#Unresolved Ending

[vamphorica]

uhm I saw ur posts ab being able to send writing requests in the asks sooo mabye sum matsulight? If ur cool w/ it obvi no pressure!!

i have never written matsulight – i don't think i had even really considered it as a ship until now – but i wrote this on the bus back from work, and it was really fun!

i hope you enjoy ♡

mist

Touta Matsuda/Light Yagami | 1.3k words | ⚣

Rating: General Audiences

Fandoms: Death Note (Anime & Manga)

Tags: One Shot, Death Note Second Arc, Romance, Secret Relationship, Minor Conflict, Canon Compliant, Pining, SFW, Unresolved Ending

"Sayu will never marry a cop." Soichiro declared, his arms folded tightly against his chest as his wife hummed in approval behind him. Matsuda's gaze hurriedly met Light's, who sat on the sofa with Misa clinging onto his arm. His composure was relaxed, no visible sense of agitation to this rather tired charade the family would enact under the assumption that Matsuda's interests lay in courting their daughter.

"I haven't even asked her out yet..." Matsuda replied with a breezy laugh that accented his anxiety. Sayu stood close, smiling in a sympathetic reassurance that further contributed to his embarrassment as his fingers clawed at his knees. He wanted to rip himself apart, release something internal as a means to escape this interrogation.

"Well, I think Matsuda is cute!" Sayu chirped. Matsuda felt the heat rise to his cheeks in pure embarrassment, squirming under the weight of an unexpected compliment.

"Really? I think you are too, Sayu!" He wasn't lying – the youngest Yagami was incredibly pretty, the certain elegance to her features reminding Matsuda of her brother's graceful charms. They had both been blessed with a beauty that felt almost alien in comparison to a man like himself, painfully average and self-aware of the fact. Even had he been handsome enough for Sayu, she was far too young for him, and his priority lay elsewhere.

The priority in question spoke up suddenly, "I think it is time I escort Matsuda to the station, he will be late getting home, otherwise." Light disengaged from Misa, his gaze still trained on Matsuda as he stood up. His expression betrayed no emotion that Matsuda could discern, and he too arose from the chair he sat upon, bowing towards Mr and Mrs Yagami. With a prompting nod from Light, the two left the room, shuffling into their shoes before opening the front door to walk out onto the quiet residential street.

It was raining and Light opened up the umbrella he had grabbed on the way out, prepared as always. Matsuda shivered, huddling close to Light as he tilted the umbrella so as to cover their heads. Matsuda hadn't anticipated how dark it had now become, and the streetlights emanated golden haloes leading down the winding road towards the station. Everything had a softness to it, from the houses to the pavement kerb, the rain dampening the sharper edges. It felt like a dream.

"I'm sorry." Matsuda sighed as the two of them began to walk, his shoulders falling as he acknowledged the tension in his back. Light turned his head, raising an eyebrow in curiosity - what for? "I didn't mean to talk to your sister in that way, I guess I just panicked."

"It's best my father assumes it is Sayu that you are pursuing, just as he believes Misa and I are committed to one another. My sister would not genuinely consider you as a potential partner, rest assured." While Light had probably intended the last comment to be reassuring, it still bruised Matsuda's ego. He grabbed his chest, mouthing 'ouch' as he pretended to stumble forward. Light rolled his eyes and continued walking, prompting Matsuda to follow beside him closely. He wished he could link his arm through Light's as he had seen Misa do so many times.

"What about you, Light? Do you see me as a potential partner?" Matsuda admitted he was being a little forward, but their affair had been a rather discreet and tightly maintained thing for some months now. Light had a tendency to schedule his life strictly, with no spontaneity afforded to his daily activities, whether they be for work or pleasure. Matsuda had begged Light to come out drinking with him in the small gay bar that he frequented regularly, but Light seemed almost baffled by the prospect of a date in such a place. He was straight-edge to a fault, and no amount of light teasing from Matsuda convinced Light to break his sobriety in the promise of a good time.

Sighing, Light replied, "Matsuda, you know we can't be public about this. The circumstances we find ourselves in are not forgiving to our situation, and we must be careful to ensure that we don't risk exposing ourselves."

"But you do love me, right?"

Light stopped. The street was approaching a dead end, and the station was to the immediate left. They had little time together before Soichiro would begin growing concerned as to the amount of time Light had spent away from the family home. It had been years since L's interrogation of his son and Misa, but he still maintained some semblance of paranoia that Light was well aware of. It could turn ugly if Light allowed it to fester, and his public display of apathy towards Matsuda would hardly serve to excuse the fact that the two spent more time together than they were expected to.

"Do you need to hear me say it? You know how I feel, I shouldn't have to spell it out for you."

"I want to hear you say it." Matsuda replied, gently, "I need some validation, is that too much to ask for?" Matsuda did wonder if at times he was being ridiculous, if he should simply be grateful for Light's affections, no matter how brief and distant they seemed, and stop expecting so much from him.

The two stood beneath the umbrella, raindrops sliding down the surface. Light placed a hand beneath Matsuda's face, tilting it upwards so he could look into the other's soft brown eyes. He was one of the only men who still believed in Light's innocence, who defended him as others grew suspicious. Perhaps like many others who admired Light, it was this which attracted him, the devotion, but in Matsuda he also found a normality he had been craving. A sense of stability that, however temporary, Light desired to such an extent that he was willing to be honest for once.

"I do love you, Matsuda." Light replied before he leaned in, his lips finding Matsuda's, and he held him in the warmth of the kiss, the rain quiet and the streetlights growing dimmer, as if to afford them privacy in this intimate moment. Matsuda let out a deep exhale through his nose, his eyes closed as he allowed his hands to take hold of Light's hips. There was a humidity to the back of his neck where his collar sat, flustered by this unusual public declaration of love from Light. Matsuda already knew this would be an opportunity he might never have again with Light, and moaned softly against the other's lips in appreciation.

Indeed, Light pulled away, the chill of the evening returning as the two shifted apart, the magic of the night broken as the rain returned to its heavy fall and the streetlights once again became brighter against the blackness of the night. Matsuda trembled as he looked towards the station nearby.

"You best be going now, Matsuda." Light's hand still gripped the umbrella handle without showing any intention of walking alongside Matsuda any further to see him off. Stepping out from beneath the umbrella and into the rain, Matsuda pulled his jacket tight across his chest as he jogged to the building, making his way to the entrance before turning around to see Light had already walked away.

Matsuda knew this was the way it had to be, for Light to return to his perfectly curated world. He would return to Misa, but he and Matsuda would steal glances at one another every few moments when in the office together, careful that Soichiro didn't catch them doing so. Maybe Matsuda could anticipate a hurried embrace in the bathroom stalls if Light felt as though such an effort was possible to execute, but it would realistically be a matter of weeks before Matsuda could expect Light to pay him any meaningful attention.

Drenched, Matsuda tried not to focus on the discomfort of his wet shirt clinging to his back, frozen needles inserted across his skin. Maybe comfort was something to be earned, and he was lucky to even have Light's attention, much less his time. When the Kira case was over, he thought as he stared up at the train timetable, he and Light could be together properly. He had to hold onto that hope at the very least.

[krowfics]

But you’re still a kid that grew

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Plot: Passion was small and Passion was orange. So he couldn't be. (or why there's two blue sides)

Words: 3257

Notes: Logan angst, canon universe, all the other sides are technically unsympathetic ig - especially Patton and Remus, sad and unresolved ending. this fic’s ending overlaps with WTIT.

This might be considered a character study? idk i wrote this in a hyper fixated haze

