#How Do You Feel About Your Recent Involuntary Weight Gain?

[gorelesbian]

why did my bank just send me an email with the subject line "Do You Feel Shame About Still Living At Home?" girl mind your business

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Leaving Traces Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 留痕之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

MC (phone call): I found your study room. May I invite CEO Victor to state his next instruction!

Victor (phone call): There’s a black file on the third shelf of the bookcase, closer to the right side. Do you see it?

MC: Third shelf... to the right... I see it!

Victor: Mm, open and check it for me.

I tap on the hands-free function, place the phone on the table, then carefully retrieve the file.

Today is the sixth day that Victor is on a business trip, and he gave me a call asking me to help him find a document.

Even though this is for an “official purpose”, being in this room filled with a familiar scent and hearing his voice feels pretty wonderful.

Flipping open the file, what enters my vision is the cover page of a contract.

MC: Is there an investment contract for a public educational welfare program inside?

Victor: That’s right.

When I see the date stamped at the bottom, my lips involuntary curl upwards.

MC: The public welfare program you invested in last year is going to have a charity gala in a few days... Someone keeps claiming that he isn’t a philanthropist, yet does quite a number of things in secret which reap zero returns.

Victor: Actually, it doesn’t count as zero returns. This program offers public welfare courses and training in universities. Each year, there are graduates who choose to work in LFG. The value they create is a form of return.

MC: Do all investors like such long-term strategies? Snatching up investments quickly, but only obtaining benefits after a very long time.

Victor: It’s also possible that there wouldn’t be any benefits. Since risks can’t be avoided, why not shoulder the greatest risk, and find that biggest “fish”.

MC: ...that’s what someone strong and capable would say.

I turn around, storing the file into my bag. Catching sight of Victor’s spectacles on the table, I pick them up, holding them in front of my eyes.

After adjusting to the slight dizziness from the spectacle degrees, I hold the spectacles and scan the surroundings.

MC: Victor, I’ve always been curious. Does the world you look at differ from other people?

Victor: How do you think it’d be different?

MC: For example... can you see the shape of time?

My imagination roams uncontrollably. If I could see time, and even adjust its speed, I might become the second Victor...

However, a sigh at my ear very quickly interrupts my daydream.

Victor: Even if I could see it, it wouldn’t be the way you imagine it.

MC: ...

Victor: If I remember correctly, a certain someone still has the job of broadcasting LFG’s charity gala. If you want to do a proper job, don’t place your hopes on shortcuts.

Hearing his cool voice, I purse my lips.

MC: You’re putting emphasis on efficiency again. You’re really skilful in managing your time... In that case, could I look forward to you returning early? With CEO Victor supervising me personally, my mentality at work will be even better.

Victor: I find that you always have a hundred reasons for not doing honest work.

MC: That wasn’t my main point...

Perhaps hearing my grumbling clearly, Victor laughs.

Victor: But you can look forward to it. Do what you have to do properly, and wait for me to return.

-

The next day, I send the document Victor needs to the office. After that, I take a taxi over to conduct a pre-interview.

Aside from preparing for the charity gala, I’m also doing a documentary with the theme of “Craftsmen of Time”. It records people who are able to maintain their craft despite having a fast-paced life.

Today, I’m visiting a boutique for custom-made suits which has been in business for several decades. It’s hidden in a small alley in the downtown area, and it’s as though time has stopped at a corner.

The boss shows me around the store while giving me introductions. After making one round, he lifts his head to look at his watch, then turns to me apologetically.

MC: Miss MC, I’m sorry about this, but a customer has made an appointment for a fitting, and will be here soon. We do a one-on-one service here. If the customer is unwilling, you might have to step back for a while.

Just as I’m able to wave my hands to express my understanding, the sound of the door being pushed open drifts from not too far off.

What follows is a familiar voice -

?: She doesn’t need to leave.

I turn my head. As expected, I see Victor walking in.

Boss: Mr Victor.

MC: Victor!

The boss and I speak in unison, then stop at the same time.

Seeing the slightly shocked expressions on both of their faces, I’m a little embarrassed as I scratch my cheek.

MC: Ooh... erm. Welcome.

Victor: Mm, thank you.

A few employees behind chuckle softly. However, Victor is unaffected, and he walks over to look at the notebook in my hand.

Victor: You’re working?

MC: Mm, I'm here for an interview. What are you doing here?

Victor: Didn’t you hear it earlier? I have an appointment at this timing. I’ll be interrupting you for a while, but it won’t take too long.

I shake my head to show that I don’t mind. Only then does Victor turn his head towards the boss.

Victor: Today’s the fitting, isn’t it.

Boss: That’s right. The clothes have already been hung in the changing room for you.

Victor: You’ve worked hard.

Victor walks into the changing room. I hold onto his outer coat while sitting on a chair at the side, waiting. Once again, I look around at the suits displayed in the shop.

Before, I used to tacitly agree that formalwear were more or less the same. Today, I realised that there are many differences when it comes to the details.

They can also be custom-made according to various settings and personal preferences, to become a form of personalised “fashion”.

Not following the crowd and not being set in stone is indeed very appropriate for Victor’s style.

After a moment, Victor pulls open the door and walks out. The boss immediately steps forward to check the measurements.

I stare directly at Victor in the mirror.

Even though the suit isn’t finished, the superior quality and lines have already made the person before me appear even taller and more capable.

It’s just that...

Boss: It’s been a long time since I last saw Mr Victor. It seems you’ve become much thinner recently. The suit will be done in a few days. To be safe, we’ll take your measurements again today.

Victor: I’ll have to trouble you then.

I flip the notebook open as a guise, but my gaze never leaves Victor.

The employee measures his neck. Victor lifts his head, and I realise that his lower chin has become thinner. When he’s expressionless, he looks even more solemn.

The measuring tape extends and retracts on his body, leaving light wrinkles on his already-fitting vest.

Ever since we met, it seems like his appearance in my mind has never changed.

A serious expression, wearing a well-fitting suit, always with people clustering around him... just like the sight before me right now.

However, in contrast to the usual, the Victor of this moment is a little different.

What the boss said is correct. He has indeed lost weight. But only a week passed - how could there be such an obvious change?

I recall how he looked before he left on the business trip. For a moment, I find that he was different from the way he is now. In the next moment, I find that he was the same as the way he is now.

I finally realise that before this, I never even noticed that he had grown thinner...

Wanting to look at him more carefully, I narrow my eyes, only to suddenly meet Victor’s gaze.

Victor: Looks like you learnt quite a lot today.

MC: What? 

Victor: Are these numbers needed for work?

Following his gaze, I look at the book in my hand, and realise that I had subconsciously recorded down many numbers.

These numbers seem to be the measurements taken by the employee...

MC: T-this is just an accident!

Seeing that the employee has finished taking measurements, I hurriedly shut the book, stuffing it into my bag.

Boss: We’ll make some adjustments, and will contact you in a few days to collect the finished suit.

Victor: Thank you for the hard work.

After saying this, Victor walks over to me. Pretending to be professional, I shake and open his outer coat, helping him put it on.

MC: Is the new outfit for the charity gala?

Victor: Yes.

MC: When the time comes, I’ll remind the director to do more dashing close-ups of CEO Victor!

Victor: You’re still so proud despite using your professional capacity for personal gain.

Victor casts me a sidelong glance. Since I have nothing to fear, I give him a smile.

MC: Oh yes, why didn’t you tell me that you returned early?

Victor: Didn’t I promise you over the phone last night?

MC: But it’s still too quick... Did you board the plane right after hanging up?

Victor: It just shows that the timing was just right.

As he mentions this casually while fastening his buttons, I can’t help but ask him a question that I should have asked from the start.

MC: So was this chance encounter also a coincidence that was “just right”?

Victor: This wasn’t a chance encounter. You shared your location with me in the taxi earlier. You don’t remember?

MC: Ah, my fingers must have slipped...

Victor: You can maintain this habit. I guessed that you had work to do, so I didn’t send you a message. But I remember that a certain someone mentioned wanting me to supervise her at work, so I came over to have a look.

Victor appears to be in a good mood, and he pats the top of my head.

Victor: I’m done with my task here. You can continue with what you were doing.

MC: Wait!

Seeing that Victor is about to leave, I hurriedly take a step forward to stop him.

MC: I’ll go with you.

Victor: Are you done with the interview?

MC: Today’s portion has been done. Give me a moment.

I blink at him, then run swiftly to the boss to make an appointment for the next collection of materials.

Even though I did hope that he’d be by my side to “supervise me at work”...

When the person I’ve been yearning for day and night appears in front of me, my train of thought is unable to remain entirely on work.

-

It’s rare for Victor’s to have a free schedule, so I urge him to return home to rest.

The sun sets, and the clamour of the city gradually goes away. Life seems to return to its original rhythm in this tranquil room.

I’m leaning against Victor as I tap on the keyboard, yet can’t help but peek at him from time to time in secret.

I watch as he wears the spectacles that were in his study room before, and the curiosity that I shelved aside from the previous night surfaces once again.

MC: Victor, do you still remember when you first stopped time?

Victor: I can’t remember clearly. Back then, I didn't think of deliberately stopping time. I just had a blurry wish.

MC: That’s really nice...

Victor: You seem to really like this ability?

MC: Anyone would be envious. Being able to stop time is both cool and useful. To take it even further, if you want to, life can even be extended.

A soft chuckle drifts from the side, kneading into the sound of flipping paper.

Victor: It isn’t that easy to control time. Simply stopping it for a while doesn’t change any outcome. The time that’s “stolen” isn’t very meaningful either. Instead, why not watch time flow by and see what it can bring?

After hearing his words, I stop typing.

MC: As expected, when it comes to the topic of time, you’re the person with the most right to speak. You really won’t consider letting me add an episode featuring an exclusive interview with you?

Victor: Rejected.

MC: You rejected so quickly... hm?

Just as I turn my head to look at him, a slight sharp pain drifts from the back of my head.

Thinking my hair is trapped on something, I reach out to look for it, and bump into VIctor’s hand accidentally.

Lowering my head, a few strands of hair spread over his fingers. The tips of my hair brush against my hand, and finally fall back into his palm.

Was he... tangling my hair earlier?

This action doesn’t seem to fit with Victor’s style. I glance at his slightly unnatural expression, controlling my laughter as I ask him a question.

MC: Victor, what are you doing?

Victor: ...I just realised that your hair has grown a little longer.

MC: It does seem like a while since I went to the salon.

I smoothen my hair in front of my chest to take a look, but don’t find any obvious changes.

MC: I can’t tell, but it’s definitely a little longer than when I had it cut.

Victor: Of course you can’t tell if you see it every day. But it’s much more obvious when looking at it after a period of time. Yesterday, you asked if I could see the shape of time. It probably looks like this. It isn't difficult to find proof of time’s existence. You can see it too.

Victor smoothens my hair a little clumsily, the corners of his lips lifting upwards.

I suddenly recall my hug with him earlier, and how I felt that his waistline was evidently thinner.

Time is constantly flowing, leaving numerous, subtle traces on our bodies.

And these little discoveries after reuniting are a form of compensation, enabling people to see the things we’ve grown accustomed to in a fresh light.

Lifting my head, I reach out to prop up his spectacles.

MC: So this is the time in your eyes.

Victor: What do you mean?

MC: In the past, I used to think that the passage of time was something a little sad. It seemed like many things fade away and vanish with time. But maybe this isn’t the fault of time. It’s just that we neglected those things because we’ve grown accustomed to their existence beside us.

Victor: Not a bad thought.

MC: See? There are benefits to occasionally deviating from habits! At the very least, I discovered another side of “Victor”.

Victor: A dummy being able to enlighten herself counts as a form of improvement. But based on the number of anniversaries you commemorate, some things are difficult to ignore.

MC: ...just treat it as a periodic review!

Victor: So at this current stage, what do you want to review?

MC: Right now...

I turn my body towards Victor. While thinking about this question, I subconsciously scrutinise Victor up and down.

His washed hair is no longer restrained by hair gel, and the eyes beneath his fringe are warmer and brighter.

I can’t recall when he started looking at me with that gaze often.

How many days and nights have we spent together? There are probably so many that I wouldn’t be able to segment them into “periods” soon.

But no matter which anniversary it is, or which moment I wish to inscribe, my feelings are the same.

MC: I thought of a poem I once read in a book - “Now is the time for drinking!” Being able to discover new surprises from a life one is accustomed to... Right now is the best time.

Victor glances at me, then turns my hand over, making a stamping gesture.

Victor: I approve of this “periodic review”.

-

After a tight schedule of preparations, the day of LFG’s charity gala quickly arrives.

In previous events like this, I’d remain backstage, constantly rushing around.

Even though I'm sitting with the distinguished guests this time, I take occasional peeks at my phone, paying attention to the happenings backstage.

The first half of the soirée goes smoothly, and many people make use of the intermission to rest and relax.

Just as I think of searching for Victor, my phone vibrates. I hurriedly slip away to the corridor of the venue to answer it.

MC: Willow, did something happen?

Willow: Boss, some issues cropped up with one of the auction items for the second half. Come quickly and have a look!

I check the time, realising that there are only twenty minutes before the second half of the soirée starts.

With no time to hesitate, I rush to the props room immediately.

-

People are bustling around backstage, and only the props room is unusually quiet.

Willow leans towards me, quietly explaining the situation before me.

Willow: When preparing the props earlier, we accidentally bumped into Auction Item No. 4 and it fell somewhere. The item’s too small, and we haven’t been able to find it. The person responsible for No. 4 has a bad temper, and is stopping us from working until we find the auction item.

I pat Willow comfortingly.

MC: Don’t panic. Our colleagues are always watching the props room, so it shouldn’t be lost. First, tell the director that this item will appear later in the evening. Pick a few meticulous colleagues to look for it. The others can handle the props as soon as possible. Leave the person-in-charge to me.

Willow nods, and very quickly attends to the matter. I suck in a soft breath, walking towards the person-in-charge who is not too far off.

MC: Hello, may I know if you’re Mdm Zheng? I’m the producer of this soirée...

While I’m conversing with the person-in-charge, my colleagues hastily deal with the props.

And that “missing” Auction Item No. 4 is finally found in between several large paper boxes.

After the person-in-charge checks it personally, she rushes to send it to the stage at the very last minute.

-

Stepping into the house, the phone which has been vibrating for the entire evening finally returns to silence.

The second half of the soirée was more or less spent coordinating the auction issue backstage.

By the time I finished replying to all the messages accumulated in my phone, the car had already reached the house.

I watch as Victor minds his own business and hangs both of our outer coats properly, and doesn’t seem to have an intention to probe. Clearing my throat, I follow after him.

MC: Cough cough. Isn’t CEO Victor going to ask what I was busy with this evening? 

Victor: I heard all about it. You resolved a big problem.

MC: ...you don’t sound very surprised.

Victor: You think I don’t know what you’re busy with? Also, this is something you’re already capable of doing.

MC: Hmph, whatever you say makes sense.

Despite my words, the corners of my lips lift upwards involuntarily.

Victor glances at me, then pulls me towards the cloakroom suddenly.

By the time I return to my senses, he has already settled me down onto a soft chair.

MC: Whats wrong?

Victor doesn’t respond. He squats down in front of me, pinching my ankle.

Victor: After busying yourself for an entire evening, are you tired?

MC: I’m pretty okay. I usually run around like this too. I’m the type who’s good in both books and martial arts!”

Victor seems to chuckle. He lifts my left foot and places it on his lap, then helps me untie the numerous shoelaces.

MC: !

My heel presses against his newly made trousers. I freeze for a moment, subconsciously wanting to retract my foot.

As though undisturbed, Victor continues holding on to my ankle, studying the knot tied to my calf.

Victor: Looks like making you take on a few large-scale events is quite meaningful. I still remember how you used to get nervous when meeting people who were the slightest bit famous. Also, when faced with trouble, you’d first lose your head and panic. After resolving it in a roundabout manner, you’d even ask me for praise.

MC: You actually remember such embarrassing things...

Victor: It’s meant to show how much you’ve improved.

While saying this, Victor tugs at the shoelace, brows furrowing slightly.

Victor: Why are these shoelaces so complicated...

Glancing at his somewhat perplexed expression, I chuckle as I pull on his hand, guiding him in untying the knot on my leg.

MC: Knowing that CEO Victor was attending the event in splendid attire, I had to work hard to dress up as well. Aside from improvements in work, don’t you find that my aesthetic sense has also improved?

Victor removes my shoe for me, rubbing my toes gently.

Victor: These shoes suit you, but they don’t fit your feet adequately. Your toes are swollen, and you didn’t feel it?

MC: Isn't this what happens when wearing high heels for a long time?

Victor: Things that are truly suitable will be comfortable no matter the circumstances. Although there are improvements in certain areas, there isn’t much progress when it comes to taking care of yourself.

After saying this, Victor once again lowers his head to untie the shoelaces on my right foot. 

Staring at the top of his head, I can’t help but find this situation a little abrupt.

The person who was receiving the applause from an audience just a few hours ago is now voluntarily taking care of me tenderly.

Not only that. Even when I’m unaware, he’s always paying close attention to me.

Even when it comes to details I don’t realise, he takes note of them for me.

In this instant, a faint, stinging emotion is in my heart, urging me to blurt out my genuine thoughts.

MC: The reason why I haven’t made progress is because you’ve been taking such good care of me, isn’t it? CEO Victor may be an investor in other areas, but in this area, you’re a big philanthropist.

