is laughable. He also probably thinks that it actually is. Just like Mikage Reo, your own father thinks of you as a dull person with nothing to look forward to, because you had given up your life as his heir for the life of being a nobody.

Bachira Meguru isn’t afraid to call your father out on his bullshit just like he isn’t afraid to call you out on yours. “It’s a stupid question.” Uncle takes a sip of his Suntory Hibiki and hides the amused grin behind the whisky glass. “’Cause I like her, obviously. What gives?”

Yua-san shakes her head so very sympathetically. There’s not a single cell in her body that knows what sympathy feels like. “It’s quite a valid concern my husband has. [Name] is a little… troublesome, you see.” They’re ganging up on you because they think they can pressure Bachira Meguru out of his cozy spot in your heart. They probably already have another engagement in mind. And then another. And if that fails too, an extra one. “She’s very avoidant of her responsibilities and has discarded many opportunities someone else would have killed for. Seeing someone as opportunistic involving themselves with my husband’s daughter makes me worry.” You wish you could rip off those frills on her blouse and stuff them right into her windpipe so she can shut up, but you are better than that so you keep stiff, just chewing on that ginger pork Kirie put on your plate.

“Afraid I might drag her down or something?” Meguru doesn’t really get the message right away, but you are completely sure they will spell it out for him right about now.

“Quite the opposite, in fact.” Asagiri Yua is cartoonishly evil. Your whole life you thought the likes of her existed only in fiction and films, yet here she is, twirling a strand of her perfectly done hair between her fingers. “I’m afraid you might get tainted by her instead.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Bachira Meguru is pointing his chopsticks at Asagiri Yua. In her own house (that is not hers but your father’s). Sitting at her table she invited him to (she did not, but she thinks she did). It’s rude and it clearly shows Bachira Meguru is a far cry from the socialite society Yua-san is used to. You don’t do anything to stop him because you like the look of complete and utter shock peeking through the cracks of her façade of dignified indifference. It’s the wrong thing to do, and the bigger person would have intervened. You are not that person. Chigiri Hyouma is.

“Bachira–” Chigiri starts. Probably to remind him to not wave utensils around, especially after eating marinated crab not so long ago. Meguru cuts Chigiri off before he can even form a proper sentence, however.

“No, she asked a question.” The chopsticks point to Asagiri Yua. “I answered it.” Then to his own chest. “I asked one myself.” Then he reaches over to the side of the table that is closer to her, picking up a piece of the fried tofu, putting it into his mouth and licking any remains of the tsuyu broth from the ends of his chopsticks. Bachira Meguru is assassinating his own character with this very action, you’re doing absolutely nothing to prevent it. Partially because the last thing you want is for them to approve of Bachira Meguru. Partially because you find it amusing. So does everyone else and Chigiri does nothing this time around; you think he might have just given up. “So the mother-in-law must answer it. Scratch my back and I scratch yours, as the saying goes.”

Asagiri Yua is an excellent actress. She’s playing the role assigned to her well. So well, in fact, that if you were any less civilized and a little more like Kirie, you would have imprinted her front teeth into the polished wood of this very dining table. “You see, Bachira-kun…” Yua-san begins and you notice the glint in her eyes right away. She thinks that she’s won your metaphorical cold war with whatever she is planning to say next. You are sure you can take anything. In reality, nothing can prepare you for her words. “Women like her have a tendency to leave their duties and obligations behind the second it gets slightly inconvenient for them, and then they look for something else that is nothing more than yet another case of fighting windmills. Her mother was exactly like that. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as we all know.” The implications are glaringly obvious. And you might think you hate the woman that has given you life only to just vanish the very next moment with nothing but her bones inside the family tomb for you to remember her by, but you surely know you despise Asagiri Yua so much more than that. If there is one single person who can insult Asagiri Rukia, it is you and you alone.

The chair screeches with the ugliest sound you have ever heard and you have remedied many a dislocated joint. Everything is red and distorted; and the anger keeps boiling and simmering, and then it blows up like a kettle left unattended for too long. “The fuck do you even know about my mother, second wife?” Yua looks genuinely scared. It’s probably because you might have been a passive-aggressive character forced to react, yet you have never been a reactionary character forced to be proactive. Silent anger is the most terrifying of all.

“[Name], sit down.” Father is trying to reason with you. You would rather die than listen to Asagiri Masaomi ever again.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Everything is red and foggy, and it might be just a trick of your crooked imagination that makes you hallucinate Bachira Meguru’s evil grin. “I have had enough of this house.”

Father – Asagiri Masaomi – gets up on his feet, “[Name], calm down this instance or –”

“Or what?” You scoff, feeling the freedom licking at your sock-clad feet with a burning heat of a forest fire. “You think I’m gonna just sit and let this nobody insult me? You think I care about the Asagiri name you have given me? Or this money I do not get to own? You think I care about this status that drags me down everywhere I go? Do not make me laugh, Asagiri Masaomi.” Your tunnel vision is on your father and your father alone. He stares at you like he sees a ghost from the past long discarded, returning back from the land of the dead to give him a chilling reminder that his sins might be forgotten but never forgiven. He looks borderline haunted and if it wasn’t for the selfish pride swelling in your chest, you would have stopped yourself to question why. But you do not, so you don’t notice Uncle and Grandma sharing the same haunted look. You do not get to know the truth and when it’s all over and done with, you simply don’t care to know anything at all. “This life is nothing but a prison cell and I have had enough of being shackled. I am fed up. I’m leaving.” Your whole life you have tried reaching this very moment and now you are finally here. This is it. All thanks to a guy who, on your first official meeting, asked you if it hurt you when you fell from heaven, unintentionally implying you were the Devil itself.

It takes a moment for Asagiri Masaomi to gather his bearings. It’s not a long one, but it is there anyway and you are the second person ever to be able to do something like that to him. “If you step out of this house right now, you cannot ever return.” He says with a little rasp to his voice that you have never heard before, the one you will never hear again. Because you know you will leave to never return. This is your biggest dream, the complete emancipation and reign over your own life. You will take it for yourself. You just need to ask one more time for the old time’s sake.