AO3

~~~

He was small and he was orange.

Dressed head to toe, orange tee shirt, orange cargo shorts, orange socks and orange shoes. 

He was learning about cheetahs. They're the fastest animal in the world, they can reach speeds up to 70 miles per hour! He didn't know what that meant but it sounded fast. 

He stared at the TV screen with rapt attention, meanwhile Thomas played with a stuffed fox from Fox and the Hound and a plastic toy of Peter Pan (from Peter Pan.) glancing up at the screen occasionally. Thomas’ mom had decided to put on an educational show instead of Disney Channel, which Thomas hadn’t minded but he had been ecstatic about.

He really, really wanted to know how fast 70 miles per hour is.

So Thomas twisted around to look at his mom, who was reading a book on the couch with her feet tucked underneath her, and he asked.

"Hmm, as fast as a car." She answered.

That's super fast for an animal, he knew Thomas couldn't run that fast, he didn't even think a dog could run that fast.

"Wow, that's super fast." Thomas said.

"Sure is, Bud." His mom replied with a smile.

He learned more, needed to learn more. He had Thomas switch the channel to documentaries in between his Disney shows, had him ask his mom and dad every question under the sun, squinted at books over Thomas' shoulders as they were both figuring out how to read, even though neither really could yet.

Some adults had reading glasses to make them read better, maybe that would make him read better.

It helped, he thinks, he didn't think anything was wrong with his vision before but now he never wanted to take his glasses off.

He was bigger, he was orange, and he wanted to know everything.

Passion. 

Thomas' mom had called Thomas passionate once, maybe he was Passion.

They went to school, and kindergarten was boring. All they did was color! The first grade was better, but there was still far too much coloring of cartoon characters for Passion’s taste. 

Creativity liked it. So Passion tried not to complain. He didn't really talk to the Others much anyway. 

He liked talking to Creativity, both of them, but they each fell off into their own tangents that got so far from where Passion hand started, that he kind of wished he didn’t talk at all.

He had nothing to do with Morality or Fears or even Creativity, really, the good or the bad, he just wanted to learn and he wanted Thomas to learn.

Lies was annoying because he just wanted to get out of work, and Thomas would listen to him sometimes, which wasn't fair. But sometimes Morality would get in Lies’ way and they'd yell a bunch until Thomas gave into Morality, which was better but it was still annoying. When they yelled he wanted to scream.

It was all frustrating. The Creativities’ imagination was nice until it became completely fake, Lies made Thomas say things that were completely fake, Fears would make up stuff to make Thomas upset which was usually completely fake and Morality would repeat the adults dumb rules which seemed to be completely fake!

It was frustrating, fakeness was frustrating, Passion only cared about real things. Weird plants and animals and bugs and rock formations and spaceships and dinosaurs.

He did not care about Disney princes and dragons and talking animals.

Morality told him he needed to share Thomas. But it wasn't fair, none of it was fair, how could it be fair when what everyone else wanted was completely fake?

He hated the fakeness, it was confusing, it was so hard to tell when Thomas was being lied to. He used to think he could fly because he saw it on TV - not the channels that Passion wanted to watch - and he jumped off his bed and bruised his knee super badly. 

Thomas cried for his knee and Passion cried because it wasn't real. It wasn't! They lied to him!

Passion cried more often than not, he yelled more often then he spoke. Thomas wouldn't listen to him, Thomas used to listen to him, didn't he?

Thomas didn't switch the channel to documentaries anymore and he didn't pay attention to his teacher, even when he really tried, he'd always be more focused on sitting still which made it almost impossible for Passion to pay attention, Thomas usually gave up, which made it even harder.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

He barely talked to the Others before but now he almost never did. Because now he couldn't stop himself from screaming or crying or getting really angry and breaking something in the imagination which would always make everyone upset with him but they'd never listen anyway!

He hated this. He felt so pathetic. He didn't want to cry all the time, he just wanted to learn. He wanted Thomas to learn.

Thomas got a new teacher when he started second grade, and he was nice.

Mr. Teagan was calm, always. He wore glasses and a tie, which must mean he's smart. He sounded smart, he didn't get mad at Thomas for moving in his seat or fidgeting with his hands, he even encouraged him to fiddle with a squishy rubber toy when Thomas' tapping got too loud for the rest of the class.

He never got frustrated when Thomas asked questions, he'd teach him how to understand the more complex math equations the rest of the class was learning. Passion really liked math and Thomas really liked math.

Thomas wasn't really listening to Passion but he was listening to his teacher. Maybe if Passion was calmer, they would listen to him.

They didn't. They ignored him as always, Bad Creativity called him a crybaby and that set Morality off, which Passion would have appreciated had Morality not also been ignoring him.

"Why'd you even bother to show up?" Good Creativity said as Morality calmed down and Bad Creativity continued to giggle.

"Be nice." Morality said plaintively.

"No, no, I mean, you never come here or talk to us, what do you want?" he didn't sound upset, just confused, but it didn't make the hurt go away because Passion was doing what he wanted already and they weren't listening.

"To talk about imaginary numbers." He said carefully, because imaginary numbers were so cool, even though he didn't really understand anything about them at all, but they sounded cool. They were fake but couldn't be frustrating-fake, because they were still math and math made them real!

"Ugh, Thomas will learn math in school." Good creativity whined.

Passion glanced to Morality, who only nodded, "Thomas is gonna watch Beauty and the Beast, he can't do math right now."

He's watching that again? Could it not be Lion King or Jungle Book, one that made him actually want to learn about animals?

"That's not fair." Passion said.

"He does plenty of math in school." Good Creativity said.

"But I want him to do it now!"

"We can't always get what we want." Morality said.

"Life is fair, you know." Lies said sarcastically from his place on the couch, he was hardly paying attention to the situation.

Morality liked Mr. Teagan, and Passion was being calm like Mr. Teagan, why wasn't it working? What was he doing wrong?

Fears nodded, looking deeply uncomfortable with the tenseness in the room, "You don't have to get upset over math."

"It's not fair." He yelled, and his voice cracked and his vision was blurry even though he was wearing his glasses.

Bad Creativity made a sharp laughing noise, “Crybaby!" he said, pointing, and he was completely right.

"You aren't being very nice." Morality said, and when Passion looked he saw that Morality was not looking at Bad Creativity, he was looking right at Passion.

He knew what that meant, Morality also said that Lies and Bad Creativity weren't very nice and then those 'weren't very nice's turned into 'not nice at all's. And Morality made sure that Thomas almost never listened to Sides who were not nice at all.

What if Thomas never listened to him again?

Passion choked on a sob. He needed to apologize, he needed to, but he couldn't get a word out with Morality staring him down like Thomas' mom or dad did when he got in trouble, Good Creativity stood right behind him, looking smug.

Passion turned around and ran out the room, a nasally laugh came from behind him, Bad Creativity, he assumed.

He hid his room and he cried. It felt like hours, or minutes, or days. He cried until his eyes were sore and his throat was scratchy and his nose was stuffed.

Something was wrong with him.

There had to be a reason no one listened to him, there had to be a reason no one liked him.

He stayed away after that, he couldn't risk it. He needed to stay calm like Mr. Teagan but he couldn't when no one was listening anyway. He’d get too frustrated, too overwhelmed. A bitter part of him thought it’d be better to not feel at all, if the bad emotions were so unavoidable and were making him ruin everything. 

They wouldn't listen to him, no matter what he did, would they? They've already decided he was too passionate to deal with.

He helped Thomas with homework when he needed, Morality made Thomas do his homework because it was Wrong not to, but he didn't really stick around for the process. So when Thomas would get stuck, Passion would show up to help. 

He didn't make Thomas learn outside of school though, he stopped begging for him to change the channel to a documentary when Morality wanted to watch a cartoon, he bit his tongue every single time he played pretend with Good Creativity.

Passion was able to learn still, he didn’t think any of the others could completely stop him if they tried. It was much harder, but he could consume information that Thomas learned subconsciously. It wasn't nearly as good as Thomas learning outright, but it was better than nothing and Passion would take all he could get.

Thomas' third grade teacher was not nearly as patient as Mr. Teagan, which means that Thomas didn't like her which means he had a much harder time paying attention. 

Morality stayed with him a lot, making him pay attention as it was Wrong not to pay attention to adults. He made him do his homework and sat there through his frustration so he'd actually finish as it was wrong not to hand it in finished the next day, he made Thomas do everything he was told, even as Lies hissed and spat in the Mindscape to get his way, Morality didn't even care that he was making Thomas miserable. Maybe he didn’t notice.

He wouldn't listen to what Passion had to say about it though.

Passion was a crybaby, Passion was too emotional, Passion wasn't very nice.

Passion was small and Passion was orange.

So he couldn't be.

They had learned basic color theory long ago. Good Creativity loved it because it made everything pretty and hated it because it was rules and neither creativity ever wanted to put rules on art, other than the obvious Morality given ones. The ones that said it wasn't nice at all to draw Thomas killing his brother, something Good Creativity agreed with and bad creativity did not.

Color theory said that blue was the opposite of orange.

Maybe that's why Morality didn't like him. Morality was blue.

Blue comes in different shades.

One day, as Thomas was doing his homework, he felt a familiar pull. A feeling he would often ignore because Morality seemed to always be there. 

Be calm

He appeared, almost void of color, shirt as black as his glasses, plain blue jeans, black shoes. 

A tie, just like Thomas' second grade teacher always wore, except dark blue.

He was not small and he was not orange.

"Hello?" Thomas said, just behind him was Morality, who was staring.

Both looked stressed, hair messed up from running their hands through it and Thomas's eyes were rimmed red, almost crying from frustration.

Stay calm.

"What seems to be the problem Thomas?"

"Who..?" Thomas asked tiredly, glancing to Morality.

"I'm not sure, kiddo. Are you new?"

The only thing differentiating the sides visually were their clothes and their colors.

Without orange, Morality didn't recognize him.

Good.

"I am Thomas' Logic."

"Oh, goodness!" Morality smiled brightly, when was the last time he smiled at him like that? "It's been so long since we've gotten a new side! I’m Morality, It's nice to meet you."

Stay calm.

"You as well, now what is the issue?"

Thomas gestured to the paper on his desk and Logic learned over his shoulder to see the equation. He thought Thomas liked math?

It was division, a bit on the complicated side but not terribly so. 

"Thomas, do you understand that division is just the opposite of multiplication?"

"Mrs. Drache keeps saying so, but…"

So he didn't understand.

"All that means is you can reverse this." He summoned up a pen and paper and wrote the equation down where Thomas could see.

And the he wrote the same numbers directly under it but swapped the division sign for an equal sign and the original equals sign for multiplication.

"Are you more confident in your times tables, Thomas?" he asked.

Thomas nodded, paused, and then nodded again. He looked tired. "Yeah um, I did them quicker than most of the class last week. I only got 3 wrong."

"Good." Logic said, "what times 7 is 49?"

Thomas stared for a moment, "5 times 7 is 35."

"Yes."

"and 6 times 7 is 42."

"it is."

Thomas pressed his lips together and then wrote 7 down on his homework.

Thomas listened to him. He actually listened to him and he learned.

Stay calm.

"Good job, Thomas."

Thomas beamed and everything was worth it.

Morality made a high pitch noise, startling Logic, he forgot he was there.

But there Morality was, clapping and smiling, smiling at Thomas and Logic.

"I knew you could do it, kiddo!" 

Thomas smiled and returned to his homework, both sides there for help and encouragement.

Morality stopped showing up so much for homework, he let Logic help him pay attention in class, he started letting Thomas get away with things that made him happy. At some point academics were completely left up to Logic.

Morality trusted Logic. Morality liked Logic.

Stay calm.

Logic said nothing as Thomas changed career paths, Morality wanted him to be happy and Creativity wanted him to perform. Logic could handle his amount of attention diminishing, Thomas’ happiness was more important. 

Stay calm.

He helped Thomas through each moral conundrum and anxiety attack, even if he had to wade through the others' arguments to do so. It’d be easier if they didn’t have to work through their emotions before they actually listened to him but, regardless, they always did eventually.

Stay calm.

He had made himself heard, he didn't need emotions anymore, he never needed them in the first place. He needed Thomas to be healthy and happy, even if that meant Logic didn't always get his way. He was fine.

Stay calm.

Deceit and Dark Creativity's increased presence was annoying but manageable. Thomas hadn't remembered either, which made sense. 

Deceit had kept himself hidden from Thomas before his scales started appearing - a younger Thomas taking the lying snake in the garden of Eden a bit too seriously, Logic suspects - and Logic was fairly certain that Thomas had never even met Remus as a child.

Thomas was barely interested in what Logic had to say as is, splitting his attention between three other sides who just boiled down to differing emotions. Janus and Remus complicated things, they kept getting in the way.

All sides deserved to be listened to, a part of Logic is sure of it, but with all of them demanded it only for themselves, he had to fight to.

Morality at least didn't like them fighting, Creativity would always listen to Morality and thus stayed in good graces, and Anxiety held enough sympathy from Patton that he was always able to be listened to too.

No one really liked Logic, he could tell. They might claim they like Logan, they probably don't even think they're lying about it. But they wouldn't like him if he couldn't stay calm.

Stay calm.

He was trying to stay calm.

He was finally being listened to, even if it seemed to be less and less each day, he was letting Thomas take breaks, he was letting Thomas stay happy even as the anxiety of cleaning was getting to him.

Why did Remus have to taunt him today of all days? The day when Thomas actually had some urge to make a list of tasks, to finally clean his living space so he could be more productive. 

Stay calm.

Thomas was busy dancing, quite literally dancing always the intrusive thoughts.

Logic was calm, he would stay calm.

He breathed a calculated breath and turned to Remus, who was giggling in that obnoxious way he does. Even after all these years, even as they got older, that laugh never really did change.

Logic was speaking calmly, he was being nice, he was barely showing any frustration even as Remus made it clear he was not listening.

Thomas listened to him though, he had listened today, and the only times he stopped today was when Remus got in the way.

Stay. Calm.

He needed to get through to Remus. He needed to. He needed to be listened to, he needed Thomas to listen. He barely listened as is, he can't let it get as bad as it was back then, back when no one listened no matter what. 

"Remus."

he wasn't listening. Thomas wouldn't listen because Remus wouldn't listen. Logic needed him to listen.

Remus summoned a book literally titled, 'Ignoring Dummies for Dummies' 

"Remus."

The haunting taunt of 'crybaby' rang in his ears. It was extremely frustrating, he couldn't get frustrated - he had to stay calm.

Logic could barely breathe.

Remus wouldn't listen.

Stay calm

Stay calm

STAY CALM

"Stop ignoring me!"

That wasn't very calm.

Remus was talking, smug as Logan had ever seen him and not even remotely surprised, but the words barely registered. 

And then Remus was gone, and Thomas was on the phone with Nico.

Was that on purpose? Did… Did Remus know?

Stay calm.

He was not orange.

He wasn't.

Everything worked out, except it didn't because Thomas had abandoned his schedule and his apartment didn't get cleaned, but that was okay. It had to be okay. 

Thomas barely seemed to listened to Logic anymore anyway, he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. Thomas listened when it was absolutely necessary and that was enough. It had to be. Logic had to stay calm. He had to hold together each piece of him that shattered and broke off when he was ignored, he couldn't afford to be pushed to emotions by Remus, or anyone, especially not when Thomas is there.

Stay calm.

He was not a crybaby.

Stay calm.

He was not Passion.

Stay calm.

He was not orange.

He wished there was nothing of Passion left, nothing left to feel anything, but as he curled up in his room to hide, he felt small.

~~~

tags~ @flowercrownsandtrauma

[browneyesandhair]

I'm Unglued Thanks to You by Browneyesandhair

Summary:

This wasn’t fair. She loved him. He clearly felt strongly for her. And, yet … Colin’s voice was in the back of her mind. It wasn’t him as he was in front of her. It was him after their failed scheme had been revealed. His words on Lady Whistledown ran through her mind. As she looked into his eyes, she couldn’t do this. “No.” The word was ripped from her throat. It sat between them.

Notes:

Okay - this is basically unfinished. But the front part of the scene was in my head. This is what I think season 3 part 2 has to start with (but mostly wishful thinking - because I want this conversation before an engagement - even if I don't want to write all the awful bits).