Victor: Are you blaming me?

MC: I’m complimenting your conscientiousness and patience, and how you’re willing to spend time taking care of a dummy.

Victor chuckles, and I feel warm breaths faintly on my skin.

Victor: Looks like this dummy hasn’t realised that I didn’t help you this time.

MC: Hm? Are you referring to the soirée?

Victor: Mm. From planning to execution, including the sudden incident, I didn’t provide any advice. Do you know what this means?

MC: It means... that this was a test?

Victor: It’s just a periodic test. Not bad. You passed.

MC: In that case, do I get a periodic prize?

Victor: From now onwards, I can give you the right of choice. You can judge for yourself if you want to accept the programs I give you. Whether it’s a request from other businesses or from LFG. As long as you give me a clear and logical reason, you can reject them.

I’m stunned, and it’s only after a long while before I blink my eyes slowly.

MC: But rejecting CEO Victor’s goodwill sounds like a wastage of natural resources...

Victor: How do you know that everything I give you is “goodwill”?

MC: Huh? 

Victor: I said that I'd let you judge for yourself. There aren’t many good things that fall from the sky.

MC: In that case, if I simply feel tired and want to take a break, could I reject them too?

Victor: If it isn’t because you’re being lazy, you can.

MC: What if it’s because I’m giving the opportunity to our competitors?

Victor: You’ll bear all the consequences yourself.

MC: ...as expected, you’re still an investor.

Victor: If you aren’t happy about it, you could become an investor yourself and confront me.

MC: That’s even more absurd!

Victor laughs, glancing at me.

Victor: The quantitative and qualitative changes will require time. You can get used to it slowly. But the next time you take on several jobs, remember to change into a comfortable pair of shoes. Don’t make others worry.

With a gentle brush of my leg, the shoelaces of my right shoe loosen.

My ankle relaxes, and I subconsciously lower my head to look at Victor, suddenly thinking about something.

MC: Victor... I have one more question to ask you. Is the reason why you’re giving me this reward because of sympathy or because I’ve really improved? 

Victor: The latter of course.

MC: But I can’t really sense any changes in myself. You mentioned it earlier too. What happened tonight was something I should already be capable of doing.

Victor: When I said that you could do it, I was referring to the you of right now. The mistakes you made in the past didn’t surface, and the issue was resolved very well. Of course it’s an improvement.

I scrutinise his serious expression, and the corners of my lips gradually curve upwards.

MC: Is this an assessment criterion CEO Victor made specially for me?

Victor: I treat everyone equally when it comes to work. But this reward was indeed prepared specially for you.

MC: Thank you for the special care, CEO Victor! On a certain level, such improvement should also count as a trace of time.

Victor: That’s right. In that case, I’ll look forward to seeing more time on a certain person.

The final shred of doubt at the bottom of my heart is smoothened out. I cradle Victor’s cheeks, giving him a quick peck at the side of his lips.

MC: T-this is a “stamp of approval”! From now onwards, CEO Victor has to mentally prepare himself for my “rejections”.

After saying this, I try to seize this opportunity to retract my foot, but Victor catches me firmly.

Victor straightens up, looking at my expression with interest.

Victor: You seem to really like this method of “stamping”.

MC: [blushing] Well... After all, this is a tiny special privilege that I have.

Victor: Even though you know that it’s a privilege, you still use it so guiltily. Your face is as red as a tomato.

MC: [blushing] ...

Hearing the teasing tone in his voice, I feel my face becoming even warmer. Slightly embarrassed, I duck my head backwards.

Victor chuckles softly, a hand propped against the cabinet behind me, blocking my way out.

Victor: Don’t forget that this is a “contract” that both parties have to sign. Before I “stamp” it, you still can’t refuse.

The unique scent of the person in front gradually encases me, as though wanting to return in full the warmth of an evening spent apart.

As the distance gradually closes, even the lights are unable to come between us.

My vision begins to blur. It turns out that being at a close range would render one unable to see the person before them.

Yet, I am very certain that at this moment, even if we’re very close, we will still be able to see each other.

The corners of our lips meet gently, and a familiar temperature is branded on my skin.

The subtle ticking of the second hand drifts to my ear, as though penning down this memory.

In the very long time we share, one more stroke is written.

👠 Phone calls: First l Second

👠 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[villainscomplex]

this, at least.

hey so anyway yall know how there was that big boom of angsty ship fics right

,,,,,i wanted to write one too and I have no other excuse

!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH !!!

Also on: 

AO3

Wattpad

FFNet

Quotev

----------------------------------------------

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

And he does.

Asahi jerks awake violently, legs tangled in his blankets and hair plastered to the back of his neck, cold with sweat. He still feels like there’s — what? He doesn’t know the source of the pain, only that it is sheer pain, radiating through the core of his very being. It’d be easy to think it’s something simple, a bullet wound or head trauma, but the way it nestles into his chest and takes root there begs to differ.

In his dreams — nightmares, they prefer — Asahi is made of fear and desperation, of please, no, and the unnerving feeling that he’s forgetting something. There’s always someone with him, always whispering his name, fingers cold on his face.

It’s always the same scene.

He steps into a doorway and panic swells in his chest, but he’s never sure what triggers it. There’s nothing in the room but darkness, and then his feet come out from under him, and he is falling. The ground is far, and he falls forever and ever, until time stops short. He crashes into it in one graceless dive, shatters apart, and reforms at the seams with the sweet familiarity of agony.

He’s sure, with every fiber of his being, that something is missing. He doesn’t know what, or who, only that it is missing and the absence feels like a hole in his chest, a hollow place where the pain doesn’t reach.

Asahi leans forward in his bed, struggling to catch his breath. His hair falls like a curtain around his face. He can’t remember why he keeps it long, only that the idea of cutting it feels wrong, and so he lets it grow.

Suddenly, his bed feels unappealing and cold, and he staggers out of it into the quiet of his apartment.

If his life was a story, the narrator would say something like this — Azumane Asahi is a twenty-six year old man with severe amnesia and a wedding ring on a necklace, to which he doesn’t know the location of the missing pair. And that’s it, they’d say, just a detective with no memory and a lot of anxiety. He doesn’t think he’s important enough of a character to warrant any sort of life story.

His phone is where he left it when he’d arrived home the night prior, tossed onto his side table in a fit of weariness. The screen blinks dimly back at him, still miraculously alive, but only with about six percent to spare and at least three new messages to speak of. They’re all from one of the few people he actually texts, and even without looking at the contact name, Suga’s typing style is distinctive from Daichi or Shimizu’s.

He checks the time in the corner of his screen. It’s nearly five-thirty in the morning, which isn’t a bad time, but it’s still earlier than he normally gets up. Going back to sleep is about the most unappealing thing he can think of right now, so even if he isn’t a morning person, he plugs his phone up, clicks on the shabby TV, and goes to make a pot of coffee, listening to the steady drone of the early weather report.

The ring around his neck is a cold weight against his bare skin, small and heavy against the hollow where his throat meets his clavicle. It rolls and clinks softly against its chain as he moves, a quiet, ever-present reminder of a past he doesn’t remember.

It’s easy to make assumptions. He doesn’t know who has the pair to this ring, only that it feels too important to get rid of, so he keeps it around his neck. For all he knows, he was married once. Someone else had — maybe still has — the pair to this ring. He doesn’t remember being married or who his partner is, but he’s sure they must exist.

Maybe they’d left because he’d forgotten.

Asahi tucks the assumption away before his anxiety can take it and run. He’s got a life now and he can’t go ruining what he has by overthinking whatever he used to have. Lacking the vast majority of his memories hadn’t stopped him from rebuilding his life these past few months, bit by bit.

It’s only been a few months since the accident and even though he doesn’t remember it personally, that’s all everyone keeps referring to it as. The accident, like he’d gone and suffered a massive memory loss by total coincidence.

Asahi kind of hates it. He tries not to think too hard about it.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been an easy recovery. He supposes nobody ever really thinks about what would happen if they lost a chunk of their adult memories and nobody would tell them why. He’d had friends to support him through it, even if he had taken a while to remember the three of them, and because of their support he’d been able to get back on his feet.

He’s still a rookie at this detective work, but sitting down and poring over the facts and figures of the cases he’s investigating is oddly comforting.

Light peeks out from over the horizon as the morning settles in, blanketing the world outside and the living room within in a sheet of pale light. Asahi’s eyes ache from his lack of sleep. The bags beneath them have gotten worse, and he’s sure he’ll inevitably get scolded about them when he sees his friends again.

By the time Asahi arrives at his workplace, the city around him has come to life. It’s never quiet here by any means, but once the sun is up, it seems everyone takes to the streets at once. He leaves early to avoid the rush, but always inevitably catches the start of it and makes it just in time, stumbling into the doorway of the detective agency’s office.

“Hey, Azumane,” the receptionist greets with an easy smile, leaning over the desk to be seen, “just in time. Still relearning the trains?” Asahi isn’t too familiar with Narita, but the man is calm and rarely bothered by high stress situations, and he appreciates the cool head and easy attitude first thing in the morning. He’d been one of the first to make sure Asahi had felt welcomed here, and Asahi is eternally grateful for it.

“Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck, averting his eyes, “it’s a lot to get used to all over again. I keep hoping I’ll just jog my memory somehow and miraculously remember.”

Narita laughs. “I’m sure it’s somewhere in that head of yours.”

Asahi doesn’t stick around to chat much longer, heading up to the main office. There’s only two others inside, both at their desks doing very different things. Akaashi, ever studious, is hunched over a case file from a recent completion of his, scribbling away. Kozume, on the other hand, their resident cyber specialist, reclines back in his chair, tapping away at his phone and looking like he’s half asleep. “Azumane,” Kozume yawns, “there’s some files on your desk.” There are in fact — Asahi turns to confirm — files on his desk.

There’s also a boy there.

His back is to Asahi, but he can see the slicked black hair, wild and dark, sharp against the evident paleness of the boy’s skin. The boy visibly straightens when Asahi turns to look, whipping around in his chair.

Okay, no, a man. A grown man.

Asahi feels a little like deer in headlights, caught in the sharp stare of the man’s golden eyes, interrupted only by the equal shock of bleached blond hair in the forefront of his bangs. Asahi feels pinned in place by that unblinking stare, and it takes him a moment to remember to move.

He circles to his desk a little hesitantly, starkly aware of the other man’s stare following him the entire way around. It’s still on him when Asahi seats himself on the opposite side of the desk, and Asahi steels himself to meet it, smiling nervously.

“Hello,” he greets, “I’m Azumane. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any clients today.” “I’m Noya!” The man declares, gives no further context, and slaps a file down in front of Asahi. “I need you to look into this.”

The words CASE CLOSED stands out in stark red lettering on the front. Asahi resists the urge to frown. It isn’t uncommon for them to receive requests to look into closed cases, but generally speaking, they’re a waste of money and time.

“Listen,” he starts hesitantly, “honestly, I’m still very new at this. Could I recommend you to one of our more experienced investigators?”

Noya shakes his head adamantly, looking appalled at the mere suggestion. “No!” He says, loud enough that Asahi flinches. “This is important to me! You have to do it!”

“I-”

Noya stares at him, lips turned down, eyes wide in a silent plea. Asahi takes the file.

There’s no photo inside, but it's very clearly labeled as involuntary manslaughter. The victim had only been twenty-five, but the details are absolutely minimal. There really won’t be a lot he can do with this, even if he does accept it. He’s sure the case is closed for a reason.

“Look,” he starts, raising his eyes.

Noya is gone.

Asahi leaps out of his seat, file in hand. Noya had just been there. He’s not surprised the man is fast, but Asahi hadn’t even accepted the case yet, and Noya hadn’t even stuck around to answer questions. Asahi races out of the office and into the entry lobby, head swinging from side to side in search of the shorter man.

“Narita,” he asks, leaning over the side of the receptionist’s counter, “did you see where that man went?”

Narita frowns at him. “What man? I haven’t seen anyone pass by.”

“I-” Asahi sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to yank it out of his half bun and just resigns himself, tucking the file under his arm. “Nevermind. Thanks anyway.” Narita gives him another odd look as he turns away, returning to the main office. When he enters, Akaashi and Kozume both glance up strangely, matching the look Narita had previously given him, but Kozume loses interest much quicker than he’s gained it, as if this is a perfectly normal, everyday incident. Akaashi’s gaze tracks him all the way back to his desk, and only then does it fall away, leaving Asahi to his own devices. For a long time, Asahi just stares at the file. Case closed stares back at him, bold and red and final.

It isn’t to say that it’s quite uncommon for them to get a closed case to investigate. Generally speaking, it’s recommended to avoid closed cases. More often than not, they lead to dead ends and more broken hearts than when they began. The police may not investigate as much as private detectives, but they weren’t always wrong by any means. But Noya hadn’t given him too much of a choice in the matter, so against his better judgment, Asahi opens the file.

It’s almost pathetically small, three pages at most. There’s no photos, but from what Asahi can gather, it’s a twenty-five year old man who fell victim to an armed robbery incident, whose death was ultimately ruled involuntary manslaughter as a result. The culprit had never been caught, but the man’s partner had suffered some sort of collateral damage. There’s no further information on any of the three; the partner is unnamed and there are no photos of the man or the partner.

There’s nothing here that points to the case being anything other than what the file says, much less any sort of connection. He considers, briefly, that maybe Noya is the partner and wants the man brought to justice, but he doesn’t have any confirmation to this theory. It just seems like a home robbery turned homicide.

It’s essentially a dead end. There’s no address to begin the investigation and no family on the file to contact in regards. If Noya is the partner, Asahi could start there, but if he’d suffered some sort of trauma related to the incident, then Asahi has to take his testimony with a grain of salt. And this is all based on assumption — he doesn’t even know the extent of Noya’s personal involvement with this entire situation.

Noya hadn’t left him any contact details.

The thought strikes him abruptly, and Asahi sighs. This isn’t going to go anywhere without Noya’s cooperation. Asahi hadn’t agreed to investigate it in the first place. Resigned, he closes the file again and slides it underneath a few others on his desk, where it’s quickly forgotten in the wake of the rest of his work.

When he leaves that evening, files tucked away in his bag, the sun hangs low over the horizon, lethargic orange rays reclined across the darkening sky. It’s as beautiful as it is ominous, and Asahi ducks his head to avoid wandering eyes as he hurries to the train station, long coat swishing behind him.

The temperature sinks as it grows late, and despite his scarf, Asahi’s face burns with chill by the time he gets to the stairs leading down into the train station. People swarm around him, talking and huddling, faces as red as his own and stark with the relief of getting somewhere decently warmer.

Close enough to the rails to actually get on the train, but not close enough to get trampled by those trying to get good seating, Asahi tucks his chin into his scarf and takes a steadying breath.

He wonders if he was always an anxious person like this; had too much noise always been overwhelming to him? Had he ever walked with his head up, unconcerned about the opinions of those around him? Was this ever present bundle of nerves set deep in the square of his chest just a side effect of a tragic accident that nobody will tell him about?

He slides his thumb over the crest of the wedding ring on his necklace, a motion that feels like nothing but pure instinct, and then nearly yanks it clean off his neck when a hand grips his elbow, hard, and he flinches.

Asahi looks down.

Staring back up at him indignantly, lips fixed into a frown and golden eyes wide, looking as if he’s entirely unbothered by the cold despite being in nothing but a t-shirt and basketball shorts, is Noya.

“Azumane-san!”

Asahi is unbelievably shaken right now. After all, the odds that Noya would show up at the same train station as him were slim, even for this side of the city, but here he is, grip hard on Asahi’s elbow. If Asahi had gears in his head, they’d be stalling right now, and the little embodiment of his consciousness would be trying to restart it to no avail.

When the wires finally reconnect, Asahi gasps. “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

The words come out more demanding than he intended, but it’s too late to apologize, so instead, Asahi strips off his overcoat, and then the coat beneath it. Goosebumps prickle over the nape of his neck where it’s exposed to the cold, and he hurriedly yanks the long coat back on, handing the other off to Noya. Noya, who has since let go, looks a little surprised as he accepts it.

“I’m fine!” Noya huffs, but he pulls the jacket on regardless.

The sleeves slip past his fingertips, effectively dwarfing him. Asahi thinks it would be rather comical if he wasn’t so upset at this precise moment, but even swallowed up by Asahi’s undercoat, Noya feels like a force to be reckoned with, a storm lying in wait.

Asahi can’t put his finger on it, but Noya’s brash personality seems familiar, somehow. Mentally, he goes through his limited list of friends. Sugawara fits the bill closest, but even his chaos is of a different sort.

The train whistle breaks him out of his thoughts. He spots the lights as it barrels down the tunnel.

“Have you solved the case yet?” Noya asks, gaze still fixed on Asahi, unwavering.

Asahi frowns at him. “Listen,” he begins, turning his gaze back to Noya.

His words die in his throat. Noya stares back at him, eyes glittering in the faint light of the underground station, wild hair stirred around his face by the gust of cold air the train brings with it. The doors hiss open, but Asahi doesn’t move to get on yet. People stream by them on their way on or off the platform.

He can’t say no. He doesn’t know what it is, but Asahi is suddenly resigned to seeing this through. Noya’s eyes are intense and focused, hard with determination and a type of fire that Asahi can’t remember ever seeing before. He can’t say no.

“I haven’t,” he says, “but I’m going to investigate it as best I can.”

