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likeumeanit9497 · 5 months

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yale pt. 2 | c.s |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

read part one here!

summary: to commit or not to commit; what will chris and y/n decide? and how will they prove to one another that their mutual decision was the right one?

warnings: smut, oral (m/f receiving), hand stuff (m/f), p in v, unprotected sex (BAD), more fluff than i usually write, 18+

notes: again i'm sorry ab the wait but part two is finally finished! it's a bit longer than my past one shots (almost 6000 words eek) because there's a lottttt of fluff before the smut. i hope ya'll enjoy!!!

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

Two out of my three final exams were finished, and I was about ready to throw in the towel on my last one of the week. It was Thursday, and tomorrow was my Biology II final, which had been the one that had been stressing me out the most. As soon as I had got back to my small one-bedroom apartment that day, I had buried my nose in my textbooks in an attempt at cramming some last-minute miracle study session into my day.

That was around 3:00, and as I walked into my kitchen to make myself my fourth cup of coffee for the day, the clock on my stove read 9:26. I wanted to cry from exhaustion. Yale finals were no joke, and I had to do well on all of my exams in order to keep my scholarship for next year. On top of the stress caused by all of that, I was having an even more difficult time because my brain had been consumed by something else. Every moment of every day — whether I was trying to get some rest at night or trying to focus on answering the questions correctly on an exam — I was thinking about the last time I had seen Chris.

It had been less than a week, but my mind had replayed every moment of our time together so many times that it had begun feeling like a dream. That, in addition to the lack of proper rest I had been getting, had made me genuinely begin to question whether or not I had imagined everything that he had said before I ran out on him.

I hadn’t heard anything from Chris since then, which really wasn’t that uncommon. We typically only texted when I was back in Boston and we could meet up, and he knew that I would be busy with my finals this week and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. But regardless of how usual the lack of communication was, I couldn’t help but feel like there was a mutual tension between us even from miles away; and the shortage of interactions between us just felt like confirmation of that.

Since the last time we spoke, I had felt nearly every emotion possible regarding the situation. Guilty, happy, sad, angry, hurt, disappointed, excited, and confused. Very, very confused. There had been so many times where, as I was studying, or showering, or walking to class, I became completely consumed by the urge to text him; sometimes with the intention of telling him that I feel the same way about him as he does about me, other times my intentions were to cuss him out for making the one thing that was easy in my life so complicated. But every time I opened my phone and began typing out a message to him, I got ahold of myself and would hurriedly delete the paragraph.

Frustrated and lost in my own mind once again, I leaned onto the kitchen counter and rested my forehead against my crossed arms. The last thing that I wanted to do was go back to my desk and continue studying, but I knew that I needed to spend at least a few more hours on it if I wanted to secure at least a 90%. But my eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and the cool sensation that came from leaning on my counter was helping me calm down. Maybe I could stay here and collect my thoughts for just a few more minutes…

Four loud knocks at my front door caused my eyes to shoot open. I felt disoriented as I took a moment to take in my surroundings, glancing quickly at the clock I realized that I must have somehow dozed off in my position at the counter. Three more knocks rumbled through my small apartment, these ones more urgent than the last. As my brain finally woke up completely, I was hit with a mini wave of rage. Brad was in the same Biology II class as I was. He must be trying to study for the exam super last minute, and when he realized that he hadn’t even started taking study notes, he decided to show up unannounced at my place to get his hands on mine. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

I stormed toward my front door, beside myself in fury and stress. As I unlocked the door and began turning the handle, I opened my mouth to begin my crazed rant.

“Brad I swear to God I’m not-” My mouth clamped shut and I froze once the door was completely open and the identity of the person on the other side was shown.

“Hi.” Was all he said, his voice tentative and wavering slightly. His bright blue eyes were filled with uncertainty, his slouched shoulders were covered in a light dusting of snow, and held by his hands in the space between us was a bouquet of sunflowers.

“Chris.” His name fell breathlessly from my lips, and I immediately walked toward him and embraced him in a relieving hug. I felt both of our bodies relax as soon as they connected, and we stood in my doorway for what could have been hours; both of us taking a moment to relish in the comfort that came from us finally seeing one another. “What are you doing here?” I finally asked, pulling back from him and taking a good look at his beautiful face. He shifted on his feet before responding, “I just needed to see you.”

His body language showed that he was feeling incredibly vulnerable. I wanted to do everything I could to reassure him, but not yet; it was too soon. So instead, I guided him into my apartment and closed the door behind us.

“So,” I began as he stood awkwardly in my kitchen, “Have you just decided to start carrying those around as some sort of fashion statement or what?” I gestured towards the flowers still gripped firmly in his hand. He blinked quickly before looking down at them as if he had forgotten they were there, and nervously giggled. “No. Uh, I brought these for you?” His voice rose at the end of his sentence, making it sound like a question and I let out a small laugh before gently removing them from his grasp. “I was joking, thank you for these. Sunflowers are my favourite.” I replied before turning my back to him to search through my kitchen cabinets for a vase. “I know they are.” He said in a quiet voice, and I turned back to look at him quickly.

“How’d you know that?” I kept my tone light, partially because I felt like it might make him more comfortable and partially to keep my nerves at bay. “Your lock screen on your phone. It’s of you and your friends in a sunflower field. I asked you about the picture that first time we met when you went to put my number in your phone and you told me that they were your all-time favourite flower, even though you thought they were a bit cliche.” He explained all of this to me while looking down at his feet, and I felt a ripple of shock travel down my spine. How did he remember that seemingly mundane part of our very first interaction, eight months ago?

I cleared my throat as I felt my emotions begin to get the best of me, and finally found a vase hidden deep in one of my cabinets. “Well I do love them,” I finally responded once I regained control over myself, “And look at how beautiful they are! The brighten up my entire kitchen.” I showed him the bouquet, now tucked into their vase, and felt my heart flutter at their vibrancy. “Thank you so much, Chris. I mean it.” I walked over to where he was standing beside my kitchen island, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I playfully brushed my nose against his a few times, before planting a light kiss on his lips. “You have a very good memory.” I added, before moving my lips to his jaw, down to his neck; leaving wet thank-you kisses along the way. His breath hitched once I reached his collarbone, where I spent extra time suckling his delicate skin.

I brought a hand down to his jeans, where I palmed at his semi-hard member. His hands stayed still at his sides, but I could feel his increasing pulse against my lips as I moved them painfully slow back up to his. When my lips made it back to his, I pressed my body against him in an attempt at deepening our movements. His hands finally moved to grab onto my waist, giving me a moment of satisfaction, before he used his new grip to pull me away slightly. “Y/n, wait,” He started, his gaze fixed on me, “I’ve really been needing to talk about last weekend.” My stomach sunk as I began to feel the too-familiar pit of anxiety that had been haunting me for days grow once more. Not wanting him to pick up on how terrified I was to have this conversation, I planted a faux smile on my face and gave him a quick nod. “Me too. Let’s sit.” I replied before walking over to my couch.

“So…” I began once we were both seated on the couch facing each other. Even though I had spent days mulling over every detail of what I might possibly say to Chris once this inevitable conversation happened, I really had no idea how to go about this. And by the unusual silence and bouncing leg coming from Chris’s side of the couch, it was pretty evident that he didn’t know how to either.

“I thought we had agreed that this conversation wouldn’t happen until after I had written all of my finals.” I finally got the courage to speak first, before immediately noticing that my tone came across pretty passive aggressive. “I just mean — sorry, Chris. I’ve just been really stressed out.” I attempted to correct my first sentence once I noticed that his face was riddled with anxiety. Placing a soft hand on his forearm, I continued, “I just mean I’ve been really needing to talk to you, too.” A nervous smile flashed across his face at my words, and I watched as he took a deep breath. “You have?” His tone sounded unsure, and I nodded firmly. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else.” I added, slightly embarrassed by my own admission. “Neither have I.” He added, turning his body slightly so he can face me better.

“I know I told you that I would wait until after you were finished your exams, and I really tried. But I’ve been going crazy these past few days and I really couldn’t wait anymore. I’m sorry.” He confessed, and I scooted closer to his place on the couch. “Don’t be. Trust me, I’ve felt so crazy these past few days too. I’ve gone through every possible emotion whenever I thought about the whole situation, it’s like I can’t get control over my mind. It’s been hell.” I reassured him with the truth.

“Well, how are you feeling about the whole thing?” He asked tentatively, as if he was afraid of my answer. I allowed myself to contemplate for a few moments before answering, so that I could say the right thing. “Well, at first I was scared. It was just so out of the blue Chris, and my brain couldn’t process it all.” I watched him watch me as I spoke, “Then, I felt really angry. I was so mad that after all of this time you decided to drop that bomb of a confession right before I had to start my most stressful week of the year. That, along with the simple fact that I am in a relationship, no matter how toxic, and you went and made things even more complicated.” His gaze dropped to the dead space between us, clearly having a difficult time hearing how upset I had been.

“But,” His eyes met mine again as I continued, “I almost felt relieved? Like, it kind of felt like this was how it was always supposed to end up, if that makes sense. It was like some part of me knew that the universe was planning something like this to happen in a way, and that all of our sneaking around was just the build up.” I felt my heart in my throat as I spoke of feelings that I hadn’t even known I was feeling before; shocked by my own confession. By the expression on his face, I could tell that he was just as confused.

“Wait, what?” Said Chris, his eyes widening slightly. I stared back at him in silence, terrified that I might have said too much and gotten this whole thing wrong. Oh God, what if he came here to back out of what he had said last week? What if his jealousy had just overpowered him in the moment, and he was here to backtrack. Even more, what if he was here to end things between us completely? I began to feel myself panic at all of the thoughts flying through my head at rapid speed, before he finally spoke.

“Are you — are you saying that you might want this too?” Chris asked, his voice one of hesitant optimism. Immediately, I felt my initial wave of dread vanish and a new, almost excited anxiety take its place. I bent forward, resting my arms on my knees, and groaned into my hands at the feeling. “I…do.” I finally said, my voice muffled by the concealment of my face behind my fingers.

The room stayed silent for what felt like forever, my last words sat heavy in the air between us. I was so anxious I couldn’t bear to look anywhere, so I scrunched my eyes tightly shut and made every attempt at calming my nerves.

“Come here.”

Chris’s voice was so soft and calm — a refreshing contrast to the racing thoughts in my own mind — that it caused my eyes to snap open and fall on him. He still looked a bit nervous, but the genuine smile that shone across his face allowed me to release the deep breath that I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I scooted even closer to him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around me. With my head tucked into his neck, I breathed him in; allowing my nervous system a moment to relax.

“We’re really doing this then?” I finally asked as he rubbed gentle circles on my back. He let out a soft chuckle. “Looks like it.” I pulled away from his embrace and brushed his hair out of his beautiful face. “I’m gonna have to end things with Brad tomorrow after our Biology final.” I sighed, dreading the inevitable conversation that was I was sure would be made more difficult by Brad and his disrespect. However, Chris’s pleased expression brought me some joy, because at the end of the day he was who I really wanted.

Feeling like I was on cloud nine, I wrapped my arms around Chris’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Right as my lips barely grazed his, however, he mumbled something and pulled back. “No,” he began, shaking his head firmly. “We gotta do this right. Things are different now and we’re not just sneaking around, so it feels wrong to just kiss you behind everyone’s back like we had to before. Take your exam, have a conversation with Brad, and then we can start from the beginning.”

My jaw physically dropped, shocked at the maturity of Chris’s words. I wish he wasn’t but I knew that he was right. Now that we were headed in the direction of something more serious, it would be so much more meaningful to wait until all of the wrinkles of our situation had been ironed out. I gave him a smile and nodded softly, letting him know that he was right.

“So, how did you get here?” I asked, stretching my arms behind my head to work the kinks out of my sore back. “Matt dropped me off. I had to offer to do the laundry for a full month for it though.” I laughed at his response, but was also touched by the idea as I knew that Chris despised laundry more than anything. “Jesus, no kidding, that’s a long drive just to turn right back around and go back to Boston.”

“Well, no. He should still be downstairs. I told him to wait outside for a while just in case things didn’t go so well up here.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly at this fact, but I understood what he meant. “Well, if you want you can tell him to head back and you can spend the night here. I was already planning on heading back home tomorrow night so I can just take you with me.” I offered, glancing quickly at him through my eyelashes as I did to gauge his reaction. Immediately, a smile flashed across his face and he shot up from the couch as if he had been hoping I would say that. “I’m down. Let me just run to his car and grab by duffel bag.” I laughed at his reaction, and the fact that he had clearly intended on staying the night if he played his cards right.

Before walking to the door, he leaned over my figure and planted a quick kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll be right back. Maybe once I grab my stuff I can quiz you for your exam or some shit. Don’t want you to not be prepared tomorrow just because I’m here.” My heard fluttered from the sensation of his lips on my skin in combination with his thoughtful words, and I had to fight the urge to pull his face to mine. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

Once I finally made it back to my apartment, I slammed the front door shut and slid against it down to the floor. I ran my hands through my snow-covered hair as I tried to catch my breath and wrap my head around what I had just done.

I finally broke up with Brad.

As suspected, he didn’t take it well. To be honest, it had been a bad choice of mine to do it as we were walking towards the exit of the exam building, but I hadn’t expected him to break down into tears and get down on his knees in front of countless other students and professors, begging me to reconsider. I could still hear the echos of his wails as I literally ran away through the double exit doors of the building, and I continued to run as fast as I could until I reached the lobby of my apartment complex.

And now here I was, feeling everything all at once and trying to make sense of all that has happened over the past twenty four hours. As I mulled through everything, the sound of my shower turning on caught my attention. In all of my stress from writing my exam to breaking up with Brad, I had nearly forgotten what all of it was for.

Chris.

I stood up and slowly walked towards the bathroom. Putting my ear against the door, I smiled as I listened to him quietly sing along to a Ken Carson song playing from his phone as he showered. Checking the door knob, I realized that he had left it unlocked and I decided to enter the humid washroom. The room had already begun to fill up with steam, but I could still see Chris’s back through the glass shower door. He was facing away from me, and the music was loud so he clearly had no clue that I was there.

Quickly and quietly, I began to take off my clothes from the day; keeping my eyes on him the entire time to make sure he still hadn’t noticed my presence. Once fully unclothed, I took my hair out of my messy bun and began walking towards the shower. Standing at the glass now, I brought my knuckles against the cool surface and gently knocked.

At my knocking, Chris’s body jolted and he quickly turned his body to face me. When he saw that it was just me standing there, his body visibly relaxed and a smile crossed his lips. “Hey.” He said as his eyes travelled across my naked body. “Hey.” I returned as I opened the shower door and began climbing in. I stood in front of his naked figure, the stream of water from the shower head beginning to mist my hair.

“Did you talk to him?” Asked Chris, his eyes searching my face; clearly trying to gauge my expression. I tilted my head to the side and smirked slightly. “I did.” He continued to just stare, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. “I ended it.” I added, causing a smile to immediately cross his face. “So we’re really doing this, huh?” Chris asked as he brought his hands to my hips, pulling my body towards him directly under the shower head. Now getting completely rained on, I squeezed my eyes shut and chuckled. “What, you getting cold feet already kid?” I asked jokingly, opening my eyes to look at him and standing on my tip toes so that I could bring my face closer to his.

“No, obviously not, it’s just,” He paused when I brushed my wet lips against his softly, before whispering, “It’s just a bit scary.” I brought my hands to the back of his head, where I mindlessly twirled my fingers through his curls. “What’s scary?” My hushed tone now matched his as I spoke. “I’ve just never been in a relationship before, and I don’t want to screw anything up. I’m really really out of my realm here Y/n.” He confessed, his tone somber and his eyes fearful.

I grabbed my bottom lip with my teeth, completely understanding what he was saying but not wanting to unintentionally confirm his fears by agreeing. So instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him against me. After a moment of relishing in the feeling of his skin pressed firmly against mine, feeling our hearts beat as one, I spoke.

“Let me show you that you don’t need to be scared of anything.” I gazed up at him as he looked down at me, and after a short while he nodded his head. Rubbing his back delicately, I spoke. “Things aren’t going to be much different, you know,” I began placing soft kisses along his collarbone, “Sure we won’t be sneaking around,” More kisses along his shoulder, “And there will be a certain level of accountability and loyalty that wasn’t there before,” My mouth moved to his jaw, “But those are all good things because,” Finally, my lips were hovering in front of his, so close to touching that I could feel his anxious breath against them.

“They mean that I’m all yours.”

At that, Chris crashed his lips against mine. Our mouths moved in sync as his tongue swirled against mine. I gasped as Chris suddenly pressed my back against the cool tiled wall where he continued to dominate my mouth. I felt his quickly growing member press against my hip, and reached forward to begin stroking it slowly. A soft moan fell from his mouth, and I began to move my hand up and down quicker along his hard shaft. He bucked his hips slightly at the sensation, and moved his lips to leave deep kisses along my neck, down to my nipples. He gave my left nipple one long drag with his tongue before engulfing the entire thing in his mouth. He sucked hard and bit tenderly on the tip of my nipple the way he knew I liked, and I couldn’t help but release a small whine at the building need in between my legs.

“Let me make you feel good.” Chris mumbled against my tit, grabbing my ass firmly with both hands. “Me first.” I replied, a smirk on my face with his cock still tight in my grasp. Slowly, I dropped to my knees on the shower floor and was face to face with his swollen cock. Gazing at me as water dripped down his entire body, Chris watched as I placed my lips around his red tip; swirling my tongue to lap up the salty pre cum that had begun to drip from his slit. I watched his erotic expressions as his body shuddered from the sensation, and slowly began bobbing my head up and down the length of his cock. I began pumping my hand along his last few inches that I couldn’t fit in my mouth, and had to stifle my own anticipatory moan from how turned on I had made myself just by knowing that it was my mouth that was allowing him to feel this pleasure.

Not being able to take the painfully aroused state I was in, I brought my free hand between my own legs; gently massaging my own clit to relieve just a bit of the tension. The immediate satisfaction caused me to moan on Chris’s cock, which in turn caused him to press his hand against the shower wall to support his weakened frame. As he watched me pleasure both of us, his jaw slacked and his eyes glazed over with pure lust. I continued to vigorously bob my head, though I was beginning to get distracted by my own heightened arousal as my fingers maintained their pressure on my swollen clit. As tears welled in my eyes I swallowed the entire length of his shaft and began deep throating him, watching his face as his eyes squeezed shut and his free hand moved to grab my hair.

“Fuck baby, I might cum.” His words came out gravelly through his bright pink lips, and I hummed in response as I continued to swirl my tongue around the base of his dick. Suddenly, Chris released a throaty moan before pulling his hips back and detaching my lips from his member with a pop. Instinctually, I tilted my head up and opened my mouth; sticking my tongue out with a slight smirk. I watched as Chris pumped his cock with his own hand a few times before his warm fluid coated my expectant face. I quickly swallowed the few drops that had landed in my mouth, and smiled softly up at Chris as he watched. He brought his thumb to my lower lip and swiped delicately; collecting a drop of his cum that had landed there before placing it on my tongue. Tauntingly, I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked it gently as his breath hitched.

He took his thumb out of my mouth and helped me to my feet. Wrapping an arm around the small of my back, he guided me directly under the stream of water before tilting my head back so that his seed could wash off of my face. After a moment, he pulled me back out of the water and pressed me into his chest. His hands travelled across my back and down to my ass, where he began massaging softly. As he massaged, the tips of his fingers grazed my slit from the back and I began to feel the urgent need to be touched. I nibbled at his skin and subconsciously arched my back in an attempt to give his hands better access to where I needed them most.

He ran a finger through my slick folds and my heart rate quickened against his chest. “You think you can manage to go again?” I breathed as he continued to tease me. I felt his body shift slightly as he chuckled. “Yup. Just give me a minute.” The words barely left his mouth before he dropped to his knees and backed my body up against the wall in one swift motion. Before I had a moment to process anything, his mouth connected to my bundle of nerves. To grant himself easier access, he grabbed my right leg and put it over his shoulder as I moaned out at the sensation that the new angle provided. His mouth moved rhythmically as his tongue swirled around my clit in the way that he knows drives me crazy, and I already began to feel the early whispers of an orgasm in my lower stomach.

After a few moments of bliss, my body was suddenly jolted into reality when he removed his lips from me and stood up. Keeping me pinned to the wall, he attacked my mouth with his own. Deep and carelessly, our lips moved in sync with one another as Chris simultaneously hooked my leg around his hip to press his body even closer to mine. Suddenly, our kiss was cut off by my open-mouthed gasp as Chris slammed his cock deep into my core. Without giving me a moment to adjust to his size, he began driving into me with quick strokes. I struggled to continue to stand — both because of the slippery shower and the velocity of his movements — so I dug my nails into his back for grip; sure to leave deep scratches by the time we were finished.

“Fuck Chris, you’re so big.” I moaned out, feeling my core stretch out with each of his thrusts. “Oh come on baby, you can take it.” His tone was mocking, but it came out breathless as he relentlessly pummelled into me.

His face was pressed against mine, and my view of his feverish gaze and tightened jaw was interrupted periodically only by his sloppy kisses along my jaw. As his pace began to grow more careless, my vision began to grow blurry from my approaching orgasm. “Chris, please keep going I’m so close.” I begged, fearful that his second orgasm would come quicker than my first.

He brought his hand to my throat and squeezed it delicately, his eyes on mine. “I’ll wait for you, princess. Want to cum with you.” His hand moved from my throat down to my clit, where he began rubbing it fiercely. The additional contact from him instantly sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was going to reach my climax. “C-chris, I’m — oh God I’m cumming.” I practically screamed as the wave of overwhelming pleasure hit me. As my walls pulsed erratically around his cock, Chris released a raspy moan — a clear indicator that he had also reached his own orgasm. His movements slowed tremendously as we both rode out our highs; both of our fluids and slurred profanities in harmony with one another.

Chris’s hips stopped moving completely as we both leaned our heads against the shower wall, catching our breath. His hand that had previously been on my clit was now resting on my inner thigh where it was thoughtlessly rubbing up and down my soft skin. The thick steam in the shower was making it even harder for me to catch my breath, so I turned the temperature down before stepping under the stream of water to begin cooling myself down. Chris followed suit, and squeezed some shampoo into his hand before lathering my hair with it. Humming at the relaxing feeling of his hands massaging my scalp, I leaned back against his firm chest.

“See, at least you know that part of our relationship didn’t change.” I said jokingly as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair. “No, it definitely did.” He responded, and I froze. Once again I was worried that he had changed his mind; that maybe he thought the sex might start to be boring, or that sex with emotion was too sappy. Just as those insecurities began to rear their head, Chris’s eyes softened with a big smile as he pulled me towards him. “It got even better.” I felt my body relax in his arms at those words, and I beamed up at him. “I agree.” I pressed a soft kiss to his collar bone.

“Now let’s hurry up, I want to get back to Boston before it gets dark out.” I said as I hurriedly lathered by body with shower gel. Chris moved from his place under the shower head to give me space to wash off before exiting the shower. “Stay at mine tonight? We can watch Christmas movies!” He exclaimed as he grabbed a towel to dry off. I rolled my eyes with a smile. “You’re such a cornball. But unfortunately I think I might be too because that sounds great.” He giggled at this before poking his head back into the shower to plant a kiss on my nose. “I’m really happy we’re doing this.”

“Doing what? Getting excited over watching Christmas movies?” I asked with a chuckle. “No — well, yes. But no. I meant I’m — I’m really happy you’re all mine now.” His words made me melt a little inside, and I brought an affectionate hand to his jaw and brushed my thumb against it. I took a moment to really admire his perfect features — in awe of my current reality where a man as beautiful as him could feel the way he does about me— before responding, “Me too, Chris. I’m happy I’m all yours too.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

taglist:

@chrattstromboli @sncstur

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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chaosandmarigolds · 4 months

Note

Could we see a "Beauty and the Beast"-style plot, where the protagonist is a sweet new doctor at the base, and Simon falls in love with her for her kindness? And everyone else at the base is just stunned by the performances she gives to her and no one else.

(I WANT TO WRITE I WANT TO WRITE IT BUT I NO HAVE TIME-)

Anyway, so this will be in the same lil format as Eek has been in- short lil segments whenever I get time to bc I HAVE PLOT and I’m just too busy to sit down and write a whole whooping 20,000 word story so instead-

As an EMT I feel qualified to write a medic (kinda sorta) but all the same, if I mess something up that’s my bad yall, I’m just dumb

Let’s begin!

“And any medical history I should know about?” He stared down at you, almost bewildered by the standard question you had probably been trained to ask for years. He didn’t want to have to call ems however since Johnny had been an idiot and crashed the car they didn’t get much choice, he had patiently waited with his slightly bruised arm and a cigarette. Since the accident was so close to base they had just dispatched the medic team. What he didn’t expect was you, bright eyed even thought is was early morn and your voice oh so soft.

“nothin that’s not on ma file.”

you hum to the answer and warm your stethoscope back around your neck, as the answer wasn’t exactly wrong, as you were very well accustomed with all of their fields. You nod, “I’m just gonna give you a quick little assessment, will you tell me if it hurts anywhere?”

Simon nods to that, straightening his posture as you stand, blue latex gloves feeling down his spine and quickly frisking his legs before going back to his arm. Your touch was gentle, experienced- he respected that.

“Okie dokey,” you mumbles and then kneel back down, looking at your bag and then back to the man, “I’ll give you some meds and splint when we back base. Is there anything buggin ya?”

he then nods, “Yes there is.”

to that you immediately look up from your bag, waiting for what he was going to say.

“When did you start?”

“I was transferred from New York about a week ago, it’s so pretty. Anyway! Let’s get you to the ambulance, would you like to get me the stretcher?”

“no no, Johnny need it more.”

you let out a little laugh to that comment, as it was a good joke taking how Johnny was very dramatically playing up the minor laceration on his forehead. “Perhaps so, Lieutenant, however you are my patient so you are my priority- please, how can I help you?” You smile at the end, a sweet gleam in your eyes and genuine intention shining.

If his pupils weren’t already dilated they were then, if he wasn’t already tachycardic he would be then, if he could induce psychogenic shock just to make sure you wouldn’t leave his side he might just do so. He certain…he was certain within that moment you would be the death of him.

(Um….yeah, I’m eepy, but!!! This had been brewing for so long and I felt bad so I’m so sorry!! I hope this is kinda what you were looking for! Toodles!)

#coco's chaos <3 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod x you #cod fluff #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader

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folkloresthings · 1 year

Text

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: nope

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charles_leclerc starting P3 in abu dhabi for the final race of the season! fingers crossed for a good result

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carlossainz55 a good result in the race or somewhere else

⤷ charles_leclerc shut it

user 2022 season almost over :(

landonorris bring it on 😏😏😏

scuderiaferrari let’s race!!

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yourusername MY NEW ALBUM “emails i can’t send” OUT AUGUST 14. this year has been a whirlwind of emotions but it’s given me a lot of very dear songs. thank you for your patience 💌

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user NEW MUSIC ALERT

gracieabrams squealing with excitement

arianagrande SO excited 🤍

user a whole album inspired by austin AND charles???? yes please

landonorris preordered and presaved can you send me a signed copy

taylorswift EEK!

it was finally here. the weekend of the final grand prix in abu dhabi, the end of another season of racing. you’d had your flight booked for weeks, but you hadn’t decided what you were going to do with it. all of your contemplating had made you late to the airport, having to rush through the terminal just in time to make the flight. and even then, thousands of miles in the air, you kept wanting to turn back.

you wanted charles, that much you knew. but you didn’t want to get hurt again, you were sure your heart was running out of bandaids.

no one knew you were here, besides lewis. he had helped you sneak in and out of the hotel, and into the paddock, without being caught. you didn’t want to let anyone know you were here, considering you might still change your mind at the last second.

but then it was sunday, before you knew it, and you were donning a red ferrari cap as you waited the race prep out in lewis’ driver’s room. every so often, you got the sudden urge to get up and run away, far far away. your heart was racing — maybe charles had changed his mind since you last spoke. three months was a long time, long enough to find someone else.

the race began and you watched it intently on the screens, biting at your fingernails every time charles rounded another corner. come the final lap, your feet were carrying you out to the paddock, away from the mercedes hut and towards ferrari. the crowd erupted nearby, charles crossing the finish line in P2. your heart swelled with a thrill, happiness for him filling you. a podium on the last race, something he’d spoken of time and time again.

you squeezed yourself through the celebrating ferrari employees, right to the front of the fence, watching as charles’ car pulled into it’s space after the cool down lap. you pulled the hat off, hoping your hair on show would catch his attention better. his fist pumped as he clambered out of the car, pulling off of his helmet and beaming at the crowds.

by instinct he moved to run towards the group all in red, the usual celebrations waiting to follow. but the monegasque driver stopped, his eyes stuck in the middle of the group. on you. you had come — you had actually come. charles could have pinched himself, sure he could never have gotten so lucky.

you felt your mouth run dry, unable to read his expression from where he was standing. everyone around you carried on celebrating, but the two of you were frozen. you smiled a little, shoulder shrugging with a slight chuckle. and when he smiled back at you, you knew.

you knew this was where you were meant to be.

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charles_leclerc possibly the best race of my life, i won the greatest prize of all ❤️❤️❤️ oh and i got P2

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user SCREAMING

landonorris i cried seeing that on the screen after the race

carlossainz55 they grow up so fast 🥲

user i never thought i’d live to see this day

scuderiaferrari OUR FAVS!!!!!!

yourusername my one and only ❤️‍🔥

⤷ yourusername pls ignore all the times i curse u out in the new album thanks 👍

writers note: i was THIS 🤏 close to her not getting on the plane

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 instagram au #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #lance stroll x reader #max verstappen x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months

Text

Synopsis: Tabito Karasu has been in love with you for almost as long as he can remember. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you have any intentions of reciprocating, considering you’ve only ever seen him as a child — and, more importantly, as your best friend’s little brother.

BLLK Masterlist | Part One | Otoya Version

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Total Word Count: 41.6k

Content Warnings: reader is older than karasu (by like two years so it’s nbd but it exists), no blue lock au, bratty baby karasu, jealous karasu, slow burn, childhood friends, i have no idea how to write kids just deal w it, karasu’s older sister is given a name (look at that word count LMAO i’m not calling her ‘karasu’s older sister’ the entire time), reader gets drunk at one point, karasu the goat of pining, yukimiya and otoya mentions ⁉️

A/N: yes this is inspired by the song “best friend’s brother” from victorious but has barely anything to do with it. yes this is probably the longest karasu fic you will ever read as of its publishing date (word count is not a typo it fr is that long). yes reader and karasu are fuck ass little kids for half of the fic. i have nothing to say for myself except that i love karasu so much and i cannot be stopped…also tumblr is an opp so i had to split this into two parts EEK i’m sorry!!

Tokyo was exactly as you remembered it. Both of your parents had been raised there, and so you had visited frequently when you were younger. You had fond memories of staying there with both sets of your grandparents before they had all, in turn, decided to move to calmer parts of the country, places which were not as frenetic and vibrant as the capital. After they had left, your family had had little reason to go back, so it had been some years since you had last made the trip, but in a way this move was just another kind of homecoming, for the chaos of the massive city was as familiar to you as the peace of your neighborhood.

“Everyone here talks like your parents,” Yayoi told you, the first day you both were able to meet up after you had moved. Your classes had not yet begun, but you were both finally unpacked and oriented in your new lives, so you had taken advantage of the last bits of free time you might have for a while to see one another. “It’s kind of funny.”

“Right?” you said. You had never fully adopted the accent of your home region, for you had been raised by a family which still spoke as if they were in Tokyo, but regardless it was strange to hear people other than your parents speaking in that way without affectation.

“Sometimes I end up saying the wrong thing and confusing people, but they figure out pretty quickly that it’s just the dialect I speak with, and then they ask for clarification if needed,” she said. “So I haven’t run into any major miscommunication problems yet, thankfully.”

“That’s good,” you said. “Are you excited to start classes?”

“Well, excited isn't exactly the word I’d use for it,” she said wryly. “Even if I’m the one who chose the subject, it’s still going to be a lot of work.”

“A ton of it,” you said, making a face. “You’re lucky, though. Your term doesn’t start for another week.”

“Well, it also ends a week later, so that doesn’t mean anything,” she said, sipping on the last few drops of her coffee — which she always ordered black, not because she liked it that way but because she was trying to keep up appearances and whatnot. “What about you?”

“I think classes and all will be a good distraction. It’ll be nice to have something to keep myself busy,” you said.

“What do you need to be distracted from?” she said.

“Just homesickness and stuff. The typical things you’d expect,” you said. She hummed sympathetically.

“I get it,” she said. “I miss my parents like crazy sometimes, especially when I need help with random stuff. The other day, I had to video call my mother so she could explain how to clean a cast iron pan.”

“You could’ve looked that up,” you said.

“Yeah, but it was nicer to hear it from her,” she said.

“Yeah,” you echoed, because it was the same for you. You often found yourself calling your parents for no reason at all, asking them stupid questions just to listen to them talk. “I’m glad to be on my own, but I do miss my mother and father a lot.”

“Anyone else?” she said.

“What do you mean?” you said.

“Just wondering,” she said. “You know, come to think of it, you were kind of late coming to your seat. Freaked your parents out beyond belief. Any reason in particular?”

“I was just talking to Tabito,” you said. “Saying bye and all.”

“Are you going to miss him?” she prodded.

“Obviously. At this point, he’s like my brother, too. Isn’t it natural to miss your siblings?” you said.

“I don’t,” she said, though she immediately burst into laughter, which somewhat contradicted the statement.

“You’re horrible,” you said. “I know you do.”

“I do,” she affirmed. “But I think it’s in a different way than you do. It’s odd, because I’m the one who’s actually related to him, but the truth is that you two have always been closer than he and I ever were.”

“Probably because I’m not a jerk like you are,” you said.

“How can you consider yourself his additional older sister when you’re so nice to him? You need to bully him a bit more to earn that distinction,” she said.

“He hears enough of it out of you,” you said.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” she said, holding up her paper cup and raising it to her lips, though you knew it was empty by now. You clinked your own against hers and finished the last remnants of your drink in one gulp. “You know, Y/N, I think you’re irreplaceable at this point.”

“You, too,” you said. “I’ll never be friends with anyone the way I am with you.”

“Fuck whoever we meet in college,” she said, nodding in approval. “I’m sure they’ll be cool and all, but the two of us, we hardly even count as friends anymore. It’s like we’re something more.”

“Exactly,” you said. “I can have a million more best friends, and likely I will, but never again will I have another Yayoi Karasu.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she said.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said. “Not for a moment.”

Your first year of college flew past in the blink of an eye. On the whole, you preferred it to high school, even though there were aspects of the past you still held dear, seeped with nostalgia as they were. You made new friends, as did Yayoi, but just like you both had predicted, none of them measured up to each other. Still, it was fun to meet people from all different regions in the country and to hear about their lives. Some of your classmates weren’t even from Japan at all, and there was another layer of fascination there, learning about the ways of other nations, the cultures and foods they were accustomed to, and teaching them about your own in exchange.

Your mid term breaks were a bit shorter than Yayoi’s, which meant you weren’t ever able to justify visiting home, but in return, you had much longer in between years, so while Yayoi was still stressing over her finals, you were already taking the train back to the station by your house, texting your parents all the while.

In your absence, your childhood room had remained untouched, the stuffed animals arranged on your bed in the exact order you preferred, the books still stacked on the shelves, your artwork and photos of you with your friends hanging on the walls where you had put them. Time felt frozen, and it was as if you had never left, as if your entire year in Tokyo had been a dream and this had always been the reality.

After eating dinner with your parents, you showered and changed into one of your father’s old shirts and a pair of sweatpants, flopping face-first onto your bed and taking a deep breath, already feeling yourself nodding off despite the fact that it wasn’t that late. Traveling always exhausted you, however, and it was all you could do to turn your lights off and crawl under the covers, plugging your phone in to charge as you drifted off.

Right when you were about to fall asleep for good, your phone’s screen blazed to life, startling you awake as it vibrated urgently. Groaning and cursing whoever was calling you, you glared at the device until you realized exactly who it was, and then your unhappiness was promptly replaced with glee as you clicked on the green answer button.

“Tabito!” you said. Although you had texted with him every now and then, you were ashamed to admit that you hadn’t spoken to him as much as you should’ve. You reasoned that he had had equal opportunity to reach out first and hadn’t, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it was a feeble excuse that was only meant to deflect the blame from yourself and nothing more.

“Y/N,” he said. His voice was deeper than you remembered, and more resonant, too, lilting with a husky, full-bodied musicality that hadn’t been there when you had left. “Hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him. “What’s up?”

“Do you remember — sorry, this is really stupid, so don’t feel bad for saying no,” he said.

“It’s okay. I’ve definitely seen you do way stupider things,” you said. He chuckled.

“You’re probably right. Here goes, then. Um, do you remember when you went to my first soccer game in middle school, and afterwards, we agreed you wouldn’t come to another until I was the captain of a really good high school team?” he said.

“I think so, why?” you said. A second later, it hit you, and you gasped, beaming so widely that your face ached. “No way! For Bambi Osaka? Since when?”

“Yup, for Bambi Osaka. The old captain just graduated, and he named me as his replacement today, so, uh, since today, I guess,” he said.

“I wish you would’ve told me in person so you could see how much I’m smiling right now,” you said. “Congratulations, Tabito! You can’t begin to know how proud I am of you.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Anyways, our first game is this Thursday, so…”

“Huh? Did you want me to come?” you said. “Yayoi won’t be back from Tokyo by then, though. Shouldn’t I wait for her?”

“If you’d prefer that,” he said. “Or, I mean, you don’t have to go at all. I was just offering in case you were interested, but no hard feelings if not.”

Since when had he been so awkward with you? Since when had he stumbled over his words and been so unsure? You frowned at the mere chance that there was more than a physical distance between the two of you, even if it probably was the case, despite how much you had never wanted such an event to occur.

“As long as you want me, I’ll be there. I don’t have much else to do anyways, right? And how could I miss your first game as captain? Let me know where and when, and I’ll definitely come,” you said. He exhaled softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I want you there. I’ll let you know the details, but like I said, no pressure. Don’t force yourself. Come if you can.”

It was springtime, and the world was still remembering how to come alive, peeking out its head from the den of winter and blinking its sleepy eyes against the sun. There were not any flowers in bloom quite yet, but as far as the eye could see were buds on the precipice of rupturing, the pale undersides of their petals mere imitations of the hues they’d soon display proudly. The birds still warmed eggs in nests made of twigs and twine, but already there were cracks in a few of the creamy shells; here and there, even, little yellow beaks could be seen reaching towards the sky and chittering incessant demands at their parents.

You were lazy as you pedaled your bike down the side streets leading towards the field where the match was being held. It was an away game, technically, but this worked out better for you, as the high school they were playing at was closer to your house than the Bambi Osaka stadium, which was far enough that you would’ve needed to take a taxi.

According to Tabito, the game was actually more of a scrimmage, as they were playing a local school’s soccer club instead of another organization’s youth team, as they did in serious matches. Apparently, this was by design, as it gave their coach the opportunity to test Tabito's skills at being a captain in a low-stakes, low-pressure environment. If he proved himself incapable, the coach would override the previous captain’s pick and name another member of the team to the position, but if he played as well as he always did, and managed to coordinate the rest of the players in a satisfactory manner, then he’d be given the position permanently.

You had reminded him that this meant he technically wasn’t the captain yet, but to this he had said that he had the title and the armband, and if anything, since that was the situation, he needed you there more than ever. After all, he had explained, you had been in the audience when he had scored the winning goal in his first game for his middle school’s team. You were good luck for him. If you were in the crowd, then there was no way he could lose.