Friendly reminder that I have no chill. I watched season 3 part 1 and this is what I want for season 3 part 2 to start with (it doesn't have to be exactly this, but I would like one word to be there).

[angstflavoured]

i think too many people misinterpret what i mean when i say i ship billford. like no, i do not want them to be together happily eventually. i dont even want them to be together. the ship so goddamn toxic that there is only misery and old broken remnants of feelings and longing for something that couldve been but never will be. they will never be happy in each others lives and i want to keep it that way. dont get it twisted thinking im just shipping cute little yaoi and i want them to kiss in canon. no. this is something much deeper and intimate and painful. this aint my first Toxic Old Man Yaoi rodeo and it wont be my last. there is no happiness here.

[psqqa]

yes, yes i know edgeworth’s big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated us all, but listen. listen.

phoenix wright

phoenix “genuinely unable to reconcile the girl on the stand with the girl he dated for eight months, a cognitive dissonance so profound it’s ultimately explained by them being literally two different people, but which he first sits with for five years and does not talk about at any point to anyone” wright

phoenix “don’t mention that name to me. i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t want to think about it. i am just going to keep myself in this state of perpetual crisis mode focus on other people’s problems until eventually i die and get to hang out with mia on the astral plane and never have to deal with any of these emotions ever again” wright

phoenix “overnight loses his career and reputation and sense of identity while gaining an adopted, probably pretty traumatized eight-year-old daughter, and rather than leaning on his friends for help, or getting therapy, or taking any time to process any of this, he *checks notes* spends seven years dedicating all his free time and energy to investigating the weird fucking circumstances around it and maintains a friendship with the guy he suspects was behind it all” wright

phoenix "runs across a burning bridge and falls through it, half a day after the game establishes that he is terrified of heights, because his friend is on the other side of that bridge" wright

phoenix “i sure felt surprised. maybe i had my poker face on” wright

phoenix “looking back on it that was actually a pretty dark period in my life” wright

phoenix “don’t ask me how i got started. i don’t remember” wright

phoenix “only you stood still, your eyes calmly watching” wright

phoenix “sometimes, life just sucks” wright

just

phoenix wright

crunchiest man in the world

and all i wanna do is chew and chew and chew on him

[alienssstufff]

mini etho-related doodles for the final chapter of You Could've Applied Online that dropped today (good ending: REAL, FREE at shade-e-es glass factory emporium) (+unreal boatboys final goodbye sequence)... gonna miss it ;w;

this one courtesy quote by chloe

and unrelated DO2 etho doodle frum yesterday (idk what to do with this atm)

[soultiio]

guilt

[clowns0cks]

no you don't get it I DON'T want thoschei to go along and make peace and live happily ever after. I need them in a constant state of pining and neverending fucked up dynamics hope this helps !

[bear-bear-bear-bear-bear]

jaheira please im trying to have a serious conversation

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Shattered Heart Part II 

Summary: 

Y/N and Azriel continue to struggle with their unspoken love and the heartbreak it brings. As Azriel distances himself further, Y/N makes a decision that could change everything. Will they ever find their way back to each other, or are they destined to remain broken and alone?

I wrote this for @vanserrasimp who requested a part 2.

Word Count: 1504

Warnings: Intense heartbreak, emotional distress

Y/N:

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N felt the weight of Azriel's absence more acutely with each passing moment. She had hoped that time would dull the pain, but instead, it sharpened it, making every interaction, every shared space in the House of Wind a reminder of what she had lost—or rather, what she had never truly had.

She threw herself into training, hoping the physical exertion would exhaust her enough to numb her emotions. But even in the heat of battle practice, her mind wandered to Azriel. She saw him everywhere—in the shadows that danced at the edge of her vision, in the quiet moments when she thought she was alone, in the lingering silence that filled the spaces where his laughter used to be.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Y/N found herself alone in the training room. She collapsed onto the floor, her body aching and her mind a whirlwind of turmoil. She stared at the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

"Why can't I let him go?" she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "Why can't I move on?"

The room remained silent, offering no answers. She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely. She thought about Azriel—about the way he had stood outside her room that night, about the pain in his eyes, about the words that had remained unspoken between them.

She knew she couldn't continue like this. The pain was consuming her, eating away at her spirit. She needed to make a decision, to find a way to move forward. She couldn't keep living in this limbo, caught between hope and despair.

With a heavy heart, she made her way to her room. She sat at her desk, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. Her hand trembled as she began to write, pouring her heart and soul into the letter.

Azriel,

I don't know if you'll ever read this, but I need to say it, to put it into words so that I can finally let go. I have loved you for so long, longer than I can even remember. I thought that maybe, one day, you might see me the way I see you. But I was wrong.

Watching you with Elain, seeing the way you look at her—it's tearing me apart. I can't keep pretending that I'm okay, that I'm strong enough to handle it. The truth is, I'm not. I'm breaking, Azriel, and I don't know how to fix it.

I need to move on, to find a way to heal. And I can't do that if I'm here, surrounded by memories of you. So, I've decided to leave Velaris. I don't know where I'll go, but I need to find a place where I can rebuild my heart, piece by piece.

I wish you all the happiness in the world, Azriel. You deserve it, even if it's not with me. Please, don't come after me. This is something I need to do for myself.

Goodbye, Azriel. I will always love you, but I need to let you go.

Y/N

She sealed the letter with trembling hands, placing it on her bed. She packed a small bag with essentials, her heart heavy with each item she added. She took one last look around her room, her sanctuary, and then she left, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through her soul.

As she walked through the quiet streets of Velaris, she felt a sense of freedom mixed with a profound sadness. She was leaving behind everything she had ever known, but she knew it was the only way to heal.

Azriel:

Azriel stood in the training room, his fists clenched at his sides. He had pushed himself harder than ever before, trying to drown out the thoughts that haunted him. But no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't escape the pain in his heart.

He thought about Y/N constantly—about her laughter, her strength, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. He missed her more than he could bear, but the fear of hurting her kept him from reaching out.

Cassian's words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of what he had lost. "You don't have to be perfect to love someone, Az. And Y/N doesn’t need perfect. She needs you." But he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't enough, that he would only bring her pain.

He walked to Y/N's room, his heart heavy with regret. He had stood outside her door so many times, wanting to knock, wanting to hold her and tell her everything. But he had always walked away, too afraid to face his feelings.

Tonight, he couldn't stay away. He needed to see her, to tell her how he felt, even if it was too late. He reached for the door, his hand trembling as he knocked softly.

There was no answer. He knocked again, louder this time, but the room remained silent. Panic began to set in as he pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The room was empty, the bed neatly made. His eyes landed on the letter, and his heart stopped. He picked it up with shaking hands, his eyes scanning the words.

Each sentence was a knife to his heart. He read her words, feeling the depth of her pain, the love she had carried for so long. And as he reached the end, a sob tore from his throat.

She was gone. He had pushed her away, and now she was gone.

He sank to his knees, clutching the letter to his chest. The shadows around him pulsed with his anguish, but they offered no comfort. He had lost her, and it was his own fault.

I need to find her. The thought was a lifeline, a desperate hope that he clung to. He couldn't let her go, not without a fight.

He stood, his resolve hardening. He would find her, no matter where she had gone. He would make things right, even if it took him the rest of his life.

With a final glance around the empty room, he turned and left, the letter still clutched in his hand. He didn't know where to start, but he knew he couldn't give up. Not now, not ever.

Y/N:

Y/N stood on the edge of the cliff, the wind whipping through her hair as she looked out over the sea. She had traveled for days, seeking solace in the quiet places far from Velaris. But no matter where she went, the pain followed her, a constant shadow.

She had thought that leaving would help her heal, but it had only made the ache more acute. She missed Azriel with every fiber of her being, missed the way his presence had brought her comfort, even in the darkest times.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely. She had tried to be strong, tried to move on, but the love she felt for him was a part of her, woven into her very soul.

As she stood there, she heard a voice behind her, soft and filled with pain. "Y/N."

She turned, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Azriel standing there, his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and hope.

"Azriel," she whispered, her voice breaking.

He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. "I couldn't let you go. I can't lose you, Y/N. Not like this."

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head. "You don't understand, Azriel. I've loved you for so long, and it's killing me. I can't keep pretending that I'm okay."

He reached for her, his hand trembling as he cupped her cheek. "I know, Y/N. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. But I can't lose you. I love you. I've always loved you."

Her heart ached at his words, the truth she had longed to hear. But the pain was still there, a deep wound that wouldn't heal. "Azriel, it's too late. I'm broken, and I don't know how to fix it."

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "Then we'll fix it together. Please, Y/N. Don't leave me. I need you. We need each other."

She clung to him, her sobs shaking her body. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that they could find a way to heal. But the pain was still there, a constant reminder of the love that had nearly destroyed her.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, they knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult. But for the first time, they had hope—hope that they could find a way to heal, to rebuild the shattered pieces of their hearts.

And as the sun set over the sea, casting a golden glow over the world, they took the first step on that journey, together.

[todorokis-girl]

Getting back with your ex? - Suna Rintarou (pt 1)

(part 2) After a painful breakup and years apart, Y/N and Suna Rintarou are forced to work together again in the world of professional volleyball. When an unexpected injury and a work trip to Okinawa bring them closer, unresolved feelings and old wounds resurface. Amidst professional obligations and personal turmoil, they must navigate their complicated past and uncertain future. Can they overcome their history and find their way back to each other, or will the lingering pain keep them apart forever?

masterlist

I shake slightly as I walk into the Olimpic team training area, bag and binder in hand. The imposing structure of the stadium looms above me, filled with the echoes of bouncing volleyballs and distant shouts. The Japan media agency was recently activated to manage the promotions and media activities for the team, and I was assigned as their specific manager. Lucky me. Kuroo deserved to be beheaded, it was his job to promote them anyway, he could do it by himself! Ok, that would be unrealistic, and I’m just pissed. Kuroo did NOT deserve to be beheaded.

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady my nerves, but I only shake more the deeper I get into the stadium. Anyone would be thrilled to work with them—actually, everyone was thrilled. I think I was the only one not foaming at the mouth to manage them; yet I think that was my downfall. Damn you, indifference. In reality, I wasn’t indifferent. In any other circumstance, I’d foam at the mouth like everyone else for the job. Yet, Suna Rintaro was a member of this team. Of course he is. I would’ve given my left arm for it to have been Osamu instead.

Suna and I dated in high school. If anything was known about me in those days, it was that I drooled for my boyfriend. As the manager for the Inarizaki team, I most definitely gave him preferential treatment, and Osamu loved to bitch about it. I missed those days.

I was head over heels, down on my knees for this man. And then he became a professional volleyball player. To quote him directly, “I don’t have the time for you.” Yet weeks later, I started seeing magazine articles of him out with different models. No time, my ass. Just say you don’t love me and move on.

I took the deepest breath I could muster and walked into the court area, laser-focused on making it to the coach first. The court was a whirlwind of activity, players diving, spiking, and shouting encouragements. My heart pounded louder with each step. I needed to ask for the remaining time from practice to talk and get to know the players as much as I could. When the coach finally spotted me, he looked me up and down with a scrutinizing gaze, then stared into my soul. Intimidating man. I smiled and extended my hand to him once I was close enough.

“Hello, sir, I’m L/N Y/N. I’m the team's new media manager, Kuroo Tetsuro had called to notify ahead of time. I was told I could have the last hour of practice to talk to the team and get to know them, if that’s okay with you, of course.”

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through my façade of calm, and gave a deep sigh. “Yes.”

I smiled and stood back, giving him the space to address the team when he thought it prudent. “Everyone, head to the showers and meet this young lady in the conference room in 10.”

A chorus of “Yes, sir” rang around the court, followed by the sound of sneakers squeaking on the floor. The players began to disperse, casting curious glances my way. Before anyone could properly look at me, I bowed to the coach and attempted to make a run to the conference room after being given directions.

“Y/N.” I stopped in my tracks, my eyes widening as I recognized the voice of Suna.