Noya’s grin makes him think that perhaps this is the right decision after all.

The train whistles again. Asahi starts, whirling back around to the platform. Oh no, the train’s going to leave.

“Are you-” He begins, glancing back to Noya, intending to ask if he’s getting on the same train.

Noya is gone. Asahi stares incredulously at the spot where the man had been, dwarfed in Asahi’s coat. He turns, glancing a full circle around himself, trying to spot that shock of blond in the crowd, but no, Noya is gone.

Maybe he got on the train.

Asahi follows suit, tucking his overcoat a little tighter around him as the doors slide shut. The people on the platform all blur together in a mass of color as the train pulls away, but Asahi swears he catches the piercing stare of golden eyes. It’s gone before he can think too hard about it, and Asahi spends the train ride and subsequent walk home staring into space. He hadn’t gotten Noya’s contact info.

“I’m home,” he says to no one as he opens his door and steps in, taking his shoes off.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Sighing heavily, Asahi drops his bag onto the floor by the door, where it tips to the side and lets a few papers and files slide halfway out. He pays it little mind, figuring he can think about it later, and makes his way down the narrow corridor into the bedroom at the back.

It’s sheer muscle memory that gets him through his nightly routine, and by the time he lets his hair down and flops into bed, he’s too exhausted to think. The somber tendrils of heavy sleep drag him deep into the sheets.

He dreams. (He has nightmares.)

Wake up, wake up, wake up, the voice is saying. Asahi, please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Please, no. Please, no.

This time, when Asahi jerks awake, the sun is still low below the horizon and his phone reads 4:36 A.M, but there’s no chance of him going back to sleep so he dons a hoodie and decides to do something with himself. In the end, Asahi goes for a run. It’s been a while since he’s just gone out like this, so he takes the short route that loops through the backside of a local park. Asahi jogs what he can, but it quickly becomes clear that he isn’t nearly as in shape as he clearly had been once. He can tell he used to be muscular and healthy prior to the accident, but he’s hardly been focused on maintaining that post memory loss. Still, running feels natural, so he tries to keep it up.

He runs into Noya again. Asahi rounds the bend, huffs of breath forming white clouds in the chilly morning air. There’s only a handful of other souls up and about this early, and from what Asahi can tell, they’re all out running too. It’s a nice change of pace to get his mind off of everything, but it’s clear the universe has other plans. As he nears the park’s massive lake, he spots a figure sitting right at the bank of it, leaning precariously over the water.

Even from this distance and without his glasses, he recognizes Noya’s wild hair paired with the white t-shirt and black shorts combo. Noya’s back is to him, but he visibly straightens as the sound of Asahi’s footsteps approach, head twisting around to fix those ever startling eyes on the taller man. “Azumane,” his eyebrows pinch, “what are you doing here?” There’s this nagging feeling in his chest. It strikes him as odd again; something about Noya is so unnervingly familiar to him, but he can’t put his finger on it. He’s sure if they had known each other prior to his memory loss then someone as headstrong as Noya seems to be would have said something about it by now, but Noya doesn’t seem bothered like Asahi is. He shakes it off.

Something seems off. Noya is quieter, more pensive. His gaze has returned to the surface of the lake immediately after confirming that he knows the person approaching him. It’s a strange change from the loud, fierce boy Asahi has started to know him as. “Noya,” he greets softly, joining him carefully by the water. “I was out for a run. Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?” “Oh,” Noya seems to remember something, “I forgot your jacket. Sorry.” Asahi shakes his head. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I was going to come running. It isn’t like I’ve done this in a while.” Noya is staring at him again, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He’s frowning — it’s only a faint, downward quirk of the lips, but it seems so out of place on Noya’s features that it catches Asahi off guard. A matching frown slips onto his face.

“Have you made any progress?” Noya asks suddenly, peering up at Asahi intently. “With the case, I mean.” “Noya, it’s only been a night,” Asahi reminds him gently. “I’ll look into it more later, but nothing’s changed from when you asked me yesterday.” “Yesterday?” Noya echoes, as if confused. “Oh… Right. When you gave me the jacket. Okay.” “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asahi persists. “I’m fine! Listen, I’ve gotta go, ‘kay? I’ll catch you again sometime soon.” Noya takes off before Asahi can so much as consider asking about contact information. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck only contacting Noya whenever they happen to run into each other in town. Belatedly, near the tail end of his run, he realizes that Noya must live nearby, to have been at the park.

So why had he been all the way across town yesterday? Asahi glances back, as if the answer will appear behind him. The cold wind replies, whispering through the bare branches of the trees. He just can’t shake the feeling that something is too familiar about Noya to forget. Maybe it’s just the man’s strange tendencies or the way he seems so desperate for the case to be solved as soon as possible, but Asahi just can’t get rid of this feeling. He doesn’t know what it is yet, only that it feels too important to completely dismiss a third time.

So this time, he tucks it away in the back of his mind for safekeeping.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“Oi, Azumane,” Kozume leans around his laptop, “what was that new file you got? An investigation?”

Asahi starts at the sound of his voice. After the two loudest members of their agency had gone off on lunch, the room had finally become quiet enough for Asahi to focus on his research. His desk is in clutters, public records scattered across the surface, laptop balanced precariously on the corner and held in place only by half of a large, opened book. Asahi is in the middle of rereading the case file when Kozume speaks up. He's so focused that, in his surprise, he nearly takes out his laptop himself. Kozume just lifts one disinterested brow, strands of dark hair slipping back into their usual place over his face. “Uh,” Asahi begins, eloquently, “something like that. Client wants me to look into a closed case. I think he’s probably got some pretty personal roots in it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t a good idea to reopen old wounds.” “You’re too nice, Azumane-san.” Akaashi remarks from his desk without looking up. “Sometimes, it’s best to put a stop to it before it can start.” “Then again,” Kozume muses, “I guess we are getting paid for this, huh?”

They lapse into a mutual silence again.

Asahi feels like there are still eyes on him, but Akaashi is still looking at the paperwork on his desk and Kozume has returned to his laptop screen. The rest of the employees aren’t here, and Narita is presumably still at the front desk. With a faint frown, Asahi shakes the feeling away and returns his attention to the files.

His information is severely limited. That’s the biggest issue. If there had been an address on the file he could have started his investigation there, but Noya would be the easier source. The only issue with that is that Asahi still hasn’t gotten Noya’s contact information to ask him about it. That being said, he’s not even sure if Noya actually knows anything or if this just happens to be a personal investment of his. Asahi isn’t in the habit of prying about people’s personal connections to a case. As long as he can get their information and go on about his business, he’s content, but Noya is so forthright and intense that Asahi can’t help but be curious.

It bothers him, but he doesn’t know why.

“Oh,” says Kozume, voice breaking into Asahi’s thought process abruptly again, “another robbery. I wonder if it’s a chain?”

When Asahi looks back up, Kozume is still looking at his laptop, but now he’s leaning closer to the screen, visibly reading something. He turns away and wheels his swivel chair over to the side table by the door to retrieve the remote.

“Last I heard, there wasn’t any correlation between the places that were being hit.” Akaashi replies, gaze lifting from his papers. “They’re thinking it’s separate cases, but who knows. The police don’t read too into situations if the evidence is obvious.” “Lazy asses,” Kozume scoffs, clicking through channels on the overhead TV.

“Robberies?” Asahi speaks up, confused.

He hasn’t been actively keeping up with the news outside of early weather reports recently, a little more concerned with his own issues and his work. It’s more than enough to balance work and the whole memory loss thing, and while he definitely should be better about keeping up with the rest of the world, it hasn’t been his main concern as of late.

Kozume settles on a news channel. The news anchor is in the middle of reporting on the subject at hand — another local robbery. It’s the third in the past two weeks, but there’s no evidence to connect it to the other two. This one had targeted a tiny, one bedroom home on the city outskirts. Asahi frowns at the news coverage. He doesn’t understand why anyone would target a place where there was unlikely to be anything to be gained, but he feels bad for the homeowner. The newscast says they came out undamaged since they weren’t home at the time, but nonetheless, he understands the feeling of having your life uprooted suddenly.

Asahi shakes his head and returns his attention to the files before him, scribbling notes down on things to look into further and potential leads. He’ll have to remember to find Noya again and get his contact information this time. Noya is the best lead he has at this point, and hopefully he can get something out of the other man to get him somewhere in this seemingly dead end case.

In the background, the television drones on.

When evening gives way to the end of his work day, Asahi finds himself searching the rush hour crowd for the tuft of electric blond that he’s becoming so familiar with. He can’t figure out why he’s trying to find Noya here; after all, he’d come to the conclusion that he lives on the other side of town, so he doubts he’ll see him here. On the other hand, it’s possible Noya works over here too. It’d be a strange coincidence for him to be in the same working and living situation as Asahi himself, but it’d make sense as to why Noya had come to their agency in particular. It's possible that it's also the opposite way around, with Noya living here and working on the other side of town. All of the facts Asahi knows check out with one of those theories; it’d explain why Noya was at the train station, too.

But by the time he gets to the station, he hasn’t spotted Noya anywhere. Even amongst the people waiting on the platform, he can’t see the wild, dark hair, and there’s a pang of disappointment in his chest. He tries to ignore it, but it’s a persistent feeling, and more surprisingly, one that doesn’t feel new. He can’t imagine forgetting someone like Noya, but he’d forgotten someone like Suga already, so his memory loss isn’t discriminating.

The train whistles a warning. Asahi startles, hurrying on instinctively. He hadn’t even realized the train had pulled up. He looks for Noya one more time, but upon confirming that the other man is nowhere to be seen, averts his gaze to his feet. The train doors hiss shut around him, before it lurches into motion, pulling away from the platform.

It’s strange, he thinks, how lonely the platform looks disappearing behind them.

When the train comes to a hissing stop at his destination platform, Asahi’s phone begins to vibrate aggressively against his thigh. He waits until he’s clear of all the people to check it, unlocking the screen to several tests and a missed call from Suga. Just as he’s going to check the texts, Suga’s name lights up his screen again. Asahi nearly drops his phone in his haste to answer the call.

“Asahi!” Sugawara practically yells. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

Asahi slowly brings the phone back to his ear as he walks, having held it away in his haste to avoid having his eardrums blown out.

“The news?” He echoes. “Like the robberies?”

“Yeah! Apparently, there was another one! I guess the person tried to fight back and get this - they ended up in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds.”

Asahi grimaces. If all of these robberies are connected, then it could be a problem. Generally speaking, most robbers would flee if they were caught or met with resistance, but if this one had no qualms with hurting people, it could get dirty. Asahi is hoping they aren’t connected, but it’s starting to look doubtful. He’ll have to catch up on the situation when he gets home.

“That’s-”

Asahi cut off, turning his head to follow the abrupt streak of color that had caught his eye. He’s a few blocks from his apartment, at best, but now he turns around entirely, gaze searching. He spots it again just in time to watch it vanish through the door of a tiny coffee shop. Asahi hesitates.

“Asahi?” Sugawara calls from his phone. “Hellooo? Earth to Asahi! What happened?” “S-Sorry, Suga,” Asahi says quickly, feet already guiding him towards the building, “I have to go. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Huh? Hold on, wh-”

The line goes dead as Asahi jabs the end call button, shoving his phone unceremoniously back into his pocket as he enters the cafe. The bell chimes gently overhead as he pushes the door open, and someone at the front calls out a greeting that he only half hears. He’s busy thinking about how Suga will be upset with him later for hanging up so abruptly; he’s thinking that maybe he should feel a little worse about that than he does, and it has him wondering if he’s less of a friend for it. He’s busy thinking about how he’s sure to get an earful later, but his body is moving across the cafe, toward a booth in the corner where he can see the backside of dark, wild hair, and the small flick of a tag sticking up from the inside of a white t-shirt.

The man in the booth lifts his head when Asahi rounds the table, piercing gaze fixing onto the detective. It’s as if he comes back to earth all at once, awareness lighting his eyes and his expression picking up in something vaguely resembling surprise. “Asahi!” He half yells, slamming his palms into the table and standing in one motion.

Asahi flinches at the abrupt shout and one of the employees glances their way. Ducking his head bashfully, Asahi makes himself as small as possible as he slides into the booth across from Noya, reaching out to gesture Noya back into his own seat. Preferably, he thinks, as quietly as possible.

Luckily, Noya drops unceremoniously back into his seat, staring intensely at Asahi.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I…” Asahi grimaces, knowing how strange this is going to sound, “I saw you coming in. You never gave me any sort of contact, so I haven’t been able to reach you for anything regarding the case.”

Noya visibly straightens. “Have you figured out something new?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“Oh,” Noya continues, cutting him off, “I don’t have a phone.”

Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it? It’s just Asahi’s luck, he supposes. Still, he’s got to figure out some way to keep up contact with Noya, since he’s Asahi’s only sure link to the case.

His phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.

“Okay, then take mine,” Asahi grabs a napkin from the table, fishing a pen from the front breast pocket of his jacket. “And if you can, just let me know if you come across anything new. Can we meet again sometime here to sit down and talk? Like Friday?” Noya takes the napkin and with surprising tenderness, folds it, and tucks it into the pocket of his black basketball shorts. He’s staring at Asahi still, but Asahi can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

“Okay,” Noya says, “Friday.”

And there it is again; Asahi meets his gaze and he feels like he’s missing something, like there’s a piece here that he should be aware of. He can’t shake it, that feeling that he just knows Noya from somewhere, from before all this.

“Noya,” he breathes, “have we met before? Before you came in with the case?”

Noya scrutinizes him for a long moment, almost unresponsive, as if the question hadn’t even registered to him. There’s something off about the entire moment, the motionless state of someone who feels like he should always be moving. Slowly, his lips pinch into a frown, just a little downward tilt that looks so off on his features. His expression darkens, hooded over like a shadow fell across him.

He looks unsure. He looks scared.

It’s only for a moment, so quick that Asahi is sure it must have been his imagination because then Noya is laughing, loud and rambunctious and more like the one that seems familiar to Asahi.

“No way!” He decides. “You must be imagining things, Azumane-san! There’s no way you’d forget someone as cool as me!”

Asahi feels like his veins have frozen over. He’s cold down to the bone.

“Of course,” he agrees, smiling shakily, “that’s true.”

There’s a seed of doubt rooting itself in his chest, and Asahi is too scared to try to figure out the root of it.

He stands again, bidding Noya a good night, and hurries out the door before the other man gets another word in edgewise, but he feels Noya’s gaze follow him out the door. His phone vibrates in his pocket again, and he takes it out, preparing himself for the earful he’s going to get.

Something is reassuring about Suga’s ranting on the other end. It gets him home.

When he looks over the case again that night, he writes details about the recent robberies down on a notebook next to it. He gathers what he can from the news and more from the internet. Tomorrow, he’ll get more info on it from Kozume, and Friday, he’ll get what he can from Noya. He doesn’t know yet if he’s making progress here, but he’s hoping for the best.

At this point, it’s all he can do.

It isn’t until he’s getting ready for bed, braiding his hair back out of his face, that the thought strikes him. He’s thinking about the tiny coffee shop, about the bell over the door, about the way Noya had called him Asahi. He has the distinctive memory of introducing himself only as Azumane.

So where had Noya gotten his given name?

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

“You look different,” Noya remarks.

Asahi feels like he’s having deja vu. He hardly knows where the week has gone, and now he’s back at the tiny coffee shop with Noya. They’re seated in the same booth as before. Noya’s shirt tag is sticking out. Asahi has his hair loose.

“It’s the hair,” they say, in sync, and Noya grins when Asahi cracks a smile.

“Finally!” He laughs. “I was starting to think you couldn’t smile properly! You’re so nervous all the time that I was starting to wonder how you’d ended up in this line of work.”

Asahi tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Well, I’m sure it probably wasn’t my dream career, but I don’t remember enough about my old life to know how true that is. I guess it seems like a pretty unpredictable career, but it’s routine enough to be comforting.”

Noya frowns at him. “Whaddya mean you don’t remember?” Asahi winces. Outside of the fact that nobody else wants to discuss the accident, Asahi tries not to talk about it too much. Trying to remember gives him an intense migraine, and he hates the pitying looks he gets from it. He hates feeling helpless, and there’s this part of him that wouldn’t be able to handle it if Noya looked at him like that.

“I had an accident a while back,” Asahi replies vaguely, waving one hand dismissively, “nothing important.”

Noya’s watching him like he doesn’t believe him. Asahi avoids his gaze; he has the distinct feeling that Noya will see right through him otherwise.

“Okay,” Noya finally says, “then what about that necklace you’re always playing with? The ring. Are you married or something?”

Asahi doesn’t even realize he’s messing with it until Noya points it out. He’s busted, caught like a deer in headlights under Noya’s drilling questions. His words die in his throat, lips parted but nothing coming out.

I don’t know, he thinks, clenching his fist around the ring. He shoves it back into his shirt and grips the edge of the table, focusing on keeping his hands there. “No,” he manages, smile tight again, “but it doesn’t matter. We’re here to talk about the case, remember?”

Noya’s gaze flicks down, but he doesn’t push it.

“Right.”

Noya talks. It’s not all connected, more stream of thought and dropping details as they come to him, but Asahi listens. He takes notes, putting things that he knows already on one page and things he’s hearing for the first time on another. Some of Noya’s tales have nothing to do with the case, but Asahi lets them slide, and then he realizes that Noya hasn’t been talking about the case for a while.