Parking your bike in the lot alongside the others, you locked it and then made your way towards the entrance to the stadium, the ticket Tabito had sent you in between your index and middle fingers. Even though there wouldn’t be very many people attending this game, it was Bambi Osaka’s policy to require tickets for entry to any of their matches, and the price if you weren’t associated with a player was, you heard, quite hefty.

You sat by yourself in the stands, your purse beside you and your legs crossed at the ankles. You couldn’t explain why, but there was a doubt in the back of your mind about whether you even belonged in the audience at all. Without Yayoi at your side, it felt like there was a neon sign in the air pointing at you and declaring you inept and unwelcome. Everyone else was buzzing with theories and predictions for the upcoming game, tossing out the names of the players and their opinions on them, but you were by yourself, without even a drink to warm your hands.

The gray of that isolation evaporated the moment that the Bambi Osaka boys took to the field, led by none other than Tabito. You were suddenly reminded that you weren’t just allowed to be there — you were wanted, genuinely wanted, and so you had as much if not more of a claim to your seat than anyone else could. Tabito had invited you. He could’ve invited anyone else in the entire city, but still he had invited you, and you would not tarnish that by thinking you were alone when he was there, as he always was.

As was to be expected, there was a complete difference to the way Tabito played when compared to that very first game of his which you had watched. For one, he was at the front of the field instead of in the middle, and there was an impertinence to the way he shook the hand of the opposing captain, an audacious smirk on his face which was visible even from the distance. This was a side of Tabito you weren’t so acquainted with, a side which was brazen and self-assured and stood as if he had already won before the referee even blew the whistle to begin.

The game moved faster than you could keep up with, and without Yayoi there to give you a play-by-play, you found yourself utterly lost about the finer details of the match. Still, even you could tell that Bambi Osaka was in the lead, and by no small margin — largely in part thanks to the combined skills of Tabito and a slender, pale-haired boy whose jersey read Hiori.

When Tabito was younger, there had been a desperate, vicious quality to his soccer, as if he really might die should he lose. It was in direct contrast to now, where he toyed with the opposite team in much the same way a cat would toy with a ball of yarn — with a distinct sense of superiority, like he was looking down on them even as he forced his way past, not giving them any other choice but to watch as he drove his way down the field.

“Is number 10 the new captain?” a boy behind you said. He sounded younger; maybe he had an older brother on one of the teams, or maybe he was just that supportive of Bambi Osaka. You didn’t turn, but you did tune into the conversation, wondering what they’d say about Tabito.

“Karasu? Yes, he is,” a slightly older boy said. “My brother said he’s a real asshole, but he’s a great guy when it counts. They’re all happy he’s the one who was recommended for the spot.”

“He’s so good,” the younger boy said. “And Hiori, as well. They’re both amazing.”

“Hiori’s only a first year, too. I bet he’s going to go far,” the older boy said. “Now shush, quit distracting me. I’m trying to watch the game.”

To no one’s surprise, Bambi Osaka won by a ridiculous amount of goals, and as Tabito shook hands with the school’s captain again, you noticed their coach nodding in approval, annotating something on his clipboard with a satisfied smile on his face. You waited until all of them had vanished into the locker rooms to head to the exit and wait by your bike for Tabito to join you.

About twenty minutes later, he and the rest of the team trickled out, discussing their game and the plans for the next one. At first it seemed like he had not noticed you, absorbed in conversation as he was, but it quickly became evident that he had, for he skillfully guided the others towards where you stood, never faltering in words nor steps until he reached you. Then he paused, schooling his expression into one of shock, his eyebrows raising and his lips parting as if he had happened upon you entirely by accident. It was an amusing bit of theatrics, albeit realistic to anyone who did not know his mannerisms as well as you did.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, all composed and airy and dispassionate, as if it were mere coincidence that the two of you had met at that moment, as if it hardly mattered to him that you were there. It might’ve fooled another person, but not once in his life had he been able to fool you, and he certainly wouldn’t start today.

He must’ve showered in the locker rooms, for his hair fell loose and silky around his face instead of styled back as it typically was, and when you hugged him — which was met a reflexive return of his arms around your body before he could even manage to yelp in surprise — you could smell the faint, pleasant scent of his soap which still clung to his skin.

“Hi,” you said, holding onto him for as long as you deemed publicly appropriate before wriggling free and smiling at him. “I think you did good. Without Yayoi, I couldn’t be sure, but to me you looked great.”

“Eh,” he said. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been better. But thanks.”

“Woah, Karasu,” one of his teammates said. He was a tall and burly player who reminded you vaguely of Aoyama, and he accompanied the exclamation by wrapping one arm around Tabito in a friendly headlock and using his free hand to ruffle the boy’s damp hair, leaving him to resemble a sea urchin. “You didn’t tell us you had such a beautiful girlfriend! Hello, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Get off of me,” Tabito wheezed, slapping his teammate away. “You fuckface, I’m going to kill you. Don’t try to shake her hand!”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you said, accepting his teammate’s proffered hand. “Just best friends with his older sister. You can think of me as a stand-in for her while she’s finishing up her first year in Tokyo. My name’s Y/N, by the way.”

“Ah, you’re that Y/N!” he said.

“I believe I am? What does that mean?” you said.

“Nothing bad,” Tabito cut in. “Yayoi’s come to a few games and mentioned you, so everyone’s been wanting to meet you.”

“It’s true. I mean, a girl who refused to come to a game until and unless Karasu was made captain? We all thought you must be something intense,” his teammate said. “You seem pretty normal, though. And also super hot, if you don’t mind me mentioning.”

“Well, he’s the one who told me not to come, so if anyone’s intense, it’s him,” you said. “And, uh, thanks? I guess?”

“I mind you mentioning, so shut the hell up,” Tabito said, finally breaking free of his teammate’s hold and shoving him away from you. “Sorry about this one, Y/N. He’s incorrigible.”

His teammate laughed raucously. “My fault, my fault. Sorry, Karasu.”

“Say sorry to her,” Tabito said. “She’s the one you were bothering.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Really, I don’t mind the compliment. Even if it could’ve been phrased better.”

“Anything for you, gorgeous lady,” his teammate said with a wink. “But, ah, considering I value my life and limbs, I think I’m going to head out now, as our new captain seems about a few seconds away from murdering me. See you around!”

He ran away to rejoin the rest of the Bambi Osaka boys as they all headed in their separate directions towards their homes, leaving you and Tabito alone once more. As soon as they were all gone, he sighed, that put-upon countenance he had maintained for the entirety of the conversation falling apart in an instant.

“I didn’t think he’d say all of that,” he said. “Sorry again.”

“You worry so much,” you said. “Come on, you just won another match, didn’t you? That’s cause to celebrate, so don’t look so tired and mopey.”

“I don’t look tired and mopey!” he defended. “This is just how my face is!”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, unlocking your bike and beginning to walk it beside you so you could keep talking to him. “I seem to remember your face being quite a bit rounder and sunnier. Now you’re all angles and doom and gloom.”

“That’s not something I can help,” he said, taking your bike from you so he could walk it instead. “Y/N, you’re being mean. I haven’t seen you in so long and now you’re acting like Yayoi.”

“You think I’m acting like Yayoi? I’m hurt,” you said. “Okay, then, you sensitive captain. How about we go get ice cream? My treat, since you got the position and all.”

“Okay,” he said. “But it’ll be my treat, not yours, because you came to my game and stayed the whole time. It was your good luck that helped me in the end.”

“Offering to pay for me? I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll allow it this time. Anyways, I would’ve had to, because I just realized I left my wallet at home,” you said.

“Almost like you did that on purpose,” he mused, bumping your shoulder with his. “Was that your plan all along? Suggesting we get ice cream but forgetting to bring any money, so I had to cover for us both?”

“I see why your team members think you’re an asshole,” you said. “It’s a surprise, to be sure, but then again, maybe I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Who’s calling me an asshole?” he said. “How did you know that? I’m not! Whoever it is, they were making things up, because I’m — I’m super nice! Seriously, where did you hear that? Stop giggling and answer me!”

You extended your arm to run your fingers through his mussed up hair, smoothing it down as best as you could. “A magician never tells her secrets. Don’t worry about it and just tell me which flavor you’re getting.”

“The same as always, why?” he said.

“I want to decide whether I should steal some of it or not,” you said.

“You don’t have to steal it. I’ll share if you want some,” he said.

“It’s better if I’m doing something wrong. I think it adds to the flavor, or enhances it, or something,” you said. He considered this before nodding with the utmost of gravity.

“If that’s how it is, then you’re absolutely not allowed to even look at my ice cream. I’ll be, uh, super mad if you do,” he said, his glare so fearsome and dark that it skipped the realms of intimidation and landed squarely in the land of comedy.

“You’re the best,” you said.

“I do what I can,” he said. “Will you let me have some of yours?”

“Hm,” you said. “Fine, but only because I love you so much.”

He fought back a smile at that, staring directly ahead, the tendons of his hands flexing on the handlebars of your bike as you continued to walk along the empty sidewalk, the glowing sun in the distance a reminder of the many days exactly like this which you still had left to spend.

The break flew by so quickly it was almost more of a punishment than anything. About as soon as you had gotten settled back into a rhythm of spending your days with the Karasus and your evenings with your parents, it was time for you and Yayoi to return to Tokyo for your second year of college, as well as for Tabito to enter his final year of high school.

You took for granted that you would be back as soon as the first term ended, so when you boarded the train to Tokyo, you didn’t take the time to properly appreciate the place where you had grown up. The city where you had whiled away your idyllic childhood…you had considered it a guarantee that you’d return soon, so why would you linger? But a couple of weeks into your first term, you got news from your parents: your father’s job had, almost out of the blue, transferred him, and so they would be moving to nearby Kawasaki by the end of the month.

There was definitely a pro to having your parents at that distance — they were close enough that you could visit them whenever you wanted to, but far enough that you could justify not going if you were so inclined, and removed enough that your life still belonged to you and only you. Still, it was a little like having a rug pulled out from under you when you weren’t even aware you were standing on a rug in the first place; especially because you could not so much as help in the moving process, given that you were stuck at school and could make no excuse to go back home for such a long time.

The house they found in Kawasaki was in a good area, and though it was smaller than your old one, it was still airy and bright, with large windows and wooden floors and enough bedrooms that you could still have your own despite not living there full-time anymore. Your parents were actually glad for the reduced size, for it meant less emptiness, less cleaning to be done in places that never even got used or looked at.

When you went to visit during the first term break, it seemed like they really were happy there. Or perhaps they were just trying to convince you that this was for the best, that you should not be sad, but if that was so, then they shouldn’t have bothered. You were the one who had left first, who had gone to Tokyo to study and work. Of course it was more abrupt and final than you had wanted, but hadn’t this day always been looming on the horizon? Eventually, you would’ve stopped visiting so frequently, if at all. There was no reason to mourn the occurrence of an inevitability.

Besides the drama of your parents’ move, your second year was uneventful. You made even more friends than you had in your first year, and you still saw Yayoi as much as you could, although it was more difficult for the time being. Luckily, at this point you two had the kind of friendship wherein you picked up as if you had never been apart whenever you reunited, so you at least had that one constant in what sometimes felt like an ever-shifting life.

Around the time that your finals began, you received a text from Tabito, written in a formal language that was nothing like the messages full of abbreviations and emoticons that he generally sent you.

‘Hi, Y/N. I hope you’re doing well, and that your second year in university didn’t give you too much difficulty. I’m just reaching out to let you know that my graduation is next Friday. The ceremony starts at 6:30 in the evening, and I managed to reserve you a spot. The address and information is on the ticket — if you’re able to come, then I’d really appreciate it, but if not, then that’s totally okay. I just thought I should let you know.’

You stared at your phone, a sinking feeling in your stomach. No matter how much you wanted to go, you couldn’t. There were too many factors against it, and you felt horrible as you typed out your response. Any way you went about it came across as too harsh, but then again, was there even a gentle way to reject someone when they had come to you with something so important?

‘tabito!! i can’t believe you’re graduating already, wow!! i really would like to come, but i have a final that friday in the afternoon :( plus i don’t know if you heard or not but my family moved to kawasaki, so i wouldn’t really have anywhere to stay. thank you so much for inviting me though!! i’ll get yayoi to bring a cardboard cutout of me to put in my seat or something LOL. it’ll be just like the real thing!!!’

He responded almost immediately, and despite the effort he must’ve made to sound unaffected, he was obviously disappointed by the turn of events, his efforts at cheer only further highlighting that fact.

‘It’s okay, really! And thank you. Haha yes a Y/N cutout will have to be good enough then. Good luck on your final!’

The rest of the week, the unopened file from Tabito, which sat in your email inbox, tantalized you, and you found yourself obsessively checking the schedule of trains leaving Tokyo. There was one back to your hometown that would depart an hour after your exam was scheduled to end, and you refreshed it constantly, waiting to see if tickets would sell out. Once they were gone, it would give you an excuse not to buy them, but to your frustration, they never did.

You would have to run, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee you would make it, to the train or the graduation, but it was the best chance you had, and with every passing moment, it began to sound like more and more of a viable option.

On Thursday evening, when you once again checked the ticket site and noticed there were open seats, you bit your tongue to stop yourself from swearing, and then you entered your credit card information into the prompt. A minute later, you got a confirmation email, letting you know that your seat was booked for the next day. Burying your face in your hands, you inhaled deeply, vowing not to tell Tabito in case he got his hopes up for nothing. Breathing in and out through your nose once more, you straightened your back and opened up your textbook, returning to studying with a renewed vigor borne of the adrenaline rush which resulted from the impulsive decision.

If your professor found it odd that you came to the exam hall in formal clothes, with your hair done and an overnight bag over your shoulder, she did not say anything, only motioning for you to put your bag with the others and then handing you your paper.

Thankfully, you had studied through the year, and this exam was for one of your easier subjects, so it was a relative breeze. You finished with time to spare, leaving the hall with your things and walking to the train station without any worries except for what would happen once you reached your end destination.

The train ride was longer than you remembered, and by the time you were disembarking at the station closest to Tabito’s high school, it was already 6:00. You sprinted through the platform, calling out apologies as you ran into people or elbowed them out of the way, trying to get to the taxi area before anyone else could claim all of the available vehicles.

“Stop!” you shouted when the singular remaining taxi prepared to drive off to a different pick-up location. You must’ve looked a sight, chasing after a taxi by the train station, wearing a dress and heels, stumbling over your feet with your arm outstretched. “Hey, sir! Stop!”

By some miracle, he saw you through the rearview mirror and screeched to a halt. You opened the back door and dove in, scribbling down the address on a slip of paper and handing it to him, as was customary. Then, when he input the address into his GPS and accelerated onto the route, you leaned forward.

“Sir, I’ll tip you generously if you can get me there before 6:30,” you said.

“I will do my best, ma’am. Please hold on,” he said. That was all the warning you got before he stepped on the gas pedal, the car taking off at all but twice the speed of the surrounding traffic, leaving you to hold onto your seat as the scenery outside blurred into nothing but a smear of pinks and greens and browns.

He got you there at 6:27, which was too close for comfort but still earlier than should’ve been humanly possible, so you reached into your wallet and pulled out a wad of cash that was certainly more than you owed. Slapping it on the console, you mumbled out a thank you and ran off without waiting for a response, trying your best to remember the directions to the auditorium from the email Tabito had sent you.

“Do you have a ticket, miss?” the security guard waiting at the door to the auditorium said. You reached into your pocket and tried to unlock your phone; your slick fingers typed in the wrong password twice before it finally opened and you could brandish the file. He squinted at it before nodding and opening the door for you. “The ceremony has already begun, so please try not to make too much of a disturbance when you enter.”

Your shins and the balls of your feet ached from how much ground you had covered in your less-than-supportive footwear and the speed at which you had done so. Your shoulder, too, was sore under the strain of your bag, but you ignored these pains, counting down the rows and the seat numbers until you spotted the empty one that belonged to you. Squeezing past the others who had already taken their places, you collapsed in the cushioned chair, a sigh of relief escaping you when you saw that, though the ceremony was already underway, Tabito was still yet to go.

“Oh, hey, Y/N,” Yayoi said absentmindedly, for your seat was naturally beside hers. Then, like she had realized what she had said, her jaw dropped. “Y/N? I thought you couldn’t come!”

“Shh, he’s about to go,” you said. “I’ll explain later.”

If you had hesitated for even a minute at any point, you would’ve missed it, but by the grace of some universal power, you had made it into your seat right as Tabito stepped up to take his diploma. He scanned the crowd, much in the same way he did when he was playing soccer, but sadly instead of sharply, like he was aware that he was about to be disappointed yet knew he had to experience that disappointment first-hand regardless.

His eyes slid over everyone in the audience dismissively, but when they landed upon you, they paused, and though it was too far for you to see, you fancied they must’ve widened the slightest bit. Not enough for anyone else to make anything of it, but enough for you to know.

For an instant, everyone else disappeared. In that auditorium, there was only Tabito on the stage and you in the audience, his diploma slack in his grasp, your breaths still fast and uneven. And although there was a distance, and no small one at that, between you and him, it was as if you were right by his side, as if you could see every single emotion which flickered across his face. Shock. Disbelief. Wonder. Then, finally, a sheer, childish thing which could only be called joy — unabashed and whole and candid joy. He smiled in the way he only did for you, not for anyone else in the entire world, not smug and haughty but shy and sincere, and you could not help but smile as well, raising your hand and waving at him like he always did at you.

He was taken aback, but obviously delighted, and so, as the principal announced his name and read off his accomplishments while with the school, Tabito ignored the praise and the applause, focusing solely on returning your wave with one of his own.

“What are you doing here?” he said, sweeping you into a hug as soon as you had all left the auditorium and he had reunited with his family. “You said you couldn’t come!”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Yayoi said from where she was waiting at your side. “And Tabito, when you’re done showing your clearfavoritism, give me a high-five or something.”

He held onto you for a moment longer before letting go and high-fiving his sister, who was the only one that hadn’t been there for when Mr. and Mrs. Karasu, as well as Tabito and Yayoi’s grandmother, had taken teary eyed photos with him. She had instead stayed with you, telling you that you owed her an explanation and then jumping to another topic of conversation before you could give her one.

“There was a train from Tokyo which left an hour after my exam window ended,” you said. “I know you don’t like surprises, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it, so I didn’t want to tell you in advance in case things didn’t work out. As it is, I had to bribe the taxi driver to get me here from the station at highly illegal speeds, and with that, I only made it to the front of the building by 6:27. Honestly, I still can’t believe I got there before you went at all, but I’m so glad I did.”

“Me, too. You’re right that I don’t normally like surprises, but this one, I was really happy about, so it’s an exception,” Tabito said. Now that he was no longer under obligation to hang around with Yayoi, he was back at your side, playing with the zipper of your bag in fascination while you spoke.

“Me, three,” Yayoi said. “He was seriously depressed that you weren’t coming. The house was like a toxic wasteland the entire week. It’s going to be much safer and cleaner now.”

“Toxic wasteland?” you said.

“Yup, and the toxic waste himself is right next to you, so be careful,” she said.

“You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t like that,” Tabito said.

“Sure,” she said. “Yup. Totally wasn’t.”

“Why do you always do this?” he whined.

“Do what?” Yayoi said.

“Try to embarrass me whenever you can!” he said.

“Not like it’s possible for me to embarrass you in front of Y/N out of everyone. You do that all on your own, so there’s no way I can make things worse,” she said.

“Yayoi!” he snapped.

“Onto more pressing subjects,” you interjected before things could worsen. “Um. I do have a slight problem.”

“What is it?” Tabito said.

“I kind of came here on a whim, so I don’t really have anywhere to sleep, exactly,” you said. The siblings exchanged looks before Yayoi rolled her eyes and Tabito grabbed your bag from you.

“You’ll stay with us, of course,” Yayoi said.

“For as long as you want,” Tabito added. “Or as long as you can, actually. That’s better. Don’t leave until you absolutely have to.”

“We can put your bags in the car, and then we have to take pictures,” Yayoi said.

“I didn’t know you cared enough to want to commemorate my graduation,” Tabito said. Yayoi snorted.

“Nah, I just want to commemorate Y/N’s wild journey from Tokyo, and the fact that she magically got here on time. I don’t ever want to forget about that,” she said.

“I’d be offended, but actually, I’m in agreement. I can’t believe you bribed a taxi driver for me,” Tabito said.

“Ah, well, you know,” you said. “I just told him I’d tip him if he could get me there on time, and he did it.”

“You’re crazy,” he said affectionately.

“Totally,” Yayoi agreed.

“And aren’t you grateful for it?” you said, curling your fingers around his wrist and throwing the other arm around Yayoi’s shoulders, causing her to shoot you a mock-dirty look before she made herself comfortable against you.

“Yes,” Tabito said, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks when he lowered them bashfully, that same smile lighting up his face at the sensation of your fingers dancing over his veins. “I really am.”

The world was quite determined not to split you and the Karasus apart for very long. You learned that night that, along with getting into a prestigious college, Tabito had also been selected to join the Japanese U-20 soccer team. In order to balance his academics — he could’ve quit school entirely by this point if he so chose, but he was far too paranoid to not have a second option should his soccer career not take off — with the new demands of the team, he would be living in Tokyo with one of his new teammates, a boy he had never met but was supposedly named something along the lines of Eita Otoya.

His new place was somewhat close to your apartment; close was a subjective word, of course, but to you, when the weather was nice and you were in no rush to be anywhere or do anything, it was a perfectly walkable distance, and you told him you’d definitely show him and Otoya around once they were moved in and had a moment to spare for such a frivolous outing.

Between his practices and the increase in his workload, it seemed like you really might never see Tabito at all, however close you might’ve now been to him physically. Yet somehow, on a warm day at the brink of summer, he texted you asking if the offer was still on the table, and if so, could you please show him and Otoya a place to get good coffee, because the stuff they made with their Keurig machine wasn’t cutting it anymore. You laughed, responding that you’d be delighted to, and that you were free all weekend, with no qualms about dedicating a day solely to them.

Your first impression of Eita Otoya was that, next to Tabito, he had a delicate and pointed appeal to his pretty features. He was smaller than Tabito, and although there wasn’t an ounce of menace in the way he stood, all inviting and open and casual, there was a wolflike canniness to his green irises, which glimmered when he noticed you approaching.

Before Otoya could even say anything, Tabito had covered his mouth with a hand, glaring down at him in a manner which did not seem to entirely be in jest.

“No way,” he said. “Flirt with whoever else you want, but she and Yayoi are off limits.”

Otoya held his hands up in the air, his voice muffled by Tabito’s palm when he spoke. “Got it, dude. Plenty of other fish in the sea, right?”

“For you, yeah,” Tabito said. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Tabito,” you said. “And you must be Otoya? It’s nice to meet you. Tabito’s mentioned you a few times.”

“Hopefully he’s only said good things,” Otoya said, shaking your hand, careful to keep a cordial distance between you two.

“On the contrary, I’ve been led to believe you’re the devil incarnate,” you said.

“Really?” Otoya said.

“No, of course not. He’s only ever spoken highly of you. I was just joking,” you said.

“That’s a relief,” Otoya said. “It’d be awkward if you had a bad impression of me before we’d even met.”

“Did you really think I’d complain about you to her? I’m kind of hurt,” Tabito said.

“Look, you never know! Maybe that’s how you get your aggression out,” Otoya said.

“It’s not. If I had any aggression, I’d just yell at you yourself. I definitely wouldn’t burden her with any of your hypothetical nonsense, not in a million years,” Tabito said.

“Woah, didn’t realize we had a gentleman here,” Otoya said with a snicker. “Okay, then. Thanks for not talking shit about me behind my back.”

“Anytime,” Tabito said.

“Are you two done yet?” you said. “I don’t want the place to close before we get a spot.”

“Is it nearby?” Otoya said. “As long as it’s close, it doesn’t even matter if it’s expensive. I just need something better than those shitty convenience store Keurig packets Tabito’s been getting for us.”

“That’s the best I’ve been able to bring home at the random times you text me telling me we’re out! Sorry I don’t stop by a damn café after every morning practice,” Tabito said.

“This guy,” Otoya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Doesn’t understand the value of a good coffee one bit.”

“Not everyone has that touch,” you whispered back with a wink. “It’s alright. I won’t let you suffer any longer; the shop I’m taking you to is only a block away, and it’s relatively inexpensive — for the city, anyways. If you don’t know that it’s there, though, it’s easy to miss, so I don’t blame you for not seeing it.”

“My hero!” Otoya said. “Lead the way.”

You had discovered the small café entirely by accident during your first year in Tokyo. It was tucked away between a laundromat and a veterinary office, far from where one would expect a shop of its nature to be located, and although there was were always a couple of patrons scattered throughout the booths and tables, it was never bustling or crowded enough to take away from the cozy atmosphere.

Tabito held the door open for you, and consequently for Otoya, who followed after and inhaled deeply, clasping his hands together in awe.

“This is amazing,” he said. “L/N, you’re like an angel sent from heaven or something. I could fall to my knees and praise you with a sonnet right now, I’m that happy.”

“If you fall to your knees or do anything similarly stupid in front of her, I’ll show you why I made the U-20 team,” Tabito said, raising his leg in the air like he was threatening to kick Otoya.

“He was just joking around, Tabito, it’s not a big deal,” you said. Then, to Otoya: “You’re pretty funny, you know.”

“Thanks,” he said with a grin. “I try my best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Mostly it doesn’t,” Tabito muttered under his breath. “Tell me your order, Y/N, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh, thanks!” you said, listing off your favorites from the cafe’s menu for him. He wrote it down on his phone, lines of concentration etched into his brow as he painstakingly typed out the entire order before showing it to you to confirm that it was correct.

“Can you get me their seasonal drink?” Otoya said, sliding into the seat across from you and peering up at Tabito, who was entirely unamused by the act. “That floral-type latte. It sounds sick.”

“Get it yourself,” Tabito said.

“Why? You’re going to be up there, so just order and let me get to know dear Miss L/N here,” Otoya said. Tabito seemed conflicted, but you nodded reassuringly at him.

“Fine, but you — you know the deal,” he said, brandishing his pointer finger at Otoya. “Don’t you dare mess with her.”

“You got it,” Otoya said with a double-thumbs-up.

“I’m sorry. He’s always been like that, but he really does mean well,” you said, gazing after Tabito once he had stomped away to the counter.

“Been like what?” Otoya said. “An asshole? Ah, but I’m only saying it affectionately, so please don’t tell him I called him that, or else you’ll cause problems where there aren’t any.”

“He’s sweet at heart,” you said. “I know how he can seem to other people, especially at first, but I met him when he was four years old, so I guess I never really saw that side of him. He’s never been anything but kind to me. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“You’ve known Karasu for that long?” Otoya said.

“Yup. Like I said, I’m not denying that he’s abrasive most of the time, but he’s only being so protective because he cares about his sister and I so very much. Please don’t take it personally. He’s just that type of younger sibling,” you said.

“Younger sibling?” Otoya repeated. “That’s how you see him, huh? I get it now. If that’s how things are, then I won’t butt in.”

“That’s how they are,” you said. For some reason, this caused him to laugh at you, but it was pitying and mocking and not a sound you preferred to hear from anyone — most certainly not from a person you had only just met.

“It’s always so complicated in life, huh? That’s why I never really try too hard. Problems get worse the more you think about them,” he said. It hardly counted as an explanation, but for some reason, you were sure that that was all you were going to get out of him. “Oh, shit!”

“What happened?” you said as, abruptly and without warning, he shot to his feet,

“I was supposed to work on a group presentation today,” he said, running a hand through his hair with a groan. “They just texted to confirm that we’re meeting in the library in fifteen minutes.”

“Can you make it on time?” you said. He was already typing the address of his school’s library into his GPS, and the instant it loaded, he nodded at you.

“I’ve got it, but I’m afraid I’ll have to head out right about now, or else this crazy girl in my group will kill me. Tell Karasu I’ll send him the money for my drink, and that he can enjoy it on me,” he said. “Poor guy needs it, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’ll be too sweet for him, but I’ll pass along the message, sure,” you said.

“Now, normally, this would be the part where I’d ask you for your number, but no matter how beautiful you are, I’m not willing to risk my living situation for you,” he said. “Karasu’s pretty cool, as far as roommates go. It could definitely be worse, so I’d really not like to lose him and end up with some weirdo who collects toenail clippings, just for flirting with the one girl that he declared off-limits.”

“His actual sister’s off-limits as well,” you reminded Otoya. “So that’s two.”

“He did say that, didn’t he? But you’re off-limits in a different way, and unless I want to end up like my own older sister, whose first-year roommate built a replica of the Taj Mahal from the hair she collected out of their drain, I’m going to respect that,” he said.

“That’s disgusting,” you said, too busy gagging at the mental image artwork he had just described to even question what else he was talking about. “Well, you should be off to your group project, then. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Otoya, but in case it’s not for a while, I’ll wish you luck with soccer and school now.”

“Thanks. The same to you, and I am eternally in your debt for showing me this place, so if you ever need something, let me know,” he said, scrambling hastily out of the café without bothering to push his chair back under the table.

Tabito returned a few seconds later, setting the tray of your drinks down on the table and taking his spot in the booth at your side. Handing you the cup that belonged to you, he sipped on his own and placed Otoya’s across from himself.

“Where’d Otoya go?” he said.

“He said something about working on a group project and left. Apparently, he’ll send you the money for the drink, and you’re free to do with it as you please,” you said. Tabito wrinkled his nose.

“He always gets such sweet shit. There’s no way I’m going to be able to drink that,” he said.

“That’s what I told him, but what other option is there? We can share so it isn’t wasted,” you said, taking a swig from Otoya’s flowery beverage. It wasn’t bad, and you had a little more before giving it to Tabito.

“Ugh,” he said. “Fine.”

He poked out his tongue, lapping up the tiniest droplet of coffee which lingered on the rim of the cup, and then he made a face, handing it back to you and then gulping down two mouthfuls of his own drink to wash out the taste.

“That bad?” you said.

“Tasted like shit,” he said. “I don’t know how the two of you can drink that kind of stuff regularly without gagging.”

“It’s not my favorite, but it’s not as horrible as you’re making it out to be,” you said.

“I can literally feel my arteries clogging as we speak,” he said.

“Since when did you start speaking like an old man?” you said. “What boy your age talks about his arteries clogging?”

“Firstly, I’m trying to become a professional athlete, so I have to pay careful attention to things like my health, and secondly, we’re not that far apart in age. We have to worry about the same things, like jobs and grades and clogged arteries. Concerns of that nature,” he said.

“I’m glad you feel that way, but why’d you think I was referring to people my own age when I said old man, hm?” you said, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. “For your information, I doubt any of my own classmates would care about that shit yet, either. That was a distinctly middle-aged thing of you to say.”

“That makes me older than you,” he said. “If I’m middle-aged and you’re still all youthful and whatnot, that is. How do you feel about that age gap? It’s a little racy, don’t you think?”

You gave him an incredulous look. He couldn’t even maintain his straight face for more than a second, immediately losing composure and snorting at you.

“You’re the worst,” you said.

“And you’re easy to tease,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I had to take the opportunity when it presented itself.”

“I’ll give it to you this once,” you said. “Next time, you’re not getting off so easily.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “You’re all talk. I’m not scared one bit.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so adorable,” you said. “How am I supposed to stay mad when you look like you just watched a puppy die every time Yayoi yells at you?”

He scowled at you. “You’re making that up, aren’t you? Or is that how you actually see me?”

“Hm,” you said. “Let’s finish our drinks. They don’t taste as good if they’ve sat for too long.”

Huffing in exasperation but knowing that you’d not go into more detail once you’d changed the subject, he finished off what was left of his order in one fell swoop, and then he snatched Otoya’s drink from your hands, tossing it into the trashcan before you could so much as blink.

“Aw,” you said. “I feel bad. That’s how we’re responding to Otoya’s act of goodwill?”

“Forget about his goodwill,” Tabito said. “It’s not like he did it because of how magnanimous he is or anything. He’s just a dumbass who forgot that he had prior commitments.”

“Nothing like you, of course,” you said. “You’re always on time, and you only ever order the best of drinks.”

“Exactly,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument — not that you would’ve argued with him, even if there was any cause to. Your father had always told you that generally, it was better to lose an argument than a loved one, and since the notion of losing Tabito was akin to a spear being driven into your heart, you did your best to avoid the chance of that frightful outcome ever occurring at all.

A few days before the end of the winter term, Yayoi called you in a flurrying panic. When you picked up, you were expecting her to be asking about the plans you had made for the road trip you two were taking, but it was nothing of the sort. Indeed, the first words out of her mouth were ones you had never once heard from her, and you almost dropped your phone the moment she said them.

“Y/N, I need your help. There’s this guy—”

“What?” you said. “Since when? What’s his name? Where did you meet him, and how? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Is he handsome?”

“Oh my god, one question at a time!” she said. “Yes, he’s super handsome — actually, he’s a model, so it’s kind of a prerequisite. I’m telling you as it happens, so don’t think I’m keeping things from you! His name is Kenyu Yukimiya; he plays for the U-20 team with Tabito, and I met him when I went to one of their practices because I was bored. We spoke once, but I don’t think he remembers I exist, and even if he does, he probably considers me as nothing more than his teammate’s older sister.”

“Wait, U-20? Is he younger than us?” you said.

“Yes, he’s in Tabito’s year, though a couple of months older than him,” she said. “Do you think it’s weird? Oh, it’s totally weird, isn’t it? I’m a creep! I’m a stupid, ugly creep! Lock me away or turn me into the police or something!”

You cut her wailing off with a snicker. “Yayoi, relax. It’s not that weird, and I mean that honestly. It’s hardly even a two year difference, right? My own parents have a bigger age gap, and besides, you both are in pretty similar spots in life, so it shouldn’t be a problem, especially if he’s mature.”

“He seemed mature,” she said contemplatively. “He was super polite and kind when I spoke to him. Plus, unlike my stupid brother, he actually enjoys talking about the same things I do.”

“There you go, then,” you said. “You’re worrying for nothing. The only reason why anyone might say anything is because you’re older than him, but who cares about that? It’s a tired concept, the whole notion of the woman needing to be younger or smaller than her male partner or whatever. As long as he’s single and into you, I’d say you’re in the clear.”

“That’s what I actually called you to talk about!” Yayoi said. “You’ve had a boyfriend, so you know a little more than I do about this kind of thing. How am I supposed to get him to ask me out?”

“Just so you know, having had one boyfriend back in high school doesn’t exactly qualify me to give you advice,” you said. “Also, you can’t really get someone to ask you out. Why don’t you just go to another one of their practices and talk to him again once they’re done? If the conversation is flowing well, then you can ask him out yourself.”

“Um, that would be a great idea if I was brave enough to ask someone out,” she said. “Unfortunately, I definitely am not.”

“You don’t have to be all official and serious about it,” you said. “Don’t say you want to date or anything — ask him if he wants to hang out to continue the conversation at a later time, and then give him your number. That’s all. If he’s interested, he’ll call or text you to make plans, and if he’s not, then he won’t.”

“It’s that simple?” she said.

“I think it is,” you said. “I wouldn’t know from personal experience. Aoyama just asked me out. I never had to do anything.”

“Not all of us can be that lucky!” she said.

“Yeah, I get it. But I have confidence that you can pull it off! It’ll go great, and then you’ll actually be dating a model in Tokyo like you always said you would,” you said.

“Okay…” she said hesitantly. “Y/N?”

“Yayoi?” you said.

“Canyoucometothepracticewithme?” she said, all in one unintelligible breath. You furrowed your brow.

“Could you repeat that?” you said.

“Can you come to the practice with me?” she said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it without you pressuring me a bit.”

“Sure, why not?” you said. “Is it in the morning or evening?”

“They have evening practices on Tuesdays. I was thinking we could go to one of those? That’s what I did last time, so it’s an established thing, and anyways I don’t think I could wake up early enough to go to a morning practice,” she said.

“Okay, good, because I was kind of scared I’d have to be up before the sun. I’d do it for you, and in a heartbeat, but I wouldn’t exactly be happy about it,” you said.

“I wouldn’t, either,” she said. “This Tuesday, then? We can have an early dinner or late snack together before heading over.”

“I won’t miss it,” you promised. “Make sure you wear something nice!”

After your Tuesday classes and errands were completed, you met Yayoi at a restaurant you both liked so that you could quickly eat before leaving for the practice. She was nervous the entire way, twirling the ends of her hair around her finger, straightening her already-perfect clothes, and chewing on her lower lip.

“Hey,” you said as the two of you entered the stadium and sat on the first row of benches. “Don’t stress out. If he’s an asshole, we’ll sic Tabito on him. I bet he could beat your crush in a fight, easily.”

“I don’t know,” Yayoi groaned. “Yukimiya’s super tall, and he looks pretty built, too. I think my baby brother might be outmatched.”

“No way,” you said loyally. “I’d bet on him over anyone.”

She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “I wish I could have the same faith in him, but considering what a dumbass he typically is, I can’t say I can muster it up. Look, that’s Yukimiya. Still think Tabito’s got it in the bag?”

Discreetly, she pointed out a boy with wavy chestnut hair and an admittedly powerful build. He stood next to Otoya, which only threw it into further relief just how muscular and tall he was. Yayoi hadn’t been lying about that, and neither had she made up how good-looking he was; you could tell just from that first glance that he was heartbreakingly handsome.

“Well,” you said, realizing that maybe you had been a bit overconfident in Tabito’s abilities. But you were too stubborn to change your answer now, and besides, you believed in him no matter what, so you only shrugged. “Yes. Even if it looked like he’d lose for sure, I’d still pick him. There just isn’t anyone else I’d ever choose.”

“Damn,” Yayoi said. “Fine, then. If Yukimiya ends up being an asshole, we’ll see who wins.”

“Deal,” you said. “Although, hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”

“Hopefully,” she agreed.

The practice was long, dragging on past sunset, the field’s lights turning on to ward away the darkness as the moon crept higher into the sky. Yayoi, who had confessed that she hadn’t slept well the previous night, slumped against you and passed out almost immediately, and you busied yourself with a pattern of checking your phone and watching moths fly fruitlessly into the massive lamps.

Finally, the coach blew the whistle to signify the end of the practice, and as the players exited the field, walking past where you were conveniently seated, right by the joint entrance-exit, you shook Yayoi.

“There’s no way you’re in this deep of a sleep,” you hissed at her unmoving form.

“Y/N?” It was not Yayoi but someone else who said your name; namely, Tabito, who had paused in front of you and Yayoi to gaze at you questioningly. “Why are you at my practice?”

“Not now, Tabito,” you said dismissively. Noticing that Otoya and, more importantly, Yukimiya, flanked him, you doubled down on your efforts to wake Yayoi, who remained unresponsive. “You bitch. I bet you’re just pretending to sleep so you don’t have to go through with the plan.”

“Hey, L/N! It’s been a bit,” Otoya said. “I’ve been visiting the place you showed us almost daily. It’s wicked good. You’re the best for bringing us there.”

“Hi, Otoya,” you said. “Sure, anytime. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Yayoi, if you won’t get up, I’ll just do it myself.”

Without waiting for her to respond, you stood up and bowed slightly at Yukimiya, who seemed entirely bemused by your odd actions. He glanced at both Otoya and Tabito for help, but neither of them had any clue what you were doing, either, so they could offer no assistance to him on that front.

“It’s nice to meet you. I hear your name is Kenyu Yukimiya?” you said.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said. He had a pretty manner of speech, proper and refined, each word spoken with careful control. “Who might you be?”