“Who?”

“Y/N, c’mon.”

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about. I don’t know this... Y/N, was it?”

“I can see it’s you. I know it’s you. I’d recognize your back anywhere.”

I spun around immediately, ready to chew him out for what he was insinuating, but I was met by his bright smile, almost as if he was expecting it. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yeah, no doubt about it. That’s my girl.”

I stopped the words that were about to spill out of my mouth and replaced them with a different set. “I’m not your girl anymore.” I looked down at my watch, more for symbolic effect than to check the time. “I will definitely be telling Coach Foster if you’re late to the conference room. You have five minutes left.”

Without giving him a chance to process what had happened, I turned again and headed pointedly to the conference room, my steps echoing my determination.

As I marched towards the conference room, my thoughts were a whirlwind. The confrontation with Suna had set my nerves alight, but I couldn’t afford to lose my focus. The team’s future media presence rested on my shoulders, and I had to be professional, no matter how tangled my past with Suna was.

The conference room was a stark contrast to the bustling court. It was quiet and orderly, with a long table in the center surrounded by sleek chairs. I set my bag and binder down, pulling out my notes and arranging them meticulously. I had just enough time to compose myself before the players started trickling in.

First came Sakusa Kiyoomi, his expression inscrutable as he took a seat at the far end of the table. He gave a curt nod, acknowledging my presence without a word. Next were Hinata Shoyo and Bokuto Koutarou, chatting animatedly and filling the room with their infectious energy. They greeted me with enthusiastic smiles, making me feel a bit more at ease.

Finally, Suna walked in, casual and confident, as if our earlier exchange hadn’t affected him at all. He took a seat near the middle, flashing me a knowing grin. I ignored him and turned to face the team.

“Thank you all for coming,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady. “As you know, my agency has been hired to manage your media presence; Kuroo Tetsuro will handle the rest of the coordinations or team promotions. My goal is to help each of you shine, both on and off the court. I’ll be working closely with you to develop your public personas and ensure you get the recognition you deserve.”

I paused, gauging their reactions. Most of the team seemed receptive, though Sakusa remained impassive. Suna leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression.

“To start, I’d like to get to know each of you better,” I continued. “Understanding your personalities, interests, and goals will help me tailor our approach to suit you individually. We’ll go around the table, and each of you can share a bit about yourselves. Let’s start with you, Hinata.”

Hinata beamed and launched into a lively account of his journey in volleyball, his eyes shining with passion. His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon, the rest of the team was sharing their stories, laughing and bonding over shared experiences. Even Sakusa offered a few guarded sentences, and I could sense the walls between us beginning to crumble.

When it was Suna’s turn, he spoke with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, detailing his rise to fame with practiced ease. I couldn’t help but notice the glances he threw my way, testing my reactions. “I even had a girlfriend once, with me all the way to the start of my professional career; can’t believe I let ‘er go” I met his gaze evenly, refusing to let him see how much he affected me.

“Thank you for sharing, Suna,” I said, cutting him off before he could drag out his story any longer. “It’s clear that each of you brings something unique to the team, and I’m excited to work with you all.”

I glanced at my notes, ready to move on to the next part of the meeting. “Now, let’s talk about some of the upcoming promotional events and media opportunities. We have a few scheduled interviews, photo shoots, and public appearances. I’ll need your cooperation and input to make sure we present you in the best possible light.”

The discussion flowed smoothly, with the players offering ideas and feedback. Despite the initial tension, the atmosphere gradually became more collaborative. By the end of the meeting, I felt a sense of accomplishment. We were laying the foundation for a successful partnership, and I was determined to prove myself as their media manager.

As the team began to disperse, Suna lingered behind, his eyes following me as I gathered my things. I braced myself for another confrontation, but he simply leaned against the table, watching me with an amused expression.

“You handled that well, Y/N,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but you’ve still got that fire.”

I paused, meeting his gaze. “I’m here to do a job, Suna. That’s all.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sure, if that’s what you want to believe.”

“What I want to believe? You think I asked for this position?” I was appalled that he was suggesting I deliberately choose this to seek him out.

He gave me a cocky grin and without another word, he pushed off from the table and walked out, leaving me standing there with a mix of emotions. I took a deep breath, pushing aside the memories and focusing on the task at hand. There was a lot of work to be done, and I was ready to face it head-on. Suna was NOT going to make me lose my head. He let me go once, and I had given him all of myself, it wasn’t happening again. Kuroo was definitely getting an earful ‘don’t be so dramatic, It’s gonna be fine’.

I huffed to myself finally stepping out of the room and on my way to my car, my hand automatically reaching for my phone, if I had to vent, Kuroo was getting it.

As I reached my car and slid into the driver's seat, I quickly unlocked my phone and dialed Kuroo's number. The phone rang a few times before his familiar, lazy voice answered.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s up? Seriously, Kuroo? You dumped the Olympic team’s media management on me, that’s what’s up!”

He chuckled, and I could practically hear his smug grin through the phone. “I knew you could handle it. You’re the best we’ve got.”

“Flattery isn’t going to save you,” I snapped, gripping the steering wheel. “You could have at least warned me about Suna being on the team. Do you have any idea how awkward that was?”

There was a brief pause, and then Kuroo sighed. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. You’re professionals, right? Just… don’t let him get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered. “He’s still as infuriating as ever.”

“Look, just focus on the job. You’re great at what you do, and the team needs you. Besides, Suna’s just one player. Don’t let him distract you.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… complicated.”

“I know. But you’ve got this. If anyone can turn this team into media darlings, it’s you.”

“Thanks, Kuroo. I’ll do my best.”

“That's my girl,” he said with a note of pride in his voice. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“Will do. And Kuroo?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, give me a heads-up, will you?”

He laughed. “You got it. Take care, Y/N.”

I hung up and took a few moments to collect myself before starting the car. The drive home was a blur, my mind occupied with thoughts of Suna and the daunting task ahead. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I had resolved to put all personal feelings aside and focus solely on my work.

The next morning, I arrived at the training facility early, armed with my binder and a renewed sense of determination. Today, I had individual meetings scheduled with each player to discuss their personal branding and media strategy. I hoped to gain a deeper understanding of their personalities and how best to present them to the public.

Hinata was first. His energy was infectious, and his enthusiasm for the sport shone through every word he said. We discussed his goals and how to leverage his vibrant personality to connect with fans.

Next was Bokuto, who was equally charismatic but in a more boisterous way. His love for the game was palpable, and I made notes on how to highlight his dynamic presence in interviews and social media.

Sakusa was a bit more challenging. He was reserved and guarded, but I managed to coax out his interests and preferences. We discussed ways to showcase his quieter, more introspective side while still appealing to the team's fanbase.

Finally, it was Suna’s turn. He sauntered into the conference room with his usual nonchalance, sitting down across from me with a smirk.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

I ignored his tone and focused on my notes. “Alright, Suna. I want to understand your goals and how we can present you to the public. What are you hoping to achieve with your media presence?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really think people care about that stuff?”

“Yes, I do. Your fans want to know more about you than just your performance on the court. They want to connect with you as a person.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I want to be seen as a serious athlete. I don’t want all that fluff and nonsense. Just focus on my game.”

I nodded, jotting down his words. “Got it. We’ll highlight your dedication and professionalism. Anything else you want to add?”

He studied me for a moment, his gaze intense. “You still care about what people think, don’t you?”

I met his eyes, refusing to back down. “It’s my job to care, Suna. And it’s yours too, whether you like it or not.”

He smirked again, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes. “You’ve changed, Y/N. You’re tougher now.”

“I had to be,” I replied, packing up my things. “Meeting’s over. Thanks for your time.”

As I walked out of the room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Suna was watching me, his eyes lingering longer than necessary. I pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand. There was still a lot of work to be done, and I was determined to succeed.

Over the next few weeks, I threw myself into my work, coordinating interviews, photo shoots, and public appearances. The players gradually warmed up to me, and we began to build a cohesive media strategy that highlighted their unique strengths.

Despite my initial apprehension, things started to fall into place. The team’s media presence improved, and their popularity soared. Even Sakusa, with his reserved nature, began to open up in front of the camera.

Through it all, Suna remained a constant challenge. He was professional during our meetings, but there was always an undercurrent of tension between us. Yet, I couldn’t deny that working with him pushed me to be better, to stay focused and not let my emotions get in the way.

One evening, after a particularly successful interview session, I found myself alone in the conference room, reviewing the footage. The door creaked open, and Suna walked in, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” I replied, not looking up from my notes.

He walked over and sat down across from me, his gaze fixed on my face. “You’ve done a good job with the team.”

“Thanks,” I said, still focused on my work. “We’re not done yet, though. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Yeah, but you’ve made a difference. Even I can see that.”

I finally looked up, meeting his eyes. “What do you want, Suna?”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. For everything. High school, the way I ended things. I was a jerk.”

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden sincerity. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve had a lot of time to think. And seeing you here, working so hard, made me realize how much I messed up.”

I sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. “I appreciate the apology, Suna. But it doesn’t change what happened.”

He stays silence his eyes seeming to be inspecting my face, as if looking for something else “I know, I still wanted to try” 

I studied his face, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all I saw was genuine regret. “Fine”

He smiled, a real, honest smile that made my heart ache with nostalgia. I hate that I genuinely miss him. 

As he stood up to leave, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders; but a certain, different desire settled in me. I watched him leave, and closed my eyes for a second. It seems watching him leave was all I knew how to do. 

I turned back to my notes. There was still a lot of work to be done, and I was ready to face it head-on, no matter what challenges came my way; but maybe I needed Kuroo to come along with me more often, even if he was busy getting the schedules and making the plans. 

One afternoon, after hours of looking through notes and interview footage, I found myself in the staff lounge, nursing a cup of coffee. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. I was lost in thought when the door opened, and Kuroo walked in, looking as tired as I felt.

“Hey,” he said, flopping down in the chair next to mine. “How’s it going?”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The team’s doing great.”

Kuroo nodded, taking a sip of his own coffee. “You’re doing an amazing job, Y/N. Glad I choose you to help me out, I don’t know how I’d do it without you”

I smiled, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Thanks, Kuroo, I apreciate the apreciation; what are you doing here anyway? Mister sports promoter not have a big fancy office at a big fancy building?”

He raised an eyebrow and turned to face me, the scrutiny in his eyes heavy “I want to wear gym clothes every once in a while, and I cant do that at the office. Miss sports media manager” I smiled and nooded, showing I understood. 

I mean, he was right, one of the couple of upside of working in the training arena was the ability of being able to show up in sweats and leggings, as it was the most proper attire. 

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “But seriously, if you need anything, just let me know. We’re in this together, even if I am technically your boss”

“Actually,” I said, glancing at him, “I was thinking if you could come along to a few more of the meetings. Having you there would make things a bit easier.” My voice filled with hope. 

Kuroo looked at me, his expression thoughtful. “Of course. I’ll rearrange my schedule. All the player meetings or someone in particular?”

I felt like a deer caugh in headlights “well… uhm…”

“So just Suna Rintarou?” he asked with a knowing tone, and I couldn’t deny it; I just hoped he would agree to it and not pull the ‘I’m your boss’ card, not that he ever did “Sure, I’ll do the meetings with Suna and pass along the info” 

“Thanks, Kuroo,” I said, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.

He grinned, standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when the meetings with Suna are”

“Will do,” I replied, watching him leave the lounge. As I turned back to my coffee, noticing it was cold. 

I was going to start seeing Suna a lot less often, no more weekly meetings with him, and I would try to make my time in the office a little more unnavailable to him by doing them exclusively during practice hours. This was something high school me would’ve come up with, and I knew that, but I don’t currently have the mental space to come up with something better. 

