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aethelwyneleigh27 · 9 months ago

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Our Throne of Ruin

Chapter One: Blood-Stained Hand of a Royal

Plus-size/Chubby afab! fem! Princess!Reader x Villain!Simon

Warnings and Disclaimers: Violence, Assault, and Attempted Sexual Assault?? (Not by Simon, it is disgusting and uncomfortable so please do not continue if you have a faint heart), Gore, Severed Body Parts, Decapitation.

Genres: Romance, x Reader Insert, Alternate Universe, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Villain AU, Arranged Marriage, Dark Romance??

Throne Of Blood and Ruin Playlist <3

My CoD Masterlist and Series Masterlist <3

If you prefer to read it in Wattpad's format (Please leave comments) <3

A/n: A repost of this in hopes that the Tumblr algorithm is just fucking with me because I'm so heartbroken about the lack of interaction. Unfairly odd for you guys to ignore sum like this. I'm sorry to those expecting a new chapter. Whichever one does better will be included in the Masterlist. If this and the first one doesn't work then I'm quitting writing and Tumblr istg.

"My lady, these appear to be exceedingly valuable," Leticia, your young handmaiden, exclaimed breathlessly as she held up the ruby-encrusted silver earrings against your ears to see how they would look on you.

"I'm certain the lord who dispatched it desires a royal womb for their heirs," you said with a scoff, rolling your eyes, as you favored jewelry received as genuine gifts over bribes.

Leticia offered a simple smile, setting aside the jewelry she held into the untouched box, and instead, she searched for the ones you favored most… gold, diamonds, and pearls.

Earrings that match the pearls and gold details on the bodice of your dress perfectly, complemented by a crown crafted from the same materials as the jewels dangling from your ears.

Your senior handmaiden, Agatha, attempted to kneel and place your walking jewelry on your feet.

"Agatha! What are you doing?" you exclaimed, though the answer was clear to you. Before she could reply, you interjected, "No, please. I appreciate your willingness to serve, but don't kneel; it could injure you."

With a sigh, you stood from your vanity seat and helped her to her feet. She responded with a smile brimming with thankfulness.

"As kind and caring as ever, Your Highness," she said, lifting the small basin filled with rosewater to wash your hands, then gently wiping them with a white cloth dampened in the scented water.

The gods are aware that the woman has aged gracefully, yet there's concern she may injure herself with the relentless demanding tasks handmaidens endure. You slip on your shoes while Leticia unravels your hair from the curling cloths.

"What would you like done with your hair, my lady?"

"Pearls, Leticia…" you murmured, gazing into the mirror.

Once your handmaidens had finished preparing you, Leticia suggested a leisurely walk. She knew you might use this as the perfect opportunity to have an encounter with those vying for affection.

With a light melody on your lips, you wandered the castle's ramparts with an air of freedom.

You turn to a corner to find a man, only you could assume was a contender as well. Dressed in whatever garb their nation was to consider fashion, he had two knights along either side of him. The way he held himself, you could already tell. How arrogant.

You walked past him without much care to greet him, a test to see how he'd take rejection. He commands his knights to leave him be, striding next to you.

"I must admit I wasn't expecting to be graced with your presence so soon." He said you didn't respond verbally. Instead choosing to raise a brow at his statement, clearly not realizing that he's talking to you far too casually for your liking.

He scoffs, trying to wrap his arm around your shoulder to which you shrugged his hand off. "You reek of ale and brothels" you whispered to yourself as you subtly waved off the smell of his breath from your face.

You felt an almost cracking pain on your wrist as you were yanked back, your eyes widened, he had heard you.

You tried to free yourself but instead, he pulled the clasp and chain of your necklace, effectively choking you with the decorative metal against your skin. You pried your hands between it and your neck, desperately trying to claw his grip off.

The pain was unlike anything you had ever experienced, burning intensely. Your breaths were shallow and frantic. Tears welled up uncontrollably, spilling over.

It felt as though the muffled choking sounds were yours alone as your body convulsed. Your windpipe seemed to be caving under an unyielding grip, with every attempt to breathe met by an impenetrable barrier.

A wet, sloppy tongue dragged across your cheek, leaving a slimy trail that made your skin crawl. The unexpected touch was cold and clammy, like the lick of a serpent, and the stench of sour mixed with the pungent smell of fermented bitterness in his breath lingered in the air.

Your stomach churned with disgust as your body flinched away from his chest which he forcibly pressed against your back. Disgusting bastard, his chuckling fueled your nerves with more anger and fear.

"Pretty, defenseless little princess.." You attempted to protest, but it emerged as nothing more than a feeble whimper.

Someone, help me. Please...

You prayed for the air, for someone...

It wasn't until he was yanked away that you heard a thud, and you began to violently cough, the pressure on your throat finally easing. Collapsing to your knees, you groaned from the sudden pain, crawling away before turning to see what had transpired.

The man who just attempted to assault you on the ground and unconscious as an unrecognizable but broad figure retreated to the shadows out of the corner of your eye, just observing.

All your life, you've felt like s prey to the disgusting eyes of men older than your father, this wasn't new.

"My lady!" The scream of your handmaiden, Leticia, echoed as she rounded the corner in search of you. Panic etched her features, tears brimming at the sight of the redness on your neck.

You deemed it unwise to inform your king of the incident, especially since he was the one attempting to auction you off to a man who fancied himself a god among men.

You dusted your gown off as you instructed Leticia to ask for a tonic at the castle's apothecary, your throat nearly giving out at the soreness.

You had opted to seek solace at your place of worship before continuing through the not-so-exciting festivities your father arranged, despite your attempts to distract yourself, you cannot shake off the feeling of being watched.

Something waiting to pounce at you from within the shadows..

Prayer beads, it wasn't in your pockets.

You continue to pat around your body. "My lady, you seem troubled. Is something amiss?" Leticia asked, concern never leaving her tone since the events that transpired.

"My prayer beads, I must've misplaced or dropped them earlier," You mumbled.

"Oh.." was all she could respond, she knew how cherished that item was to you, being passed down from your mother.

"I'll make sure to find them later on, I swear that on my own mother," she lifted her palm, and a small smile broke from your lips at the promise.

You get up from your knees to set the candle you've lit down on the foot of the monument of the goddess of marriage and fertility, payers inclined to help you find a husband, unlike your father. Hoping your mother will also hear your prayers in the afterlife.