“Y/N L/N, but that’s unimportant,” you said. “That’s Yayoi Karasu. She’s Tabito’s barely-older sister. You should talk to her.”

“Y/N!” Yayoi screeched, shooting up to a sitting position. “Why would you phrase it like that?”

“What is going on here?” Tabito said. Otoya shrugged, clearly lost as well.

“So you were faking it the entire time! Never in my life have I met a bigger coward,” you said, clicking your tongue in disappointment.

“Yayoi Karasu?” Yukimiya said. “Oh, I know you! You were here last week, right? We talked about Neon Genesis Evangelion.”

“That’s right! You, uh, remembered that?” Yayoi said. He beamed at her.

“How could I not? The movie is one of my favorites, and none of these guys like it, so it was great to meet someone else who’s seen it so many times,” Yukimiya said.

“Y/N,” Tabito whispered, sidling over to you, the tip of his sharp nose brushing against the shell of your ear. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“Depends,” you whispered back. “If you think this is your sister having a crush on your soccer teammate, then yeah, it is. Otherwise, no.”

“That’s gross,” Tabito said, horror twisting his features. “Yayoi and Yuki? No way. You have to be joking.”

“Why not? Because he’s younger than her? It’s only two years. That’s nothing,” you said. “You should be more supportive.”

“No,” he said, a peculiar edge to his voice. “No, I don’t — I don’t care about that part. I thought you might, but I don’t at all.”

“Huh? Why would I?” you said. “If they’re both interested in each other, and they make each other happy, that’s all that matters. We’re adults, so a few years here and there is meaningless in the grand scheme of things.”

“What about you? Would you ever do it?” he said, breathless and impatient, clenching the hem of your shirt in one fist.

“Date someone younger than me? I’m not sure. I’ve never really considered it; you’re the only one younger than me that I regularly interact with, and, well, you know. There’s a special consideration there. Why? Got a teammate you want to set me up with or something?” you said.

“Absolutely not,” he said, stepping away from you and scowling. “I’d never ever ever let one of those mediocre fucking idiots anywhere near you.”

“Just a hypothetical question, then? I suppose there’s no harm in that kind of thing every now and again. Was my response alright?” you said.

“How am I supposed to answer that?” he said tiredly. “It’s what you think, so obviously it’s fine. I should go now. I don’t want to keep Otoya waiting; he’ll get pissy and annoying if I do.”

“Oh, okay. Bye, Tabito! Let me know if you’re free sometime. I feel like I never see you, even though we’re all but neighbors. We should do something,” you said. The strange tone of the conversation had left you reeling, and you scrambled for something that would make it better, would chase away the anxiety constricting your lungs like a vice.

“I’ll let you know,” he said. It was a dull attempt at sounding excited, and for a brief, striking instant, you wanted to reach out and beg him to wait one second more. You wanted to apologize, though you knew not what you had even done. You wanted him to stay until he smiled at you again, the way he usually did, and then you wanted to — you wanted to — you weren’t sure. You weren’t sure what you would do after that, but you would do something, hold his hand or embrace him or something.

Yet instead, you did nothing, watching as he rejoined Otoya and entered the locker room without a backwards glance, leaving you standing by yourself in the bleachers, your heart hammering in your chest like a crow with clipped wings, thrashing against the bars of its steel cage in a futile attempt to escape.

“Can you believe it?” Yayoi said later. “He asked me out first! I didn’t even have to do anything!”

“Congratulations,” you said, as genuinely as you could. “I’m really happy for you, Yayoi. Fingers crossed that it all works out well. I’m sure it will; he seems like a really great guy, and you both were talking for a while, so you’re clearly compatible.”

“Thanks, I think so too!” she said before narrowing her eyes at you. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing!” you said. She was so happy that you could not bear the thought of burdening her with your problems, especially when they weren’t even problems in the first place. Yayoi was having none of it, though, frowning at you.

“You can tell me,” she said. You shook your head, so she poked you in the forehead. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”

She punctuated each utterance of the refrain with another poke, until finally you batted her hand away in exasperation “It really is nothing. I just think I did something to upset Tabito — don’t ask me what, because I don’t know — and it’s making me feel a bit out of sorts.”

“He’ll get over it. Why’re you worried? This isn’t unusual. He’s mad at me half of the time. If I felt out of sorts every time he threw a tantrum about something, I’d never feel in sorts,” she said.

“But he hardly ever gets mad at me,” you said.

“Right,” she said, her eyes glimmering. “I forgot the two of you were like that. Hm. I still think you shouldn’t worry too much. If he’s actually mad, which I honestly doubt, then he’ll get over it quickly enough. He’s not capable of staying angry at you for any length of time.”

“If you say so,” you said. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. We need to celebrate you finally saying yes to a guy that asked you out!”

Yayoi blushed but nodded. “Should we go for drinks?”

“It is a Tuesday,” you reminded her.

“Is that a no?” she said.

“It’s a yes,” you said.

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” she said.

“Just for that, you’re covering the tab,” you said. She winked at you.

“Already planning on it!”

The end of your time at university came almost as soon as the beginning had. It was bizarre, walking out of the familiar exam hall for the final time — you knew you had passed, and you already had a job lined up for you in a month’s time, so there wasn’t any cause to worry, and indeed you did not. You only felt odd and light, as if you were floating through the streets of Tokyo, ephemeral like an aluminum wrapper bouncing down the pavement in the wind.

Neither Yayoi nor Tabito could attend your graduation ceremony which was held that Friday; Yayoi had fallen deathly ill, so you had enlisted Yukimiya in keeping her at home, lest she sneak out and kill herself by trying to support you, and as for Tabito, he happened to have a final exam held at exactly the time of the ceremony, which meant he was automatically excluded from attending.

Your parents, as well as both sets of your grandparents, were in the audience, but it wasn’t the same. You couldn’t help yourself from searching for the Karasus, for Tabito in particular, but no matter how hard you searched, it didn’t matter. They weren’t there. He wasn’t there.

When the president of your college, a portly woman with pin-curled hair and red lipstick, handed you your degree, you were hesitant in taking it. Your smile plastered on, you stared towards the door as your fingers inched towards the fancy paper. Any moment now. He’d burst through the door the way you had, and he’d see you, and he’d smile and then wave — it was like a tradition at this point, wasn’t it? It had to happen. He had to come. You knew he wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop a foolish anticipation from brewing in you as you waited.

Your hands reached the certificate. You held it in front of you as the cameras went off, finally turning away from the door and grinning wider, resolving not to let it ruin your mood. After all, you had worked so hard to achieve this. Why did it matter who was in the audience? It could be an audience of none, and you’d still be happy. You’d still be proud, for no other reason than because you had done it, because all of your hours of studying and classes and homework had finally paid off.

You ate dinner with your family, and then you were invited to go out to a nearby bar by a few of your college friends. Seeing your parents and grandparents to the train station, you rushed back to your apartment to get ready for the night, entirely ready to let loose after what felt like several years’ worth of burdens had just been knocked from your shoulders.

The bar was packed with students from your school, all of whom had had much the same idea as you and your friends. The bartenders were rushing back and forth, sliding drinks out with as much speed as was humanly possible, and before long you were sipping on something fizzy and fruity that one of your friends had handed you.

At some point, one of your classmates, a boy who you had never known particularly well but recognized for his distinctive voice, which could be heard from all corners of the city when he got to bragging about his father’s salary, announced that the rest of the night’s drinks were on him. If you were his father, you’d be furious at the offer, but as you weren’t his father, you took advantage of it with impudence, downing glass after glass of whatever the bartender gave you.

Soon enough, the music and lighting, which you had found so charming and delightful earlier, began to pound at your head. The world spun, not unpleasantly but still in a disorienting manner, and you stumbled towards the door, pulling out your phone and singing to yourself as you decided who you wanted to call.

The cool air of the night was refreshing against your face, and you leaned against the brick wall of the establishment as you squinted at the blinding light of your phone’s screen. You could barely make out the dark characters which stood out on the white background, and eventually you gave up, switching to the keypad and using muscle memory to type in the number your fingers had long ago memorized.

He didn’t pick up until the last ring, and his voice was groggy when he spoke. In the back of your mind, you felt guilty, for you recognized that he must’ve been sleeping, but for the most part you were far too elated to hear him speaking, so you could not bring yourself to be too sorry.

“Hello? Y/N?”

“Tabito,” you said, your words slurring together, dragging out at the ends and trailing into soft breaths. “Tabito, you didn’t come to my graduation.”

He sounded a lot more alert when he spoke next, but he did not change the volume of his voice from that low murmur any. “I told you I couldn’t. I had an exam, remember?”

You sniffed, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it,” he said. “You know I would’ve been there if I could’ve.”

“Can you come now?” you said, your lower lip trembling.

“Come where?” he said. There was a muffled sound that you assumed was him rolling out of his bed, and then the soft padding noise of his footsteps.

“The bar,” you said. At this point, irrational tears were welling in your eyes. You weren’t even sad, but you couldn’t stop them from rolling down your cheeks, leaving scalding trails in their wake.

“Are you out with your friends? Why do you want me there? Aren’t you celebrating?” he said.

“I don’t know,” you said, and then you were hiccuping as you cried in earnest. “I don’t know, Tabito, I just want you to be here.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed you. “I just left my apartment. Is it the bar you and Yayoi like to go to? The one by the grocery store?”

“Yes,” you said.

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, and then we can decide what to do from there. Does that sound good?” he said.

“Mhm,” you said. “Are you going really fast? Tabito, you play soccer, right?”

“I do play soccer,” he said, sounding equal parts amused and concerned. “You come to watch my games sometimes. I like when you do that.”

“That means you must be fast,” you said. “Mega fast. Mega extra fast.”

“I’m only a little fast. Most of my teammates are faster,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “But will you still be here super soon?”

“Yes, I’ll be there super soon,” he promised.

“Can you talk on the phone and walk at the same time?” you asked him.

“Well, I’m doing it at the moment, so yes, I’d assume so. Why do you ask?” he said.

“Isn’t that illegal?” you said.

“No, that’s for when you’re driving,” he said.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t do that, do you?”

“I take the train or walk most places, so I don’t even have the opportunity to,” he said.

“But if you had to drive, you wouldn’t, right? Right, right?” you said.

“Right,” he said. “I’m just around the corner, so I’m going to hang up. Are you outside?”

“Next to the door,” you said.

“Don’t move,” he instructed you, and then he ended the call.

Before you could begin to wail about the abandonment, he was rounding the corner, looking so haphazard that, had you any more presence of mind, you’d have made fun of him for it. His hair stuck up in every which direction, like it had when he was younger and didn’t know how to style it, and he wore nothing but a random t-shirt thrown over a pair of plaid pajama pants, his feet shoved into the black Crocs that Yayoi had bought him as a gag gift last Christmas.

“Y/N! There you are,” he said, his shoulders slumping in relief as he pulled you into his arms. “Look, I’m with you now. Are you happy?��

You giggled. The world still rotated on an unidentifiable axis, but the firmness of Tabito’s grip had a kind of stabilizing effect, holding you in place and together and in one piece.

“Hi, baby,” you said. “Yes. So happy.”

“Baby?” he repeated, and based on the way his skin warmed, he must’ve been blushing.

“Look,” you said, reaching up so that you could play with the ends of his hair. “It’s like when you were a baby. When you were just little baby Tabito. That’s when I met you, you know.”

“I see,” he said, and there was a distinct yet inexplicable despondency to the way that the corners of his eyes crinkled and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Do you want to go home now?”

“I wanna be with you,” you said.

“That’s fine,” he said, so patiently and tenderly that your head grew fuzzier and fuzzier with every word he spoke. “I’ll stay with you either way, but I think we should probably head back. How much have you had to drink?”

“Um…” you tried to recount what you had ingested, but it was all a blur. “I don’t remember.”

He rubbed the back of his hand against your cheek. “Let’s go home, then. You definitely shouldn’t have any more. Will you be alright if I go inside and tell your friends I’m taking you back?”

“Do you have to?” you said, catching his sleeve and holding it in between your hands. “Why can’t we just leave?”

“They’ll worry about you,” he said, prying your fingers off with the utmost of delicacy. “If you leave without letting them know, they might think something bad happened. I’ll explain what’s going on so they aren’t scared, and then we can head out. Does that make sense?”

“Hmm,” you said. “Only because you say so.”

He chuckled slightly. “That’s good. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You counted the seconds that he was gone, and before you reached the seventy-fifth, he was already back, his face flushed from the heat of the bar, his hair even wilder than earlier from the sweat and the humidity, a dusty footprint on his right shoe where someone must’ve accidentally stepped on him.

“I was expecting to have to convince them to let you go with me, but they were all alright with it,” he said, carefully taking your hand and leading you in the direction of the apartment.

“Sure they were,” you said, tripping over a loose stone, only avoiding face-planting because Tabito caught you with the reflexes of an athlete. “It’s because I talk about you so much.”

“Do you?” he said.

“Totally,” you said with a yawn. “All of my friends know about you and your soccer and your studies. I’m just soooo proud of you, so I mention it whenever you do something cool. Isn’t that what a normal elder-sister-figure would do?”

“Yayoi doesn’t,” he said.

“Yayoi is Yayoi,” you said.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “And it doesn’t change what I said.”

“Can you carry me?” you said when you almost stumbled and fell for the second time. “Tabito, it’s hard to walk, so can I please ride on your back the rest of the way?”

He exhaled but crouched, beckoning you forward. “If you really want.”

“Yay!” you said, leaping onto his broad back and clinging to his neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he supported you while continuing to walk. “You’re so big now. When did that happen? Have you always been like this? It’s almost as if you’re nearer to being a man than a child, but that’s impossible. You’re still young, aren’t you?”

“It’s not impossible; in fact, it’s the truth,” he said. “If only you ever looked at me and saw me for who I am, you’d have realized I’ve been like this for quite a while now.”

“What do you mean?” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, closing your eyes, allowing the rhythm of his walk to lull you into a trance.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget about it. We’re almost there. Are your keys in your purse?”

“Yup,” you said. “D’you want them now?”

“I’ll get them from you once we’re at the door,” he said. “Good thing you don’t have a roommate; I’m sure they’d be pissed off by you coming back so late, drunk out of your mind and with a random guy in tow.”

“You’re not a random guy,” you said, dropping the key to the complex in his waiting hand once the two of you reached the glass gate to the building. “If I had a roommate, they’d definitely know who you are. How could they not? You’re my Tabito.”

“Since when I have been your Tabito?” he said, unlocking the door and flicking your chin up playfully before returning his hand to holding up your leg. “I don’t think that I am.”

“Since always,” you said.

“Really? And does that mean you’re my Y/N?” he said, bending down so you could press the elevator button to take you to your floor.

“Yes,” you said. “For six years I did not know it, but ever since then I have been yours.”

“Well,” he said. “Is that how it is?”

“It is,” you said. He switched the lights in your apartment on and deposited you on the couch, heading to your kitchen and filling up a glass with water. Handing it to you, he sat at your side, bringing it to your lips so you could drink, not taking it away until you had drained the cup.

“Feeling better?” he said. “I’ll get you some crackers to eat.”

“Much better,” you said, chewing on the crackers while laying your head on his shoulder. “My stomach isn’t so queasy, and my vision is a lot more straight.”

“You’re talking more normally, too,” he noted. “At least, you sound a bit comprehensible. Want more water?”

“No,” you said. “I’m sleepy. Can we go to sleep now?”

“Here?” he said. “How about you change into your pajamas and wash your face first?”

“I’m too tired,” you said, yawning yet again to emphasize the point, nuzzling your face against the curve of his neck, your eyelashes crushing against his throat. “You’re so comfortable.”

“Thank you,” he said, patting you atop the head. “But you’ll feel horrible tomorrow morning if you don’t get in bed properly.”

“I’ll feel horrible either way,” you said. “I can’t do anything. We were partying for so long, and now I’m exhausted.”

“That’s true, but you’ll feel worse if you sleep here instead of in your room,” he said. “How about I help you?”

“You’ll help me?” you said.

“If you change your clothes, I’ll do everything else,” he promised, gently pushing you off of him and then standing so he could help you to your feet. “I just don’t want you to feel sick tomorrow, be all cramped up from sleeping in a weird spot, and get a break out on top of that.”

“I guess that’s fine,” you said with a dramatic exhale. “You’re so…so…what’s the word? You’re so persistent. Stubborn. Something like that.”

“People say that a lot,” he said.

“They call you an asshole a lot, too,” you said. “All of the time.”

“Yes,” he said, walking with you to your room, where your pajamas were folded at the foot of your bed. “I think I am one, at least a little bit. It’s impossible for me to be otherwise around mediocre people. I try to fix it, but it’s hard, you know.”

“I don’t think you are,” you said. “You’re the nicest person in the whole entire world. If you were an asshole, you wouldn’t treat me the way you do, but you do, which means you aren’t.”

“That’s because you’re special,” he said after a pause. “To me. And also in general.”

“What do you mean by that?” you said, but when you turned around, he had shut the door between you two, allowing you to change your clothes and him to avoid the question.

Only the thought of disappointing Tabito was enough to convince you to not collapse onto your inviting bed. Instead, you trudged towards the door, opening it and pouting at him, trying to beg with your eyes for him to allow you to go to sleep.

“Good job,” he said, ignoring your silent pleas and dragging you to the bathroom, where he sat you down on the edge of the bathtub. “Is this your makeup remover?”

He showed you the little tub of cold cream you kept next to your sink. You mumbled something generally affirmative, and he unscrewed it, kneeling beside you and massaging it onto your face, paying extra attention to your eyes, which was where most of your makeup was concentrated.

“Who taught you about all of this stuff?” you said, your eyes screwed shut as he used a clean, wet washcloth to remove the cleanser from your skin. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”

“No girlfriends, secret or otherwise,” he said. “It’s all stuff Yayoi made me learn on pain of death. She refused to have a brother who didn’t know anything about proper skincare. It’s not like I do it all that much, but I’m aware of it thanks to her.”

“You’ve really never had a girlfriend?” you said. You supposed you had always been aware of that, but you had never really comprehended what it meant. How could it be that Tabito Karasu of all people had never even gone on a date?

“Nope,” he said. “Can I use this moisturizer on you? I’m sure you have a better routine normally, but it’ll probably be for the best if we skip steps for the sake of getting this done quickly.”

You cracked your eyes open and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine. Why?”

“Why what?” he said. The lotion was cold at first, but the circular motions of his fingers on your cheeks warmed it quickly enough that you didn’t even have time to be shocked by the temperature. It was soothing, a tingly sensation washing over you as he worked.

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend?” you said, his fingertips gliding over your forehead.

“I guess I haven’t found the right person yet,” he said. “Or, no, that’s not it. I have found them. I found them a long time ago, but I don’t — I don’t think they wanted to be found. Not by me.”

“That can’t be true,” you said. “What kind of person wouldn’t want you? Who are you talking about, anyways?”

His thumb swiped over your lips, once and then twice, before coming to rest where they slightly parted. You waited, thinking he might move it, but he did not.

“What will it take?” he said. “For you to stop thinking of me as a child. What more can I do? Name it and I will. If it means you’ll stop thinking of me as your little brother, then I’ll do anything.”

“How else would I think of you?” you said. “You are like my—”

“Please,” he said, and it had been so very many years since you had heard him so distraught that you quieted immediately. “Please stop it. I don’t think of you like that, I don’t love you like that, so please stop it.”

Before you could respond, his mouth replaced his thumb against your own, and he was kissing you, cradling your head in his hands, his ardor winning out over his inexperience as he tried to impress upon you just how much he had wanted you, and for how long.

Unfathomably and without even realizing, you found yourself kissing him back, enjoying every demand he made of you and responding to them each in kind. Your hands wound around his neck and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on the silky, feathery strands, drawing a small whimper out of him as he wedged himself impossibly closer to you. Yet the sound broke you out of whatever daze you had fallen into, so, with a gasp, you ripped yourself away from him, resting your forehead at the dip of his collarbone as you tried to catch your breath.

“No,” you said. “No, I shouldn’t have — we shouldn’t have — you have to go.”

“Why not?” he said. “You said you shouldn’t have, but you did. Why do you wish you hadn’t?”

“You have to leave,” you said, and then you were crying again, soaking his shirt with your tears as the weight of what you had done began to smother you.

“Let go of me first,” he said. Your fingers, still in his hair, flexed but did not loosen. “Y/N. If you really want me to go, I’ll go, but you have to — you have to let go of me first. You have to be the one to do it.”

You wept harder, because you did not know how to let go of him, because you could not fathom doing it, but neither did you want him to let you go first. It was shameful and wrong, but the truth was that, more than anything, you wished for him to stay, to blot away your tears and lay you in your bed so you could sleep the entire night away.

Somehow, you found the strength in you to yank yourself away from him, all in one go. The moment they left him, it was as if your fingertips themselves mourned, aching to return to their rightful place, but instead of obliging, you used them to cover your eyes. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to avoid seeing the anguished expression that most certainly marred his features. Anything to avoid knowing that you were the one who had caused it.

You didn’t look up again until you heard the front door close, and then it was all you could do to turn off the bathroom lights and make it to your bed, crashing into the pillows and somehow managing to fall asleep.

As soon as Yayoi was feeling back to her usual self, you sent her a cryptic text essentially commanding her to meet you at your usual spot for food whenever she could. Thankfully, she recognized when you were having an actual problem versus when you just missed her, and she told you she was free that very evening, so you didn’t have to simmer in your thoughts for any longer than you already had.

“Your brother kissed me,” you said when you sat down across from her.

“Hello to you, too,” she said, closing her menu and setting it to the side. She had only even looked at it as a formality; both of you ordered the same thing every time, so opening the menu was meaningless at this point.

“Hello, Yayoi,” you said. “Tabito kissed me.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” she guessed.

“Yes,” you said. “It happened the other night. I would’ve called you earlier, but you were sick, so I didn’t want to.”

“Alright. It’s a little awkward for me, considering he’s my brother and all, but I’ll set aside my biases and do my best. How do you feel right now?”

“I have no idea. How do you feel?” you said, perplexed by the lack of reaction she was displaying.

“Why would I feel anything?” she said.

“Because? Your best friend just told you that your little brother kissed her? Aren’t you mad?” you said.

“Not really,” she said. “I’m surprised it took him this long, honestly. Everyone knows he’s been in love with you for ages.”

“Everyone?” you said.

“Everyone,” she agreed. “Most of our friends, all of my family, both of your parents…he hasn’t really tried too hard to hide it. I’m pretty sure most of them think you like him, too, but I don’t want to make assumptions, which is why I’m asking you how you feel about it all.”

“How did I miss it?” you said. “I didn’t realize right up until — well, you know — that he liked me, let alone for so long.”

“Sometimes people only see what they think they see,” she said. “You thought Tabito would never like you, so that’s what you believed. But he could, and he did. Now what?”

“Now nothing!” you said. “What am I supposed to do, date him? That’s just wrong!”

“Why is it wrong?” she said. “By the way, I’m not all too invested in any particular outcome, just as long as you’re happy, so don’t think I’m trying to steer you towards any specific path. I just want you to be fully honest with yourself before you jump to making decisions about any of this.”

“Thanks,” you said. “Okay, well, first off, he’s your — you, as in my best friend — little brother.”

“Not yours, though,” she said.

“But as good as,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say so. You’ve never treated him like a sibling,” she said. “That’s not to say you don’t care about him, but it’s in a different way than a sister would.”

“He’s also younger than me,” you said.

“Yukimiya’s younger than I am, and we’re perfectly happy. Plus, you were the first to say that there weren’t any issues with that, so why’s it a problem now?” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“But that’s — that’s different! You met him only recently. I’ve known Tabito since we were little kids! Doesn’t that make it weird?” you said.

“People get married to their childhood friends all of the time. It’s not that unusual,” Yayoi said. “Is there anything else?”

“No, it’s just strange, that’s all!” you said. “You seriously don’t find it even a little odd?”

“I’ve had a lot longer to adjust to it than you have,” she said with a shrug, sipping on the soda she had ordered with her meal. “Let’s approach this in a different way. What about if you both were the same age, and you met later in life? In a university lecture or something. If that was the case, and he asked you out, would you say yes?”

“Absolutely,” you said without hesitation. “That was a stupid question. Who would say no? He’s smart, he’s good at pretty much everything, he’s sweet and funny and caring; additionally, from an objective standpoint, he’s incredibly attractive. I’d do everything I could to keep him if he happened to glance my way.”

“Even if he ended up being younger than you?” Yayoi said.

“Yes,” you said. “Yes, I — oh.”

She gave you a dull look. “Just so you know, that is not a sisterly way to view a guy.”

“I got that,” you said.

“Do you think maybe it’s possible that you’ve loved him too, almost the entire time?” she said. “Maybe even before you understood what it meant to love someone else? Back when sibling was the closest relationship to another kid that you, as an only child, could conceive of?”

“I guess that that — that’s definitely a possibility,” you said.

“It could be,” she said. “And then the notion of him being your ‘brother’ became so set in your mind that you couldn’t possibly think of him as anything else.”

“There’s a chance that that was what happened,” you said slowly. “But I don’t feel what I did for Aoyama when I look at Tabito. It’s something else entirely.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t love Tabito,” Yayoi said, flagging down the waiter so you could pay for your food. “It just means you didn’t love Aoyama, or didn’t love him as much. Considering which one is still in your life and which one you haven’t spoken to in years, it’s not unlikely.”

“What do I do now, then?” you said.

“What do you want to do?” she said as the two of you exited the restaurant. “I’ll be your friend no matter what. In the end, it’s up to you.”

“I don’t want to lose him,” you said, suddenly terrified. “I won’t survive if I do. Yayoi, I don’t…”

“You can’t,” she reassured you. “If you haven’t lost him yet, then I don’t think it’s possible for you to. But you know, then, right? What’s next?”

“I do,” you said, taking out your phone and picking up speed, veering in a different direction, turning over your shoulder to shout back at her. “Thank you, Yayoi!”

“Good luck!” she shouted back as you took off at a run, holding your phone up to your ear.

“Otoya,” you said breathlessly, as soon as he picked up. “Otoya, is Tabito there?”

“Uh, Y/N? Yeah, Karasu’s cooking dinner, why?” he said. “You good?”

“I’m coming over,” you said. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, and buzz me in when I get there. This is me calling in that favor you owe me, so do a good fucking job at it, okay?”

“Sure, I can, but why don’t you just ask him to do it directly?” he said.

“I don’t think he’ll pick up if I call him at the moment,” you said.

“Trouble in paradise? This is why I don’t do the whole ‘commitment’ gig. Too many complications,” Otoya said with a scoff. “Fine, I’ll help you, but only because — like you said — I owe you one, and because I’m going to evacuate the apartment as soon as you get here so I’m not caught in the crossfire.”

“Thank you,” you said. “That’s perfect. You rock.”

“Yup, you got it. See you.”

The elevator took too long, so after waiting for thirty seconds, you gave up and went for the stairs, taking them two at a time until you reached the floor that Tabito and Otoya lived on. Then you knocked on the door, waiting with crossed arms until it swung open and revealed Otoya, dressed in a pair of rubber-ducky boxers and nothing more.

“Well, that’s my cue,” he said when he saw it was you.

“Where are you even going to go, dressed like that?” you said, momentarily distracted by the outfit, which was all but offensive to the eye. Otoya winked at you.

“There’s plenty of people in this complex that would welcome me dressed like this,” he said, walking out with a devilish grin. “I’ll go see one of them.”

“You have fun,” you said, unable to do anything but shake your head at the rakish response.

“I definitely will. You…do your best with Karasu. He’s been kinda down, so it’d be great if you could fix him right up again, because his pasta tastes shitty when he’s in a bad mood,” he said, saluting at you before vanishing into the closing elevator.

“Who was at the door?” Tabito said. He wore the pale green apron with white polka dots you had loaned him and never asked for back, and there was a wooden spoon in his right hand, which he used to stir a pot of sauce. “Hello? Otoya? Was it one of your exes again or something? Dude, you’ve gotta stop giving them our address, this is the third time this month that some girl has come to harass you.”

You were still for a moment, standing in the doorway, watching the muscles of his back tighten and then relax as he finished mixing the sauce, setting the spoon down on its stand and putting the lid back on the pot.

“Damn, silent treatment? Was it that bad? It’s your own fault, you dumbass,” he said. “It’s not like I tell you to bring them over. You do that all on your own, and these are the consequences you face as a result. Don’t blame me for it.”

What would you even tell him? He turned the stove to simmer, and you opened your mouth before closing it. You had no idea what to say. You had no idea what was even going on in your mind — you had left Yayoi with such an urgency that you hadn’t had the time to organize your thoughts as you would’ve liked to before such an important moment.

He turned around while untying his apron, his mouth curved into a sneer as he prepared to taunt who he must’ve thought was Otoya messing with him. Yet when he realized it was you, his face fell, as if just by standing there you had reprimanded him harshly.

“Y/N,” he said. You wondered how he could do it, how he could bear to still say your name with the same affection as always. Why hadn’t he left you? Why hadn’t he given up a long time ago? What had you ever done to be worthy of this kind of loyalty? What had you ever done to deserve a person like him?

A lump swelled in your throat, and the harder you tried to swallow it down, the more your eyesight prickled and blurred, until you could hardly see anything at all. For a second you were frozen, and then vaguely you were aware of him taking a step towards you and your inhibitions were lost entirely.

Crossing the expanse of the small kitchen and casting yourself into his embrace, you clung to his neck, crying in earnest when he held onto you as if by instinct, because the way he clutched your waist felt like coming home. He felt like coming home. He felt like butterflies in the spring and leaves in the fall and ice cream in the summer and storms in the winter and every other little thing from your life which you could only ever associate with him.

“I love you,” you said. “I’m sorry, I love you, I love you so much I didn’t even realize it but I do now, I do, and I can finally see that I love you more than anything or anyone, Tabito, so please still love me back, please—”

“Shh,” he murmured, one of his hands moving up and down your back. “Don’t cry. There’s no reason to cry. Y/N, Y/N, don’t cry, I hate it when you cry.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I was such a fool. I didn’t comprehend it, any of it, because I’ve loved you since before I understood what the word love meant.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, over and over until your tears abated, and only then did he speak.

“I’ve loved you for longer,” he said. “I loved you before I even knew you.”

“And do you still?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “I couldn’t stop so quickly.”

“Don’t ever stop,” you said. “But if you do, if you must, then keep it to yourself. I want to at least imagine that you’ll keep loving me for — for a long time.

“Oh, Y/N,” he said. “You don’t have to imagine that. I’ll love you forever if you want it.”

“I do,” you said. “I do want it.”

His lips ghosted along your temple as he smiled. Then, right before they fit against your own, he murmured: “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

Though you had neither reason nor proof, you found that, wholeheartedly and fully, with all that you were, you believed him.

#karasu x reader #karasu x y/n #karasu x you #karasu tabito #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #best friend’s brother au #best friend’s brother fic #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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thatshappinessforme · 4 months

Text

When We Are Together - Pt. 1 (?)

omg...hi. i'm really here rn. posting this. at nearly 4 am on a monday morning. im nervous. i could vomit. so...this has been in my head for forever. literally. the idea is massive. it extends so far. it's seriously a whole universe in my little brain. it took so long to get the basis of this all out on paper, but, i'm hoping this is a series...a long one. the title isn't going to make much sense right now, but i pinky swear we'll get there eventually. so...without further ado...here she is...(EEK!) (also i have no idea how to set this post up so bear with me lol)

so i guess i just lost my fanfic writing vcard💌

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word count: 2.4k

cw: just a little swearing, maybe a bit of bad writing, also maybe typos?? might be a little boring because it’s mostly to just like set the scene idk? (eventually the plan is to have a lil smut or smth but this really is just an intro lol)

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The day starts as usual. You wake up to the sound of your alarm and your roommate’s hair dryer blaring through the thin walls of your Brooklyn walk-up. With a groan, you peel yourself out of the warmth of your bed, go to your desk, and open your laptop, holding onto a shred of delusional hope that one of your classes might be canceled for today; they rarely are…but you can’t blame a girl for being an optimist.

You scroll through your inbox, refreshing, and refreshing – you really don’t want to go to class today. Blame the essay you’d procrastinated that you’d spent all of last night speed-writing. Blame senioritis. Blame the unpaid music publicity internship that you’d been letting eat up your time in hopes of scoring a good job. Blame the frigid snow and ice that seem to be taunting you from outside your window. But, luckily it’s a Friday.

You refresh your inbox one last time, just for good measure. And, something actually comes in. But, it’s not from one of your professors. It’s from some company named “Dirty Hit.”

You raise an eyebrow and open the email, thinking it must be something related to one of the countless jobs you’ve applied for in the last few weeks, preparing for graduation at the end of the semester.

Y/N,

I’m a representative with one of our bands here at Dirty Hit. We’re really impressed with your work and have an opportunity we’d love to discuss with you, if you have a free moment this week at some point. Are you based out of New York? Get back to us when you can. We’re looking forward to hearing from you.

Best,

The Dirty Hit Team

“That’s weird,” you whisper to yourself, reading the short, ominous email over and over again. It’s not everyday that a label reaches out to a random college student to work with them. You’re not really sure what they could possibly be impressed with. You’ve just done minor PR internship work with underground bands from the east coast – that’s not exactly impressive. It sure as hell doesn’t warrant an email.

“Y/N?,” you hear one of your roommates and best friend, Vivian, call from outside your door before walking in, not bothering to knock. The two of you are close, almost like sisters at this point. In some ways, you’re exactly the same person, but in others your polar opposites. She’s a little bit more outgoing than you are, but she always helps to get you out of your shell. “Do you think I can get this guy I’m talking to into the venue tomorrow night? It’s just at The Soundwave, right?,” she asks, plopping down on the corner of your bed.

Shit. You completely forgot you signed up for an open mic tonight. You’d been playing your songs at small bars in Brooklyn and Manhattan for the past year or so. Songwriting had always been a bit of a hobby for you. So when you’re a broke college student in one of the most expensive cities in the world, you just find tricks to get you and your friends to do fun things for free. You’d learned a while back that performing at open mics usually meant you and your friends could get into bars and clubs without having to pay a cover, so you’d been spending your weekends doing that for a while. It’s all for fun. Sure, you like performing and put a lot into your songwriting, but pursuing it isn’t even quite a dream for you. You have an impending college degree you’ve worked your ass off for. In every sense of the word, music was a hobby for you.

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem. He might have to pay the cover, but it’s not like it’s the sort of thing where people buy tickets. You know the drill. But, obviously you’re my plus one, so no cover for you,” you nod, still staring at your laptop screen.

“What are you staring at, over there? Everything okay?,” she asks, getting up and moving to stand over your shoulder at your desk. You move your head a little so she can get a good look at the words on your screen. You watch her face as she reads the email, her lips dancing on each of the syllables as you watch her process it. “Dirty Hit? What the hell is that? Sounds like a porn company. Impressed with your work? Do you have a booming, secret OnlyFans I’m unaware of?,” she jokes.

I laugh and playfully nudge her arm. “No, no,” you giggle, “It’s a record label, I think. I’ve heard the name thrown around a few times at my internship. I think they’re kinda big.” You tab over and do a quick Google search. Immediately, a sea of popular artists and bands pop up under the label.

“Holy shit. Beabadoobee? Bleachers? The 19 fucking 75? I have their fuckin’ poster on my wall. They’re cool as shit,” she reads over your shoulder. “I mean, I have no idea what they could possibly want from me. My resumè isn’t all that impressive. Sure, I’m planning on going into music PR, but there’s no reason why I would stand out against someone who has like…an actual career under their belt,” you ramble, trying to make sense of the 67 words in haunting your inbox.

There’s a long pause, both of you trying aimlessly to make sense of the email. “Well, you’re gonna email them back, right?,” she eventually asks. You take breath, starting a reply to the email, leaving your cell phone number.

You try to focus on anything other than waiting for a reply. You do your best not to let your mind wander into the what-ifs, but as soon as you get done with your lectures for the day, you check your phone for any response.

Y/N,

Thanks for getting back to us so quickly. The band and management is also in New York for the next few months for a project. We would give you more information over email, but much of the matter is highly confidential. We have a studio space at Electric Lady in Greenwich Village that we could meet at, if that works for you. I know it is rather short notice, but could you meet this evening at some point? Let us know.

Best,

The Dirty Hit Team

You quickly reply to the email on your walk back from campus, confirming the meeting for later this evening. You get back to your apartment and practically tear apart your closet trying to figure out what the hell to wear. You know it’s a business meeting, but it’s also for some mystery band. You don’t want to dress unprofessionally, but you also don’t want to seem uptight. You decide on a black mini skirt with tights and a chunky black turtleneck sweater. You finish primping and step into Vivian’s room, practically out of breath from all the outfits you’ve tried on and scrapped.

“Okay, if you were a band looking for…a PR representative…? Would you hire me?,” you ask her, standing in front of her bed as she looks up from her phone. She looks you up and down and grins, “Of course I would, Y/N. You look great,” she reassures you, sensing you’re anxious, “So, you really think this is just a PR gig?”

“I mean, yeah. What else could it possibly be? It couldn’t be my music. I’m not even on any streaming platforms; I don’t promote it at all,” you say with certainty. She shrugs and smiles, before wishing you the best of luck as you head out the door.

You get on the subway and head to Electric Lady. The train has always been one of your favorite parts about living in New York for college. Putting your pink headphones on, looking out the window into the catacombs that stretch throughout the city, people watching. It’s where you did your best thinking.

You get off the train and walk through the streets, your headphones on and your music blasting, only interrupted occasionally by Google Maps telling you where to turn and such. Eventually the robotic voice in your ear says “Arrived” and you look over your right shoulder…here it is. You're right on time. You go to open the doors, pushing on them gently; must still be locked. You sigh, assuming that its to be expected. That this is simply upholding a prophecy of some sort that the band and music-industry-folk run behind…until you hear a laugh.

“It’s a pull,” you hear a man’s voice call out with a slight chuckle. From just those three words, you’ve determined that he has one of the thickest English accents you’d ever heard. You look over your left shoulder and see a man leaning up against the wall of the studio smoking a cigarette. “What?,” you ask, confused as you look over to him. He has a hood on and you can’t make out his face, or what he was trying to tell you. “The doors. It says right on them. ‘PULL,’” he chuckles, tossing his cigarette to the ground and putting it out with his Adidas sneaker, walking over to you. “Oh, um, thanks, I’m an idiot. I almost gave up,” you chuckle, pulling the door open this time. The man follows you into the studio, holding the door open once you tug on it. You look back over your shoulder to thank him for holding the door, the first time he’s been close enough for you to make out his face; Christ, it’s Matty Healy.

“I know who you are,” he says to you with a cheeky grin as he starts walking into the back of the studio. You just stand there near the doorway, the gust of cigarette-scented, cold January air lingering around you. You’re perplexed, to say the least. He keeps walking down the hall before finally turning over his shoulder, “You’re just gonna stand there? You have a meeting. Wouldn’t be very professional of you to stand us up,” he teases dryly. You blink a few times before nodding, following him, still in a bit of disbelief that this was the band that had some sort of ‘interest’ in you.

He shows you into a studio in the back. Once he opens the door, there are four other men sitting there, three that you also recognize from your roommate’s wall. The other, a bit older, more professional looking.

“Y/N! I’m Jamie, I manage these blokes. Thank you so much for agreeing to come meet with us today. I know everything was rather vague on the emails, but…we had to keep it that way. But, now that you’re here, let's talk, yeah? Are you familiar with The 1975?,” the older man asks you, in a super friendly manner as you sit down on a plush chair in the corner of the room. Every eye in the room is glued to you. The air is almost sticky with anticipation. You take a deep breath and try to slap on the most composed, thoughtful, professional smile you can manage.