(part 2)

[kazz-brekker]

the artful dodger and my lady jane each only have 1 season is my villain origin story

[infizero]

already seeing a lot of ppl saying that the finale leaned too much into the more unhealthy aspects of simon and betty's relationship and like people are entitled to their opinion but. i dont really get that?? the whole point is that before this series THOSE ASPECTS HAD REALLY NEVER BEEN EXPLORED. aside from that one time in temple of mars, their past relationship had honestly been extremely romanticized and glamorized, and i for one am glad that they acknowledged their relationship was not perfect even back then.

but i highly disagree with anyone claiming that the finale tried to paint their relationship as having been bad or it being good that its over. i dont think it was saying that at all! they make it very clear that they loved each other and their relationship was great!! but it was not PERFECT and i think for the purpose of simon being able to move on it was important for him to realize that. thinking of the past as being flawless only leads to an inability to move on from it.

i definitely understand wishing that they had a happier ending, but personally i think them getting closure with each other and being able to live on separately is good. its been established there is seemingly no way to bring betty back to her regular self, and i think it would've just felt deus ex machina-y if they pulled a way out of their asses at the last second. plus it probably would've just reinforced their reliance on each other. betty basically lived for simon and simon lived for her, then marceline, then fionna and cake. now, they're able to live for themselves.

it's not the happiest ending they could've had, but it felt satisfying to me. like betty said, they made their choices. and clearly now that she's part of golb she's been able to reflect and realize her sacrificing everything for simon was unhealthy, which i think is good! she doesn't seem to be too unhappy as part of golb. hell knowing her she probably thinks its awesome she gets to be part of a monstrous chaos god. and she clearly is still watching over simon :') but that distance is a good thing, i think.

anyways this is just my opinion, and you're totally entitled to not like their ending, but i will say definitively that the finale was not in any way portraying their relationship overall as unhealthy or bad. it was merely pointing out an aspect of it that was unhealthy. but it very much asserts that what they had was wonderful and good despite that.

[mayariviolet]

From The Start

Synopsis: "Saying he was a close friend would be insufficient. Admitting you only liked him platonically when Yachi asked, felt like a misnomer." - Your friend Tanaka gets himself into a shitty situation, leaving you to have a close encounter with an old friend for help and hope that it won't open any new wounds.

══════════════════

cw: (Suggestive themes but NO smut) F! Reader, Suna Rintarou, Suna Rintarou x Reader, minor or background relationships, NO USE OF Y/N BC I HATE IT, college au, time-skip, mental health issues, friends to lovers but like rlly fast, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort, one-shot, drug use, implied drug addiction, second pov, multiple pov, basically a lot of references to drugs (don't clock me I'm writing from experience), lots of emotional turmoil, idk what else!

a/n: I originally wrote this in 2021 when I was trying to sort out some complicated feelings with this guy I was dating. I returned to this draft recently and added more context to the point where it's indistinguishable from my original. A lot of this is based on my own experiences but muted, especially at the end (iykyk). Also, enjoy the playlist I made! (if there's an opportunity for me to make one, I will do it). It's also on Ao3.

words: 8.7k (I have a problem)

*Ding* 

Ryūnosuke Tanaka (t money): You're gonna be fineeeee. He's like a really chill guy now B)

You: Sure, but like... I've never gone alone before :(

*Ding* 

Hitoka Yachi <3 Emphasized a text. 

Hitoka Yachi <3: It's going to be okay! If I could do it, so could you <3 <3 <3 But no pressure if you can't do it. Just come by my apartment around 7 p.m. for pre-drinks, but the party starts at 10 p.m.

*Ding Ding* 

Yu Nishinoya (Captain Underpants): You got this! See if you can get a discount ;)

You Laughed at a message.

Yu Nishinoya (Captain Underpants): I love the fact that he rolls them in front of whoever is buying.

T-Money Liked a message.

You: waaaa...okay, thanks, guys. I should be there in 30 min?

*Ding Ding* 

Captain Underpants Liked a message.

Hitoka Yachi <3 Loved a message 

T-Money Liked a message.

Knock Knock

Shoving the phone into your back pocket, you shift your weight back and forth. A lonely dance with no accompaniment at his front door atop the grimy green carpet."It's supposed to be a quick in and out."  You think, "You have nothing to worry about; just r e l a x." 

If Ryūnosuke weren't currently dealing with explosive diarrhea, he would be picking up with you. You don't even want to smoke before Yachi's iconic end-of-the-semester party so you can remember it this year. You had a bad habit of blacking out since going out was a rare occasion. But here you are in front of Suna Rintarou's room, feeling like you are about to explode.

All because Tanaka decided only to drink bubble tea for breakfast and eat nothing else to get belligerent at the party because he "didn't want to pay more for drinks" despite Yachi always having spare liquor for him and Nishinoya specifically. You swear, they would've learned their lesson after three almost four years.

Knock Knock 

"Uhm... hello?"

The palms of your hands are sopping with sweat. So much so that you keep rubbing them along the hem of your pants. Hoping your anxiety will seep into your clothes and evenly distribute them throughout your body. Gingerly raising a fist, you're about to knock again before the sounds of shuffling and soft footsteps toward the door interrupt you.

Suna opens the door halfway, giving you a quick up-and-down glance. His eyes lingered on your half-buttoned, see-through white top, settling on your black, lacy bralette before making eye contact with you again. The dark hair you're familiar with is dishevelled but not ugly. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame before saying hello.

"Where's Baldy?"

"He's dealing with a... stomach issue," You reply with a tight-lipped smile. "So I'm picking up for Yachi's party tonight. Oh! and here." You pull a $20 from your bra and hand it to him. Crossing your arms to cover the provocative outfit hand-picked by Yachi. 

"For the pre-rolls." He hums non-committally and grabs the cash, stuffing it in his pocket before stepping aside to let you in.

Entering his dorm, it's illuminated only by warm lighting. A steel desk lamp and warm white LED strip lights are placed elegantly behind the headboard and desk. His room is plastered with tasteful posters from vintage skateboard magazines, vinyl and movie posters, save for one fake succulent and a digital alarm clock for decoration beside his nightstand.

An earthy candle scent greets you, which does minimal to cover the offensive smell of weed emulating from the rest of the room. It's so nauseating that you can't help but contort your face. Suna, on the other hand, remains as stoic as you remembered.

"Can you close the door? You're gonna stink up the hall." He returns to his seat and unpauses the soft rnb music coming from his laptop before grinding the flower.

"Sorry," you whisper and hastily but carefully close the door. "So, how have you been?"

Suna furrows his brows, slumping further into his chair, wiping the remaining overflow of flower from the grinder into a small tin can. 

"Coping." He gives an exasperated sigh, "You?"

"Living the dream." There is a pause, and you hover awkwardly between the door and his bed. Wobbling like a starved carnival performer with Suna as the sole unimpressed audience member.

"You can sit wherever." He motions vaguely to his bed, never looking at you when he does.

Having met Suna during orientation week, you two hit it off instantly, rarely arguing. His ability to effortlessly charm a room was so endearing. Perhaps he felt the same way. It was a little awkward whenever you two were alone. He became quieter, but not in an 'I have a superiority complex' way, just a comfortable shyness. At least that's what you thought.

First, it was annoying, considering you liked his bravado, and it was a shame that he didn't actually seem like that. Over time, he initiated more conversations. Whatever words he chose to say had an actual meaning, which was more than most people could say. It was something that you grew to accept and admire even.

You two were inseparable. However, you grew distant over the years. You were only keeping in touch via liking each other's posts on social media. It's a fake sense of closeness, really, since liking a post here and there isn't indicative of camaraderie—a thought you reiterated over and over like a heretics' mantra. 

Despite that, you found yourself praying that whatever he posted next wouldn't be an 'anniversary post.' Although that shouldn't even be a problem, at least one that you should be concerned with. Considering you weren't in his life anymore. Luckily, he only uploaded skateboarding tricks that he pulled off, and Atsumu fails.

Was this healthy? No. Was your form of pre-workout analyzing the tagged photos of him with other girls yielding progress? Absolutely. Again, you're thankful that these posts were not on his profile and always featured a disinterested Suna with hands just hovering over their shoulders. But that also could mean nothing.

Unsurprisingly, the pre-med program you tortured yourself with did not precisely align with his computer science program and intense volleyball schedule. Now that the first half of your fourth year is closing, Yachi invited everyone from the 'first-year farewell' party as a 'happy reunion.' Hooray.

That was the last time you saw Suna at a party and interacted amicably (from what you could remember) in the most liberal use of the word. Now, all Suna could muster were halfway smiles when the universe decided to let your paths cross on campus and, occasionally, the city. He occasionally appeared at other functions but never for more than an hour, accrediting it 'being busy.' Mutual friends give a constant reminder of 'just missed him!' whenever you ask if he was there. Eventually, you gave up hope of ever seeing him again.

"So, uhm, did you get Yachi's invite?" You ask, making your way to the neat bed, feeling slightly emboldened. The heels you're wearing carefully navigate the surprisingly clean floor so as not to step on anything important you couldn't see. Perhaps asking him in person could evoke a desired outcome. Highly doubtful, though. 

"Yep. I don't know if I'll go, though." He stretches his back, giving a slight shrug.

"Ah... busy, I'm assuming?"

"You know me."

"Of course," you try to reply in a matter-of-fact tone, but it does very little to hide your disappointment in his response. Why did you even bother again? Even though Suna hasn't turned around since you entered the room, he can feel your mood damping from his response.

"We'll see." He stretches his back, puffing out his chest slightly. "Depends on if any cool people are going." He gives you a quick sideways glance and flashes a smirk, scratching the back of his head. The blush on your face creeping up from the depths of your desire. Hopefully, Suna doesn't notice. You couldn't handle getting interrogated about why. Although he would say he's teasing, you know Suna would hold it over your head. Flashes of your last interactions have you blinking back into reality, shoving any unwarranted thoughts back into the recesses of your mind.

"You look nice, though," he says so quietly it's almost a mumble.

"Thank you, Suna," you reply dryly, attempting to be nonchalant. "That means a lot."

His long dark hair framed his face, concentrated as he tried to finish packing every gram he could fit into the grinder. Your first impression of Suna was he looked so cool and hot. The second impression was his dry and well-timed wit. Though his tone sometimes bordered on apathy. Regardless, he's funny without even trying. Suna was the kind of annoying hot person who adamantly denied that whatever higher powers that be blessed him with a symmetrical face and clear skin. An unrequited physical attraction, at best that should never be acted upon. It's like a celebrity crush. Despite everything, you want him to be happy.

"How's practice going?" you ask.

"Good, actually. I've been spending more time planning drills. Being co-captain is harder than I thought. At least with Tsukishima, I have someone that I could work well with."

"That's good," You hum, with no particular conviction, before making yourself comfortable on his bed. "I'm glad things are going well." He nods.

It was much neater than when you last spoke. Looking around at the neatly placed posters contrasted by the neat pile of volleyball equipment next to the dresser, you appreciate the difference. It looked like Suna had just gotten out of practice not too long ago.

"Don't mind the mess; I've been trying to do extra warmups and cool-downs for the team. Also, trying to plan practice after the break is gruesome. " Suna calls out your name without turning around. "So, is there anything else you're looking for? Molly? Adderall? Coke?"

"Uhm-" Your body tenses and shifts forward on the bed. 

"I'm joking; relax." he tries to chuckle, but it comes out slightly disingenuous. Nervous almost. "I only deal weed and its variants."

You let out an audible sigh of relief, crumbling forward. For a brief moment, you swear Suna smirked, but his stoicism quickly returned. Someone who didn't know Suna would think he was being off-putting. They couldn't understand the pleasure of his flirtatious teasing. Fuck him for still making you flustered.

"I only have hybrids right now," He rummages around his box, looking for a small, unassuming paper bag for the blunts he has yet to roll for you, "but it's sativa leaning. Is that okay? I also only have half a gram left... My bad, I need to restock. Sugawara drained my supply."

"That's fine," you reply. You play with the sheets in between your fingers to calm your nerves. "Do what you need to do."