"Leticia, my shawl please" You sighed. She slipped the thin fabric over your exposed shoulders and replaced your colored veil with your earlier embellishments.

...

You composed yourself as well as possible, attempting to breathe steadily and keep your eyes open to avoid flashes of the experience from just a few hours before by picking the skin next to your nails.

Gripping your aching neck, you felt the imprints of the recent assault. As your gaze shifted to the entrance, the massive doors groaned, pushed open by the servants outside.

From the comfort of your cushioned throne, you surveyed the assembly, noting how the sound redirected their attention to the entrance, just as your eyes had done moments before.

The usual commotion and conversation that overlapped one another at such an event died out faster than poison could kill a rat, all sounds replaced by the clanking of metal... most can recognize the hollow sound of armor and the sharp end of a sword scratching the stone floor.

There a familiar broad man stood. You can't quite put your finger on it, but his face is like something out of your dreams, masked with a knight's great helm.

The silence was defending as he left the people speechless or much rather afraid to speak of anything, covered in blood and some flesh stood a stranger.

He made his way in, the crowds of nobles making a path for him as he did. The carpet beneath him somehow cushioning his heavily metal-cladded steps.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the stranger as he got closer, only now seeing what he had by his side while he hastily threw his great helm on the ground to pay his respect in court.

The severed head of the noble who tried to lay a hand on you, holding it by the fistful of hair as the blood from the neck stained the fur carpet below it.

You hear the king beside you as he chokes. He could not control his breathing, seeming to be on the verge of a heart attack.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! YOU INSOLENT BASTARD, YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!" One of the nobles in the crowd screamed with much anger, must be his father or a figure of some sort.

The man attempts to lunge at the man in armor but is held back by three of the palace knights. Loud clanking as the lord hit the armored men over and over.

Oddly enough, you weren't terrified after the initial shock. The man that stood before you severed the head of the same man who tried to commit an unforgivable act on you, it was almost poetic in its own way... satisfying even.

He knelt before you instead of your father, much to your surprise. Gasps and murmurs emulated from the nobles and royals present, apart from the screaming guardian of the beheaded suitor.

He had no respect for the head he held as he threw it on the side, having it roll to the king's feet who had no words of offense as he was too shocked to utter anything but silent stuttering.

On one knee the man with blood-soaked presumably light hair remained, his head down, eyes still on the floor. You stood up from your throne, head held high as you walked towards the armored fellow.

The intricate precious metal encrusted with priceless jewels hung on your ears and swayed along with the ones in your hair. The train of your silk gown flows effortlessly behind you.

Your eyes on him at every step, he lifted his gaze from down below onto you, his hand shifting. Uncertain of what to anticipate, you watched as he extended his hand toward you, palm open, the callouses on his fingers beckoning you closer.

You care not for the blood that stained his hand and caked under his nails, so you hesitantly slipped your fingers in his, heart pounding out of your chest as the stranger bathed in blood grinned at seeing your hand in his.

He gripped your hand in the most gentle way you've ever had anyone touch you. He lightly tugged on your arm and let you naturally step closer with his guidance as he brought the back of your hand up to his lips.

You felt his dry yet warm lips on your knuckles, eyes up on you as he looked for approval. You blinked, and for a moment your eyes drifted to the severed head.. its own open but soulless before you reverted your gaze back to the man who has your hand.

With another kiss on your ring, he releases your hand. You gaze at it, noticing how the blood has stained it in an effortlessly abstract pattern.

Breathlessly staring at your hand, now tainted with the filthy blood of one of the bastards who hurt and wronged you. Staring back at you, presenting an opportunity on a silver platter, all just for you...

Series Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @duck-a-doodle @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @drewsmusee @sommii @sleep101 @blueladys-world @myspaceisra @bumblebeesfromvenus @penumbrie @nicolebarnes

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silentscrying · 7 months ago

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🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track four: a conflict of interest

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, MIDTERMS, alcohol, PTSD/trauma, panic attack, naoya, discussion of car crash (not directly described), mention of deceased parent, literal wholesome sleeping together. || sfw. 8.4k words.

YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED fall—the sharp, cool note that tacks itself onto the breeze, the crunch of leaves beneath the wheels of your longboard, the early sunsets over the shapes of the campus skyline. Usually, a week this beautiful would find you outside enjoying it. But for the same reason that you haven’t gotten Takuma alone since Saturday, you’ve been cooped up indoors, frying your brain.

The problem is midterms.

The week is a blur of class and homework and reporting and rehearsals, and you hardly ever see Takuma, or really anyone outside of your classes and rehearsals, save for the brief comings and goings of your housemates at strange hours of the day. You’re all drowning in work, and any wish you have of talking to Takuma without the rest of his band present washes itself away in an avalanche of assignments and emails and post-it note to-do lists all over your desk.

When you see him with Megumi and Yuji and Kirara, the both of you dance around all the things you want to say. Because you have to. You don’t have time to flesh this out, put a label on it.

You and Toge spend hours wrapping up your project story. Your comp midterm is eight to nine double-spaced pages of hell, excluding citations, and on top of it you’re balancing media law case studies and your elective comparative lit class.

And this is one of your lighter semesters.

Your housemates don’t have it any easier, Yuta and Maki wrapped up in senior capstone proposals, Nobara grinding her way through the rest of her gen. eds and practicing marketing presentations in the mirror, even Toge scrambling to get work done.

Between cramming and writing and squeezing naps in wherever you can, you and Takuma orbit around the unspoken truth of your kiss on the roof, borderline flirty but never crossing that line. Not over the phone.

you: how goes the algorithming you: or whatever the fuck takuma: I’M DYING takuma: KM GOING CROSSEYED takuma: havent touched grass in days. eons even you: :( same you: we’ll touch grass when this is over takuma: if it snows i will literally dig it up for you istg

You laugh despite yourself, sighing as you lean back in your desk chair, looking out the window. God, you want to kiss this boy again. Fuck school, fuck your busy schedules. Christ, you can’t believe it’s only Wednesday.

you: aw for me takuma: anything for you🫡

It shouldn’t make you blush so furiously in the privacy of your own room, but it does.

A soft knock on the doorframe draws your attention, and you spin in your chair to find Yuta leaning there. His dark hair is a mess, like he’s just taken off a hat, and his cheeks are red with the bite of cold air. He must’ve just gotten home.

“Yuta!”