“Um, yes! Of course,” you nod, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, “I’m actually a fan of you all. Really, I listen to your stuff with my friends – you’re fantastic.”

“Good, good. We’re glad to hear it,” he grins, looking around at the boys who also all look to be pleased. Even though everyone’s eyes are on you, you feel Matty's specifically, practically burning a hole in the side of your head as he stands, still leaning in the doorway.

“We’re impressed with you, Y/N. So, I’m just going to get on with it. George went to a little bar in Bushwick last month and sent us a video he took of you singing one of your originals…you’re bloody fantastic. We’re going on tour this summer. We want to do something a little different this time with our opener. We want to build someone from the ground up. You’re it. We want you. What do you say? You interested?,” he explains with a wide grin, his tone casual like he didn’t just tell you the craziest shit you’ve ever heard.

Jamie’s words hit you in slow motion. You look around the room, the air moving from feeling sticky to feeling ice cold, jolting you awake. “I’m sorry…what the actual fuck did you just say?,” you blurt out blankly, any ounce of composure you may have had completely gone.

You immediately catch yourself, your language, your lack of professionalism, though, “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I…that just came out of my mouth…I-,” your face goes bright red as you desperately try to correct yourself.

The room erupts in laughter, the men you recognize from Viv’s poster nearly barreling over off the sofa. Jamie’s jaw on the floor as he howls, slapping the table in front of him. You look over your shoulder to see that Matty’s still in the doorway, and he’s just standing there with his arms crossed, shaking his head at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, I think we’re gonna get along quite well with this one,” he remarks, licking his lips, weirdly impressed with your mispeakings.

You can’t help but sigh softly and shake your own head when he looks at you like that; something in you shifting as if he’s the only person in the room; as if he was the only person who'd ever laid eyes on you; as if he was the only person ever. As if, the offer you got just moments before wasn’t the most absurd thing that had ever happened to you. As if you didn’t need to thoroughly think this all over. As if you could make the decision right now.

You look back over to Jamie, who’s still chuckling. Before you can give yourself the time to overthink, you swing one of your legs over the other, lean back into the chair and smirk, “Jamie, where the hell do I sign?”

…and this is how it starts.

#matty healy #the 1975 #mattyhealy #still at their very best #the1975 #bfiafl #satvb #matty x reader #fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fanfic #writer #fanfiction

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devils-dares · 2 years

Text

Give Up The World

summary: coming back home battered and bruised with a baby on the way makes matt rethink his nighttime activities.

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

warnings: canon typical injuries and blood, little bit of angst, whole lotta fluff

word count: 1200+

A/N: i was literally in the middle of writing for a celebration prompt when i had a brainstorming sesh with @galaxysgal and this idea came to life as soon as my fingers touched my keyboard. i'm pretty sure this was almost done in what i imagine was the first day of writing.

reblogs and comments are welcomed!

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You can hear the stairs groan under his weight, one boot step heavier than the other- he was limping… a lot. You cringe as he groans and whines down the rest of the stairs, making his way to you. He can hear your gasp when he comes into view, blood dripping from the bottom of his mask as he sways on his feet.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth.

“What happened?” You ask, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Ambush, I- ah!” He groans, grabbing his side.

“Should’ve seen it coming.” The words ring in your ears as he limps over to the table and sits on the chair.

“I should- let me- the kit.” You eek out, and he can tell you’re freaked.

“Angel-”

“I’m okay, just stay there.” You scurry off to the bathroom and he sighs, hearing your elevated heart rate accompanied by the smaller one that started in your tummy just a few days ago. He strips himself of his helmet and his top, leaving a wide array of bruises, scars, and slices on display. His side, the cut he was holding earlier, gushes dark crimson blood, a reminder of how brutal this job is.

He hears your breath leave you once again as you observe him on the chair, until your adrenaline kicks back in and shakes you away from shock. The feet that carry you to your husband leaving louder footsteps than usual, the extra weight in your tummy being something you have yet to get used to. Your fingers trace his face softly, brushing over a bruise that paints his cheek green and yellow, and he leans into your warm palm.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He nods and closes his eyes, readying himself for the stinging burn that comes along with rubbing alcohol. You press the rag to his cut skin and he inhales sharply through his teeth and grunts.

“I’m sorry, Matty. I’m trying my best to make it not hurt.”

“It’s okay, I know, you’re doing amazing.” The two of you fall silent after that, only the sound of Matt’s pained grunts permeating the suffocating quiet. Your heart rate rises every time Matt makes a noise, followed by a whisper of “I’m sorry,” or “I love you,” falling from your lips and his own heart breaks a little every time it slips out.

“I can’t…” He says, and it makes you pause.

“Matthew?”

“I quit, I retire, whatever you want to call it. I can’t be Daredevil anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I have the most important parts of my life in this room right now, and I’ll be damned if I get myself killed out there instead of taking care of the two of you.”

“A-are you sure? This is a big thing to just go cold turkey on.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

In all fairness, he did go cold turkey and he stuck with it. He put all his efforts into house shopping, and all his aggression into the punching bags at Fogwell’s. Oftentimes he’d pause by the closet under the stairs that concealed the trunk that held his suit. You could tell he had an itching, a longing, to go back to his ways. His thumbs would begin tracing the scars on his knuckles from years of serving his penance, hands balled into fists, he’d twitch towards the hiding spot until his ears fell on you. On your growing baby and the small heartbeat that lay within your tummy. He’d remind himself of what lay ahead, what he quit for, why he continues to stay away.

You could tell it’d weigh heavy on his mind, flashes of aggression would show through, and he tried his best to channel it to more productive things, but with disagreements you could see it bleed through. His nostrils flared, his eyes went wide, his voice would drop an octave and suddenly you’d realize how exactly he instilled so much fear into his enemies. He’d always apologize as soon as he did it, though, it still hurt to know that he could unleash just a glimpse of unbridled fury against you.

It weighed heavily on your marriage, there were days where he’d stay up all night, listening to the sirens and knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it, just to be angry and irritable all day. You swore you’d never leave him though, and it paid off. After months of sitting in that darkness all alone, he let you in. He told you of all his intrusive thoughts, how he felt about anything and everything, what made him happy and what made him tick and why he couldn’t be near you on certain nights. It made sense, the way he explained it, why he did the things he does. It must’ve been a coincidence, but the second he shed a tear, your child kicked for the first time.

You gasped and grabbed his hand, placing it towards the side of your belly. He looks quizzically until he feels it, and the tears come quicker when he realizes.

“Oh-” He chokes up on his words.

“This. This is what we do everything for. This is ours, Matt, don’t you realize? I will never leave you for acting the way you do, I get it. But we have bigger priorities now.” He nods and laughs as he feels another kick, harder this time.

“Looks like you’ll be dealing with a mini-me.” He laughs.

“Unfortunately.”

-----

“Mommy, why does daddy have lines over here?” She points to his chest while laying on him. The three of you were laying in bed in the early morning, light shining through the windows of your Astoria home. Your four year old daughter, bless her soul, was the most curious kid on the block. She could smell your’s and Matt’s bullshit from a mile away when you wanted to appease her, and kept pushing until she got a real answer, or at least a high effort answer.

“So bumpy,” she observes, running her hand over his scars, “what is it?”

“It’s something… daddy always had.” Matt answers, and she tuts.

“Wrong, mommy, your turn.” Matt laughs at that.

“Lawyer’s daughter,” you huff, Matt’s laugh now shaking the bed, “well, baby, before you were born, daddy was a really good guy. He used to go out and save the world, every night! Sometimes, though, he’d get a little hurt, and mommy would have to fix his booboos-”

“Did you kiss em like mine?” She asks.

“No, sweetheart, that’s only for you.”

“Mommy likes me more!” She squeals at Matt.

“Anyways, sometimes when they healed, they left little bumps, or scars. It just shows how much daddy loved his city, and how he gave it away to love you now.”

“Thank you, daddy.” She buries her head in his shoulder and he holds her tight.

“I’d give up anything for you, bug, but you gotta give mommy the credit. I was hard to be around.” She looks up at you and tugs you into their cuddle pile.

Soon enough, she falls asleep, her puffs of air hitting Matt’s cheek as she lay on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He mumbles sleepily.

“For what?”

“For staying with me, for giving her to me, for having faith in me when I was at my lowest.”

“I watched a building drop on you, I’m not letting you go over a few hissy fits.” He laughed at your attempt to lighten the mood.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You yawn out, and Matt stays awake to listen to his girls’ heartbeats while they sleep peacefully.

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huramuna · 11 months

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the calico bastard - chapter 1.

aemond targaryen x strong bastard oc (series) part one | next part

summary: After his takeover of Harrenhal, Aemond encounters a dreamy-eyed, wistful bastard of House Strong, who piques his interest and changes the course of Westerosi history.

warnings: smut (eventually), angst, canon typical violence, canon typical misogyny. will add more as I go through each chapter.

wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: alys rivers doesn’t exist in this universe, alysanne takes her place somewhat. a/n 2: this is my first fic, i got the courage to post it -- please be nice n' leave a like if this interests you!

wuthering heights - kate bush • leave me for dead - GAYLE

It was a chilly spring day when he arrived— atop his dragon that blotted out the sun.

Harrenhal stood tall, foreboding against the horizon of the Riverlands. It was a tower with a known history of bloodshed and held many ghosts within its hallowed walls.

Recently, it’d been a symbol of the Dance, a game of tug of war between the Rogue Prince and his One-Eyed nephew.

Day after day with Daemon holding Harrenhal, Aemond taunted him by flying in the distance atop his mossy colored war dragon.

Until, one night, Daemon acquiesced. He gathered his forces and left during the hour of the wolf, leaving the original denizens of the ancient stronghold behind.

It was all too fast that Aemond would seize the opportunity— and seize he did.

“Bring out every man with the blood of House Strong in his veins!” he cried out, his voice stringent and unwavering. His dragon grumbled in agreement just outside of the castle’s walls.

His soldiers ripped husbands from their wives, fathers from their children, and sons from their mothers. All were dragged out to the courtyard.

A diminutive lady watched atop the castle ramparts, looking down at the scene. Alysanne Rivers— a bastard of House Strong, as far as she knew.

She looked nothing like her Strong relatives, her hair being almost white in color, tumbling down in billowing curls, likely not been cut drastically since she was born, as it lingered past her bottom. The only reminiscences of the Strong bloodline was the errant streak of brown that ran down the front of her hair.

No two sides of her face were alike— one side had a violet eye with white lashes and a brown eyebrow, the other side having a brown eye with brown lashes and a white eyebrow.

‘The Calico Bastard’ they tended to call her, mostly behind her back— but she didn’t mind. She was rather fond of calico cats.

As she pressed herself belly down on the ramparts, she observed the man below. Tall and chiseled, she could almost feel the hate and contempt eek from his being. It smelled of brimstone.

Her brows perked as he reached to his face, ripping his eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire prosthetic underneath. He spoke a few words, too quietly for Alysanne to hear.

Then he unsheathed his sword. She watched with widened eyes as he brought down the blade upon the neck of the first in line— Ser Simon Strong, the oldened head of Harrenhal; now beheaded.

She didn’t retch, but she felt a pit of darkness settle in her stomach. Alysanne had been raised as a bastard usually was; hardly at all. She was treated like a dormouse, her chambers being a closet near the kitchens, her bed a pile of old mattress material.

Her Strong family had treated her with contempt, for the whiteness of her hair and her violet eye— she could only wish to hope that her mother, whomever she may be, never received such treatment.

She’d heard not much about her mother over her eighteen years of life, and such questions would earn her a slap to the face.

She never felt love for the Strong family, not even her father, Lyonel Strong, who had left her for many years of servitude on King Viserys’ council.

The only one to not treat her like dirt beneath her feet was her supposed half-brother, Ser Harwin ‘Breakbones’ Strong. He was the only kind person she’d ever known.

But he was gone now. And apparently, so was the rest of House Strong.

She watched the heads roll into the mud with a detached gaze. No tears would be shed on account of her blood family’s deaths, but she hadn’t seen such ruthlessness firsthand. The only thing comparable was when she heard the screams of her father and brother dying in a fire all those years ago— but she didn’t see them.

As the last man fell, Aemond glanced up at where she was laying. He leaned over and said something incoherent to a Dornishman next to him.

Then she was grabbed. She kicked and growled like an impudent animal, snapping her teeth at the soldiers that drug her from the ramparts, down to the courtyard and before Aemond himself. They let her go, then, and let her adjust herself as Aemond approached her slowly.

The bastard girl glared up at him. And he stared back, his one violet eye wide with a fading madness.

“You were watching,” he started, his voice laced with authority but also… curiosity. “What do you make of this?” he asked then, his arms resting behind his back.

She swallowed nervously as he got a bit closer, to which she took two steps back. “I see the dragon has come to deliver its reckoning upon House Strong.” she bowed her head, averting her gaze as if it pained her to keep eye contact with him.

Aemond’s brow rose. The way she spoke was odd, mysterious, dreamlike, even. Not unlike how his own maddened sister, Queen Helaena, spoke often. “Reckoning,” he repeated, “House Strong has defied the crown for too long.” His tone held a touch of disdain for their audacity to challenge him—an affront that demanded retribution in the form of blood spilled upon already stained grounds.

He stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them. His presence so close was almost suffocating, scalding— like being too close to dragonfire. “And what do you make of this reckoning?” he pressed, searching her mismatched eyes for any recognition that she understood— it was more likely she didn’t.

“You smell of ash and musk, dragon,” she murmured, stepping back once more. She did not like having people in such close proximity to her, it seemed, as her eyes flitted nervously around.

“A reckoning within your right; mere mice burn before a flaming beast.” she said finally, seemingly in a riddle or poem. Her voice was soft, lilting and song-like; not unpleasant upon the ears, but could be unnerving if anyone actually paid attention to the depths of her manic mutterings.

Aemond’s face stayed neutral, his jaw clenched slightly, “And what do you make of this flaming beast? What lies beneath its exterior?” he continued. There was something about this fidgety bastard that intrigued him— perhaps it was how much she looked and acted like his sister. His heart clenched slightly at the thought.

She let out a huff, as if annoyed by his incessant questioning. “A dragon needn’t concern itself with the opinions of mice or birds,” she grumbled. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her dress. “Are you going to kill me, dragon?”

He stared at her for a moment longer, “Hm,” he seemed to mull it over in his mind, “Mayhaps not, for the moment. I am in need of a cupbearer, and you are capable enough.”

Alysanne bristled slightly but said nothing. She just stared down at her feet— they were bare, stained with dirt and dust.

“It seems she knows the power of holding her tongue. I know a few bastards who would do well to learn such a thing,” he added before turning his gaze upward towards two of his men, “Find some handmaidens or servants and have her scrubbed and dressed— I shan’t have my cupbearer looking like…” he appraised her dirty form up and down, “that.”

The two soldiers nodded their heads, “Yes, prince.” they hummed in agreement, one going to grab Alysanne once more.

He roughly pulled her, the coarse leather of his gloves grating against her skin. She hated the feeling, the sensation of being grabbed and strewn about like she was nothing but a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay.

Aemond spoke once more, his voice cutting like a whip, “And treat her with respect— she may be a bastard, but she is still a lady, hm?” he glared at the pair of men, his icy stare boring particularly chilly into the one who had so carelessly handled her.

The soldier straightened up, releasing Alysanne from his grip— he left harsh red marks upon her skin, “Yes, my prince— apologies.” he dipped his head.

Seeming satisfied with the answer, he turned around and began walking away.

Alysanne observed him with a tenuous gaze. The way he walked was unnerving— a bit slow, but meticulous. Like a stalking predator.

But he wasn’t just a mere predator, was he? He was the apex, the king of predators, hewn from brimstone and lava deep within the fissures of the Fourteen Flames.

Alysanne had encountered the Targaryen house before— with Daemon having occupied Harrenhal just before.

Daemon was an annoyance to her. She had a distaste for him, even if they did not speak. He would leer at her, looking as if he was undressing her with his eyes.

But Aemond— he felt different. He didn’t leer, nor undress her with his eyes or look upon her as a commodity.

No, he looked at her as if he wanted to remove her skin and see what lies underneath. To remove the outer layer of her being from the bone and tear out her heart—

She snapped herself out of her reverie at the annoyed quip of one of the soldiers that were to escort her.

“You deaf or something, bastard? Get moving,” the man grunted.

A fitting noise for him, as he was nothing but a grunt, behest to a dragon.

A dragon that interested Alysanne, for reasons she didn’t understand. There was an unconscious nagging sensation, deep in her gut when she looked at him. A feeling that elated her and made her feel sickly.

She walked along, being escorted— escorted in her own home. She thought the idea silly, but let them do as they liked. They were stronger than she— let them have their moment of significance.

Prince Aemond, as it turns out, left much of the staff in Harrenhal intact. Scared, but alive.

Her mismatched gaze flitted around as they stepped into the Great Hall. The quivering, huddled bodies of servants, cooks and maids alike stood together.

“Oh, girl, you lived,” the cook, Magga, cried. The older woman broke away from the conglomerate of clucking hens to go embrace Alysanne.

She flinched slightly— girl, Magga had called her. She didn’t even call her by her name. She hardly ever did, and never with such… saccharine sweet reverie.

She fought every instinct within her to run away, growl or do some other animalistic display of fear as Magga enveloped Alysanne in an all encompassing hug, practically suffocating her in her bosom.

“We thought ye dead, girl,” Magga continued, “They said they were butcherin’ all of House Strong. They didn’t do anything to ya, did they?”

Alysanne, once she was finally able to catch her breath, shook her head. She was still confused by Magga’s sudden maternal disposition. The cook always treated Alysanne as a nuisance, an extra mouth to feed that likely didn’t deserve it.

Witnessing death, she supposed, had a funny way of changing people.

Alysanne would give the old cook a fortnight before she was back to calling her a bastard and trying to beat her bloody with a wooden spoon for pilfering honey cakes.

The two guards that had led Alysanne in seemed unmoved by the reunion. One, apparently named Ser Daunton, spoke up, “Which of you is a maid? The prince has deemed that this…” he cleared his throat before speaking, “lady, requires to be bathed and clothed— befitting the station of royal cupbearer.”

A few of the ladies spoke up. Flora and Beth stepped up— sisters from near Maidenpool. “Yes, ser,” Flora, the more talkative of the bunch, murmured, “We will… tend to Lady… Rivers,” she glanced over at her sister, who gave an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders.

“Very good. I’m sure that the prince will have need of his… cupbearer sooner than later— so do not tarry.” Ser Daunton nodded, his gloved hand rested on the pommel of his sword before he turned and left, a nod of his head commanding his companion.

As they walked out of the Great Hall, there was almost a physical sigh in the room.

Flora and Beth walked to Alysanne, the latter finally speaking, “What in the name of the Seven did you do to be spared?” she hissed, pushing Alysanne to the back room while Flora began to heat the water for the bath.

“I did nothing— the dragon, he—,” her voice was cut short as Beth pinched the sensitive skin of her arm.

“He is not an actual dragon, you dumb girl,” she admonished, “He is a prince— more so even than the one that was here before. At least address him with some modicum of respect. You greet him as ‘my prince’ or ‘your grace’— no more of this foolish dragon nonsense.” Beth grumbled, stripping Alysanne of her clothes.

“But he… he is a dragon, he—,”

SMACK.

A sharp hit to her cheek by Beth, “I don’t care if he has horns growing out of his bloody head, or breathes fire— I won’t have you jeopardize our lives by spewing hogwash,” she paused for a moment as she began pulling Alysanne’s hair out from the errant braids she had them in, “I… He is unstable, look what he did to Ser Simon— poor lord couldn’t even raise his sword before the prince took his head. He was just an old man, shameful,” Beth continued, her fingers attempting to unknot her curls, “But we shan’t expect better from a Kinslayer.”

Alysanne winced, her scalp prickly and heated. She didn’t say anything else— she would only dig herself into a deeper hole; it already felt like she was six feet under.

The sisters dragged the odd-eyed lady to the copper tub, now filled with hot water and began to scrub her raw. Her skin pulsed red before finally settling into its normal pallor.

Her hair was run through with a brush, more than half a dozen times before pulling it back into one tight braid that swept to her posterior.

They stuffed her into a modest dress— a blue woolen kirtle with a white undershirt, the sleeves long and puffy.

Alysanne, who hated being touched, squirreled and wriggled all throughout their prodding. She wasn’t a skinny thing by any means— she had a soft core and curvy figure, which was accentuated in the corset they strapped her in.

“Cruel lot of chickens,” she grumbled under her breath, eyeing the two sisters with ire.

“Hm— didn’t know you had a pair o’ hips under those mops, Calico,” Flora hummed, “This might be what the prince wanted you for.”

Alysanne felt her cheeks heat up at the thought— she had been the receiving end of looks of leer and lust a few times, but she staved them off. She had no interest in romance, or whatever her twisted ideology of it was. Nor was she interested in being rutted into like a barn animal.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, her voice quiet, but with a tinge of sharpness, “A dra— a prince has no use for a calico bastard— mayhaps you should visit him instead of I, Flora?”

SMACK.

That earned her another red mark on her cheek— one from each of those shrewd sisters.

“I’d knock you out if you weren’t meant to be somewhere, Calico. Now go, I’d imagine you’re being expected.” Flora snapped, leaving the room.

Beth tagged along, giving Alysanne one last dirty look.

She took a few deep breaths, smoothing down her dress. Once, twice, thrice. With as straight of a posture as she could give, she left the room as well, quickly swept up by Ser Daunton to be escorted to the prince.

Into the dragon’s lair.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #the calico bastard

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lost-technology · 3 months

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Explaining Vash Outside the Fandom!

So, today on another forum I mentioned Vash the Stampede. I mentioned him by way of "I don't ask myself WWJD? so much anymore as WWVtSD?" and explained "Vash the Stampede." I said "If anyone is unfamiliar with this name, go ahead and ask and I can fangirl all over you, but be warned, you will be reading all day." I got a taker. And then another taker who is a person on the forum who is straight up not having a good time right now and needs some distraction I feel - to read someone's dumb fangirling over a fandom they aren't in yet. So... I wrote up an essay explaining Vash the Stampede in Word and pasted it in shifts on the blog: (uck, looks like I'm gonna have to post this in shifts, too. Dumb tumblr!

*Flashes my fangirl license* You asked about Vash the Stampede? *Raises eyebrows.* Big mistake. You shall be here all day! Vash is the protagonist of Trigun, an anime / manga by Yashiro Nightow. Well, the manga is by him and there are two different animes to date, one originally airing in 1998 before the completion of the manga (and it gained the idea enough popularity that Nightow was able to continue the manga and purposefully took a different track to keep the story fresh. Because he had to switch publishers the continuing story was titled Trigun Maximum). As of 2023 there has been a reboot of the anime, Trigun Stampede, done in a cell-shaded CGI style that takes more cues from the manga. It has done its own story elements, too, most notably having the City of July as a part of the story, making it almost a prequel, since the City of July is past tense in the other media. A second set / continuation / completion of it is set for a future release date and as of yesterday, the “final phase” of the new anime will be titled Trigun Stargaze. Additionally, there was a feature-movie made in 2011 based solely upon the first anime titled Badlands Rumble, which is kind of the black sheep of the fandom (personally I enjoy it, find it very funny). So, anyway, Vash is a tall blonde man with a Bart Simpson hairdo and a long red coat who lives on a desert planet with 10X the guns of ‘Murica. There are two suns and five moons. It’s a scavenger world where people barely eek out a living using a form of lost technology known as “Plants” – which are these energy and materials production entities housed in giant lightbulbs (or something more like tanks in Stampede). No one knows how to create Plants anymore and few know how to maintain them, so everything is slowly dying (except, of course, the native sandworms. Yep, there’s something Dune-like going on). People live a half sci-fi half Old West existence and things are, again, very violent. It’s a world where you have higher chances of making it out better as a bandit than a farmer. Vash is a pacifist. He is also an outlaw with Sixty-Billion-Double Dollars ($$) on his head because he has been shown to be capable of incredible destructive power. Now, most of this comes accidentally from trying to weasel out of tough situations and people after him getting themselves hurt, but somehow towns fall apart. Except for the City of July (or Jul-Ai in Stampede), which he did wipe out. Under circumstances not of his own making or will, but the normal citizens of the planet don’t know that. That was around 24 years ago in the first anime and in the manga. July exists as of the beginning of Stampede. Early on in the manga’s story, an insurance company that gets a lot of damage claims regarding damage he supposedly caused declares him a “Human Act of God” so as to avoid payouts. He is assigned a pair of insurance agents, Milly Thompson and Meryl Stryfe, to follow him around to attempt to mitigate the damage he might cause. In the anime, it is the same, except that his bounty is not removed for some reason. (In the manga, the government removes his bounty per his “Act of God” status). He is also known as the Humanoid Typhon, putting him in the same category as a destructive storm. Vash-damage is thereafter treated in the same like as hurricane damage! Honestly, this is one of the most creative things I have seen of any media – having the local superhero / super-cryptid followed by INSURANCE AGENTS. (I am fond of characterizing Trigun as “If Mayhem from the Allstate commercials was followed around by Flo from the Progressive commercials”). (To Be Continued in Reblog-posts)

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #the why of vash #slacktivist #what I subjected the good people of fred clark's slacktivist blog to today

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realshadow01-blog · 7 months

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*Pop* just like a candy apple! {Platonic Radioapple!}

Introduction

|| Hello! I just wanted to say hello again as I've been gone for almost two years, I think. :3 I wanted to start writing again, for some reason, and it's 2:43am. I am not sure if I would post this or not, depends if I feel like it.||

|| Sorry for the absence, and if any characters are ooc (out of character) too! I have watched all of season 1 - but I can't capture the characters personalities that well. And sorry if my grammar or wording is bad, I don't know that much English as I thought. ||

|| This is a tickle drabble/short fan fiction post, and I don't expect any - but I will be taking requests for drabbles and headcannons! ||

>> || Summary for introduction: I do not know much English, I haven't captured the characters that well, this is a tickle-based, short fan fiction and I'm sorry for my (almost) two year absence. And, I am taking requests for drabbles and headcannons (no art or fics :<) || <<

|| Warnings (I guess!): Tickles, Swearing ||

---

So, the Demon is back again! Back again with a new sense of humor and a new ruthless torturing method. The Radio Demon is back! He's returned, what does it mean for a certain rival? Or a few?~ The future will decide...~

It was a surprisingly quiet day in the Hazbin Hotel. Everyone was either out celebrating or having a full day in bed after they defeated the Angels. People were bummed out, injured and flat-out exhausted.

Lucifer decided to stay at the Hotel for a while, or at least visit often, and he was watching TV in the common room as he held his most prized rubber duck. Charlie was out with Vaggie, Angel and Husk were out too and pretty much the only people in the hotel were Niffty, Alastor and Lucifer.

Alastor was nowhere to be found, I mean, where would you expect an unpredictable being like him to be?

Nifty was off cleaning.

You already heard about Lucifer.

That changed when Alastor's shadow crawled around the floors of the hotel, until he emerged from thin air. His grin was as sinister and menacing as always, although something was off. It looked slightly strained. He was preciously annoyed by another Overlord, but we won't get into that, but it could be why... He then went to go find Lucifer, for some reason.

Lucifer was throwing his rubber duck against the wall and catching it like a ball, abandoning the television so all it became was simple background noise. He continued to throw the rubber duck until it hit Alastor in the face.

“Oops....” Lucifer giggled mockingly, not in the slightest sorry, but decided to apologize anyway to make matters better for him, if they were becoming bad. Although, Alastor, in return, grabbed the rubber duck and crushed it in his bare hand, sensing Lucifer's infuriated pity, despite Lucifer showing no emotion whatsoever. “Was that necessary, Alastor?”

“No,” Alastor's grin grew as he threw the shriveled rubber duck aside, his radio filter still as strong as ever, “but I wanted to. Doesn't that seem fair?~”

Lucifer groaned, annoyed. “What kind of shitty question is that!?”

“A reasonable question that needs answering.”

“Well, I won't fuckin’ answer!”

“...”

“As you wish.” Alastor's grin grew, but still looked a little strained.

Lucifer, funny enough, saw his strained grin and smirked.

“Is the demon cracking at something?~ Are you pissy about your wound from Adam?~” Lucifer retorted, giggling, which absolutely broke Alastor's patience and before either of them knew it, Alastor had thrown himself at Lucifer and pinned him to the floor, scribbling his claws into Lucifer's sensitive, tender sides, earning a surprised squeal and a string of squeaky laughter. “EEK!!~ FUHUHUHUCK!!- ALAHAHASTOR!!??”

Alastor had just smirked, moving his hands to random spots to keep the short king occupied, sneakily slithering his tendrils to Lucifer and restraining him swiftly as the tips of the tendrils restraining him tickled into the crooks of his wings - the 'wings pits' if you will. No matter what they're called, they sent Lucifer into hysteria.

Lucifer's screaming, wheezing and frantic laughter could be heard basically throughout the whole of Hell from how loud it was. Alastor only had the slightest issues with that, so he closed some doors to prevent people from coming in, if they did try. “ALAHAHAHASTOR- WHEHEHEN IHI CAHAHATCH YOUHUHU ALAHAHASTOR!!- GAHAHAHA!!?”

That wasn't the worst of it, oh boy...

The main reason the phrase “Lucifer's screaming, wheezing and frantic laughter could be heard basically throughout the whole of Hell” was used because it was the truth. Not only was his laughter loud, but Alastor had been devilish enough to broadcast his laughter live! :)

“Go on, Lucifer,” *Alastor smiled menacingly, voice hushed, “Make the microphone pop like a candy apple...~” He teased, leaving him to face the torture and humiliation for a bit.

---

hope this was good!! sorry if it was short, i was pondering over a draft from a year ago and I haven't written a fan fiction in a hot minute >.<

{This MIGHT have some more parts!!!}

#hazbin hotel #sfw tickling community #lee #ler #lee!lucifer #ler!alastor #hh #hazbin hotel tickling #hazbin hotel tickles #hazbin hotel tickle #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #ticklish!lucifer #i love this ajejjasjs #radioapple #appleradio #drabble #tickle fic #fluff?

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gg-pedro · 8 months

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can you hear the music (ch. 5) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano, and you find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 5: new life, old wounds. a honeymoon has to come to an end eventually.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, hurt/comfort, sickfic?, joel needs taking care of, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, mentions of death, swearing, references to gun violence, fluff at the end, angst, and more angst.

words: 4.4k (eek)

a/n: edited this one to death. go listen to adrianne lenker.

Weeks passed. Rainstorms rolled into Jackson.

Dark clouds eclipsed the sky, releasing sheets of rain that melted away most of the snow and rendered the ground a muddy brown. The storm system lasted days, save for an hour or two of sunshine between downpours.

Joel had asked you to move in with him. You refused. Then he begged you, saying that he wanted to be around to help you get back on your feet, but still, you declined the offer.

You always figured your honeymoon winter would have to come to a bitter end at some point. Watching Joel execute a man in cold blood probably wasn’t helping to close the divide that had been growing into a chasm and stretching you thin.

Your wound was halfway healed now, too. It still left a scar that made you nauseous when you had to look at it in the mirror.

You’d been allowed a week off from your usual duties around the commune. You asked to be removed from the position you had in the clinic, and Maria personally saw to that. You helped out at the school instead, with the kids you had grown so familiar with. They were the only thing bearable about your day.

You stopped offering piano lessons. That irked Joel the most. He’d gone even paler when you told him that than when he watched a bullet narrowly miss ripping a hole through your center.

Maybe this is what you got for complaining about the quiet sanctity of your life in Jackson.

You still played. You had long since memorized most of the scores you had collected over the years, so you’d taken to composing your own. It was all harsh, rolling sonatas that poured out of you whenever you sat before the keys. You’d pause to scratch the notes down on paper, skipping over a title because you knew you’d only be able to come up with one thing.

Joel. Joel Miller. Joel #3. Joel and I. Joel… why didn’t you ever ask his middle name?

You’d left him in the dark almost entirely about how you were feeling, save for that conversation you’d had in the clinic. By consequence, he was treating you as if you’d suddenly become fragile. As if you couldn’t handle getting hurt or witnessing death. You wished that you could say any of that was what was bothering you.

Still, he came. He showed up for you. He was sweet. He cared. He barely even flinched when the little things would set you off. It made it all the more difficult to try and push back from him.

On a cool evening, one where the air was almost warm but the breeze was bitter, the two of you sat on his back porch.

He was strumming on his guitar, trying to remember how to play Led Zeppelin's Going to California.

He paused to tune the high E string and looked over at you. “Tommy said he’s goin’ on a supply run next week. Might try and hit up that old college I told you about. Want me to look for some more sheet music to bring back? Beginner stuff, or stuff for you?”

You blew on your hot mug of tea, watching the steam swirl in the air. “No. You’d have to sift through some old performing arts building. No use in that.”

“You sure? I know you said you wanted–”

“–I promise, Joel, it’s fine. Don’t make more work for yourself.”

“Alright, baby,” he said quietly, plucking away at the strings again.

“But for Ellie,” you interjected. “She mentioned wanting some more movie scores. Might be worth finding that for her.”

He played a little softer as he spoke. “It’s no good if she doesn’t know how to play it.”

“She can read music,” you countered. “She’s welcome to use my piano anytime.”

He stopped playing completely this time, groaning a little as he stretched to prop the guitar up against the house. You watched his expression mold into concern as you made eye contact.

“You’re shakin’, honey. Let's go inside. Or I can walk you home.”

The liquid in your cup mirrored a choppy ocean from the tremors in your hands. “I’m okay. Just cold out here.”

Joel got up and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Then I’ll get you a blanket. Gonna catch your death out here.”

Your knuckles were turning white with your grip on the mug and you flinched away from his touch. “Stop it, Joel.”

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Treating me like I’m another child,” you said. “Did you hear me when I said that I was fine?”

“That ain’t fair. I’m just tryin’ to look after you,” he responded.

You started laughing. “Really? It really feels like you’re trying to make up for something.”

It started to drizzle again. You watched as the rainwater began to dilute your tea.

“Yeah? Make up for what, exactly?” He shot back. “Protecting someone I care about?”

You stood to meet him and the rain picked up. “Protect me from what? A man alone in the woods with no weapons?”

“Just ‘cause he dropped his gun doesn’t mean he had no weapons, doesn’t mean he was alone–”

“You beat his fucking face in, don’t act like you did it out of anything but emotion you couldn’t control.” The two of you were nearing drenched, but neither of you seemed to care. “Just admit that it was a bad decision. And that it was cruel, Joel. So fucking cruel.”

Joel just stared at you. “I’m walkin’ away from this, baby. You’re mad, I know. You don’t have to see things the way I see ‘em.”

You followed him to the back door. “I’m not done, Joel. Give me one good reason as to why you did it. A rational, true reason.”

“No,” he said as he opened the door.

“Then fuck you. You were wrong, it was cruel, and there is blood on my hands. How does that make you feel? To know that I blame myself for what you did?”

He slammed the door shut before walking inside, his face washed with anger. “Don’t you come into my fuckin’ house yellin’– not with Ellie upstairs,” he seethed. “ Blamin’ me for shit. For makin’ decisions that you couldn’t even imagine.”

You brushed wet hair out of your eyes. “Oh, but I could imagine it, Joel. I’ve been alive through all of this too. I still came out human on the other side. Not everyone is living in the world that you are. Not everyone acts like a fucking animal everytime they get the chance.”

“So that's how you see me, hm? A fuckin’ animal. You along with everyone else in this goddamn place. Just some old man who likes havin’ to kill people?” He looked away from you and shook his head. “I’ve got my reasons. Bein’ here isn’t gonna make me soft. Won’t make me forget,” he inched closer to you, “the ways that I lost people. I can promise you that.”

Joel had had a part of his humanity brutally gutted from him when his daughter died in his arms. Even still, he found it again in places he hadn’t expected. In Ellie, especially. In you.

“And listen to this closely– real fuckin’ close,” he began again, “I don’t give a shit if you hate me. Move on, never speak to me again. As long as you’re alive, and I know that I did what I could to keep you that way, I’ll sleep fuckin’ easy at night. You understand that?”

He inhaled and went on. “Maybe that man made a stupid goddamn mistake tryin’ to hunt. Maybe I did, too. I wish I could say I was sorry for that. It’s a cruel world out here.”

“Sleep easy at night? Is that really the truth?” You crossed your arms over your chest and watched his expression shift.

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t make it any harder.”

You knew that was a lie.

You could see it now. Joel in another universe. A few less fine lines on his face, a few less grays threaded into his dark hair. No bad memories that would pull him from sleep. The right pocket of his jeans wouldn’t be ever so slightly stretched from storing a handgun there. Wouldn’t look at himself in the mirror like he was searching for the person he used to be. Wouldn’t look at you like you were an impending flatline on a heart monitor.

But this was now, and he would always be so stubbornly him, and you wished your feelings were important enough to him that he could see things the way you do.

He dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “Look, I’m just tryin’ to make things easier on you. Clearly you took this real hard, and I never should’ve brought you out there, and–”

“Enough, Joel. Don’t act like that was the mistake, or that you ‘ruined’ me, or some stupid shit like that. One of us has to feel remorse for what you did to that man and if you won’t, then I will,” you countered. “And sure, It’s been difficult on me. I’ll give you that. It hurts. There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?”

The look on his face told you that you had cut deep. You immediately wanted to back down, but you were tired and it hurt and he still felt like he wasn’t listening.

“I ain’t gonna yell at you, baby, if that's what you want. Just… just go. Go on, go home. I’ll still be here if you need me.”

You were angry because you were hurt. He read right through you, too. Knew you didn’t mean all of that. You were trying desperately to stay hurt and mad at something, anything, because once that faded, all you’d be left with was sadness and guilt.

You turned your back on him anyway, soaking wet and furious, and made your way home. You couldn’t help but cry. God, you hoped you hadn’t just ruined everything.

He’s still there if I need him, you kept repeating to yourself. He’s there if I need him.

Joel wasn’t sleeping. He couldn’t.

He used to get at least a few hours every night. Took him a while to get there after settling into life in Jackson. Even when you were with him, lying close to his chest, he’d still wake up with the sun, hours before you did.

At least you quelled the restless anxiety that accompanied the morning exhaustion. You’d slip your hand under his shirt, rubbing circles into his side and his chest, and beckon him back to sleep. He almost never did, but he loved it anyway.

And now? He was getting almost nothing.

Sometimes, he could swear that he heard your pleas. Those strangled sobs echoing through the dense forest. Joel. Joel. Joel, stop it, fucking don’t, please–

A single gunshot, and the sound of you sobbing.

There, does that make you feel good? Give you a purpose? You still want to put me back together after what you did?

He laid awake, the rain pelting the roof and the rolling thunder in the distance making his heart rate spike and setting his body into fight mode. It was a feeling he’d grown accustomed to. He’d check that his pistol was on his dresser, then he’d check on Ellie, and finally, he’d look out his window, hoping to see that light on in your bedroom. Maybe your backlit silhouette. Anything.

You didn’t need him trying to protect you all the time. Worrying about you. Losing sleep over you, for fuck’s sake. If anything, he thought, coming into your life had just made things worse for you. If anything, he needed you a hell of a lot more than you needed him.