“What was mama like?” You wonder if in a moment like this, when there’s so much at stake, maybe he will finally say the truth. He does not. Because people like Father – like Asagiri Masaomi – never change no matter what. He’s stagnant in actions and decaying in his beliefs, and when the time comes to bury him in the Asagiri family grave, you will not be there to pick the bones up from his ashes because you will be too busy enjoying life. His second wife and two children will have to take care of that themselves.

“Worthless.” This time it is just the answer you seek because you fully understand this is the only one you will ever get. And you don’t need any more useless answers. It’s time to drop the subject and stop asking questions. It’s time to bury Asagiri Rukia dead or alive. In a pile of bones or six feet under. You are forgetting about the woman you had been chasing after all your life. You’re making no more idealized versions of her in your head just to feel wanted by someone. You are becoming your own person who lives for no one but herself and her benefit. You take the real monster inside of you, slice its head clean off, and begin the life of Asagiri [Name], whomever she may be.

“Here.” You stick your fancy pair of chopsticks vertically right in the center of your bowl of rice. Asagiri Yua gasps in a way you have never heard someone gasp before. Uncle is laughing borderline maniacally, tears in the corners of his eyes threatening to fall any given moment. Asagiri Masaomi stares. For the first time ever you say you don’t care and you actually mean it. “Asagiri [Name] is dead. Happy fucking funeral.” Then you leave, fully expecting Meguru to follow right after.

You’re gone, so you don’t hear him giggle, raising his untouched glass of some expensive wine that is older than both of you combined. “Kenpai.” He cheers, standing up to catch up to you. Everyone else except for Masaomi and Yua take a silent sip of pretend mourning. He tried to ruin your life so you became his worst nightmare brought to life. Eye for an eye, leg for a leg.

One second. Two. Three. Nobody says anything, still trying to shake the eerie sense of déjà vu. You keep your peace with your head high and future full of opportunities. In the end nothing really matters.

This too, shall pass.

ACT III: THE JOY OF THE POST-FUNERAL RECEPTION

You’re twenty-four, and cold is a form of comfort.

You won’t be crying over this any time soon because you are done with being miserable. You are done with Asagiri Masaomi and both of his wives. You don’t care if your mother is actually dead like they all have been telling you. You also don’t care if she is actually alive and just abandoned you because she could not stand being a servant of a tyrannical ruler any longer. You bury her either way. Just like the infamous cat, she is both dead and alive at the same time. Only you will never open the box to check, because you cannot be bothered to. You are done. It’s over.

You won’t be crying about this, but you surely might be crying over the fact that the relationship you were so afraid your Masaomi and his wife might ruin for you was destroyed by your own hands instead. It’s a stupid, irrational fear yet your trembling fingers still hold a cigarette up to your mouth. You take a drag. Just like everything about you right now, it’s shaky and unsure. You are completely free. The monster has been slain and the voice in your head is only yours and you can listen to it clearly. So why are you so afraid to be left alone?

“[Name].” Bachira Meguru drops the coat you left on the hanger when you stormed out over your shoulders. You don’t need it because the chill that is running down your spine makes you feel alive; you still don’t take it off. Then he sits beside you in a way that makes him look straight at you. Turning around to face him is completely by reflex at this point and it says too much about you as a person. You have too much to lose and it feels like you have already lost it.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quivering and unstable. It’s almost a whisper, really. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Please.” You don’t know why you are begging for something like this. It’s pathetic. It reminds you that you have never had proper friends and one of the most meaningful conversations of your life was shared with a stranger at the smoking area while your family was watching a ballet performance. All your life it has always been you against the world. Now that you feel like there’s finally someone who can fight alongside you, you don’t want to let it go. How can someone so self-sufficient become so dependent on someone else? You have no idea, but you need to find a way to deal with it.

Bachira Meguru laughs. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Oh how relieving his words are. You know it’s silly. You probably were better when you were trying to be less emotional. But you are so very tired of forcing yourself to be someone you are not for the sake of someone else’s benefit. “Where’ve you been storing all that anger at?” You know it’s a joke. You also think Mikage Reo has given you some sort of untreatable trauma that no therapist will be able to help you get rid of. You open your mouth to apologize. Meguru can see right through you so he doesn’t let you. His right hand clasps your chin. It’s not really gentle and it’s not all that forceful either. His thumb is pressed right at the root of your tongue, preventing you from voicing any useless apologies that were not needed because it was never your fucking fault. His skin faintly tastes like that goddamned soy-sauce marinated crab. Then he leans down, “I never said it was a bad thing. Let me do the talking from now on, yeah?” You nod, clenching your jaw and leaving the imprint of your teeth on his skin. Then Bachira Meguru pulls away, licking his thumb as if it wasn’t just inside your mouth, and wipes it clean on his coat. “What’s your plan now that you got rid of the monster?”

At this very moment, you realize that he knew all along. And it’s completely fine. You will ask the questions later and you are sure he will answer every single one of them too. “Gonna look for an intern to help me around the clinic, I guess.”

“So you’re staying?” It’s so hesitant. You have never heard Bachira Meguru sound unsure about something before, yet here he is. This, right here, is the next moment of epiphany in which you come to understand that Bachira Meguru is just as afraid of what that newly acquired freedom of yours may bring. He is also just as scared of being left behind as you are. That deep down, he is just as lonely as you and that’s precisely why he can see right through you so easily.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You are mirroring his own words in hopes of giving him even an ounce of the comfort he has given you.

“Even if it was the path the monster chose for you?” Bachira Meguru needs a lot more reassurance than you do. He is way more insecure than he wants to be. It’s fine because you are too.

“It’s the path that led me to you, is it not?” It’s cheesy, juvenile and trivial. Just like a first ever relationship should be. It somehow feels like it’s not. You’re content with this biting cold of the winter air of Japan and even colder palms of Bachira Meguru pressing on your cheeks to bring your face closer in. The kiss tastes like salt from your tears and the godforsaken tsuyu broth. You would not trade it for anything else in the world.

For the first time in your life you are praying for this to stay.

You’re twenty-four, and history has a tendency of repeating itself.

Nagi Seishirou is a child when he wants to be. You think you’ll be getting dizzy soon with how much you have been sighing since he entered the clinic. Your new assistant, Sasaki Nayuta keeps throwing you worried looks from time to time. She’s a nice girl but if she doesn’t toughen up, she will get devoured by the likes of Shidou or even the aforementioned Nagi. A thing you very much do not want to happen.