“Hey.” He grins, holds up his phone so you can see the time. “You eaten yet?” It’s a rhetorical question. You shake your head, recognizing the call to action for what it is, and close your laptop, joining him at the doorway. You need a break, anyway—you just wrapped up a draft of a paper, and you need to do something else before you look it over with fresh eyes.

“Wanna make stir fry?” you ask, and Yuta lights up.

“Read my mind.”

The kitchen is cast in gold as the sun sinks over the rooftops, and you smile at the little hello, my name is stickers on Yuta’s plants in the windowsill. As the two of you grab bowls and pans and ingredients from the fridge, you realize you haven’t really spent one-on-one time with him in a while. You’ve missed it.

“We haven’t done this in forever,” you say, tossing a green pepper over your shoulder. He catches it with one hand and puts it on the cutting board.

“I know,” he laughs, gentle in the same way that everything Yuta does is gentle, and you’re suddenly struck with the horrible thought of how much you’re going to miss him next year. “I feel like we haven’t had any one-on-one time recently. But I’ve been meaning to, uh… well, I should thank you, for giving me that time with Maki. I don’t know that I’d have made a move if not for you.”

“So you’re the one who made the move?” You grin, elbowing him fondly. “Maki wasn’t very forthcoming with the details.”

“I wouldn’t say I made the first move,” he admits. “I started making dinner, and then she started scribbling on something over by the plants. And I was so confused, and then I realized she’d bought these.” He gestures to the plant name tags, a fond smile on his face. Half the handwriting is Yuta’s loopy scrawl, and the other half is Maki’s more jagged counterpart. “She knew all their names. Which is crazy. Sometimes I barely remember.”

You move to the cutting board and start on the peppers while Yuta fires up the stovetop. “That’s sweet,” you say. “You guys are good together. I’ve only been waiting for like, an entire year.”

Yuta chuckles and looks over his shoulder at you. “I asked how she remembered all the names and she said something along the lines of did you know people actually listen when you talk, and I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my facial expressions.” You snort, because you know that better than anyone. “And then I said Toge definitely doesn’t, and she rolled her eyes and said I kept missing the point.”

“Oh, smooth.” You move over so Yuta can reach into the cabinet above you for the seasoning. “And then you asked what the point is?”

“Mhm.” Yuta hip-checks you lightly as he moves back to his place by the stove, and you relish the familiarity of it. He’s one of your best friends, and you’ve missed doing this with him, cooking with him, talking to him. “She said the point is I’m an oblivious dumbass who should just shut up and kiss her already. So I did.”

You have to put the knife down as your laugh bursts out, shaking your shoulders, because that’s the most Maki thing you’ve ever heard. “And you’re together now?”

“Mhm.” Yuta flushes a little. “She’s great. I wasn’t really gonna say anything… ever? She’s out of my league, Skip.”

It should maybe feel like a bigger deal that Maki and Yuta are finally a thing, but in a way, it’s like nothing has changed. They’ve always been close, and you’ve always known they’re perfect for each other. It felt inevitable, and now it’s happened, and it feels right.

“You’re both out of everyone’s league,” you correct, turning to lean against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “And neither of you think you deserve each other, which is exactly why you do.” He smiles, shy and small, and your heart warms in your chest. “I’m happy for you, Yuta.”

“Thanks.” He ducks his head a little, his tell-tale sign of embarrassment, like when Takuma scratches the back of his neck. God, why does everything remind you of Takuma?

Like he can read your mind, Yuta says, “Your turn. You and Ino? I know everyone’s in the loop except me.”

The next half hour or so passes with you explaining the details of your night with Takuma yet again, the smell of stir fry eventually drawing Toge out from the cave (his and Yuta’s bedroom) around the same time Nobara sweeps through the door with Maki in tow. It’s the first time the five of you have been in the same room outside of rehearsals all week.

“Ooh, my god,” Nobara sighs, smelling the stir fry. “That’s the good shit. I owe you my life.”

“You can do the dishes,” you suggest, and she deflates as she unwinds the scarf around her neck and tosses it on a hook with her coat.

“I’ve made a fatal mistake,” she says.

“How’re midterms?” Maki asks as she brushes past you, tossing her jacket onto a chair, and you shrug. In response, Toge puts his head face-down on the counter, and Maki looks to Yuta, waiting for his answer. It’s like they don’t know how they’re supposed to interact in front of you all, now that the whole band knows.

“You don’t have to dance around each other anymore,” Nobara points out, blunt as ever. “We’ve watched you do that for years. I honestly think I’d rather watch you be gross.”

Toge raises a brow. “Careful what you wish for.”

“Let’s break the ice! Let’s talk about it!” Nobara crows, grabbing you by the elbow. “Reenactment, Skip. You be Yuta.” She leans dramatically over the plants, pretending to write on the name tag stickers. “This one is Pikachu.” Yuta definitely does not have a plant named Pikachu. “You’re an obtuse asshole, Yuta Okkotsu,” Nobara says in a truly horrendous impression of Maki, turning around and grabbing you by the shoulders. “Now kiss me.”

“Oh my god,” Maki says flatly. “I hate you.”

“She didn’t call me an asshole!” Yuta says indignantly.

Maki nudges him with a shoulder, which is probably the closest thing to PDA you’ll get out of them for weeks. Nobara’s teasing will only make them less willing to show affection in front of the rest of you. Maybe it’s reverse psychology and that is what she wants.

“Table,” Yuta says, pointing to Toge. “Nobara, go sit in the corner and think about your actions. Maki, could you grab the plates?”

“Girlfriend privilege!” Nobara cries, not making any move to listen to Yuta. She grins at you and you can’t help but smile back. She’s being obnoxious about it, but she also held in her teasing about their relationship for ages until they figured it out on their own. You know she’s just as happy for them as you are.

“You better keep Ino away from this one,” Maki says as she dishes up the stir fry and slides the plates across the counter to Toge, who ferries them over to the table without complaint. Nobara wiggles her brows at you in a way that very obviously says you can try, but you will fail.

When the five of you crowd the little table in the makeshift dining room, it’s honestly the most relaxed you’ve felt all week. For an hour it’s just you and your best friends, talking and ranting and joking and eating some damn good stir fry, and you can forget about all the work piling up on your desk and the boy down the street you desperately need to talk to and the performance in two days that’ll decide your band’s fate. It’s good.

You grin at Nobara as she gestures with her hands while telling a story about this girl in her marketing class, at Toge trying and failing to steal the snap peas from Yuta’s plate, at Maki fondly watching it all unfold.