Powering through sleep deprivation wasn’t an uphill battle. It was all downhill. After the third day in a row with almost no rest, he was flagging. The world around him felt blurred, his senses and awareness all dull. He barely got through the work day with Tommy. He felt, in a word, awful. It was strange. He felt even worse than he had after all those nights on foot with Ellie where he would insist on giving up his sleep for hers.

He wanted you. With more sleep, maybe he could push those thoughts away if he tried, but now, all he wanted was you.

Fittingly, Ellie was the only one that noticed. Well, Tommy must’ve noticed, but he didn’t mention it.

After dinner, he could hardly keep himself awake to listen to her talk about her day. Sitting on the couch, with his head lolling to the left and subsequently making his hearing muffled on both sides, he dozed off.

“–el? Joel? The fuck, man, I was just getting to the good part of the story!”

A hand shaking his shoulder jolted him awake and he was slow to reorient himself with the room. Breathe. He was in the living room. The fire was lit. It was still raining. Ellie was there. You were… fuck, where were you–? Oh. Right.

“Are you good?” Ellie asked.

He nodded quickly, swallowing around a raw throat. “Yeah– m’fine,” he said. “Keep goin’, I’m listenin’ to ya.”

“Uh, no, you weren’t. You fell asleep. And you’ve only been sitting for like, five minutes.”

Joel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. Wanna tell me somethin’ I don’t know?”

“You look like shit.” She told him pointedly.

“Mmh. Shouldn’t have even asked.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Come on, dude. Are you sick?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look sick. And super fucking tired.”

“Yeah, m’tired. Storm’s been keepin’ me up,” he said, which was only half of a lie.

Ellie didn’t believe him. “Huh. Fine. Sleep away then, old man.”

Joel’s eyes were closed, but by the way Ellie’s voice got quieter as she spoke, he knew she was walking away. He was a little too tired and a little too deaf to hear the front door open and close again a few minutes later.

“He looks dead.” A pause. “Is he dead?”

“Jesus. No, Ellie, he’s not dead.”

A palm smoothing over his forehead, then the back of that same cool hand against his cheek. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Too tired, and the touch felt too nice.

“Oh, Joel,” you exhaled. “He’s burning up. Probably killing his back, too.”

Warily, he opened an eye to see you crouching in front of him, Ellie close to your side. He would’ve thought he was dreaming, but in his dreams, his entire body didn’t typically ache.

“I knew something was wrong with you,” Ellie proclaimed, looking proud of herself.

“Why’re you…?” Joel rasped.

You cut him off. “Hey, Joel, you with me? Is there any possible chance that you got bit?” You asked. Just covering all bases.

“No,” he replied. “And fuck you.”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Ellie, go heat water up on the stove.” You interjected. “See if there are any tea bags left.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Joel’s eyes slipped shut again just as you sat down beside him. He was sitting upright, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“C’mon, Joel. You should be in bed,” you said softly. Your fingertips brushed his forehead again, confirming the fever you had felt earlier. “Figures… Ellie says you haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head and tried to dodge your touch. “M’fine, babydoll,” he said like it was a reflex.

“Yeah, you’re fine, I know. You’re always just fine,” you replied. “Wake up a little, though? For me?”

He couldn’t argue with that. Slowly, he rubbed at his eyes and sat up more fully. “...Ellie got you? Shouldn’t of fuckin’ done that…”

“It was fine. It’s barely six, It’s still light out. I’m glad she did.”

He opened his eyes again, looking panicked. “Six? Fuck, I gotta–”

“Six PM, Joel,” you clarified. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, it’s a great time to catch up on some sleep.”

After you grabbed both of his hands and threatened to go get Tommy, he finally relented, letting you help him up from the impression he’d made on the couch. He all but collapsed into bed, hardly putting up a fight when you tugged off his shoes and jeans to get him into something more comfortable.

On second thought, maybe this was more than exhaustion. He didn’t have much recollection of the fever that came with that infected stab wound, not until he dragged himself up from the floor with what dredges of consciousness he had left to find Ellie. This was sort of akin to that hot-and-cold aching feeling. Had a fever when he killed those two men, too.

He groaned audibly at the thought.

“You okay?” Your warm voice rang through the room.

This wasn’t that, though. He was safe. Probably picked something up from being out in the rain with you. Is that how that worked? More likely from the insomnia, which surely must’ve shot his immune system.

“Mhm, yeah… you’re stayin’?” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” You kissed his temple and pushed his hair off of his forehead.

“Why?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you were wondering that yourself. But when Ellie showed up at your door in the rain, her face awash with concern, you didn’t even think twice about coming.

“Ellie was worried about you. I had to come,” you said. “And… the things I said the other week, they– they weren't completely fair to you. I’ll try to make it up to you, if you’ll still let me.”

“Nothin’ to make up for,” he told you, words slurring together.

“I think there is, but–” you sighed. “Get some rest. You need it.”

He fell asleep easily after that.

Joel’s nightmares were so vivid that he woke up feeling like someone had died in his arms all over again. He didn’t know who. When he sat up and looked around the room he saw you asleep, clinging to his arm, and a glass of water on the nightstand next to a mug of tea that went untouched.

He was freezing, shivering under multiple layers. His skin and the fabric clinging to it hurt. Everything hurt. He sucked in a breath, too overwhelmed to do anything about any of it. The only thing he could manage was to call your name out into the dark.

Your bleary eyes met his in an instant and you had to untangle yourself from him to sit up. “Hold on, I’m awake,” you said, clicking on the lamp.

Joel was pale and his eyes were glassy.

“Did something happen? No, just feeling like shit? You’re still so warm… poor thing.”

He shook his head and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. When you opened your arms, he melted right into you.

“Okay, baby. You’re okay, I still got you. Bet your fever’s just spiking.”

After a long while of him in your arms, he spoke up. “M’sorry for what I did,” he whispered. “Thought I was gonna lose you.”

You felt the ache in the wound on your arm that pulled from holding him.

What could you say? That you would just put it past you? That all was forgiven? Was there anything at all that could be said with him in this state, sweating out a fever and shaking in your arms?

After mulling over the entire situation while you had been keeping your distance, you weren’t

sure if he would ever be sorry for pulling the trigger. He was sorry that it hurt you. That the golden image of him in your mind was tainted by what he’d done. That just made you angrier.

For Joel, part of that was true. He wasn’t sorry for pulling the trigger. He’d do it 100 times over, even if there was only a fraction of a chance that it made the difference between you living and you dying. But he was sorry for letting all of his past experiences haunt the decisions he made in the present, and he was sorry that he never did try hard enough to be better for you.

He couldn’t magically change, though. Nobody could.

The fork in the road was clear. To hold onto hope that you could just love Joel deeply enough and some softer, unscarred version of himself would start to appear through the cracks, or to let him go. Let him be who he is, far away from you.

Or maybe, maybe, maybe– keep loving him for who he is now, perhaps even if a little hardened and cruel, in this life with him. Love him deeply enough, love him long enough, and one day who he isn’t won’t matter.

“You won’t lose me. You won’t. We can talk about it more when you’re feeling better.”

And if he ever finds those old pieces of himself, or if you manage to bring them out– you’ll love those, too. And if not?

He brought his face up from your shoulder and took your face into his hands. “I love you. I love y’too much. Don’t lose yourself in all this. Not for me, not for nothin’. Okay? Promise me.”

There wasn’t an ‘if-not.’ The harshness of this life hadn’t taken away his capacity to care about you. To want to give you the world. To love and be loved. Some things, some far away and buried things, the most important things, they had never left him.

And Joel did. He did love you. It was a universal truth. It felt more certain than the sun rising each morning, than the salt in the sea, than the earth spinning on its axis.

“I promise,” you whispered. “I love you, too.”

You made sure Joel got better. Sleep was the best medicine. He was so bone-tired and out of it that you hardly had the chance to say anything else to each other for the next day or so.

You woke on Saturday morning to an empty bed. Joel’s room was tidier, empty mugs and dishes having disappeared from the nightstand along with the clothes that were scattered on the floor.

You could hear Joel and Ellie bickering about something downstairs, and the oaky smell of coffee was permeating the entire house. It made you smile. You wanted to stay in bed and bask in it for a few minutes– that lazy morning feeling, and the growing warmth inside your chest that told you that life could be good again. In the heaviness there was still warmth, light in the darkness, sunshine after the storm.

It was still drizzly out, but everything was remarkably greener. Even the pear trees that were scattered between houses in the neighborhood were blooming. You found yourself looking forward to summer.

After soaking in as much time in bed as you could, you got yourself up and went to check on the commotion in the kitchen. Joel was busy making breakfast– eggs and a few strips of bacon that were sizzling loudly. He had a towel thrown over his shoulder and was gesturing rather aggressively at Ellie with a spatula.

“Come on, how’d you know that one?” Ellie asked incredulously, throwing her hands into the air from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. “It was good, too. Admit it.”

“It was the worst out of all of ‘em,” he retorted.

“Wait, wait, listen to this one– how did Benjamin Franklin feel when he first discovered electricity?”

Joel glared at her over his shoulder. “Shocked?”

She laughed. You were starting to think it was less about the joke itself and much more about Joel’s obvious hatred of them. “You’re killing my flow here, dude!”

He could pretend all he wanted. That smile and the way he shook his head afterwards told you he loved it. Maybe not the joke, but hearing Ellie laugh.

He came over to where you were leaning against the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee and pecking your forehead. You took both things gratefully.

“I see you’re feeling better,” you said, catching him by the arm before he could walk away. “Breakfast, too?”

He nodded, pulling you into him again to kiss you for a little longer. “Mhm. As a thank you for lookin’ after me.”

You smiled against his lips. “I’ll take it, then.”

The three of you sat down to eat together before Ellie, who finished three times faster than either of you, asked if she could meet Tommy at the stables. It was more like a declaration, one that gave Joel no room or time to say yes or no.

You helped him wash and put away dishes, talking and laughing with him about completely mundane things. A part of you hoped that he wouldn’t want to bring up the last few conversations you’d had. This all felt so fragile and you would’ve done anything to keep it intact.

“I got you something,” he said after you’d sat down again. “Shut your eyes.”

Doing as you were told, you brought both hands up to cover your eyes. You could hear him leave the kitchen and bring something in from the dining room.

“‘Kay, open ‘em.”

He’d set a small vase of flowers on the kitchen table. The arrangement was made up of pink and white tulips, interspersed with golden poppies. You’d seen them when you went out with Joel– when you got hurt.

“I went out early this morning. You should see the fields, they’re covered in flowers,” he said. “I went out there to bury that man. Said a prayer for him and all that bullshit. He was alone, you were right. Someone would’ve taken him by now if he wasn’t.” He sat down in the chair next to you, reaching out for your hand. “Thought it was the least I could do… the right thing to do.”

You squeezed his hand as you stared at the flowers. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly. “You’re a good person.”

And somewhere, along the northern edges of a forest, there was a pile of freshly disturbed dirt and a cracked rock in place of a headstone. The rain would still come and wash over Joel’s work, but you hoped that nature would be kind to it. And in a few weeks when the sunlight gave birth to new growth, flowers would spread over the gravesite, too.

“I’m tryin’ to do my best, baby. For you.”

This time, you really did believe in him.

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weretheones · 2 years

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All You Got | Part 6

Part 6: If You Must

Series Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: references to abuse, blood, injury, shock, vomit. A/N: eek I am very excited for you guys to read this one!! pls let me know ur thoughts <3

“House is clean.”

Run-down, old, and dirty. The only thing the single-story home was clean of was decomposing bodies, walking or not. Though, that was all that mattered, anyway.

The living room was quiet. A breeze of early autumn air blew through the open window just behind Daryl’s head. The couch cushioned him, neck stretched out as he leaned back. With whatever energy he had left, he still held the pad of a pillow casing against his left shoulder. But his eyes were low, his skin dull.

You hurried back to his side, taking a kneel beside his sprawled-out legs.

“Still bleeding?”

“Think it's stoppin’.”

“Good,” you sighed. You dug through the bag. “We still have some clean water and bandages.”

That was luck. The only bag you’d made it out of that station with— your bag— had most of the medical supplies, on account of your frequent use and all. Problem was, his bag had most of the food. Inside yours, the provisions weren’t much: a few protein bars, a snack-sized bag of chips, and two cans of food.

You pulled one of the cans out. He’d need it soon.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bout as good as I look,” he groaned.

You held out two ibuprofen. “Take these.”

Daryl’s eyes snapped between you and the pills, and he shook his head.

“Save ‘em.”

“You were shot. Take them.”

He was stubborn, but he didn’t seem so intimidating with that pale look.

“Daryl.”

He gave in with a sigh of his own. Took a swig of that half-full water bottle and popped them in his mouth.

You placed the bottle back down, then straightened yourself up.

“I gotta check it out.”

Daryl’s teeth dug into his cheek, timid eyes glancing over your easy expression, which seemed to counter him in every way. Hesitation took root. Daryl couldn’t stop it. Even after all these years, he’d never figured out how.

You hadn’t let it do the same to you. You were relatively calm, if not a bit tense about the prospect of digging a bullet out of him, but that anxiety hadn’t solidified in you as it had for him.

Something about your composure slowed the growth of those anxious roots, though. And after a noticeable moment of consideration, he nodded.

A moment that had you wondering how deep his pride went; oblivious of any other reason for his apprehension.

You unwrapped your sweater from his shoulder, then reached beyond the frayed edges of his shirt sleeves, where he’d ripped them off, it looked like. The second your fingers touched him, his muscles ignited and flinched.

Oddly, you flinched too, as if you could almost feel your skin burn him. Though your reaction was slight enough that maybe it could’ve been blamed it on nerves, if needed.

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d touched Daryl. No, the two of you broke that boundary the first day you met him and continued to break it every time he grabbed your hand running from the dead or helped wrap your leg. You were sure you afforded him the same gentle touch he’d done for you inside that pharmacy a week ago, and yet, he tensed as if you were about to dig your finger into his wound.

Sure you hadn’t touched like this, with you patching him up, but that didn’t seem to explain his uneasiness, either.

Slowly, you reached out again, and this time he managed to stay still long enough for you to peek underneath the sleeve of his shirt, trying to find the entry point of that bullet between the streams of red. A small, circular wound sat just below his collarbone, red and purple wrapped around it like a ring. Even from this admittedly awkward angle, it looked like the streaks of blood that had been dripping down his arm and side were dry. Relief swept over you at the sight of the wound, no longer leaking a fresh stream of crimson.

Daryl could read it on your face, but he seemed distracted; it didn’t do much to soothe him.

“I need to check for an exit wound.”

The brush of your fingers seemed to instruct him; he repositioned himself so that his back was better visible, even if hunched over, slightly. You climbed onto the couch and sat by his side to get a proper look at the back of his shoulder. The afternoon sunlight pouring in from the window behind guided you, a glimmer of gold landing on freshly bruised skin. It hit his back like a beacon, the warm beat of the sun seemed to make his discomfort double. Which made your brow furrow— you figured once you got through the initial flinch, he would calm, but the more of him you explored, the worse his trepidation got.

Your fingers reached out, even slower than before as you began to become downright distracted by his behaviour. Concern shifted into suspicion. This didn’t feel like a pride issue, not some holdout that he was fine and didn’t need your damn help. No, it felt like he was hiding something, you realized, as a pit deepened in your gut; what didn’t he want you to see?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t at the exit wound itself. He let you peel the edge of his shirt back barely an inch, just enough to see it. This hole was bigger than the first, with bits of frayed skin— like his shirt— from where the bullet had ripped through him. It couldn’t have been any bigger than a nine millimetre, Thank God.

“Looks like it went clean through.”

The bandages and water bottle sat next to you, ready to use.

“I’ll clean and wrap it as best as I can.” You dashed some water on a clean pad of gauze, and tried not to sound strained when you instructed, unsure of his reaction, “You gotta take off your shirt.”

Despite facing his back, you could see the stiffness take hold. His shoulders, even hunched and weak, tightened. Long hair hung in his face, hiding whatever expression he had, but his sudden shift in frame was enough to reveal his restraint.

“I just need this shoulder free. If you need help I can—“

“’S fine.”

You paused, swallowing down that lump of anxiety in your throat. You leaned forward an inch, taking a peek behind that curtain of dark chestnut bangs to glance across his face, wondering if you’d find anger or fear hidden beyond.

As if he could feel your eyes dig into him, his head snapped back.

“Can do it myself.”

Your expression softened, even if his was hard again; defensive, like he’d been all those days ago. The days that felt so much farther than they really were, that made you find comfort in a man you once thought hated you. Days that had encompassed so much that even when faced with that same look, almost as mean as that first day, you only felt concerned.

His hand reached out for the bandages.

“You can’t bandage it yourself, Daryl. You won’t be able to reach.”

For a moment, he seemed to ignore you. That, or he couldn’t even bare himself to look at you. His eyes narrowed on the damp pad of gauze in your hand and nothing else.

Your chin lowered, forcing him to catch your eye despite his tunnel vision. It wasn’t a shock to find his jaw sewn tight, or the taut line of his lips. Though, you hadn’t been expecting to find a glimpse of vulnerability hidden in the cracks of his rigid demeanour. He didn’t seem angry, and the fear across his features was only second to the humiliation staining dark blue eyes.

He was ashamed, not mad.

Softened into a whisper, you pleaded with him, “I just want to help.”

He turned away and nodded. Slow, barely there. It was a quick and silent crumble of his attitude; his intimidating glare slipped off you, right-hand lifting to undo the top buttons of his shirt, one by one.

You took the hesitant permission, nonetheless, gently pulling the fabric off. The shoulder of his shirt fell loose, and there was blood trailing down the side of his back, but that wasn’t what made you freeze.

Daryl had scars. Even in that relatively small expanse of his bare skin, only the upper left corner of his back, little ones were scattered. Thin white lines, some pink, marking different patterns. You couldn’t even guess what those were from— cuts that never fully healed? Then there were the big ones, the ones you didn’t even want to guess anything about.

It felt wrong.

Every inch of Daryl’s resistance made sense then. And hell, he deserved that. Not to be exposed raw to a woman he barely knew because it was either that or a nasty infection. Not to have her sat behind him, gawking at the thick, raised ridges across his shoulder.

So you didn’t— wouldn’t let yourself, even if you’d never seen that shade of reddish purple look so cruel before. You managed to hold back the gasp that was caught in your throat. Made sure that every breath you took was quiet, and not stark against the otherwise silent air. There was no certainty that any of it was the right thing to do, but it felt the least wrong.

A drop of blood was still wet, catching in the sunlight. You clenched your jaw and got to work cleaning the back of his shoulder.

And you didn’t say a word.

The silence that followed was tense. Only broken with the occasional gust of wind and Daryl’s small whimpers when you got too close to the wound, and he couldn’t bite his tongue anymore without taking the thing off.

Ten minutes later he was still pale. Maybe even more so than before. You grabbed a roll of gauze and started to wrap his shoulder. Since you’d cleared the house, your thoughts had been anything but subtle. Trying to think of something to say, something to do. But everything felt misguided; every ‘I’m sorry this happened to you’ or ‘are you okay?’ that came to mind felt disingenuous, like it was meant to make you comfortable, rather than him.

He was chewing on his thumb now, elbow propped on his knee as he sat still and let you work. He seemed okay, at first glance, but you were starting to understand that the mindless gnawing, whether it be at his thumb or cheek, meant he was falling deeper and deeper in thought.

That seemed to push you to speak; even if you still weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do, it seemed a better choice than letting Daryl spiral further.

“You’re not scared of your own blood, are you?”

Daryl was silent for a moment, then seemed to choke out, “Jus’ tired.”

You nodded.

His voice got stronger and started to sound more like him, again. “Seen enough’a it to not be scared.”

It made sense, considering the scars.

But you wouldn’t bring that up.

“You get shot a lot?” you asked, instead.

“Only once ‘fore.”

“And hopefully not again.”

Daryl huffed at the quip. It was a sweet relief to that tension lingering over you two.

“Used to sell blood when I was a kid, though.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Merle made me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Merle?”

“My brother.”

Jesus. He did sound like an asshole.

You bit your tongue, again.

“Merle and Daryl…” you hummed.

Daryl filled in the blank, “Dixon.”

You paused.

“Daryl Dixon,” you repeated. “Suits you.”

He huffed at that, and sensing he didn’t want you to pry into anything related to his brother, or whatever other blood family he’d had, you asked another question.

“How’d you get shot the first time?”

“Accident.”

“And you got shot?”

“One’a our group thought I was a walker.”

You glanced down at him, realizing that he wasn’t joking when that serious expression didn’t slip. In fact, he had a small smirk on his lips, like he could read your mind.

A laugh bubbled up.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, “It’s just, had they ever seen a walker?”

He scoffed, “I wasn’t, uh, in the best’a shape when it happened.”

You gave him a questioning look.

“Had an arrow to the side, blood runnin’ down my chin, covered in mud. Dead man walking wasn’t too big’a leap.”

“What the hell happened to you?”

“’S a long story.”

You continued to bandage his shoulder. It was better from him to stay awake and talking, so you shrugged. “We got time.”

Daryl went quiet. It was only then you realized that was another nerve.

“Unless you don’t want to—“

“It ain’t a happy story, neither,” he muttered your name at the end as if to soften the blow.

You gave him an understanding smile. “I got some of those too.”

Of course, he knew that. His eyes fell to the specs of blood on your cheek, uncertain if it was his or theirs.

A soft tension drifted into the room. It settled over that old couch; Daryl’s figure and you kneeling by his side. It smelt like that soap he’d given you this morning, if it’d been mixed with a hint of iron.

“Hey. I wanna thank ya for wha' ya did,” he mumbled. “It couldn’t’a been easy.”

It was a lot easier than you thought it’d be.

You looked down at your hands, vision foggy from the sudden swarm of guilt.

“It wasn’t hard, either.”

You remembered the first time you killed someone. That woman in the woods. The one who tried to kill you first. That was hard. Mitch and the others were different. You knew them. Knew the bad ran deep.

Irredeemable.

Sometimes, when you fell deep into that pit, you worried you might’ve been the same.

“Some of them were always bad. I get that now.”

“Still,” he mumbled, “shouldn’t’a had to do tha’.”

“I’ve done worse.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Don’t make it right.”

That shut you up quickly. Halted amongst thoughts of guilt and regret. It was a fine line trying to keep yourself from slipping into that pit of self-doubt, and lately, it felt like you were losing grip of the edge.

Daryl’s unfiltered stare, heavy eyelids dropping low as he scanned your expression— the way you mindlessly bit your lip, the gloss of your eyes— seemed to narrow in on your cracks. That quiet look slipped through, just barely, but enough that it felt like there was a soft blanket wrapped around you. A slow, cautious warmth lifting you just an inch.

Just an inch.

Your eyes were still glass, thoughts still mean. Daryl could see through it, too.

He grumbled, “Ya gotta stop that.”

Your eyes focused again.

“Stop what?”

“Gettin' in your head. Spiralling. Don't do nothin’ but make ya upset.”

That warmth caught flame, it felt like. A slow burn of cynicism in your chest.

“You think you know my head?”

You were a damn hypocrite, scolding him like that.

“I know tha' look on your face,” he said. “I know ya beat yourself up ‘bout it every chance ya get.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

He blinked. You knew he would.

See? Hypocrite.

“When we were back in the station and they offered to take me in after they were gonna kill you…” dejected words paused, mouth still parted in thought. It was only when you finally looked away from the blood smeared across your fingers and met Daryl’s eye that you regained your voice. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“Wasn’t sure.”

You exhaled a heavy breath, asking the real question plaguing you.

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed. Nonchalant in the lazy shrug he gave, but his eyes had a lingering tendency to betray his true feelings.

“You’re patching me up, ain’t ya?”

If it wasn’t for that look in his eye, a subtle hint of empathy lighting up those baby blues, you would’ve asked for a direct answer. But the vague proclamation was surprisingly satisfying; warmth bloomed inside you, though it wasn’t anything like that flicker of anger that caught, earlier.

“Did you think I was going to go with them?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, lips drawn in a tight line. “Ya didn’t.”

The last spark of that bitter flame seemed to simmer out, then.

“You’re right ‘ere.”

Reduced to ashes.

Maybe absentminded wasn’t the word. No, but something had shifted in your eyes. Made Daryl feel like you were looking at him with more appreciation than ever— and he’d saved your life before.

The way your hand reached up was careful enough that he managed to hold back the worse of his flinch. The soft pads of your fingers brushed along his forehead, collecting his bangs to the side. If it wasn’t for the way he blinked, awkward and a bit too quick, like something caught in his eye, you might’ve not even noticed what you were doing. Once you did, though, you paused, touch lingering before you had the wits to let your hand fall to your lap again. A blush crept up your neck, pooling at your cheeks, even after your timid eyes had fallen to your lap, too.

“How’s your head?” you excused, weakly.

“’S fine,” he cleared his throat. “Pills are helpin’.”

“Good. Let’s hope you don’t get a concussion.”

Daryl offered a small nod.

“Do you need me to check out your ribs or…?”

“‘M fine. Doesn’t feel like he broke anythin’.”

You gave a small smile, hoped that he wouldn't notice the way you wiped your suddenly sweaty palms along your jeans, then stood up.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat. You alright if I—?”

“Mhm.”

Without the worry of Daryl bleeding out, you took your time scavenging the house. Checking every drawer and cupboard you could find, paying special attention to the kitchen’s supply. The sole bag you had left was relatively empty of provisions— it put you on edge, especially since you had no idea how long it would take for Daryl’s wound to heal. With your hunter out of commission and every store you’d come across in this town raided to hell and back, this kitchen was the only hope between you and starvation.

You found a couple cans of tuna, corn, and a quarter-full bag of rice. Of course, you didn’t have much water to cook it in, so the tuna and corn had to make do, for the time being. You found two bowls in the cabinet, wiped them of dust, and split an unappetizing mixture of the two between them. One bowl was substantially fuller than the other.

It was something, but not nearly enough to settle that uneasy feeling in your gut. What you needed was Daryl’s bag, probably still sitting in the backlot of the gas station you’d fled just an hour ago.

“Here.”

He took the bowl you offered. Of course, it was the one piled high.

“How much ya havin’?”

You shrugged. “I’m fine. Not too hungry.”

Lie.

His glare flickered up to you, drawn in by that raise in your tone.

“Weren’t you the one tha’ insisted on sharin’?” He raised a brow.

You rolled your eyes, then curled into the far corner of the couch. “I said I’m fine.”

“I know wha’ ya sound like when ya lie.”

Your expression fell. So did his. He felt bad— you could tell now that the blood loss drained him of whatever energy he needed to keep up his typical facade.

“Gimme your bowl.”

He tossed some more into yours, and you bit back your protests.

It was as if he could hear them, anyway.

“Ya gotta eat, too,” he reasoned while he spilt the portions evenly.

That and the rumble in your stomach were convincing, enough.

Distracted by his injury, Daryl hadn’t had the chance to even think about food, water, or anything else. His tone lowered after he took a much-needed bite.

“How much we got left?”

“Not enough.”

You took a bite too.

“I might go back tomorrow. See if I can find your bag—“

“— No.”

You swallowed. “It’s not far.”

His stern gaze settled on you.

“It ain’t worth it, neither.”

“The herd could’ve moved on.”

“Don’t matter. They’d still be close.”

You held your breath. Daryl was solid in his position, not even your voice of reason was able to budge him.

“’S too risky.”

“Alright,” you muttered, but weren’t convinced.

—

Getting Daryl to the single bedroom on the opposite side of the home was manageable now. He followed you, even if his steps were a bit heavier than usual, and collapsed on the bed. It was old, probably as old as the floral curtains covering the window. Springs squeaked underneath his weight, but he found a spot that was comfortable for both his bruised body and wounded shoulder.

Not long after, he was finally sleeping, with a soft glow of evening light cascading through the windows. There was maybe an hour before sunset, you estimated. Standing by the doorway, keeping an eye on him, you stared at the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The seconds ticked by, then minutes, and you started to feel like you were invading on his rest. Disturbing his privacy for the second time, today. With quiet steps, you walked down that thin hallway back to the living room.

The house was locked up tight, windows sturdy enough, and curtains drawn. It was safe.

Something still gnawed at you, though.

Your eyes flickered to the already dwindling supplies piled beside the couch— your bed for the night.

The anxious feeling in your gut laid even heavier at the sight, and that was just about all you could take, anymore.

Screw it.

You stuffed that pistol with four bullets left into your back pocket, then slipped out the front door. The walk wasn’t too long anyway. Even though you’d been in the thick of panic when you'd first approached the home, the curve of the road was memorable. You were able to sneak your way back to the gas station without coming across a single walker— biter— whatever.

The herd had moved on, it seemed. Bloody footprints scattered the road, painting a trail from where the dead had come from and where they’d gone, after a feast. Birdsong caught in the breeze, the early autumn air carrying a new chill to it; the third winter of this world was approaching, which meant this probably wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to scour a dangerous spot for supplies.

If you were lucky, you wouldn't have to do it alone, though.

You walked across the road, quiet steps landing on those dark stains. The front door was still open, a brighter trail of red drops leading out, like a warning sign. The thought of Emily and Ross’ cold bodies lying inside, likely half-eaten, made your stomach turn.

There wasn’t much to grab in the store, anyway. Neither of them had bags on their backs, and the station had already been scavenged by you and Daryl. You stuck to the brick wall, instead, jogging down the side of the building until the backlot was visible again.

A scan of the area was supposed to settle that quickening pace of your heart; confirm that the herd had moved on, their attack a moment of the past.

The sight of no stray biters wasn’t a relief when the backside of the building was painted in dried blood and guts. Right in the centre of the massacre lay a body, or what was left of it. Back lying in a pool of dark red, left arm practically chewed off at the elbow, ribs cracked open and picked to the damn bone.

A chunk of his cheek was missing, but you knew those empty eyes.

You blinked once— twice— then stepped out into the empty lot.

Daryl’s bag sat where you’d left it. You slid it over your shoulders and tried not to think about Lee’s corpse behind you. The smell of early decomposition. His wide-eyed stare burning into your back.

It worked— for about ten steps, but then you were folded over and vomiting. Tuna and corn, mixed with whatever else you ate for dinner yesterday. You couldn't even remember, it felt like weeks ago. Burning bile lingered in your mouth even after you’d managed to catch your breath and stand up again.

A fresh amber coloured the sky. Clouds were smudged with mellow pinks and dark blues as the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve and took another step. You got farther that time, though the journey back was muddled with the taste of vomit and that bright glow of orange ahead. It felt like a daze, like you weren’t even in control of your body. Steps just happened, one after the other, without a thought to guide them. You hadn’t registered that you’d been following that same irregular stone path back until your glazed eyes landed on Daryl.

You could see him through the window, pacing the room in a huff.

At first, he didn’t see you.

Though, when you moved onto the porch, he seemed to hear the creek of old wood underneath those dreamlike steps of yours. When you opened the front door, he was already in the hallway, bow hanging from his right hand.

Your eyes narrowed on it. You mumbled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Where the hell were ya?” he snapped.

You ignored him. Not on purpose, at least you didn’t think so. But that bow was all you could pay attention to right now, how lifting it would strain him further, maybe make him bleed again. It wasn’t like you’d had the supplies to stitch him up properly— you weren't a doctor, just a girl with a roll of gauze and some wishful thinking.

“It’s too heavy, you’ll hurt yourself again.” You stepped forward and grabbed the bow from his grip.

He let you take it, but didn’t seem to calm down, either.

“You hearin’ me?” he huffed. “I thought I told ya to stay!”

You blinked, his aggression clearing a bit of the fog. The crossbow propped up against the wall, you turned to face him and shook your head.

“We needed the food,” you said matter of fact as the bag slipped off your shoulders.

Daryl’s narrow glare met your vacant eyes, in the brief moment you let it. The hollow look on your face seemed to worry him, and his demeanour shifted just as you turned into the kitchen.

He followed.

“What’s wrong with ya?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shakin’.”

You inhaled a slow breath as if it’d help stop the trembling of your fingers. They felt cold, almost numb. It was nothing more than an annoyance, you convinced yourself, as you started to unpack the bag.

That stare of his burned into you, sizzling at the cool sheet of sweat coating your skin. He watched you fill the counter with one can, then another, then a bottle of water, and so on. A feeling of dread weighed in Daryl’s gut, spreading through him as every second ticked by, even lodging in his throat.

“Did ya get bit?” he rasped.

That made you pause. You placed the last can down and looked up at him with a tired, displeased expression.

“No.”

“Scratched?”

“The herd was gone.”

Remnants of the fog started to burn then, prickling at the corner of your eyes. You turned your back to Daryl, heading back into the living room where all you wanted to do was collapse on that old couch and sleep for the next day.

He wouldn’t afford you the luxury; a heavy hand landed on your shoulder, turning you to face him again. The first thing he noticed were the tears in your eyes— and really, once he’d seen them, it was hard to notice anything else. You were crying— he didn’t even know why, and yet that dreadful feeling in his stomach twisted into guilt. Maybe he should’ve left well enough alone, maybe then his heart wouldn’t be pounding against his ribs; it was a good thing he wasn’t still bleeding because it’d be pumping out of him even faster now.

But you’d shown him care and understanding every step of the way, so maybe he couldn’t let it rest, anyway. He owed you. Even if you didn’t seem to know it, he did.

Daryl had never been one for comfort, though.

“You’re cryin’,” he said pointlessly.

You took a step back, shaking his lingering hand off your shoulder. Your lips parted, eyes narrowed. A page from his book, it seemed.

“You asked me how many people I killed, right?” You drawled. Slow and calculated, like even the effort to speak was too much.

“It's five now.”

His expression fell.

“I have killed more people today than I did in the last two years. I’m tired, Daryl. I’m hungry and you’re hurt and—“

You closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I—“ you practically whimpered, “I just need to sleep.”

You did. Floorboards creaking under your exhausted steps, until you reached the couch.

His eyes lingered on the wooden cabinets behind where you’d been standing, long after you had left.

—

For all the fuss of the night before, morning came smoothly. The sun’s rays were lazy as they reached the trees surrounding the porch. One was brave enough to reach your foot, warming the bare patch of skin between your sock and jean cuff.

The porch swing was creaky, but you kind of liked the noise. A soft squeak amongst quiet birdsong carried in the breeze. It was better than whatever odd silence Daryl had fallen into. And the sight of the desolate gravel road, in all its eeriness, was better than those sympathetic looks he’d been giving you all morning.

You could feel his concern, even if he wasn’t saying it outright. Whether he wasn’t willing or able, you weren’t sure, but your bet was on the latter; Daryl’s comforts were often awkward and blunt, like how he’d been in the pharmacy, or when you talked about your brother. It didn’t seem to matter to him that his apprehension made his words, somehow, more endearing when you could tell he was stewing about what to say— the right thing. That, when he finally did speak, you didn't care matter much how it came out, not when he tended to them with that much care and consideration.

Knowing all that, dwelling on it between dreamless sleep during a long night on the couch, only made that guilt inside of you fester.

So when you felt that stare dig into you again, all you wanted to do was apologize.

Those two words hung in the air, I’m sorry, between you and Daryl. He was lingering by the front door, leaning on the opposite end of the porch railing with his left foot crossed in front of the other. His good arm reached back to grab the rail.

He shook his head, “‘S fine. Shouldn’t’a pushed ya.”

“You were worried.”

He gave you a shy smile, perking up just the corner of his mouth.

“I’m alright,” you said.

“Alright.”

“I am,” you reiterated, feeling that hesitant look he had stain you.

He nodded again, and your mask almost slipped away. Why was it so hard to put on that false bravado around him? You’d practiced your whole life, after all.

There was something about the way his stare burned into you that just felt raw, not necessarily in a negative way. It was just an innate knowledge that he saw past you, and could pick out every bit of you, good or bad.

Maybe it had something to do with that first day he found you, broken at your lowest point. It’d exposed you to him, bare, and no matter how hard you tried to hold that confidence, he already knew what was lying beneath.

You looked back to the road.

“I found Lee’s body.”

The porch creaked underneath his shifting weight.

“That’s why I— why I came back the way I was.”

You clenched your jaw and composed yourself.

“When Bri— the Governor said we had to attack, they were the first to volunteer. Emily, Mitch, Ross." You swallowed. "Lee… he was hardened, but I thought he could be kind. He tried to help me.”

“Wha’d ya mean?”

“He understood why I didn’t want to fight. The others always thought I didn’t know how.” You shook your head. “But he used to tell me how I could be tougher. Brave.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed.

“Tha’s bullshit.”

He stood up straight, lifting off the rail to take a step closer to you.

“Helluva lot harder to ask questions first.” He shook his head. “Tha’ ain’t weak at all.”

A breeze shifted by as you met his eye. He had his colour back, most of it at least, and seemed to be growing back into his typical self. Surly, strong, sweet.

“I was a dumbass before,” he muttered, with a soft, almost shy look about him. “Thought if I didn’t throw the first punch I’d already lost. Sure as hell didn’t think I needed anyone.”

His eyes flickered over your tepid expression, then fell to his hands in front of him, intertwined.

“Till I realized it was jus’ a buncha bullshit Merle taught me.”

The swing creaked when you stood up. Rusted hinges whining as you stepped in front of Daryl and carefully wrapped your arms around him. His muscles turned to stone under your touch, no matter how gentle it was, but he didn’t pull away, either.

You took a deep breath. Daryl smelt like the forest, sweet and earthy.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, cheek pressed to his chest.

He shrugged softly before you felt the rumble of his voice. The tickle of his breath in your hair.

“Jus’ the truth.”

-> part 7

A/N: I love this part sm and I hope u did too! the next few should be interesting-- I have soooo many ideas and plans but, as always, I'll see where the story takes me. were getting into the thick of it now mwahahah

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this fic. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #the walking dead #norman reedus #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon / reader #daryl / reader #daryl / you #daryl x you #Daryl Dixon / you #Daryl Dixon x you #twd #twd fanfiction #Daryl Dixon series #all you got

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bookshelf-dust · 2 years

Text

something like that.

eddie munson x fem!henderson!reader

word count: 3,795

warnings: swearing, smoking (tobacco usage), mentions of anxiety and insecurities, reader doesn’t have a friend group :(( sexual innuendos, teeny bit of angst, mostly fluff

a/n: in case of any confusion, in my head, this is a world where Vecna will not be happening, so the kids start high school like normal, and Eddie joins the gang, etc. etc., chaos and teenagedom ensue. also, reader and will talk about boys!! eek!! anyways, i wanted to write more for eddie, and just went ham and this is what happened. and i love sleepovers!! and dusty bun!! i hope you like it! <333 also!!! i have a little over a hundred followers?? that's crazy to me!! i am thankful for every last one of you little squishies (even though i still need to check for bots). <333

————

Hellfire had ended about half an hour ago and from what it sounded like now, only Eddie was left, helping Dustin clean up out in the living room. It was getting late, after midnight.

The school was actually putting on a theater production for once, so they’d been temporarily kicked out of the drama room, Dustin’s house being the decided place of meeting until they could go back.

You grabbed for the towel sitting next to the sink on the counter whilst trying to blink the water off of your eyelashes. Patting your face dry, you straightened, hearing footsteps outside of the bathroom door.

They weren’t Dustin’s, who’s were always heavy—like a stomp—but were just a bit lighter, the strides further apart. Eddie. It wasn’t like you were hiding, seeing as you’d left the bathroom door open to begin with.

The steps stopped, the sound of knuckles on a doorframe. You peeked over the top of your now-wet towel. Eddie’s hands were behind his back, a kind sort of grin on his face. “How can I help you this evening, Mr. Munson?” You asked, drawing a snort from the boy.

You lowered the towel, drying off your arms where the water had run down.