You haven't been alone with him in so long. Something changed over the years, and Suna went from being mainly sober to an absolute pothead turned part-time dealer. His clientele was thankfully reduced to inner circle people—some of whom you shared. Yachi, Nishinoya and Ryūnosuke, to name a few. However, there was minimal overlap. Any updates about his life reached you through social media or hearsay from his buyers.

Gone were the late-night study sessions and early-morning coffee runs. He would happily help you with each mundane task, and you did the same. Helping each other became second nature. Beyond being enamoured by his looks, this is what you admired most about him. You envied his ability to have fun and help without being too condescending. 

Even doing nothing together felt like it meant everything. Until the distance between you two felt too vast. When you two were squished together on the comically small loveseat during group study sessions, his body warmed next to yours. However, his eyes became colder as he looked out into the distance. Rintarou- no, Suna was slipping out of your life.

Saying he was a close friend would be insufficient. Admitting you only liked him platonically when Yachi asked, felt like a misnomer.

***

First Year: Second Semester

Rintarou : ) : I'm busy that day. How about Thursday?

You: I have a 'preparing for your practicum' workshop. What about next week? 

Rintarou :) : Can't. Volleyball practice. I'm doing a hackathon, too.

Rintarou :) : Tsukishima is trying to show the team something. Buddy thinks just because he blocked Ushijima once, he can lead drills.

You Laughed at a message.

You: Don't kill me. It sounds like you've been hanging out with the Canadian recruits lately.

Rintarou :) : They're teaching me slang. Helps me when I'm 'chirping' the other team.

You Disliked a message.

Rintarou :) : Also, do you have an extra pencil case?

You: Yeah I do.

You: Okay. Let's play it by ear. ^

You: Just text me your schedule :)

Rintarou :) Loved your message.

Rintarou :) : Of course. Wanna call and study tonight?

You: Of course.

You: Actually, come by my room instead. :3

Rintarou :) : You want me so bad, huh? ;)

You: Stop this.

You: (.-.)

You: Just come and get this fucking box, loser.

Rintarou :) : Which box? ;) :)

You: I'll loosen the wheels on your skateboard when you least expect it.

Rintarou :) : Nooo

Rintarou :) :  I'll be there soon. I work better with you anyway.

You: mhm. 

You: Keep flattering me. I need it.

Closing the iMessage tab, you shift your attention to finishing the lab report for Intro to Chemistry. Resisting the urge to reread your messages because if you do, you'll explode. Rarely did shameless flirting make you this giddy. But coming from a friend was fine or felt fine? Morally acceptable? There was a persistent dull ache as you remembered that Rintarou would never see you as more than a friend. Annoyed at the influx of additional comments on your edits from inept group members, you turn on Do Not Disturb. Rintarou came to your room fifteen minutes later with your exact iced matcha order (how he got it perfect when you never told him was a mystery) and plenty of volleyball practice drama to vent about.

Apparently, Tsukishima was very annoyed about being benched for the next couple of games—something about a sprained finger. Tsukishima's misfortune benefited Rintarou as he got more game time now. Your updates included several shitty dates that went nowhere. When Rintarou asked for their social media handles, he laughed roaringly before making scarily accurate observations based on their looks.

Hands shaky from laughing so hard, you begged him to stop, but he refused. His deadpan delivery never failed to bring about your smile. Of course, Rintarou was only chatty for a short period before slipping into the familiar, mutual comfort of doing your own thing but together.

"Not to get sentimental, but I'm glad we're friends." You smile at him, cutting the silence before laying your head on his shoulder.

A pause.

"Friends?" He asks, voice shaking slightly.

"Of course? I hope that we can be friends for a long time."

"I want that too."

He hums and stirs in his position to make you more comfortable before resting his head atop yours. Not looking at him, you could sense a smile creeping across his usual melancholy disposition. The next several hours were dedicated to working on various assignments. Rintarou sits on your bed, leaning against the wall while you move to lay your head on his thighs. Despite you offering your desk space, he wanted to sit next to you.

You are clacking away at your keyboard while he reviews his notes. His woody cologne added an extra layer of reassurance. You're prone to overthinking, and being with him gave you a happy radio silence.

Peace. It's all you could ever ask from a friend. The comfortable quiet is only interrupted by distant screaming from frat parties and Rintarou asking if you want a smoke break (a good stress relief, he says). But you politely decline each time. Suggesting that you two smoke another time when you're less busy. "Okay, another time. Promise?" He would ask, and you hummed in agreement.

After asking, Rintarou would be erratically checking his phone. Nothing out of the ordinary. That man is glued to his phone. It could be a third arm.

However, the smiling at someone's texts. That was new. You tried not to let your mind wander. Shoving down the image of Rintarou flirting with some girl. It's almost enough to let a string of bile rise from your stomach. Did he react the same way to seeing you?

"Ugh!" you groan, sitting up from Rintarou's legs and stretching. The cropped crewneck sweater you thrifted pulls up, exposing your bra. Rintarou looks the other way, tugging the bottom of the sweater and pointing to the window you're facing.

You scramble to become presentable, and he laughs at your flushed disposition, "Shut up."

"What's wrong? Are you getting a headache? You were working so hard until ten minutes ago," he asks, putting his notes aside. "You've been staring at a blank screen ever since."

You let out an exasperated sigh and fiddle with the hem of your leggings, "I'm just frustrated. I'm just trying to help with this lab report. But all of my edits don't get resolved, and people keep saying I'm too anal. Why would they want to settle for mediocrity? Plus, my participation is contingent on successful group work."

Rintarou listens to you ramble for however many minutes, and you eventually find yourself back in his lap. The soft caress of his hand across your head easing your worries. Times like these make it hard to remember that he is not your boyfriend.

"It must be hard being ambitious," he murmurs, "but I believe in you. You're putting in the effort."

"So are you," you hum, turning your head to look up at his face, admiring his strong and lean build, letting your hand grasp his bicep. "Aren't you a contender for being on the starting lineup now? So close to becoming captain!" His gaze softens at your touch, and he smiles at you. He couldn't quite properly describe how you made him feel. Rintarou thought no string of words could ever describe the overflowing emotions you evoked.

"It's nothing major," he says dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Thank you."

"I'm always cheering you on. No matter what."

An emergency team meeting scheduled early the next morning cuts your 'study session' even though you and Rintarou were procrastinating, tangled bodies. Platonically. You are still lying on his lap as he soothingly and methodically moves the hair away from your forehead. Fingers are slightly calloused and taped. The headache from studying for hours, acting like some bat signal for Rintarou to soothe you without asking, almost lulling you to sleep. The sun was threatening to make its appearance on the horizon anyway. He shoves the wooden pencil case (your unused extra wooden craft box) into his bag.

"I'll give this back to you when I can," he says, zipping up his bag before slinging it on one shoulder. 

"No worries if you don't. Consider it a gift for getting more play time." you smile at him.

"I'm gonna get you something, too! You'll have to wait. Heh." He pulls you into a deep embrace. You hugged Rintarou goodbye, and he was the first to pull away. There was a gnawing pain that this would be the last time you two saw each other. Like really saw each other. Chalking it up to paranoia and anxiety from the lab report, you didn't dwell on it too much. Desperately trying not to hyper-fixate on what he's doing. Or you tried, too, at least. You're friends. You have to keep reminding yourself—just friends.

Weekday study session requests were slowly replaced with smoke break hangouts instead. You declined almost every single time, except maybe once or twice. Citing the 8:30 am labs. He knew how important school was to you. Yet here he is, flippant as ever. Rintarou's smoke breaks from volleyball stress, gradually filling up his time between class and practice.

Even after training, his free time was occupied with team affairs—a different crowd—a different Rintarou. He stopped doing hackathons and other nerdy shit. His roommate Osamu just shook his head whenever you tried to drop by like usual. Class or Volleyball was the default answer. Over time, your texts would be left on seen or 'delivered' for hours, days, etc.

Your attempts to attend his important games were thwarted by copious schoolwork and beefing up your resume with volunteer hours. It was a wonder that he could do all this while maintaining a good GPA. To say you were struggling would be an understatement. Nevertheless, you had to keep going. You couldn't afford to fail. Eventually, Rintarou stopped trying, too, and you stopped expecting a text back. One week turned into two, and then three weeks of cancelled plans. A storm finally caged his erratic behaviour and gave him a deadly cold. A harsh transition from winter to the promise of spring. The rain pittering when he buzzed you in. 

"You don't know how to have fun anymore," he spat, rolling his eyes. You stood dumbfounded, only getting peaks into his once neat room, covered in grime. It reeked of neglect. He told you he was sick, and despite not hanging out for weeks, you dropped off some soup between classes. Brushing the offer to smoke, Suna's tone with you became increasingly bitter.

"Rintarou-" you start, looking up at him, hoping that this abrasive attitude is just another bit. "I just don't think greening out means you're having fun," you mutter, head slumping forward and shaking in slight disappointment.

His jaw clenches. The flickering blue LED light only highlighted the dullness in his eyes, glossed over. No longer the warmth that you associated with him. Rintarou's face was drained of colour. He clearly wiped off some sweat in his sloppy-looking Inarizaki crew sweater before seeing you at the door. Some wet spots on the shoulders and his damp hair suggest he either just had a shower or was itching to smoke outside in the rain. The soft drizzling broke into a torrential downpour, a distant thunderclap cutting the tension between you two.

"Don't get familiar," He scoffs, letting out an empty laugh. "I'm sick; cut me some slack. I'm still going to class and practice, aren't I? Worry about yourself."

"We're friends. Let me worry." At this point, it's hard to differentiate between the storm roaring outside and the silent scream your heart is letting out. "You were doting on me when that guy literally stood me up for three hours at the bar. Or how about when I had a bad migraine spell and you can over to drop off my class notes? You look tired. The stress seems like its getting to you, Rin-"

"Like I said. Don't get familiar. We're not dating." He rolls his eyes, reaching to close the door on you, but you slam it open before you can even think. Rintarou jumps back a little. "Woah, You're getting bold. Maybe one or two more people to sleep with, and you'll learn to have some self-respect."

"Are you fucking high right now? What's wrong with you?" you snap, "You're sick. Don't you have away games soon?"

"You're not gonna show up anyways," he shoots. 

Fuck you, asshole, I'm done trying. You think. At some point, the hand lying flat on the oak door turned into a white-knuckled fist. Who fucking cares if he's taller than you. You'll chew him out like you're as tall as Yao Ming.

A girl's voice interrupts the escalating conversation between you two. It's hard to determine exactly what she said, but you're all too familiar with her tone. It's a whiney need for attention for a mediocre man. The exact cadence that Rintar-no. It was Suna's exact tone that would scold you whenever you showed him the ugliest man in the world you're currently crying about. He looks over his shoulder into the void and then back at you. Do you even know this guy anymore? Or did you even know him in the first place?

"Don't you have class in thirty minutes? You should leave,"  he sighs, "That building is across campus. Plus, I have a girl over. Come back later if you actually wanna hang out and do something."

"You're so fucking stupid." As soon as you spit out the last few words, pain flashed across his face. It made your stomach turn in guilt. You didn't believe that at all. Who else would have won the hackathon against two master's students with published journals in their first year? 

"Yeah, maybe to you."

The motion of his door slamming in front of you timed perfectly with the power surge, which blacked out the hallway—leaving the emergency lights on. No doubt, the class will be cancelled now. How could he leave like that? Doesn't he care? A part of you wanted to barge into the room. However, your body wouldn't let you. Instead, the damp tennis shoes you wore carried you back to your dorm.

Walking so slowly that a passerby couldn't tell if it was the torrential downpour making your cheeks wet or something else. The distance weighed heavily on your mental health. The breaks in between school were marred with loathing and pity. Fuck. You should have said something. Kicked, screamed, something better than standing there looking stupid while he closed the door on your face.