Nagi Seishirou whines again. You bang your fist on the table. “You are not going to die, Nagi-kun.” Nagi Seishirou is not injured. He’s in perfect health and even in generally top-notch shape. The problem is that now that you’re more open with people, he sees it as a green light to use your clinic as a charging station. And you are having a little bit of an emergency with an unplanned power cut right now. “I’m sorry our backup generator has failed us.”

“I’m missing out on the Genshin content, [Name].” He says it like it’s your fault, and for the first time in months you wish Mikage Reo was there to deal with his best friend. But he had some sort of issues that involved his wife, and if anyone could drag Reo off the football field and into the real world, it would be her.

“Go die.” Short and sweet, yet it conveys your feelings directly and just the way you want them to.

“Bachira is a bad influence on you, [Name].” Nagi doesn’t mean it. You know that because he’s been visiting you a lot more often than he did before. “I’m suffering here.” You want to say it’s a good thing yet it is not because Nagi Seishirou makes his problems everyone else’s in the most inconvenient way possible.

His suffering is your suffering, whether you want it to be or not.

Sasaki knocks on the door, informing that you have a visitor. You tell her you will see them shortly. Nagi sighs, spinning his phone on your desk like some sort of spinning top. He’s unfairly good at it and it’s kind of infuriating. You shake your head before opening the door to your office. Setsuno Hitagi stands there in all of her disheveled elegance. You stare at her and she stares back. Her eyes are still as green as the moss in the Yakushima forest, only this time they’re lighter and not as burdened as they were all those years before.

“You’re staring.” Hitagi reminds you. You don’t even blink, keeping the staring contest going.

“Your eyes are pretty, that’s all.” She laughs. Lightly and oh so freely, and you can’t help but join in. “Come in.” You open the door wider for her, Hitagi takes the invitation. “What brings you here, prima ballerina?” She shrugs, it’s not as tense as it was back then, yet it is still a habit she carries with her wherever she goes.

“Stupid people.” She’s so discreetly affectionate when she says it, and you almost see the reflection of yourself in Setsuno Hitagi yet again. Then she turns her attention to Nagi, and you understand everything just by a single look. “Seishirou.” One word is all it takes. Nagi Seishirou drops everything and anything he has been busying himself with and focuses solely on the woman before him. Like nothing else matters.

Because it doesn’t. In his eyes, at least.

“Hitagi.” Nagi is always blunt and monotone. When he says Setsuno Hitagi’s name, he is everything but that. On the contrary, there might be too much emotion behind those three syllables and you may try but no amount of time doing research will give you the name of that very emotion. So you give it a name yourself and call it unconditional love.

Nagi holds his palm open, Hitagi does nothing about it. “Not even a thank you?”

“I am grateful. Can I please have it now?” Hitagi throws him the portable charger, Nagi catches it and plugs his phone in right away.

“Chores are yours for a week.” She reminds him. He makes a face that is very much Nagi but you don’t know how to explain it properly. It just is.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nagi Seishirou will not be doing those very choses and it’s glaringly obvious. It’s an empty promise, sealed with a kiss pressed to the crown of Hitagi’s head and a rare smile on Nagi’s face. “I’m going back to practice. Wait for me.” Nagi Seishirou asks.

“Always.” Setsuno Hitagi makes a promise.

And then he’s gone. He doesn’t ask how the two of you know each other and you don’t think either you or Hitagi are willing to share that. You can finally relax and stop hyperventilating by sighing so much, so you open the window and light one up; then you offer Hitagi one too, for the old time’s sake. It might not taste like blueberry but menthol has its merits too. She takes it with no hesitation, standing shoulder to shoulder with you by the tight space of the window.

“You look happy, Hitagi.” This interaction is just as odd and out-of-character as your first one, yet this time you take it as a twist of fate guiding you into the direction that is right for you.

“I feel happy. Do you?” It’s like you two have known each other all your life and not just met twice and the second one is still waiting for its inevitable end. You think she might be feeling the same exact thing.

“Very much so.” Admitting this is effortless. You’re so relieved it is.

“I’m glad.” You believe her because you reciprocate the sentiment. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“I can clear the schedule.” Bachira Meguru will forgive you for missing a date or two. The two of you are a couple of opportunistic egoists who rely on themselves just as much as you rely on each other. You think Kon loves him more than you at this point, anyway. He will find himself company.

“Do it. I know this little kikufuku place and the tea there –” Bachira Meguru senses when you think of him so he makes his grand entrance with fanfares, chaotic screeching, and Shidou Ryuusei threatening to murder him dead which is a little self-explanatory but you get the general idea. Setsuno Hitagi’s slightly quirked brow asks if that’s a normal occurrence. You shake your head in a silent yet still endeared agreement.

You catch yourself once again praying for this all to stay.

You’re twenty-four, and you finally meet the She-Who-You-Are-Not.

This is Mikage Reo’s apology. Genuine and from the deepest crevices of his heart. The team – anyone who is not Nagi Seishirou – has never seen his wife before. You are the first. It’s the sign of complete and utter trust and also a gesture of him admitting to humbling himself. He does not say he’s sorry. He doesn’t go on another hour-long spiel about your friendship. He just asks you to meet up with him a little before going to Kunigami’s place and then shows up to the meeting spot with this white-haired lady holding onto his forearm and introduces her as his Mikan.

Yamakaji Mikan – not Mikage Mikan, the prenuptial agreement forbids her from introducing herself by her rightful name and you don’t even think such a thing is possible – is a gentle woman with a kind heart and even softer soul, yet with a will of steel and the resolve of an unmovable object. You can totally see why Mikage Reo has chosen her out of everyone in this world. It doesn’t mean you have it in you to look at her. You think you will be able to one day, but just not right now.

You tell Reo you forgive him. The relief that washes over him is visible by the way his jaw relaxes though it has been all grinding teeth and pursed lips for months now. Then you tell the two that the team has been waiting for the three of you long enough as it is, and it’s about time to join the celebration for winning against Osaka Kaijuu. And so you do.