Despite her earlier complaints, Nobara doesn’t hesitate to get started on the dishes, and Toge dries while you sit at the stool by the counter and chat with them. Nobara shoves a plate at Toge to dry and he nearly drops it onto one of the plants, earning him a look from Yuta very reminiscent of a parent scolding their child.

"Sorry, Snorlax," Toge says to the plant he nearly attacked. "Hey, these are helpful, actually. Good job, Maki."

You stare at the name tags, something starting to grow in the back of your mind. Hello! My name is...

"Yes," you breathe. And then you launch out of your seat and grab your notebook from the other room.

You have an idea.

—

You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, spinning a drumstick in your right hand as The Cull wraps up their ten-decibels-too-loud set onstage. Waiting in the wings, Hakari and another stage tech linger by your kit, waiting to swap it out, and the rest of your band goes through their usual pre-performance rituals.

Maki leans against the wall, eyes closed, moving her fingers along her bass without making any sound. Yuta’s quietly checking his tuning for the thousandth time tonight. Nobara does laps around the backstage area, humming and mouthing words to herself, her guitar carefully leaning against the wall beside you.

Toge is straight up just dancing to the other band’s music in the corner.

And you’re here, spinning your sticks between your thumb and index finger, index and middle, middle and ring, ring and pinky, back again. Back and forth, back and forth, the worn wood dancing across your knuckles.

Midterms are over. Projects and papers are turned in, exams are taken, laptops are strewn forgotten across the living room for the weekend. All your attention is here and now, Friday at The Fix, Battle of the Bands. Lifeblood might be a good word for it, you think, whatever this kind of rush is to you. It’s electric.

The Cull finishes with a screeching of guitars and a held-out note that could very possibly be classified as a scream, and then Panda takes the stage, the techs start moving, and the other band files past you in the backstage area.

You nod as they slip by and they return the gesture, not seeming all that interested, but you don’t care. It’s time.

Sliding onto the throne, you adjust the hi-hat and pound the kick a few times. Nobara winks at you from center stage, and you make eye contact with each of your bandmates in turn, confirming they’re tuned and plugged in and ready to go.

And then you launch into your new song, unable to help the smile spreading across your face.

It begins with a drum solo, a mild rhythm on the floor tom. You add the kick, then move to hat, and Maki comes in, then Toge, then the guitars. And then Nobara leans forward and starts to sing.

“You’re in the corner watchin’, at the party, Solo cup in hand. I’m on the dance floor, one more wild girl who needs a place to land.” You glance out over the crowd, stage light blinding you from your position toward the back of the stage. You can’t see shit, but it’s like you can feel his eyes on you.

“Been goin’ solo, flying so low, meet your eyes and draw you close.” Nobara yanks the mic off the stand and belts,“You ask my name, I tap your chest, and I say you already know!”

Power chord, two big beats, one, two, three, crash—

“Hello, my name is everything you ever asked your gods about. Hello, my name is somebody who needs a guy to take me out…”

The music washes over you, thrums from the soles of your sneakers to the tips of your fingers, gets you high on spotlights and amp feedback. You wrote this song about a lot of things. On a surface level, it’s Maki and Yuta’s song, drawn from the name tags on the kitchen plants. But on another level, it’s about Takuma, and you know your whole band knows it.

“Hello, hello, my name is yours if you want it,” Nobara finishes, and you finish with two cymbal hits and a kick, grabbing the cymbals between thumb and index finger immediately after to mute them. It’s a sharper finish than a lot of your songs, punchier, and it feels good.

“We’re Cursed Technique!” Nobara shouts, and Yuta plucks a few strings as he retunes for one of your older tracks. The set goes by all too fast, and then you’re finishing with Next Fix, the beat under your hands familiar and automatic. You’re on my mind at two a.m., you help me find deliverance, I think it’s time I get my fix.

You’d stay here forever if you could, just making music with your favorite people, but your set ends and you have to retreat backstage, Black Flash passing you in the wing as they prepare to round out the night.

“That was awesome,” Kasumi Miwa whispers as she passes you, and you grin.

“You’ll be awesome.”

When Mai appears around the corner, she stops short. You glance at Maki and realize Yuta’s hand is on the small of her back, and Mai has zeroed in on it. Yuta looks like he’s about to pass out, his hand frozen a half-inch away from Maki’s back like he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse to let go, but Maki seems entirely unfazed.

Instead of addressing Maki, though, Mai looks right at Yuta, a slender brow raised in an expression you aren’t quite sure how to interpret. On Maki, it would be teasing, but on Mai it could be a challenge or a threat or a judgment just as easily.

But she only says, “Thought you were gonna take that to your grave, Okkotsu. Been long enough.” She breezes past all of you without another word, and Yuta stares at the place where she stood only moments before, slack-jawed.

Maki shrugs. “Well, that’s that.” The sound of tuning instruments floats back from the stage and Maki starts moving, looking confused when Yuta doesn’t immediately follow. “What?”

“She—what?” Yuta gapes, and Nobara and Toge catch up to you, herding you backstage.

“I can never tell how mad you two are at each other,” you tell Maki.

“We’re bonded by mutual hatred of our own family. We have an understanding,” she shrugs. “She approves of Yuta. I don’t give a shit. If she didn’t, I still wouldn’t give a shit.”

Sometimes you’re very, very glad you have no relatives at this school.

Maki elbows Yuta lightly and he seems to relax, shrugging off the interaction with Mai.

“On another note!” Nobara chirps. “That was fucking awesome.”

And then you hear, of all things, a trumpet coming from the direction of the stage. It’s a very recognizable riff.

Black Flash is covering September.

“What the fuck?” Toge asks. He holds up a hand and darts back to the wing, peeking out on stage. When he returns, his brows have shot up, mouth open like a fish. “Muta has a trumpet. Muta’s playing a trumpet. Since when does he know trumpet? What the fuck?”

“Miwa. Guaranteed,” Nobara says. “Momo’s been trying to get him to learn for years, but he wouldn’t even be in that band if Miwa wasn’t there.” She grins. “I bet Momo was so mad when he finally did it only ‘cause Miwa asked.”

“They sound straight out of a damn recording,” you murmur, craning your neck as if that’ll help you hear better. “They’re fucking good, guys.” Part of you wants to slip out into the crowd just to see them perform. These guys really have their art down to a science, as little sense as that might make, and you can’t help appreciating it.