But here’s Asahi, pen down and still listening. There’s something about Noya’s energy that’s so easy to get wrapped up in, and Asahi hadn’t even realized he was in it until it was too late. Maybe it’s the way Noya feels familiar to him, like second nature, or the way he’s sure he must know Noya from before, but the sensation is contagious, quick like electricity and quiet like a thief.

“Azumane-san?”

Noya’s voice breaks into his thoughts again. Asahi starts, focusing back on the task at hand. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped writing, or when the case discussion had ended and the casual talk had begun, but he does realize, belatedly, that they never got their coffee. The baristas bring them out here, he’d noticed, so it strikes him as a little strange.

“Sorry,” Asahi tells him, “I just realized we don’t have our drinks.”

As if on cue, Noya’s gaze moves from Asahi to the woman approaching their table. Asahi tears his gaze away from the man in front of him to focus on her as well, putting on his most polite smile as she sets the coffee down in front of him.

“Here you go,” she says, “sorry about the wait.”

She turns to leave, and Asahi realizes that she’s only brought his drink.

“Sorry, ma’am?” He calls quickly. “What about my fri-”

He turns to gesture at Noya and falters. The seat across from him is empty; Noya is gone. The employee gives him a strange look, glancing between him and the empty booth across from him. Asahi swallows his sentence back down, where it feels like a thick lump in his throat.

“Nevermind,” he says instead, “thank you.”

She glances at the booth opposite of him again and then seems to simply accept it as strange, for she turns and heads back to the front, leaving Asahi alone with the ghost of Noya’s electric presence.

He ends up getting a to-go cup for his coffee.

Asahi doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment, only that he gets there and he comes back to awareness when he’s unlocking his front door. He falters, hand on his doorknob, gaze fixed on the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. Everything comes back all at once. Is this the right thing to do? Should he have just followed the advice and refused the case upfront? He doesn’t even know when Noya had slipped out. Had it been the brief moment he’d turned his attention to the girl at the shop? Asahi hadn't even heard the bell.

Why hadn’t Noya said anything?

Asahi is starting to think he’s getting too ahead of himself, thinking one normal conversation and a borrowed jacket makes them friends or something. But there’s the thought he’s been hesitant to admit to himself; he wants to be friends with Noya. Something about the other man makes him feel comfortable, regardless of his eccentric nature, and he’s starting to think that maybe Noya was right about his career choice being the wrong one for him.

He can’t afford to get attached to every other person he meets in this line of work. Noya is the first, but Asahi can’t say for sure if he’ll be the last, and Asahi doesn’t even know when the line in the sand got washed away. He doesn’t know if it happened halfway through their conversation or the first time he’d realized something about Noya was too familiar to ignore. Still, Noya had been right about one thing: there’s no way Asahi could have forgotten someone like him.

It’s the only reason Asahi is hesitant to let the feeling of familiarity go.

He realizes with a start that he’s still standing outside, so he pushes the door open and ducks into his apartment. Whatever he ends up deciding to do here, he’s got all the information he thinks he’s going to get from Noya. For now, he needs to crack down on the case. The longer he drags this on, the worse it will get for the both of them. He wants to give Noya the best chance he has of moving on from this, and the only way to do that is to solve it as soon as possible.

Asahi takes his shoes off at the entryway and heads into the living room, setting his bag down next to the low table in front of his couch. He yanks his hair up into a half-hearted bun and collects his notes and files, adding them to the growing pile on the table. Clicking the television on for background noise, he gets to work sorting. The details are still minimal, and the progress looks minimal, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, there’s still that robber at large, and while Asahi has no surefire proof to connect the two outside of a gut feeling, he’s learned very quickly to trust his gut.

He glances up at the TV just in time to catch a glimpse of a reporter standing in front of a house, door caved in and front yard taped off by obnoxious yellow crime scene signs. It catches his attention immediately, so he glances down at the caption.

Armed robbery. Voluntary manslaughter.

Asahi’s heart jumps to his throat. His eyes dart down to the file. What were the odds?

What if it hadn’t been involuntary? The file states that the person had been found dead at the scene, a victim of multiple gunshot wounds from a robbery gone wrong. Robbery. Check. Armed suspect. Check. Had they considered a lack of qualms against hurting people? Asahi flips his notebook to a fresh page and begins charting all the locations the robber had hit thus far. Maybe there’s some sort of pattern they’re overlooking, a rhyme or reason to the places the robber is targeting.

His facts are minimal but sure.

The robber only targets houses, never businesses. The types of houses vary. No known pattern thus far.

The robber is armed and dangerous. Generally, there’s minimal damage to any people they happen to rob, but when those people get in the way or fight back, it’s a different story. There have been people both hospitalized and killed.

The robber has no qualms about killing people who got in the way.

Asahi stares at the page. Finally, at the bottom, he writes Noya? beneath his list of facts. He doesn’t know what the precise connection is with Noya’s case in all of this, but if he can predict where the robber is going to strike next, maybe there’s something to be found there. That’s only if the police themselves don’t beat him there first. Either way, hopefully, some sort of confession would come out and Asahi could call this closed properly. If this is unrelated, then he’s going to have to think of something else fast.

It’s nearly four in the morning when he finally talks himself into going to sleep, but it’s restless at best, and he rises early. He’s off on weekends, so they’re his only opportunity to go get things done if he doesn’t want to go right after work. The case weighs heavily on his thoughts for the entirety of his morning run. When he passes the lake he’d run into Noya at that time, he pauses, only for a moment, to glance around, but Noya isn’t there.

Asahi keeps running, but he’s starting to feel less like he’s keeping active and more like he’s trying to get away from something. He feels like he’s running away from a lot of things, as of late. It can’t be helped.

Azumane Asahi is a coward, he tells himself, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a lie at all.

The next time he sees Noya, it’s on the same route and nearly a week later. Asahi finds himself searching the route consistently without even knowing if Noya even lives in the area, hoping to catch some sort of glimpse of the other man. He hasn’t heard anything from Noya since the day at the coffee shop, and he’s starting to grow a little concerned.

His traitorous heart says something else, but Asahi tries not to listen too hard to things made of glass.

There’s rustling overhead when Asahi passes beneath a tree. It’s followed by a loud yowl, and it’s this that makes Asahi falter in his steps. He pauses, turning his head up to squint into the branches. The early morning sun is bright, near blinding, but the shadow that covers Asahi blocks it out.

He sees the little tag sticking out of the collar of the white shirt first, and then the outstretched arm, pale and skinny, reaching out to a higher branch. Asahi can mostly only see the person’s silhouette, but he knows that figure anywhere.

“Noya?” He calls up hesitantly.

Golden eyes fix on him immediately. Noya looks vaguely surprised, arm still outstretched, lips parted into a perfect little circle. There’s a cat a few branches up from his perch, a skinny little tabby with all of its fur puffed out. Its teeth are bared at the other man, a low growl rising in his throat.

Asahi hasn’t ever seen a cat react like that to someone. Usually, the strays around this area are calm, used to the joggers and families who come through the park trails all the time. He frowns a little at the sight, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to shield his eyes as he peers up.

“Oh,” says Noya, “Hey, Azumane. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I run here every morning now,” Asahi frowns, “you already knew that. What are you doing up there?”

Noya gestures to the cat, who swings at his moving hand. “I came up to save him, but he won’t let me anywhere near him. I think I’m just gonna grab him and deal with the consequences later.”

“What.” Asahi intones.

Noya reaches for the cat.

“What?” Asahi repeats. “Wait, no-”

Noya stretches out of his crouch and snatches the cat in one quick motion. The tabby immediately begins yelling, claws sinking wherever they can reach. Noya yelps, and then takes a surprised step back into mid-air. Asahi shouts. All at once, Noya and the cat come crashing down through the branches, and Asahi slides down on his knees beneath them, breath leaving his body as they collide.

Asahi groans softly from his place on the ground. Noya scrambles off of him, eyes wide. He’s still holding the cat, who looks shaken, but overall unharmed.

“Asahi!” Noya gasps. “Are you okay? Shit, I’m sorry!”

Asahi waves him off with one hand, sitting up slowly. His torso aches where he’d ungracefully caught them, but at least they seem unharmed. His hair falls loose around his shoulders, and he looks around for the tie, only to find it snapped on the ground. It’d been fraying, so he isn’t surprised, but it’s still a little inconvenient.

“It’s okay,” he manages, when he finally catches his breath, “are you two okay?”

Noya beams, holding the cat up victoriously. “We’re totally fine!”

The cat bites Noya’s hand. Noya drops the tabby, and he bolts without so much as a glance back. The short man sulks as he stares after the vanishing animal, crossing his arms over his chest. There are claw marks down the length of his forearms and branches still stuck in his black basketball shorts.

“Rude,” Noya says, getting up.

He offers a hand to Asahi, but Asahi, a little doubtful that Noya can lift him, stands on his own.

“You should be more careful,” he says, frowning.

“I had it handled!”

“You fell out of a tree.”

Noya purses his lips. “You know. Fair.” He sticks his index finger out as if to agree that Asahi has a point. “You got me there.”

“How did you even get up there?” Asahi asks, gazing up at the tree.

There aren’t any visible branches that Noya could have used to climb, and Asahi has to admit that even with his height, he would have been hard-pressed to reach the lowest ones. There’s no way to get a handhold on the trunk, either, so he’s not sure how Noya got up there to begin with.

Noya shrugs. “I climbed? The cat couldn’t get down so I went up to help him.”

Asahi sighs. “Okay, Noya. My apartment isn’t far from here, so let me at least treat the scratches. It’d be bad if you got something.”

Noya hesitates, but then he looks down, inspects his arms, and grimaces a little.

“Okay, lead the way.”

Asahi tucks his hair behind his ears and turns, starting at a steady pace back up the pathway. Noya keeps at his heels, carefree and cheerful as he turns his arms over, inspecting his new battle scars. It’s almost endearing, Asahi dares to think, but he’s still not over how the cat had acted with Noya. Asahi is sure Noya isn’t a bad person, but he’s never seen a reaction like that in the months he’s been running here.

He frowns back as if the tree itself will give him answers, but it stands tall and silent, shadowed against the pale blue sky.

When they climb the steps to Asahi’s apartment, the realization hits him like a bullet. He’s bringing Noya into his apartment. How had they gotten here? Is his apartment even clean? It’s so plain that he doesn’t know what Noya is going to think about it. Had he done the dishes already or were they still sitting in the sink?

Anxiety settles in like a second skin, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re already at the door and Noya is looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it. Asahi tries to hide the way his hands shake as he puts the key in the lock and opens it, letting Noya into the dark entryway.

Noya kicks off his shoes at the entrance, and Asahi follows suit, stepping in ahead of the other man. The sink is clean. The living room has a few books on the table and stray papers from his brainstorming session the other night, but otherwise it isn’t unacceptable. He flicks the light on and crosses to the table, shoving the papers messily together.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, “make yourself at home and I’ll grab my first aid kit.”

Noya plops onto the couch, looking around like a curious child. Asahi feels strange having someone over like this. He seldom has company, especially new company, and he feels like he’s being assessed for some sort of test. Clutching the papers to his chest, Asahi hurries into his room for the first aid kit in his bathroom.

Noya is still sitting on the couch when Asahi returns. His gaze is fixed on a photo hanging on the wall. It’s of Asahi, fresh out of the hospital, Suga and Daichi standing just behind him in the frame. Shimizu had been the one to take it, and it’s one of the earliest things he still remembers. Noya frowns at it a little, like he’s struggling to think about something, and Asahi just figures he must have zoned out.

“Noya?” He says as he nears.

Noya straightens, almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze to Asahi as the other man crouches in front of him, opening the first aid kit and setting it aside on the table. Noya gets the hint and offers out his arms while Asahi prepares a cotton pad for cleaning the scratches.

“Ouch,” Noya hisses once Asahi starts dabbing over them.

Asahi shakes his head, holding Noya by the wrist to keep his arm steady.

“Are those your friends?” Noya asks suddenly.

Asahi glances up at him, and then back at the photo. “Yeah,” he says, turning his gaze back onto his task. “The one with the silver hair is Suga. The dark-haired one is Daichi. Our other friend, Shimizu, took the photo, but she’s not very fond of being in them. They were there with me when I was in the hospital for a while.”

“What were you there for?”

Asahi grimaces, remembering why he’d avoided the subject the last time he’d talked to Noya. “Uh,” he starts hesitantly.

He can feel Noya’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes. Asahi gets the feeling that he’ll spill everything if he does, so he stubbornly keeps his focus on treating Noya’s scratches.

“It’s okay, Azumane-san,” Noya laughs, “you don’t have to tell me. I was just being nosy.”

Asahi exhales, a little relieved. He wraps up Noya’s first arm, having finished treating the scratches there. Moving onto the second one, Asahi grabs a fresh cotton pad. He frowns as he sets back to work.

“Noya,” he starts, “where did you go, the other day? At the cafe, I mean?”

Noya stiffens a little under his grip.

“Sorry about that,” the other man mumbles, “I had an emergency I had to handle, so…”

“Oh,” says Asahi, unconvinced, “okay. I was just worried… You just up and vanished without saying anything.”

Noya doesn’t go into any more detail, and Asahi doesn’t push it. He gets the feeling Noya isn’t telling the whole truth, but he’s not going to try to force it out. He has his own secrets, and he’s sure Noya has plenty himself. Despite seeming like a very open person, he’s come to notice that Noya is strange, like he’s never quite there most of the time, and the times that he is, he seems so full of life that he’s ready to burst with it.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Noya’s voice is painfully soft.

Asahi’s heart aches. He doesn’t know why that gentle voice hurts, only that it does something strange to him. He catches himself holding his breath, as if even that will break this moment. He knows better. He knows better. He doesn’t know Noya, and Noya doesn’t know him. They’re client and employee, nothing more.

Asahi doesn’t even know himself. How could he even hope to let someone else know him?

“It’s okay,” Asahi gets out, but his voice sounds foreign to himself like it’s coming from someone else speaking in his place instead of him.

Something about the intimacy of the moment makes Asahi feel like he’s an outsider, watching his own hands and fingers tenderly take care of Noya’s newly acquired scratches. He knows there’s more on the man’s face, but he’s scared to raise his gaze. He’s scared that whatever is happening is going to shatter the moment they make eye contact. Asahi is going to realize it’s all in his head, or Noya is going to realize it’s strange for him to be in what is essentially a stranger’s house.

He feels like he knows Noya. The feeling won’t go away, but Noya has told him that he’s sure they’ve never met. Asahi couldn’t forget someone like him, and Asahi is inclined to agree. He’s stalling now, and he knows it, and he’s sure Noya knows it, but neither of them say anything about it as Asahi cleans over the scars a second, and then a third time.

Finally, he bandages the second arm. Noya’s skin is cold beneath his grip, freezing like the other man has been standing in negative temperatures for hours. Asahi knows this isn’t the case, so he assumes Noya must just run cold in comparison to Asahi himself. Noya seems unbothered, either way.

“Thanks,” Noya finally breaks the silence.

Asahi dares to raise his gaze. Noya’s eyes are trained on him, sharp and focused with such intense clarity that Asahi is momentarily taken aback. Noya looks as if he’s a page ahead of Asahi, waiting for him to catch up. Asahi isn’t sure if he should, much less if he wants to.

“Well,” he replies, averting his gaze to get another cotton pad, “I wasn’t just going to leave you after I watched it happen. I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem like you’d neglect taking care of them.”

Noya grins crookedly in the corner of his vision. “You’re right,” he says, “I would. But that’s not all I was thanking you for.”

Asahi pauses, mid-turn, pad raised to start in on the scratches on Noya’s face. He blinks, confused. “Huh?”

“That was for everything,” Noya continues. “I know this case isn’t easy on you. I’m sorry I dumped it on you, but something told me you’re the only one who can handle it, and I always listen to my instinct. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet. So I was saying thank you for putting up with all of this.”

Oh, Asahi thinks, and then says, “Oh.”

Noya laughs. “Oh?”

“Sorry. No, wait. I mean… You don’t need to thank me.” Asahi reaches out, carefully starting to clean the scratches across Noya’s cheek.

“Ow,” Noya says, again.

“Sorry,” Asahi frowns, knowing there isn’t much he can do about the pain.

“It’s okay. I got myself into this, so I’ll tough it out!” The golden-eyed boy declares.

Asahi smiles to himself. Noya’s energy is near contagious, and he’s just about forgotten about his previous anxiety of having the other man in his house. Noya seems nonchalant and uncaring, like he doesn’t care to judge how Asahi lives either way.

“There,” Asahi says, putting bandages over the last few scratches. “Done.”

Noya gives him a double thumbs-up, grinning so widely it looks painful. “Cool! Thanks, Asahi! You’re the best!”

Asahi holds both hands up placatingly. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

“No!” A fire lights in Noya’s eyes, and he reaches out, grabbing both of Asahi’s hands so abruptly that the brunet squeaks. “It’s true! Don’t go selling yourself short, okay?”

Asahi’s voice catches in his throat. He wants to protest again, but Noya’s gaze is so intense that he physically can’t bring himself to do anything more than nod in agreement. It seems to satisfy Noya, so he releases Asahi’s hands and hops up from the couch.

“Alright! I’m gonna head out now, but I’ll see you soon, yeah? We’ll get this done!”