It’s not Kunigami who lets you in, but Bachira Meguru, dragging you away from the married couple who – you already suspect – has been planning on joining Nagi and Hitagi anyway. You sit down on one of the couches in the living room. Someone is singing karaoke and is actually decent at it. It’s that god-tier opening from a god-awful incest anime. When you find the culprit, you are not that surprised to find Kirie of all people doing that. The blue haired girl who’s sitting next to her in a suspiciously close proximity is clapping her hands along to the rhythm. Then you notice Shidou Ryuusei staring in that general direction, so you take a blind guess that that’s his Koi. Then she turns to look back at Shidou and you recognize that face from the countless billboards around Akiba. You might not be a fan of kpop idols – or any idols in general for that matter – but you enjoy Japanese rock and you know very well who Senjougahara Koi is. Kirie finishes the song, drops the mic on the carpeted floor, and hangs off of Koi like a monkey. Shidou screams for Chigiri to control his fucking dog. Chigiri screams back that he forgot the muzzle at home. Beside you Meguru enjoys the spectacle with a laugh resonating through his chest in a calming vibrating motion. You lean further into that source of not warmth, but chill.

Hitagi comes out of the kitchen with a bottle of peach soju and a pack of her favorite blueberry flavored, then she plops herself right beside you and leans on you just like you’re leaning on Meguru. Meguru asks why she left her little puppy Nagi-chan to his own devices. She reluctantly admits that Yamakaji Mikan makes her uneasy. You know why, and your hand on Meguru’s thigh tells him to drop the subject and so he does. Then you press a kiss to his lips and get up to leave for a little smoke break that you are content to share with Hitagi and not him. Because you won’t be putting any second-hand residue in his lungs and he won’t be taking your freedom of choice from you any time soon. He lets you go because he knows you will not abandon him and will always come back no matter what. You go, knowing he will still be there waiting for you to return.

The voice of Senjougahara Koi asks Kirie to introduce her to the two other girlfriends. Two only because you don’t think they know Mikan is around. Kirie says that gods don’t mingle with mortals and the likes of them are better left alone. You don’t know how the two of them mesh, but you are nothing short of relieved that Kirie is still able to find friends despite all of her idiosyncrasies. You and Hitagi smoke out on the balcony of Kunigami Rensuke’s penthouse in Roppongi Hills. Then Nagi Seishirou comes searching for her and she is whisked away, so you drop the still-scorching filter down and return to the place where you belong.

Bachira Meguru is still waiting. You come back just as you promised you would. You lean against his chest when he tugs you closer and ignore Chigiri’s snide remarks about Meguru being clingy. “He’s affectionate. There’s a difference.” You remind Chigiri Hyouma, watching with your own two eyes as he allows Kirie to braid his hair in whatever way she pleases.

“Semantics.” Chigiri protests with a straight face. Somewhere in the kitchen you can clearly hear Kunigami losing in mahjong once again, because he never seems to learn that it’s useless to try and beat Niko in the bloody game, and he has more luck winning jenga against Reo. And nobody’s better at jenga than Mikage Reo.

Meguru snickers. You can practically feel the evil intentions radiating from him with the tips of your fingers pressed tightly against his own. “Want me to remind you about the onsen incident?” Chigiri goes white. You join Meguru in his villainous cackling fit. The pillow doesn’t hit your face only because Bachira Meguru is fast enough to react and throw it right back at Chigiri.

You may not have all of your questions answered, but what you have right now is a lot more than you could ever even dream of. So much, in fact, that those answers pale in comparison. The taste of freedom is just as addicting as the nicotine that you are constantly inhaling just for the fun of it. And those are the only tedious little monsters that you still keep around.

Absolutely nothing, good or bad, is designed to last forever. All circumstances are temporary. This too, shall pass.

You truly hope it stays.

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

Growing pains

Warnings: Snake abuse(I do not condone this)

I had to repost this because half of the story got deleted, but it's all here now

Shinya and Seina Shinazugawa, 2 gifts from the god himself, Sanemi. You were overjoyed to find out you were carrying not just one, but two children. Sanemi was equally excited to see you carrying his children, he finally would have a family after so long. He was protective as ever as the months passed and you grew bigger and fuller with the 2 humans growing inside you. He was all you could wish for in a husband, during and even after the delivery of your children, attentive, loving, and overall perfect. The children, however, were a nightmare.

“Shinya! Put that down and stop terrorizing your sister!” You scolded your son, reaching to grab the worm he had dangled over his sister, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “That’s not nice, you know she doesn’t like worms, apologize to her” He looked up at you, a baffled expression as you arched a brow, waiting for him to apologize.

“It’s not my fault she's a cry baby” He scoffed, just like his father would, turning his back on you so he could go back to digging in the garden.

“Shinya Shinazugawa come here right now before I get your father out here. You will not speak to me like that, nor will you speak of your sister like that. She did nothing wrong and only asked if she could play with you. Now apologize or you aren’t allowed to go see uncle Tengen with your father tomorrow” The young carbon-copy of your husband paused in his steps, swerving on his heel with wide eyes.

“Mom! You know that Itsuki promised to take me to the graves tomorrow!” You waited as he stood there, arms crossed familiarly. He continued to pout, stuck in a stare-off as your daughter clung to your leg. You sighed, stooping up your sniffling daughter and turning to go inside. You heard Shinya huff behind you as you approached the house, ignoring his tantrum as he kicked around what you presumed to be the bucket of dirt he had.

“What happened?!” Sanemi came rushing forward as you approached the study where he was looking over some letters from the corps. He smoothed back his daughter's long white hair, whipping the tears off of her face as she gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

“Shinya put a worm in my face daddy! He’s a big meanie!” she wailed, throwing her head into your shoulder to cry.

“Shinya won’t apologize to Seina so he’s not going to Tengen's with you tomorrow. He can stay here and clean with me, take Seina instead, she’s so great at helping out Suma and Makio. They are both due any second and I'm sure they could use the help, especially with Itsuki and Irene” Sanemi cooed at his daughter, rubbing a warm hand over her back as she continued to cry, but he was nodding so you hoped he listened.

“I’ll try to talk to him, he’s been moody lately, he can’t be hitting manhood at 5 right?” you shrugged, you had the same amount of experience as him in the parent department.