“I have been instructed by the younger Henderson that I should ‘just stay the night’ due to the current time. Wanted to let you know. Do you know where my toothbrush is?”

His statement didn’t shock you, nor bother you. It wasn’t the first time Eddie had stayed after a long night of vigorous D&D playing. That was why Dustin had a trundle bed, after all. For sleepovers. Now the lower mattress just had a twenty year old amongst the Star Wars sheets as opposed to a fifteen year old Will or Lucas.

You tossed the towel back on the counter, crouching to dig around under the sink, looking for the red travel container belonging to Eddie’s Henderson-Household-toothbrush. Finding purchase, you stood, holding it out to him.

“For your dental hygiene, my liege.”

“Thank you.”

You returned to putting moisturizer on your face, passing Eddie the toothpaste from where you’d left it moments ago. You smirked at him in the mirror where he had foam all over his mouth, and he bumped your shoulder with his.

Spitting and rinsing his mouth clean, he turned to you. “May I use some of that, M’lady? My skin has been shit lately.”

“Sure thing.” You held the container of lotion aloft, allowing him to dip his finger into the contents a few times, dabbing the cream onto his face.

“Thank you,” he said, watching you screw the lid closed. You observed him as he rubbed it in, fingers swiping over the circles under his eyes, his tongue poking out in concentration. You tried to not stare, not to think about how it would feel to do it yourself.

“Better?”

“Much.” You patted him on the shoulder, heading off to bed.

Flopping down on your mattress, you took the chance to breathe.

You had feelings for Eddie. They’d been almost instantaneous after you got to know him through Dustin. After you saw the way he welcomed your younger brother, how excited he got to have new members in his club. The way he was always sweet to you, always thanked you for putting up with them when Hellfire met at your home.

And there were those times that he’d smile at you, his gaze lingering for just a little too long. The time you’d come home late after spending too long at the bookstore, and thought you had interrupted Dustin hanging out with his friends. Max had come over to see what you’d bought, like always, and Eddie had asked you to watch a movie with them.

And one day you’d smacked into him in the hall at school, and he’d taken one look at you and known. Known you were stressed. He could feel your hands shake as he steadied you, see the worry in your eyes. He’d asked you to sit with him at lunch, and no one had asked any questions. He’d told you he’d always be around if you wanted to talk.

Things like this made you wonder. Wonder whether he was just being nice to Dustin’s older sister, or if he maybe in some way cared about you a little more.

Because he was so sweet. Maybe he was like this with everyone, even if he could be a little intimidating sometimes.

You just didn’t know. But really, when you thought about it, and you did, you weren’t his type. You were quiet, lacking a friend group. He was the opposite of you. There was no way.

————

You pattered down the hall, pulling a sweatshirt over your head, in search of sustenance. Dustin had slept with the door cracked, and you peeked in, seeing both him and his older friend passed out. You pretended like the skin of Eddie’s back that you could see where his shirt had ridden up didn’t affect you.

You dug around in the freezer, in search of the Eggo’s you knew were hidden in the back. Scrambling for purchase, you latched on to the chilly box, and went to shut the door.

“Fuck!” You jumped at the figure that had materialized during your search.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Eddie chuckled, reaching to tie up his sleep matted hair.

“You’re fine. I just thought everyone else was still sleeping.” You opened the box, ripping at the plastic wrap separating you and waffles. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the packaging.

“We have waffles, clearly. There’s cereal, or I can make you something. Like toast, or…” you paused, thinking. “That’s it actually.” Eddie smiled at you and you swear your heart felt like it was going to fly out of your chest and onto the floor in front of you, gory as that may seem.

“Waffles are fine. You don’t have to make them, though. I do know how to use a toaster.”

“You’re the guest, Munson. And technically, I’m in charge, so I can’t have you setting the kitchen aflame this early in the morning.” He was smiling at you again, those big brown eyes seemingly putting you in a trance. “How many do you want?”

Eddie tapped his finger thoughtfully against his chin. “Four.”

You took four waffles out of the box and popped all of them in the toaster, thankful your mom had bought one with that many spots. “Do you want them burnt? How done do you like them?” You asked, fingers waiting above the dial before pressing the lever.

“However you do yours is just fine.” You rolled your eyes at him, moving to get the syrup out of the fridge.

Eddie watched you move around the kitchen. He liked watching you, seeing your mind work as you pulled out plates and forks and butter. He didn’t think anyone had the right to be this gorgeous this early in the day, eyes still puffy from sleep, sheet marks on your cheek.

You spun around aimlessly in the kitchen, waiting for his waffles to finish, trying not to think about how pretty he looked. How he had on these sweatpants he’d left over and his ass looked fucking exquisite. Stop. “Sleep okay?”you inquired, trying to quit your middle-school-crushing.

Eddie laughed. It was gravely and deep and comforting. “Yeah. I know that mattress is a twin, but it’s much better than my one at home. Dustin does snore though, you know that?”

“It’s horrendous. Always has been.”

The waffles popped up at that exact moment, making you jump and then turn around to retrieve them. You put them on a plate, then popped your three in while you opened the butter for Eddie and handed him a knife.

By the time he finished buttering and syruping, your waffles were done and he passed the accoutrements off to you. You picked up your finished plate and realized he was waiting on you. “I’m going to eat these in my room, unless you want to sit out here. But I got in trouble for getting syrup on the couch and the dining chairs hurt my ass.” He laughed again.

“Can I join you?”

“That was the point, Munson.”

You plopped down on your bed, spreading a napkin over your lap. Eddie sat leaning against the wall, long legs crisscrossed, his knee almost touching yours.

“Are your Eggo’s up to par?”

He nodded enthusiastically at you. “Yep.”

The both of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, munching away. But then you looked up at him, and Eddie reached out, wiping syrup off of your cheek where it had apparently taken refuge. That was all fine and dandy. But then he raised his thumb to his mouth, and sucked the substance off of his skin, keeping eye contact with you. Suddenly it was very hot. You felt like you needed to take your sweatshirt off.

“You like the syrup that much?” What else were you going to say? Shit, you had to be fucking beet red.

“Something like that.”

————

Ever since The Waffle Incident, as you’d creatively named it, you’d been trying to avoid Eddie, for the most part, or at least not bother him. It wasn’t so much avoiding as it was just not crossing his path as often.

There was no possible way he could have feelings for you. You were his best buddies older sister, for fucks sake. You were probably a nuisance.

Always taking Dustin places, hanging around the house when they played. Eddie probably thought you were fucking obnoxious.

You just didn’t want to bug him. He was trying to finish school, plan campaigns, spend time with his friends before things changed. You were just some girl who’d come along with her sibling.

Shit, Dustin was your only friend. Best to not think about your feelings anymore.

But you couldn’t stop replaying that moment in your head. “Something like that.”

Today though, your mom had asked you to pick up Dusty from Hellfire because she had book club. So here you were, parked a little outside the doors where they usually let out, the school play finally done and the drama room available to them once again.

Dustin practically leapt out to the car, dying to tell you that he'd won the campaign, beat the shit out of the ogre that was meant to have killed him. He related all of this once you berated him for not yet having his seatbelt latched, going on about dice numbers—stuff you still didn’t entirely comprehend. You’d played with him a couple times, but lately he’d abandoned teaching you.

"I invited everyone over for a sleepover on Friday. So if you could make yourself scarce, that'd be great. I'd tell you to go out with your friends or something, but..." He cocked his head, screwing his face up in pity.

"Damn." You tried not to feel hurt, considering he was right about your failures in the friend department. “Who’s everyone? Also, didn’t you just have a sleepover with Eddie?”

“Jealous, are we? Max and Lucas. Mike.” He held up his hands, counting off with his fingers. “Gareth and Eddie. Jeff has to babysit.”

“Thrilling,” you trailed off. “Wait, what about—”

“Will? Yes, your favorite shall also be in attendance.” You laughed in triumph.

Maybe you shouldn’t have favorites of your brother’s friends, but Will was too good for this world.

————

It was just after dinner when Will had made his way down the hall to your bedroom. He was now sat next to you while you talked to Joyce, who Will had promised to call like always--at least twice--with an update of his activities and assurance that everything was okay.

You told Joyce that he was doing really, really good. This was one of the first few "normal" experiences he was trying to get back in the hang of, considering starting high school had been so tough on him.

It was hard to tell when it really started, maybe when Dustin brought him to the park one day forever ago. Will and you were the quiet ones, but the ones that could get oh so excited about things you were probably to old to be getting excited about.

He was just a really, really sweet kid. And he'd been through more than enough trauma for a lifetime.

You handed the phone off to Will, who answered his mom's questions begrudgingly, albeit with a smile on his face. "I know mom, I promise I'm having fun and I swear I will call you if I need something. But--y--yeah, Y/N is here. I know. I love you, too mom." He leaned over to set the receiver back in its place.

"What movie are you guys watching tonight?"

"Weird Science. You know, the one with your boyfriend in it."

"Robert Downey Jr. or Anthony Michael Hall? You're gonna have to be more specific." Will looked at you in shock.

"Anthony? Really? I thought we were bonding over brown eyes, I didn't even know you liked him."

Will had told you about his feelings more than anyone else besides Jonathan. He was working on Joyce. Not everyone knew yet. Specifically that he liked boys and he was more than happy to gush over them with you.

A knock at the door. "Yeah? You can come in. He's super cute, Will."

Eddie appeared, curls bouncing, propped against the door frame. "Who's 'super cute'?"

“Me.” You said, feigning confidence.

“That is true.” What the fuck was wrong with him?

Eddie turned to look at Will, a smirk on his face, pretending he hadn’t just said that. “I was asked to see if you were ready to watch the movie.” Will told him he was and smiled at you before stealing your blanket and fleeing the room.

“You comin’?” Eddie asked you and you shook your head.

“I was told to remain scarce. Besides, I’ve seen it loads.” Eddie pushed off the wall, walking to your bed and perching where Will had been.

“So you’re just gonna sit in here all night?”

“No. I’m gonna read. This isn’t the first sleepover I’ve had to stay out of, Eddie.” You sounded kind of annoyed, without really meaning to.

He put a hand on your knee. “Did I piss you off? I feel like I haven’t really seen you lately.”

“No, of course you didn’t piss me off. We just run in different circles, Eddie.”

To him, you sounded tired.

Something clicked in Eddie’s mind at that comment. You didn’t think that he could possibly give a shit about you. Maybe you thought he shouldn’t give a shit about you.

But Eddie knew how he felt. He liked you. He liked you a whole-fucking-lot, and seeing you clearly upset over something, maybe him, really hurt him.

“Go watch the movie, Eddie. Hang out with your pubescent friends.” You smiled at him, but you were still rubbing your head, trying to prevent a stress headache from forming.

Eddie sighed, but left anyways, and you immediately wished he hadn’t.

————

There was another knock on your door. You glanced at the red numbers on your side table, it was after midnight. Again. Dustin was quite the snooze, and you didn’t know who would be up. “Yeah?”

Your door opened, slowly, slowly. Curls. Eddie. Eddie in plaid pajama pants and a Black Sabbath shirt. “You’re awake.”

“It’s only midnight.” He snorted at your statement moving into your room and shutting the door behind him.

“Come with me,” he said, making you close your book.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside. Everyone else is asleep. Every last one of those little shits.” He dug around in his pocket, pulling free a pack of Marlboros, and then holding out his hand, beckoning you. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”

You led the way down the hall and through the living room, tiptoeing around the mattresses Dustin had drug out from his room, the blanket piles, the pillows. Although you couldn’t help but notice how closely Will and Mike were sleeping next to each other. How Dustin was definitely drooling on Gareth. How Lucas held Max on the couch.

You unlocked the door, holding it open just so to prevent creaking, and Eddie slipped out before you.

The both of you plopped on the porch steps. “Is this okay?” Eddie held his lighter aloft. You told him it was fine.

Eddie was careful to blow the smoke away from you, but he kept a knee touching you the whole time.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

Yeah, actually. You were. You didn’t have the energy to keep dragging it on any longer. What good was it going to do keeping it in?

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I have feelings for you.” Eddie’s head swung towards you from where it had been watching the ash fall for his cigarette.

“But maybe it’s that you’re friends with my brother. You’re his friend, not mine, and you don’t have to keep pretending to be. Because you being nice to me is a little too much lately. You don’t have to act like you care because I’m related to Dustin. You don’t have to pretend your friends with me too.”

“Because I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type, Eddie. And I’m not entirely sure that I should even be telling you this. I’m half sure you think I’m a nuisance.”

Eddie rose, stepped away from the stairs, moved to stand in front of you. His eyebrows were pinched together, and he looked frustrated.

“Listen to me, yeah?” Another drag, turn of the head to blow the smoke out into the night air. “I don’t really think you get to tell me who I like. And it’s killin’ me that you think I couldn’t like you because I’m friends with your brother. That you’re, what, just his sister and what you feel doesn’t matter?”

He dropped the cigarette, snubbed it out with his shoe, and then picked the butt up and tossed into the outside trash bin.

Eddie crouched in front of you, setting his hands on the brick on either side of you. “Is that what you think?”

“Eddie—”

“Don’t. Tell me.”

“Dustin got to high school and found you guys. He’s happy. He’s doing well, for the first time in a long time. I haven’t had any of that. I’m not going to take that away from him. You’re his friend, Eddie. And you’re so sweet to everyone, so maybe you’ve just been being sweet to me. I just—I’m not like you. I wouldn’t expect you to feel anything for me.”

Eddie felt like he’d been shoved to the ground. He could practically feel the cold of concrete beneath his fingertips as if he had. Feel the sting of shallow scrapes and dirt in the cuts.

“I do, though. I feel a lot for you.” He swept his thumb across your cheek. “I don’t know, maybe it’s your laugh. The way you went red when I got the syrup off your face.” Another swipe. “That you knew where my toothbrush was. The way you move around. How much you love Dustin and how I can see it. How you are with Will the Wise."

“I might have shepherded your little lost sheepie of a brother, but I’m not just putting up with you because I have to. I’m not just being nice to you. And you’re not a nuisance. Not in the slightest. What if I wanted you, huh?”

“‘Cause I do. And I don’t wanna hear shit about you ‘not being my type,’” he used air quotes for emphasis, and you took a moment to look at his bare hands, Sharpie marks along his fingers. When he put them down again, rather than land on the steps, they landed on your knees.

“I don’t know what you think my type is. But it’s you.”

Eddie looked at you with watery brown eyes. You reached out and tapped your index finger on his nose, and his face split in a grin, smile lines forming around his mouth.

“What was that for?”

“You’re just really sweet. I love your nose.”

“Yeah?” He nuzzled his nose against your cheek, making you laugh.

“Yeah. Come inside with me.” You reached for his hand, pulling him up with you.

You turned to the door, opening it carefully and sneaking back in. You peeked in, thinking everyone was still asleep.

What you didn’t know was that Will had woken up, and caught the two of you walking down the hall. But he knew about your thing for brown eyes, and found himself going right back to sleep. Since you were so good at keeping his secret, he was perfectly capable of minding his own business about this.

————

“Do you wanna sleep in here with me? I know my bed is a twin, but we could make it work. Unless you want to go back out in the living room.”

Eddie kicked his shoes off and then pulled off his socks.

“A sleepover? You want me to sleep in your bed? I love sleepovers.” You laughed at his enthusiasm, despite the sleep seeping into his features.

You climbed into bed, patting the space next to you and the wall, waiting for him to join you. Eddie bounded over, leaping across you and settling under the covers.

You reached up, separating your usual stack of two pillows and spreading them out a little so that Eddie would have some support. His arm lifted, but he stopped himself. “Is this okay?”

“Yep.” Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you closer. He tucked his other hand under his cheek, and smiled as you did the same, your opposite hand rubbing his back.

"What about this?" He leaned in, nose almost brushing yours.

"Yeah, I think I'll let it slide." Eddie snorted again, that sweet little breath of a laugh.

He moved until his lips touched yours, and kissed you short and sweet. His lips were soft, and he was grinning for the entirety of its short life span. You kissed him back, and then he pulled away, smooching your forehead with an audible and overexaggerated sound that made you laugh.

“You’re gonna have to go back out there in the mornin,’ you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pushed your hair away from your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll make my escape at some point. But I can’t promise you’ll want to give me up that easily.” He’d been smiling like an idiot before he even finished that one.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#eddie the banished #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #corroded coffin #hellfire club #dustin henderson #henderson!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #will byers #byler #savannah’s fics

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months

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BLLK Masterlist | Part Two | Otoya Version

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Total Word Count: 41.6k

In a sea of bright, patterned umbrellas, only one was dark and plain. It was wide, the practical sort, all but dwarfing the girl who held it as she hurried along to the covered entrance of the school, her shoulders hunched against the wind and her steps brisk. You thought that she seemed small for your age, like a particularly strong breeze might blow her away entirely, and strangely gloomy, though this might’ve been an effect of the weather and not her personality.

Your own umbrella was cheery, a pink-striped thing that announced its presence in a most domineering way and clashed with the shades of orange and teal and green around it. You had found it pretty when your parents had given it to you, but now you were much more taken with the sole matte black one that wove in and out of the crowd, the clear raindrops resting on it like diamonds.

By the time you were past the cherry trees lining the parking lot, you had lost the girl and her black umbrella alike. It should’ve been impossible, considering what an anomaly it was, but then again that color was like a shadow, blending in unless one looked for it very carefully, and sometimes even then.

You would’ve worried, but you had bigger problems to be preoccupied with — namely, it was your first day of elementary school, and you had no idea what to expect. Setting the girl out of your mind, you used your free hand to fiddle with the name tag on your breast pocket, ducking under the roof before closing your umbrella and shaking the excess water off of it. Then you scurried after an older student who seemed like they knew where they were going, following them until you found yourself in a corridor you recognized from the tour you had taken with your parents prior to the start of the year.

In the classroom, there was a shelf where you could put your wet umbrellas in neat rows. You didn’t see any rhyme or reason to how they had been arranged, except that everyone had avoided putting theirs beside the dull, dark umbrella that you had admired. Glancing around at the rest of your classmates, who had already grouped themselves into loose clusters based on their seats, you set your umbrella beside the black one. For some reason, the pink stripes at that angle resembled frowns; you found it suitable, then, that those two were the only ones on that shelf. They seemed to go together, depressed and angry in turn.

Although you had not seen the girl’s face, you recognized her immediately. She sat apart from everyone else, her spindly limbs held close to her body, her heart-shaped face dominated by a pair of sapphire eyes, hair like an oil spill pulled into a high ponytail that cascaded down her back like tail-feathers. At first glance, she was unassuming, and at second she was entirely off-putting, but you were contrarian enough to take a third, and it was only then that you realized she was actually magnetic in a way, her lips pulled into a serene smile, her irises lively and brows high with interest.

“Hello,” you said, taking the seat beside her. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

It was the radical thing, what you had done in willingly isolating yourself from the others, but you found that you had no interest in those shallow peers of yours, who had not bothered to look at a person three times and see the truth of their being. This girl, with her black umbrella and her keen gaze and her bird-like countenance, was the only one in the entire room you wanted to befriend.

“Are you talking to me?” she said. Her accent was more pronounced than yours, which resembled the one of your Tokyo-born parents’ far more than it did the rougher cadences that most people in the region spoke with. The boisterousness of her voice contrasted sharply with her frail appearance, though to charming effect, and it warmed you to her even more.

“Uh-huh,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Karasu,” she said. “Yayoi Karasu. Good to meet you, too, L/N.”

Karasu. She was a crow, and as pretty and sharp as one, too. It was more fitting of a name than it ought to be, and you nodded, because your childish mind liked when things made sense, could be categorized into labeled boxes. Black umbrella. Blue eyes. Crow-wing hair. Yayoi Karasu.

“Let’s be friends,” you said, and maybe it was a blunt, straightforward request, but she did not seem to mind it.

“You want to be friends with me?” she said.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you said. She shrugged, bony shoulders brushing against her earlobes from the jerky motion.

“Don’t know. Just doesn’t seem like the others want to,” she said.

“The others are stupid. They’ll feel bad about it later, but by then we won’t need them,” you said.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s be friends, L/N.”

“If we’re friends, then you can call me Y/N,” you said.

She grinned, wide and gleaming. “Only if you call me Yayoi. Just Yayoi.”

When you got home that night, the first thing you did was race to the living room, where your mother was sitting, knitting needles stationary in her hands as she watched a drama.

“Mama!” you said, jumping onto the sofa beside her, tugging on her sleeve until she paused her show and looked at you. “Mama, I made a friend today.”

“Did you? How exciting! What’s their name?” she said.

“Yayoi Karasu, but she said I can just say Yayoi ’cause we’re friends,” you said.

“That’s wonderful,” your mother said. “Do you want to have Yayoi over sometime?”

“Hm, yes, I think so,” you said, already envisioning how fun it would be to play with her outside of school. You supposed you didn’t know much about what she liked to do, but you doubted it was anything you wouldn’t also enjoy, so there wouldn’t be a problem. There couldn’t be — the two of you were friends, and there were never problems between friends.

Within two weeks came an invitation, made before you could extend your own. The Karasu family wanted you to come over, and though your parents wished they had asked first, they did not mind that you were going, especially considering how elated you were when you relayed the news.

It was a short walk to Yayoi’s house, or perhaps it was that you were so excited which shortened the distance; either way, it hardly took any time at all before you and your mother were at their doorstep. You hid behind her leg when she knocked, suddenly timid, although you had no reason to be.

The woman who answered the door resembled Yayoi greatly, though she was fuller and taller and exuded an air of great confidence. She could only be Yayoi’s mother, and you wondered if this was the kind of person Yayoi would grow up to be.

“Are you Mrs. Karasu?” your mother said. The woman nodded, gesturing you into the home invitingly.

“Yes! You must be Mrs. L/N �� Y/N’s mother?” she said.

“That’s right. Y/N, please say hello to Mrs. Karasu,” your mother said.

“Hello, Mrs. Karasu,” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat. She had the same voice as Yayoi, the same exuberance to her words and geniality to her tone, but coming from her, it was almost intimidating.

“Yayoi should be in the playroom — down that hallway, the first door on your left. I’m surprised she didn’t come to the door to greet you; your visit is all she’s been able to talk about for the entire week,” Mrs. Karasu said.

“Y/N, too,” your mother said affectionately. You left them to speak in the kitchen, darting in the direction Mrs. Karasu had indicated, ducking into an appealingly decorated playroom.

The walls were painted pale yellow, and there were colorful bins stacked in the corners, labels written on them in black marker which detailed what their contents were. There was no sign of Yayoi, but in the center of the room, surrounded by a rainbow of blocks, was a little boy holding a model train in his hands.

He had the same hair as Yayoi, though while hers was sleek and flat, his stuck up every which way, a bitter warning to those who might’ve tried to tame it. His cheeks were rounder than hers, and his eyes were darker, the same deep shade as mulberry stains, but there was undeniably a resemblance between the two.

Though he was quite taken by the train he was playing with, he looked up when you opened the door to the room, and then he cocked his head, thick eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Do you know where Yayoi is?” you tried, hoping he could understand you. He was obviously younger than you and Yayoi, though you were unsure by how much — a year? Two?

“Ya-yi?” he repeated, stumbling over her name endearingly.

“Yes, Yayoi,” you said. “Where is she?”

He hummed in a whimsical way which clearly meant he had no clue, and then he raised his hand with the toy in it, beaming at you.

“D’you like my train?” he said.

“Yeah, it’s a cool color,” you said, not wanting to hurt his feelings. As an only child, this sort of interaction was out of your realm of expertise, but for some reason, you had an urge to try your best.

“My favorite,” he said. “Light blue.”

“That’s a good favorite,” you said. “So. Are you Yayoi’s little brother?”

“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m Tabito. Who are you? Ya-yi’s friend?”

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “Yayoi’s friend from school.”

“Y/N!” he said, like your name was the greatest word he had ever learned. “Let’s play trains! Can you play trains with me? Can we please play trains?”

You frowned. You needed to find Yayoi, but it wasn’t like you could wander around their house aimlessly, and Mrs. Karasu knew you were in the playroom, so your best course of action was staying put until your friend found you. Then, if that was the case, there was really no harm in obliging him, even if you weren’t an avid train enthusiast.

“Sure, alright,” you said, sitting down across from him and holding your hand out. “Give me one.”

He blinked at you. “Get your own.”

“I don’t know where you keep them, so I can’t,” you said.

“Then, um, then you can build, okay?” he said, piling blocks into your waiting hands. “Make a bridge. Do you know what a bridge is?”

“Yes?” you said. He seemed delighted by this, his entire face glowing from the simple affirmation; eager to keep his spirits high, you pointed at a point on the carpet. “Can I build it here?”

“Um…okay,” he said. It didn’t seem like he was particularly keen on the notion, but you were out of ideas at that point, so you just shrugged and began to stack the blocks into something resembling the bridges you had driven past on trips to your grandparents’ respective homes in Tokyo.

Tabito was too busy rolling the trains around the playroom to supervise your attempts at construction, so you were left to your own devices, designing it in the way you saw fit. Right when you had deemed the structure finished and turned to ask him if he liked it, the door to the playroom slammed open and Yayoi bounced in, hugging a hamper to her chest.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I went to get all of my toys from my room, but then I had to go to the bathroom, so that’s why I’m late,” she said.

“It’s okay,” you said.

“Ya-yi!” Tabito said. “You’re playing with your upstairs toys? Can I also?”

“No way!” Yayoi said, hiding the hamper behind her. “Go somewhere else and leave Y/N and I alone!”

His lower lip trembled, and then, though he had been so happy only moments earlier, he broke into wailing sobs, causing Yayoi to groan and face-palm. Within seconds, Mrs. Karasu had burst into the room, looking around and only calming when she realized you were all alright, or at the least uninjured.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“I told Tabito to leave Y/N and I alone and he just started crying!” Yayoi said.

“You should be nicer to your younger brother,” her mother reprimanded her, hands on her hips. “He’s still little. It’s up to you to be the bigger person in these kinds of disagreements.”

“I don’t wanna! He’s annoying! Can’t you take him away? We want to play with our toys now!” Yayoi said.

Tabito cried harder at this, hiccuping as Mrs. Karasu swept him into her arms with a sigh.

“Now, now, Tabito, don’t be upset,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe his teary cheeks. “Let’s go watch TV and let your sister play with her friend.”

“Okay!” he said, the tantrum dissipating as quickly as it had come. He rested his chin on his mother’s shoulder, waving a small hand at you as he and Mrs. Karasu rounded the corner, leaving you and Yayoi to play on your own.

“Finally,” Yayoi said. “Little brothers are the worst.”

“He made me build a bridge for his trains,” you said, pointing at your attempt at architecture. Yayoi giggled.

“That looks nothing like a bridge,” she said.

“I did my best,” you said. “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” she said. “And a total pain.”

“Really?” you said. Setting aside the fit he had had when Yayoi had demanded he leave, he hadn’t seemed like anything but a typical and cute little kid.

“You don’t get it because you don’t have to live with him, but he’s the worst,” she said. “And my mom always takes his side, too! It’s super unfair.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Don’t you have any siblings?” she said.

“No, I’m an only child,” you said.

“Ah, that makes sense,” she said. “Anyways. Sorry you had to play with him.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you said. “I didn’t mind.”

“Huh. Whatever; do you want to see my favorite stuffed animals?” she said.

“Sure!” you said. She dumped the contents of the hamper on the floor, and thus began your playdate, which mostly consisted of her introducing her toys to you and you clapping appropriately.

You were fairly certain Yayoi was a good friend — in fact, you supposed you could even call her your best friend, though you didn’t have many others who could’ve taken the position, so it was as much by default as it was out of any perceived loyalty. Even still, it was true that she was someone you were genuinely fond of, and who was genuinely fond of you in return, so the title was earned and not just awarded at random.

It was nice being with Yayoi. As you came to learn, she was more practical than gloomy and more shy than off-putting. Once those initial guards came down, she was as affable as anyone, or maybe even more so. Your prediction came true in another sense; now that your classmates, too, saw the truth of yours and Yayoi’s personalities, they began to seek you out in droves, trying to befriend you both, to bring you into their folds and mix you into their exclusive groups.

The two of you entertained these attempts, of course — neither of you were loners at heart, and indeed felt quite at ease amidst throngs of people — but in the end, you never strayed far from each other. It was a known fact that you and her were best friends, that where one of you went, the other would not be far behind, and so your peers quickly decided to go for a sort of joint-befriending strategy.

“L/N, Karasu, do you guys want to come to the park with us this weekend? My mom’s bringing snacks and stuff,” one of your classmates asked you. You had advanced a grade since you had all met for the first time, so in theory all of you had known one another for at least a year at this point, but all you could recall of the short, stocky boy was that his name was something like Akamine or Arakawa.

Typically, Yayoi would glance at you for confirmation, but today she rapidly nodded her head at the boy. Akamine? Arakawa? You wished that he would introduce himself so you were spared the embarrassment of asking.

“We’d love to, Aoyama. Thank you for inviting us,” she said. Aoyama. You had been astoundingly off the mark; silently thanking Yayoi, who had no doubt picked up on your struggle if not your distaste, you grunted.

“Sure,” you said. You had no great desire to go, not when this Saturday was supposed to be the first fair day after a week of rain. You’d rather spend it doing something of your own choosing, not playing in a park with people you hardly knew. But Yayoi was going, so you would, too, dutifully and without much complaint. “Though we’ll have to ask our parents first.”

It was just a formality. Neither Yayoi’s parents nor yours ever denied you from frolicking about with your school-friends, as long as you had done everything you needed to at home. In Yayoi’s case, it was that they were happy that she was coming out of her shell so rapidly, and for you, it was because your parents found it difficult to say no to you when you were their only and most beloved child.

As your mother’s weather app had predicted, there was sunlight on Saturday — gray and watery, to be sure, but it held fast in its patch of sky, its small corner of periwinkle which contrasted with the silvery lavender of the looming thunderheads threatening another storm in the near future.

You arrived at the park before Yayoi, and so you pretended to be famished, looking through the snacks that Aoyama’s mother had brought while you waited for her to come.

When she did, it was with an expression not too dissimilar to the clouds on the horizon on her face and a set of small fingers squeezed in between hers, their owner struggling to keep up with her furious, stomping pace.

“You brought Tabito?” you said when she reached where you were waiting. Her younger brother stood at her side, wearing a dark blue raincoat and a pair of black mittens, though it wasn’t that cold out. Someone — you could only assume his mother — had attempted to comb his hair back into something resembling a neat style, but they had mostly been unsuccessful, for it had not been tamed any.

“It wasn’t my choice,” Yayoi said, shooting the oblivious boy a dark glare. “My mom made me. According to her, it’s good for siblings to play together.”

“Look, Y/N,” Tabito said, pulling on your sleeve to get your attention and then opening his mouth wide, revealing a gaping hole in the row of his pearly upper teeth. “I lost my first tooth!”

“Did you throw it in the air?” you said.

“Of course,” he said, very self-importantly and more than a little derisively, as if you had been a fool to suggest otherwise.

“Good job,” you said. He was in his last year of kindergarten, and so he would soon join you and Yayoi at your school, which meant he was eager to learn everything he could from you in order to prepare for the momentous leap. This meant that there was not a person in the world who was a better listener than him; given, of course, that one was prepared to entertain his multitude of questions and did not find the curiosity to be a nuisance.

“Yayoi, can we go on the swings?” he said. He had, in the time you had known the two of them, accustomed himself to saying her name properly, though this was only a small consolation to the irritable Yayoi, who would rather he not say her name at all.

“Maybe later,” she said. “Right now, Y/N and I are going to play with our friends, but after that, we can go on the swings, okay? You just sit here and don’t get into trouble for a bit.”

For a moment, it seemed like he would argue, but around Tabito, Yayoi became a much bossier and more tyrannical version of herself, a version whose commands were impossible to deny, and so he only nodded.

“Come back quickly so we can swing,” he said beseechingly. Yayoi ruffled his hair, undoing her mother’s efforts entirely, and then she jutted her chin out in the direction of your classmates.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” she said.

“Do you think he’ll be okay if we just leave him there?” you said as you both walked towards where everyone was gathering on the slides.

“Yes, it’s not an issue,” she said. “He’ll be mopey for a bit, but that’s just the way of things. It’s his fault for getting upset when I said he couldn’t come with me and involving our mom in it! If he wanted to swing, he should’ve just waited until tomorrow when I said the two of us could go by ourselves instead of insisting he wanted to come today and see all of my friends.”

“Aw,” you said. “It’s kind of sweet that he wanted to meet your friends.”

“Try stupid,” she said. “Do you think any of them, besides you, will really be nice to him? It would’ve been better if he just stayed at home, but I didn’t want my mom to get mad at me.”

“That’s true,” you said. “Well, you would know better, so don’t take me too seriously.”

“I wish we could swap places,” she said. “I’d love to be an only child, and obviously you want a younger brother, so it would make everyone happy if we could trade roles, don’t you think?”

“You’d be sad if you didn’t have a sibling,” you said. “It’s a little bit lonely sometimes.”

“Seriously, you can have Tabito if you want,” she scoffed. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

She got carried away in a conversation with Aoyama after that. He was only too happy to oblige, although a needling sensation on the back of your neck alerted you to the fact that he was gazing at you all the while. You paid him no mind, though, preferring to observe everyone as they mingled about, waiting to see if anyone you could manage to tolerate would manifest.

Aoyama and his ilk were the sort of boneheaded future sports players that you least preferred. Normally, you were more outgoing than this, but in a group where you were so glaringly out of place, you withdrew into yourself, shrinking like a violet away from their brashness, which lacked a necessary amiability that would’ve made them far more approachable.

At one point, in an attempt to avoid Aoyama and his frequent stares, you glanced over your shoulder, pretending like you were checking on Tabito out of some sisterly duty. As an extension of Yayoi, it only made sense that you’d feel that same protective instinct for him, so no one questioned it when you muttered a quick farewell and made a beeline for where he was sitting.

Somehow, he had managed to stay in one place on the bench, his hands folded in his lap and his legs kicking in the air as he looked out at Yayoi forlornly. For some reason, he reminded you of a kitten which had been abandoned by its owner, so you stopped before him and poked him on the forehead to get his attention.

“Tabito,” you said. “Do you still want to go on the swings?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Is Yayoi coming?”

“Not yet,” you said. “But we can go together if you want.”

“You don’t want to play with your friends?” he said, hopping down from the bench and following you towards the swings anyways.

“Not really,” you said. “I’m only close with Yayoi anyways, and she’s busy with Aoyama at the moment.”

“Oh,” he said. It was an utterance filled with wisdom, or maybe that was just the impression he was trying to give off. Yet you earnestly believed at that moment that, despite his age, he understood what you meant when you said that, so you chose to think that it was the former.

“Do you need help getting on the swing?” you said when you reached the swing set.

“No, I can do it!” he said. “Watch, watch!”

He executed an inexplicable series of maneuvers that you could neither replicate nor even fathom, but somehow it ended up with him sitting squarely on the swing, his pale-knuckled hands gripping the chains tightly.

“Wow,” you said. “That was cool. Are you ready?”

“Yup!” he said. You pushed his back lightly, sending him soaring into the air, and the two of you continued in that manner for a while. It was meditative in a way; your mind was blank and the world was silent, save for the whistling of the wind. You didn’t have to care about what your annoying classmates would say next, or whether they were named Akamine or Arakawa or Aoyama or whatever.

If Tabito was your little brother, you’d take him to the playground every single day, and you’d push him on the swing for as long as he wanted. You were overcome with a sickening wave of jealousy for Yayoi, who could’ve done that but never did, and you wondered if this was how she felt towards you. Was it really that no one could ever just be satisfied with what they had? If you had been born with a sibling, would you have detested them as surely as Yayoi did Tabito?

There was another roll of thunder, louder and nearer this time than the last. A fat droplet of rain landed on your nose, and when Tabito next came closer to you, you caught him so that he would stop.

“What happened?” he said. “I want to keep swinging.”

“It looks like it’s about to start raining earlier than we thought,” you said. There was another droplet of rain, and then another, and another, in quicker and quicker succession until there was a verifiable deluge coming down. Tabito slid off of the swing, his left hand in your right as he pulled the hood of his raincoat up.

“Tabito!” It was Yayoi, running towards you and shouting frantically. “Y/N!”

“Yayoi, we should go!” you said as she skidded to a stop in the mulch bed of the swing set. She nodded, her eyelashes already clumping together, water trickling down her forehead. Grabbing Tabito’s other hand, she used her arm to cover her head, and you mirrored her actions, though it didn’t do much in the way of keeping you dry.

“My house is closer!” she shouted over another crack of thunder. All of you took off at a sprint, splashing through rapidly forming puddles without abandon as you raced towards her house, dragging Tabito along with you.

There was a sort of euphoria to it, and indeed you were all laughing as you went, despite the terror you felt with every new stroke of lightning. Tabito made sure to bring down his feet extra hard in the puddles, much to yours and Yayoi’s collective chagrin, as you were continuously sprayed with mud from his actions, but it was hard to tell him to stop when he was enjoying himself so thoroughly.

The three of you collapsed in the Karasus’ foyer right before the drumming beat of the rain increased even more, locking the door behind you and gasping for breath as you recovered from the exhausting run, Tabito sprawled atop Yayoi and your head leaning against her shoulder.

“I’m glad we’re all alright,” Yayoi said, hugging her brother tightly. He squirmed in her embrace, which only prompted her to squeeze him tighter until he yelled in protest.

“You three are a mess!” Mrs. Karasu said. Either the shutting of the door or Tabito’s shout had summoned her; regardless, she looked down at the set of you in fond disapproval, tugging you all to your feet. “By the time I’m done calling Y/N’s parents and letting them know where she is, I expect all of you to be washed up and in fresh clothes!”

You all exchanged glances before running up the stairs, shoving each other out of the way as you went, none of you wanting to be the last one to follow her directives, leaving behind wet footprints on the carpet wherever you stepped.

The next year, Tabito started primary school. For the most part, he walked to and from the building with you and Yayoi, holding onto his sister’s hand and listening to your conversations, frequently peppering his own interjections in. Every Wednesday, though, Yayoi had badminton club meetings, and you had art club, so he was left to walk by himself. Conversely, on Thursdays, he had soccer club — he was one of the youngest members, but he had been playing for two years at that point and could not fathom not joining the school team — which meant that you and Yayoi could dawdle as you wanted, walking at your own paces instead of the erratic one that Tabito often set.

That Wednesday, you were approached by Aoyama, who was a fellow member of the art club. He had neither the skill nor the aptitude for it, his paintings messy, the strokes of his calligraphy thick and runny, but no one could say he wasn’t determined. More than anyone in the entire club, he really tried his hardest, which was likely the sole reason he hadn’t yet been kicked out.

“Hey, L/N,” he said, jamming himself in between you and Yayoi as you walked to your afternoon classes. You sighed, having never found him agreeable despite how persistent he was. Yayoi gave him a dirty look; whatever friendliness she had had for him last year had long since vanished, replaced with the same disdain you held.

“Yes, Aoyama?” you said.

“Did you see art club’s canceled today?” he said.

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t had the chance to check the bulletin board. Did it say why?” you said.

“The teacher’s sick,” he said.

“I hope she gets better soon,” you said.

“Me, too,” he said. “I love the art club.”

“You sure do,” Yayoi said under her breath, earning an appreciative snicker from you and a perplexed look from Aoyama. She was privy to everything that happened in the art club courtesy of you; in exchange, she kept you updated about the goings-on of the badminton club, though these stories were decidedly less amusing, owing to the fact that most of the badminton club members were too dedicated to the sport to waste time with anything foolish enough to be entertaining.