Or, at the very least, give him a swift backhand. Luckily, Yachi provided some clarity after you broke down seeing him at her party. You gave her the whole rundown of what happened, filling out details you previously omitted during wine nights with Yamaguchi. Yachi was funnier than she gave herself credit. Besides the fill-in role for Asahi's stage play costuming (reprising her role of Town Person B), she made the hilarious observation that Suna probably had feelings for you. Better than that, he was jealous! Hah! What did he have to be jealous about?

After several bottles of Riesling and Yamaguchi's departure, you and Yachi devised a plan for the next semester. If you wanted to graduate Summa Cum Laude for post-graduate applications, to be the first in your family to become a doctor. Suna would have to figure out what to do on his own.

Second Year: First Semester

When he finally attempted to meet up the second year, it was to return the wooden box you gifted. Your finger hovered over the conversation—a slew of emotions washing over you. Your freshly manicured thumb slides up to see the notification. The offensive summer heat blurs the lines between nervous sweat and your body's pathetic attempt at self-regulation. Every single possibility from this interaction was too much. A few taps later, the conversation is deleted. 

***

It was a gruelling three years—a long road of focusing on academics and balancing self-care and mental health. Yachi suggested talking to a therapist and academic advisor to make concrete plans you knew you could follow through with. Romance is on the back burner after two shitty hookups third-year. The dick was so traumatizing and mediocre that it twisted your arm into celibacy. To your dismay, Suna would remain a passing thought whenever you were intimate with anyone else. So that didn't help. You told him your goals, and he told you his. 

He chose his support system, and it wasn't you. As painful as it was, you learned to accept that. There's no value in trying to help someone who doesn't want to accept it. At least that's what your therapist said. Still, he plagued your daily life in minuscule ways. Weaving his stupid face and joking flirtations into your cerebrum. Refusing to let go—a dummy sense of warmth.

Suna looks better than the last time you interacted. Full cheeks, sharp features and clean. He stands up from his chair, shuffling through his backpack for something, and you follow closely behind, leaning against the dresser. Looking intently into his bag, Suna pulls out a large matte jar loosely closed containing the aforementioned hybrid flowers; the smell was almost suffocating despite being mostly contained.

"Do you want me to open the window? Because I can." It was annoying how much Suna could read you even after all these years.

"No, I'm fine. It's not that bad." You choke, trying to suppress the cough fighting its way up your throat.

"Oh my gosh, no, it's not fine." He stops whatever he's doing and hastily makes his way to the window—opening it to let in much-needed airflow. Your face was hot with embarrassment. Get a Grip!

The crisp air is doing a push-and-pull dance with Suna's candle.

For a brief moment, his cologne joins in on the tango. Your heart flutters slightly like some Pavlovian response. When he opened the window, you couldn't help but stare at his hands and how the tendons in his arms flexed, especially how he tugged at the latch to jam open the window.

You take a deep inhale. "Thanks, Suna."

"I thought we were close enough to drop the honorific."

His voice is warm, but he's still not looking at you. From the dim lights, it looks like his ears are turning red. His navy oversized hoodie did nothing to hide him. No matter how hard he tried.

"Are we?" you tease, letting out an airy chuckle, "The last couple of years feel like it would imply otherwise. Actually, our last conversation specifically." the last half of the sentence spilled out like a delayed venomous snake bite.

Suna winces, giving a slight nod as if acknowledging what happened. His shoulders are tense like he's itching to say more, picking at the loose lint on his sweater before ripping a loose thread. 

"I see you've been doing well from what you post on Instagram, at least. Congratulations on that summer internship, by the way. I remembered how hard you were working the first year." he says, taking you back. "Makes me smile to see you happy."

You attempt to blink back your surprise. Recuperating before mustering an appropriate response. "Thank you. It was a lot of work, and I had to turn down a lot of fun stuff," you sigh, "But the experience was worth it. It's nice to see you happy too."

Suna blushes, "I'm surprised you have the time to even go out. Seems like we're always missing each other at Yachi's parties."

"Are you serious? You're the one that always leaves early, Suna-" you scoff.

"Rintarou. And you're the one that always comes late. Used to be the other way around."

"I had things to do."

"Me too."

The slight, comfortable banter you slipped into almost felt like old times. But the good parts. Rintarou turns around, and you can finally see his whole face. Effortless. He was effortlessly beautiful. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the influx of air, you assume.

"Is something wrong? Your face got red, and you keep playing with your fingers." Rintarou asks, cocking his head with curiosity and a smirk. "Woah, your face is getting redder. I guess you're right. We aren't as close as I remember. Maybe you should keep the honorific. You'll kill me less." he goads.

"No, no, everything is fine. It's just-"  Quick! Think of something! Anything!  "It's just… I've never rolled before. Can you teach me? I've only really smoked from Kozume's bong and other pre-rolled stuff..." A blatant lie, and he knew it. Still, he entertained the request, although his face seemed to drop slightly—a sharp pain seared through every artery and aorta valve in your heart at his visible confusion.

Why are you even entertaining this? Fuck you, Ryūnosuke. If you weren't obliterating a toilet right now, this wouldn't be happening. "Please?" Perhaps if you played your cards right, you could hurl your body out the window. It would hurt less. 

"Huh, that wasn't what I was expecting." He sighs, nodding over to the direction of his desk. "Lucky you, I was just about to roll something right now. Well, before you came." He returned to his seat, where everything was in the neat wooden box. If you didn't know him, you would probably think it's just a fancy pencil case. Another more ornate-looking box is shoved into a corner. It looks unused.

"Did you know you gave me this?" He asks, breaking you away from your thoughts.

"Huh? When?"

"First year. Second semester. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away."

Oh.

"I don't remember that." Your reply is short. Another lie. Rintarou raises his brows at you in disbelief but concedes. "Should have given it back to me, though. An apology would have been nice, too." It is a pathetic attempt at banter again, but disdain slips through your lips. You are betraying your facade.

"You know what you told me when I tried to give it back?" He asks, and you shake your head, "You told me: 'Either sell it or don't bother.' It was at Yachi’s farewell party. I tried again but- You were mad at me, but I couldn't figure out why. Until a year ago. I'm really stupid in that sense."

The dull pain which sat firmly on your chest started to thud louder and louder. "Well, I'm glad you got some use out of it."

"I don't blame you for being mad. I know you were trying to help in your own way." You're too flabbergasted to respond, but Rintarou seems like he's on a roll; besides, what could you even say? This is all you could have asked for. His apology is long overdue. Although you've already accepted that, you might not get an apology anyway. 

"Anyways-" he pulls out the large matte jar from earlier, measuring the weed carefully and placing some to the side to roll for you later. He was careful not to make a mess. "It's time to learn. Are you ready?" He returns to the freshly ground weed from earlier and starts prepping the paper.

"C'mere, you can't see it from there." You approach the desk, half sitting on it, to inspect his work. He carefully placed the ground weed in the middle of the paper, rolling it with such care that it almost didn't look real. The same care that Rintarou did whenever a headache crept up on you, and he carded through your hair. It's almost like he was pushing away all your problems; this isn't the same Rintarou you think. At least you hope not for his sake. His fingers pinch the end, making a small cone-like shape, and you maintain an almost voyeuristic gaze. His hands still had a little bit of tape on them from volleyball practice.

"Rintarou, who taught you how to roll?" You ask, and he finishes rolling, but before he answers your question, he sits a little higher in his chair and motions for you to come closer to his face.

"Stick your tongue out." his gaze meets yours, almost at eye level, as he holds the blunt.

"What? Why do I have to do that?" the heat rushes to your skin, and it feels like the sun gave a swift slap across your face. Didn't he open the window? Why is it so hot in here?

"C'mon, humour me." You lean in and hesitantly stick out your tongue. He glides the paper across the tip of your tongue, maintaining eye contact. An unwavering gaze lingers when you oblige—catching a glimpse of Rintarou biting the inside of his cheeks before returning to the monotonous motion of grinding weed. The thumping of your heart increases in volume. So damn loud you're scared he can hear it.

"We can smoke this if you want." He offers.

"Sure, I'm trying to learn how to be fun again," you say, giving a tight-lipped smile, and he winces at your words.

You both take laborious steps to the window and lean against the sill. Rintarou places the blunt between your lips before patting around his sweatpant pockets for his lighter. Bending over and covering the flame, your right hand encompasses the lighter so it doesn't get blown out by the air. He mimics your movements with hands grazing each other. You cringe, but he doesn't move. Electing to focus on how your lips pull on the blunt. He subtly bites his lips but hopes you're so concentrated on pulling that you won't notice.

He lets you take the lead. Going through the back-and-forth motion of smoking the blunt quietly while his music plays softly in the background until it's about halfway finished. Suna taps off the ash into his trash can before killing the blunt on the tin can lid from earlier. When you're done, he puts the half-finished blunt with your other things in the small paper bag. You feel like you're floating right now from how he's looking at you, but attribute it to the fact that you haven't smoked in a while.

"To answer your question, Tsukishima taught me. He said it improves finger dexterity. It's good for volleyball-" his voice trails off, and he leans against his desk, crossing his arms. "- amongst other things." He looks over at you, smirking, and winks before laughing. The same laugh you thought was lost years ago, exuding his annoyingly flirtatious charm. Diffusing the tension between you two, and you feel like you can finally relax.

Before he casually slips out an, "I missed you."

What the fuck? 

A beat of silence. Enraged. No, that's not right. Overwhelmed? No, that doesn't sound right. You're seething. The short breaths from nervousness turned into an almost hyperventilating rage. You needed to calm down. What did people say he was up to? Apparently, it has been a while since anyone could pick up from him. He ghosted some of his regulars. Enablers really. That was nice to hear. What else did you hear? He's doing some shit with Asahi? No, that couldn't be true. There is no instance where those two would interact. Your face deepened into a permanent scowl.

"Don't do this to me, Rintarou."

He doesn't listen to your plea. Instead, he keeps going. The phone in your pocket vibrates. No doubt, a text from Yachi asking what's taking you so long. 

"I lied about Sugawara taking the last of my supplies," he confesses. "I don't wanna deal anymore. I was thankful when Baldy texted me so I could finally get rid of it. At least it's going to someone who won't ask me why I'm leaving this shit." The nonchalant facade is cracking in front of you. 

"What? Why?"

"I was in a bad place; if I'm being honest, seeing you succeed triggered me to want to be better. I missed being your friend. Well- not just that." He stammers, the sweat visible on his forehead.

"I just thought- sorry. I think you're so cool and smart. I took advantage of that." He continues his rambling. He was explaining the last three years. How his stupid pride got in the way of being happy for your success, and how he hated how jealous he was becoming. Rintarou was becoming everything he despised.

A directionless loser. He took it out on his best friend, who was nothing but supportive. Nothing but a hypocrite who would make fun of the men you dated. Knowing damn well that even if you did decide to date in your league, he wouldn't be in it. He was the exact guy he warned you about.

Rintarou revealed that the added pressure from his parents to become a better older brother didn't help. The intense expectations from his volleyball coach pushed him and Tsukishima to smoke a lot of weed just to cope. His awful trip. An academic probation for a semester before getting help with the assistance of his roommate. His search for a therapist on healthy coping habits for stress.

The complicated but necessary task of getting out of that toxic social circle. He was babbling something about taking up other hobbies that he could show you or already did upon his therapist's recommendation. You think? Whatever the last part was, you couldn't understand it. You're boarding on inconsolable, blinking back tears, trying not to wail as the blood rushes into your ears.

Fuck being high! The pent-up rage you worked so hard to satiate was boiling over. Rintarou's brows furrow with concern, and what looks like... hurt? When he says your name in an attempt to snap you back into reality, it's different from his usual snide or ambivalent remark.

"Sorry, I should have approached this seriously. Uhm- you know-" he chews the inside of his cheek, "I just assumed- I haven't-"

"Rintarou, would you say this to me sober?" you ask, furrowing your brows and hollowing your cheeks. "Like honestly, would you? I miss you too. I'm here for you always. But I- I can't be here the same way as I was if you're gonna brush me off like before. You really hurt me."