Noya reaches out, bumping Asahi’s shoulder with his fist. The little tap startles Asahi back into reality, and he scrambles to his feet, following Noya to the door and watching him put his shoes on. At the door, they both hesitate. Asahi looks down at his feet, but he can feel Noya’s gaze on him.

“Be safe,” Asahi says, finally.

Noya stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he reaches out, squeezes Asahi’s arm, and then turns away and bolts down the stairs. Asahi watches him jog down the road, and then vanish over the crest of the hill, out of sight, but never out of mind.

Maybe, he considers, he should have tried to make him stay.

Asahi stares at the hill Noya had vanished over for a long moment longer. He stares as if he’s waiting for the other man to turn around and come back, citing that it’s too late to head home, and the trains aren’t running anyway, so it’d take a while on foot. Asahi still doesn’t know if Noya lives nearby or closer to the agency, but either way, he could have thought of something.

He stares on, but Noya doesn’t come back. Finally, Asahi closes the door behind him and flicks the lock.

“You’ve been busy lately,” Kozume remarks, the following Monday, without looking up from his Switch screen.

Asahi doesn’t know how he gets away with playing video games at work so often, but he supposes as long as Kozume is efficient at his job, their boss doesn’t really care. He’s starting to give Asahi some eyes about the case he’s on, so he knows it’s time to hurry up and wrap it up.

Narita comes in, bearing coffee. He hands them out to each of the others in the room, setting Kozume’s next to him and handing Akaashi’s off. Crossing to Asahi, he offers out the coffee.

“Same as usual? How’s it going?” He asks.

Asahi accepts the warm drink from the receptionist. “It’s going,” he sighs, “I haven’t made too much progress outside of some guessed predictions. My sole witness has this habit of up and vanishing and apparently doesn’t have a phone to contact.”

Narita nods sympathetically. “Client isn’t making it easy, huh? This is probably your first one of those, but I see them come through all the time. It’ll work out, so don’t stress too much.”

“He can do with a little stress,” Akaashi comments, taking a sip of his coffee.

Narita turns to give him a withering look and then turns back to Asahi. “Anyway, drink up while it’s warm and then go back into this thing with a fresh mind, yeah? Good luck, Azumane.”

Asahi watches the receptionist go, and takes a long drink of his coffee. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t flinch away. The moment of pain, however brief, does its part to make everything come into sharper focus. Three days from now, he’ll have been slugging through this case for a month. That’s the time limit he’s going to give himself; if he hasn’t figured this out or made any significant progress in the next few days, he’s going to tell Noya he can’t do it.

Resolution set in his mind, Asahi dives back into his work with renewed vigor.

“Don’t stay too late,” Akaashi says, later that night.

Kozume is already long gone, and Akaashi had finished his work, so he’s getting ready to leave too. It’s just Asahi now, with everyone else out. The black-haired man puts his jacket over his arm and strolls out. Only a moment later, Narita peers in.

���Azumane? Someone is waiting outside for you.”

Asahi glances up, confused. He hadn’t been expecting anybody, but it’s as good a reason as any to change location. He nods in acknowledgment to Narita and hurries to pack his things, pulling his bag over his shoulder and heading out.

Outside, he glances around in search of the person. It takes him a minute to spot them, but when his gaze shifts down, it catches on the streak of blond in Noya’s hair. The other man looks up when Asahi emerges from the building, and then stands immediately when he realizes who it is.

“Noya?” Asahi questions, surprised.

“Hey,” Noya smiles crookedly, “sorry for showing up out of nowhere. I was out and I just ended up here. Are you getting ready to head home?”

Asahi readjusts his bag. “Yeah, I just finished for the night. How did you end up way out here again?”

Noya opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again, frowning in confusion. Finally, he just shrugs a little, as if he isn’t sure himself.

“I just did,” he says. “Can I walk with you?”

Asahi hesitates, but finally nods in concession. Noya falls into step beside him as he heads out towards the train station. It’s later than Asahi usually leaves, and the streets are nearly empty now. The sun is starting to set beneath the taller buildings in the distance, and Asahi gets the feeling it will be well past dark by the time he gets home.

“Do you live around here, Noya?” Asahi asks, glancing down at the other man.

He recalls seeing Noya back near where he lives, as well, but maybe the shorter man just gets around a lot. This is his chance to finally figure it out, so Asahi seizes it.

Noya hesitates a little, lips parting like he’s going to speak, then closing again. “Uh,” he starts, glancing around, “well-”

Noya cuts off, gaze catching on movement nearby. There’s a girl, no older than seven or eight, stumbling down the sidewalk. Even from this distance, Asahi can see the scrapes on her knees. She’s bawling, rubbing her face with the back of her hands, but steadily making her way down the sidewalk nonetheless, like she’s on a mission.

Asahi exchanges a look with Noya, and they both hurry toward her. Noya reaches her first, crouching in front of her and starting to talk. Asahi is a short pace behind him, catching up just in time to hear the child speak through her tears and sniffling.

“A bad man came into our house,” she sniffles, stuttering around her hiccups, “and Mama told me to run away and get help, but she’s stuck there with him!”

Asahi’s blood goes cold. This is it. The one time he hadn’t been trying to find the man and it practically fell into his lap. Noya is clearly thinking the same thing, expression hard and eyebrows downturned. He meets Asahi’s eyes and nods.

“Hi,” Asahi says, crouching down, “I’m a detective. I can go help your mama, but I need you to tell me which house is yours. Can you do that for me?”

The girl sniffs, looking up at him. “T-The one with the flower mailbox Mama and I painted…”

Noya is already running. Asahi squeezes the girl’s shoulders, getting back to his feet.

“Listen carefully. We’re going to go help your mama, so I need you to be brave for me, okay? Find someone and ask them to call the police for you. We’ll make sure your mom is safe.”

The little girl’s gaze follows him as he runs after Noya. He has no chance of catching up with the spitfire of a man, but Noya waits at the door for him, clearly trying to find a good way in. Asahi glances into the shattered window. The coast seems clear. He gestures to Noya and creeps around to the front door, opening it slowly.

It doesn’t creak, and Asahi thanks any god that exists as he and Noya sneak into the quiet house. Asahi puts a finger to his lips, signaling for Noya to follow him. Together, they quietly round the corner and immediately come face to face with the robber.

They catch the man by surprise. Asahi sees it in the glance he gets of the man’s expression before he’s forced to leap out of the way, bullets riddling the wall where he’d just been standing. To his right, Noya hisses from his spot on the ground, and Asahi has to suppress the nausea that rises in his chest at the sight of red blossoming across Noya’s shoulder.

“Noya,” he gasps, scrambling over, “I’m so sorry. I should have reacted faster. You’re going to need medical attention-” “Asahi,” Noya’s grin edges on pained, but he’s pushing through, nudging Asahi away. “I’m fine. I'm tough, remember? So don’t worry about me. I’ll live, so worry about that kid’s mom first. You bust that guy for the both of us, okay?”

His fingers brush Asahi’s cheek, cold against the skin there, and Asahi’s everything zeroes in on just that sensation. He focuses on the way that Noya’s hand feels against his cheek, electricity at his fingertips. He focuses on the way that regardless of whether he’d known Noya before or not, he knows him now, and he wouldn’t ask for it any other way.

Kissing Noya feels like second nature. He’s careful of the other man’s shoulder, even if it’s nothing more than a brief press of lips, but when he pulls away, Noya exhales like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

“Stay safe,” he tells Asahi, “‘cause if you die on me, I’ll summon you back and annoy you as a ghost.”

Asahi laughs. “I won’t. Get somewhere safe, Noya.”

He squeezes Noya’s hand and then hurries into the hallway, keeping low and staying alert. He doesn’t know where the robber is, but the robber doesn’t know his location either. But only one of them has a gun, and it isn’t Asahi, so he’s at a disadvantage here. His priority is getting the woman out safely, but he hasn’t seen her yet, so he’s hoping she’s already hiding somewhere safe. His and Noya’s arrival had distracted the robber for a moment, and he just has to hope the moment is enough if he can’t find her first.

Asahi ducks behind the couch just in time to avoid being seen by the man who creeps in through the next hall. He drops to his hands and knees, sneaking around the side to watch the man’s slow progression towards the kitchen, where he assumes there’s a side door. The man’s gaze sweeps the room once, twice. Asahi creeps forward when his back is turned, and the moment he takes a step to move away, Asahi lunges.

He’s scared. God, he’s terrified. He shouldn’t have made any promises to Noya. He isn’t immortal. If this man gets the upper hand, Asahi knows he has no chance.

But he can’t think about that. Right now, he can only focus on survival, on grappling with the man before him for control over the single gun. The robber’s eyes are wide, wild with disbelief. Asahi can’t figure out what he’s so surprised about; surely, he’d expected someone to come after him eventually for all of this? Asahi pulls and the man resists, They shove and turn and twist, brute strength against brute strength, fighting for control of the situation. A stray shot shatters a vase, and there’s a muffled whimper from the closet next to it.

The woman.

Asahi has the upper hand. It’s only for a moment, but the sound distracts him, and the moment is more than enough. The robber twists around and slams his elbow into Asahi’s face hard enough to send him pinwheeling back into the coffee table, head slamming into the wood hard enough to make his vision go black, and then blurry. The aftermath leaves Asahi feeling like there’s an army in his skull waging war against the bones, pounding relentlessly against his forehead.

It hurts. It hurts. He can’t think. He can barely see straight.

He’s been in this situation before.

When he manages to get his vision to focus, only a little, he is staring down the barrel of the gun. The man’s chest heaves, expression twisted in fury, all bared teeth and vicious stance. And this is it — Asahi has no chance here. This is the end, and his promise to Noya will go unfulfilled after all. He thinks about Noya, laughing loud and free, holding his hand to the sunlight so the golden band on his finger glitters. Except Asahi doesn’t know where he picked up that memory. His head is pounding, a steady thump, thump, thump against his skull. His head is pounding and he is thinking and Azumane Asahi is going to die here and now, just like the man in the case he’d been trying so hard to solve. He can’t even close his eyes, watching the man’s finger on the trigger as if in slow motion.

But it never comes.

Instead, there is Noya, howling bloody murder, all feral motions and vengeful anger, streaking out of the hallway and barreling into the man. They both hit the ground and the gun skids away from them. Asahi’s shaken, but he still notices the lack of red staining Noya’s white t-shirt. Asahi trembles, but he realizes right away that Noya’s wound looks as if it had never existed to begin with. Noya looms over the man like a wraith, teeth bared, golden eyes glittering with a promise, a threat, and Asahi thinks to grab the gun before the man recovers from Noya’s winding attack. The would-be thief writhes beneath the other man, but Noya is unyielding and less hesitant than Asahi.

He takes the flower pot off the table and breaks it over the man’s head, knocking him out cold. Asahi is left in stunned silence, clutching the gun, staring at Noya as he hunches over the unconscious man, shoulders heaving with every breath. Asahi is still concerned; he can’t see Noya’s wound, or any sign of it, but for all he knows, Noya had just managed to find an extra shirt. It’s doubtful and farfetched, but it’s the only possible explanation, isn’t it?

“Asahi,” Noya gasps, “Asahi, are you okay? Did he hurt you? You’re bleeding.” He hadn’t noticed, but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Asahi touches his head and his hand comes away red. He stares at his fingertips, dizzy, and finally sinks to his knees. Noya scrambles off of the man and barrels right into Asahi, straddling his waist to lean over and inspect Asahi’s head. Outside, sirens wail as their backup arrives, and Asahi sighs, relieved that the little girl had found somewhere safe. The officers come flooding in. Asahi feels like hell, but he’s more worried about making sure everything gets taken care of, so he directs them to the woman hiding, and then to the unconscious robber on the ground. It’s over.

Reaching out to touch Noya’s face, Asahi feels like sobbing. “I’m okay,” he rasps out, “I’m okay. You got shot, though, didn’t you? You shouldn’t do reckless things with a wound like that.”

Noya scrambles back off of him and out of Asahi’s reach before the detective can inspect his previously injured shoulder. He takes a little step aside, gaze averted, frown fixed on his features. Asahi’s eyes follow him as he moves away a little.

“Noya?” He frowns, moving to stand.

One of the officers shouts. Asahi’s attention catches on the shout and his gaze follows, catching sight of the previously unconscious man thrashing on the ground. He’s on his stomach facing Asahi, and one of the officers is straddling his back to cuff him. It’s his expression that catches Asahi’s notice, the sheer rage, face twisted up in hatred. His eyes glitter furiously, lips pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” He shouts. “You both died! I know I killed you, so why the fuck are you still alive?!”

Asahi’s heart falters in his chest. His head hurts. God, it hurts.

“I robbed you months ago! I shot that boy to death! You were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”

He keeps shouting it. Asahi is cold to the bone, dropped into an endlessly deep pile of fresh snow with no way out. All he sees is the man’s face, and all he hears is dead and his head hurts so much. He’s supposed to be dead? He’s alive, though. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have memories, and he’s supposed to be dead. What boy had he meant? Noya? Did that mean Asahi had known him before after all? Had they both lost their memories?

Something is screaming in the back of his mind to come out. Asahi clutches his head in his hands, feeling panic swell heavily in his throat, suffocating him. His vision is dark at the edges and the gun is on the floor beside him, just within his gaze.

“Asahi,” Noya croaks behind him, voice soft and pained.

Asahi, it echoes and echoes and echoes, and all at once, everything slams back down. He remembers, and he doesn’t know how he could ever forget. The wedding band burns against the hollow of his throat like a brand. He watches, dumbstruck and breathless, as the robber is hauled out. He remembers who he is. He remembers who Noya is.

“Yuu,” he gasps, whirling around.

But the other man is gone.

⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤

Asahi hates the smell of hospitals.

The nurse tells him he’s fine to leave, but he needs to come back for another check-up in a week to make sure there isn’t further head or brain damage. The doctors know his memory has returned, so they’re hopeful, but Asahi can’t share their joy. He goes home, empty-handed and desolate. He’s thinking about everything, about Yuu, about the wedding band around his throat. He doesn’t know where the other man had vanished to this time, but he hopes he’d at least had the sense to get medical attention.

And a week goes by.

In the seven days that Nishinoya Yuu is gone, Asahi dreams.

In his dreams, Asahi dies slowly.

His body is a mass of static and there is nothing but pain and pain and more pain. He’s vaguely aware of someone, somewhere, calling his name. Asahi, they’re saying, Asahi, please wake up.

Except this time, he doesn’t. This time, the pieces reconnect themselves. He is not the one in pain, nor is he the one being called out to. In his dreams, Asahi comes home to their shared home and finds Yuu on the floor, riddled with gunshot wounds and already bleeding out. In his dreams, Yuu is unconscious, and Asahi is sobbing, his voice cracking as he tries desperately to call the police.

“Yuu,” he’s begging, “Yuu, please wake up.”

In his dreams, Azumane Asahi does not make it home in time to stop his husband from fighting a robber. Azumane Yuu had fought alone and lost, and by the time Asahi had gotten back, he’d already been half-dead. Asahi hunches over him, pleading with any god that might listen.

He doesn’t know when he got up, only that he’s standing. He doesn’t know when the man appeared around the corner, only that he’s surprised by his appearance, and when they fight, Asahi does not win. He sees the table come into his line of vision.

There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.

Asahi wakes slowly from the darkness as the pieces slide together in his mind. Suddenly, everything makes sense. He hadn’t given the theory any thought before; it’d simply been the most unbelievable thing, but now he’s sure. It all makes too much sense. The name, the vanishing acts, the same outfit all the time, the strange looks Asahi would get when he would bring Yuu up with others, the missing bullet wound in his shoulder.

Yuu is already dead.

Asahi thinks the cold chill of resignation is the hardest part.

When he sits up, Yuu is sitting on the end of his bed. Asahi can see the door through his blood-stained shirt. The sight makes his heart ache anew. How cruel, he thinks, to make him fall in love with this man all over again, only to lose him once more. Had he really ever had Yuu to begin with?

Yuu looks like he had the last night Asahi had seen him as Azumane Yuu, and not Noya. His face is pale and hollow, golden eyes set into his features, a shade duller than Asahi is used to seeing them. His shirt, previously white, is riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. Asahi is scared to even breathe for the fear of Yuu leaving once and for all.

Yuu doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. Yuu knows this is a fact. “Right?”

“I’m sorry,” Asahi chokes out.

It isn’t enough. This isn’t enough. He has so much more he wants to say to Yuu. He wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to tell him that it should have been Asahi who’d died that day. Yuu had so much to live for, and Asahi barely knows how to live for himself. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how they were supposed to have a whole life ahead of them. Their adventure had only just begun and it had been torn out from beneath them before they could take the first step.

Asahi chokes on his breath. It isn’t fair. It still isn’t fair.

He wants to say, please, don’t leave me again.

Yuu’s form flickers. Asahi covers his mouth to stifle the sob there. Yuu is in front of him now, gaze soft with acceptance. Even in death, he is the stronger of the two of them. Even now, his unwavering dependability makes Asahi feel safe.

“Asahi,” he says, ghostly fingers brushing past the strands of hair by Asahi’s ears, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Asahi manages. “Why are you sorry? Yuu, I’m the one who should be apologizing. If I hadn’t gotten held up that day-”

“Then you would have died too.” Noya cuts him off.

Yuu stares him down, golden eyes piercing, and Asahi falters beneath that gaze.