“Seina? Sweetie, why don’t you go with daddy and talk to Shinya, okay? Maybe if you both make up we can try to make that cake that uncle Giyu told us about, huh? How does that sound?” she lifted her head, wiping the snot off her face with her palm before rubbing it on her kimono.

“Okay!”

“Okay, but only if you two are good for daddy, he’ll tell me if you two weren’t” she nodded as you placed her on the floor, watching as she followed her father, a copy and paste, side by side down the hallway. You let out an exhausted sigh, raising twin toddlers was an exhausting feat, you were beyond lucky your husband was retired, leaving you more than able to spoil your family, but it didn’t help with the lack of energy you had. You wandered into the living room, picking up the stuffed animals and wooden blocks thrown out of the toy chest Sanemi had built shortly after the birth of your two bundles of joy. Shinya was pretty good at picking up after himself, at 5 years old he was a neat freak, unlike his sister who threw anything around before she moved on to destroy the next room. She left a trail wherever she went. Screeching interrupted your small cleaning session, throwing your heart in overdrive as you dropped everything and rushed outside towards the noise.

“Seina, calm down! Shinya put the snake down NOW!” Sanemi’s temper flared as his daughter clung to his leg, hiding behind his hakama pants as her brother swung around a garden snake.

“Mommy! He did it again!” Seina ran towards you as you descended the porch stairs. Sanemi took the opportunity to crouch down and scold your son as he threw the snake into your hydrangea bush.

“You don’t treat animals like that and you don’t treat your sister like that! What is your problem Shinya? Why are you torturing her today? Huh?” He was practically growling in your son's face, his own face turning red as he tried-and failed-to reign in his temper.

“Sanemi” you warned, holding your daughter's hand as you approached the scene. Shinya looked between you and your husband, eyes tearing up before he turned away with a scoff, so much like his father. You dropped your daughter's hand, crouching down next to your husband, hoping your son would notice the movement.

“Shinya, what’s wrong? Did something hurt your feelings? Are you okay?” your softer voice made Shinya turn his head back towards you, blinking away the tears as you looked at him. He sniffled, trying his best not to seem like he was getting ready to have a meltdown as he wiped his nose on his sleeve, smearing snot across his cheek. “Come here sweetheart, what's wrong?” he immediately ran into your arms as you opened them, tucking his face into your shoulder as he let out a shuddered breath. You ran your hand over his back, softly shushing him as he sniffled. Sanemi was calmer as you looked at him, worry overtaking his features as he watched your son cry on your shoulder. Seina walked in front of all of you, laying a small hand on her brother's shoulder.

“Shinya, I’m sorry” her lisp was worse as tears pooled in her eyes, thickening her words as she watched her brother cry. “Don’t cry, it’s okay. I can play by myself” she let out her own sniffle, removing her hand as Shinya lifted his head, turning to look at Sanemi and Seina. He stared at them through flooded eyes before turning back to you.

“I want to show Seina all the things I find but she doesn’t like them and you guys yell at me. I don’t like it, I think their cool” your eyes flicked to Seina before returning to Shinya

“Well Sweetheart, she's scared of them and you know that. You are a very brave boy, just like your daddy but Seina is like me and she is scared of a lot of things. How about this” you adjusted your position, plopping onto your butt so Shinya sat in your lap, looking up at you as you freed your hands.

“How about we help your sister so she's less afraid of the things you like, okay? Like the caterpillars and worms. We can go to the library and read about them and show Seina that they won’t hurt her, and we can even learn more about them! Then when she wants you can show her all the worms you want, but only when she wants. If she says she doesn’t like something you can’t shove it in her face and make her like it, that’s not nice and it scares her more.” Shinya sniffled some more, wiping at the tears and snot running down his face. “I promise I won’t yell at you for this anymore if you promise me you won’t shove anything your sister doesn’t like in her face like worms” he nodded

“Can we go to the library tomorrow?”

“I thought we were going to Uncle Tengen's?” Sanemi butt in

“I want to learn about the worms, so I can show Seina and Itsuki all about them, and then we can learn about the snakes and the turtles!” He turned around to face his sister.

“Do you want to learn about them?” her eyes widened momentarily before she sheepishly nodded, twisting her hands in her kimono.

“Can we learn about butterflies too?” you chuckled

“Let's learn about something different each week? Okay? This week we can start with worms, and then next week we can do butterflies. One week something Shinya wants and the next week something Seina wants, does that sound good?” The twins nodded, Seina crawling into Sanemi’s lap as he sat quietly.

“That’s a good idea, should we ask Tengen if Itsuki and Irene can come as well, little trips to learn?” you hummed in agreement, letting Shinya go as he crawled out of your lap and turned to his sister.

“Do you want to go play with the ball?”

“Okay!” Seina hopped off of Sanemi’s lap and trotted behind her brother as they ran off. Sanemi let out a sigh, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“They change their minds so quick” He huffed, resting his chin on your shoulder.

[vampkillr]

Beware — Matt Murdock

the beginning — previous chapter

chapter two — 4.6k words — ftm! reader — angst — some of the dialogue in the argument was pulled from the roof scene where frank and matt argue in s2, but there aren't spoilers in the fic (currently, that's subject to change). reader's moral compass is vaguely akin to frank's which is why i did that. very important note at the end.

I've been in a daze ever since Matt had left, sitting in front of the open box that laid innocently on the coffee table. Its cleanliness despite the piece of filth that gave it to me made my skin crawl, observing something so inconspicuously cruel and knowing exactly what its dirty secret is. Knowing anyone other than Matthew and me would think nothing of it, knowing they would see it as a pure gesture. Every single part of my life was consumed by his taunting, and that in itself was no worse than if I had died that night. There was something sinister to the silence that surrounded me. Something gut-wrenchingly wrong with the way I was left to just ponder in a state like this. I felt terribly alone, and it was even worse now that I was so obviously missing a part of myself.

I had two options. I could take the leg, or I could get rid of it. But if I got rid of it, there was no telling when or if I'd be able to go after Fisk. If I didn't use it, there was no way I'd be able to cleanse Hell's Kitchen of the bastards that preyed on people's ignorance to get to the top— and that was not a choice I had the liberty of picking. Not for my own revenge and certainly not for good people like Ben, who deserve happy endings. I had to do this, because if I didn't then no one else would.