They segue into a new song with a wild sax solo that you know to be Momo’s, and Nobara grabs you by the hand and twirls you around backstage, some jazzy movement with no real choreography. We’re going to lose, you think idly, but you understand why. There’s something infectious in this music.

Even Maki and Yuta can’t stand still once they’ve put their instruments away, and eventually the five of you are jumping around like a bunch of idiots as Black Flash closes out their set with an explosive series of riffs and chords, and the crowd’s cheering floods the place, all the way to backstage.

You hear Panda’s voice, or more so the bass-heavy sound of him speaking into a microphone, and you only really catch voting.

“Sweet democracy,” Toge says. “I pledge allegiance—”

“How about don’t?” Maki drawls.

Toge nods. “My bad. I’m supposed to be loyal to the queen now, anyway.” Maki’s brows furrow, but she must decide it’s not worth questioning, because she turns away and starts talking to Nobara.

Has anyone actually told Toge the queen is dead?

This time around, ten minutes feels all too short, and suddenly you’re on the stage again, Black Flash at your left and The Cull on their other side. Panda is in front of you all, mic in hand, the results on his phone.

“We have literally never had a vote this close,” he says, and the crowd draws in a collective breath. “The difference between first and second place was two votes.”

“Shit,” Nobara breathes out beside you, so soft nobody else could possibly hear. Two votes. That’s fucking insane.

“But we do have a winner,” Panda says, “and the band moving on to the finals next week is…”

This time, there’s too much attention on your band for Maki to make a comment about Panda’s dramatic pause. In the quiet, somebody shouts, “Woo, girl drummer!” and it sounds an awful lot like Kirara. You smile sheepishly.

Maybe you made it. This was definitely your best performance yet, and the crowd seemed to love the new song—

“Black Flash!” Panda shouts, and your stomach twists a little even as you smile and whoop for the winners. The stage explodes in movement as your band and The Cull converge on the members of the reigning Battle of the Bands champions, congratulating them.

“Amazing set,” you tell Kasumi earnestly. Deep down, you knew you didn’t have much of a chance against them. Still, you’d hoped.

You think you catch Maki muttering, ��Y’know, not bad,” to Mai, but you could be wrong.

After you slip backstage, Panda catches up to you. “Y’all were second,” he tells Nobara. “Just thought you should know. That was real close.”

Part of you is immensely gratified that you beat The Cull. That you came that close to kicking Black Flash out of their championship spot. You’re bummed, but honestly? It’s enough for you.

And now Shibuya Incident and Black Flash will compete in the finals, just like last year. Takuma’s got a chance to dethrone them.

After locking up the drum kit in the back storage room (which Shoko blessedly lets you use free of charge), you head out to the floor. Toge splits off to talk to someone from a comm class, Nobara beelines for Yuji and Megumi, and you figure Maki and Yuta are being antisocial in a corner somewhere. It doesn’t take long for Takuma to find you.

“Skipper!” You turn to find him grinning at you, and you can’t help but mirror the expression. “That was amazing. That song was amazing, you were amazing. I mean, are. You are amazing.” His hand drifts up to the back of his neck, and part of you wants to reach out an intercept it, tangle your fingers in his. But you hold yourself back.

“Thanks,” you beam.

“Man. You should’ve won,” Takuma says earnestly, squeezing your shoulder. You took off your bomber jacket before the show—drumming is already a lot of movement, but the stage lights make you sweat—so his fingers skim the place where your T-shirt sleeves end and your bare skin begins, sending a spike of electricity down your spine. “You kicked their asses in my book.”

There’s that warmth again, flowering in your chest cavity. Even when his hand falls from your arm, the impression of his touch stays there.

“They were good,” you say, conceding defeat. He shrugs, like whatever you say, and you’re about to finally ask him if you can talk in private when Yuji materializes out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“Dude!” he crows, slinging an arm around your shoulder so aggressively that you nearly stumble, laughing. This kid does not know his own strength. “That was so good. So good. You should’ve won. That was insane. The new song?”

“That’s what I said,” Takuma says, raising a brow at you, and you’re flushing again.

“Ino, we’re getting Taco Bell,” Yuji says. You plaster on a smile when he turns to look at you, like you haven’t been going out of your mind the entire week needing to be alone with Takuma. “You want anything?”

Yuji’s not trying to interrupt anything. Poor guy just wants Taco Bell. You stifle a sigh. “Nah, I’m good.” You catch Maki’s eye from the other side of the room, and she waves you over. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hey, you should come over later,” Takuma says before you can turn away. “Gotta catch me up on your midterms. I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

Yes. There it is. Exactly what you need.

“That sounds great,” you say honestly. “Call me when you guys get back?”

He gives you a two-fingered salute with a grin that makes your heart stutter a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Nobara mourns the loss the whole way home, but by the time Maki pulls into the driveway she seems to have gotten all her feelings out and is back to her determined we’ll-get-it-next-year self. The guys drove separately with all the guitars piled in the backseat, and they beat you home.

You’ve just sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes when your phone buzzes, a familiar but unexpected name floating across the screen.

INCOMING CALL: TSUMIKI FUSHIGURO

You slide to accept the call, waving at the boys to quiet down. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Tsumiki says, in that tone of voice that means she’s running on multitasking business mode. A low, static humming in the background tells you she’s calling from the car. “So, there was some kind of accident on 34th a couple blocks down from the science complex. I know you’re on features, but Yuki’s out of town and most of the freelancers are younger and haven’t done breaking yet. Are you busy? I can try the sophomores if you can’t, or I can go, but I’m just coming from work and I might take too long—”

You’re already grabbing your bag and your board, mouthing newspaper to Yuta and Toge, who are giving you curious looks as they dig through the movie collection under the TV. The intersection’s not far from your place at all, or from The Fix, for that matter. Yuki’s the news editor, and if she’s out, it makes more sense for someone who’s already done breaking to go. Time is of the essence with these sorts of briefs. “On it, don’t worry,” you say, pushing out the front door and waving to Maki and Nobara on the way. “Photog?”

“Yeah, I’m calling around after this. I’ll get someone there. God, thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. Call you when I’m done.” You hang up and shove your phone into your back pocket as you careen down the street, headed toward the spot Tsumiki mentioned. Now that midterms are over and you’re free of your academic obligations, you can actually take the time to savor the cool night air and crunch of freshly fallen leaves under your wheels. Hopefully the crash isn’t too bad—Tsumiki didn’t seem incredibly worried, but it’s likely she was operating on very little information.