“Asahi, I’m saying sorry because I promised you forever, but I have to go now. I love you so much, you stupid crybaby. I love you more than anything, and even if we were reborn, I’d find you again in ten thousand lifetimes. It’s always going to be you. You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’d do everything the same if it meant I had the chance to love you.” Asahi feels like he’s suffocating in his own words. He wants to grab Yuu and hold him close, but his hands pass right through the other man’s shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he sobs, “Yuu, I don’t want to go without you. I don’t know how to socialize properly, and nobody else reminds me to take my meds. I can’t ground myself alone when I have an anxiety attack, and you always know what to say when I have a nightmare. I’m not brave. I let people walk over me when you aren’t there to tell them to lay off. You can’t leave because I don’t know what to do without you. I’m brave when you’re around because you make me feel like I can be.”

Yuu laughs. It’s a strangled half sob.

“Someone as cool as you shouldn’t be such a crybaby. You’re your own person, Asahi. You don’t need me or anyone else, even if you think you do. I’m not the one who makes you brave. You do that. And I need you to be extra brave for me now, okay?” His smile wobbles as he reaches out, hand hovering over Asahi’s cheek. “I need you to be brave enough to live the rest of your life, even if I’m not there to live it with you. I wish I could stay and make you as happy as you made me. I wish we could travel the world and have kids and grow old together. But I’ll always be with you.” And this time, when he reaches to touch Asahi, his palm settles over the ring strung around Asahi’s neck and stays there. The point of contact is warm, pulsing out into Asahi’s chest. He feels like he can breathe again. Asahi is so tired of being scared.

He manages a shaky laugh. “You still have my jacket.” Yuu smiles, something soft that touches the edges of his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffs, “sorry about that.” Asahi covers the hand Yuu has over his chest with his own. “Yuu,” he says, “I love you. I love you so much and I always have, and I’m sorry I never said that enough. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have the life we deserved. But I’ll keep living for you, as long as you promise to wait for me. Find me again in the next life, and the one after that, and the one after that. Please let me fall in love with you again.” A single tear slides down Yuu’s face.

“Always,” he says.

Asahi does not get his coat back, but he feels it like a pit of warmth in his chest when Yuu is gone. He sinks slowly forward, gathering the blanket up in his arms and pressing it to his face in a futile attempt to gather the last bits of Yuu’s presence from the fabric. But he’s gone, and Asahi is alone again, with nothing but the ghost of his memory and a promise. His room is empty and the pit of warmth in his chest is a sorry excuse for Yuu’s presence. He’s alone for now, but he’s going to be brave, and he’s going to find Yuu again in the next life. He may not have him now, but he’s never going to let him go again. He has that.

His fingers close slowly over the ring dangling from his neck, pressing the memories there deep into his chest where they’ll make a home.

(And this, at least.)

[massensterben-a]

@oncejaw​ :

------------ Headache. It drills into his skull, buzz and all, as he sits in the waiting room inside the military hospital where the Warriors undergo their habitual tests and evaluations. The electric currents the doctors insist on driving through his brain always leave him dizzy and discombobulated; but not enough to not snap him out of his absent-minded, blank reverie once the door swings open, and the hurried steps of a little boy replaced the static sound inside his mind. Marcel turns around, and open his arms far and wind to intercept Bertholdt’s the moment he collides into him. “Bertl!” Marcel has gotten a lot better at gaining his voice back, recently. The Jaw is not as difficult to keep up with as it once was - Bertholdt’s or his brother’s presence always seems to accelerate his recuperation too. Intuitively, he closes his arms on the boy smaller frame, happy at first, concerned immediately thereafter - why is Bertholdt clinging so hard to his shirt, he can almost feel his fingernails dig into his skin beneath? Why does he feel him shaking against him?  At the very far back of his mind, something growls, concerned and defiant -- immediately, forcefully, Marcel shuts it down.

He remembers lying in Bertholdt’s little arms, not that long ago; his head rolling on his shoulder, dazed and disoriented, he remember the irrepressible instinct, futile and weak as it had been, to sink teeth into flesh. Guilt reopens a tear in the pit of his stomach, and he hugs Bertholdt a little closer against him. Never again, he had promised himself, sick at the thought that he may have had the impulse, even involuntary, to hurt his friend; sicker, still, at the thought that Bertholdt had perhaps realised it. Never again, he repeats like a mantra.

The whine of the door creaking open starts him; heart sinking deep within the abyss of his chest as two white-clad silhouettes enter the room, flanking the more familiar, yet no less disturbing vision of their commander. Magath looks down at them, two little boys huddled on a bench, his face closed and austere, and instinctively, Marcel rests his hand on Bertholdt’s nape, gently encourages him to sink his face into his chest and not move. If he doesn’t move, an illogical part of him whispers, maybe they won’t notice him; maybe they will only focus on him, the older boy, the one who stares back, instead.

But his heart derails in his chest, the instant one of the doctors motions towards them; breathing spiking, a scream narrowly held back in his throat. “Don’t.” He croaks instead, and bites the inside of his cheek. Get a grip, Galliard. He needs his voice stern and assertive; he wills it so, forces the terrified child in him back in the cage he shares with the Jaw. Adults only ever listen to their peers - it is them, that he must imitate, if he is to persuade them of anything. “It’s been a long day already. He’s very tired. Please, just let him get some rest.” That is all it takes, to convince an adult; paint the plea in the guise of reasoning, pretend that a desperate prayer is nothing more than a reasonable, thought-through suggestion. It’s alright; it’s a game he will play, if this is how he can keep the little boy in his arms out of harm’s way.

He didn’t scream. They praised him for that. The doctors and scientists with their calm, glacier voices. Kindly uncles who smile soulless smiles, eyes like the holes in a rotten tooth. They move like puppets on strings, stuffed with wool and straw, mimicry of humans. Their pale leathery skin is so pink, he thinks he could dig his thumb into it and it would bruise. Walking lab coats, held up only by promises they don’t intend to keep and praise that rings hollow. Bertholdt withers under the weight of their attention. He does what he must to get away from it. Compliance, he learned early, is the best way to evade further notice. 

Today he paid the price for his good behavior. Something about good deeds. (Good? What is good? They hurt him and then patted his head because he held still during it. Call him ‘good boy’ one more time.) His hands are no longer bleeding with blisters, no longer cracked and blackened by heat. And he has to remind himself that it was heat that was inflicted on him. It hurt so much and so quickly, heat became razors became aching numbness. They told him to grab the hot iron and so he did. Every parents’ greatest fear, his sole command. Prove that you will do as you’re told. —The iron was bright orange with it, with the energy they charged into it. It was inviting, the color, the light. And he grabbed it with both hands, like wringing the neck of a chicken in the backyard of your neighbor’s house where you helped out, where you wept for the chicken. 

He heaves a low, soundless sob, some wilted thing that buds and shrivels in the depths of his small throat. Marcel’s hand is cool upon his nape, a touch that sends a frisson through his tired body. Face hidden, eyes squeezed shut, he waits for the lab coats to envelop him again, carry him back to the bright room with the glass walls. His hands are no longer two dead spiders, legs curled in the fire, no longer black and red. The steam washed it away. The pain remains, pulsing under his nails. He thinks he swallowed burning coals. 

But Marcel is here, cool and steady and nothing like iron. The children cling to each other like future corpses in a riptide. Not yet. The worst hasn’t happened yet. So hold me. They’re coming to take me but don’t let me go. Bertholdt is not small. He has been growing skyward ever since his feet touched solid ground, as if his head cannot get far enough away from the harsh concrete of these streets, the polished tiles. But he feels so tiny, he thinks a swatting hand could crush him. 

Marcel mutters something, level-headed, simply put. Bertholdt doesn’t listen. He only holds on, as if any moment the vises of his handlers, his commander, comes to clamp around his wrists and ankles, drag him away again. He can’t go back into the room. Anything but that.

So primed for violation, it leaves the boy trembling to find, that none follows. Bertholdt shifts carefully, like a hare in its burrow. Make a noise and the fox will hear you. Make a hasty move and the jaws snap shut. Right. Either play dead or grow some sharper teeth. What’ll it be?

Voices mutter and sigh, footsteps recede. Commander Magath rumbles his assent, allows Marcel to assume responsibility from here. It is late, he agrees. Bertholdt has no time to feel relief. Panic grips him instead. If this was another test, he must have failed it. He should run after them, strap himself back into the iron chairs, onto the tables. He isn’t weak. He is just tired. He didn’t even scream! 

“...Are they gone? Is it over?” 

[tdystmr]

au where jaebeom is a detective and jinyoung is a mentalist // idea 💡

so jaebeom is a detective - one of the best in the industry and highly respected. he’s sharp with his wits, hard-headed ( hot-headed too ! ) and only ever believes what he can see and what his gut tells him.

he’s been living like this since he was a teen and it’s one of his major character traits. he tends to doubt everyone when he first meets them due to this + the nature of his job so it takes a long ass time to gain his trust.

jaebeom develops a soft spot for people that he can trust with his life and he keeps them close, always being the protective father figure in his tight-knit circle of friends.

jinyoung, on the other hand, is a mentalist. he knows how people tend to think and is crazily genius.

he can calculate the highest probability of your next move and knows exactly how to react so that he can manipulate you into doing what he wants. it doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy, though - he just likes to have his own fun sometimes.

he doesn’t have an actual job, just goes around helping those who know about him and hire him to help. it’s mostly a consultant kinda gig, and jinyoung rolls with it because it pays well.

so one day, jaebeom gets assigned a huge serial killer case. the killer was all the way back from 10 years ago, when jaebeom was still a teen. it was his father’s last case which he had never managed to close before mysteriously dying a few weeks later. the killer has been active again recently, already committing two homicides in the span of a week.

jaebeom is convinced that the killer is linked to his father’s death and he is hella determined to solve it and close it once and for all. the bureau knows how pressured jaebeom will be on this case and his friends, jackson and yugyeom, seek help from jinyoung, who is the only one who can possibly predict the killer’s next move.

jaebeom, of course, is not happy. he feels like they’re pitying him because of his connection to the case and he doesn’t like the idea of sharing highly coverted information with a complete stranger, no matter how smart he is.

jackson being jackson still pushes him to at least give jinyoung a chance and jaebeom begrudgingly agrees to meet the man for the first time.

——————————————————————————

a little part of their first convo

“I’m only showing you what I want you to see, Jaebeom-ssi, not what I really am or how I think. I thought you were sharp enough to pick that up.” Jinyoung pouts at the end, plump bottom lip jutting out as if Jaebeom has disappointed him in someway.

It makes Jaebeom feel as if he’s some sort of toy that’s been placed in front of a kid and for once, he feels immensely insecure. It annoys him like crazy.

“Maybe I’m just acting dumb to appease you, Jinyoung-ssi,” Jaebeom retorts, trying his best to keep his voice cool and collected. By the light tilt of Jinyoung’s lips, he doesn’t believe Jaebeom one bit.

“Lies don’t work with me, Jaebeom-ssi. You seem to keep forgetting that~” Jinyoung singsongs, his voice sending a chill down Jaebeom’s spine.

They’re seated in a cramped booth of some old diner, the faux leather seats squeaking uncomfortably as Jaebeom shifts his weight just the slightest. Jaebeom is the detective here but he feels like he’s being interrogated at his own station. Is this how all those criminals feel like? he vaguely wonders.

“Your magic doesn’t work on me either, so stop beating around the bush,” Jaebeom states, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes and Jinyoung. He’s riled up and he can tell how much Jinyoung is enjoying this, how much he loves the aspect of teasing the detective and pressing all the wrong buttons.

“Wrong again. Not magic - mind,” Jinyoung says, leaning forward to match Jaebeom. Their faces are barely twenty centimetres apart now and Jaebeom can smell the younger man’s minty breath and light cologne. Jaebeom tries hard not to let it affect him.

“I’m a mentalist, remember? I know exactly,” Jinyoung lifts a finger and taps the side of Jaebeom’s head twice - feather-light touches that send Jaebeom’s mind into overdrive. “how you think.” The other man’s voice is barely above a whisper and it sends involuntary shivers through Jaebeom again.

Jinyoung leans back in the blink of an eye, standing up and dropping a name card on the table, “Call me if you need me. I’ll be waiting, Jaebeom-ssi.” Jinyoung smiles slyly, like a fox who knows he has his prey. Jaebeom swears he sees Jinyoung’s eyes glimmer, and he thinks that the man is one-of-a-kind in a way that Jaebeom doesn’t know how to deal with.

[ericschumacher]

A new post, (Welcoming Chronic Sufferers), is available at Eric Schumacher

New Post has been published on https://www.emschumacher.com/welcoming-chronic-sufferers/

Welcoming Chronic Sufferers

This guest post by Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko explores how the local church can welcome, include, and minister to chronic sufferers. It is part of my “Welcoming…” series, which features first-person articles on how to welcome various demographics into our lives and church communities. Previous installations include “Welcoming the Hearing Loss Community,” “Welcoming the Eating Disorder Community,” and “Welcoming Single Parents.”

You’re feeling it, aren’t you? That desperate excitement. The quarantine restrictions may soon be lifted, putting an end to staying at home – an end to virtual meetings and church services, distance learning, and homeschooling. I am truly excited for you, but not necessarily with you. You see, as the majority of people will be rejoicing in their freedom, many like me will experience a loss. 

Chronic Suffering

While I am a wife and mother as well as a servant minister in my church, I have also been disabled for 15 years from chronic illnesses. Every day I have woken up with some measure of all-over, system-wide pain. If I can get out of bed, it takes about an hour to warm up my body before it is safe to do so. By my mid-twenties I was inexplicably disabled for three years before receiving my first diagnosis of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with Psychosomatization as a result of childhood traumas I had endured. 

My second diagnosis was Fibromyalgia/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome which would further explain fatigue and widespread pain, as well as a myriad of other strange symptoms. Involuntary muscle tension chronically pulls my muscles so tight that I can sprain or tear a muscle simply by moving. The fatigue makes it difficult even to breathe some days. Sitting up can take maximum effort leaving me in shivering convulsions. 

Last year overt symptoms of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) left my skin feeling like I had a second-degree burn from head to toe. This makes wearing clothes problematic which in turn makes going into public problematic. Between the unique pain and crippling fatigue, it became distressing, unwise, and at times dangerous for me to leave the house. 

This past January, while in treatment for MCAS, I was found to have Lyme disease. Lyme has been attacking my nervous system causing problems such as intense sensory sensitivity similar to chronic migraines. Most recently, symptoms of psychosis are becoming more pronounced taking portions of my agency. Any stimuli can trigger an outburst. Now realizing that most, if not all, of these conditions have been building since childhood, it is abundantly clear why leaving home has become increasingly painful for me these past 15 years.

COVID-19

For the past few months, the rest of the world has joined with people like me to experience a degree of what it means to be homebound and shut-in. Church service has been made accessible in a new way as many churches are now providing live-stream. Community groups and Bible studies are meeting via Zoom and other chat services. People are suddenly acutely aware of the weakest among us. Since March, those of us who have been on the fringe of society, shut up in our homes long before this pandemic started, have been able to be included in ways we weren’t before – and that may soon come to an end.

Church, as you celebrate that first Sunday together again, don’t forget us. I’m not saying celebrate less or feel guilty – by no means! It is a sweet blessing to gather together in person with other believers. But as you are celebrating, remember us. Bear witness that we are here and that we matter. Here are a few ways to continue welcoming members of the church who are homebound in the days and weeks to come.

Church Services

In the first week of quarantine here in Los Angeles, a dear friend of mine texted me exactly what I was feeling: “It only took a pandemic, but we finally got live-streamed services.” We had been discussing ways to make Sunday service accessible for a little while but, for various reasons, it was slow going. It is a big undertaking to provide accessibility. The amount of work it requires can be overwhelming and can cause many people to burn out and/or give up. But for many of us who can’t make it to church on a Sunday morning in normal times, we can feel left out or cut off because of how difficult it can be to love us sometimes. The reality is that it took the majority needing live-stream service for chronic sufferers to be included, and it’s easy for that thought to bring up feelings of anger and bitterness, whether warranted or not. Ideally, it would be a huge blessing for churches to continue live-streaming after the restrictions are lifted. Where that’s not possible, it would be both loving and appreciated to openly acknowledge the lack and to continue to make church services as accessible as possible. 

Compassion

This pandemic has disrupted everyone’s life. Because of how it has, many people now have a glimpse into the daily frustrations and longings of chronic sufferers and those who are regularly homebound. Set time aside to reflect on your time in quarantine and how your feelings might mirror those who have experienced being shut in before now. Write down how you feel during this time and talk to God about it. Be honest even about your most vulnerable, and your most petty, thoughts, and emotions. Then think how a friend might have felt losing her job when illness took over. Or how protecting one’s health can be a daily concern for some. How hospital visits may be necessary but always run the risk of adding infection. Or how not seeing another human being besides one’s family for months can cause an indescribable ache. Not only will this be a sweet meditation with God, but it’s also a way to gain empathy for shut-ins in our church family long after this pandemic is behind us. 

Community

While those of us who are homebound desire community, it is often difficult to reach out and can be tiring to do so. Friends can help take that burden by continuing to make community group meetings available via video chat, even after groups begin meeting in person again. It would be a huge blessing for groups to take the initiative to have a laptop and good WiFi set up for members who will still be unable to be physically present. This is also valuable for one-on-one meetings that can’t happen in person, whether they are social gatherings, Bible studies, or other fellowship opportunities.