My fingers grazed the metal and I picked it up, sliding it over the compression glove that hugged my stump. As the sensors turned on, the knee of the leg bent to rest its foot on the floor. "Holy shit." I muttered. It looked exactly like my other leg, and fit perfectly. My breath quickened, tears pricked my eyes. "Holy shit..." I whispered once more, still in pure shock. With a design this close to my other leg, with a fit that was perfectly right— there was almost no way that I hadn't been measured for it. Which begs the question, when did it happen? And, if he had people working for him in the hospital, who was to say that Matt or Ben were safe from his watch as well? Who was to say that it wasn't his plan to rob me of my leg? Who was to say that the only reason I'm alive right now was also because of him? I tensed the muscles in my stump, testing it's mobility and range of function, but it seemed not to have any limitations, and it seemed to listen to every beck and call without much movement of my muscles regardless. It felt as if my brain was controlling it, just like my real leg. This wasn't just any expensive prosthetic. It was a metal carbon copy of my leg, even the toes moved. It was strange to watch. I stood up, almost doubling over at the pain that came with standing on my stump, but I bit my tongue and dealt with the ache that radiated from my bone. I needed to get the hang of this, and I had no time to waste.

I walked to the very end of the apartment, each step on my new leg eliciting a grunt from me. With a few deep breaths, I set out in a full sprint to the other side, falling forward halfway through. The frustration I felt pooled in the back of my neck, heat resting on my skin. "Okay... It's okay.." My words were of no comfort, yet I whispered them to myself regardless as I got back up. A slow limp back to the starting point, and I was on the floor again in almost the exact same spot. "God fucking dammit!" I screamed, hitting the prosthetic and regretting it the moment the metal met my fist. I needed to try again. However many times it took, I needed to try and keep trying until I got it right. I needed to.

I took a deep breath in, trying my best to quell my emotions. The amount of sheer anger resting in the marrow of my bones, vibrating through my muscles and out into the air I exhale— it was hard to handle. Hard to sit through. Hard to calm. There was a minute where I just sat with myself, bathing in all of the feelings I was trying so hard to hide and ignore. I've been too embarrassed to leave the house, too upset to get out of bed, too angry to actually get any sleep. The weight of my grief was crushing me, and I had nothing that would save me from it. The rage was a numbness of my rational thought, a glossy haze over my eyes— it was almost difficult to string together a coherent thought. The only thing that pumped through my veins was the itch to cleanse myself of my sins. To redeem the people I've hurt by hunting the scum I used to break bread with.

And so I tried again. And again. And again. Over and over, falling and screaming and getting back up only to do it once more and another time after that. My stump was killing me, the sharp throb begging me to stop, but I didn't listen. Eventually I got the hang of it, and it wasn't long after that Matt had come walking through the door. He set his stick next to the door and furrowed his brows, turning his head towards me. "Your leg, what did you do?" I let myself sit down for the first time in hours, the pain subsiding only just a little. "They told you to let it rest for a while longer before you started to use a prosthetic." He made his way towards me and sat down on one of the chairs across from me.

"I don't care." I got up from the couch and grabbed the bag I had stored in my closet, bringing it to the coffee table and stripping myself down to my underwear. "I'm going to be gone for a while. I should be back, but..." I trailed off, thinking about why I was living with Matt in the first place. "You know." My suit was inside of the bag, it was a suit I had made for myself, but I needed to get it fixed and to fit my new leg. Made out of a fiber that you can't cut through very easily, if at all— it was useful for my line of work. Matt took his glasses off and tried his best to look at me directly, but he wasn't looking high enough. His eyes were pointing through my scarred-up chest.

"Where are you going?" I didn't answer him. "Y/n." He stood up, hands reaching forward in search of me, and I didn't have it in me to back away from him. His fingers trailed the scars from my arms, and up to rest on my face. Still taller than me despite the coffee table being between us. "You can't just go out and kill people." I wasn't going to kill people; not tonight at least, I had things to prepare and information to gather before I took care of that, but his point would stand regardless. "The day I came and got you from your house, your heart was steady like you weren't fazed at all," He sounded upset at me, or sad— I couldn't tell. "like you didn't just put a bullet between someone's eyes and I let that go, because of what you went through and what he was about to do— but every time we talk about this I can't help but think you're no better than they are." No better than the men that ripped me of my dignity and comfort. No better. The insinuation was frustrating.

"You beat on people and what? A month, a week– maybe not even a day later they're back on the street doing the same goddamn thing, Matt." My voice was quiet, but venom laced my words. "What fucking good does that do? Huh? Do you really think that just because you slap them around they're gonna learn a fucking lesson?" This was turning into an argument, and yet I hadn't the reservation for the lives I was about to take to give a damn about what he thought of me for it. Matt was getting upset, angry at me, but the only aggravation in my voice was over the annoyance we had to have this conversation.

I pushed his hands away from me and walked to his closet, grabbing some of my clothes while he spoke. "You never think for one second, shit, I just killed a human being!"

"That's being pretty generous." I muttered as I put pants on, and he wasted no time to yell at me his point.

"A human being who did a lot of stupid shit, maybe even evil, but had one small piece of goodness in him." Part of me wondered why he was so passionate about this, but another part was beginning to seethe at the idea that he thought the people who did those fucked up things to me had the potential to be better. "And then you come along and that one tiny flicker of light gets snuffed out forever." I made my way to him, the pain and grief that were now forever part of me fueling my every step.

"I think you're wrong." I whispered, my tone making it very clear that I wasn't enjoying the turn of the conversation. "I think there's no good in the filth I'm about to put down, that's what I think."

"And how do you know?" That was the question that set me off. I grabbed at his collar and pulled him closer to me, matching his yell this time.

"You've felt what they've taken from me, you sick fuck!" I didn't care that I was screaming. I couldn't feel guilty over this. Not when he just implied what he did. "You want people like that to live?" My voice broke, and I couldn't keep the tears that spilled from my eyes. I was searching for something, anything to tell me that it wasn't what he wanted. His gaze, although glossed over and searching through a void, it was aimed with a guilty pity. A look that told me all I needed to know. He felt bad, but he wasn't going to change his mind. "You're unbelievable." I whispered. I let him go and walked away in search of another bag. I wasn't going to stay with someone like this. I couldn't. I couldn't let someone forgive people of crimes not committed against them. I couldn't let someone decide that there was goodness in a person like that.