It doesn’t take long for you to hear the commotion, and you round the corner to see a few cop cars blocking off the crash site on the side of the road.

The second you’re close enough to see past the officers and their cars, your heart plummets.

It’s a red Hyundai.

Smoke billows out from beneath the hood, but the other car’s got it worse, the passenger side smashed in. The way it’s positioned—it shouldn’t have even been possible, unless the other car was genuinely driving in the wrong lane.

“No,” you breathe, kicking your board up and running, and then you’re flashing your press card at a campus policeman—he tries to get you to stop anyway, but there’s no way he’s catching you now—and you’re sprinting to the wrecked car, heart shouting in your chest. You see Yuji first, trying to brush off a concerned-looking Megumi, and then a pair of cops approaching them, and another cop arresting someone—shit, you know him, what’s his name? Naoya, that’s Maki’s dickwad cousin—probably the driver of the other vehicle, but where’s Takuma, where—

When you skid around the far side of the car, Kirara giving you a surprised look, you see him leaning up against the tree. He’s sitting on the grass, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other stretched out in front of him, his forehead resting on his knee. His shoulders are shaking, his hat’s on the ground, Kirara is beside him talking lowly and glaring at anyone who tries to get near him—

Until she sees you.

“Thank god,” she breathes. She doesn’t ask why you’re here. She just guides you to sit down in front of Takuma. “Can you—”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so, he’s just—”

“Got it.”

She backs off to give you space, and then you’re on the ground, knees in the grass in front of Takuma. Panic attack, PTSD episode, whatever it is, you’ve dealt with these before. You remember the roof, his quiet voice, explaining what happened to his dad, how he was in the car, how he hates driving because of it. You’d bet anything Takuma thinks he’s back there.

“Kuma,” the nickname slips out before you even realize it. He jerks and looks up at you, shock and confusion written all over his face. He’s full-on trembling, and your heart shatters in your chest. “Hey. Hey, I need you to breathe.” You hesitantly reach out and take his hands in yours, watching him carefully to see if he tries to pull away. He doesn’t. “You’re okay. Everyone’s okay. You’re safe. Can you take a breath for me?”

He’s not fully here, you can tell, his eyes glassed over and his breath catching in his throat. You scoot closer to him, put your hands on either side of his face, blocking out the sirens and the chatter and the crowd. “Takuma,” you say. “Look at me.”

His frantic, moving stare settles on you after a long moment, and he seems to realize abruptly that he is having a panic attack. You can see the moment it clicks in his mind, that if he was twelve years old in a car crash with his father, you couldn’t be here in front of him, and now it’s up to his body to get the message across.

“Breathe,” you say again, drawing in an exaggerated breath and blowing it out slowly. “C’mon, with me. You got this.”

Takuma gasps, trying to follow your instructions as you talk him through it, counting inhales and exhales and starting over every time his breath hitches. “Doing great,” you promise. The rest of the world—the cops, a very angry Megumi pacing back and forth, Kirara speaking rapidly on the phone—might as well not exist. It’s you and Takuma and your breaths in the air between you. Nothing else matters, not right now.

All of the struggles you’ve had this week, papers and feelings and not enough sleep, feel suddenly unbelievably small.

There are things that matter in a much louder way, and this is one of them.

“Christ,” Takuma breathes out eventually, burying his head in his hands. One of the cop cars erupts with the blare of sirens momentarily before stopping again, and the sound has his shoulders tense with worry all over again.

You don’t even think about it. You just pull Takuma into you, wrapping your arms around him, like you can put the both of you in a little bubble away from everything else. “Hey, hey—”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you furiously shake your head. “Just—the sirens—“

“No,” you say firmly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Takuma.”

He shudders and you rub your hand up and down his spine. “Is the other driver…?”

“A stupid fucking drunk driving in the wrong lane?” Kirara practically spits as she rejoins you near the tree. “Yes.” The cop just took her statement and has moved on to Megumi and Yuji.

You’ve never seen Megumi this livid. He’s gesturing wildly at the other car, and you remember idly that Naoya’s his cousin too, that this is a little personal for him.

“Yeah, but is he…?” Takuma trails off.

“He’s fine,” you murmur, your heart clenching for this boy, who’s been through so much and just relived the worst day of his life and still wanted to know if the other driver was okay. Jesus. He’s too good. “Everyone’s okay.”

You pull back to hold him at arm’s length, scanning him up and down for injury, and he’s staring at you like you just fell from the sky. “Skip—I’m really glad you’re here but—why? What are you…?” His voice is a little hoarse. His gaze trails down to the press pass hanging from your neck, and he cracks a wry smile. “Y’know, when I told you write a story on me, this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

So much relief floods you at once that you think you might actually start crying. “Jesus,” you croak out, and the smile drops from his face.

“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “Just—got the wind knocked out of me, but it’s fine. Skipper—”

You lurch forward and wrap your arms around him before he can finish, needing to feel him breathing, his heart beating. You also hear his breath hitch as he winces, and you pull back in alarm. “Shit, I’m sorry, what—”

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just sore. I’m fine. Really.” He leans back against the tree. “Airbags.”

You slump back against the tree too, deflated as the limp airbags in the ruined car. “You guys okay?” you ask as the others, done with their statements, turn toward you.

“Yeah,” Kirara says, but Megumi shakes his head and points to Yuji, who’s nodding even while cradling his wrist to his chest.

“It’s fine,” Yuji insists, and Megumi looks at him, incredibly unimpressed. “Well, it’s not broken, I can move it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Megumi says flatly. And you look at him, his expression so familiar, and abruptly realize you’re supposed to be writing a brief.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling out your phone. “I’m working for your sister right now. I gotta…” You point to the phone. Megumi winces but nods, and Tsumiki picks up on the first ring.

“Hey! Done already? You find Yoshino okay? He said he—”

“Uh, no,” you say sheepishly. “Actually, I—uh, okay, everyone’s fine, but Megumi’s here. If I—”

“Slow down!” Tsumiki blurts. “What? Shit. Frick. Where’s Gumi? Can you put him on the phone?”

You wordlessly hand your phone to Megumi, who’s looking more pained at the concept of talking to his sister about this than the accident itself.