For years, I overextended myself beyond my capacity to make sure I was physically attending church events. It never occurred to me that, because I am sick, the church could, and should, be coming to me. Recently I expressed to my husband that it feels as though the church has been coming around us much more. He offered another perspective. For the past 10+ years, I have had one faithful friend who has kept a weekly standing appointment to visit. While I do communicate with others via text and the occasional call, this friend has been my main human contact with the church for some time. When she goes on vacation or has an illness flair herself, I feel the absence. Recently another friend started intentionally reaching out through text, phone calls, and socially distanced in-person visits. My husband conjectured that, as starved as we have been for community, this one extra friend carries a profound weight. But this weight ought not to be carried by one or two members of the church body. Each person has unique abilities, availability, gifting, and personal relationships designed to be a blessing to those suffering. Unfortunately, since chronic sufferers are not visible, it can be all too easy for us to fall through the cracks. 

Bear Witness

As you have likely experienced in quarantine, staying at home creates a black hole pulling our attention into the vortex of our own navels. Isolation makes it really difficult to remember that other worlds exist outside our own. The days grow longer without activities to break them up, and we can begin to feel as though we are forgotten. This is where “tiny texts” and “gifts of remembrance” come in. 

It is noble and godly to pray for one another; however, it is challenging to feel the prayers of others if we don’t hear them ourselves. Honestly, it’s hard to feel much outside the continual current of pain and psychological episodes as well as the hurricane of doctor’s appointments, medical procedures, and self-care routines. But a phone call or text can go a long way. You can text your prayer or text, “I prayed _____ for you today.” It’s also a blessing when people send texts about their day and share their own struggles and celebrations. It brings us out of ourselves and invites us to engage in the lives of others. This is a small, concrete way to encourage the exhausted and strengthen the fainthearted (Isaiah 35:3).

Gifts of remembrance are also wonderful signposts to remind us that we are known and remembered. They are gifts that keep on giving. I have a painting on my wall that is so perfect, so spot-on, that I cried upon receiving it. My eyes are filling with tears just writing about it now. When I look at it from my bed, I am comforted that Camille knows me and remembers me. When my husband pulls out his whiskey sampler, I am encouraged that the Rosses know and remember him. And when my daughter wears her favorite princess dress, I am blessed that Marisol knows and remembers her.

Another way to bear witness is to acknowledge us to others. On that fine Sunday when you meet together once again, verbally acknowledge those of your church family who will not be present to attend services. We feel invisible and to a certain degree, we are invisible. When we are safe at home we are out of sight and very easily out of mind. Additionally, relationships are a give and take. Because we can’t give much and need a lot, we can sometimes feel like leeches, no matter the sacred purity and wisdom the Lord is refining in us. Helping the rest of the congregation remember us is an act of love and advocacy that affirms we are, as Paul says, indispensable to the church (1 Corinthians 12:22), equally part of the body even if we cannot be there in the flesh. 

Be Patient With Us All

Remain patient and remember that patience is active. Being patient with the weak means sitting with us when we are in pain, talk to us when our minds are spiraling, grieving with us as we endure daily losses, bringing us a meal or groceries (again), and eating with us – doing so without expectation of an end to your patience or our need for it. In our fast-paced age, our patience grows thin fast and we are less likely to long suffer unless the Lord gives us circumstances that demand it. Put it in your mind that there is no time limit on suffering or grief, and that the Lord will always provide strength to the willing heart. So prepare yourself and stay with us. Not only will you encourage the fainthearted and help the weak, but you will also slowly begin to really know us and see us as our Savior does. Even more, you will be our witness, Christ to us in times when our vision grows weak. Together we will reflect the body as it is meant to be, loving and serving one another, reflecting God’s glory to the world, whether we are sheltering at home or traveling far beyond our own thresholds.

Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko is a writer, poet, and servant minister at Cornerstone Church West Los Angeles. She lives with her husband Joon and their daughter, remaining tenacious amid her various physical and mental illnesses. You can follow Jennifer on Instagram at @jennifer.jihye.ko.

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[torturedwarrior]

Smoking: Good or Bad?

Smoking Good or Bad? What is addicting about them? How do many begin smoking? Even though Smoking Alleviates Ulcerative Colitis, Protects Against Parkinsons Disease, and scientists finally identified how nicotine curbs the appetite via a hunger circuit in the brain, lending an explanation for decades of studies that broadly correlated smoking with lower body weight., Nicotine is a stimulant that speeds up a person's reaction time and increases his or her attention and focus. Many smokers report that they enjoy the ritual of smoking. They also say that smoking gives them a pleasurable feeling. Smoking relieves their nicotine withdrawal symptoms because For some teens, it is a way to rebel against their parents. Other teens may feel pressure from their friends (peer pressure) and begin smoking as a way to appear cool. and Most people who smoke tobacco start during their teenage years or as a young adult. Smoking Alleviates Ulcerative Colitis, Protects Against Parkinsons Disease, and scientists finally identified how nicotine curbs the appetite via a hunger circuit in the brain, lending an explanation for decades of studies that broadly correlated smoking with lower body weight. Example one of how smoking alleviates ulcerative colitis, Smoking protects you from developing ulcerative colitis, If you are a smoker and you get ulcerative colitis, your disease is less severe, If you quit smoking, your risk of getting ulcerative colitis increases within two years, The more you smoke, the less likely you are to get ulcerative colitis, If you use a nicotine patch or nicotine gum to treat active ulcerative colitis, you tend to get better. Smoking can protect a person against Parkinsons disease. Example one, Strikingly, half of all smokers are protected from Parkinsons disease after taking into account their reduced life expectancy. The protection increases with the number of cigarette packs consumed per year. Another example is, Nicotine has been shown to relieve the symptoms of Parkinsons disease, to reduce the significant side effects of its treatment and to protect dopamine neurons from dying. Since nicotine stimulates the release of dopamine, it can partly compensate for the low levels of the neurotransmitter in the substantia nigra of the brains of people with Parkinsons – a part of the brain responsible for movement and reward. Nicotine also decreases the involuntary muscle movements known as dyskinesia which are caused by the treatment of the disorder with the dopamine precursor L-dopa. Smoking is also known to curb someone appetite. Indeed, people do eat less when they smoke, and quitting smoking can cause a temporary spike in weight gain. scientists finally identified how nicotine curbs the appetite via a hunger circuit in the brain, lending an explanation for decades of studies that broadly correlated smoking with lower body weight. Example, Recent studies that examined the medical records of hundreds of thousands of people have found that heavy smoking (40+ cigarettes per day) is strongly associated with an increased risk of obesity, while light smoking (on the order of a dozen cigarettes per day) has the opposite effect. Why do hardcore cigarette addicts and young people miss out on the appetite-suppressing, weight-controlling effects of smoking? It turns out that other obesity risk factors, like low levels of physical activity, and poor diet, are associated with smoking more cigarettes. How to kick the bad habit of smoking. Smoking tobacco is both a physical addiction and a psychological habit. The nicotine from cigarettes provides a temporary—and addictive—high. Eliminating that regular fix of nicotine causes your body to experience physical withdrawal symptoms and cravings. Because of nicotines feel good effect on the brain, you may turn to cigarettes as a quick and reliable way to boost your outlook, relieve stress, and unwind. To successfully stop smoking, youll need to address both the addiction and the habits and routines that go along with it. But it can be done. With the right support and quit plan, any smoker can kick the addiction—even if youve tried and failed multiple times before. questions to ask yourself: Are you a very heavy smoker (more than a pack a day)? Or are you more of a social smoker? Would a simple nicotine patch do the job? Are there certain activities, places, or people you associate with smoking? Do you feel the need to smoke after every meal or whenever you break for coffee? Do you reach for cigarettes when youre feeling stressed or down? Or is your cigarette smoking linked to other addictions, such as alcohol or gambling? Start your stopping smoking plan with START S = Set a quit date. Choose a date within the next two weeks, so you have enough time to prepare without losing your motivation to quit. If you mainly smoke at work, quit on the weekend, so you have a few days to adjust to the change. T = Tell family, friends, and co-workers that you plan to quit. Let your friends and family in on your plan to quit smoking and tell them you need their support and encouragement to stop. Look for a quit buddy who wants to stop smoking as well. You can help each other get through the rough times. A = Anticipate and plan for the challenges youll faces while quitting. Most people who begin smoking again do so within the first three months. You can help yourself make it through by preparing ahead for common challenges, such as nicotine withdrawal and cigarette cravings. R = Remove cigarettes and other tobacco products from your home, car, and work. Throw away all of your cigarettes, lighters, ashtrays, and matches. Wash your clothes and freshen up anything that smells like smoke. Shampoo your car, clean your drapes and carpet, and steam your furniture. T = Talk to your doctor about getting help to quit. Your doctor can prescribe medication to help with withdrawal symptoms. If you cant see a doctor, you can get many products over the counter at your local pharmacy, including nicotine patches, lozenges, and gum. So it is clear that although Smoking Alleviates Ulcerative Colitis, Protects Against Parkinsons Disease, and scientists finally identified how nicotine curbs the appetite via a hunger circuit in the brain, lending an explanation for decades of studies that broadly correlated smoking with lower body weight., Nicotine is a stimulant that speeds up a person's reaction time and increases his or her attention and focus. Many smokers report that they enjoy the ritual of smoking. They also say that smoking gives them a pleasurable feeling. Smoking relieves their nicotine withdrawal symptoms for two main reasons. First, for some teens, it is a way to rebel against their parents. Other teens may feel pressure from their friends (peer pressure) and begin smoking as a way to appear cool. But most importantly, most people who smoke tobacco start during their teenage years or as a young adult. So, what if smoking is good, it can also be a bad habit to kick. Work Cited: Caspari, Thomas. "Smoking may protect against Parkinson's disease – but it's more likely to kill you." The Conversation: In-depth analysis, research, news and ideas from leading academics and researchers.. 20 Jun 2016. Web. 28 Jul 2019. . Gadye, Levi. "Here Are The Ways Smoking May Actually Be ." Io9 | Gizmodo - All the top news about comics, Sci-Fi, and fantasy.. 7 Aug 2015. Web. 28 Jul 2019. . Iliades, Chris and Farrokh Sohrabi. "How Nicotine May Help Ulcerative Colitis - Ulcerative Colitis Center - EverydayHealth.com." Everyday Health: Trusted Medical Information, Expert Health Advice, News, Tools, and Resources. 7 May 2013. Web. 28 Jul 2019. . Robinson, Lawrence and Melinda Smith. "How to Quit Smoking - HelpGuide.org." HelpGuide.org. Jun 1999-2019. Web. 28 Jul 2019. . "Why Do I Smoke and Why Do I Keep Smoking?." ATS - American Thoracic Society. 2017. Web. 28 Jul 2019. .

[razorblade-eyes]

What’s the Deal With Incontinence?

I had the most embarrassing incident two years ago when I was presenting at a fitness workshop in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

I peed my pants.

Worse than that: I was photographed with other industry leaders, there was a visible a wet patch on my leggings on the published photo — a photo which was posted all over social media. There I was, with my muscles all buffed, wearing my cool workout clothes, and with a wet patch right at my crotch.

I was horrified.

I couldn’t work out what the heck was happening to me, but I needed to understand why I had started leaking so unexpectedly and almost 10 years after having kids, when I previously had no incontinence issues.

My first port of call was to a pelvic health physiotherapist. I feel that we are very lucky that some physiotherapists are specializing in this field, and consequently changing the lives to so many women, who might have experienced unwanted dribbles in their knickers for years before consulting.

My physiotherapist identified some issues that might be causing my incontinence, by performing an internal examination on me and getting me to perform Kegels. That tactile feedback made me understand what a Kegel should feel like, where I should be feeling it, and why I might not be activating my pelvic floor muscles correctly — mind blown! I had previously being doing Kegels completely wrong, yet with these physical cues I was able to fully understand what I needed to work on.

Curious to know if you’re doing them correctly? Read the article here: How to Do a Kegel the Right Way

I reached out to my female clients and asked them if any of them had incontinence issues. The answer was a resounding YES! Most found it too embarrassing to discuss with friends and partners, nevermind their gym trainers, and some even resigned themselves to just putting up with the issues. I believe that somewhere along the line there is an assumption that, as we age, we should expect some kind of urinary incontinence. Unfortunately, this is far from the truth.

In order to get more answers, I turned to the expertise of Dr. Meryl Alappattu, a physical therapist, assistant professor, expert on pelvic floor dysfunction, and contributor to the Coaching & Training Women Academy Pre- & Postnatal Coaching Certification.

AMANDA THEBE: Firstly, can you please explain the difference between stress urinary incontinence and urge urinary incontinence?

MERYL ALAPPATTU: In the case of stress urinary incontinence (SUI), leakage will occur when there is an increase of intra-abdominal pressure. This could be for example when you cough, sneeze, laugh, run or jump.

Urge urinary incontinence (UUI) happens when involuntary leakage is associated with urgency — if you don’t act quickly you risk leaking, and the urgency can be triggered by external factors: starting to pull your pants down, putting your key in the door, or hearing running water. Another typical behavior associated with UUI is referred to as “toilet mapping”, i.e. systematically locating the nearest toilet before doing anything else.

Stress and urge incontinence may also occur together. This is known as mixed urinary incontinence.

AT: If a person identifies with either SUI or UUI, what are the therapies available to them?

MA: A common conservative treatment option is individualized care provided by a pelvic health physiotherapist. A clinical exam performed by a physiotherapist may include assessing the hips, lower back and pelvic floor area to identify dysfunction that may be contributing to incontinence.

With UUI, we can intervene behaviorally by teaching people to recognize the triggers that cause their incontinence, and to retrain themselves to recognize what is a normal schedule for urinating. If you have just urinated 30 minutes ago, for example, and not consumed any more water, you probably shouldn’t need to go for another two to four hours. For people with SUI, we identify what specific activities or behaviors (e.g. coughing, lifting, laughing, etc.) are associated with their leakage and build a treatment plan targeted at decreasing leakage with these behaviors.

AT: I have heard that it is not a good idea to stop your pee mid-flow because it can confuse the pelvic floor muscles, is this correct?

MA: Correct. We use this method clinically as a way assess an individual’s ability to use their pelvic floor muscles to stop urine flow (i.e. a rough measure of pelvic floor muscle strength and coordination) and to give patients an idea of how to contract their muscles for a specific function ie stopping urine flow. Keep in mind that this is a baseline assessment and NOT something that people should be doing regularly as a way of exercising the pelvic floor muscles. Pelvic floor muscle exercises should be done away from the toilet.

How to do a baseline test While you are sitting on the toilet, stop your pee mid-cycle — this is called the stop urine test. This is also used with patients initially to help them to recognize how to do the stop the action mid-stream. You will get one of the following results:

Your flow will stop completely = you have good strength and coordination of your pelvic floor muscles to stop the flow.

The contraction will slow down your stream but doesn’t stop completely = you may have fair coordinatiown and strength to stop the urine flow mid stream.

Nothing happens, your flow just continues = you may need some help recognizing and strengthening these muscles.

AT: Does perimenopause impact urinary incontinence due to hormonal disruption?

MA: We don’t completely understand the extent of the relationship between menopause and incontinence. A recent longitudinal study examined factors associated with developing urinary incontinence across the stages of menopause. These authors found that weight gain, anxiety, and diabetes — rather than estradiol levels — were associated with more frequent urinary leakage. We also need to look at a lifestyle fix, as everything is connected. Increased BMI through weight gain and obesity, and increased stress and anxiety are both associated with the development of incontinence, but each patient should be have their unique issues identified.

AT: What do you think of Kegel weights and the jade egg for incontinence therapy?

MA: I do not recommend putting jade eggs in the vagina. Certain celebrities and media have popularized the jade egg to help detox and cleanse the vagina and vulva. There is no evidence that jade does any of this and more importantly, vaginas and vulvas don’t require detox and cleansing.

If pelvic floor muscle strength is an issue, there are several medical-grade vaginal weights that may be used under the supervision and direction of a licensed physical therapist who specializes in urinary incontinence management. Kegel exercises are not necessarily the answer to all incontinence issues  Using vaginal weights doesn’t make sense if you can’t perform a pelvic floor contraction on your own. A patient would need to be trained specifically by a professional how to use the weights properly to be effective.

AT: What do you think of surgery to prevent leakage?

MA: For people who have failed conservative treatment for leakage, surgery may be a good option. This is where your pelvic health physiotherapist should have a strong collaborative relationship with your OB-GYN, urologist, and other members of your health care team. If you’re considering surgery for issues with leakage, your surgeon may want you to first try conservative treatment for incontinence, and treatment by a pelvic health physiotherapist is one such option. If you decide to move forward with surgery, some surgeons may also recommend treatment by a pelvic health physiotherapist for strengthening of the pelvic floor and surrounding musculature prior to surgery. Incontinence can have a huge impact on both men and women’s quality of life; the decision to have surgery is a personal one.

The Next Steps

You may use one of the resources below to find a pelvic floor physiotherapist in your area:

Australian Physiotherapy Association

Canadian Physiotherapy Association

Chartered Society of Physiotherapy (United Kingdom)

Physiotherapy New Zealand

Section on Women’s Health, American Physical Therapy Association

If incontinence is an issue for you, you need to find a team of professionals who will work together to support you. This team might include your OB-GYN, urologist, primary care physician, and pelvic floor physiotherapist, as well as a fitness professional who’s knowledgeable about pelvic floor issues, and can tailor your exercise program accordingly.