Aoyama was bad at telling when he was unwanted, but even he could not deny that his presence was not required, and furthermore was an active impediment to your day. With a mumbled goodbye, he sped up so that he could reach your classroom before you and Yayoi, finally leaving you be once more.

“He’s so weird,” you said.

“Right?” Yayoi said. “Totally crazy. At least he was kind of helpful this time and only let you know that you don’t have art club today.”

“True, I was kind of scared he’d try to invite us to hang out with him again,” you said with a shudder. The corners of her eyes crinkled in sympathy.

“I think his birthday’s coming up. Do you think we’ll get invited to the party?” she said.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Girls and boys don’t go to each other’s birthday parties,” you said. “He might, though. It seems like he thinks we’re friends.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she said. “Are you just going to go home after school, then?”

“Yeah, it’s not like I have anything else to do,” you said. “Want me to walk with Tabito?”

“He’ll be alright if you don’t, but if you want to go that way, then it wouldn’t hurt,” she said. There were two routes you could take to get home from the school; one passed by the Karasu house, and the other was slightly shorter but in a different direction. Technically, you could’ve taken the second route today, but you didn’t mind walking for an extra minute or so to help out.

“Sure, I can do that. Do you think he’ll wait in the usual spot?” you said.

“Probably not. It’s not like he knows your meeting was canceled,” she reasoned. “But you should be able to catch up to him pretty quickly. He’s kind of distractible.”

It was true. Though he was a quick walker, Tabito was prone to stopping and staring at things which only he noticed, so it was hard to actually get to places in a reasonable time with him. That fact, combined with your comparatively longer strides, meant that even if he didn’t explicitly wait for you, you’d almost surely be able to walk most of the way home with him.

Students rolled out like an orderly tide the moment the bell rang, a veritable ocean of pressed shirts and dark shoes and jostling bags. Without an agreed-upon meeting point, it was impossible to find a person in the throng, and indeed you did not even attempt it, merely weaving through until the crowd began to thin as everyone dispersed, heading in different directions towards their respective homes and after-school activities.

It took you longer than you expected to find Tabito. He was standing in a patch of grass along the side of the road, his chin tilted up as he stared at a bird in wonder; it was so quintessentially him that you did not realize at first that something was wrong.

“Tabito!” you said cheerfully, tapping on his shoulder to get his attention. “My art club meeting got canceled, so we can walk back — did something happen?”

The jewel-like shade of his irises threw the rosy rims around his eyes into further relief. His dark lashes were bunched together with wetness, and his cheeks were puffy. Though he fought it, his lower lip trembled, and he sniffed when he noticed you frowning.

“No,” he said.

“Obviously, something did,” you said matter-of-factly. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” he mumbled.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t make fun of you or anything,” you said. He shrugged stubbornly, shifting from foot to foot, gripping the straps of his backpack in his fists. You tried to think of what could’ve upset him. “Did you get yelled at in class?”

“No,” he said.

“Did you get in a fight with one of your friends?” you said.

“No,” he said.

“Hm. Has someone been messing with you?” you said. He was silent, but you knew you must’ve hit the mark because his cool facade — which was already terribly maintained in the first place — crumbled away entirely, his face falling and a small hiccup escaping him. “Oh, I see. You should’ve said something to Yayoi and I. Who is it? I'll yell at them.”

“It won’t help if you do,” he said quietly. “It’s better to just ignore them. I mean, it’s an average problem, so don’t make a big deal about it. They’ll probably go away after a while.”

“But it isn’t fair for you to have to deal with that on your own,” you said. “It’s not like it’s your fault. People like that just pick on whoever they have the chance to pick on. There’s those kinds of kids in my grade, too. Like you said, it’s common, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”

“If you say something, it’ll just be worse the next time,” he said. “They’ll go away if I don’t pay attention to them. It’s not like I even care what they say. It doesn’t matter to me.”

When you pretended to look at the road, he brought up his forearm, rubbing his sleeve against his eyes in the moment where there was no one to notice. You saw it, but you did not bring it up, recognizing that it was something he’d rather not discuss.

“Alright,” you said as you set out towards his house. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“But if you change your mind, or if you’re ever having another problem, I hope you know I don’t mind helping,” you said. “Think of me as another Yayoi.”

“You’re not like Yayoi,” he said.

“Well, no, of course not,” you said. “I can be like an older sister for you, though, the way she is. Do you get it now?”

“I don’t want you to be an older sister for me,” he said crossly, kicking a piece of stray gravel across the road. “And I won’t have any other problems.”

The only way to tame his unruly hair was with wax, which made it as stiff as a board and completely impossible for you and Yayoi to ruffle it the way you used to. You had to settle for poking him in the cheek; considering it irritated him no less, it was a worthy substitute.

“Are you trying to be all grown up just because you’re in elementary school now? You’re still a little kid, so no need to act tough,” you said.

“I’m not a little kid!” he whined.

“Sure,” you said.

“I’m not! I’m only two years younger than you, it’s not a lot!” he insisted. You grinned at him.

“It is a lot. You just started elementary school, and this is my third year here. That means I’m way more experienced than you, so you should look up to me,” you said.

He folded his arms across his chest, grumbling something to himself that he wouldn’t dare vocalize to you, all thoughts of whoever had been bothering him earlier vanished. Maybe it wasn’t the best method of cheering him up, but though his mood had not improved, at least it had changed. That was the best you could do, so as he held onto your hand while you crossed the street, you congratulated yourself on the small victory.

As Tabito continued through primary school, two things became evident: one, he was uncannily smart, his eerily observant nature lending itself to a genuine academic prowess that one could consider exceptional, and two, because of his pride in this ability, he refused to ask anyone for assistance, no matter how hard he was struggling.

“It’s so dumb,” Yayoi told you one day at recess, scrubbing at a graphite stain that someone else had left on her desk. “He’s totally lost with long division, but whenever my parents or I offer to help him, he gets super mad at us. Even my grandma tried! Although she doesn’t really remember much about mathematics, so I don’t know what the point was there…”

“He’s always been the independent type, though,” you said. “It’s not a surprise.”

“It’ll be a surprise when he does terribly on his next test,” she said. “Considering how things have been going as of late and how badly he’s been doing on his homework assignments.”

You swept stray eraser bits littering the floor into a neat pile and then gathered them in a dustpan, pouring them into the trashcan Yayoi had dragged over for your convenience, thinking this over.

“I can try helping him,” you said. “You have badminton club today, right? So it’ll just be us two walking home. I can ask him if he wants me to explain it.”

Unlike the previous year, when both of your clubs had met on the same day, Yayoi’s badminton club meetings were now held on Thursdays. This was because the previous club supervisor had stepped down, and the sole teacher willing to fill the vacancy was only free on that day.

“Good luck with that,” Yayoi said.

“Tabito’s my buddy,” you said. “I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

Likely due to your closeness with Yayoi — you had been each other’s best friends for going on four years now, after all — you had built up some kind of relationship with her little brother, who was usually present whenever you went to see her. Most of the time it felt like he was your sibling, too, and certainly he was one of the few kids his age that you could tolerate without looking down on too much.

“Yayoi mentioned you’ve been having some trouble with long division,” you said that afternoon. It was a pleasant day, the vast blue of the sky unmarred by clouds, except for a few which were so fleecy and eggshell-pale that almost no one could be offended by them. The season was spring, and soon it would be unbearably hot, but for now, it was lovely and breezy and you were content with things as they were.

“She’s making it up,” Tabito said.

“Really? That’s great,” you said. “I always found long division super difficult. I had to have my parents explain it to me a few times before I got it.”

He eyed you warily. “You did? I thought you were good at school. Yayoi always says you’re the smartest person in your class.”

“I don’t know about being the smartest person in the class or anything, but I’m pretty good at school, yeah,” you said. “I mean, I always get full marks on my exams, don’t I? That’s because I don’t feel shy about asking for help when I need it. Isn’t it better to deal with problems when they first happen? Because if you wait too long, you’ll only get more and more lost; then, you’ll need even more help than if you had just gotten it out of the way at the start.”

“That’s true,” he said.

“If you don’t want Yayoi or your parents to help you, then I don’t mind doing it. We finished cleaning early in recess, so we got our homework done then, and my parents won’t mind if I stay at your house for a little bit,” you said.

“Okay!” he said eagerly. You were taken aback; you had fully believed that he’d take more convincing than just that, but here he was, as excited as anything, all but rejuvenated at the prospect. Perhaps it really was that relieving to be given the permission to ask for help as well as a method to receive it. “After you help me, can we play together?”

You didn’t necessarily want to play with him, but he said it with such wide, shimmery eyes that you could not help nodding in agreement. You weren’t quite sure what playing with him entailed, but you doubted it would be anything difficult, and you supposed you didn’t have much else to do that afternoon, so it wasn’t as if it was some great sacrifice.

Tabito and Yayoi’s grandmother was the only other one who was home at that time, so you and Tabito spread out your things on the dining table without worry, taking out pencils and graph paper so that you could discuss the issue at hand.

“What part are you having difficulty with?” you said.

“Um,” he said. You waited, but he only twirled his pencil in one hand, training his gaze on the blank sheet of paper.

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t explain it,” you said. “I won’t make fun of you.”

“You promise?” he said.

“Yes, I promise,” you said.

“All of it,” he said. “The teacher explained it too quickly.”

“That’s okay,” you said kindly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Here, I’ll show you, and if it’s too fast, then tell me so I know to slow down.”

Thankfully, he was quick on the uptake, and within a few minutes, he was able to complete the practice problems on his homework without any hassle or intervention from you. You were glad to see the ease with which he approached the things he had been struggling with only moments previously, finding that his success was also yours, in a way.

He continued working until his entire sheet was filled out, and then he snapped the book shut and shoved it back in his bag. You did the same, clearing the table of the mess you had made and packing your own bag with your supplies.

“You didn’t forget that you’re going to play with me, right?” he said. You put your folder into the back pocket of your backpack and shook your head.

“No, but I don’t want the table to be disorderly if your parents come back from work early or if your grandmother needs it for something,” you said. He seemed suspicious, snatching your bag from you once he could tell that you were finished putting everything into it.

“I’ll put it with mine,” he informed you. “You can take it once we’re done playing.”

“Uh, okay,” you said, bemused. He ran up the stairs, a backpack hanging off of each arm, and returned with the same speed he had left with, a net in his hands. You gave him a confused look at the odd choice in toys. “What’s that for?”

“It’s springtime, so we can catch bugs,” he said, unlatching the back door. You made a face, having no interest in bugs, but you had said that you’d play with him already, so with a sigh, you traipsed out into the Karasus’ backyard with him.

Fortunately, Tabito was pretty flexible with his definition of playing. He wandered around, capturing bugs and bringing them to you so you could see, but for the most part he left you to sit under one of their flowering trees, leaning against the trunk and closing your eyes in something that was not quite sleep but was very close to it.

The blossoms perfumed the air so that it was sweet and fresh, and the shadows of the tree-boughs were lacy and delicate on your face. Petals fell into your hair and against your skin, and a soft wind murmured through the grass, swearing a million hushed things to you, things that you could only decipher at this edge of consciousness.

You realized dreamily that it had been quite some time since you had been jostled awake by Tabito, who up until that point had been quite steadily displaying his catches — which were mostly of the mundane, garden variety — to you with great flourish. Wondering what he was doing, you fluttered your eyes open, only to find him standing a few steps in front of you, his net loose at his side, wearing an expression of awe the likes of which you had never seen on anyone before, least of all him. When you opened your mouth to ask him what he was doing, he shook his head rapidly.

“Shh,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll scare it.”

“What?” you said. “Scare what?”

“Oh, no,” he said as his statement came true, the butterfly which had been resting on your nose taking wing at the sound of your voice. You gasped, for you had thought the brush of its legs to be nothing but flowers shaken loose from their branches, and your hand flew to your face, fingers grazing over where it had been sitting only moments previously.

The butterfly had wings the same blue-violet color as Tabito’s eyes, framed with black and interspersed with pale spots. It floated away lazily and easily, dipping back towards you once before disappearing into the sky for good, flying somewhere far out of your reach. You both watched it go in silence — for some reason, it didn’t feel right to speak in that moment, as if you would interrupt something very sacred and precious if you did.

“That was a great purple emperor,” he said after a while. “Sasakia Charonda. It’s the national butterfly of Japan.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” you said, your heart racing, though you had no clue why.

“They usually stay up high,” he said. “That’s what the book Yayoi gave me said. Apparently, they only come down if they’re looking for food.”

“What do they like to eat?” you said. Insects were his interest at the moment; he jumped from topic to topic, reading as much as he could about one subject and then moving on to another when he grew bored. Yayoi found it frustrating when he began to talk about whatever he was fixated on at the moment, but you liked to indulge him when you could. After all, you would give anything to have someone who would listen to you, but if you could not have that, then you would at least like to be that person for another. For him.

“Sap and nectar and fruit juice, I think,” he said. “They prefer sweet things.”

You smiled. “It must have found me sweet, then, for it to have stayed there for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why, but his cheeks turned pink like the flowers blooming overhead, and then he spun on his heel and stormed inside without further response, leaving you to look back up at the sky and wonder if you’d ever see that butterfly again.

At twelve years old, you and Yayoi graduated elementary school alongside the rest of your peers. It was the biggest moment of your lives up until that point, a cause of terror as much as celebration. Junior high would be an entirely different experience than the one you had grown accustomed to, and the only consolation was that you both were attending the same one, so you would have each other’s company through the transition and beyond.

The graduation ceremony was short, with the principal giving a speech and then leading the parents in a round of applause for your achievements. Your mother and father sat beside Yayoi’s; Tabito was there, too, in between his grandmother and a man who bore a resemblance to your classmate Aoyama.

Tabito was ten now, and he was entirely contrary, doing the exact opposite of whatever he was told. It was especially so when the one telling him to do something was a person he was related to — namely, Yayoi, who frequently gave up and begged you to boss him around for her instead. He was less reluctant to follow your commands, though this might’ve been because you phrased them more as requests than anything.

He had not mentioned it outright, but given his amenability as of late, you sensed that he’d miss you and Yayoi once you began to attend junior high. It’d mean he was left alone, after all, left alone where once he had had you two as his companions. He was old enough now that you did not worry as much — if anyone tried to bother him the way they had when he was younger, you were assured that he’d manage them without breaking a sweat, but still, just because he did not need you and did not acknowledge it did not mean that he did not want you there.

His bored expression vanished when he met your eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting as he raised his hand in a shy wave. You could not wave back, not when you were supposed to maintain your composure onstage, but you dipped your chin ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement, scrunching your nose at him when you were sure your teacher was not looking.

As soon as the ceremony was completed, you filed off of the stage to meet your families outside. The moment your principal dismissed you, you took off towards your parents, leaping into your mother’s arms with a squeal.

“You did it!” she said.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” your father said, the lines of his face deepening from the force of his grin. “We’re so proud of you.”

“I can’t believe it,” you said. “Yayoi and I are going to go to middle school next year.”

“Both of you are going to do amazing,” your mother said.

“That’s for certain,” your father agreed. “Did you want to go talk to the Karasus? I’m sure that boy of theirs wants to say hi.”

They exchanged one of those looks that you were frustratingly aware of but could never interpret, and then they ushered you towards where Yayoi was standing with her family.

“Y/N!” Mrs. Karasu said when she noticed you. “Wonderful job, honey. We’re all so happy that you and Yayoi are going to continue to go to school together!”

“It’s true, we were just talking about it,” Mr. Karasu said. “It’s a lucky thing.”

“Isn’t it? And lucky for us, too, I’d say,” your father said. Mr. Karasu chuckled, slapping your father on the back in agreement. Thanks to you and Yayoi, your parents had become close, and indeed your fathers often claimed that they were each other’s ‘only friends.’ They were as glad as you were that you would not be split apart. After all, you doubted they could handle meeting new people and befriending them after so long together.

Your parents began to reminisce over the days when you and Yayoi were younger, and when you looked for Yayoi, you saw that she was talking to her grandmother, who she had always been close with. This left you to glance around in search of someone else to speak with yourself, though unfortunately, you soon came to the realization that there were not so many options.

“Y/N.” It was Tabito standing in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the pavement periodically, far more interested in the plumes of dust it created than anything, his head inclined towards his feet instead of at you. “Good job.”

“Thanks!” you said, glad to have a conversation partner. “It’ll be you, soon. Just two years! Are you excited?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go to the same junior high school as you, though.”

“That’s okay,” you said. “Even if you did, it would only be for one year, and then we’d be graduating again. You should make the choice based on what’s right for you, not where Yayoi and I are.”

“What happens if you and Yayoi don’t go to high school together?” he said.

“Why are you already thinking about us going to high school? That’s so far away,” you said.

“I just wanna know,” he said. “Will you stop being friends with her?”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “I’d have no reason to. Besides, if that happens, we’ll already have been friends for over nine years. It’s hard to abandon someone you’ve known for that long. Why do you ask? Are you worried that you’ll lose your friends when you graduate? You shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t want you to stop being friends with Yayoi,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“You try to act all cool, but you’re actually a really caring little brother, you know,” you said. “It’s sweet of you to worry about her, but it’ll take a lot more than attending different schools to break us apart, and even if something like that happens, she’ll easily make more friends, so it’s no cause to stress.”

“That’s not—”

“L/N, hey!”

Whatever Tabito was going to say was cut off by the arrival of your fellow art club member, Aoyama. He grabbed you in a hug before you could react, squeezing you in a vice grip that was impossible to escape from. You patted him on the back awkwardly until he let you go, though his fingers remained on your upper arms and he stayed leaning close to you.

“Hey, Aoyama,” you said. “Congrats on graduating.”

“You, too,” he said. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Yayoi’s little brother,” you said. Aoyama squinted at Tabito before nodding.

“I can see it — there’s definitely a resemblance. Hi, little Karasu! I’m Aoyama. I’ve been in the same class as your older sister and L/N here for the past few years,” he said. The way he introduced himself made it seem as if the three of you were particularly close, but indeed, other than your weekly art club meetings, neither you nor Yayoi had interacted much with the boy in the past couple of years.

“Hi,” Tabito said stiffly.

“He’s two years younger than us,” you added, in an attempt to smooth over Tabito’s surliness.

“That’s it?” Aoyama said. “He looks so small.”

“I’m not small!” Tabito said, but considering how much shorter he was than you and Aoyama, it wasn’t that convincing. He must’ve realized this, as his face grew red and his shoulders dropped, his lips drawing into a childish pout.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” Aoyama said. “Yayoi’s pretty tiny, too.”

“Well, it was good to see you, Aoyama,” you said, sensing that the conversation might take a turn for the worse very soon. “We should probably get back to our families, so…”

“No problem! See you next year?” he said.

You had forgotten that Aoyama, too, would be attending the same junior high as you and Yayoi, along with a handful of your other classmates. Nodding slightly and placing a hand on Tabito’s shoulder to steer him towards Yayoi, you waved at Aoyama.

“See you next year! Let’s go, Tabito,” you said.

There was a sullen quality to the stomp of his feet, but until Aoyama was out of earshot, he did not say anything to explain it. The moment the boy was gone, though, Tabito was whirling to face you, looking up at you plaintively.

“Do you think I’m small?” he demanded. It seemed his pride, which he guarded so fiercely, had been wounded by Aoyama’s comment. Even if you found it silly, it wasn’t unreasonable when you thought about it, so you did not make fun of him.

“Of course, right now you are,” you said. “It’s only natural. Eventually, you’ll grow, and then you won’t be.”

“I’ll be super tall when I’m an adult,” he said. “Taller than that guy.”

“Aoyama?” you said.

“Whatever his name is,” he said. “I’ll be taller than him, and — and — and better at soccer, too!”

“He doesn’t play soccer, so you’re already better than him at it,” you said. “Even if he did, though, I bet you wouldn’t have to try to beat him. You’re really good.”

He grunted. “Thanks.”

Though he tried to disguise it, it was obvious that he was pleased by the compliment. There was a spring to his step and a sparkle to his eyes as you rejoined your families, and you knew that you had once again succeeded in cheering him up, as you often took it upon yourself to do.

During your next summer term break, Yayoi insisted on going to the pool with you. She had heard that the next unit in your Physical Education class was going to be swimming, so even though you had not been assigned the practice as a requirement, she wanted to take advantage of your natural aptitude at the activity and get some time in so that she wasn’t behind.

“What’s your secret?” she nagged you as you, she, and Tabito walked towards your junior high school’s main building. Because of the swimming club, the pool was left open year-round, and even outside of practices, members of the student body were allowed to utilize the pool for their own reasons. Tabito wasn’t a student, but since he was with you and Yayoi, there was a high likelihood that nobody would even notice; besides, hardly anyone ever used the pool at this hour, so all in all there wouldn’t be any issues.

“Secret to what?” you said.

“Being so good at swimming! I can’t believe you didn’t join the club,” she said.

“It’s just something I like doing for fun. If I had to do it for the school club, I’d probably end up hating it,” you said. “Anyways, I don’t know. There’s no secret to it. I just get in the water and do what the teachers tell us to.”

Even in elementary school, you had been given rudimentary swim lessons as a part of your Physical Education class, but middle school would take those lessons to a far more brutal extent, at least according to Yayoi’s sources from the badminton club. You weren’t worried, but whatever information she had heard from her upperclassmen had terrified her enough that she was convinced you needed to spend every spare minute you had in the water.

“That’s what I do, but it looks so much easier when you do it,” she said, scanning her student card and motioning for you and Tabito to follow her through the open door.

“I don’t know. Things always look easier when you’re watching another person do them,” you said. “I’m sure it’s just as hard for me as it is for you.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Do you like swimming, Tabito?” you said, taking off your shirt and pants, adjusting the straps of your bathing suit, which had twisted on the way to the pool. He had remained oddly quiet the entire time that you and Yayoi had been talking, which was out of character, considering he had been the one to insist on coming with you two.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I haven’t done it much before, so I don’t know.”

“Tabito’s afraid of the water,” Yayoi said. “He always cries when we go to the beach.”

“I don’t! Stop making things up, Yayoi,” he said. She snickered, already halfway down the stairs leading to the shallow end, the water licking around her thighs as she flopped backwards into the pool. As you had predicted, there was no one else there, so you had the entire area to yourselves, allowing you to be less focused in your efforts. Yayoi floated down the lane on her back, not even bothering to kick, her dark hair fanning out in a curtain around her waist, looking akin to a pair of unfurled wings fluttering in the wind.

“You so do,” she said. “I don’t know why you begged to come with us. I bet you won’t even go in the water, you chicken.”

“I am not a chicken!” he snapped, trailing after you like a shadow as you made your way over to the deep end.

“You definitely are,” Yayoi said. “Chicken, chicken!”

“Come on, Yayoi, that’s enough,” you said, stretching your arms and preparing to dive in. “It’s okay. He doesn’t have to swim if he doesn’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of the water, especially not given that he’s still in primary school.”

Tabito puffed his cheeks out. “I’m not scared of the water. Only babies are, and I’m not a baby. I’m gonna swim just like you.”

“How about we do it together, then?” you bargained. Although Yayoi liked to tease Tabito, she would not lie or make things up solely to bully him, which meant that he really was frightened of the water. And if that was the case, then it’d be foolish of you to leave him alone, especially if he couldn’t even swim, the way she had been hinting he could not.

“That sounds good,” he said. You took his hand in between yours, interlocking your fingers with his tightly, so there was no chance that he’d accidentally let go, and then you leapt into the pool, pulling him after you. He let out a shriek at the suddenness, but then you hit the water and he was cut off by the cold temperature and the tangy, burning taste of chlorine.

A rush of bubbles surrounded you, the coruscating clear-blue obscuring your vision, but even before they could burst away into nothingness, you were pushing off the pool floor, dragging Tabito behind you until you reached the surface and he could gasp for breath.

His legs wrapped around your waist as your own churned the water, treading it to keep the both of you afloat, and his fingers clawed at your shoulders, digging them into your skin hard enough to bruise. When he tucked his cheek to your pulse, you noticed that his breaths were coming in harsh, short pants, his entire frame trembling against yours.

“Tabito,” you said gently. “You’ll have to let go so I can swim to the shallow end.”

“I can’t,” he said. “If I let go, I’ll drown.”

“If you don’t let go, we’ll both drown,” you said. “I’m not strong enough to keep treading water forever, and I don’t think Yayoi could save us both if it came to it.”

You weren’t worried yet, but it was true that at some point, you’d get tired, and then you’d be in trouble. Yet you also knew you had to be soft, for it seemed his fear was far more paralyzing than you had anticipated, and if he began to genuinely panic, then he might accidentally drown you both.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his face hidden in the hollow of your collarbone. “I am scared.”

“I know,” you said, using one hand to stroke along his bony spine, the other swishing back and forth to assist your efforts in staying above the surface. “But sometimes, you still have to do things, even when you’re afraid.”

“I can’t do it, though,” he sniffed. “I can’t at all.”

“Is everything okay?” Yayoi shouted from the shallow end.

“It’s fine!” you called back, knowing that Tabito might rather drown than let her know of this weakness. “Tabito, listen, I’m not going to let you go. Even if you let go of me, I won’t do the same. Do you trust me when I say that?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“Then prove it and leave me,” you said.

Slowly, almost painstakingly, he removed his arms from around you and drew his legs back. For the briefest moment, he was floating by himself, but before he could begin to flail around out of fear, you grabbed his arm, taking him along beside you as you swam to the shallow end where Yayoi was waiting.

As soon as he was able to stand, Tabito sprinted out of the pool, splashing up the stairs, shivering as he made a beeline for where his towel was waiting. You and Yayoi watched as he flopped into one of the chairs, curling up and draping the towel over his shoulders.

“Well, I guess he spent more time in the water than I expected,” Yayoi allowed. “That was a surprise.”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders, which had tightened from the burden you had carried along the length of the pool. “He’s braver than you give him credit for.”

“Maybe around you,” Yayoi said. “I think he just wants to impress you, since you’re older and cooler.”

“It could be,” you said. “Though I doubt it. He’s known me for too long to think of me as worthy of impressing. It’s probably just because I’m nicer to him than you.”

“That’s just because you don’t see him every day. Trust me, if you did, you’d be even meaner than me. I’m told I’m quite patient,” she said. You flicked water at her.

“Our resident saint, Yayoi Karasu,” you said. She flicked water back at you with a mock-scowl.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and then it was an all out war as the two of you endeavored to soak the other, forgetting about anything more important than the newfound game and the happiness it brought you.

When it finally came time for Tabito to graduate elementary school, there was a sort of melancholy in the air, though by all rights it should’ve been an exciting time. You had been asked to come to the ceremony by Yayoi, though she had confessed that it had been her brother who had actually wanted you there but was too shy to ask directly, and almost as soon as you sat down, you were aware of that feeling settled over all of the Karasus, even Tabito himself, though he was so far away on the stage.

Perhaps for their parents and grandmother, it was because their youngest was at this milestone. Never again would they have a child in elementary school; now, both of the siblings were older, nearer to adulthood than anything, but you doubted that that fact was congruent with the images they held of them as helpless infants. Even for you, it was peculiar to see Tabito standing on that stage when you still at times thought of him as that four year old boy who played with trains, so you assumed the effect was tenfold for his parents and grandmother, who had raised him since birth.

You weren’t so sure that it was the same for Yayoi, who had a different sort of glumness about her. She was sad for another reason, and as the principal droned on about the class’s achievements, you leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“What’s got you down?” you said.

“I’m not down,” she muttered. She would’ve fooled any other person, but you were not any other person, so you only elbowed her in the side.

“Yayoi,” you said under your breath in a sing-song voice. “Are you sad about Tabito graduating?”

“Why would I be sad about that?” she said.

“You tell me,” you said.

“It’s just hard to wrap my head around,” she said. “I always complain about him following me around and bothering me, but it’s just hitting me now that he probably won’t do that very much anymore. He’s going to go to a different middle school and make friends and want nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t think he’d do that,” you reassured her. “He’ll be less annoying about it, but he won’t just abandon you, at least not before you do the same to him. He’s bad at letting go of things unless you force him to.”

“I’d never abandon him,” she said.

“It’s not that you’d abandon him, but just think about it. In four years we’ll be headed to university, and he’ll still be in high school. Isn’t that kind of like you leaving him first?” you said.

“I don’t want to think about that,” she said after a minute.

“I get it,” you said. “It’s weird for me as well. Not him, but what if you and I don’t go to the same high school or university? What will I do without you?”

The changing of the seasons was what weighed on Yayoi, and consequently, on you. Tabito’s graduation was a reminder that the years did not stop for anyone, that you were all growing older with every passing day, and that one day things would not be so simple, the way they were right now. Of course, that day was far away, but then again, there had been a time when the day that Tabito left primary school, too, had been far away, and yet here you were, arriving upon it so soon.

The end of the ceremony was familiar to you, but this time you were on the opposite side, standing amongst the parents as they waited for their children to join them. You stood on your tiptoes, peering over Mr. Karasu’s shoulder in an attempt to spot Tabito when he came out. There wasn’t anyone else in his class who you knew; you had gone solely for him, and so it was only he who you searched for, counting the heads until he appeared.

He was one of the last ones to come out, talking to a few of his friends, though they all peeled off in different directions as they grew closer to you. Finally, by the time he reached the area where you, his parents, grandmother, and Yayoi were waiting, he was by himself, his hands shoved in his pockets as he braced himself for your reactions.

“Come here, Tabito,” his grandmother said, embracing him as tightly as she could given her frail body. “You’ve worked so hard, my grandson. You deserve everything good that’s bound to come your way.”

“Thank you, grandmother,” he said. There was this one thing about him — no matter how he acted around his peers, no one could ever say that he disrespected his elders, which was not always the case with those his age.

“How do you feel? You’re officially a middle schooler now!” Mr. Karasu said once his grandmother had let him go.

“Good,” he said. He was obviously squirmy and embarrassed at everyone’s attention being focused on him, so his mother only kissed him atop the head before releasing him to speak with you and Yayoi.

“Good going, Tabito,” Yayoi said, offering him her hand. He shook it firmly, much more at ease now that it was just the three of you. It was so typical as to be normal, despite the less-than-ordinary circumstances of the meeting, so it was impossible for any of you to be awkward.

“Thanks, Yayoi,” he said. She scoffed, making a big show of wiping her hand against her pants, which Tabito only rolled his eyes at.

“Whatever. Don’t forget that I’m going to a better junior high school than you, okay?” she said.

“It’s not my fault that your school’s soccer club sucks!” he said. “I’d have gone there if I could’ve.”

“More like you couldn’t get in,” she said. “Because you’re super stupid. I can’t believe you even managed to graduate in the first place. In fact, I only even congratulated you because I was so surprised by that fact.”

“Stupid? You’re the stupid one!” Tabito said.

“Nuh-uh, you didn’t even understand long division until Y/N explained it to you!” Yayoi said.

“That’s the only thing I was ever confused by, and I understood it as soon as she told me how to!” he said.

“Well, that just means Y/N’s a good teacher. It has nothing to do with how smart you are,” she said. You laughed.

“To be sure, I’m a good teacher, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. It’s his graduation, so we should be nice to him for today, don’t you think, Yayoi?” you said. She pouted.

“Just for today, I guess,” she said. “Fine. You’re not that stupid, Tabito.”

“You’re not that stupid, either,” he said. Coming from them, this was actually a stunning declaration of fraternal love, and you were taken aback that you had inspired it. However, upon further consideration, you supposed everyone was feeling sentimental by that point, so it wasn’t too hard to tease out.

“How far is your new school?” you asked him in an attempt to change the subject.

“Pretty far,” he said. “They have the best soccer club in the area, though, so it only makes sense for me to go there.”

“Are you going to have to try out?” you said.

“Of course. It’s not a guarantee I’ll get to play at all, especially in my first year, but just the fact that the chance is there is enough,” he said.

“That’s intense,” you said. You had stayed with the art club all throughout middle school, and though it was conducted with the same stringency as the sports clubs, there wasn’t as much of a competitive aspect to it. Anyone who wanted to join was allowed to, as long as they abided by the rules and regulations of the club, and such concepts as ‘trying-out’ were foreign to you outside of the stories Yayoi told you about her misadventures with badminton.

“It’s how it is in all sports clubs,” he said.

“True,” Yayoi said. “Remember my first year in the badminton club? It’ll be like that, only to a greater extent, since his school is known for soccer, so the club will be way more popular.”

“I don’t know how you guys do it. I could never; having to try out and possibly being denied the chance to do something I love would stress me out way too much,” you said. “But hey, Tabito, when you do get in — because I’m sure you will — invite us to your games so we can cheer you on, alright?”

“You’d really want to watch me?” he said.

“Why not?” you said. “I’m sure it’d be fun.”

“Eh,” Yayoi said. “Don’t be too sure. The games are kinda boring, to tell you the truth.”

“Nobody said you had to come!” Tabito said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

“It’s not like I’d leave Y/N to suffer on her own just because she wants to be a supportive older-sister-figure. Obviously, I’d go,” she said.

“Aw, you’re the best, Yayoi,” you said.

“I try,” she said.

“Although, it’s kind of crazy that you’d go to support me but not him, when he’s the one actually related to you,” you pointed out.

“That’s because I like you more,” she said. “Not too crazy.”

“What happened to being nice to him on his graduation day?” you reminded her.

“Sorry,” she said automatically. “It had to be said, though.”

“Whatever,” Tabito said. “I don’t care if you’re there or not.”

“Wow, I see how it is,” she said.

“Just keep me posted,” you said. “As long as I’m not busy, I’ll go for sure.”

“I’ll tell you the moment I make the team. You’ll be the first person to know,” he said.

“Not even our parents?” Yayoi said.

“Obviously I wasn’t counting them!”

Either he was more talented than he let on, or more determined than the rest of his classmates, but regardless, mere months after the next school year began, you picked up a phone call that came from Yayoi’s phone but was made by another person entirely.

“Hello?” you said.

“Hello, Y/N? It’s Tabito. I’m using Yayoi’s phone to call you because I don’t have one of my own,” he said.

“Hi, Tabito. What’s up?” you said, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you filled out a worksheet for your science class.

“I made it onto the soccer team,” he said. The tone was casual, but there was energy brimming behind it, so you knew he was likely rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement.

“No way! As just a first year?” you said.

“Yeah, I’m the youngest member of the team. The others are all second and third years,” he said.

“That’s amazing! I knew you could do it,” you said.

“I was pretty nervous, but I just did the best I could at tryouts, and I guess they thought I fit in well with the team,” he said.

“Of course you do,” you said.

“So,” he said. “Our first game is in two weeks. On Saturday. Are you busy that day?”

“I don’t think so. I’m usually free on Saturdays, especially if I’m good about doing my homework on time,” you said.

“Will you come?” he said, spitting it out like it was something boiling and acidic on his tongue.

“To your game? Yeah, I already promised I would, didn’t I? Just send me the address and I’ll be there,” you said.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “See you later. And seriously, you should be proud of yourself. Getting into the club at your age is awesome.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll have Yayoi send you the address so you can meet her there. Um, but only if you want to.”

“I do want to,” you assured him. “Promise. Bye, Tabito.”

The day of the game was brisk and windy, almost like winter but not quite as punishing — the kind of weather where you could still just as easily grow too hot as too cold. All of the trees lining the street were bursting with colors other than the typical viridian, their leaves glimmering in the afternoon sunlight like ruby-studded crowns of gold which cascaded through the air with every passing breeze. There was a hint of loneliness in the piles of browning foliage littering the sidewalk, which meant that, in short, it was Tabito’s favorite kind of day. You hoped that it was a good omen for his first game.

Yayoi was waiting for you by the bottom of the bleachers, playing with the frayed ends of the pale blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She was wearing a cable-knit sweater, a pair of jeans that were loose around her ankles, and once-white shoes which had long ago been ruined by purple ink and too much free time.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said. She glanced up at you and then smiled slightly in greeting.

“No worries, you’re not late at all. I just came early because I walked with Tabito and he had to be here in time to warm up,” she said.

“If you get here so early every time, then I can see why you get bored of watching his games,” you said.

“I guess maybe that’s on me,” she allowed. “Where do you want to sit? If we’re closer to the field, we can see better, but there’s a greater chance we’ll get hit by a stray ball.”

“How about three rows back? That should be enough of a buffer that we don’t get hurt, but we’ll be able to see everything that happens,” you said.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said.

The metal benches were icy when you first sat on them, and you pulled your cardigan tighter around you to ward away the chill which seeped through your entire body from the point of contact. Yayoi, who was nearly as observant as her brother, offered you her scarf when she noticed, but you shook your head in a silent rejection.

The two of you talked about random, mindless things while you waited for the game to begin — how your classes were going, the latest gossip at your school, which high schools you were planning to apply for, and other such topics. They were the same subjects you went over every time you hung out, and for a moment you forgot that you had another purpose for meeting beyond just enjoying one another’s company.

Then the referee blew the whistle, effectively cutting off your conversation and bringing the impending game back to your collective attention. The gathered spectators, who were mostly parents and other students that attended Tabito’s junior high school, broke into applause as the teams took the field for the kickoff. You did the same, though both you and Yayoi made sure to applaud extra hard when Tabito jogged up with the others.

“Do you know what position he plays?” you said.

“Back in elementary school, he was the striker, but I doubt they’d give that role to a first year,” she said. “He’ll have to work up to it, I’m sure. He’s probably in the midfield for now.”

“I don’t really know what that means,” you admittedly sheepishly.

“I guess you could think of midfielders as the in-between men? Before, he was on pure offense, so his job was to stay up and score whenever possible, and then of course there’s players who prefer to be on defense, which means they aim to stop the opposite team from making goals. Midfielders have to be fluid, though, since they’re responsible for the middle portion of the field — ah, hence the name. Depending on who has the ball, they have to either go on offense or stay back on defense, which means they need to be equally as skilled at both,” she said.

“But then why would they put an inexperienced player in such a spot?” you said.

“It’s a pretty forgiving position, surprisingly. If you mess up as a midfielder, you have a buffer of offensive and defensive players on either side of you, so it’s likely that someone will be able to recover for the error, but if you’re up on top at offense or near the goal on defense, then there’s no one beyond you, so mistakes are more costly,” she explained.

“I get it now,” you said. “Sorry if that was a dumb thing to be asking so many questions about.”

“Not at all,” she said. “It can be confusing, especially when you don’t know much about the game. You should ask Tabito to explain everything to you if you plan on becoming a soccer fan; he can go on and on about it. My knowledge is pretty surface level and also entirely dependent on whatever he’s told me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

“Ooh, look, they’re starting!” Yayoi said, pointing at the field, where indeed the game had exploded into action, players darting back and forth, shoving one another aside as they reached for the ball. As she had predicted, Tabito stayed towards the middle of the field, surveying the players fighting over the ball, and though he wasn’t anywhere near the thick of things, you found yourself far more interested in him than the others.

What did he see when he was on the field? It was something you’d never really get to understand. What was it like in the heat of a match, where every single movement was the difference between win or lose — in essence, between life or death? You wondered what kind of person he became when he played soccer, if it was the sort of experience that changed one’s character or if you were just ascribing fantastical aspects to it because you couldn’t live through it yourself.

The game went on at a breakneck speed, and frequently, by the time you asked Yayoi what was happening, the play had ended and a new strategy had already been implemented. It was difficult to keep up with but no less exciting for your lack of comprehension, and at least it was easy to keep track of the score, for the goals needed no explanation.

By the time that the second half was all but over, the score was tied. You thought about asking Yayoi what’d happen if it ended like that, but based on the way she was leaning forward in her seat and biting her nails, you doubted it was anything good.