Even as the words tumble out of your lips, the herculean task of barely confessing comes out as a relief.

"I-" he stammers, but you cut him off, holding a hand to his face, letting the hand fall on your lap.

"Don't lie to me anymore. Don't tell me you've changed. Show me." your voice wavering, the following words coming out like a plea, "If not me, for yourself."

"I know. I don't expect you to be there for me like before." You let out a breath of relief, but you're still guarded. "And these are dummy blunts I rolled. It's stage stuff for Asahi. Some show he's dressing."

"Huh. What?"

"Didn't you hear me?" he scratches his head, mumbling, "I'm volunteering for the stage plays between volleyball and school. I have to keep busy somehow. I guess I was speaking too fast. Nishinoya mentioned that his boyfriend worked in fashion around the same time my therapist suggested I take up new hobbies."

"So you're-" you stammer, the absolute gall of this man, "But what about me picking up? The smell?"

"Sober? Yeah. It's just cacao beans and something else. I'm still learning. Nothing serious. The smell is from Tsukishima. He borrowed my backpack, and that four-eyed asshole didn't bother washing it." he bites the inside of his cheeks before scratching at his fingers.

"I tried to get a bunch of incense and candles, but none worked. So I just shoved them into my backpack so I could return them. I guess they fell inside my already dirty bag."

There was another beat of silence.

"And what about me picking up?" you press, voice steadily increasing, skipping octaves, "Why'd I give you $20 for some fucking dummy pre-rolls? Is this another one of your pranks? This isn't funny! What about the whole 'I have this strain' and 'this strain that?' I'm too stupid for this." 

He shifts his weight back and forth, giving space between you and him. Even his doing that was infuriating. Why is he pulling away again?

"You're not stupid. I'm just bad at explaining. It's just a misunderstanding on my end. Baldy picked up the goods the other day. He said he was sending you the rest of the payment to give to me." Rintarou gives an apologetic shrug. His tone is steady and reassuring, "I guess he and Nishinoya were planning a long con. Yachi, too, I guess. She's the one that's always trying to get us in the same room. She's more creative and stuff in that sense. The other stuff, I just got nervous. You kept looking at me, so I just pulled out my prop stuff."

I'm gonna beat their asses. You think. No wonder she made you put on this outfit. Still, a part of you is a little grateful for their conniving selves. You try to slow down your breathing, letting your eyes flutter close. His languished pauses in between explaining himself were calming.

"You deserve a sober apology. I would never do that to you. The me now, anyway." The world is becoming garbled as you process what's happening. You're at a loss for words.

There's an insistent buzzing in your pocket. Pulling out your phone, there's a slew of notifications regarding your ETA and then whereabouts. Sensing your urgency, Rintarou makes hurried movements behind him.

"I got you a new box. It doesn't smell like 'weed'. I brought it every time I knew you were gonna be at a party, but I didn't want to leave it to some jackass." Rintarou extends his calloused and taped hands to you, revealing an ornate box that he clearly whittled himself with gold hardware.

Biting your bottom lip and tasting some of the strawberry lip gloss you're wearing, you blink your eyes open. The manicured fingers you've maintained and gotten refills for several years trace the outside before opening it. Inside, an inscription carved with love reads:

"Congratulations on Summa Cum Laude  <3 "

"I-" The years of complicated emotions come flooding the forefront of your face and barrelling down your cheeks. Thank God for waterproof makeup. The only sound ricocheting around the concrete dorm is the steady flow of your tears and sobbing. Rintarou's word vomit is thankfully complete, you think. However, there was an itch in your throat demanding to be let out.

"I know you need to go, but-" he says, deflated. Rintarou is easing his stance like he's about to leave you alone again.

"Do you have anything else to say?" you ask, cutting him off, hoping it doesn't come out accusatory but rather from a place of curiosity.

"I love you," he hums, with such care, it's suffocating. "I always have. I- I hope we're able to be friends again. I know it will take time-" you wince at his declaration.

I don't want that! I don't want just to be friends!

You both stand there for a moment. Rintarou struggling to read your expression. He's hesitant to continue. Hoping that you'll say anything, but you don't.

Another long pause, "You know me, when I like someone, I have a hard time- It's easier with strangers because you don't have to worry about seeing them again. But I want to see you again." he says.

From the blur of your tears, you finally notice a pile of white flashcards peeking inside the box. Upon opening the creaking lid, your globs of tears hit the flashcards, staining the ink. Each one has a talking point about what Rintarou said tonight. Every way, he has hurt you, even that time he accidentally stepped on your foot at the club.

The bottom of the pile is a barely white card filled with writings about what he appreciates about you (ambition, loyalty, conviction, to name a few) and your companionship. The back of the card are boundless words of encouragement and little drawings he's made.

"Rintarou- you memorized this for me?"

He nods, "I'm really shitty at filling silence. I get awkward and showboat- But I have to make up for lost time." His eyes were glazed, not from being inebriated but because he was trying so hard not to cry, " There's so much that I wanted to say, too. I was going to let you read it on your own, but you might throw it out. And we'll become strangers again. So I just wanted to plan."

Suddenly, there's a torrential downpour. Almost loud enough to drown both your of weeping and sniffling. "It's a little premature, I know, but. I believe in you. Like did with me becoming captain. And for me to be better. You don't have to accept this apology right away. I don't expect you to." he leans forward awkwardly, towering over you.

"Aha," you sniffle, dabbing the tears from the well of your eyes with your knuckles."Thank you, Rintarou. Your apology means a lot. I was always rooting for you. I apologize if I didn't do more than enough. I also didn't know you felt that way when I called you stupid. I'm sorry for yelling. You're brilliant-"

As he's about to cup your face, he pulls back, looking for any sign of hesitation. "Can I?" he says softly, and you nod.

Bringing his hands up to your face, he cups your cheeks—thumbing away any residual tears. "You have nothing to apologize about. I don't blame you for yelling. Honestly, I deserve it. You did so much for me. Thank you. Osamu told me that you tried to see me almost every day. I was stupid and immature, and I was frustrated with myself and took it out on you. Of course, I'm always rooting for you. How could you ever apologize for something that I never told you hurt me? I'm sorry that I ruined our friendship."

It's all too much. Your breathing is erratic while Rintarou's shaky hands try to calm you down. He's tethering you to Earth while he continues. 

"I care about you. I love you." his honeyed voice is soft, "Platonically, Romantically- whatever you want."

Looking out the window and ignoring his declaration because you are getting embarrassed AGAIN. Electing to shift your focus to the wet pavement to stop further crying. Watching the leaves falling, eventually kissing the concrete.

"Hey, do you wanna come to Yachi's party?" You ask, hoping he will finally give you the response you want. "With me? If it's not too triggering for you."

Craning his head to make eye contact again, his eyes are almost completely blown out. He looks down at you with heavy lids. Your body tenses up in excitement as he backs you against the cool window, standing between your legs. He removes his hands from your face, placing them on either side of your body, caging you in. Is the condensation making your back wet, or is it sweat? The clambering of the heater marches in the background, blending in with his music. Rintarou's face is unwavering. He detects the no-so-subtle desire you've been emulating since the moment you met. Insatiable, you decide. This man is insatiable.

And to be honest, you're no better.

"Of course, you know me. Next time, we should both try to be honest. I can tell you were lying about not knowing how to roll. I was the one who taught you the first year, remember? When we first met?"

He brushes the hair stuck to your wet cheeks up and out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, and smiles at you. Not caring about the integrity of your white shirt, you wipe away his tears, too, and he leans into your touch.

"Rintarou-" He leans closer, whispering in the shell of your ear. His woody cologne almost wrapped your entire person. Refusing to let go, his hot breath against your neck. Honestly, you could die happily right now. Your heart is like a feral animal begging to be released, shaking at the bars of its enclosure.

"As for what my fingers can do besides rolling a smart, cool, hot girl a blunt," each declaration coming out of his soft lips like velvet,  "I can show you the next time we 'smoke.' Okay?" he teases. But you know he won't do anything first. 

"Okay."

"Oh! check the bottom of the box." He's giggling to himself. Turning over the box, you find another carved inscription:

"You want me so bad, huh? ;)"

Before Rintarou can interject a snide remark, he blinks back his surprise when your lips crash onto his. It doesn't take long before he deepens the kiss, never getting aggressive. Keeping it slow and sensual is an equilibrium of shared intimacy. His smile gets wider as you pull away before he cups your face again. Desperate to keep you close with quick kisses. Your hair smells precisely how he remembers it all those years ago.

Coconut and mango were the bells that indicated he needed to make his way out of the dark back to the front porch. It's like entering steady waters after being lost at sea for so long, he thinks. He was surrounded by storm clouds, unable to see the stars. Rintarou looked to the moon for guidance when he needed something brighter and consistent. You are his Sun. Blissfully unaware that you were guiding him to safe waters. To land, to home, to you.

"I love you, too."

a/n: Thank you for reading! This is also my first time writing and uploading a fic on Tumblr! Big thank you to my friends for being patient while I babbled on about my love for this fictional man and my disdain for the fucking loser who broke my heart and moved across the world... Any feedback is appreciated!

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© Please do not copy or replicate my work. Inspiration is appreciated, but credit properly! ♡

[lunar-years]

Thinking about Jamie having his dad in his phone as “Dad” with quotations because he knows he’s never been much of a father and about him watching as Sam talks to his own dad on the phone and Sam is grinning so wide because his Dad is praising him and loving on him and Jamie stands there and knows he’s never, ever going to get that from James. Thinking about how he still goes to Higgins and asks him about his relationship with his own father. Thinking about “I try to love him for who he is and forgive him for who he isn’t.” Thinking about “look Jamie, whoever he may be, he’s your father, and that makes him a VIP!” Thinking that Jamie probably thinks of Higgins as a fundamentally Good Person and he’s trying and clawing so desperately to be a good person, too. Thinking about him wondering if the reason his Dad doesn’t love him is because he’s not a good person. Wondering if he’s incapable of being a good person. Wondering if it’s his dad that’s the problem or him, if it’s really been him along. Thinking about Jamie immediately searching out his father when he steps onto the pitch at Wembley, and letting him into the dressing room afterwards. How probably Higgins’ words are the ones in his head as he nods him in. How James lets Jamie down again–now always forever. How James rags on him in front of the entire team and questions his loyalty to Richmond in front of the entire team and shoves him when his back is turned in front of the entire team. Thinking about Jamie, who fights back and then is visibly shaking in terror afterward. How everyone is so thrown and no one knows what to do with that and so no one does anything except for Beard and Roy. Beard, who tosses James out only to be punished for it after, nearly killed. Roy, who hugs Jamie like he’s maybe understanding him for the first time. Like he can finally, finally see him, only this is the part of himself Jamie never wanted anyone to see. Even Roy. Especially Roy. Thinking about how Jamie hugs him back anyway. Desperately. Like Roy’s the only solid body left on earth. Thinking about how the show moves on and we don’t get to see if Roy took him home after and we don’t get to see how their relationship changed after, if at all, and we don’t get to see anyone–not Ted or the team or Keeley or Higgins or Roy–ask him if he’s okay. How the next time we see Roy with him Roys back to fighting with him and headbutting him. How the narrative moves on like James didn’t come into that locker room and change everything. How James disappears from the story entirely after that until he reappears somewhere in Amsterdam a season later as a phantom still hovering over the scene, over everything. Still haunting Jamie. How Jamie still looks for him in the stands when he walks onto the pitch in Manchester during Mom City. How Jamie can’t shake him and can’t be made free of him and how Higgins’ advice turns into Ted’s advice turns into a voice in Jamie’s head telling him to forgive. “Dad” becomes Dad, no quotations. “Hey. It’s been awhile. I hope you’re okay.” Jamie who tries forgiveness. Jamie who visits his father in rehab. Jamie who’s still trying to be a Good Person and wondering if he’s finally doing it right—

[helga-grinduil]

actually feeling flabbergasted and depressed by how bad and hollow this ending is