A few cars pull up—a white one screeching to a stop that really should not have been going so fast in front of a bunch of police officers, and then a darker gray one that arrives smoothly after, neatly pulling up against the curb. Gojo practically launches himself out of the first car, looking around until his gaze locks on Megumi, who hangs up the phone with a quiet okay, thanks and then immediately groans upon seeing Gojo there. Nanami and Shoko get out of the second car much less dramatically and trail after Gojo to the cluster of you by the tree.

“Megumi!” Gojo calls as he jogs over. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Megumi grumbles, trying and failing to brush Gojo off. “Where’d you come from? Don’t you have work?”

“Geto and Utahime are closing down,” Gojo says with a shrug. “We heard and came as fast as we could. Figured I’d bring our resident doc. Or Nanami would, since she wouldn’t ride with me,” he says loudly so Shoko can hear. She just rolls her eyes.

Megumi tosses you your phone and says, “Forget the brief, you’re good.” You nod, pushing to your feet and offering a hand to Takuma.

“We,” Gojo says, placing one hand on Megumi’s head and the other on Yuji’s, “are going to the ER.” You expect Megumi to object, but it’s Yuji who tries to wave Gojo off. Except he tries to physically wave him off with his bad wrist and immediately grimaces. Megumi swats him on the shoulder and gives him a serious look that says we’re going, don’t argue. You figure Tsumiki will probably meet them there.

Shoko stops to talk to Kirara a short distance away, and Nanami keeps walking, making a beeline for Takuma—and by extension, you. It doesn’t escape your notice that the second he’s within range, some of the tension in Takuma’s body seems to vanish, seeping out of him and into the grass, like the tree’s roots are taking it on for him.

Nanami’s usually immaculate hair is a little disheveled, like he ran his fingers through it. Without his usual glasses on, he looks a lot less daunting, a lot more personable. The worry in his expression is well concealed but very much present.

“Ino,” he says. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Takuma says unconvincingly. “Fine. Just—yeah. Drunk driver, you know…” He scratches at the back of his neck, and this time you don’t check yourself. You reach up and grab his hand, slotting your fingers between his. He shoots you a grateful look before turning back to Nanami. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks for… um…”

“Of course,” Nanami says before Takuma can say anything more. You release his hand so he can step forward. You’ve never seen Nanami hug anyone before, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.

“You’re not going with Gojo?” he asks when he pulls back, hands planted on Takuma’s shoulders. It feels very paternal. You’re not sure you should be listening in.

“Nah, I’m okay.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you got checked over,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “Would you let Shoko look at you, at least?” You’re relieved when Takuma nods, letting Shoko pull him away.

Gojo leads Yuji and Megumi past you, back to his car, and Yuji stops to whisper, “Never fear, Skip, the drum set was not in the car.”

“Oh my god,” you say. “Yuji. I’m more worried about you than the drums.”

“Aw, Skip!” he says happily. “That’s nice.” You roll your eyes but can’t keep the fond smile off your face, and you know Megumi’s probably doing the same thing, though you can only see the back of his head as he follows Gojo. Yuji bounds off after them, still cradling his wrist to his chest but seeming very unconcerned about the whole ordeal.

Yet another screech of tires alerts you to a truck appearing from the other end of the street. Hakari doesn’t even bother to shut it off, jumping out and leaving the door hanging open.

“Kira!” he shouts, pushing past the remaining officers. “Kirara!”

“Over here!” Kirara calls, thanking Shoko and weaving around the slowly diminishing crowd. Someone’s already showed up to tow Naoya’s car, and another truck probably isn’t far behind. Kirara gets swept up in Hakari’s arms, her trying to reassure him she’s fine, and you find yourself left alone with Nanami. He studies you openly, keen eyes and a calm, very slight smile on his face.

“I don’t think we’ve met, officially,” you say sheepishly. “I’m Skipper.”

“Kento,” he says, holding out a hand. You shake it and feel abruptly like you’re talking to a business executive. As Shoko looks Takuma over on the other side of the big tree, Nanami—Kento—lowers his voice a bit and says, “Ino’s told me all about you.”

The heat rises unbidden to your cheeks, and you hope the evening dimness hides it. He talks about you? To Nanami? You aren’t really sure how to respond to that, but luckily, Kento spares you the trouble. “Look out for him tonight, will you?” You can tell from the tone that he’s testing the waters, trying to determine how much you know about his dad.

Hopefully the message gets across when your gaze drifts back to Takuma over Kento’s shoulder and you say, “I plan on it.”

“He’s alright,” Shoko announces, and Takuma appears at your side again. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Something loosens in your chest at the words, something that tied itself into knots the second you saw Yuji’s car and hasn’t let up since.

“Hey,” Hakari calls, he and Kirara approaching hand in hand. “You guys good?”

Takuma nods, and you shrug. “Wasn’t in the car.”

“We’re gonna head back to Kirara’s. You want a lift?”

Takuma glances at Kento, and you feel the truth of his words that day on the roof, about Nanami being the closest thing he has to a father.

“Go home, kid,” he says. “Sleep it off. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Takuma says, like a breath of relief. He looks exhausted. But he’s here in one piece, and that’s what matters. Your fingers brush his as you walk back to Hakari’s truck. It’s a quiet ride, a short one, your board on your lap and your press pass still dangling from your neck.

“Oh, Skipper,” Hakari says when he turns onto your street. “Your house over here? Or are you coming to theirs?”

You glance at Takuma, but before either of you can say anything, Kirara says, “She’s comin’ over.” She catches your gaze in the rearview mirror with a knowing look and you manage a weak smile. You can’t imagine letting Takuma out of your sight right now, honestly.

The dogs are there the second Kirara opens the door, and Takuma practically falls into them, burying his face in their fur as they nuzzle up against him. Shiro turns to you after saying hi to the others and noses at your palm until you scratch her behind the ears.

“Hi, sweetie,” you murmur. “Good girl.”

Kirara nudges you with her shoulder as she brushes by, glancing down at Takuma and then back at you. You nod. I got him. She offers you a small smile before she and Hakari disappear around the corner.

“C’mon,” you murmur, tapping Takuma on the shoulder. He nods, pushing to his feet and patting each dog on the head one more time. You follow him upstairs, feeling a little out of your depth. After all, he’s not the one who decided you were staying.

When you’re both standing in his room, you shift on your feet a little, wondering how to word it. “If you want some space—”

“No,” he blurts, unexpectedly loud, and then his cheeks go a little red, sheepish. “I mean—uh. I could… use the company. If you don’t mind. You don’t have to stay, obviously, just—”

“Kuma.” You laugh a little, watching him freeze, glance up at you mid-ramble. “I would love to stay.”