Entirely by chance or perhaps by choice, the ball rolled to a stop at Tabito’s feet. For the entire game, he had been flitting around the action, never cutting in despite how he must’ve ached to, and now he was being given a chance to prove himself, a chance to change the course of the match entirely. Your heart pounded, though nowhere near as fiercely as his own must’ve, and somehow your hand sought out Yayoi’s, the racing pulse in your wrist crushing against hers, which was equally as quick.

In the moment that the side of Tabito’s foot brushed against the ball, there was a rebirth which occurred. He came alive in an instant, like a hawk which had finally swooped upon its prey, talons digging into a tender neck and rending through the soft flesh, wings spreading in an ominous shadow over the unassuming creature that he was bound to devour.

The other team did not stand a chance. He cut through them in a way that almost felt mocking, slamming his hands against their chests to push them away, keeping them at an arm’s length as he flew past, his eyes constantly scanning the area around him, trusting his feet to take care of the ball, which stayed by him with the loyalty of a hound. It was a terrible and yet beautiful thing to take in, the cruelty of his play-style; you could not reconcile it with the sweet boy you knew, yet neither could you tear your eyes away from that sly, vicious force as it darkened the field.

His goal was punctuated with the whistle of the game’s end. For a moment, he stood there alone, staring at the ball rolling out of the net, sending up sprays of turf when it bounced against the ground, and then he was tackled by his teammates, all of whom were shouting praises as they piled atop him.

“I can’t believe he scored the winning goal!” Yayoi said, tugging you to your feet. “Come on, let’s go congratulate him!”

“Are we allowed to?” you said.

“Mm, not if this was an actual game, but considering it was just a practice match between two middle schools, no one will care,” she said, vaulting over the short fence separating the field from the seating area and helping you do the same.

“If you say so,” you said.

All of the players were congregated by their coach, who was delivering an inspirational speech about their teamwork and how wonderful they were, so you and Yayoi hung back until they were dismissed. After that, you snuck up on Tabito, who was taking off his cleats, and Yayoi thumped him on the back.

“Boo!” she said. He squealed, and it was a high-pitched, girlish sound which had Yayoi cackling with laughter as she squished his cheeks together in one hand.

“Yayoi!” he said, though his voice was muffled, his mouth resembling a fish’s. “Let go of me!”

“I can’t bear to! My baby brother, the hero of the match,” Yayoi said. “It’s unbelievable. As exciting as if I was the one to score the winning goal.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t,” he said, using his shoulder to get her off of him so he could tie the laces of his sneakers.

“Wow, way to take away from my fun,” she said. “And here I was, trying to be proud of you.”

“Whatever,” he said. “What did you think, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, two of Tabito’s older teammates, one of whom was wearing a captain’s armband, appeared behind him. They were probably your age, towering over little Tabito, with handsome faces and the beginnings of sleek muscles swelling in their arms and legs.

“Hi,” the captain said to you. “You’re super pretty.”

You had never been approached so boldly, and certainly not by anyone so good-looking. Your cheeks warmed, and you fought back a smile.

“Hi,” you said. “Thanks. You played really well.”

You couldn’t quite remember how he had played, actually, for you had spent most of the game looking at Tabito, but you assumed it wouldn’t hurt for you to compliment him back, and mentioning the game was a safe enough way to do so. He seemed to appreciate it, laughing loudly, though you hadn’t said anything particularly funny.

“I’m glad you thought so!” he said. “We tried out a new strategy, and we weren’t sure it’d work, but thanks to Tabito here, it ended up for the best.”

“That’s great,” you said, directing your words to both of them, though the other teammate, who seemed to be less outgoing than his captain, was too busy staring at Yayoi to notice.

“How d’you know this shrimp, anyways?” the captain said, throwing an arm around the disgruntled Tabito’s shoulders. Tabito’s expression, which had already soured with the captain’s arrival, only warped more at the friendly display, his lip curling like he had tasted spoiled milk.

“He’s my little brother, and she’s my best friend,” Yayoi offered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“We came to support him at his first game!” you said. “He’s been super excited about getting the chance to play, so there was no way we couldn’t come.”

“As far as first years go, he’s definitely one of the best. I’m confident he’ll be taking my spot once he’s old enough for it,” the captain said. “I can’t name a single kid his age who’s as talented or hardworking.”

“He gets it from his older sister,” Yayoi joked. The captain grinned at her.

“I’m sure he does,” he said. “Look, I’m going to be plain with you: my friend and I were wondering if we could get your numbers and maybe—”

“We have to go now,” Tabito said, cutting off the captain, who gave him a surprised look. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he crossed his arms at you and Yayoi. “My mom will get mad at us if we’re late.”

“No, she won’t,” Yayoi said, furrowing her brow. “Since when has she cared about how late we are getting home?”

“Yes, she will!” he insisted. “She told me before we left that we have to be back before sunset or else we’ll be in big trouble.”

The captain raised his hands in the air. “No worries. Come to another game and we can catch up then, alright? There’s no point in risking getting in trouble.”

“Sure, that sounds cool,” you said.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“Yeah, nice meeting you,” the other teammate echoed, speaking for the first time, his face immediately turning bright red when Yayoi glanced at him.

“See you around,” she said. You thought that you heard the boy squeak, but you couldn’t quite tell. “Alright, Tabito, let’s go, then. Since apparently we’ll be in such big trouble if we’re not on time. Whatever that means.”

She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was implied in the rise and fall of her voice. Tabito ignored her, trotting off towards the exit, forcing you both to follow after him without further delay.

Once you were all on the road towards the Karasu household, Yayoi pulled out her phone, holding it out to her younger brother threateningly.

“I’m going to call mom, and if it turns out you were lying, I’m — I’m — I’m going to be really upset! You made us miss out on a chance to get dates, so if you were just making stuff up, then I’ll kill you for sure!” she said, speeding ahead of you so she could talk uninterrupted. Tabito shifted closer to you, a small frown on his face, not bothering to respond to Yayoi’s threat. You waited for him to say something; he confided in you often, expressing things to you which he dared not discuss with his sister, and you did not doubt that he would take advantage of the moment of solitude to speak his mind to you.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said after a moment of walking at your side.

“Tell you what?” you said.

“What you thought,” he said. “You told the captain he played well, but what about me?”

“I assumed it would be a given,” you said. “Of course, naturally I thought you were wonderful, Tabito. You were the best player out there.”

“Better than the captain?” he said. You beckoned him closer, cupping your hands around his ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you whispered. He nodded eagerly. “I don’t really know how the captain played. I just said that he was good to be nice to him, as he was nice to me, but the truth is that even when you didn’t have the ball, I couldn’t help but watch you the entire time.”

“Really?” he said.

“Really,” you said, nodding at him quite seriously. “I came to support you, didn’t I? Why would I bother with the other players?”

Any traces of his earlier vexation vanished in an instant. As you had suspected, he had been upset that you and Yayoi had ignored him in favor of the charming older players when he had been the one to invite you in the first place. Thankfully, he was easy to read and easier to placate, and anyways he never held grudges for very long, so he quickly cheered as if he had never been angry at all.

“Y/N, can I ask you one more thing before Yayoi comes back?” he said, looking over at his sister, who was speaking quite furiously to who you could only imagine was their mother.

“You can always ask me anything,” you said. “Go ahead.”

“Your phone number,” he said.

“What about it?” you said, puzzled. He avoided your eyes, kicking apart a pile of leaves and gazing at them as they plumed into the air.

“I want it,” he said. You gave him an amused look.

“You don’t even have a phone, Tabito. What would you do with my number?” you said.

“I’ll remember it,” he said, picking up a leaf and tearing it apart into many small pieces.

“Is that so?” you said. It was a ridiculous request, and you doubted he’d be able to follow through on that kind of promise, but you figured there was no harm in telling him. So you listed off the digits of your phone number, slowly and carefully, as he nodded along and told you he really would never forget them.

“Tabito!” Yayoi shrieked, sprinting towards you two at full pace. Tabito yelped and hid behind you as his sister, who was hardly ever so intimidating, came closer and closer, her countenance dark and a malevolent aura rolling off of her in waves. “Explain yourself, punk! Why’d mom tell me she said nothing like the crap you were spouting earlier? What’s the big idea, huh?”

��Oh, it’s alright, Yayoi,” you said. “I’m sure it was weird for him to watch his own teammates flirting with his older sister and her friend. That has to be some kind of murky territory or something. What if it didn’t work out and then they bullied him because of that? I don’t blame him for trying to get out of the situation.”

She huffed. “You’re lucky Y/N’s here. One day she won’t be there to defend you, and then you’ll really be sorry!”

Tabito stood on his tiptoes to peek over your shoulder and stuck his tongue out at her. Scowling, she returned the gesture in kind, blowing a raspberry at him before grabbing your hand and yanking you away with her.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s leave this loser to walk by himself.”

You chuckled and freed your hand from her grasp, which was a Herculean feat given that she had a grip made of iron, and then you looped your arm through her own.

“Alright, Yayoi,” you said. “Let’s do that.”

Later that night, as you wrapped up the last of your homework for the weekend, your cell phone lit up with an incoming call. Setting down your pencil, you picked up the phone and saw it was from the Karasus’ home phone — which was odd, because ever since Yayoi had gotten a cellphone of her own, she had called you from that, so it had been quite some time since you had seen that particular contact pop up.

“Hi, Yayoi,” you said. “Did your phone die or something?”

There was a pause. Then: “This isn’t Yayoi. It’s Tabito. I told you I’d remember your number.”

“Tabito?” you said. “Well, good job with that.”

“I wrote it down as soon as I got home,” he said. “Once I get my own phone, I’ll make you my first contact.”

“Me? Not your parents or Yayoi? Or one of your other friends from school?” you said, snickering. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I want it to be you.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. Maybe in some way, your friendship with Yayoi had transferred to him; after all, you had been the first number she inputted once she got a new phone, and you were also the first person she gave her personal number to, so maybe that kind of tradition had stayed with him and, in a typical sibling manner, became something he wanted to replicate. “You do that, then. And you can text me directly when you have games so I can come to them.”

“Actually, I also wanted to tell you that you don’t have to watch any more games where I’m not doing anything. When I’m in high school and I’m the captain of a really good team, then you can come,” he said.

“I don’t mind if you’re not doing much. The game today was fun. I got to hang out with Yayoi and meet your teammates,” you said.

“I don’t want you there anymore, so don’t come!” he said.

“Goodness. I won’t, then,” you said. “But that means you really have to work hard, because even if you invite me, I’ll only attend if you’re the captain of the team.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll be a way better captain than the one I have right now.”

“Sure,” you said.

“Okay,” he said. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye,” you said, hanging up, finding a great humor in his competitive mindset, which even reared its head against his own captain, who he was meant to respect above all else.

Somehow, by chance or by fate, both you and Yayoi had the same top high school, and furthermore, you both received offers of admission despite how selective it was. The only other person from your middle school who was accepted was Aoyama, which you only knew because he told you one day during art club.

Both his artistic skills and his appearance had improved markedly since the two of you had first met; though he had never managed to master calligraphy or watercolor painting, he had discovered a talent for making scenes come alive with the use of a simple pencil. It was admirable, that with solely shades of gray he was able elicit images of color, and as he had grown older, he had also mellowed into someone you did not mind speaking to, so when you discovered that he was going to high school with you and Yayoi, you were surprised to find that you were actually a little happy about that fact.

Despite his obvious aptitude for sports — he was tall and sturdily built, with long limbs and a wide torso — he had denied every athletic club which attempted to recruit him, staying loyal to the art club despite how hard he had to work at keeping up with the rest of you. And because you and he had been in the same club for years upon years and the same school for longer, you supposed that it was inevitable for some kind of relationship to blossom between the two of you, which was why it was all but a foregone conclusion when he asked you out, the winter of your first year of high school.

It wasn’t the most romantic proposal. In fact, it was rushed and harried and fumbling, altogether messy and unplanned, but endearing in a way. You had been walking home from an art club meeting when you passed by the park where he had had a birthday party, so many years ago, and then he was pulling you over to the slides and sitting you down at the foot of one. You were motionless as he paced back and forth, trying to muster up the courage and the words to say to you, and then finally he just spat it out, all in a jumble. Will you go out with me?

You saw no reason to say no, so you said yes. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, and his lips were cold like the weather, but you did not complain, because he could not help it. And then he sprinted off and left you sitting there, at the edge of the red plastic slide in that desolate playground, the wind pushing the empty swings the way you had once pushed Tabito.

Aoyama was a fine boyfriend, or at least you thought he was; you had no experience with any others, so of course you could not say for certain, but in your opinion, he did as well of a job as he could be expected to. He held your hand when you walked together and took you on dates and kissed you in private — never in public, though, because you hated the idea, even if he would’ve liked to very much.

“I don’t get what your problem is,” you said, pressing a button on your controller to send a red shell flying. It connected with Yayoi’s character, and your own avatar, Princess Daisy, pumped her fist in celebration as you shot past the dismayed Rosalina.

“Don’t have one,” she said, shaking her remote in a futile effort to reawaken Rosalina. The character remained stunned for a second more before rejoining the race.

“Every time I bring up Aoyama, you stop talking and get all standoffish,” you said. “You obviously do have a problem. Is it because I keep talking about my boyfriend? I’m sorry if I’ve been doing that. I don’t want to be one of those people.”

“You don’t talk about him a ton,” she said, using a power up to speed through a shortcut, ramming your character out of the way to snag first place at the last minute.

“Okay, but something about him annoys you. What is it? I can’t fix a problem if I don’t even know it exists,” you said.

There was a set of thudding footsteps, and then Tabito, freshly showered from a game, peeked his head into the living room, batting his eyelashes at you in an attempt to seem sweet and innocent.

“Are you guys playing Mario Kart?” he said.

“What’s it to you?” Yayoi said.

“I want to, too,” he said. “Can I?”

“We were kind of talking about something,” you said. You weren’t sure if Yayoi would discuss the subject in front of her little brother, but it had been bothering you for long enough that you wanted to get things out in the open once and for all.

“It’s fine,” Yayoi said. “You can play with us. Just don’t be a pain.”

This was an absolute role reversal, and Tabito must’ve picked up on that, but he did not mention it, only plodding over to the TV and connecting his own set of controllers before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning back on your legs instead of attempting to squish between his sister and the armrest of the small couch.

“Are you seriously going to be Waluigi again?” you asked him with some disdain, wrinkling your nose as he selected his typical character.

“He’s my favorite,” he said.

“Gross,” you said. “But back to the original topic, Yayoi, don’t think you’re getting out of things just because Tabito’s here. You still have to explain what’s up.”

“Did something happen?” Tabito said as you selected a cup at random and the first race began.

“No,” Yayoi said.

“Yes,” you said, at exactly the same time.

“…Okay, then,” Tabito said.

“It’s about Aoyama,” Yayoi said. “Her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he said.

“It feels like Yayoi has some issues with him, but she won’t tell me what those issues are, exactly,” you said.

“Is he a bad boyfriend?” Tabito said.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “No, he’s perfectly alright.”

“Look, I don’t have anything against Aoyama. I liked him, all of the way back in first grade, so obviously I don’t have a problem with him,” she said.

“Is that it?” you said. “I didn’t even realize you had a crush on him at all.”

“No, why would I care about a crush from when I was so young? To be honest, I just don’t think he deserves you,” she said.

“Why not?” you said.

“That’s my duty as your best friend,” she said. “To me, you’re the most amazing person ever, so how could someone like Aoyama ever be worthy of dating you? Besides, it doesn’t seem like you like him very much.”

“What are you talking about? Obviously, I like him, or I wouldn’t be going out with him,” you said.

“You should break up with him if you don’t like him,” Tabito suggested.

“I do like him, and I’m not breaking up with him,” you said. “Yayoi, why would you say something like that?”

“Dunno,” she said. “Forget about it. Maybe I was just seeing things. If you say that you like him, then you definitely do.”

“Right,” you said.

“What’s so great about him, anyways?” Tabito said, shifting so that he could be more comfortable. “For you to want to date him. Why do you like him? Does he even do anything of note?”

You snorted. “Not everyone’s a soccer ace like you, Tabito. Aoyama could’ve been an athlete, but he’s stayed in the art club with me since elementary school. That’s a long time; it would’ve been impossible for me not to grow fond of him over the years, and by the time he worked up the nerve to ask me out officially, I suppose I was fond enough to say yes.”

“That’s stupid,” Tabito said. For emphasis, he released a blue shell, which hit you right before you crossed the finish line. “Anyone could join the art club, and you’ve known other people longer than you’ve known him. That’s not enough of a reason to date somebody.”

“Rude,” you said, kneeing him in the head playfully, for you had come in fourth due to his intervention. “You know, you don’t really need a reason to date someone. You can date them just because. Maybe it’s true that hanging out with you two is more fun than being with Aoyama, but isn’t it normal to get along better with your friends? And especially when the relationship is so fresh. We’re still getting to know one another right now.”

“That’s fair,” Yayoi said. “Don’t expect me to be outright hospitable with him or anything, but for your sake, I’ll be polite. As long as he knows that I’ll make sure he regrets hurting you, if ever he does.”

“I’ll pass the message along,” you said.

“And you have to like me — us more,” Tabito added. “You’ve known us longer, so you have to like us better.”

“I’ll always like you better,” you said, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Already, his face was losing that round quality from his youth; you expected it’d be entirely gone soon, and you mourned the imminent loss of his doll-like appearance, vowing to adore it for as long as it remained.

Surprisingly, he did not slap your hand away. He only hummed in pleased agreement, and that was that. The conversation was finished, and it was the last any of you spoke about the matter for quite some time.

High school flew by faster than you had anticipated, certainly far faster than middle school had, though they were the exact same length. You divided your time between your club activities, studying for exams, hanging out with Yayoi as well as your other friends, and going on dates with Aoyama, so you hardly had a moment in which you could be bored. You almost missed the feeling of lethargy and inertia you had at least experienced once or twice in junior high, but yet you could not bear to give any of those aspects of your life up, so you managed the demanding schedule as best as you could and somehow made it work.

As he had attended a different middle school than you and Yayoi, so, too, did Tabito attend a separate high school. He chose it because their soccer club was well-known, but when he was in his first year, he was scouted to join the youth team of the prestigious J1 League football club Bambi Osaka, so it ended up mattering little. When he had reached such a point, why would he concern himself with school soccer clubs? There was no higher peak that he could reach with them than the one he already had achieved, especially not at his age.

It was rare for someone so young to consistently give such excellent performances. After all, he had been chosen as a starter for his junior high team as only a first year, albeit as a midfielder instead of his preferred position as a striker, and now, at the beginning of his high school career, he had already been selected to play for Bambi Osaka. Even Yayoi had to admit that her little brother had something to him — she claimed it to be an intrinsic talent, for that meant she had a chance at inheriting it as well, but Tabito was far more modest than she and always countered these declarations, arguing that it was nothing more than constant practice.

“Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m not that good,” he told you one day, when you were watching one of Yayoi’s badminton matches together. You were sitting on his black camping chair; he had offered to you and sat on the ground instead of making you do so, though you had never complained about it.

“There’s no way you’re not,” you said. “Ask anyone, and they’ll agree with me.”

“It’s true,” he said, shrugging like it was a fact he had accepted long ago and which consequently did not bother him anymore. “Some people are handed everything, but I’m not like that. I’m not a prodigy in any sense of the word. It’s easy to seem talented when you only pick on a person’s weak spots.”

You rested your hand on his shoulder. He was taller now, and growing more by the day, so you no longer had to lean down very far to do so, though he was on the ground and you were not. Exhaling through his nose, he bent his neck so his cheek could rest on your fingers, which were perpetually cold and must’ve felt nice in the summery heat of the midafternoon.

“If you seem like you’re talented, then you really must be,” you said. “I don’t think faking things like that is as simple as you believe it to be.”

“It’s simpler than you think,” he said. “Anyways, please don’t bring it up again. I just wanted one person to know the truth of who I am.”

“And it had to be me?” you said. You couldn’t see him smile, but you felt his cheeks grow fuller as his mouth curved into the wry smirk he donned more often than not nowadays.

“Of course, it had to be you,” he affirmed. “Who else would it be?”

Who, indeed? In some ways, you were as close with her little brother as you were with Yayoi herself, though it was a different kind of relationship there. As an only child, you supposed that all-consuming affection must’ve been what one felt for a younger sibling, so you put it down to that. After all, you had known Tabito for long enough that he could probably be considered your brother as well as Yayoi’s, so what else would it be? And the way he treated you was how he would’ve treated Yayoi if she were gentler with him, so although it was definitely preferential, you never saw anything wrong with it nor felt any need to correct his loving behavior.

The end of entrance exams, which was the culmination of the many months of hellish work that you had all put in, came with bittersweet news. For the first time, you, Yayoi, and Aoyama would split ways, each of you accepted to different universities. Those two, whose steady presences at your side you took all but for granted, had paths which diverged from yours, and you wondered if ever they would converge again.

Your path took you to Tokyo, to the exact university that your parents had met at. They wept when they found out, for though they loved where they were now, their hearts still beat for the bustling city where they had spent so much of their lives.

Your only consolation was that Yayoi, too, was going to the capital city. She would attend a different school, and thus would live in a different part of the megalopolis than you would, so the distance between you would not be small, exactly, but at least it was manageable. At least your paths would not be so separate. The same could not be said for Aoyama, who was going to Kyoto for university. You would be hours apart, and as the date of your graduation grew ever nearer, this took a toll on your relationship.

The ceremony itself was beautiful, exactly the kind of celebration that was shown in movies. The choir sang your school’s anthem and the president of the school board personally handed you each your diplomas; everyone was dressed in their best clothes, and the click-clack of heels against wood echoed around the hall as students and parents alike bustled about, congratulating one another and wiping away tears at another milestone crossed.

As always, as ever, your parents were sitting with the Karasus. You knew because you sought them out when it was your turn to receive your diploma. At first, they were impossible to find in the crowd, but then, like a miracle, you saw Tabito in the back, towards the left entrance, his pensive expression vanishing the moment he realized you were looking at him. Just as he had when you had graduated elementary school, he grinned at you, and then he waved, but unlike back then, he wasn’t at all shy about it. Also unlike then, you beamed at him with no care for propriety, cameras flashing in your eyes as you clutched your diploma in front of you with one hand and used the other to wave enthusiastically back.

“What a sweet photo,” your father said when all of you rendezvoused after the official ceremony, showing you his phone. The picture was of you on stage, your face radiant with delight, your arm raised mid-wave, the gold lettering on your diploma legible thanks to the power of the zoom on his camera. “You’re so beautiful, dear. I can’t believe you’re so grown up already.”

“She’ll always be our baby,” your mother said, not even attempting to disguise the tears wetting the shadows under her eyes.

“Can we get a picture with our two graduates?” Mrs. Karasu said.

“That’s a great idea,” your father said. “It’s so special that the two of you started school together, and now you’ve graduated side by side.”

“It only happens in the movies,” Mr. Karasu said, taking a pack of tissues out of his pocket and blowing his nose with a great honk. “And yet we have an example right here in front of us. Go on, girls, get together.”

You and Yayoi did not need to be told twice, pressing your shoulders together, so close that they rose and fell in tandem. You fancied that if one was to listen to your heartbeats at that moment, they would’ve been keeping the same rhythm, for you had lived more of your lives together than not, and so even your most basic systems were familiar with one another.

“How about one of Yayoi and Tabito?” Mr. Karasu said. “Let the L/Ns take a couple with Y/N, too.”

Your parents took turns posing with you and taking photos before your father flagged down a random classmate of yours, entreating the confused boy to take a picture of the three of you together. You could already envision exactly where they were going to hang that particular shot — in the living room, framed by something gaudy and likely near the vase of false, ever-blooming flowers your mother kept on one of the tables.

The Karasus were still taking family photos, for there were quite a few more of them than there were of you, so you decided to take the moment to look for Aoyama, who had been separated from you and Yayoi in the rush of people leaving the ceremony hall. It would be nice to take a picture or two with him, too, after all.

It was not hard to find him, not given how tall he was — in the crowd, there were few who were taller, and of those few, only the lanky Tabito was one you recognized. His mother greeted you exuberantly; she had always loved you, perhaps even more than her son did, and she immediately pushed the two of you together so that she could take a million photographs which she promised she would send to you at the earliest possible convenience.

“Do you ever think that this might be the last time we’re like this?” Aoyama said, his hand resting on your hip, a politician’s grin on his square face. You hummed in agreement.

“It is the last time we’ll be like this,” you said. “You’ll be off to Kyoto soon, and I’ll go to Tokyo sooner.”

“That’s true,” he said. “We should savor it, then. While we can.”

You knew what he was hinting at, but now was not the time to consider it. Now, you were meant to be happy, so you mirrored that smile of his and posed with him as if nothing was wrong, unsure of whether, in two weeks’ time, you’d be able to look at those particular photos at all.

At some point while you were you were with Aoyama, Tabito appeared, his arms crossed over his chest. He stood a respectful distance away from Aoyama’s mother, and it was only when you stepped away from your boyfriend and left him to his family that he hesitantly approached you.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” you said. “How’d you manage to find me? There’s so much going on.”

“You’re pretty hard to miss,” he said. You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t bother with explaining himself. “You’re probably all photographed-out, but if you don’t mind…can we also take one? I don’t want you to forget that I came, too.”

“You only came for Yayoi,” you teased him. “It’ll hurt my feelings less if I don’t remember you were here at all.”

“I came for you, too!” he said earnestly, showing you both of his hands to prove he wasn’t crossing his fingers behind his back. “Really, I did.”

“So you would’ve come even if Yayoi wasn’t graduating, too?” you said.

“If you invited me, I would’ve,” he said. “I’d even skip soccer practice for it.”

“Wow, you hold me in higher regard than soccer practice? I feel like you’ve bestowed some great honor upon me,” you said. “That’s worthy of a picture, I’d say.”

You handed your phone to a nearby classmate of yours, a pretty girl who you had sat by in your Maths class. She understood quickly what you were asking of her, accepting the phone and waiting for you to get in position.

“Say, L/N, I thought you were dating Aoyama?” she said as Tabito wrapped an arm around your waist and you leaned against his side.

“I am?” you said, confused at why she had brought it up. She furrowed her brow, taking a couple of photos before giving you your phone back to ensure you approved of them.

“Who’s this, then?” she said, nodding towards Tabito. “He’s awfully cute.”

“Huh? Oh, he’s just Yayoi’s brother, it’s not like that!” you said. “But he is so cute, isn’t he? He reminds me of a baby version of Yayoi. It makes me nostalgic sometimes.”

“Yayoi…ah, Karasu! I had Modern Literature with her,” she said, snapping her fingers in recognition. “Wow. I didn’t realize she had a brother. Sorry for making a weird assumption about the two of you! I guess you’ve known one another for a while, so it makes sense that you’d be close.”

“Exactly,” you said, confused about how she had even arrived at such a conclusion in the first place when there was nothing between the two of you to hint at a relationship that was anything but platonic or familial. “Hey, thanks so much! These are awesome.”

“Anytime!” she said. “So, Karasu’s little brother. How old are you, exactly?”

“Um…” Tabito glanced over at you for help, creeping imperceptibly closer as if you were some last line of defense between him and the curious girl.

“He just finished his first year,” you said, taking pity on him and answering. The girl wrinkled her nose.

“So you’re barely a second year? Ah, that’s a bit young for me at the moment. Maybe in a little while, yeah? Call me once you’re in college and then we can talk,” she said, winking at him and fluttering her fingers in a wave before vanishing in the crowd.

You tried very hard not to laugh, but when you turned and saw Tabito’s bewildered expression, you could not help it. When he realized you were laughing at him, he turned a vermillion shade that only he was capable of becoming.

“I’m — I’m sorry she said that. I wouldn’t have agreed with her if I knew she was calling you cute in that way,” you gasped out. “Oh, my poor Tabito. I really didn’t expect that at all, or I would’ve asked Aoyama to stay and take our photos instead.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’d like it — um, I’d like it better if you thought of me as cute like that instead of like a baby.”

“But you are a baby,” you cooed.

“I am not!” he said. It was another rendition of the same argument you both had had in the past, and though calling this particular example an argument was certainly a stretch, you did not want to sully the night with even a joking disagreement. So instead of refuting his childish rebuttal, you embraced him tightly.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you said. “You know I have no siblings of my own, but unlike most with that affliction, I am lucky enough to have met Yayoi, and through her gained a brother of my own.”

He shoved you off of him with a grumble. “I’m not your brother, either.”

“Alright,” you said, raising your hands in the air. “You’re not a baby, and you’re not my brother. Anything else?”

“No,” he said. “Let’s go back to our families. Your parents were looking for you. I think they all want to get dinner together.”

“Lead the way, then,” you said. “I call sitting next to you.”

He glanced at you shyly. “Okay. I don’t think you’ll have much competition there, though, so you don’t have to call it.”

“I just want to be certain. These are the final few weeks I’ll get to see you, aren’t they? I’ll miss you while I’m gone, so I have to stick to you like glue for as long as we have left,” you said, throwing a companionable arm around his shoulders for emphasis.

“Yes,” he said, bending his elbow so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, which dangled loosely by his collarbone. “Stick to me. Until the day you have to leave for good, stay by my side.”

The month in between graduation and the beginning of university was a whirlwind of receiving congratulations from random relatives, packing to move into your new apartment, and visiting your friends from high school, who you might not see for many months or perhaps ever again, now that you were all going in your separate directions.

More than anywhere else, you spent your hours at the Karasu residence. You never did anything particularly special, and neither did you bring up the ever-nearing date of yours and Yayoi’s departures; when the three of you were together — for Tabito insisted on accompanying you no matter how much Yayoi protested — you pretended like it was a normal break, like at the beginning of April you’d all once again return to your respective high schools and things would be exactly as they always had been.

You’d go to your favorite restaurants or run to ice cream shops late at night, laughing and teasing another as you licked at your cones and wandered around the streets. Sometimes you’d all go to the playground and pretend like you were children, sliding down slides that were only twice the length of your bodies and climbing across monkey bars with your feet brushing against the mulch. You’d sit on the swings and make Tabito push you as payback for the many times you had done so for him when he was younger, though he never viewed it as a punishment, and Yayoi would build castles in the sandpit, the grains digging into her skin and standing out in bright red patterns against her pale knees. Other days, if it was raining or any of you were particularly tired, you’d play video games, Tabito laying against your legs as he always did and Yayoi perched on the armrest like a gargoyle.

It was simple and wonderful and easy, but the same could not be said for your relationship with Aoyama. There was a tension between you both which had never been there before, and though he had claimed at graduation that he wanted to savor the last few weeks of your time together, you found yourself thinking more and more frequently that you wished you had ended things when you were still happy with one another.

You fought with him about random things, so irritable were you with one another. He accused you of spending all of your time with Yayoi, even though you’d be so close to her once the next year began, and ignoring him completely. You bit back with ten times the force, telling him plainly that you loved her first, and that even though you’d be nearer to her than him, the two of you would still be apart in a way you never had been, not since you both were six years old. And what of Tabito? What of the boy you had known since he was so young, that boy you had grown up alongside? You would leave him behind for good, and you could not bear the thought.

But in turn, this only angered him further. You like him, Aoyama accused you. You like him more than you like me. You weren’t sure how to respond to this. Of course you liked Tabito more than you liked Aoyama. You liked him more than you liked just about anybody, excepting his sister. Yet when Aoyama said it, it didn’t seem as innocuous as you knew it to be. It was the same thing that that girl from your math class had brought up, that there was something else between you and Tabito. You found it so distasteful that your words turned to poison.

You can’t say that, you’d snap, over and over, however fruitless it always was. He’s a kid. You can’t say that.

Aoyama would laugh bitterly, burying his face in his hands. Sometimes, he’d seem so tired and hollow and sick of it all that you’d regret it, regret whatever had happened between you two that had made you end up like this, but then he’d look up at you again and you’d know that this was the inevitable outcome.

It’s only two years. He’d remind you of that fact every time, and what could you say? It was the truth, and the same thing Tabito always insisted to your deaf ears. Two years or maybe less.

It’s different, you’d huff when you could not think of anything else. Aoyama would sigh and then one of you would apologize: sometimes you, sometimes him. After that you’d kiss, and things would settle into a distorted version of your old comfort, but each time you ran through that fight or one that was similar, it became a little more difficult and your relationship fractured a little more.

There was no one great mistake. You couldn’t pick out a single moment when everything went wrong, when one of you committed a grave and unforgivable sin. It was just the accumulation of many small grievances, the stress of both of your impending moves as well as the knowledge that the end for you both was near, that blew up into an enormous fight, the kind of confrontation that was only frightening when it was finally over.

You both shouted about everything and yet nothing. The relationship, in its best days, had never had anything worth complaining about, and so it was difficult to find something to genuinely be upset over. He insisted you were cheating on him, or that, if you were not already, you soon would. You spat insults at him that you were not proud of, calling him controlling and cruel and stupid, even if he wasn’t really any of these things, and definitely not in the great quantity you insinuated he was.

I joined the art club for you. That was the last thing he said, when it was officially over and your fist was clenched around the doorknob. I could’ve been a national champion at any sport. Soccer or basketball or baseball or whatever. I could’ve been great, but I stayed in the goddamn art club because I wanted to be with you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, stepping onto his doorstep, the rage leaving you in a minute, replaced by a deep sense of shame, but also, peculiarly, of freedom. Do you wish you had made a different choice now? Now that it’s come to this, I mean.

He laughed bitterly. Nah. Somehow, I can’t seem to regret it.

A lump formed in your throat, but bravely and surely, you swallowed it back. If you cried now, then you were afraid you’d never leave him. I see. Well, good luck in Kyoto.

Good luck with wherever your life takes you, he said. Tell Yayoi I said the same to her.

I will, you promised.

Tell that brother of hers, too, he said. And tell him you love him while you’re at it.

There was no merit in responding to that final statement, which was as much an assertion of his perceived correctness as it was a heartfelt attempt at reconciliation. So you turned around, allowing your tears to fall when you heard the door shut behind you, the streetlights guiding your way home as you cried silently to yourself.

You never did see him again. It was probably for the best, anyways. A few days later, you were off to Tokyo, with an entire life ahead of you — a life that had no longer had a place for the dalliances of your past.

You and Yayoi, as well as your parents, took the train to Tokyo together. Tabito stayed at home with his grandmother, though he bemoaned the turn of events; he was about to start his second year of high school, though, so how could he justify tagging along? He did come to the station, however, pretending to be nonchalant and ever-so-cool, like he didn’t care one bit that you and Yayoi were leaving for good.

“I hope you’re not considering a career in the film industry, Tabito,” you said. The three of you were sitting on a bench together, yours and Yayoi’s suitcases at your feet, your parents waiting in line at the window to receive your tickets.

“Why not?” he said stiffly.

“You’re horrible at acting,” you said, your arms going around his firm bicep, your forehead pressing to the curve of his shoulder. “It’s okay for you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he said, his voice a dull, trained monotone.

“I am,” you said. “We’re not going to be like this again for a while. Not ever, in one sense of the word. I think it’s natural to be sad about that.”

“Hmph,” Yayoi said, from Tabito’s other side. She was like her brother, but with marginally more of an aptitude at theatrics. Still, there was a curious sheen to her eyes, a dampness to the typically fiery irises. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you said. “Things will be different no matter what. I don’t think it’s a bad development, but it’s a true one. We’ll — we’ll be apart, Yayoi, and we’ll have to take taxis to visit each other instead of being close enough to walk.”

“You’ll still be able to visit each other,” Tabito said, his face stoic but his voice trembling. “I won’t even get that. I’ll be hours away and all alone.”

“You have your friends and your soccer team,” you said.

“They’re not you,” he said. You weren’t sure if he meant it for the both of you or you alone. Selfishly, you wished for it to be the latter, though you could not say why and had no claim to him for it to be the case. “Nobody could ever be you.”

“If our mom got pregnant again, someone could be like us,” Yayoi offered with a wavering, half-hearted laugh. “You’ll have another sister then. Name her Ya-Y/N and it’ll be like we never left.”

“I’ll be older than her,” Tabito said. “She’ll be a crying, whiny baby.”

“Sounds like you’ll get along well, then,” Yayoi said. He scoffed and smacked her on the arm. She yelped in dismay and rubbed the sore spot, glaring at him all the while, which did inject some levity into the atmosphere.

Your spirits immediately plummeted once again when the train arrived with a rushing, roaring wind, coasting to a stop, the doors heaving open with a sigh. There was a looming emptiness in every car, mirroring the pit in your stomach and the jagged, frayed tears in your heart, which widened with every step you took towards the edge of the platform.

“See you around, bro,” Yayoi said, doing an elaborate handshake with Tabito. “Good luck with soccer. Call me if our parents are being annoying; I’ll talk to them. You can count on it.”

“Thanks, bro,” he said. “Stay safe in Tokyo. Maybe try to get a boyfriend or something, if you can manage it.”

“Shut up, you little twerp. I definitely can! I’m going to end up dating a model, just you wait and watch!” she said, punching him in the arm lightheartedly and then leaping onto the train without a backwards glance, leaving you and Tabito alone. Your parents were waiting inside with your luggage, and you knew Yayoi would probably be confused about why you hadn’t followed her, but for some reason, you found yourself hesitating.

“You’ll be able to get home from the station by yourself okay?” you fretted.

“Yes, of course,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving up in amusement. “Despite what you and Yayoi seem to believe, I’m not a baby, and besides, my house isn’t that far from here. It won’t be a long walk. I’ll be okay — I’ve had to do worse exercise in practice.”

“Okay, but just be careful,” you said, shifting from foot to foot uneasily, playing with your fingers. “You have people who can help you if something happens and we’re not there, right?”

“I do,” he said.

“And — and stay away from pools,” you instructed him firmly. “Because you suck at swimming and I won’t be there to look out for you anymore.”

“I would’ve done that even if you didn’t tell me to,” he said. “Quit nagging me, Y/N. It’s seriously annoying. Don’t you have to go? You’ll miss the train if you don’t hurry up.”

On cue, the train let out a warning whistle. You swallowed and then nodded, but you didn’t move. You didn’t want to leave him. That was what you realized in that very moment: it wasn’t your entire life that you cared about abandoning. There wasn’t anything much you’d miss about your hometown, and certainly nothing you’d miss more than him. Tabito, your Tabito — because he was yours in a way you were loath to share with even Yayoi, who was his actual sister, and you were suddenly so certain that it had always been so and you had just never discerned it.

“Go on,” he said after a second, nudging you towards the train. “Really, you’ll be in trouble soon.”

You thought that you should tell him, but there were not words enough to describe it, so you did not. You could not. You only forced a smile and then stepped onto the train, clutching the metal bar and facing the platform so that you could gaze at him one final time. The train whistled again, and then Tabito’s expression changed into something strict and determined as he raced forward, skidding to a stop on the painted yellow border right in front of you.

“Did something happen?” you said. He shook his head, motioning for you to come closer. Still holding onto the metal bar for balance, you brought your face to his, thinking he might want to whisper one final secret in your ear before he no longer could. Yet he did not; instead, he pressed his lips to your cheek, one of his hands holding the other carefully, so gentle despite the roughness of his calloused palms.

“Bye, Y/N,” he said. “Don’t forget me while you’re in Tokyo.”

The doors closed and the train shot off as you took a step back, too stunned to shout out a final farewell until it was too late and all you could do was watch as his waving form receded into the distance.

#karasu x reader #karasu x y/n #karasu x you #karasu tabito #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #best friend’s brother au #best friend’s brother fic #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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