"What are you doing?" I rolled my eyes at his question, walking over to the closet and putting a shirt on before stuffing my clothes into a backpack I found.

"Moving out." As I went to pass him again, Matt grabbed my wrist with a painful firmness, taking the backpack away from me. He clearly wasn't done with me, so I decided to speak. "You know what the problem is, Matt? You think that hope can be built. You think that redemption exists. You think that institutions can be utilized and fixed." I was bitter. Angry. "You're just a stupid little catholic boy that still believes in a god. A stupid bastard that doesn't know how the world really works. Shocking for a fucking Lawyer." I yanked my arm from his grasp and grabbed the bag back, shoving my suit in there and taking a couple stacks of cash from the duffel bag before leaving.

I'd be back. For the rest of my things, or for good, I didn't know, but that wasn't important anymore. I held my hand out and waited for a cab, one pulling up after a few minutes of others skipping over me. "Spotlight Costume Shop, please." The driver looked back at me, a look of confusion on his face.

"Isn't that place closed by now, kid?" I smiled and nodded, not denying what he said. The look on my face was as if I was having a much better day than I actually was. My ability to hide the things I was feeling was both impressive and appalling, depending on the way you look at it.

"Yes, but I'm meeting with the owner privately for a custom order." It wasn't that far from the truth, but it was still a stretch. The driver either was satisfied with my answer or didn't care enough to press, but regardless he turned around and started driving. The ride was silent apart from the noises of the city that seemed to surround the cab, I listened quietly. Sirens, conversations, car horns, radios that shook the doors of busted up Chevys. This city had never known peace. All of the voices and noises that contributed to the music of Hell's Kitchen were a part of something much larger. Tiny instruments in an orchestra of ignorance. Quiet bass lines you can only hear with earbuds on, one's you can only pick out if you know exactly what you're listening for. They were a brand of mediocrity. Unimportance in the grand scheme of things.

I was a part of that noise. We all were to Fisk, and I think there was a part of him that wasn't self-aware about it. He would do anything to run this city, anything to 'leave it better for the people', but his words were simply lies he'd tell himself. He didn't love this city. He didn't care for it. He was a cancer to Hell's Kitchen, spreading his rot and infesting every corner and alleyway with the stench. Fisk was eating it alive, draining it of it's blood, robbing it of its hope. It won't be long before he starts to see it too. Before he starts embracing it and pridefully making it worse. I have to stop him before that happens.

In the midst of my thoughts, we arrived. I pulled a crisp hundred out of the wad of cash in my pocket and handed it to the man, walking towards the shop and observing its emptiness. I could hear the faint whir of one of Melvin's tools— he was definitely in there. I tried the door at first, but of course, it was locked. I was going to have to get in another way.

I scaled the shop, scanning for an entrance before an open window caught my eye. "Melvin, you idiot, what did I tell you about that window?" I whispered, speaking entirely to myself, reminded of all the times I've told him that just because a window is high up, doesn't mean someone can't get into it. It felt familiar jumping and scaling up against the shop and building beside it because it was. I had shown him years ago that people could get into the shop through it, and now I was doing the same thing. The loud noise of his tools was enough to muffle my drop down, but I didn't need them to. I walked right up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He was getting ready for a fight until he saw that it was me, and when he realized, I was scooped into a hug. "You're alive!" I smiled as I hugged him back, separating only when he wanted to. "Mr. Fisk... Mr. Fisk said that he—" Melvin's face turned sour. "Said he took care of you." My brows furrowed. There was no way he didn't know I was alive. He would have heard that I had shot the guy he sent.

"When did he say that, Melvin?" He checked his watch, one of his hands still resting on my shoulder as if I'd disappear if he let me go.

"Hour or so. Before he left. Asked him if it was really you in the fire." He said simply. "News said your apartment burned down a week ago," My stomach dropped. "Said they found a body and they made someone identify you." Probably Ben. I needed to go see him, but first I needed to get what I came here for.

"You can't let Fisk know that I'm alive, okay?" He seemed confused, but nodded. "I need you to fix my suit, but it needs to be a secret. I can't kill Fisk if he figures out I'm still alive." I needed to work to my advantage. Surprise was a weapon I desperately needed. I slung the backpack from my shoulders and opened it, handing him the suit. Melvin took it to his workbench and inspected every part. The seams, padding, helmet, goggles, gloves— almost every bit of my suit was busted up from the aftermath of the last job I ever did for Fisk.

"It would be better to just make a new one," He spoke softly, turning to me. "Can I?" Melvin works fast, and he knows better than anyone what is best. If a new suit is safer than fixing what's left of the one I had, then I'll take what he gives me. I nodded and began undressing into just my boxers, just as I've done a million times before for him. Yet, upon seeing what was done to my body, his face fell. "Did Mr. Fisk do that to you?" He was going to get angry if I told him the truth, and I couldn't risk Melvin and Betsy's safety if he got angry at Fisk the next time he came in.

"No, just stole from the wrong people." I lied with a precision that made Melvin's face turn from one of anger and into disappointment. He took a notepad, pencil and measuring tape and got to work. His hands were gentle, quietly writing down the numbers as he went. "Why did you leave the window open? I've told you a million times already." I broke the silence between us, playfully scolding him as he grabbed my arms and made me spread them out.

"Didn't want to believe you were gone." His answer hurt. Melvin's been my friend for years, and to hear that he was hoping that I'd pop through that window again one day left me in shambles. "I'm going to make sure you won't get hurt like this again." His finger traced along the line on my back before he moved to write some more numbers on his notepad. "It's gonna be stronger than your other suits." I turned to look at him.

"Can you make my suit look different? I can't make it look like I'm the same person." He smiled at me and nodded. "I'm not on the bad side anymore. I don't want people thinking I mean harm." My spine still shivered when thinking of the way I was lied to. Killing innocent men and women for Fisk, being fed the idea that they had done bad things. It made me sick to my stomach.