“Oh.” He grins. “Cool. Okay. Um.” He turns around and grabs a pair of sweats and a tee from his dresser, then holds them out to you. “If you want…? Or I can ask Kirara, I’m sure she’d let you borrow something, or obviously you live right down the street or—”

Something about the idea of wearing his clothes makes you go a little warm all over, and you accept them without hesitating, cutting off his rambling. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna…” He jerks his thumb toward the door. You don’t know if he’s just giving you the space to change or going to shower or what, but you nod, waiting until the door clicks shut behind him to tug on the sweats and shirt. The shirt is huge on you, one shoulder sliding off, a fading logo of some music festival on the front. You sit on the edge of Takuma’s bed, tucking your knees under you, and then your phone rings. Tsumiki.

“Hey,” you say, pressing it to your ear. “They’re okay?”

“Yeah, Yuji sprained his wrist but nothing else. Pretty minor, all things considered,” she reports. “They’re on their way back to the house.”

“Good,” you breathe, the relief evident in your voice. “Thanks. Do you… are you sure about the brief?”

Tsumiki chuckles. “Hey, not your job to worry about the press tonight.”

“I can still try to… write it,” you say half-heartedly, dreading the thought of it. “I mean, I saw the scene and…”

“Don’t even worry about it. Genuinely,” she says. “You and I both know that’s a conflict of interest.” You huff a weak laugh. What an understatement. “More importantly, you sound exhausted and I’m sure that whole thing stressed you out. Listen, the photog I had on it wanted to break into writing anyway. No time like the present.”

You immediately feel even worse, because your photographer was probably looking for you at the scene and you just left him hanging.

“Stop,” Tsumiki says, like she can read your mind through the phone. “He handled it well. It’s fine, Skipper. Get some rest.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, but she’s already gone. You shoot a quick text to the group chat explaining what happened, that everyone’s fine, and that you probably won’t be home tonight. Takuma doesn’t want to be alone, and honestly, you don’t know if you could leave him if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the texts to start pouring in.

utah: let us know if any of you need anything!! maki: keep us posted and tell megumi to answer his dumb phone nobara: WHAT nobara: OH MY GOD???? nobara: well i’m glad everyone’s okay nobara: christ freak no. 1: alsjkfq qEQht

You frown at the keysmash, wondering if Toge dropped his phone or actually just doesn’t know how to communicate like a normal person.

you: ??? freak no. 1: sorry SOMEONE TOOK MY PHONE,,,, utah: because SOMEONE DOESN’T KNOW WHEN IT’S AN APPROPRIATE TIME TO SEND MEMES, TOGE maki: nvm he picked up maki: go to sleep, skipper, we can talk tomorrow

Toge texts you privately thirty seconds later. It’s the meme of Gru laying out his evil plan and then realizing it’s a horrible idea. The first frame says answer the phone, the second says get the breaking news like a baddie journalist, and the last frames say realize you know everyone at the scene of the crime. You laugh out loud. Toge knows you. He knows you needed this. He wouldn’t have sent it if he didn’t think it’d cheer you up.

A half-second later, another image comes in, but it’s just a picture of Nobara with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, speechless and absolutely thrilled. The full image shows her swooning over a little puppy, but you long ago cropped it and started using it as a reaction image in your chats.

freak no. 1: me when ur okay :)

“Aw,” you murmur. Toge can be sweet sometimes. You start texting back, but then another message comes in and you backspace immediately.

freak no. 1: me when ur spending the night with your boyfie :) you: i was gonna say thanks but then you kept going freak no. 1: me when she texts back :) you: goodnIGHT TOGE freak no. 1: me when she goodnight texts :)

Takuma knocks softly on the door before cracking it open, waiting for you to give him the green light before coming in. He’s changed into his own pair of sweats, and his hair is ruffled and wild around his face. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You toss your phone on the bedside table and scoot over to make room. “You okay?”

He sits cross-legged on the bed, and you turn to face him. “Think so,” he says. “Just… felt like I was back there for a minute.” His eyes go distant just for a moment, and your heart twists in your chest. You scoot forward, knees bumping against his.

“Glad you’re okay,” you murmur, and it doesn’t feel like enough, but he gives you that soft, open look that makes you feel like you could say anything at all and he’d treasure it.

“Glad it was you and not some rando reporter.”

You grin, holding a fist out to Takuma like it’s a microphone. “How do you rate Skipper’s hug on a scale of one to ten?”

He leans forward, playing along. “Uh, you know, it was so long ago I might not have a really accurate rating. I would have to probably hug her again—”

You don’t let him finish, surging forward and wrapping your arms around him, tackling him down onto the bed in a fit of laughter. Caught off-guard, he has no defense, and after a startled moment his arms snake around your waist, and you lie there, looking at each other with barely-restrained grins.

“Well, that one was pretty good,” he murmurs. “Nine, I think.”

You gape at him. “Nine?”

Another smile dances across his lips, and you suddenly really want to kiss him.

“Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.” He shrugs innocently, and then tries and fails to stifle a yawn, which makes you yawn in turn. It’s late, night having draped itself over the city hours ago, and the effects of barely snatching hours of sleep all week are finally creeping up on you, weighing you down.

“Go to sleep,” you tell Takuma, grabbing a blanket from where it’s been wedged between the bed and the wall and shoving it toward him.

“You go to sleep.”

“Bossy.”

But he shakes the blanket out and lets it fall over both of you, trapping your warmth beneath it, and sleep feels very, very appealing.

You think about the paralyzing, all-consuming fear that took hold of you when you saw the car. The thought of anything happening to him—you actually can’t even fathom it. And you think about what that means, and that you’ve only known this boy for a month, but you feel like your heart beats on the same channel as his.

Geto’s words play themselves over and over in your head, Maki’s mixing themselves in until you have a chorus of phrases bouncing around like pinballs.

Your heart is not a finite thing.

You already know.

The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.

If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.

Geto was right. You don’t know how long you’ll have this for, have him for. But you better make the most of it while you do.

But Takuma’s eyes are already closing, his arm slung over your waist, seeking your warmth, your comfort. He looks exhausted, shaken. These aren’t conversations for tonight. Tonight, you just hold him, and feel his breath against your neck, and revel in the fact that he’s okay.

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a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, TEAM. i've fallen into another anime hyperfixation (blue lock) and it's killing me slowly. one part left of this fic !!

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