Remember that it is important that you keep advocating for yourself: what you are experiencing should not impact your quality of life, should not stop you living your days to their fullest, and is not considered normal. There are professionals who can help you and you deserve their help.

The post What’s the Deal With Incontinence? appeared first on Girls Gone Strong.

from Girls Gone Strong http://ift.tt/2kkI9Yn from Fitness and Nutrition Hacks http://ift.tt/2nsXYxn

[healthspiritbody]

7 Reasons Video Games Might Just Be Better for You Than Books

Gamers have gotten a bad rap for a long time, but now, science supports the notion than gaming might actually be better for you than books!

7 Reasons Video Games Might Be Better for You Than Books

Helps you quit smoking

Help reduce pain

Help reclaim control of your memory

Reduce Anxiety

Motivate you to exercise

Help fight depression

Help make you more resistant / optimistic

Helps You Quit Smoking

When we play games, we devote a special quality of mental attention that activities like reading or watching TV often don’t demand. Games demand full engagement—and when our brains are fully engaged, incredible things can happen. 

A 2014 study conducted jointly by Brown University, the American Cancer Society and Stony Brook University found that smokers deprived of nicotine could reduce their cravings simply by playing two-player games or solving puzzles with their romantic partners.

But how? According to MRI scans of the participating couples’ brains, teamwork and puzzle solving activated the exact same reward centers as nicotine does. Many games—especially the casual mobile variety—are designed to offer persistent rewards for completing challenges (ie think of the satisfying visual and sound effects when you obliterate a row of tiles in Candy Crush). So, the next time you feel a craving: reward yourself with a game first. 

Games Reduce Pain

Games offer players a break from reality. In one experiment at the University of Washington Harborview Burn Center, patients undergoing treatment for severe burns were given virtual reality headsets to play a game called Snow World, allowing them to explore an immersive 3-D landscape of hidden ice caves, jolly snowmen, and a pleasant dusting of snowflakes even as caregivers provided painful wound treatments. Patients who played Snow World reported being able to ignore the pain 92% of the time, while those who didn’t typically spent 100 percent of treatment thinking about their own suffering. What’s more, Snow World patients felt an average of 30% – 50% in total pain reduction, providing even greater relief than morphine.

Scientists say this works due to what’s called the  “spotlight theory of attention,” suggesting that our brains work like a spotlight able to focus on a limited amount of information at a time. When our cognitive resources are focused on a mentally-demanding game (say, Candy Crush or Temple Run on your phone), we have less attention to give external stimuli like smells, sounds, and even pain. 

Games Help You Reclaim Control Of Your Memory

Engaging your brain with a challenging puzzle not only helps ease immediate physical pain, but also helps control painful recollections of past trauma. For proof of this we turn to a series of Oxford University studies around everyone’s favorite Russian block-stacking game, Tetris. Study participants were shown a sequence of graphic, gory images in order to simulate post-traumatic stress disorder, then broken off into two groups.

One group played Tetris for ten minutes while the other group did nothing. When they checked in a week later, researchers found that the Tetris group experienced half as many flashbacks of the violent images as the group that did not play, and overall showed significantly fewer symptoms of PTSD. Why does this work? Pattern-matching games like Tetris and Candy Crush occupy the visual processing power of the brain so effectively that involuntary visual memories (flashbacks) are severely disrupted. The Oxford study notes that this is only true of visual-heavy games like Tetris; a more text-based game like Words With Friends would not have this memory-hijacking effect.

Games Reduce Anxiety

Researchers at the New Jersey Medical School’s anesthesiology department found that children who were allowed to play handheld video games before surgery felt virtually no anxiety. What’s more, when they woke from anesthesia after their surgery, game-playing kids felt less than half as much anxiety as the kids who were given medication instead.  As with the Tetris and Snow World experiments, this handheld anxiety-reduction is a simple case of shifting the mental spotlight.

Games Motivate You To Exercise

According to research from Stanford University’s Virtual Human Interaction lab, study participants who watched virtual avatars of themselves running on a treadmill reported feeling remarkably higher confidence that they could get in shape, and exercised a full hour longer than participants who merely watched their digital twins stand around onscreen.

VHIL founder Jeremy Bailenson, PhD, says that the avatar experiment offers participants the instant gratification of immediate virtual weight loss. “Working out with a virtual doppelgänger means you can see physical rewards of exercise right away,” he says, “which is something that doesn’t typically happen in the real world. In the real world, it takes days or weeks to notice any positive physical changes.” 

Games Help Fight Depression

In a formal survey of PopCap Games (Plants Vs. Zombies, Bejeweled, and Peggle) players, it was found that 77% of players admitted to seeking mental of emotional health benefits from playing, and that casual games were an effective tool for reducing stress, improving mood, and stopping anxiety.

To gain a better understanding why this works, PopCap partnered with biofeedback researchers at East Carolina University to monitor the actual shifts in brain activity experienced by casual players. The results were mind-blowing: After just 20 minutes of playing, gamers simultaneously showed an increased heart-rate variability (tied to reduced stress and higher resilience) and decreased left frontal alpha brain waves (tied to improved mood, which players corroborated on a written survey). Participants who spent their 20 minutes surfing the Internet saw no such improvements in mood or heart-rate. 

Games Make You More Resistant / Optimistic

Anyone who has ever picked up a controller knows that “game over” is a temporary state of being. A team of 25 scientists from Europe and North America recently reported that people who play nine or more hours of video games every week have higher gray matter volume in the reward-processing area of their brains.

Neuroscientist Judy Willis, MD, explains, “When you have constant opportunities to try different strategies and get feedback, you get more frequent and more intense bursts of dopamine… not only do you get minute-to-minute pleasure, but the mindset starts changing in long-term ways. Your brain adapts to seek out more challenge, to be less afraid of failure, and to be more resilient in the face of setbacks.” 

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  7 Reasons Video Games Might Just Be Better for You Than Books was originally published on Health Spirit Body

[kashforgold]

My Top Tracks of 2016

So after months of struggle and conflict, I have conceded that I need to just settle on a list of tracks that I thought banged. This is it:

(visuals courtesy of my fly photoshopping skills)

Before I elaborate on this list, you need to know I have tried to limit this list. Anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes talking to me will know that I am obsessed with Our Lord and Saviour, Yeezus. If you’ve managed to guide the convo away from Kanye, I probably will mention that I am an ardent follower of Lord West’s disciple, The Rapper of Chance. And if you’ve gotten to know me really very well… Frank Ocean will have definitely popped up on the playlist.

In this list, I have imposed rules:

1. No Kanye West

2. No Chance The Rapper

3. No Frank Ocean

4. Avoid the glaringly obvious…

This final rule means I have had to take out a few tracks that have defined 2016 (Work, Black Beatles…), but I have included a few big hits I feel aren’t given the critical acclaim they deserve. Now I’m cutting the crap and starting from the bottom…

Level 5

James Blake - Noise Above Our Heads

I will happily tell you that I don’t know what James is singing about. The lyrics confuse me and parts are distorted to the point of being indistinguishable from noise… but good lord it is a powerful noise. I don’t need to know what James is singing because I feel it in his voice, I feel it in his instruments, I feel it in the layers and the distortions. This track creates longing, a melancholy hope, an unsatisfying acceptance. James Blake creates environments around his songs that push you not just to listen, but to feel, and this track is loaded with them feels.

Disclosure - Boss

I’m thinking back to Electronic music before Disclosure and I don’t remember it being this clinical and precise. Disclosure are clinical and precise, but they got just enough Funky for this Beat Junky. Firstly, that bassline rolling over throughout the track has some direct link to my arse. My movements once it starts are involuntary. I can try my hardest, but there will always be a little grind in my waistline when this drops.

Kodak Black & French Montana - Lockjaw

So who knew that excessive MDMA usage can cause your jaw to lock? What if I told you that in various ‘hoods’ pants aren’t worn low for style, they simply sagging under the weight of weaponry… Kodak Black and French Montana are depicting these 2nd World Problems in relatable scenarios, and with one of the smoothest flows I’ve heard all year. Kodak has had a solid year with killer flows, and on this track he flows in and out, around, inside, outside and all through Montana’s bars. They blend together the way you wish your Stir-Fry Noodles and Vegetables would.

Katy B x Chris Lorenzo - I Wanna Be

Apparently, this beat has been floating about in Lorenzo’s sets for a while. I can understand why. It hovers in that period just before dawn. You don’t want the night to end, but this would be the perfect conclusion. You don’t want the comedown, but this is the soft pillow you want cushioning you as you float back: sleepy and uplifting. There aren’t many scenarios where this song would feel right to me, but when it does, I know it will be magical.

Mist - Karlas Back

I saw a tweet that summarised this dude’s situation perfectly. It was something along the lines of “The only person from Birmingham allowed to speak is Mist”. All Brummies struggle in life with their misfortune of an accent, but this guy BANGS. Grime is dominated by Roadmen from LDN, so its refreshing to hear an exotic accent (yes, I did just call the Brummie accent exotic).

Danny Brown - When It Rain

Danny Brown sounds over the top and completely bonkers, so it makes sense for him to rap “When it rain, it pours”. Brown’s showing how extreme the world he knows is. Bullets are not raining, they’re pouring… This isn’t another rapper glorifying the violence he grew up in, nor is he looking back at it having escaped. Danny Brown shows you how this life be straight from the hectic streets! He ain’t slowing or dumbing it down for you. Danny’s out of his mind, and this shit is real.

Level 4

MØ - Final Song

This ain't as funky as Kamikaze, or as cool a song as Kamikaze. But it still gives me an energetic joy. It’s gotta be MØ’s quirky voice, or the odd emphasis she puts in at unorthodox points in words. but whatever it is, this song is trash and awesome.

Kungs vs Some guy and some other Bollocks - This Girl

The more you analyse it, you find a number of elements plucked straight from the catchiest tracks of recent years: a guitar riff lifted out of Get Lucky, trumpets that wouldn’t sound out place with Omi, a chopped up and screwed vocal in the bridge/chorus. There are probably more, but this is too vibey to even care. If a track makes you feel too glorious to analyse, its doing something right.

PARTYNEXTDOOR - Come And See Me

A song about one-sided casual relationships. PND gets some sassy lines in (”talkin lot about ‘we’, Oh you speak French now”), but this light bravado depicts him more as the antagonist. This whole song makes us empathise with his ‘victim’. PND and Drake make weak arguments for their case, but their ‘cold’ front is made weak and brittle. This track is a soft light on the fragile facade of heterosexual masculinity. 

Solange ft Lil Wayne - Mad

The Angry Black Woman is being asked why she always gotta be so mad. This song isn’t complex at all. It’s as though, not only is Solange explaining that there is a lot for her to be mad about, but she’s dumbing it down for us sheep. The double standards and discrimination are clear in society if you know where to look, and Lil Wayne offers some examples. But Solange keeps this track very maternal, and it gets more comforting with every listen. It’s a protest song that is aware that anger and proactivity achieve nada. The revolution is gonna be patient and will delicately empower us to pick apart the lies.

Giggs ft Donaeo - Lock Doh

Giggs is barely even rapping here. A few carefully selected words, couple tings name-checked, a raw minimal beat, and Donaeo on the hook: somebody make some mash cos this looks like the recipe for a Banger!

Level 3

D.R.A.M. & Lil Yachty - Broccoli

Back in 2015, D.R.A.M gained a cult following. Hotline Bling was one of the best tracks of 2015, but I feel Cha Cha set the tone that Drake polished off. Many other artists have fallen away having gained an initial boost with a Drizzy connection. D.R.A.M looked like he was to follow this path. He was too weird, his great musical ideas to few and far between, and just seemed a bit too off-centre… *In walks Lil Yachty*. The kids love him and I appreciate the boyish immaturity he raps with. The Broccoli beat perfectly complements this boyish immaturity. Lil Yachty stole this track and looks set to get bigger, but hopefully not better.

Lil Uzi Vert & Future - Too Much Sauce

Lil Uzi Vert is another artist riding this new wave in Hip Hop with Yachty, and the aforementioned Kodak. His voice is a little whinier (in a good way) than your average rapper, and this track again is the springboard shooting Lil Uzi and his style up the wave. Despite Lil Uzi’s efforts, Future is the star of the track. Future is the blueprint of contemporary Hip Hop! His sound is all over this. Every other big track this year can be classed ‘Inspired by Future’. Every other rapper in this new wave is Future’s child. And my favourite word of 2016, is #Sauce.

Mura Masa - What If I Go

I love Mura Mama’s production and on this track he smashes it. It’s twinkly and swirly in the verses and the instrumental after the drop has just enough weight of bass. There’s an enduring sweetness that carries through the whole track. It’s like a Vienesse Whirl.

Alicia Keys - In Common

In Common keeps the rasp and Polish I expect from Keys’ brand of polished R'n'B, but mixes the flavours a little. Some genius in a studio polished off some slightly tribal drum beats which have no right to sound this smooth. This isn’t a normal beat, and this Alicia isn’t singing a conventional song. She is embodying the wooing process of today. She’s breathlessly nervous during the flirtatious part, then she sounds strained and stuck between options when she tells me that we have way too much in common. And then she’s announcing with certainty that I’m messed up too. And still I have no idea whether I’m in or not…

Level 2

Skream - You Know Right

I was on the M3 stuck in the 50mph zone when I caught this, mid-track, on Radio 1. It intrigued me, so I stayed. It was building up to something and it felt like forever. Still in the 50 zone, and still the track was building. The end of the limit was ahead, and the track switched up. It had to be turnt up. I was getting turnt up. I was at the end... I'd made it... but what do I do now? The song silenced to offer me a moment to think. Man, machine, and music were in a magical moment of synchronisation. BOOM! 

This track is everything great in British Electronic music. Elements of house, trance, dnb, two-step, garage. To fully appreciate these, you need to listen to the full-length version. It's a prime example of escalation. It's a demonstration of how the same beat, with the right escalation can switch from hard, to melt your face gassy

Yuna ft Usher - Crush

Instead of the awkward, terrifying, uncomfortable trainwreck I went through, I wish my first crush was more like this. Pure, innocent, untroubled. A little coy, with destiny guiding you where you needed to be. This track feels like its been touched by destiny. Every stage of the song seamlessly flows and blends. Usher and Yuna seem to be able to feel each other’s vocals and glide through this 4 mins making you wish it would never end.

Drake - Fake Love

Drake is the zeitgeist of 2016. He was on your radio, your phone, your fake news, your memes. But people still don’t understand that Views is probably his weakest album! The only track Drake dropped in 2016 that would make it onto his greatest hits (due 2018), is Fake Love. Some of Drizzy’s best work comes from his throwaways: Club Paradise, We Made It, Ransom, Draft Day, Hotline Bling, Dreams Money Can’t Buy, 9am in Dallas, 5am in Toronto... I could go on. IYRTITL was a mixtape of experiments that became one of his most critically acclaimed bodies of work. 

Drake is at his best when he’s experimenting, switching things up, venting. Fake Love is just this. He sliced up the tropical dancehall vibe he popularised w/ Rihanna, switched his style to mimic young Tory Lanez, and sprinkled a little of Hotline Bling’s Cha Cha magic. It shouldn’t work as well as it does, but there’s no point complaining because Drizzy is gonna keep dropping the catchiest bangers.

Level 1

Flume - Never Be Like You

I’ve not liked Flume for a while. It stemmed from an early disliking of some his remixes. Not my cup of tea. And I’ve swerved around this teacup since, but then I heard Never Be Like You. Turns out this Flume kid can create audio magic.

Contrary to all the OTT maximalist stuff I associate with Flume, this sounds like its being forcibly restrained. There's an angst being held back, with twinkly hope popping through in sweet bursts. It's disjointed with silent patches specifically placed to enhance the overarching rise and fall. This wave is coursing throughout the whole track, constantly gathering momentum until the end when your ears yearn for it to crash, that never comes. This is an exhilarating, breathtaking journey that exhausts you, but never truly ends, no matter how many times you try to find one.

Beyonce - Hold Up

The reason I had to allow Beyonce in this list is because everyone else would have you believe Formation should be up here. They are mistaken.

Look at the origins of this track. Ezra Koenig tweeted “hold up... they dont love you like i love you”. This already sounds like it could’ve been Vampire Weekend’s most profound song ever. Then Diplo, the most influential producer this decade, gets Ezra into a studio and they create a demo converting this tweet into the shell of a masterpiece. *In walks Queen B*

Ezra probably repeated the ‘They don’t love you like I love you” for rhythmic purposes. Beyonce, with the torturous relationship of Lemonade, flipped the spine of the song. First, its ‘Hold Up, please don't hurt me like this’ and then its ‘Slow Down, you ain’t never gonna get better than me’. Each line has its own angle on the revelation of this infidelity. There’s a feminist strength in this song and Bey’s delivery adds an independent defiance. The beat carries a bumptious swagger to gloss over the delicious rage Bey is ready to ‘fuck her up a bitch’ with.

The reason this tops the list is unexplainable. The instrumental is on sitcom level of comical. On any other beat, this song would be nothing special. But they combine gloriously. Beyonce’s sweet, sharp Jam is so much more fulfilling with Diplo’s salty, gloopy Peanut Butter. It's another one of this universe’s mysteries as to why this piece combines so well together, but Diplo has a knack for this, and Bey’s gonna slay regardless.