"I can think of something." While he left to grab sample fabrics, I opened his mini fridge and took out one of the drinks I had stashed in it. Melvin came back soon after, holding different squares up to my skin and face. He discarded some of the samples that he deemed didn't suit me and laid the rest out on the table. "You can pick what your pallet is." I already knew which colors were the strongest, so I picked them both up. "White and black?" My eyes trailed to the accents on my prosthetic.

"And silver accents. If it's not too much to ask." He shook his head and got to drawing up some ideas. "Look, I've got to go, when do you think you'll be done?" I started putting my clothes back on and he hummed.

"Probably a week. Is that alright?" I slipped my shoes on and pat him on the back, nodding. "You be careful out there." I smiled.

"Always am." I slid my drink for him to finish, put my backpack on and left through the window. My next stop was to a black market arms dealer a few blocks away, so I didn't bother hailing a cab. The walk was quiet, uneventful. Aside from the sound of my footsteps along the sidewalk I was alone in my travel towards the Pawn Shop.

The front lights were off, but I knew Clint was inside. I opened the front door without issue, and seeing as it was unlocked, I was correct. Moaning came from the mini T.V on his desk and I scoffed. "Turn that shit off, will you?" He paused the tape, a look of shock illuminated only from the porn he was watching that I thankfully didn't have to see.

"Word on the street says you're dead, Mr. L/n." With the flip of a switch the light above him flicked on, illuminating the both of us to make business with each other. I walked up to his desk and leaned forward, grabbing his shotgun and unloading the shells onto the floor. I didn't need to be sure he wouldn't try to shoot me, but Clint was a sleaze ball who would probably try to pry the cash I don't use out of my dead fingers.

"Word on the street would be correct, Clint." I dug all of the money out of my pocket and curved the bills to make it easier to count. "You got what I need?" He sighed and walked to the back. I could hear some rummaging before he came back with a gun case. I opened the case, greeted by two 9mm Glock 45s resting in the foam. "The mags?" I asked expectantly, gazing up at him through a cocked brow. He pulled a box from under the desk and I started stuffing the empty magazines into my backpack, ten in total.

"Here's the bullets." He handed me four boxes of bullets, fifty per box. I counted out five hundred dollar bills before handing them to Clint, but he didn't seem impressed by the amount. "I could always tell some buddies of mine I saw a ghost..." He trailed off, gaze fixed on his open palm. Slimy bastard was making me pay to have him stay quiet. I sighed and handed him five more bills, but he was still trying to squeeze more out of me. "Could I interest you in a police scanner?" I closed the gun case and glared at him.

"What good would that do me?" Clint visibly slumped at my rhetorical question. "You're lucky I paid you that much. Don't push it." I shoveled the rest of my money into my pocket and grabbed my things, walking out the door without another word. I needed to speak with Ben, but I needed to wait until I knew for a fact I was dead to everyone. I couldn't risk his life just going over there to tell him that I wasn't. I got a ride back to Matt's apartment and when I walked up to the door, I hesitated for a minute. He was behind me. I could hear his steps stop just as mine did. "You gonna follow me around if I move out?" I turned to look at him. He was back in the mask and black clothes.

"We need to talk." Matt walked past me and into the building, walking for the elevator and holding the door open. He was waiting for me to follow. I sighed and made my way into the elevator, almost surprised we didn't use the backdoor like last time. I pressed the button to the top floor and leaned back against the railing. The silence wasn't something I enjoyed— in fact, it was making me anxious— but I kept myself together, grip strong on the gun case. The ding and opening of the doors filled me with an even stronger sense of dread. Matt took his mask off and walked with a precision to the loft, me following hot on his trail. The moment the door shut behind me, he turned and began speaking. “There are some things I haven't told you.” He started, and I could hear the way he was trying to tiptoe over the subject.

“Yeah, like how my apartment got burned down and how everyone thinks I'm dead,” I walked past him and set my guns and backpack on the floor next to the couch, lifting myself back up to face him once more. “you really could have fucking said something. I've been stuck here for a month with no contact with the outside world, no music, no T.V—” Listing off every normal human right that I've been deprived of without reason only fueled my passive aggressive ramblings. “I have read those law books so many times I think I'm qualified to go on fucking trial— who the fuck keeps books in the house that they can't read, anyway?” I couldn't help but point out how ridiculous it was that he had a collection of books I know he's never thumbed through. He sighed.

“I'm sorry.” His hands went for my shoulders, but I backed away from him this time. “I should've told you. I handled it poorly.” I scoffed, my head instinctively turning to search for a solace away from the anger that pooled when looking at him.

“You think?” I sighed, watching how he was fighting the urge to touch me again.

“I just thought—” He inhaled sharply. “I wanted to let you get better before I told you. I didn't want you to be focused on anything other than your health. I wanted you to be safe.” He took my hand in his, our fingers tangling with each other's. I watched as it happened and didn't fight the contact. “I don't know. You've become a really great friend in a really short amount of time. I didn't want to lose that.” He sighed, playing with my fingers. It made me feel weird, but I wasn't going to necessarily credit anything other than me being touch starved.

“This doesn't feel like it's something you do with your friends, Matt.” I let my hand fall out of his. “I'm upset at you. Everything you said to me really hurt my feelings. You can't just drop a bomb like this on me.” I said softly. “You can't.” I didn't exactly know how to handle the affection. Under the weight of becoming something I deem atrocious, even more so than I had already felt about myself, an advance like this one isn't something I have the ability to accept. The time we've spent together, although short in some standards, it's been nice. We've gotten close— but after what he told me, I didn't feel like engaging in something deeper with him. There's no taking back that he thinks the people who did this to me deserve to be left alive.

“Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow.” I sighed and made my way to the bed, undressing into just my boxers and sitting down. When I took my prosthetic off, grief flooded me all over again. It was a disappointment that I couldn't quite describe, it left me empty. I sat the leg down on my pile of clothes and covered up. Part of me felt bad for still taking up his bed, but I tried not to think about it and closed my eyes. There were a lot of things to do tomorrow.

likes, reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated. i wanted to post something before i took a little break, so this is the chapter i've been holding off on posting. mentally just not doing well, i just really feel like shit. insecure as a motherfucker about every little thing i do including the way i write. so things have been tough on my end. give me a week or two and i'll be back on my feet enough to finish this request in my inbox and then continue this story. in the meantime, thank you for your patience.